{ comment Enftered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by the Publishers of Brtirgs anv Beaux, in the oftice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, Vou. I.--No. 13. NEW YORK, APRIL 25, 1874. Yearly, $4.00. Quarterly, $1.00. AUNT HULDAHS WILL. BY LUCILLE HOLLIS, SWEEP of forest-land, and in its midst, A upon a mossy knoll sloping toward a pond of crystalline water, a villa—all plate- glass, and creamy hues, and green blinds, and clambering roses—nestled among the mosses, and spring-draped trees, and wood violets, and SAIL as Ione Marcellus saw it first. She came to it—quiet, rustic, lonely—late one May afternoon in a pretty carriage, drawn by two fleet-footed ponies, and driven by a portly, smiling African sent to meet her at Avonstation, by Lakedale’s master, Mr. Egbert Warburton. sheeny, shifting sunlight. That was Lakedale | of him during the long drive from Avon to Lakedale. How oddly and suddenly romantic her hitherto quiet life had grown, that she should be going to live in the home of this Southern stranger; perhaps, to stay there as his wife. Perhaps? Of course she should! Had not Aunt Huldah decreed it so? Had she ever demurred from Aunt Huldah’s will? Why should she now? She must marry, she sup- posed—most girls did—and, as she had no lover, why not, then, this man whom Fate, in the shape of Miss Huldah Bassett, had picked out for her? Thus mused Jone Marcellus until, just as the low, westering sun was shimmering its red glory over the Virginia cottage, with a sudden turn in the road, she was whirled to a first view of her new home. Thud, thud, thud, sounded the little hoofs of the ponies, upon the rich black mold of the carriage-drive, until, with swift obedience to the command of their driver, they stood paw- ing, and prancing, and shaking their pretty heads in front of a flight of broad steps. Mr. Egbert Warburton—her second cousin, |} Down from her seat Miss Marcellus was whom she had never met;—Ione thought much | swung, by strong hands, to find herself looking Mb if / e yg UY] PLEASANT TO DREAM OF THE HANDSOME RIDER WHO WOULD SOON DASH UP THE DRIVE into a pair of quiet gray eyes that met hers searchingly. The owner of the gray eyes was tall, broad- shouldered, imposing in appearance; with dark hair, slightly sprinkled with gray, luxuriant black mustache, a proud, stern, weary face. And this—this forty-five-year-old man, with vivid suggestions of a wretched past on his dreary face, and in the fierce lines about his firmly closed mouth—-was Egbert Warburton, destined by his cousin, Ione’s Aunt Huldak, to be the husband of the slender, supple, eighteen- year-old maiden, “How do you like the looks of Lakedale?’ was his first abrupt question. “Tt is lovely,” replied Ione. “Tam glad you think so. I hope you will not get home-sick here. This ”—turning toa lady who stood in the doorway—‘‘is Mrs. St, Julian. She has come to be housekeeper for you. Mrs. St. Julian—Miss Marcellus. Will you be so kind as to show her to her room, and make things as pleasant as possible for her?’ And Mr. Warburton took his broad hat from the piazza steps, and went away toward the stables, Sol ralfeanetareeiciare tne evap ete ee ee NN TE REE TEE ‘ | ' ee ieeestipapenan——sedeee a anal oe BGELLES AND BHAUX. [Aprin 25, 1874. ¥ Mrs. St. Julian held out her hands and smiled a pleasant welcome. ‘‘ You must be very tired,” she said, leading the way up to Ione’s cheerful, white-draped room, opening out on a broad balcony. “No, not very; there has been so much that was new to see and think about.” ““Then you have never been here before?” “‘No, nor outside of my native State.” “T think Mr. Warburton said you were a Boston girl.” “We lived in Boston most of the year, but at Bassett Farm during the summer,” ex- plained Ione, “And you are an orphan?” The hot tears, half of suddenly reeurring loneliness, half of sorrow, dimmed the girl’s eyes. “Yes, doubly so since Aunt Huldah died. “Mr, Warburton is your guardian, I pre- sume?” A swift, burning flush swept over Miss Mar= cellus’ face. “He is my cousin and only relative.” ‘‘ Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes,” said Mrs. St. Julian, pleasantly, and- went down into the parlor that she, during the week she had spent at Lakedale, had transformed from a dreary bachelor apartment to a pretty, eheery, modern drawing-room, After the housekeeper’s departure Ione sat her down and cried; just a quiet, little, wo- manly cry. She began to feel that everything about her was strange and lonely. Then she went and looked in the glass, and laughed a little, and bathed her face, and went out on the balcony, and drew long, quieting draughts of spicy, wood-scented air, and felt happier. After all what was the use of making a fuss and being wretched? She had no doubt but she could get along with handsome Mrs. St. Julian, and probably cousin Egbert would be nicer than he seemed at first. It was lovely here, and she caught a glimpse of a piano in the parlor, and a well-filled library at the end of the hall. It couldn’t be much worse than the tame, monotonous life she had led with fretful aunt Huldah, and cross governesses. Naturally Ione Marcellus was hopeful, glad, contented, and she went down to dinner and sat opposite Egbert Warburton—a brown- haired, pleasant-faced, dreamy-eyed girl— giving him a strange, new feeling of quiet restfulness. It was very sensible of Ione to resolve to be contented at Lakedale, eminently sensible of her, considering she was an eighteen-year-old girl of the nineteenth century. » Perhaps it was the resolve that brought about a pleasant combination of circumstances. At all events, Lakedale grew daily more dear to its young Northern visitor; Ione and Mrs. St. Julian— Mrs. St. Julian so tall, and graceful, and plea- sant, and self-possessed ; so watchful over Ione, so minutely attentive in the performance of every comfort for Mr. Warburton; so uncom- municative about herself; with soft, slumbrous black eyes, perfect features, and lustrous gray hair laid back in wavy bands from her low forehead—were on most amicable terms; and Mr. Warburton, despite his well-matured man- hood, and grave, silent manner, Ione com- menced to find pleasant company. She grew to enjoy her long, quiet rides and drives with him, to read to him in the library during the sunny days, and to play for him through the long starry twilights. And, somehow, she was quite satisfied, in a quiet, indolent way, that queer aunt Huldah had written him that letter asking him to marry her orphan niece, and—Ione knew noth- ing about this last clause—inherit the Bassett fortune, to which he had written a grave consent. , In her youth Huldah Bassett had fondly but vainly loved her cousin, Egbert Warburton. Twenty-five years of separation had no power to change her passion; and, dying, she resolved that her hands should shape his future. He was a lonely, seclusive man, He should marry his second cousin, friendless Ione, and the girl would make his home cheerful and comfort- able ; perhaps little children would come to make it merry; and he should have the Bassett fortune; after her death, at least, he should think kindly of her who had so sadly loved him, Egbert had thought it no small sacrifice to concur in Miss Huldah’s plans, even though her money was to be the recompense. It was wholly for the sake of Ione, who would be left friendless, desolate, and in need of a protector, that he resolved to resign himself to Miss Bassett’s arrangements. After all, why should he not, if the girl was acquiescent? His life had been drearily wretched enough, it could not be worse. Since the coming of the pleasant, pretty maiden to Lakedale, Mr. Warburton discovered that his home grew daily more cheerful. That part of the change might be attributable to the care and considerateness of the housekeeper, never occurred to him. The sunrises and sunsets and purple evening- tides, followed each other in calm, sweet suc- cession, until the summer was quite gone and golden-handed autumn stood on the threshold of the year. Then a change came to the quiet family at Lakedale. Business called Egbert to the North. He was astonished at the regret- fulness with which he left. The villa had be- come, to him, a real home nest. He deter- mined, when the weeks of his absence were over, to speak to Ione of the subject which had never yet been mentioned between them, and ask her to appoint a time for the wediing. One October evening, warm and silvery, the master of Lakedale returned. It was nearly a week sooner than he was expected, and he eame ‘on foot from Avon. Walking up the and knew that Ione was in the open-windowed, moonlighted parlor. A wondrous sense of gladness and peace flooded his soul at this coming home. He sprung lightly upen the veranda and stepped through an open window. Tone had ceased playing, and her face was up- raised, with a rapt gaze of unconscious but in- tense devotion, to that of a young man who bent toward her, one hand resting lightly over hers upon the piano, the other caressing her waves of brown hair. For one instant, a great flame of passion came to Egbert’s gray eyes, and his hands clenched angrily ; then he turned silently away, and crossed the hall tothe darkened dining-room. Presently a saddled horse was brought round to the piazza, and Ione and her companion came out upon the steps. “Good-night, Miss Marcellus; bid Mrs. St. Julian adieu forme. I hope her headache will be quite gone before morning. Good-night again, Ione.” He sprung in the saddle, waved his hand, and dashed down the forest drive—a hand- some, slender youth. “Tone.” “Cousin Egbert, how you startled me! What a surprise! When did you come, and how?” “J just came; walked from Avon. Who was that young man, Ione?’ “Stuart Aldrich is his name. He is a friend of Mrs. St. Julian’s, and has just re- turned from a trip in Europe. Shall I call Mrs. St. Julian? She has a severe headache,” ‘‘No, don’t disturb her. I would like to talk with you in the library, a few moments, about ten, to-morrow, girlie.” fone’s cheeks flushed, and a handsome face, that had appeared on the stairway, grew wan and convulsed. “May it be in the evening, instead, cousin Egbert? I am to ride with Mr. Aldrich at ten.” “Very well; good-night!” He turned darkly away, then with swift motion caught her in his arms, and pressed a first kiss on her calm brow. The girl sped up the stairway, passing Mrs. St. Julian coming down. “JT heard your voice, Mr. Warburton, and came to welcome you,” the housekeeper said, with an air of restraint wholly new to her. “Quite unnecessary, madam,” said Egbert, stiffly; ‘“‘but, since you have eome, perhaps you.will explain how it is a stranger has been admitted to my home during my absence.” “Tf you refer to my friend, Stuart Aldrich, allow me to assure you he is a young man of irreproachable character and antecedents,” was the haughty answer. “Oh! doubtless!” sneered Mr. Warburton. “Have you any commands for me? Is there any thing I can do for you?’ “Nothing, Mrs. St. Julian.” The lady bowed, and swept proudly up the stairway to her room; there to kneel, and moan, and shed bitter tears, all through the sleepless night; while, from below, echoed ceaselessly the steps of Egbert Warburton, pacing the parlor in restless wretchedness. To Ione, her cousin’s first caress had brought a swift revelation—she loved Stuart Aldrich. And he?—yes, she was sure he loved her. Would Mr. Warburton care very much, she wondered? And, at last, she fell asleep. The breakfast hour was unusually constrain- ed to the hitherto cheerful group. Miss Mar- cellus was glad to escape and dress for her ride. It was a trifle early when she came down to the drawing-room. It was pleasant, however, to wait in the autumn sunshine, and idly dream of the handsome rider who should soon dash up the drive. Her mind was very full of this, her first young love-dream; so full, indeed, that she had not noticed Mrs. St. Ju- lian’s unusual pallor, nor her cousin’s worn, haggard face. While waiting Ione dreamed of Stuart, a strange meeting occurred between Egbert Warburton and Mrs. St. Julian. Immediately after breakfast, the master of Lakedale had gone down the shaded avenue with a strange look on his weary face, The housekeeper watched him a few moments, then, with sudden determination, threw a wrap about her shoulders and hastened through the forest glades in swift pursuit. Over wood- land grasses, and through thickets festooned with moss-wreaths, she followed silently for a weary distance; and at last confronted him where he rested against the trunkof a tree, commanding a view of the road which led to Lakedale, His face was white, his mouth closed fiercely, his arms closed with defiant firmness over his massive chest. At sight of Mrs. St. Julian he never started, nor flinched beneath the stern questionings in her black eyes; only regarded her with a haughty stare, and greeted with angry questioning. “What does this mean, madam?” “Tt means that I have come to defeat your purpose of quarreling, perhaps worse, with Stuart Aldrich!” ‘‘Your interference is unwarrantable,” he said, sternly. “Nay, you mistake! It is not! You are forgetting yourself when you stoop to un- gentlemanly conduct, perhaps murderous thoughts! Have you cause?” For one instant his face grew more deadly white, then he broke forth, passionately: “Cause? Ten thousand times yes, woman! Every cup of happiness I have ever held to my lips has turned to bitterness. Loneliness, wretchedness has been mine through life. [I swear it shall not be to the end! First asweet girl-wife fled from my home, and left me sor- rowing, dishonored. When my bright, beauti- ful boy had grown to be the joy of my deso- drive, he heard the sweet tones of the piano, whither. And, after years of sorrow and se- clusion, Ione, a Fate-sent- wife to cheer my loneliness, is being won from me.” The housekeeper listened with drooped eyes; the excited man noted not her-shivering frame, her clasped, extended hands. “* And you love Ione, madly ?” “Too madly to haye my home, that her presence has brightened, grow desolate again! Too madly to see that young villain win her from me!” “Not if that young villain be your own son?” “Woman! are you mad?” “No, it is truth I tell: you. is your child.” “Good God! and in my frenzy, I would have killed him!” and Egbert Warburton un clasped his arms, and flung far from him, to a place deep-bedded in forest-mosses, the pistol that was to take the life of his only son. “Egbert, Egbert!” the woman before him cried. ‘‘Is it possible you could stoop to this?” The words were unheeded, but the tone thrilled him. For one breathless minute he looked at the gray bands of hair, the hand- some face, into the soft, slumbrous eyes; then he breathed huskily: “Tt is Eunice!” “ Yes.” The birds trilled mournfully in the scarlet- leaved trees, the insects droned slumbrously in the October sunshine, the winds swept the fra- grant forest incense against their wan faces, as minute after minute slid unheeded into the past, and these two looked silently into each other’s eyes. Looked, and read, each the other’s story. One had sinned, but not guiltily; both had suffered. Even with many dead years between their parting and meeting, they loved. * At last, hands grasped in warm, close clasp; lips met in long, sweet, tender caresses; eyes spoke full forgiveness; and hearts—united again—beat, one against the other in raptured unison. Walking slowly homeward, Eunice Warbur- ton explained the past. The mistake she, the girl-wife, had made when she believed Egbert had married her for spite, loving Huldah Bas- sett ; her flight, her return for her son ; her life’s unconquered love, her coming back to Lakedale, in answer to Mr. Warburton’s ad- vertisement, with a wild hope that she might yet win his heart. Ione Marcellus came back from her ride with Stuart Aldrich—henceforth Stuart Warbur- ton—with a love-born glory in her brown eyes; and her lover found no dreary-faced despairing man, but the father he had ceased to remember, supporting, with proud joy, his long lost wife. And Ione has demurred, at last, from aunt Huldah’s will, and lives at Lakedale as Mrs. Stuart Warburton. Stuart Aldrich * (CoMMENCED IN No. 5.) THE MADDEST MARRIAGE EVER WAS. BY MRS. JENNIE DAVIS BURTON, CHAPTER XIII. WHAT HAPPENED AND WHAT FOLLOWED. Mrs, TRELAWNEY swept the trailing lengths of the bright azure silk she wore up and down her room. There was no elasticity in her step; it was dragging and slow and painful, but a goading restlessness impelled her to motion. “JT feel as if I were haunted to-night,” she said to herself. ‘‘It’s nothing new; I’ve felt it ever since my fright upon the river. I’m ‘not a coward, and I know my fancy then was only an illusion, but if spirits could come back I should expect his to come and haunt me into my grave. What nonsense people talk about remorse haunting one ; I don’t believe it ever does; I know it never would trouble me. But fear does; dead as he is, buried as he has been ‘for years, | have never ceased to fear him. There, bah! how morbid I grow. I shall go and talk with the landlady, miserable, coarse creature, but even she is better than being alone in this gloomy hole.” She passed again into the outer room. A draught from that open window struck her, and she was seized with a convulsion of cough- ing which left her exhausted. She sunk back into the wooden rocker, panting, her hand pressed against her side. “How that hurts me! I don’t like advice— what woman does?—but I will take that of my good friend just gone and look after this troublesome cough. I don’t come of a con- sumptive.race and haven’t that fear on my mind; but I’m not ready to die yet, even of a fashionable disease, so I'll guard against the possibility of anytifing worse from this cold I have taken. Ugh! what draughts there are here.” : She rose with a shiver, then stood with stony, glaring eyes fixed upon the door. A horrible chill froze her into a statue of ice, white and ghastly. The door swung back silentl 7, and within. it stood a shape in long, white garments, ghostly enough in the name of all conscience, spectral in its gauntness, hollow eyes burning in its” face, pallid and drawn as that of a. corpse. Little wonder that Mrs. Trelawney should be- lieve the grave had really given up its dead at last. Im a fascination of horror she saw it mve; saw it draw nearer, step by step; saw the bloodless hand stretched toward her; saw those terrible eyes upon her. Then, with one long, loud, piercing scream something tense within her seemed to snap. She fell back in her late heart, he, too, vanished—none knew chair, a limp heap, The azure silk shimmered > in the lamplight; her golden hair, the one re- minder of her beautiful youth, glittered at its brightest, but something else was there—a gush of blood, a crimson stream bubbling from between her pallid lips. There had been no recognition of her, and no consciousness in Alfred Trelawney’s fever- burning eyes, but at sight of that red stain some memory struggled in his dazed, wander- ing brain. “Blood!” he said, in a hollow whisper, that raised almost to a shriek; ‘blood, and it is here onmy hand! It has been here for ages, and it will never wash off. Blood, blood!” “Great God! has the man murdered her?” The horrified exclamation came from the doc- tor appearing at the instant at his patient’s back. The gleaming eyes of the latter riveted upon the sight turned glassy; he puts up his hands to clasp his brow, then fell like lead into the arms of the physician outstretched to re- ceive him.