"Never you mind, Lavvy," retorted Bella; "you wait till you are of an age to ask such questions. Pa, mark my words! Between Mr. Rokesmith and me there is a natural antipathy and a deep distrust; and something will come of it!" "My dear, and girls," said the cherub-patriarch, "between Mr. Rokesmith and me there is a matter of eight sovereigns, and something for supper shall come of it, if you'll agree upon the article." This was a neat and happy turn to give the subject, treats being rare in the Wilfer household, where a monotonous appearance of Dutchcheese at ten o'clock in the evening had been rather frequently commented on by the dimpled shoulders of Miss Bella. Indeed, the modest Dutchman himself seemed conscious of his want of variety, and generally came before the family in a state of apologetic perspiration. After some discussion on the relative merits of veal-cutlet, sweet-bread, and lobster, a decision was pronounced in favor of veal-cutlet. Mrs. Wilfer then solemnly divested herself of her handkerchief and gloves, as a preliminary sacrifice to preparing the frying-pan, and R. W. himself went out to purchase the viand. He soon returned, bearing the same in a fresh cabbageleaf, where it coyly embraced a rasher of ham. Melodious sounds were not long in rising from the frying-pan on the fire, or in seeming, as the fire-light danced in the mellow halls of a couple of full bottles on the table, to play appropriate dance-music. The cloth was laid by Lavvy. Bella, as the acknowledged ornament of the family, employed both her hands in giving her hair an additional wave while sitting in the easiest chair, and occasionally threw in a direction touching the supper: as, "Very brown, ma;" or, to her sister, "Put the salt-cellar straight, miss, and don't be a dowdy little puss." Meantime her father, chinking Mr. Rokesmith's gold as he sat expectant between his knife and fork, remarked that six of those sovereigns came just in time for their landlord, and stood them in a little pile on the white tablecloth to look at. "I hate our landlord!" said Bella. But, observing a fall in her father's face, she went and sat down by him at the table, and began touching up his hair with the handle of a fork. It was one of the girl's spoiled ways to be always arranging the family's hair—perhaps be- | cause her own was so pretty, and occupied so much of her attention. thing. And if you say (as you want to say; I know you want to say so, pa) 'that's neither reasonable nor honest, Bella,' then I answer, May be not, pa-very likely—but it's one of the consequences of being poor, and of thoroughly hating and detesting to be poor, and that's my case.' Now, you look lovely, pa; why don't you always wear your hair like that? And here's the cutlet! If it isn't very brown, ma, I can't eat it, and must have a bit put back to be done expressly." However, as it was brown, even to Bella's taste, the young lady graciously partook of it without reconsignment to the frying-pan, and also, in due course, of the contents of the two bottles: whereof one held Scotch ale and the other rum. The latter perfume, with the fostering aid of boiling water and lemon-peel, diffused itself throughout the room, and became so ghly concentrated around the warm fireside, that the wind passing over the house roof must have rushed off charged with a delicious whiff of it, after buzzing like a great bee at that particular chimney-pot. "Pa," said Bella, sipping the fragrant mixture and warming her favorite ankle; "when old Mr. Harmon made such a fool of me (not to mention himself, as he is dead), what do you suppose he did it for?" "Impossible to say, my dear. As I have told you times out of number since his will was brought to light, I doubt if I ever exchanged a hundred words with the old gentleman. If it was his whim to surprise us, his whim succeeded. For he certainly did it." "And I was stamping my foot and screaming, when he first took notice of me; was I?" said Bella, contemplating the ankle before mentioned. "You were stamping your little foot, my dear, and screaming with your little voice, and laying into me with your little bonnet, which you had snatched off for the purpose," returned her father, as if the remembrance gave a relish to the rum; "you were doing this one Sunday morning when I took you out, because I didn't go the exact way you wanted, when the old gentleman, sitting on a seat near, said, 'That's a nice girl; that's a very nice girl; a promising girl!' And so you were, my dear." "And then he asked my name, did he, pa?" "Then he asked your name, my dear, and mine; and on other Sunday mornings, when we walked his way, we saw him again, and—and really that's all." As that was all the rum and water too, or, in other words, as R. W. delicately signified that "You deserve to have a house of your own; his glass was empty, by throwing back his head don't you, poor pa?" and standing the glass upside down on his nose "I don't deserve it better than another, my and upper lip, it might have been charitable in dear." Mrs. Wilfer to suggest replenishment. But that heroine briefly suggesting "Bedtime" instead, the bottles were put away, and the family retired; she cherubically escorted, like some severe saint in a painting, or merely human mat "At any rate I, for one, want it more than another," said Bella, holding him by the chin, as she stuck his flaxen hair on end, "and I grudge this money going to the Monster that swallows up so much, when we all want-every | ron allegorically treated. "And by this time to-morrow," said Lavinia | when the two girls were alone in their room, "we shall have Mr. Rokesmith here, and shall be expecting to have our throats cut." "You needn't stand between me and the candle for all that," retorted Bella. "This is another of the consequences of being poor! The idea of a girl with a really fine head of hair, having to do it by one flat candle and a few inches of looking-glass!" "You caught George Sampson with it, Bella, bad as your means of dressing it are.' "You low little thing. Caught George Sampson with it! Don't talk about catching people, miss, till your own time for catching-as you call it comes." "Perhaps it has come," muttered Lavvy, with a toss of her head. "What did you say?" asked Bella, very sharply. "What did you say, miss ?" Lavvy declining equally to repeat or to explain, Bella gradually lapsed over her hair-dressing into a soliloquy on the miseries of being poor, as exemplified in having nothing to put on, nothing to go out in, nothing to dress by, only a nasty box to dress at instead of a commodious dressing-table, and being obliged to take in suspicious lodgers. On the last grievance as her climax she laid great stress-and might have laid greater, had she known that if Mr. Julius Handford had a twin brother upon earth Mr. John Rokesmith was the man. ONLY TWELVE LEFT. ["The Committee on Revolutionary Pensions reported a resolution, tendering thanks to the surviving Soldiers of the Revolution, twelve in number, for their services in that war by which our Independence was achieved and our Liberty obtained, and sincerely rejoicing that their lives have been protracted beyond the period usually allotted to man: and that they receive a sum of money, as pensioners, which shall help to smooth the rugged path of life on their journey to the tomb: and that copies of this resolution be sent by the Speaker to each Revolutionary Pensioner:-Unanimously adopted."—Journal of Congress, March 4, 1864.] Only Twelve left:-Twelve worn and weary men, Only Twelve left:-How short has grown the roll; Only Twelve left:-The ranks are thin, and wide Faint and afar they stand, who side by side Their steel-clamped columns on the foeman cast. Only Twelve left:-In the still camps of death Only Twelve left:-With slow and feeble tread Only Twelve left:-The sacred leaves to turn Only Twelve left:-The golden-fruited years "MADGE, you are an angel!” THE LETTER G. penitential letter had been written to the ob"Oh, Peter!" exclaimed the angel, durate parents, and the regulation no answer blushing like the rosy dawn. had been returned; for Mrs. Bolton took precious good care to have an unfailing supply of caustic on the end of her tongue, which kept Mr. Bolton's rage up to burning heat. It was summer-time. The two were sitting in a honey-suckle-scented arbor, out of which they walked, engaged to be married. How can I help it if my hero's name is Peter? I don't invent like other story-tellers; and this is an owre true tale. Next day when Master Peter Brooks, sumptuously attired for the occasion, asked Mr. Bolton, with whom he was a great favorite, for the hand of his daughter, that old gentleman refused him plump. It was a most touching condition of things. Two despairing lovers, a cruel step-mother, and a hard-hearted father, all en regle. "Very well, my dear," the step-mother had observed to her husband the night previous "very well. You have permitted that boy, not yet out of college and not worth a cent, to come here, day after day, hanging round Madge, the consequence of which is that he and she walk in from the bower last evening all joy and blushes, evidently having exchanged mutual vows of everlasting love." "Bless my soul! you don't say so!" "Yes, I do. They are two children, and don't know any better: at least Madge don't. As to that Brooks boy, you know he has only the eight hundred dollars which his grandfather left him, unless his uncle chooses to give him something-a very brilliant alliance for your heiress. Come to think of it, I dare say he does not love her; he is after your money." "After my money!" A dart of indignation flamed out of the good man's eyes. "Not love my precious little girl! What if she loves him, and breaks her heart about him!" "Break her heart! she won't break her little finger. She will sob and cry, lament and sigh for six hours, and forget all about him in six days." And thus it came to pass that the next day Peter was received with tremendous stiffness, his hand and heart pooh-pooh'd, and his handsome person shown the door. I shall not harrow up my reader's sensitive feelings with an account of the unspeakable anguish which the lovers endured for some days after this, because worse is coming. We will hasten on to the miserably blissful day, late in August, when Madge ran away to the city of New York, per railroad, with a carpet-bag and Peter. They arrived in the dusk of evening and made instant search for a clergyman. They found one who united them in five minutes, and wrote a certificate in two more; and behold "man and wife" walked forth in the sweet moonlit night, Peter strutting like a warlike bantam in his pride and happiness. Love's young dream. For six weeks it was like a story out of an Annual. The regulation Peter had engaged apartments in the Byron House, Fifth Avenue-not too expensive, you know, for we are going to be very economical as the ensuing conversation will show, which took place a week after the marriage. The two had written letters again-he to his uncle and guardian, for Peter was an orphan; and Madge to her father, giving their present address. They were eating dinner-soup, a partridge, macaroni, salad, and meringues glacè—all perfectly plain, and of course cheap. "Ah!" cried Peter, laying down his knife and fork to rub his hands gleefully, "ah! isn't it gorgeous! a cozy little parlor, a capital little dinner, and a lovely little wife. I would not change with the king on his throne." "Nor I!-we shall get along so beautifully. We must be very practical, you know. Now, let's calculate expenses. How much did your grandpapa leave you?" "Eight hundred dollars." Eight hundred dollars! Goodness! what an enormous sum! why papa never gave me more than twenty dollars at a time. Now let's count;" and she took a tiny gold pencil out of her pocket, and a scrap of paper from a little table. "How much do we pay here?" "Fifty dollars a week-that's rent, you know." "Yes, fifty dollars; four weeks one month; four times fifty, two hundred. Well, rooms two hundred dollars a month. There, I've got that down. Now what else, Peter ?" "Meals." "Oh yes, meals. They will cost hardly any thing, we eat so little. I only want chicken, and meringue, and such things." "Say fifty dollars a month." "Yes. Oh how nicely we are getting on! Then my dress. Let me see-I saw mamma's bill at Stewart's last year. It was twenty-two hundred dollars. But, bless your dear heart, I sha'n't spend a cent hardly; say fifty dollars a month for me; and another for you. You don't have to give more than fifty dollars for a pair of pantaloons, do you?" "No, you little goose! not half of fifty. My uncle did not allow me as much a month for my whole wardrobe." "Well, then, that will do splendidly. And we must have some nice books." "And go to the opera sometimes." "And a good cigar or two. George! what a long column!" ejaculated Peter, stopping short. "I think we had better count up." He made a hasty calculation, and the result stood as follows: "Whew! George! Jupiter! - here goes nearly a hundred dollars for one week's board!” exclaimed Peter, the picture of dismay. "I had no idea it cost such a prodigious amount to live! How could we eat up thirty-five dollars in one week! We must be two regular ogres! Thunder, this is a fix and no mistake." "My darling Peter, what are you saying all those dreadful words about? What is the matter?" cried Madge, running in from her trunks. "What has happened to give you such a terri ble long face ?" and she put up her mouth for a kiss. "Only a cap sheaf," answered Peter, giving the kiss. "Our letters are sent back, and here is a bill for nearly a hundred dollars for one "For Mrs. Brooks?" repeated Peter; "send week's board." them up." "One hundred dollars? It's perfectly mon Two large trunks were brought into the room, strous! Let's go somewhere else, dear; the and a package handed to Madge. "Why how heavy it is! What can it be--a bracelet? Yes, it feels like one, and from dear papa! He has forgiven us! he has forgiven us!" and she gave a little skip and crow of joy. Her color went and came, and she held the packet still sealed, a vague dread creeping through her joy. "Open it, darling," said her husband. Madge did so with trembling fingers, and took out the keys of her trunks and her last letter unopened. The reaction and disappointment were so bitter that she burst into tears just as the servant had knocked, entered, and had handed a letter to Peter. 'Never mind, darling," he said, kissing her tenderly. "It is all the doings of that horrid old step-mother. Hallo! here is a letter from my uncle; he couldn't hold out any longer. I told you he was a regular brick; we're all right, never you fear." He broke the seal. Inclosed was his own appeal unopened, and a short pithy note from his uncle, stating that as his hopeful nephew had chosen to go and make a donkey of himself before he was twenty years old, he might run through his little property as fast as he pleased, and break his wife's heart in the bargain; but he was not to expect any assistance by word or deed from, etc., etc. Saint Romnald or the Coleridge. I'm sure they can't charge such wicked prices! We boarded at the Coleridge last winter. I don't know what | papa paid, but we had a great big parlor with the loveliest curtains, and such a splendid mantle glass, and a perfectly elegant Wilton carpet; and I remember papa said the charge was very reasonable, considering." "Was it, darling? Then we will go and try." They set off in high glee to get cheaper accommodations at Saint Romuald Hotel, but found upon inquiry, to their unspeakable astonishment, that the same style of rooms would cost them just double. This wouldn't do; the Coleridge was very little better; and our two children went back to the Byron, not knowing where else to go, and staid five weeks longer, to the tune of six hundred dollars more, counting incidental expenses; and then there was just two hundred left in the bank. They had had such a delightful time! Peter, still all lover, could not resist bringing home, once in a while, a basket of fragrant flowers to his darling, in whose lap he would gladly have poured all Tiffany's treasures. They had given two little recherché dinners to friends of Peter's who had happened in town, and his friends had slapped him on the back and volubly envied him the possession of such an angel; and he loved "What a thundering old flint!" ejaculated her, if possible, a thousand times more than ever. Peter. "What a deuce of a fix!" "Deuce of a fix? There's the eight hundred dollars dear, and we will be so very, very economical. I'll go and unpack my trunks; perhaps papa has put some money in them. She ran into the next room, radiant with this hope, just as the servant entered and handed an open envelope to Peter. It was a bill, and read thus: BYRON HOUSE, August 31, 1863. To rent of rooms No.- and No.-, one week....$50 Meals in private parlor and attendance Gas, one week... Sundries, one week 66 .... 35 2 10 $97 They ignored the odd days in eleven of the months. But now another guest came: a scarcelydefined shadow of Care began to sit at the table unbidden. to utter destitution, he suddenly groaned aloud and wrung his hands. "Darling, what is the matter?" cried Madge, running to him and kissing him. "Peter, what made you utter that dreadful groan ?" "We are beggars!" moaned Peter. "What? You don't mean it! Can't we get some more money somewhere ?" "Yes; we can beg, borrow, or steal." "Oh, Peter!"--and the little hands went up in dismay; two piteous eyes became dim with big tears;-then a soft arm went curling round his neck. "We have each other, darling!" said her loving, pleading voice. "We can work. I know how to crochet very well, and you write such heavenly poetry! I'm sure somebody will give you loads of money for it. Just think of that sweet thing you wrote about me! I'll tell you what," she continued, suddenly brightening up, "let's go to housekeeping!-not in a whole house, you know, but in two rooms, like Mrs. Jones, mamma's seamstress, did when she married the carpenter. That will be the very thing! I'll go to market, and cook. I know how to stir a pudding-I did it once for fun! Yes, I am certain I shall be a capital poor man's wife, and we shall get on famously. What fun! Will you, dear ?" Good little wife! precious little soul! sly little woman! cheating him out of his heart-ache to hide it with her own. Oh, what an artful witch every good wife must learn to be! And so this extra-designing one got her husband to do her bidding with tolerable philosophy; for in two days the last hotel bill was paid, and our young couple settled in three small, plainly-furnished rooms, in the third story of a shabby house in a retired street-where, with a little cooking-stove, a large cookery-book, just one hundred and fifty dollars, and undiminished affection for each other, they began this new phase of their married life. Peter went vaguely about in search of employment, and Madge did the marketing. Such fun as it was! The first day she sallied forth with a small basket on her arm-bought a chicken, which she put in her basket; then went to a grocery-store which the butcher had recommended, and asked for butter. She must taste it, of course, for Peter was very particular indeed about butter-so she told the grocer. "Yes, mum," he said, "I keeps the primest butter in market; and this is only thirty-eight cents." "The genteelerest customers allays takes a box, mum." "Oh, do they? Well, send it. If there is too much for once, you know-will it keep?” "Lor' bless you, mum! keep a year," said the grocer, shaking with inward laughter. "Well, then, send the butter and macaroni with the bill;" and she gave her address, and went joyfully home. She busied herself making the little rooms look as inviting as she could; and just before Peter came home she had popped her chicken in the oven attached to the cooking-stove, and was clapping her tiny hands, and laughing, and declaring to herself that, "after all, lace curtains and Wilton carpets were no great things." When Peter came in he was followed up the stairs and into the room by a man with a large, heavy tub on his shoulder. He set this down, went out, and returned with a box about two feet square, marked "Macaroni." This he also set down, and taking a bill out of his hat handed it to Peter. 40 "What the deuce is this?" he cried: pounds of butter, at 38 cents a pound, $15 20; and 30 pounds of macaroni, at 20 cents a pound, $6 00! Who told you to bring this here?" "Fifteen dollars for butter!" exclaimed Madge. "Why, the dreadful man told me it was only thirty-eight cents, and. I didn't think there was more than two or three pounds." "Forty pounds, ma'am, in the tub; forty times thirty-eight, fifteen twenty; all right, you see," said the man. 66 "Oh, Peter, what shall I do?" sobbed the poor child. "I was going to have every thing so nice; and there is such a lovely chicken cooking in the oven!" "Never mind, darling; we must pay for these things, I suppose; they will last the rest of our lives; and we will have the chicken, if it is done, for I am as hungry as a hawk." The bill was paid, and Madge dried her tears. Peter and she set the table together, and were soon screaming with laughter over their own awkwardness, as man and maid of all work. A loaf of bread was placed on one corner, and some of the butter on another. Then the chicken was taken out of the oven. It was brown enough, for one thing; and Peter, thrusting his fork on either side of the breast-bone, prepared to cut it. It was a momentous crisis. Madge's eyes grew wide with expectant pride and happiness in the success of this her first step in the majestic sci "Thirty-eight cents, is it? Well, it is ex- ence of cooking. The knife fell, and rattle, cellent! You may send it home." "Send the tub, mum ?" Madge thought an instant, and decided that, as he was so kind as to offer, the tub might be a good thing to have in the house; so she said, "Oh, thank you! yes-send the tub, if you please; and I want some macaroni-Peter is so fond of it." "Yes, mum. How much, mum?" rattle, rattle, like small shot, went about half a pint of corn all over the dish! Madge grew ghastly pale: nothing of this kind was ever in the chickens at her papa's table. What sort of strange monster was it? Peter gave one cut more, dropped his knife and fork, and fell back in his chair, the image of consternation and despair. Suddenly he darted up, clapped his hands, and tore round the "Oh, oh, hold She forgot to "How much do you usually sell to private room, screaming with laughter. families ?" me!" he cried. "I shall burst. |