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Robert E. Lee Portrait
"Are you distressed at the
sympathy and interest I have felt for poor, dead Walter's Gertrude? Is it so,
Edith? is it so?"
He awaited her reply anxiously.
It came at last with a snap of fretfulness.
"You can go out there and comfort
Miss Fitz Hugh as often as you choose. It won't make one bit of difference to
any one in this house. Harry Lane will take me to parties and the Opera."
Bethel put her away from him, but
"You are not a baby, Edith, to be
coaxed back to smiles."
It has been nothing but Gertrude,
Gertrude, for the last two months," she pouted.
Mr. Stuart put a strong restraint
upon himself before he again trusted his voice.
"God grant I have not been
deceived in you, my precious Edith! But understand me once for all. I shall not
cast off Miss Fitz Hugh for this unwarrantable whim of yours. She has no
friends, and I promised my friend Walter Steyn, when he lay dying upon the
battle-field, that I would befriend her."
He paused to wipe the large drops
of perspiration from his forehead.
"Choose between us," cried Edith,
"Take care, take care, Edith,"
said Mr. Stuart, sternly: "you are rash—"
"I mean it," she replied, with a
light, mocking laugh. "I will never retract what I have said."
"Be it so, then." Mr. Stuart's
brow and lips grew white. His voice sounded strangely to his own ears. "You have
no pity on yourself. Farewell!"
Edith Barclay drew herself up
haughtily, and bowed with the stately grace of a duchess. But when the door
closed upon Bethel Stuart, she flung herself upon the sofa, and, hiding her face
among the cushions, sobbed as though her heart would break.
Half an hour later, hearing her
father's step in the hall, she started up hastily, pushing back the heavy braids
from her wet cheeks.
"Papa," she said, going to meet
him, laying her little hand upon his arm, "don't ring for coffee yet. I want to
tell you something."
"Tears, Edith? tears? Why, where
is Bethel? I don't see him here."
"That is the trouble, papa. I
suppose I have treated him rather badly, and he has gone off."
Mr. Barclay whistled, his eyes
turned up to the ceiling.
"And when is he coming back, my
dear?" he asked, laying his forefinger against the side of his nose, glancing
slyly at his daughter.
"Now, papa, don't—don't make fun
of me," she said, throwing her arms around her father's neck, drawing him down
to a chair, and seating herself upon his knee. "I know you think it is nothing
but a silly quarrel; but indeed—"
Edith burst into tears.
"Well, well, my pet! I am not
laughing at you: only thinking over my own young days, you know. Come, come,
Edith! Why, don't cry so, my dear."
He raised her hot face and laid
her cheek to his. "But, papa—"
"Well, my love?"
"You think Bethel will come back
to me? Don't you, papa—don't you?"
"What took him off in such a
"Because—because I didn't want
him to care so much for Miss Fitz Hugh."
"Who is she?"
"The young lady Walter Steyn
would have married if he had not been killed in battle."
"What has Bethel to do with her?"
"She is an orphan, papa; and
Bethel promised Mr. Steyn he would be her friend, and—"
"And what, Edith?"
"I felt badly about it."
"About what, my daughter?"
"Why, his going to see Gertrude,
and talking so much about her."
"Didn't Bethel want you to go and
see her too?"
"Yes; but I can't now."
"I went off into a fit of heroics
while Bethel was here this evening, and told him to choose between us. Afterward
I wouldn't retract what I had said."
"He went off, papa, and I let
"My daughter"—Mr. Barclay paused
a moment—"Bethel Stuart is a very proud man. He respects himself."
"Yes, papa; go on."
"And he won't come back—mark my
words, Edith!—he won't come back unless you send for him."
"Then he may stay away," was upon
Edith's lips; but something in her father's face checked such a light reply.
"Tell your mamma I want her—stay,
I will go up to her dressing-room, and have coffee there."
He kissed her tenderly and let
June came with her fragrant buds
and vines. On every way-side bough the little birds held protracted meetings.
Surely, silently, under the
influence of the sweet summer sunshine, the clouds of pride overshadowing Edith
Barclay's heart dispersed.
"Papa," she said, one day,
following her father from the dining-room into the hall, shyly putting a little
note into his hand, "would you send that —to—to—Mr. Stuart?"
Mr. Barclay rapidly ran his eye
over his daughter's delicate handwriting.
"Yes, my dear," he said, sadly.
"What is the matter, papa?" Edith
asked, glancing uneasily at him.
"Nothing now. I was thinking, my
love, that if you were too late—you understand me—why that there is nothing
contained in this little note to cause you any after-feeling of embarrassment."
"But I don't understand," said
"Never mind, love, I hope I may
be mistaken in some of my ideas."
Mr. Barclay sighed, and hastily
tucked his umbrella under his arm.
"Better send it by Thomas this
afternoon before he brings the carriage round. Good-day, my dear."
That evening several of Edith's
friends came in. Mr. Barclay watched his daughter narrowly. There was a flush
upon her cheek, and a light within her eye which he did not like.
Their young guests dispersed, he
drew her toward him, folding her to his heart.
"You are anxious and nervous,
"No, papa, not now," she said, in
a clear, calm voice. "See, I have his answer already." She drew a little
crumpled note from underneath her belt, quietly replacing it.
"I partly forfeited his respect
that evening, I fancy—my long silence has done the rest. Papa, do you remember
the day you brought me home those beautiful fuschias, and told me to give up
pouting or I would be too tardy? But I was very willful then, was I not, papa?"
She gazed up into her father's face with a sad, wistful expression, then quietly
bowed her forehead upon his arm.
"Edith, I shall take you to
Europe. You sha'n't stay here," said Mr. Barclay, in a husky voice.
"Does mamma know?" he asked,
She shook her head.
"Will you tell her, papa? I did
not dare; it will bring on one of those distressing sick headaches."
The pearl which Bethel Stuart had
carried so long within his bosom—hidden, as he profoundly thought, from human
ken—which he had day by day cherished more and more: waiting, waiting never so
patiently for the day when he might discover it to the fond, shy eyes of Edith
Barclay—what then? "Too late, too late:" she had come seeking for that which was
not; and the June showers wept Amen upon the trees.
Time sheathed his remorseless
summer scythe, sweet clover tops no longer swayed bashfully to the. south wind,
golden rods flashing gloriously in the sunlight—tender blades of grasses—buds,
lilies, blossoms: where were they garnered?
Scarlet leaves were falling upon
A little while, and Father Time,
with touch more delicate than a woman's, spread a white mantle over the ruin he
And the young days of the new
year flew by, and April came, coaxing with many tears the crocuses into bloom.
Gertrude Fitz Hugh bent eagerly
over them in Aunt Milly's garden, and, gathering a bunch, held them up
delightedly to Mr. Stuart.
He imprisoned her slender wrist
in a gentle grasp, brushing his cheek against the pretty flowers. Gertrude's
eyes fell beneath his gaze.
"Gertrude, the last words of
Walter Steyn have never passed my lips. Will you listen to me?"
Gertrude Fitz Hugh started
violently. A tremulous sigh fluttered to her lips. She did not speak, but waited
There was a strange thrill in Mr.
Stuart's voice as he continued:
"Walter died ignorant of the
engagement then existing between Miss Barclay and myself. Gertrude, besides
claiming my friendship for you, he said to me, 'Bethel, perhaps you and she will
love each other some day —my darling Gertrude!' Your name, Miss Fitz Hugh, came
with his last gasp."
Gertrude was sobbing.
Mr. Stuart raised her wet face to
the sunshine. "Will you be my Gertrude now?" he asked, tenderly.
A hot flush shot across her brow,
a deadly paleness succeeded. The crocus flowers slid from her weak grasp.
Locking her hands convulsively together, she said, in a hard, strained voice,
"You do not know your own heart.
You love Edith Barclay, Mr. Stuart. I never heard why you parted. But you love
her passionately even now. And—she—I saw her white face with its fitful
flushings one day in the city, while Aunt Milly and I were shopping. Afterward I
compared your two faces and thought you were to blame."
"And you do not love me,
Gertrude?" he asked, stooping to pick up her flowers.
For an instant her lips quivered
too rapidly for words, then she said, distinctly and resolutely, with a touch of
"I think you have no right to
offer me your love, Mr. Stuart."
He turned abruptly and left her.
Gertrude watched him until he
disappeared behind the lilac boughs at the end of the long garden, then
gathering up her wilted blossoms, went to her room to think.
How many of us have sought the
seclusion of our chambers to think—think how we may best put away the remnants
of a bright dream, and patiently take up again the threads of daily human life,
and weave, weave monotonously, to the flow of our stealthy tears.
Did he love Edith Barclay,
passionately even, as Miss Fitz Hugh had confidently asserted?
Bethel Stuart's heart responded
Yes. His mind reverted to the note which he had received from Edith in the early
part of the last summer, and how nettled he had felt because she had not written
sooner. From that day forth he had steeled his heart against her.
Now a woman's hand had dared to
turn aside the keen points of pride, bristling at the port-holes of his heart,
and lo! there was his pearl not lost, only hidden.
Again he stood in Mrs. Barclay's
softly lighted parlors and heard Edith's light step upon the stair. Not rapid as
of yore, when springing to welcome hint, but slowly, almost reluctantly, he
His heart throbbed painfully as
she came into the room, a slight blush mantling her cheek, and spreading in
crimson tides to neck and brow.
Bethel Stuart quietly placed a
chair for her.
"I must beg you to bear with me
patiently for a few moments." He paused, his emotion broke through all barriers.
"Edith! Edith! can you forgive?"
She raised her eyes to his face
with a shy, surprised look. A soft, half-dreamy light stole into them.
"Edith! Edith!" he repeated,
pleadingly holding out his arms to her.
She came to him, and with the
movement of a weary child laid her head upon his breast. "We are both of us
wiser and better now, are we not?" he whispered, softly.
CAMPAIGNING IN LOUISIANA.
THE picture on
illustrating PICKET DUTY IN THE SWAMPS OF LOUISIANA, shows what our brave
soldiers have to encounter in their campaign under General Banks. Alligators and
rattlesnakes abound on the bayous and in the swamps, and all manner of
unpleasant creeping, flying, and walking creatures swarm under the luxuriant
tropical vegetation, Campaigning in such a region has its charm; but it has its
CHLOASMA, OR MOTH PATCHES.
Blemishes on the face, called
Moth, are very annoying, particularly to ladies of light complexion, as the
discolored spots on the skin show more strongly on blondes than on brunettes,
but they contribute greatly in marring the beauty on either; and any thing that
will remove moth patches without injuring the skin in texture or color, would no
doubt be considered a great achievement in medical science. Dr. B. C. PERRY,
having devoted his whole time and attention to Diseases of the Skin, will
guarantee to remove Moth Patches, Freckles, and other discolorations from the
face without injury to either texture or color of the skin. His success in this,
as in other branches of his speciality—DISEASES OF THE SCALP and LOSS OF
HAIR—will warrant him in guaranteeing a CURE IN EVERY CASE. For full
particulars, address, enclosing stamp for a circular, DR. B. C. PERRY, No. 49
Bond Street, New York. All Consultations Free.
Parisian Fashion for the
Ladies.—LE BONTON "JOURNAL DE MODES," given in French and English, is the
cheapest fashion-book in this country. Its styles of Dress, Cloaks, and Bonnets
for this month are lovely. Price one year (monthly), Five Dollars. Single copy,
with two full-sized patterns, Fifty Cents. Address S. T. TAYLOR, 407 Broadway,
359. Old Prices. 359.
Satin Delaine Curtains
WHITE HOLLAND SHADES,
Gold Window Shades,
Buff Holland Window Shades,
Green Holland Window Shades.
BEST UPHOLSTERERS EMPLOYED.
G. L. & J. B. KELTY,
Send stamp for circulars. Rice &
Co., 37 Park Row, N.Y.
NATIONAL AMERICAN AMUSEMENT CARDS.
Colonel for King, Goddess of
Liberty for Queen, and Major forJack. 52 enameled cards to the pack. Eagles,
Shields, Stars, and Flags are the suits, and you can play all the usual games.
Three packs mailed free on receipt of One Dollar. The usual discount to the
trade. Send for a Circular. Address AMERICAN PUBLISHING AGENCY, 14 Chambers
Street, New York.
$75 A MONTH guaranteed.
Address ISAAC HALE JR. & CO., Newburyport, Mass.
The Curative will soon soften the
Corn by its peculiar qualities, and it becomes detached from the natural flesh
and easily removed, leaving the feet free from any disagreeable sensation. The
boot or shoe can be worn at all times after the application with ease. Send for
Sold by Druggists, and sent by
mail at 50 cents, $1, and $2 OFFICE 212 BROADWAY, N. Y.
Corns, Bunions, Calosities, Club,
and Inverted Nails, Vascular Excrescences, Enlarged and Diseased Joints, Frosted
and Blistered Feet, Chilblains, and all kindred ailments of the Feet, skillfully
and successfully treated by Dr. J. R. Briggs, Surgeon Chiropodist, 212 Broadway,
These Celebrated Engraved Cards
sold only at J. EVERDELL'S Old Establishment, 302 Broadway, cor. Duane St., N.Y.
Established 1840. For Specimen by Mail, send two stamps.
CURED IN 12 HOURS. Maj. J. T.
Lane's Remedy for Small Pox is the most startling discovery in the history of
medicine. It cures the fearful disease in 12 hours. Leases no scar, and is a
sure preventive, thus doing away with Vaccination. Send a stamp for a pamphlet.
Depot 88 Cedar Street, N. Y.
Took place this Week at
300 Canal Street.
Never before has he made a better
And claims still to be
"The Leader of Fashions."
Union League Badge.
12 Waverley Place.
Madame Benedict, of Rue de la
Paix, Paris, has just received, at her new Branch Rooms, 12 Waverley Place,
several cases of freshly imported Bonnets and Head-dresses.
A DISTINCT Department for
Soldiers, see to your own Health,
do not trust to the Army supplies; Cholera, Fever, and Bowel Complaint will
follow your slightest indiscretion. HOLLOWAY'S PILLS AND OINTMENT should be in
every man's knapsack. The British and French troops use no other medicines. Only
25 cents per box or pot.
DO YOU WANT LUXURIANT WHISKERS OR
MUSTACHES?— My Onguent will force them to grow heavily in six weeks (upon the
smoothest face) without stain or injury to the skin. Price $1—sent by mail, post
free, to any address, on receipt of an order. R. G. GRAHAM, No. 109 Nassau
Street, N. Y.
Ladies of Delicate Constitution
and uncertain health are strenuously auvised to throw aside the nauseous and
useless preparations with which they are accustomed to drug themselves, and test
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Hostetter's Stomach Bitters,
PREPARED AND SOLD BY
HOSTETTER & SMITH, PITTSBURGH,
DEPOT FOR NEW YORK, 428 BROADWAY.
HARPER & BROTHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE, NEW YORK,
Have Just Published:
HARPER'S PICTORIAL HISTORY OF'
THE REBELLION IN THE UNITED STATES. Four Numbers now ready. Price 25 cents a
THE INVASION OF THE CRIMEA:
Origin, and an Account of its Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan. By
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A FIRST FRIENDSHIP. A Novel. 8vo,
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With Map, Fifty Illustrations by Wolf and Zwecker, and a Portrait of the Great
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