The Russellville Democrat., 1881-01-20
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 LA BAR0NNE."
CHAPTER I.

VIII bo out, anu SdtilCI scuic hOWcIS, dear," says Marian, and, with kiss, for our honeymoon is hardly over she trips away, and directly I hear her singing among the roses.
 Marian, my wifel How sweetly the name sounds, especially when linked to that other word And for years I dreamed of her. and never supposed she would be mine; and now! But let me tell the story.
 A little more than two years ago, 1 was at the opera, when q great artist was singing Faust. While the curtain was down, at the close of the third act, and the low buzz of voices filled the house, < heard sharp, incisive tones on the other side of the partition, which divided the boxes.
 "He takes that high c with more ease than Wachtel. But there are two or three notes in his lower register very defective,' the voice said.
 For answer, somebody laughed. A low, feminine laugh, with an oddly gen uine ring of fun in it. Then the laughter spoke.
 Betty, made up my mind last spring that if l saw much more of artists, 1 should not be able to appreciate nature at all; now begin to think if have any
 
 understand nothing of music" "I don't understand you," said Betty, stifIly.
 All the artists I know" continued the laughing voice, measure off the universe into effects. Sky and sea, and valley, are all only so many combinations of burnt umber and chrome yellow. A sunset or thunder storm is nothing but material to cover their six by ten bits of canvass; and they put altogether out of sight the messages written on the water and the treeso
 ,@And we musicians?"
 kAhl you musicians! It isw worse with vol Music to you is high c well taken It IS the machinery that you see, not the pofwer within it."
 Fl don't know what you mean by your .bwer' and messages What is music to you, pray%
 leaned forward. Surely there could be no harm, said, to myself, in caves dropping here? There was no answer for moment.
 "You might as we'll ask me to talk about my religion" said the other. quietly.
 And why not? Religion ought to be talked about, in season, oughtn't it?" lHC OhllCt 0lt ilOt lttiys iS pbtti voice went on. Besides, what do you know of art? You spoke contemptuously of pictures, this very morning" q really did not mean to do any thing of the kindl only gave them their true place--they are make-shifts for Nature. would rather look at the faces of live beauties and beggars in Broadway, than stroll through any gallery of the old mas ters, at least any that l ever saw. As for qeare painting, which is so much to you, what do we want with it? We can have the real roses, and jugs, and old brasses, which are better"
 Something in the voice had strangely reused my curiosity am connoisseur in voices-this was without parallel It was low, mellow. It could, I was assured, sweep the whole range of expression; and it had peculiar sincerity in 1t, which held my attention and interest. While 1 was staring at Faust, talked to myself, saying :,
 That is good woman--a woman with the very essense of truth in her-she never told lie, nor disagreeable fact. She is well-born and well-bred; the in- factions and serenity of the voice show that Your self taught, scrappily con. structed woman has shrill, unequal tones.
  vehemence of youth in her-she is middle-aged, plump, blonde, tranquil. No eoquette. If such a woman knew me, we should be good friends. won der what her name IS. l wish l knew something of her life"
 As soon as the act was over, l hurried out into the foyer. But the door, next to mine stood open; and the box was empty.
 To explain the blank disappointment, which this trivial matter caused me, should have to tell the story of my soli- tary, friendless life, which would be use less, and which l shall not do, therefore. It is enough to say that no woman had ever taken prominent part in it. Even my mother died before I could remem. Der her. had been showed through life by men, and was now, a scholar by pro fession and habit, in the busy city of New York, without the right of entrance to a single home. l had certain fear of young women; their beauty, brilliancy, and enthusiasm alarmed and repelled me. 1 wanted, or sometimes fancied in languid way that wanted, a woman to be my friend--a woman of my own age, soft, tranquil, serene, center of repose to my morbid, passion ate thoughts
 The other men of my club, with their numberless friendships and fiirtations, would not have remembered this shad- owy incident of voice and a scrap of idle talk, for an hour. But my lonely fancies crystallized about it, and exaggerated It Tor long months.