ing.

His poor Edna, whose life was no easier than his own! In the next dark place they came to he turned and clasped her to his heart, with all the bitterness melted out of it, but with a passion of yearning that even she could not understand. After that they spoke of the lost hospital appointment no more.

Then, too, Julius fell into a very unsatisfactory state, physical and moral, which, even if Will had not confided it to her, Edna was too sharp-eyed not to see. He looked wretchedly ill, was often moody and out of temper; took vehement fits of work, and corresponding fits of despondent idleness. Whether it was that the home he was soon to quit lost even its small attractions for him, or from some other nameless fancy, but Julius became more erratic than ever in his comings and goings entirely unreliable, save on those Sundays when, whether invited or not, he always presented himself with his brother at the Misses Kenderdine's door.

sort of thing;" but this was admiration of a novel kind-persistent, permanent, and yet kept so safely within limits, and under the shadow of their approaching relationship, or connection, or whatever they chose to call it— that if at any time during the winter and spring Letty had been asked the direct question, which she never was asked-"Is Julius Stedman making love to you?" she would have answered, without any falsehood-that is not in her notion of falsehood-"Oh, dear, no! not the least in the world."

And yet all the while she was maddening him with her beauty, bewildering him with her caprices; sometimes warm, sometimes cold; having little quarrels, and making it up again; assuming the tenderest "sisterly" confidence, and then sliding off again into perfect coldness and unapproachable civility. Doing it all half consciously, half unconsciously; aware of her power, and liking to exercise it up to a certain extent an extent that gave herself no inconvenience. But once, when the thrushes were singing on the budding trees of Kensington Gardens, as they walked there of evenings— and again, on the first day of the Royal Acad

There might have been a pleasanter guest; for sometimes he sat whole evenings, like a cloud of gloom, by the cheerful fireside; or else startled the whole party by his unnatural flow of spirits. They bore with him-every body al-emy, when Julius took them all in great pride ways did bear with Julius. And these lovers had a quality not universal among people in their circumstances-their own happiness made them very patient with those who had none. Besides, Julius was not always a dead weight upon Edna and Will; with astonishing tact he always contrived, early or late, to escape to the kitchen fire, which, the servant being absent at church, was faithfully presided over by Letty's favorite cat, large and lovely as herself-and By Letty. There he and Letty shared each other's companionship for hours.

What resulted was sure to result, even if the two elders, for once in their lives sufficiently so self-engrossed as to be oblivious of others, had seen what they did not see until too late to prevent. That is, supposing they had any right to prevent it.

Letty too-she should not, at this point, be blamed too severely. She was like many another woman, not wicked, only weak. It was very pleasant to her to be adored, and it would be to nine out of ten of the women who read about her in these pages-girls who are taught from earliest maidenhood that the grand aim of life is to be loved rather than to love. She did not at all dislike-who would ?-after her dull week's work, to have, for some hours every Sunday, those passionate eyes following her about wherever she moved, that eager breath hanging on every word she uttered, whether silly or wise; those looks, which said as plainly as words could say-sometimes joking, sometimes earnestly, when he glanced at the lovers -"Never mind them, I live only for you." Only looks. Julius never committed himself never said a syllable which, to use Letty's phrase afterward, could be "taken hold of." As for flirting, of course she was well used to "that

to see his first well-hung picture, and Letty looked so beaming and beautiful that every body turned to stare at her-then, seeing certain alarming symptoms in Julius, she drew in her horns, and was exceedingly cold and cautious for a day or two. "For," she reasoned to herself, and long afterward repeated the reasons to Edna, "what was I to do with the young man? He hadn't a half-penny."

Quite right, Letty Kenderdine-not a halfpenny!-only a man's heart, or worse, a man's soul, to be lost or won, according as a woman chooses. But that, in these days, and with many people, is quite immaterial.

It was a day rather momentous-that first Monday in May-when Julius learned his picture was hung. Will had decided with Edna that they must all go to see it, and the sisters had a wild struggle after sudden spring bonnets to be assumed at a few hours' notice; "for," said Letty, "we can't go at all unless we go respectable." And possibly William Stedman thought a little beyond respectability the happy face circled with white daisies under a roundbrimmed straw bonnet-such as was the fashion then-which smiled beside him, so delighted in the brief holiday with him. For Letty-Letty always looked beautiful. She was a picture in herself. But, as fate so often balances things, she did not care half so much about the pictures as Edna did; nor, handsome as it was, did her face look half so beaming as that one from whence William Stedman learned to see mysteries of loveliness which had never come upon his darkened mind before. There was in him just enough of the poetic nature to wish he had more of it, and to be tenderly reverential toward the beloved woman who had it, and whom he thought so infinitely superior to himself. While she,

scape about which she had heard so much-speaking of a real person. painted as Julius dared to paint, and, in that anti-Pre-Raphaelite time, was greatly despised for painting-from absolute nature, instead of nature diluted through faded Old Masters-asked me to sit, and thought I looked the charClaudes, Poussins, and Salvator Rosas-each a acter to perfection. Do I, Letty?" degree further off from reality than the last.

"Did you really put on these things? Oh, "Were you thinking of being any thing how nasty of you!" said Letty, turning away in else?" asked Edna, surprised.

It was called "In another Man's Garden," and was simply a suburban cottage-door, painted with the intense realism then altogether pooh-poohed and despised. Thereat also Edna could bear her own burdens-their own modern and real, down to coat, hat, and stick burdens, she and William together; but she -stood a young man, bidding the cheery morn-thought, if an added weight were to come, and ing adieu to his wife and child before going to business—a happy, intensely happy little group, safely shut inside the rose-trellised walls. While outside, leaning against the gate, was a solitary figure a broken-down, dust-stained, shabby man-gazing with mournful yearning into "another man's garden."

As she looked at Letty, so handsome and so helpless, and thought of Julius, who had turned from the door in one of his sad sullen fits, painful and yet pathetic as those of a naughty child, Edna felt her courage give way, and her heart sink with that strange foreboding of evil which comes sometimes, we know not how or why. Without saying a word to Letty-it would have been neither delicate nor wise-she pondered over the whole question, till at last, utterly bewildered, it settled itself into her one grand refuge for all distresses-"I will tell it to William next Sunday." And, comforting as this thought was, it brought also a vague longing for the time when their life would be all Sundays, when they would be continually together. With it came a fear-the fear that will come with deep love-lest something should come between them. Only, to their faith and constancy, nothing could come but death; and that she did not fear, for it would only be falling, as David wished to fall, into the hands of God-the same God who had already made them so happy.

"Yes, we have been happy-very happy, and I am very, very thankful!” thought poor Edna, and her serenity returned-the unchangeable peace of those who have the blessedness of being able to recognize their blessings.

Tired as she was she took out her work and was sitting-let us boldly confess it-mending a large basketful of stockings, when there came a knock at the front-door.

Letty started up from the sofa.

ported. His salary was to be £300, and, byand-by, £400 a year-a solid foundation of annual income; while the work could not interfere with his practice, but would rather give him opportunities for that continual study of his profession which a doctor so much needs, and which, at the beginning of his career, he finds so difficult to obtain. Thus the lady, a far-sighted and generous woman, in securing his services, benefited both sides, and in doing a prudent did also a kindly deed.

In

"I wish she knew all the happiness she has given us!” said Edna, trembling and agitated; while Letty, as was her wont under all novel and exciting circumstances, began to cry. fact, they all shed an honest tear or two, and then they sat down together-Edna close by William, holding Letty's hand on the other side—to try and realize the sudden bliss-this unexpected change in all their affairs.

"Does Julius know?" asked Edna, anxiously. "No-the letter came after he had gone out. You know he almost always does go out of evenings. But it will be a brighter home for him to come to when you are there—and Letty."

William said this in all simplicity, as Edna at once perceived; and his evident unconsciousness of the idea which had lately entered her mind shook Edna's faith in her own quickness of perception. If William were quite at ease concerning his brother, why should she perplex herself or perplex him by speaking of this matter of Julius and Letty? So, for the present,

"That's William's knock-I know it is. Oh, she let it slip by; and when Letty benevolently what can have happened!"

"Nothing to be frightened at," said William, who was in the room almost as soon as she spoke. Good news, not ill, were written on his face. "I beg your pardon. I could not help coming.' He shut the door behind him, and then, regardless of her sister's presence, clasped Edna tight in his arms. "It has come at last-come at last, thank God!" And in an ecstasy of joy which betrayed how sharp had been the unacknowledged suffering he kissed again and again his betrothed wife-then went over and kissed Letty, and bade her wish him joy.

quitted the room and left her alone with her lover she forgot every thing, as lovers do.

Forgive them, if so be there is any need of forgiveness. Life is so short, so changeful, so full of infinite chances of grief and loss, who would grudge to any body a little love, a little happiness? These two were ready to take both the sweet and the bitter, the evil and the good, believing that both come alike by the Father's will. Yet who can wonder that, as they sat together, knowing they were going to be married-not exactly "to-morrow," as Dr. Stedman had ingeniously suggested, but within a few weeks-and that, come weal or woe, they would never more be parted, it was surely pardonable if, for a while, they forgot every body but themselves.

Presently, when he was sufficiently calm for a consecutive statement to be got out of him, Dr. Stedman told the great news-strangely little it would seem to some people, yet to "And you are not afraid to begin life with these two was enough to uplift them into per-me-to be a poor man's wife? for it will be fect felicity. that, Edna. I can't dress you any better than

am I harming you? In marrying you now, at once, while I have still only just enough for us to live upon, am I doing you any wrong?"

It was one of those bits of "good luck”—he | this”—touching tenderly her gray merino gown; called it nothing more, and always protested" and the carriage Letty wants, it may be years he had done nothing to win it-which occa- before I can give it you, if ever. Oh, my love, sionally turn the tide of a man's fortune by giving him, at the outset of his career, that slight impetus of help without which a fair start is nearly impracticable. A great lady, and good as great, who had been interested in Dr. Stedman's incessant labors among the poor, had offered him a permanent appointment as physician to a charitable institution which she had founded and principally sup

"Wrong!" she cried, as she clung round his neck for a minute, and then drew back, looking at him with the brightest face-the most radiant, and yet half-indignant eyes. Wrong! you are showing me the utmost love, and paying me the chiefest honor that a man can give

66

to a woman. You are taking me at your life's | few days' delay, an affectionate congratulatory beginning that we may begin it together. That is the right thing. Don't be afraid, William. I'll help you I know I can, for I am not a coward, and I have you. Oh! if men were more like you, had your courage, your faith, there would not be so many broken-hearted women in the world."

letter, and asked her to seek out for him bachelor lodgings, as close as possible to their own house, where he meant to be exceedingly jolly, and inflict himself upon them several times a week. And he sent her as a wedding present a lovely portrait of Letty, composed out of the many studies he had made of her face, which he said, briefly, "he knew by heart." At which remark Letty blushed a little, and pouted a little, saying it was "impertinent;" but was exceedingly gratified to look at her own exquisite portrait, and hear every body admire it and say how very like it was.

So fled the time, long and yet how short; dwindling first into weeks and then into days, until the last breaking-up day came, and the two young schoolmistresses, not without a few sincere tears, sent away their little pupils forever. After that there was only one more Sunday left for the Stedmans to come to tea in the old way, which for nearly a year had gone on now, and brought with it so much of peace and pleasure. No more now of those "courting days," which are said by some to be the happiest, by others the most miserable of their lives. Prob

So talked these two-foolishly, no doubt, and with a vicarious self-laudation which is very much the habit of lovers. And yet there was truth at the bottom of it; a truth which, day by day, as she and Letty busied themselves every spare hour in those innocent wedding preparations which every honest heart, either of friend or stranger, can not help taking pleasure in, forced itself deeper and deeper upon Edna's heart. No worldly show was there-no hiding with splendid outside formalities the hollowness within she was going to be as William saida poor man's wife; and expensive clothes and extravagant outlay of any sort would be merely ridiculous; but Edna prepared herself for her great change with all the happy-hearted-ably the real truth lies between both these facts, ness that a bride should have, a bride who knows that down to the lowest depth of her soul is not a feeling that need be hidden, not a thought that God and her husband may not

see.

One little thing made her sorry. Julius did not come to see her; indeed, he had taken himself off on an artistic tour in Wales, to be "out of the way," he alleged; but he wrote, after a

ON

and that the happiness or misery is according as the lovers create it for themselves. Life is not all joy; neither God nor man can make it so: but it may be made all love. And love, that infinite and endless blessing, had been held out from heaven to these two, Edna and William; they had had eyes to see it, strength to grasp it, faith to cling to it They had cause to be glad and thankful, and so they were.

DRAWING BUREAU RATIONS.
BY J. W. DE FOREST.

I. THE APPLICANTS.

N the 2d of October, 1866, I assumed command, as Acting Assistant Commissioner of the Bureau, for the Sub-District of Greenville, South Carolina.

In population, wealth, and culture Greenville is the third town in the State. It contains an old and a new Court House, four Churches and several Chapels, a University (not the largest in the world), a Female College (also not unparalleled), two or three blocks of Stores, one of the best country Hotels in the South, quite a number of fairish Houses, fifteen hundred Whites, and a thousand Freedmen. It is two hundred and seventy miles from Charleston, one thousand feet above the level of the sea, and within sight of the lower extension of the Alleghanies. Knowing Southern Europe and Western Asia, I highly recommend the climate of Greenville. The scenery is varied, and pretty enough to satisfy ordinary cravings, and it is within easy reach of mountain picturesqueness. The officer whom I relieved said to me, with some good-natured regret and envy, "You have the best station in the State."

He alluded more particularly, in his praise, to the inhabitants. He went on to say that they were orderly, respectful to Bureau regulations, disposed to treat the negroes considerately, and, in short, praiseworthily reconstructed. "The worst social feature,” he added, “is the poverty. There are multitudes of old negroes who are living on their broken-down former masters. There are four hundred soldiers' widows in Greenville District, and six hundred in Pickens. You can make a guess at the orphans.'

Although October, it was beautiful summerlike weather when I commenced my duties in Greenville. My office, a vaulted room on the ground-floor of the old Court House, was so warm that I had opened both door and window and sat in the draught, when my first visitors of the impoverished classes entered. They were two tall, lank, ungainly women, one twenty-three, the other twenty-seven, dressed in dirty, grayish homespun, with tallow complexions, straight, light, dead hair, broad cheekbones, and singularly narrow foreheads.

while, and then asked, “Any thin' for the lone wimmen ?"

"Pears like I oughter git, if any one does," added the elder. "My husband was shot by the rebs because he wouldn' jine their army."

Supposing that they might object to the smell of tobacco, I had laid down my pipe on their entrance. Presently the eldest one inquired,

"Stranger, is your pipe a-smokin?"

"It is," I replied, wondering at such extreme sensitiveness. "But I can put it out."

"Ef it's a-smokin, I should like a smoke," was her only comment.

I may have cringed at the idea of putting my pipe between those broken teeth, but I of course made haste, to do what was hospitable, and I went into the entry before I allowed myself to smile. She smoked tranquilly, and passed the luxury to her sister; then they thanked me, "Much obleeged, stranger"-and departed. Next came a mother and daughter. The mother was forty-three, looking sixty, short and broadly built, haggard, wrinkled, filthy, with desperate gray eyes and unkempt gray hair. The daughter, fifteen years old, with a white, freckled face and yellow hair, had but one garment, a ragged frock of cotton homespun, unbleached, uncolored, and foul with long wearing. Not large enough to meet in front, it was tied with twine in a loose fashion, exposing entirely one of her breasts. This child had in her arms another child, a wretched-looking baby of six weeks old, tied up in an old rag of carpet, her own illegitimate offspring. Her first words were, "How you git'n 'long?" Her next, "Got any thin for the lone wimmen ?"

before I chanced to fulfill my promise. The cabin consisted of one large room, with a fireplace, two doorways, and two windows. As in all dwellings of the people of this class, the windows were merely square openings, without glass or sashes, and closed by board shutters. The logs of the walls were unhewn, and on two sides the chinking of mud had entirely fallen out, leaving some fifty long slits, averaging two inches in width, through which the wind drove the inclemencies of winter. The moisture which came through these hencoop sides and through the porous roof drained off through the rotten and shattered floor. No furniture was visible beyond two broken chairs, two or three cooking utensils, and a pile of filthy rags which seemed to be bedding.

The family consisted of the mother, two daughters named Susie and Rachel, a son of about five, and a grandson of two, named Johnnie. No man; the father had died years ago; the husband of Susie had fallen "in one of the first battles." Johnnie, flaxen-headed, smiling with health and content, as dirty as a boy could desire to be, squatted most of the time in the ashes, warming himself by a miserable fire of green sticks. His mother, Susie, sat in a broken chair in one corner of the chimney, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed with fever. When I uttered a word or two of pity-it seemed such a horrible place to be sick in!-a few tears started down her cheeks.

I

"What makes me sick," she said, "is going barfoot in the winter. I an't used to't. had a husband once, and no call to go barfoot." "Oh, mam!" she presently groaned, addressing her mother, "this is an awful house!"

When I asked her how old she was she confessed ignorance. To the same question the other girl answered, with a sheepish smile, You are too hard for me."

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A few days later, while on my afternoon constitutional in the neighborhood of the village, I was overtaken by another couple, likewise mother and daughter. The former, dressed in coarse white cotton, ghastly, wrinkled, and eager in face, stooping and clumsy in build, slouching forward as she walked, might have been fortyfive, but seemed sixty. The daughter, nineteen years old, as I afterward learned, but looking twenty-seven in the precocity of squalor, had a form so tall, and straight, and shapely that it could not be otherwise than superb in bearing, despite her miserable poverty of life and raiment. Her face too was almost handsome, notwithstanding its broad cheek-bones, narrow forehead, and mustang-like wildness of expression. The first words which I heard from this Juno were, "Mam! don't go so fast.er in the last two years." Thar's my shoe ontied."

The mother, after some reflection, gave their ages as nineteen and thirteen; but, looking in their worn faces, it seemed impossible that they could be so young. There was an elder sister "who had married and gone way off;" and she had carried away the family Bible, with all their names and ages. Their father "used to think a heap of the family Bible."

The remembrance of departed days-not very fine, it may be, but still better than these-revived the sick girl's sentiment of self-pity. “Oh!" she groaned, "I've been through a pow

"He's a powerful bad boy," she said, twist

The mother slackened her speed and opened ing Johnnie's flaxen curls with a smile, and conversation with me.

"Good-evenin. Git'n cold for the season. Goin' to be a mighty hard winter for poor folks."

After some further complaint they pointed out their cabin to me, and I promised to inquire into their circumstances. A little sleet had fallen, the ground had been more than once stiffened by frost, and the long blue ranges visible from Greenville were white with winter VOL. XXXVI.-No. 216.-3 G

looking kindly into his sunny face. "I don't
know how I can keep him. I've been all over
the village, and can't git no work.
I can put
him in the poor-house," she added, after a brief
silence of desperation.

As she talked with me she turned her head from time to time to spit out her tobacco juice.