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VOL. II.
ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, JUNE 2, 1882.
NO. 43.
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11
THE THREE GREENS.
Shortly after the Crimean war, an in
dividual -whose right arm encased m
splints and hung in a sling, entered a
magnificent jewelry shop, the proprietor
of which was a Mr. James Green. The
stranger had that in his appearance
which is generally styled dignity; his
carriage and garb revealed the military
veteran, and his manners the finished
gentleman. . At the door halted an ele
gant caribolet, and the good taste of its
owner "was made apparent by the plain
and neat livery of the groom and the
choice trappings of the handsome
. blooded horse. -
The stranger stated that ho was de
sirous of procuring a complete silver
table service, rich, solid and elegant,
with but little ornamentation. Could
Mr. Green prepare such a one for him?
The goldsmith answered, of course, in
the affirmative, and he showed several
patterns to his visitor, who then de
scribed very minutely the style in which
he wished the articles" to be made, and
asked by what time they could be ready.
At the same time he insisted on punctu
ality, saying that he must use the set at
a reception he would soon give at his
new residence in Leicester square. Mr,
Green promised to have it done in three
weeks, and then the two parties discussed
the terms.
The jeweler very carefully made all
his calculations and demanded jC1200.
The stranger thought a few moments,
then Lsaid he had determined upon get
ting a service at a cost of $1500, and re
quested Mr. Green to add as many more
pieces to the set as would fix the price at
that sum. Mr. Green thanked the gen
tleman for his remark of confidence, and
inquired of him to whose recommenda
tion he owed his patronage.
"No one ha3 recommended you to me,"
repb'ed the stranger.
The jeweler looked up in surprise.
The stranger, who had hitherto worn au
air of dignity almost amounting to
aasterity now became more friendly and
continued:
"I am a soldier. I have served for
years in India, and more recently in the
.Crimea. At Balaklava, I received a
"severe wound in ray right arm and hand
which will, perhaps, disable the member
for life. My patronage you owe to
your parents, grand parents, and, in
fact, to the whole line of your ances
tors." tm . i -j .1 t ;i
x lie jeweier was aiuaxKu ami Lewii
tiered.. iis parents and otuer ancestors
had long been dead, and could not have
referred the soldier to him. The latter
Apparently enjoyed Mr. Green's perplex-
ity, and smiling continued.
'I will make myself clearer. When in
consequence of this unfortunate wound"
here a sudden twinge in his arm made
him start painfully "I was compelled
to leave the service, I resolved to settle
in London. While riding out, the other
day,' I was attracted by the appearance
of your splendidly furnished shop, but
more so by the name on your sign, for
mine is precisely the same. To this
simple reason you own the present visit
of Colonel James Green, of the Grena
dier Gnards."
The jeweler expressed his delight at
the honor of being a namesake of so dis
tinguished a warrior, and, after a few
more phrased of this sort, conversation
reverted to the business in hand.
"May I now inform you, said the
jeweler, with some hesitation, "of the
conditions which must be generally
complied with previous to making a
sale?" I
"No," said the colonel, sharply. "I
have my own way of doing business!
You and I do not know each other, and
although my order is not an uncommon
ly large one, yet it amounts to a sum
which you cannot credit a stranger. I
will therefore pay you 100 cash down
for a surety, the remaining '1400 when
I call for the service."
Mr. Green accepted the proffer with
profuse thanks.
"You need not thank me," the officer
interrupted. "As I remarked, I always
have a way of my own, from which I
never like to deviate. Now do me the
favor to take my portnionnaie from my
coat pocket; my unfortunate Balaklava
wound" the colonel again winced with
pain "has maimed my right hand and
arm completely."
Mr. Green expressed his sympathy in
the warmest terms, carefully pulled the
portmonnaie from the veteran's coat
pocket, opened it at his desire, and
from four or five new notes took one,
which the colonel requested him to keep.
Mr. Green wrote off a receipt and placed
it in the old pocket-book, which he care
fully restored to its resting place. lie
then assisted the colonel to enter the
carriage, and the groom Colonel Green
could not drive on account of his injured
arm rapidly drove off in the direction
of Leicester square. The jeweler.though
much overjoyed, was a cautious busi
ness man, and notwithstanding the con
siderable deposit, proceeded to make his
safety certain.
In the "War List," he readily found
the name and rank of his customer, just
as they had been given, and from the
estate agent who rented out the splendid
mansion in Leicester squaiej he had as
certained that it bad recently been occu
pied by Colonel James Green, of the
iGnard8, and that the latter had brought
most excellent recommendations: from
his banker and sundry other distinguish
ed personages.
In the course of the three weeks, at
the end of which the set was to be done
the colonel often came into the shop to
see how the work was going on, and al
ways discoursed so affably with the gold
smith that the latter could not find
sufficient words of praise for his genial
customer when speaking to others abont
him. " At last the service waa completed.
It was placed upon a large table in the
counting room, and covered with a cloth
of blue velvet. Punctual at the stipu
lated time in the afternoon. Colonel
Green entered the shop, his elegant cab
riolet with the blocded horses remaining
before the door in care of the groom.
The officer stepped into the counting
room, and Mr. Green, swelling with
pride, removed the velvet cloth from
the service. The colonel, though usu
ally a quiet man, declared that it sur
passed his most sanguine expectation,
and greatly insisted upon paying the
entire 1500, and also upon the jeweler
retaining the deposit of 100 as a dou
ceur for the satisfaction he had given.
"You owe me no thanks, my dear Mr.
Green," warmly said the colonel to the
delighted goldsmith. "Give me your
nand and again receive mv nearttelt ac
knowledgement for this superb master
piece." I
The jeweler's beaming opuntenance,
on grasping the hand of his namesake,
i i. i : : .3 At .1 ..:i..t
"Now, to business," said the colonel.
"Be so kind as to take out rav pocket
book and count off your 1500, for I
do not wish to tarry a moment before
showing your "chef dceuvre to my
wife."
The jeweler hastened t6 comply. He
took from the officer's breast coat pocket
a card case, a set of ivory tablets and
a silk purse, through whose meshes
glittered some five or six sovereigns
but no pocketbook. Upon the colonel's
request, he then examined all his pock
ets. The search was futile.
"Strange! Incomprehensible! Could
I have lost it or been robbed?" muttered
the colonel, audibly; perplexed and pro
voked. "What o'clock is it?" heasked
suddenly.
"Twenty-five minutes to five, ' was the
reply.
"Good, it is time enough. You must
make yourself of service to me once
more, my dear Mr. Green, and act as
my right hand. Will you have the good
ness to write a few lines for me to my
wife?"
With these "words the colonel step
ped to the jeweler's desk, on which lay
some writing paper, printed with the
name of the firm. Taking a sheet he
placed it before the jeweler, saying,
"This will do; my wife knows that lam
here. He then dictated and the jeweler
wrote:
"Mi Dear Wife. Have the goodness
to send me at once 1500, through the
bearer. Yon know where the money is
kept. I am in immdiate need of it;
therefore do not detain the messenger,
who is a trustworthy person. Your
affectionate husband.. Jon.v Grrkn.
"Thank you." said the colonel, after
perusing the epistle
"Michael" he
door and calling
cried, stepping to the
the groom, "take this letter, ride home
as fast a3 you can, and return at once to
this place with that which my wife will
give you.
The groom took the letter, bowed and
quickly drove oil.
Fifteen minutes, half an
an hour passed away and
not return. The colonel
tient and wished that he
hour, nearly
Michael did
waxed impa
had gone in
person for the money. The jeweler es
sayed to tranquilize him, but withont
effect.
"I have always regarded the fellow as
honest and trustworthy," said the colonel
"and have on seyeral occasions intrusted
him with large sums of money, though,
it is true, never with as much as at' this
time. Fifteen hundred pounds have
proved too strong a temptation for
him." Pulling out his magnificent gold
watch, he continued, "I will wait just
seven and one-half minutes lonirer that
is exactly the time it takes to drive here
from Leicester square."
The seven and a half minutes were
gone and the groom did not come. The
colonel could not contain himself any
longer.
"Do me the favor.. Mr. Green, to
call a cab," ho said, in tho greatest im
patience. "I shall go home myself and return
within half an hour."
The cab was soon at the door.
- "Quick to Leicester square," cried the
colonel to the coachman. "A half crown
extra if you drive well." -
The cab drove "on as rapidly as the
horses could go. The goldsmith mean
time had the service packed up, and
then waited for his patron's return. The
clock struck six, seven, eight, nine.
The
colonel did not come. Something
usual must have detained him; but
jeweler felt no anxiety, for had he
not
still the service and a deposit of one hun
dred pounds.
Tired of waiting at last he closed his
shop, at half after nine, and went home.
His wife who had long been expecting
him, had grown sleepy and was slumber
ing on a sofa. An open letter lay in her
lap. Mr. Green stepped .-lightly to her.
intending to awaken her with a kiss,
when his eyes fell upon the letter.
"What is this?" he cried dumbfound-
ed, as he recognized his own handwrit
ing and the letter which he had just
written for the colonel.
The reader can readily gaess the se
quel and the connection.
True, there existed a Colonel Green
who had served in India and the Crimea
and had been wounded at Balaklava, who
had rented the house in Leicester square
and who possessed a considerable for
tune but, alas! he was not the Colonel
Green who had ordered tho silver ser
vice. Heaven knows by what means the
sharpers had gained knowledge of all the
facts and circumstances upon which they
constructed their admirably ingenious
plan.
The man personating the groom, of
course, was an accomplice, and the let
ter which Mr. James Green had penned
for the pseudo Colonel James Green
was delivered by him to the jeweler's
wife,Jwho did not hesitate to deliver to
him the fifteen hundred pounds, because
she recognized her husband s band
writing upon the paper stamped with
the name of the jewelry firm. Who the
sly rogues were never was brought to
light.
Breeds of Poultry.
There are many breeds of poultry
which are seldom or never seen on this
ceast. Yet they appear in the collections
of fanciers in the Est and in Europe,
and form the i foundation for crosses of
value. The climate of the Pacific coast
particularly of California, is so admira
bly adapted to the production of the
finest poultry that it is perhaps worth
while to test every breed known to the
fanciers of other countries. The follow
ing notes are taken from the best poultry
books, and cover the entire list of varie
ties shown at the greatest exhibitions of
the world: j
The Anconas are a cross between the
black and the white Minorcas. The
plumage is mottled gray, or dominique
in color; the comb face and. lobes are
like the Minorca. They are hardy, good
layers and non-setters. White, red and
yellow in the plumage disqualifies.
The Minorcas alluded to in the pre
vious paragraph, are supposed to have
originated ages ago on the Balearic Is
lands in the Mediterranean sea. The
black Minorcas were possibly ancestors
of the black Spanish, but are more ro
bust and have a red face; splendid layers
and non-setters; eggs very large and
pure white: plumage crreen-oiack, or
purple-black, and lustrous; comb up
right, hrm: very fine fowls for farmer s
use, being hardy and maturing early.
Another important breed is the Anda
lusians. origin obscure; first exhibited
in 1848. The type of the Andalusian
fowl is tall, slender, long neck, legs
grey, pumage bluish, or slaty, laced with
black. The eggs are large, and the fowl
is noted for laying qualities. The chick
ens are remarkably precocious, luis is
a val uable breed for general use.
The best and largest of the Hamburg
tribe are the blacks. There are few
birds of equal beauty to a fancier's eye.
They are delicate and' cannot be raised
easily unless the breeder can give them
a good range and some attention. Among
other varieties of the Hamburg are the
gold penciled, the silver penciled and
the redcaps. These are all favorites
among the fanciers, and great regularity
in the penceliugs and spangles . is re
quired.
The Biahmas, light and dark, are no
table fowls the world over. The light
and the dark should in all respects save
color, be similar. An adult male should
weigh 12 to 14 pounds; an adult hen 8
to 10 pounds; pullets G to 8 pounds.
The "points" essential for exhibition
purposes in this breed are numerous and
carefully defined in works on the sub
ject. It has long been a favorite in
poultry shows.'
Leghorns, white and brown, originally
from the city whose name they bear,
seem to be a! favorite in the United
States and have been brought to great
perfection. They are non-sotters and
prolific layers, but the eggs are small.
They are hardy, vigorous, like an exten
sive range, and the chickens are of very
little trouble. They are stylish and orn
amental for exhibition purposes. For
farm uses the brown Leghorn crossed
with light Brahma s make an excellent
bird. The Andalusians are perhaps the
only birds that surpass the Leghorns as
layers. J
The Chittagohgs were the breeds of
poultry which played a part during the
furore of 1850 in New York, over largo
fowls. They are a coarse gray bird, and
very little is at present seen or heard of
them. j
Cochins are are another of the noted
large breeds, the cock weighing 12 or 15
pounds, and the hen from 7 to 11 pounns.
The body is deep and wide, chest promi
nent, tail very short. The varities are
the buff, the white, the black, the par
tridge Cochin and the cuckoo Cochin.
All these are admirably adapted for use
in close quarters, and for small yarns.
The Cochins aro pretty good breeds for
table use. All the varieties aro hand
some and stylish exhibition birds. They
iay well in winter, but are too broody.
They are crossed, with the Dorkings to
improve their laying powers.
The Couites Pattes is a French breed
very difficult to procure, but said to be a
prolific layer. jThey have remarkable
abort legs. Another French breed
which is widely known is the Crevicceur,
one of the best for table use in dry
places, but unfit for damp localities.
The birds are lorge and handsome. They
are poor layers.
One of the valuable and leading breeds,
the Dominique, jis of American origin.
They are good layers and hardy. The
cocks weigh from seven to eight pounds,
and the hens sixjpounds. This is also a
good table fowl, j "
Of ancient fame in poultry annals is
the Dorking, probably descended from
the Roman fowl described by Columella.
Four varieties are known, the white,
the cuckoo, the dark and the silver.
Their proper place is on the table; they
are inferior layers. The cock ranges in
weight from 10 to 14 pounds, and the
hen from 8 to lOjponuds. The chickens
are somewhat hard to raise. A peculiar
ity of this breed lis the presence of a fifth
toe.
Congress has bought Charles Wilson
Peale's portrait of Washington lately ex
hibited at the Corcoran Gallery. The
price is said to be $5000. The joint con
gressional committee on the library has
bought for the White House a three
quarters life-sized portrait of Garfield
recently furnished by E. F. Andrews of
wasningtou.
One Worn Hi's Work.
Off the coast of North Carolina, a few
miles from Baufort, there rises a small
bit of land, known as Harker's Island. It
is about five miles long, by two broad.
Fifteen years ago it was inhabited by one
or two hundred people, all of the poor
white class. Their degradation, demor
alized by the slave system, it would be
impossible to describe. At this war
period they were in their lowest depth of
wretchedness, moral and physical. A
book was unknown upon the island.
They never repeated the name of God,
or heard it, except in oaths. They lived
in miserable huts, whole families some
times crowded into one room, in poverty
and filth inconceivable. . They despised
work, subsisting entirely upon govern
ment rations, which they obtained upon
the plea of helplessness. Their repul
siveness almost destroyed compassion,
and men shrank from them as from the
oontagion of a plague.
At this time Miss J. C. Bell, a Worth-
ern woman, went to JNortu Carolina,
with the purpose of teaching the freed
men. But, on arriving, she found the
field in that neighborhood well occupied
by teachers, and. soon after, her atten
tion was drawn to Harker's Island.
Miss Bell's pity for this miserable peo
pie seems to have been deeper than her
aversion, for she soon decided to open a
school for the children. There was no
building which would serve as a school
house, a roof and four posts being all
that the island could furnish, lhe au
thorities at Beaufort being appealed to,
a floor and walls were added to this prim
itive structure. A log lean-to was also
built against it, which was to serve as the
teacher s home.
In this small school-room MissB. gath
ered such of the children as she could,
and began work. Half naked, diseased,
with the blight of generations of ignor
ance upon them, they came to be taught.
Their primer lessons were well salted
with maxims of neatness, and along with
the rudiments of common knowledge
they acquired a strong respect for their
instructor. These good results produced
their effect upon the parents, for grad
ually Miss B. 7as able to extend her in
fluence, an1 incited the islanders to am
bition and labor.
The difficulties in this direction were
the greatest she had to encounter. Their
contempt for labor words are not equal
to. Yet with such unlikely material she
bravely conceived the idea of making the
community self-supporting. The first
step toward it was to represent to the
government authorities that the Harker's
Island people did not need rations. As a
result the supplies were cut off and they
were left to shift for : themselves. The
island was naturally productive, and the
shores yielded abundant fish and oys
ters. For these Miss Bell obtained a
market. She taught her people how to
utilize the raw materials abouc them.
She instructed them in the practical arts
of tilling the soil, (often doing over her
self their half-and-half slip-shod work,)
and always paying them for it eut of her
own means.
The assistance she solicited from per
sonal friends and otners interested in
her undertaking was mostly devoted to
objects of permanent value and repro
ductive quality. She made it" a point
that no one should receive anything for
which some return was not made. This
wise s? stein of benevolence produced its
results in the beginnings of self-respect,
honesty, and ambition. Their organic
untruthfulness was gradually exposed to
them, and their moral sense quickened.
It is not easy to imagine Miss Bell's
personal life during these years. An ex
perience so unique requires reflection to
appreciate. But the sohtude of it at
once impresses the mind. one was ab
solutely alone. There was no one near
her who could have any understanding
of her thoughts and motives, and the
island had no regular communication
with the world. Shut off from all so
ciety, constantly giving of her best, with
out the encouragement of present sym-
prthy and counsel, and withou.t hope or
thought of reward, this narrat Jve of her
life, as she has herself given it in various
towns of the North, is a real romance.
The hard prose of her daily toil and en
deavor had in itsucn underlying quali
ties of patience, heroism, and devotion
as only rare heroines exhibit.
During the early years or tms lime
Miss B. lived in the log lean-to built
against the school house. She has now
much more comfortable accommodations
the ordinary furnishings of an unpre
tending home. A rare friend or visitor
steps aside from the ordinary routes of
travel, and spends a day or two unuer
her roof. Her door is always open, lit-
literally as well as figuratively. Nothing
. . ll il 1. 1 i
in connection Wltu una nouiu wumau is
more striking than her fearlessness and
generous confidence in the 'people about
her. She , never locks her door upon
them, and she has never been intruded
upon.
The change wmcu niteen years nave
wrought upon Harper's Island, through
her unselfish efforts, is her best reward.
Her hope to make the people self-sup
porting is being surely, it slowly, real
ized. They are acquiring iiamts oi in
dustry, and becoming honest .intelligent,
and respectable. The wretched huts
they formerly occupied are giving place
to neat, comfortable houses in the midst
of productive gardens. The soil is being
cultivated, and is -yielding the fruits
adapted to it. Sunday is respected, and
brings with it, not only abstinence from
labor, but the opportunity oi uunsiiau
worship in a comfortable church, lhe
school, begun under such desperate cir
cumstances, still continues, and is the
center of good influences which have
made the island what it is.
This is one woman s work. If a de
tailed account of it were to be fitly given
it would form one of the most striking
chapters of individual history.
THE OLD WELL
trnn ... v 4- 1 Imnm it T attAM I.aJ
j" j"" wouu iu jvuvw ii j. ooi uuu
romance?" said Aunt Margaret, leaning
back in her
easy
chair j with a mild, re-
flective look
upon her peaceful face.
Yes, something did happen to me once
that may seem like one to you, though I
never nought ol calling it by tnat
name.
"Letrs hear it, auntie, please, l an
sweredl pushing the velvet hassock
nearer
her, and giving an extra shake
to the bright coal fire.
The night was somewhat cold and
Vvl ii a4- aE r Aiif ollo Till 4-1 w ' 4vn 1 wt a1a
Aunt Margaret's room, with its warm
hued furniture, its softly cushioned easy
uiuobiiuK t-f u voivt j m ksuv vumu vuij auuvio
chairs, its glowing hre and shaded astral
lamp, look all the more inviting.
She rwas a distant relative who had
come to pay us a long promised visit,
and fro u ray first glance at her fine,
stately figure and her noble, placid
countenance,knowing that she had never
married, I got the notion into my head
that she must have had a romance. Her
hair was still brown and abundant, while
her eyes shone clear and blue as a young
girl s. And yet Aunt Margaret was well
past fifty
"Well, my dear," she began, smiling
softly, r 'once upon a time, as the story
books say, l was young, and considered
rather prettv "
"Oh, bo need to tell me that, Aunt
Margart t, I interrupted, gazing with
unfeigned admiration at the handsome
face, into which a delicate rose-color
came so brightly at the memory of her
girlish loveliness. "You might easily
carry of; the palm of beauty from us
now, if you felt so inclined.
She smiled again as she saw how sin
cere was my tribute to her charms, and
resumedjher story:
"I had, of course, my share of admir
ers among tne village youtn, and was a
great favorite at balls; quilting parties,
husking bees, and all the other enter
tainments of village society: yet 1
reached the age of twenty heart whole
and fancy free, still keeping house for
my widowed father, as I had done almost
from childhood, and never caring to
make any change.
"Because the right one' hadn't come
along, auntie," I said eagerly, thinking
of my "t onnie Charlie," with his curly
locks anO lightsome heart, and wonder
ing how irirls in any age of the world
could ha re loved, married and lived hap-
fily without ever having known the sun
ight of bis presence.
"Well, Madge, he came at last, con
tinued Aunt Margaret, with a gentle
sigh which seemed to waft her far back
into the nappy pest, "and the manner of
his comirjg was one that I can never for
get. Our house stood at one end of the
street, and in a far corner of the lot stood
an old well, neglected and unused for
years, save by us silly girls, who found it
a romantic spot to try our fortunes by
on Hallowe en. But it was very danger
ous, being unprotected oj euro or tence,
and standing as it did close to the public
road, I had often begged my father to
make it more secure, but he neglected it
until my proDhecy of danger from it was
at last fulfilled.
"One dark, starless evening in Octo
ber, returning from a visit to a neigh
bor's, I was passing the old well, when
suddenly a low groan of agony caught
my ear. Instantly I realized the awful
truth that some traveler had fallen into
the dark 'and dangerous pit, and my
heart stood still with horror. But only
for a moment. I saw the need of instant
action, and, leaning over the edge of the
black, yawning hole, I called loudly to
the person within not to despair, for I
would soon bring him assistance.
"Then rushing to the house, and call
ing wildly at every step for help, I be
gan an eagei, treu.bling search for a
rope, which I soon had knotted firmly
around a stout, crooked old pear tree
standing
near the well. Then I called
again to the poor groanin? victim below
I bade him grasp the rope tightly and
let me pull him up. But it was no use
My only answer was another moan, so
low and deep that I thought the poor
wretch was dying.
"What to do I did not know. No help
had come and I feared to lose a moment
by going After it. But I was young and
strong and nerved with tho courage of
desperation, so I did not hesitate long.
How I managed it successfully 1 never
could tellL but I let myself down by the
rope until I reached the bottom of that
dark abyss and found tho helpless being
whom Providence had sent me to rescue,
too much injured to move a limb.
"As gently and quickly as I could, in
that awful situation, I fastened the rope
around liis body and lifted him in a
more convenient position ; to be drawn
up; tlien nand over nand, nice a sailor,
an,d blistering the skin as. I went, I
slowly climbed to the top again, where I
found my father and two or three
anxious neighbors just beginning to
realize what had occurred. It was well
they had come, for my girl's strength,
try as I would, could never have drawn
that large, strong man to the surface;
nor could he have lived much longer in
the deadly gasses of the old well.
"He seemed more dead than living
when he came up and one arm was
found to be broken. He proved to be a
young merchant from a distant city, who
had come to visit a friend in the village,
and had met with his accident while
walking io his friend's house. But he
was too badly hurt to be removed, and
for weeks he was an inmate of our home,
where alrr ost the entire care of the in
valid devolved upon me.
"I need not give you the history of
those weeks, Madge, but they were the
sweetest I have ever known in my long
life of hall a century. Hugh Woodman
was the hero I had dreamed of hand
some, nohle looking, polished in manner
and conversation. Better than all that
he was the soul of honor. Before solicit
ing my father's permission' to offer m
a I At. l.'t. 1 " 1. 1 1 I .t 1 1 V ,
a i ixio iiiu wuicu u uaways ueciarea I uad
saved, he told us frankly the story of his
past.
"He was a young man then only 27
yet he had already been . married .and
divorced.' His young wife had been un
faithful to him, and after bearing with
her faults and the disgrace they brought
upon his name as long las he could, tbev
were legally separated, and the care of
their only child was entrusted to him.
This chillis iittle lliywaa a tLeme
of which : he never tired. Hour" after
hour he talked to me of her. nraiaiher
her beauty and goodness, planning for
her future with us, and! begging me a
thousand times over to love her for his
sake. i
"But he had no need to ask me that.
Anything that belonged to him was dear
to me. Even the faithless wife who bore
his name was an object! of interest to my
mind, and many times I found myself
pitying her for having cast aside the
priceless blessing of Hugh's love. For
I knew that his old love for her was dead
and buried, and that the whole wealth of
affeotion in his heart and soul was mine
mine.
Aunt Margaret paused. and the intense
look which her blue eyes gathered in the
' m t
memories oi long ago gave ner iace, i
fancied the same expression which it
must have worn in the ltve-days of her
youth. ,
"Yes, she resumed, f'our happiness
was perfect far too perfect to last. Our
marriage was to take place on Christmas
and after a short vedding tour we were
to settle down at once to housekeeping
in the city. He had brought little Lily
to see me, and she was to come to us for
good the moment we j returned from
our tour. How I loved the ( child 1 . not
only for her father's sake, btrHor the in
nate loveliness of her own sweet, child
ish nature. 1
"She did sot look like Hugh, there
fore I knew that she must resemble her
lost mother; ard if so, how beautiful
that mother must have been! Lily
was a blonde, as I wa, but the fairness
of my skin was snow-white in hers, the
blue of her eyes was more the intense
brilliancy of the sapphire, and the
blonde of her hair, the shimmer of bur
nished gold. I can see Hugh now, as
he stood with- halfj tearful, half
laughing eyes, watching me caress
his darling child, and thinking to
tease me by calling me the 'young step
mother. !
The week before Christmas found us
all as bright and happy as a prospective
wedding party could ever be: but it
brought a new actdr upon the scene who
was destined to change it all in the
twinkling of an eye. Hugh's divorced
wife, having in some way learned of his
intended marriage, had made her war
out to our village, determined to win
back to herself the husband whom she
had deserted. Had she appealed to
Hugh alone she could never have been
successful, for she had utterly forfeited ;;
all claims to his love or confidence, and -
his heart was too entirely mine for her
pleadings to have moved him. But find
ing him firm and unyielding, she sought
me out." I
"Oh, Aunt Margaret!" I interrupted
in amazement, "surely you did not vol
untarily give up Hugh's love for the
sake of that bad woman?;'
"Yes, child, I did, she hastily an-
swered.with a'little choking sound in her
voice. "And you could not have be
lieved her bad, Madge, . had - you seen
her, as I did, imploring, with tears and
sobs, to be restored to her husband and
child. She was so lovely oh! a thou
sand times lovelier than I . ever was,
though Hugh had always called me
pretty. . In those days, Madge, divorce
was not so'lightly thought of as it is
m lit it .
now. A divorced wiie, wnemer jusuy
or not, was always regarded with sus
picion, and the disgrace even attached to
Ln whom r loved so well and for the
8ike of her future I helped plead her
children. 1 thought of
mother's cause with Hugh.
"It was long before he would listen to
either of us, but at last he left the deci
sion of his fate to me. Oh, child, I can
never forget the anguish that filled his
loving eyes as he did so! 'My life is
in your hands, Margaret,' he said, in
his wife's presence; 'you saved it once,
and it is yours, both "by right and my
own choice. : Do with it as you will So
Madge, I decided against myself, and
that is why you see me an old maid to
day." "And they were married over again?
How strange! But was she a good wife
to Hugh after that. Aunt Margaret?" I
asked,- with a girlish curiosity, not
thinking that my words might wound
the noble heart, until I noticed the
slight shudder with which she answered
them.
"Yes, Madge, I heard of them years
afterward, a happy and united family. I
have always found strength to be thank
ful that I helped reconcile them to each
other. My life is flowing peacefully on
to the great ocean of eternity, so I am
content. But Hugh's last, loving ' kiss
which he gave me so passionately beside
the old well, where I ri'ked my life to
save his, has never been effaced by the
touch of other lips."
Aunt Margaret's story waa ended. She
had never thought of this 'grand, nn
selfish act of her life in the light of a
romance.but to me its seemed very much
Lovers and collectors of illuminaUd
MSS. are looking forward with intense
interest to the sale of the Dike of Ham
ilton's library in June when thre will
come into the market the pjrecious illu-.
minated folio MS. of Date's "Divina
Commedia," with outline designs rom
the hand of Sandro Botticelli and other
famous artists of Quattrocento.
I f
7T