And out of money! Ruminating, as much as to say, What shall I do in this emergency? There was much intensity in his looks, And he carried a wallet of very thin books: "The Softs, the true Democracy,” The last great speech of H But the devil declined the job C Yet all the clerks would know very well The man who sent 'im : For the little fellow looked like he Had slept, the over-night, with Peter G But the thing (and it could n't fail) That pleased him most to see; The men that removed the rail Had gone to eternity! For an erring car in a side-long leap Had crush'd them and cover'd them under its heap! And the devil thought of Haman, The busy conductor went bawling about To summon a guard for the "mail;" The bags lay scattered and torn all around, Spilling their contents out; But every man on the ground Was so busily bent On some private intent That no one seemed willing to stand as the guard; The balance of this manuscript was so blotched and obliterated that the senator could make nothing of it. He thought well of it, but not desiring to connect his name with it in any way, he despatched a note to the author as follows: MY DEAR SIR-Enclosed I send four hundred dollars. This will be enough to secure the services of a respectable bookseller. There are some of the stanzas much to be admired, particularly those describing the disaster to the cars. Wishing you great success in your literary labors, I am B CHAPTER XII. It was a cold bright day in mid-winter. The Potomac was a thick sheet of ice. Curtis returned home late in the afternoon, and found, upon inquiry of the maid, that Beatrice and Sterling were out skating. Looking from the window of his cottage upon their playful gambols, he saw Beatrice fall, and Sterling struggling to lift her from the ice. He thought the gallant congressman was rather long about it: he was jealous. Curtis turned from the window, almost gnawing his tongue. He sought little Helen in her chamber. Jealousy, even in the most faithful and loving, may sometimes lead either man or woman, in fancied revenge, to the commission of the hated offence. It often is the beginning of conjugal infidelity. It alienates the heart, and puts it in a position to be stormed and carried. Sympathy gains entrance, and gallantry strikes down the guards of the citadel. Little Helen had been living in the house with Curtis and Beatrice ever since their marriage. The doctor had kissed her a thousand times, as her brother, in that innocent, playful way which is so common between dear and affectionate relations. At first she was nearly a child; but now she was beginning to grow into womanhood. She was plagued, as well as astonished, in peeping downwards, when at her toilet, she beheld, the swelling roundness of her bosom, whose alabaster whiteness almost reflected her wondering eyes and her blushing cheeks. She was beginning to get shy of her brother, as she affectionately called the doctor. She hardly knew the reason; but on one or two occasions lately he had held her longer in his embrace than usual, and seemed to cling to her; and she was at a loss to account for the new and marvelous sensations that pervaded her at such times. Connected with the cottage was a music room to which Helen frequently retired to practice. It was a round room with high ceiling, richly ornamented with paintings and furnished commodiously with lounges and ottomans. Beside one of the windows, the curtain slightly raised, just enough to let in a subdued flood of light upon her face and neck, Helen had fallen asleep upon a lounge. The room was perfectly cosy and the atmosphere as sweet as summer. The life of Mozart was lying on the floor, having dropped from the hand of the sleeping maiden. She was lying partly on her side, her head bending forward so that her chin was nearly touching her bosom, a little awkward for a waking attitude, but oh! how graceful for a sleeping beauty! Her knee was raised a little so that one of her ankles was exposed just where it begins to swell into more ample proportions. She was breathing as softly as an infant. Curtis had thrown off his boots and put on his slippers and gown. He entered the room lightly, but not expecting to find Helen asleep. He approached her on tiptoe, and kneeling down by her side leaned over her and touched with his lips a stray curl that lay like an embodied tangible zephyr upon her shoulder; the shoulder was bare, and he kissed it with his burning lips; there was dew about her mouth, and he stole some of the essence so furtively that the theft was not known. He repeated the caress with some warmth, but she refused to wake! Her careless and negligent attitude exposed the upper edges of her bosom, and the removing of a single pin was all that was necessary to reveal the rest! It was done! and his audacious hand found its way under the sacred covering! The girl moved, and he placed his right arm quickly under her head and kissed her with the most frantic passion. She screamed and attempted to rise! He repeated his caressing, exclaiming, Helen, Helen, oh! how I love you!" 66 "O! Brother, brother!" she exclaimed. When he released her she fled from the room in the wildest confusion. Curtis remained kneeling by the lounge, burying his face upon it in his hands. Who can imagine the intense self-maledictions that were at that instant heaped upon his degraded soul! CHAPTER XIII. Beatrice had been watching for her husband. Several times during the long night, she had looked from the window, to see if he was coming; her eyes were red with weeping; and she had thrown herself without undressing, upon the bed. Sleep she could not, for her mind was disturbed, and her heart was tossed with various emotions. The length of the life of love is at last conjecture. Nobody is able to count his years. Rejuvenescence is his philosophy; eternal youth blushes on his rosy cheeks, and decks his brow in ever blooming flowers. Shadows envelope, sunshine betrays him. He is a connoisseur in pursuit of beauty, whose eyes, growing weary over the time-defaced grandeur of an ancient-master piece, brighten to behold the fresher excellencies of an undoubted but younger Raphael. Beatrice, in retirement, with no superior presence |