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dressed to Freddy, Johnnie, things in gen- to tell the truth, she was very inexpert-uneral. Miss Wodehouse pondered over the ready-deeply embarrassed with the unusual handle of her parasol. She had absolutely necessity. Nettie's case, so wonderfully difnothing to say; but, thoroughly unconvinced ferent from any thing she could have conand exasperated at Nettie's logic, could not ceived, lay on her mind, and oppressed her yet retire from the field. as she went home to Grange Lane.
"It is all very well to talk just now," said the gentle woman at last, retiring upon that potent feminine argument, "but Nettie, think! If you were to marry-"
Miss Wodehouse paused, appalled by the image she herself had conjured up.
"Marrying is really a dreadful business, anyhow," she added with a sigh; "so few people, you know, can, when they might. There is poor Mr. Wentworth, who brought me here first; unless he gets preferment, poor fellow. And there is Dr. Rider. Things are very much changed from what they used to be in my young days."
As for Nettie herself, she took her work and her children indoors after awhile, and tried on the new frock, and scolded and rehabilitated the muddy hero of the brook. Then, with those light, fairy motions of hers, she spread the homely table for tea, called in Susan, sought Fred in his room up-stairs with a stinging word which penetrated even his callous mind, and made him for the moment ashamed of himself. Nettie bit her red lip till it grew white and bloodless as she turned from Fred's door. It was not hard to work for the children-to support and domineer over Susan; but it was hard "Is Dr. Rider in the same dilemma? I for such an alert uncompromising little soul suppose, of course, you mean Dr. Edward," to tolerate that useless hulk-that heavy cried Nettie, with a little flash of mischievous curiosity. "Why? He has nobody but himself. I should like to know why he can't marry that is, if anybody would have him-when he pleases. Tell me; you know he is my brother-in-law."
Miss Wodehouse had been thinking of Bessie Christian. She paused, partly for Dr. Rider's sake, partly because it was quite contrary to decorum, to suppose that Bessie, now Mrs. Brown, might possibly a year ago have married somebody else. She faltered a little in her answer. "A professional man never marries till he has a position," said Miss Wodehouse, abstractedly. Nettie lifted up her eyes that danced with mischief and glee. "A profession is as bad as a family, then," said the little Australian. I shall remember that next time you speak to me on this subject. I am glad to think Dr. Edward, with all his prudence, is disabled too."
When Nettie had made this unguarded speech, she blushed; and suddenly in a threatening and defiant manner, raised her eyes again to Miss Wodehouse's face. Why? Miss Wodehouse did not understand the look, nor put any significance into the words. She rose up from the grass, and said it was time for her to go. She went away, pondering in her own mind those singular new experiences of hers. She had never been called upon to do any thing particular all her gentle life. Another fashion of woman might have found a call to action in the management of her father's house, or the education of her motherless young sister. But Miss Wodehouse had contented herself with loving Lucy-had suffered her to grow up very much as she would, without interference had never taken a decided part in her life. When any thing had to be done,
encumbrance of a man, for whom hope and life were dead. She bit her lip as she discharged her sharp, stinging arrow at him through the half-opened door, and then went down singing, to take her place at the table which her own hands had spread-which her own purse supplied with bread. Nobody there showed the least consciousness of that latter fact; nobody fancied it was any thing but natural to rely upon Nettie. The strange household demeaned itself exactly as if things were going on in the most regular and ordinary course. No wonder that spectators outside looked on with a wonder that could scarcely find expression; and, half exasperated, half admiring, watched the astonishing life of the colonial girl.
Nobody watched it with half the amount of exasperation which concentrated in the bosom of Dr. Rider. He gazed and noted and observed every thing with a secret rage, indignation, and incredulity impossible to describe. He could not believe it even when it went on before his very eyes. Doctor though he was, and scientific, to a certain extent, Edward Rider would have believed in witchcraft-in some philtre or potion acting upon her mind, rather than in Nettie's voluntary folly. Was it folly? was it heroism? was it simple necessity, as she herself called it? Nobody could answer that question. The matter was as incomprehensible to Miss Wodehouse as to Dr. Rider, but not of such engrossing interest. Bessie Christian, after all, grew tame in the Saxon composure of her beauty before this brown, sparkling, selfwilled, imperious creature. To see her among her self-imposed domestic duties filled the doctor with a smouldering wrath against all surrounding her, which any momentary spark might set aflame.
"The temple crumbles, and the pillars fall! The altar passes, and the worship dies!
"The great Republic is no more."-London Times. The millions gather as they bear the pall,
"To arms! to arms!" they cry;
When heroes saw the field of battle nigh;
"To arms!" the mountains grand;
It leaped from hill to hill,
It shook the mountain crag,
Still kept the starry flag; "To arms!" replied the plains, The hot blood throbbing through the veins, For millions rallied with the vow, "We strike for Freedom surely now; In Heaven's great name the damning wrong shall bow!"
From the steep mountain side, From the deep flowing tide, From the green prairies wide, "Forward!" they cry; From the far eastern hills, From the pure flowing rills, From the great busy mills,
"Onward for aye!" From the forge, old and grim, From the mine, dark and dim, Swelled the bold hero-hymn,
"Onward or die!
And to their arms they sprung, Freedom on every tongue, True to the songs they sung,
Filling the sky:
"Arm, brothers, arm! for the foe is before us,
For the strife be ye ready!
"On, brothers, on! For they haste to the bat
The treason is theirs, whom we trusted so long;
For Freedom we fight, and not a mere chattel; The Union and Peace-the Right over Wrong. CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm!
"Haste, brothers, haste! for the moments are flying!
An hour now lost may undo all the past! And millions of mourners now burdened are sighing,
And, terror-struck, bow in the force of the blast!
CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm!
"Come, brothers, come! It is time for the starting!
O toiling millions on the Old World's shore!
When sainted heroes spurned the tyrant's tread;
The strife is earnest, and the day wears on,
A rapturous birth of Freedom out of woe;
They'll give us fresh vigor to strike at the foe;
We pray on the field! At the altar they pray While the garments may warm us, the donors Who mourn for our loss-nor wait for the part
Our children shall bless us for valor to-day! CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm!
"Swear, brothers, swear! For the Union for
Resting not now till each traitor is riven! God for our land, and of freedom the giver, Onward we haste in the sunshine of heaven." CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm!
"She lives!" the freeman cried;
From mountains old and grand;
From peak, and dome, and spire,
shall charm us,
POETRY.-Civile Bellum, 338. Not Yet, 338. Doubting Heart, 338. Autumn, 364. The Deserted, 364.
SHORT ARTICLES.-Her Majesty's Crown, 352. An American Examination of Essays and Reviews, 360. The Tools Great Men Work With, 384. Rev. J. W. Cunningham, Vicar of Harrow, 384.
THE ARMIES OF EUROPE: Comprising Descriptions in Detail of the Military Systems of England, France, Russia, Prussia, Austria, and Sardinia, adapting their advantages to all Arms of the United States Service and embodying the Report of Observations in Europe during the Crimean War, as Military Commissioner from the United States Government, in 1855-56. Originally published under the direction of the War Department, by order of Congress. Illustrated with several hundred Engravings. By George B. M' Clellan, Major-General U. S. Army. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. The Cloister and the Hearth; or, Maid, Wife, and Widow. A Matter-of-Fact Romance. By Charles Reade. New York: Rudd & Carleton.
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