, 1881-12-25

hope he will be happy" with coDgratula
tory sob. "But his letters have helped Ill
| ! so much-I have set him up SO highland
shall lose my friend. I always detested mar
ried men!' yindictively. And all will b.
changed between us, and we were such goot
comrades.''. Here shesops again, and throws
up the window and leans out into the night
The stars are paling, the mir is crisp and cold
and the bells are Ginning clear, and sweet
and triumphant. s:.> =.
-. Anyway, have my art, - she says, tht
very last thing as she turns out the light II
have-my-yoeation.'' The thought is st
consolng that she sobs very hard among hel
pillows, and arises tie next morning with
faint shadows under. her eyes and all the
brler-pink gone from her cheeks. <.-,: = =
Surely she found her soul last night Onl
souls always come into us in an unexpected
way, through tears and pain. Z: - =. :..:
For twenty years she has lived, in the sun
light; her dreams have been jeweled ones:
her hopes were all clad In dazzling and un.
stained garments; This morning the rays
about their heads look pale, the white robes
do not glisten; her dreams seem a little
heavy. But there are new depths in her eyes,
and her lips are tender: in their penslva
sweetness. The little air Of dash and indie
pendence is quite gone for the time. 1t is
not the Coming Woman 2 but a :wistful girl
that crceps in to breakfast. -. ~.* .: !
| Through all the week which is glad, and
busy, and exciting, with festivities attending
the hoiidays-riotous brothers home from
| college, accompanied by more riotous chums:
balls, skating parties, breakfasts. private
theatrica1s, sleigll-rides, and 4 dozen other
| L,>&1, $r: ter If<nn
spirit But in the few moments when she is
quite alone, she looks at the pain III hcrheart
with angry and rebellious eyes, and scolds
| herself heartily, and detests herself with
| girlish cordiality. She talks less about her
| art. She looks at her unmarried sisters, the
| Oldest and most disappointed ones, with new
vision, and pities them sincerely. She looks
| with horror at one particular one who has
"mission,' which she: expresses by nascu-
line stride, a loud aid uncompromislng
voice, and unbeautiful attire: ~"
'How lonely: to live always alone!" she
thinks. '"aVhnt would do in this big house
all by myself, with perhaps u pin-cushion of
companion who would doZe her days over
crocheting. And we would be frightened to
death after dark. There would be no one to
take me to operas or look after my comfort,
for when am old there will be no boys
and bouquets. And how can society or travel
/ take the place Of warm human love? It
must be a dreadful life for a woman who
has no art!' >>.--s
She reads " The Princess and Aurora
Leigh" and thinks she would not have been
so weak She argues, Can love be more sat
isfying than art? And answers always With
negative which is rather shaky. ':.:~-
And all the time the soul is struggling
within her. She is fitful, and absent, and
distrait. She devours her mail greedly, anu
is filled with n suppressed excitement day
and night that preys upon her health and
temper. IT.: ><..N
Finally, she throws aside study and dream,
and rushes lither and thither, laughing, and
eager, and gay. And straightway converts
every one Of the college-boys into maunder-
ing and hopeless imbeciles, who find their
only rational moments in her smile. She
dons her most fascinating toilets, and is the
bright particular star by so many lengths
ahead that the other girls look on lit speech
less wonder, without a pang Of envy Or
jealousy;. for Kathryn numbers as many
lovers in the one sex as in the other ~
:. One day, when the new year is two weeks
old, she receives little note which drench-
es all the color from her lips and the light
from her eyes: But that is before she reads
it. -'' %>=%: j =: =.
It says: : :::'- II. -.
. 1Ir LITTLE ONE: Even to you. whom T trust:
90 implicitly tn se Of
Sas dea sd
nothing can make 1t live again. ~ - :T.'-~'
have some business which will Gull me to
your city next:week 1 shall. give myself the |
will allow me- Il hope you will not let anything I
crowd me from your thought, because your let
ters have become q necessity to me. will |
you still remember ST. JOHN NORTON. =
: This very commonplace note certainly did |
not deserve the trembling kiss that was !
lavished upon it. or. tha radiant face that |
scanned it. ..<..~.> :; |
but shall not write him such long let |
ters, nor rs many Of them ~ severely. III |
must spend this whole year in hard work. I |
have been slamefllly neg1ectfu1 Of late, and !
if intend to amount to anything / must |
lose no time. I:have no patience with these |
girlswho spend their days in dress and Airta-
ton, with marriage as their only goal. % |
my Art, you shall be husband, and child, |
and home to me!' with which lofty apoStro-
phe she kissed the commonplace letter again,
and shut it in drawer of her desk tenderly. |
Girlhood is full Of such delicious aud un-
conscious idiocy. 49,. 49,.
=. .'>. + II. *"''~ *.-..
Christmas-Eve again, with scarlet sunset
in the west and great snowdrifts in the east,
and the Evening Star: cleaning out from
pale masses Of cloud, pure, and lustr Gus, and
calm. -. -:
Kathryn is lounging in her fayo1it low
chair by the library fire. Opposit her is
seated her sister, Mrs. Davenant, q blonde,
pretty, empty-headed little matron, with
priceless jewels in her ears and on her
fingers and at her wrist and throat, her
leayy satins trailing over the floor, and per
tuned, costly laces* about her dimpled chin. :.
Dress is a sacrament to Blanche Davenant
She is looking at her sister with wide, blue,
7ensiye eyes, and q little droop about her
,retty mouth, her: forehead-what can be
;een Of it through fluffy, haxen rlugs-con-
tracted in perplexity. : =. -: Il,
You really intend to marry st. John
Norton 2' she asks; plaintively. :.
'l,really do" Kathryn answers briefly.
But he is not wealthy. :.~ 4,
7" I knowit." "a :. - =. 81.
j. sand you will hare to give up so much