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I WONDER.
HELEN A. MANVILLE.
I wonder when the day will be,
When Death shall come to tell to me
The Story that vve all must hear;
When, with the silence drawing near
I feel my hold on earth so weak
My pale lips have no power to speak
Of anguish or of ecstaCy.
Ah. lowly house the grasses under,
When will ye ope to welcome me
Your silent guest to be, I wonder?
, I wonder if it will be spring,
When o’er my bead the birds will sing
Their first sweet song [not set to words?
And which of all the, many' birds
Will»be the first to carol there.
When, I forever done with eaie.
Just like a child tired out at play.
Sleep all the night and jail the day,
' So peacefully my green roof under,
Will it be autumn time or May,
Winter or summer time, I wonder?
I wonder if I shall he glad—
To leave the pain I long have had?
Or, if friends who love me so.
But with reluctance 1 shall go?
Go out upon that journey long
So voiceless 1 shall sinjg no song,
Ah, chain of life’s fair wrap and woof
When will your bright links drop
asunder?
When'will I sleep beneath the roof
Thatched with the violet*, I wonder?
—Toledo Blade.
THE CASKET'S KEY.
BY 1/ CY H, HOOPER.
When Chester Seabok, i\ young
wealthy, intelligent, and-ambitious of
literary fame, went to Italy to collect
materials and to eouSrtlt authorities
before baginning his projected trag
edy of “Ciesar B rgji j.” ii s f; iends
aml_relalives'in New jYork were far
from anticipating, tliej actual' results
of bis researches. These had brought
ahum Ins aefjuainteneY with a certain
Dr. Alexander MaV niTan aged phy
sician of Milan, w o claimed descent
from one of the collateral branches
of the Borgia ijunuy. The old doc
tor’s grand daughter, Lucrezia Marini,
was wonderfully beaut5 fu I, an Italian
blende, growing with the freshness
of extreuie youth, being then hardly
seventeen, and with ail the Ins re o!
a loveliness which, is her grand
father declared, revived and repro
duced- the charms of her of the
) same name who was the famous bride
of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara. The
tragedy remained unwritten, and
Chester Seabrook took to wifeths
dazzling creature. If, wedding in
baste. 1m afterward repented at lei
sure, the outside world was destined
never to know. li is. married life
lasted a little over one year. His
brilliant Italian wife died in- giving
birth to a son, and the young widower
returned to his native land with his
litile .child, po sibly; a wiser man,
but certainly a sadder one It was an
ominous fact that - he never referred
to his wife in any way, nor to the ex
periences of his lew months of mat
rimony. A miniature, painted on
ivory and reproducing the glowing
yet delicate beauty of Li e fair Lucre
zia, was all that remained to him of
that episode in his hfe* Tiiat, and
the boy, who had received the name
of Louis, and who bore well his
transfer to the United States, grow
and thriving as though he had been
born under the shadow of the Stars
and Stripes.
When Louis was a little over
twelve years of age his father died
suddenly of typhoid pndumonia. Lie
had1 one onty sister, Mrs. Richard
Jdarsden, and to her and her husband
he bequeathed the guardianship of
his son and that son’s large fortune.
It was a healthy natuaed and happy
family in whieu the boy grew to man
hood. Mr3 Marsdeh’s three sous
were ail older than Louis, and did
not, it is true, takh very kindly to
their cousin. But her only daughter
little Grace was so^n • years his
junior, and, as is hften the case in
such instances with intelligent, pre
cocious little girls, she developed a
great fancy for her mpbdy boy cousin
regularly took him under her -protec
tion.
The poor bo\’ needed all the affec
tion that could possibly be bestowed
TELL BOTH SIDES, AND TAKE THE CONSEQUENCES.
i 1-111 ' ■ -■.^., -- .- ■ ' ■ ■■■
ircxL. 1.
FRANKLINTON, N. C., NOVEMBER 4,1887.
3STO. 10.
upon him. He was never strong, and
fa's disposition was gloomy and mor
bid to a degree that was extra
ordinary in one that was so great
a fayovorite of fortune. He was
shy and silent to a painful extent,
and, despite his Italian origin, he de
veloped no taste for either art or
music. He decided early in life to
become a physician, but, after study
ing medicine for some few years in a
in a desultory, languid way, devoting
the chief part of his tima to investi
gations concerning the nature and
properties of poisons, he suddenly
announced that, on attaining his ma
jority, he had made up his mind to
relinquish all idea of studying a pro
fession. And he likewise astonished
Mr, and Mrs. Marsden by making
iorroal proposals for the hand of
Grace.
These proposals were negatived at
once, and decidedly, by Mr. Mars
den.
“You are both of you too young to
think of such a thing as maariage, or
even of an engagement, Louis.” ! is
uncle made answer. . ‘ You are only
just twenty-one, and Grace is but a
few week3 over sixteen. Moreover,
1 have decided objections to the
marriage of first cou-dns-”
“Yon do not knew to what you
d om me, uncle,” was the gloomy
response of tiie young man. “Grace
i is alt that I have to 1 ve for upon
j earth, and if I lose her -
•‘.Now, do not tal it nonsense,
I Louis,” responded Richard Matsden.
| briskly* but not unkindly. ‘-Grace
j is too much of a child to bo adowed
! to li ^ten to 3'our proffers ol aff-c ion.
; Sue ca-es no more for you than she
i does for Ned. or Harry or Frank.
: You are like a brother to her—noth
! iug more—and l do not mean to have
j her mind disturbed by anything like
j love-making. Besides, you have seen
nothing of the world, as you should
do before choosing a wife and set
tling d wn to matrimony and qui
! etude Go abroad—spend the next
'two years in European travel, and
| then-”
“And then you will give Grace to
! me?,’ eagerly asked the youth, his
pale face flushing and his dark eyes
glowing as he spoke.
“I make no promise; I will enter
into no compact with you on that
subject. You and Grace must both
: be entirely free, and if either of you
should fall in love with some one
else
“I cannot ad nit the ex.stcr.ce of
sticha possibility as1 far as I cm con
. ",
| eerned,” Louis made answer, pas
1 sionately.
i “Neve'rless such tilings are pos
' stb'e, and' have often occurred, es
: pecially where two such children as
| you both are were concerned. Now
| let rnc hear nothing more on this sub
ject.- I shall send Grace to stay with
her annt, Mrs. Elavjn, in Washing
ington, until you are gone, and I
| feel seriously displeased with )ou if
you broacli to her any subject con
j nected with love and matrimony be
i foie her departure.
| And so well and carefully did
! Mrs. Marsden (who was at once ac
quainted by her husband with all the
| details of the affair) watch over her
| daughter, that Grace went away for
her visit wholly unconscious of the
conquest she had made of her coasifi’s
; affections. She was, to tell the truth,
i so delighted at the idea of a journey
to Washington, of a sojourn with her
i favorite aunt (whose daughter Alice
! waf about her ow* age) and of all the
things slie meant to see and do, that
she lost sight of the fact that Cousin
Louis was going to sail for Europe
; iu a few weeks, and that she would
I not see him again for a long time.
In fact, the peculiarly morbid dispo
sition of the of the young man had
finally becoms repellent to her bright
nature, and though she was always
affectionate and kind to him, she fell
unconsciously, a certain degree *ol
(relief m the thought of his absccnce, i
“Tou must not forget me Grace,” j
! he said, fervently, at the moment of j
! her departure. And the young girl
| answered, gavly : “No fear of that,
Louis. Even if you never write to
'any of us, I shall always remember
you. For you are ray cousin, you
know—just the same to me as one ef
! my brothers.”
1 Louis was about to utter some
t protestation respecting this announce
: meat on Grace’s part; hut a signifi
cant touch on his shoulder from the
! hand of Mr. Marsden recalled that
! gentleman’s stern prohibitions, and
I he contented himself with kissing
! with fervor the little hand that Grace
; frankly placed within his own, un
i heeding the fresh young face that
was held up to him for a parting
salute.
“How odd you are, Louis, not to
kiss me good-by 1” she cried, gaydy,
j as she sprang .into the carriage; “re
I member, you must write your first
\ letter from Rome to me. And be
sure you tell me what you think
! about St. Peter’s and the Cdlosseum.
I wish I were going with you to see
' them all.”
“If you only were!” muttered
Louis, .as the carriaue drove away.
“ There goes ray guardian angel, and
I must go forth alone to meet the de
; mon.”
'A lew weeks later Louis Seabrook
saiieii from New York for Europe.
I He did ‘not fail to write to Grace
more than one impassionate love
lettei* shortly after his arrival, but
the child, perplexed, unsympathiziag,
and half provoked with what she
| called ‘Cousin Louis's foolishness,”
! made no response to Lis fervent pro
testations. Louis took the hint, and
■the correspondence thereafter was
; conducted on a more trauq'u 1 footing.
To this change a sharp reproof f ont
Mr. Marsdeu, and a treat of forbid
ding altogether any interchange pf
letters, probably contributed largely
! The traveler wrote but seldom, bnt
! he often sent tokens of regard and
j remembrance to his uncled family,
; and especially to Grace. One of
| these was a tine copy of the cele
! brated portrait of Caesar Borgia, by
| Raphael, which is one of the noted
ad treasures of. the Bdrghese Palace.
Au i inT.be strangely beautitui face,
wLh the evil tendencies of the inner
nature looking from the large eyes
a..d curving the full red lips, Mrs.
Marsden recognized with a shudder a
strong resemblance to the counte
nance of her nephew. Indeed, he al
luded to the likeness of Liujself in
! one of the infrequent letters received
from him during tiis sojourn in Romo.
“1 must be a true descendant of the
Borgias,” he wrote, “for my likeness
to the Raphael portrait has been
commented upon even by total Yran
igcis, and when I went to see my
I great grandfather, Dr. Marini, when
| 1 passed »through Milan, the other
day, his first exclamation on bebold
i me was; ‘You are like your mother’s
race.’ By-the-way, what a wonderful
old man he is! 1 have promised to
pay him a long visit on my way back
to Paris, and he tells me that he will
then confine to my keeping su dry
family relics of great importance.
I confess that 1 am very curious to
see him. lie is --nearly ninety years
old now, but preserves ali his facul
ties uni tn. ait%i.”
A few months la*er Louis wrote
that his promised visit had been paid,
and that Dr. Marini had placed in
his hands some curious and antique
objects, several of which had at one
time belonged to t e famous family
; of Pope Alexander Borgia. “Amongst
these,” be wrote, “is an ivory casket
of exquisite and artistic workman
ship. It possess certain singular
i properties which I shall describe
when we meet.” Next came the
1 of the death of the old doctor, wh3
; seemed to haye lived thus long for
f the express purpose of bestowing his
cherished heirlooms on his great
grandson and sole direct descendant.
The two years that had been fixed
as the period of young Seabrook’s
absence had nearly come to an end,
and he had already written to an
nouncer the date at which he would
sail for home, when he received from
Mrs. Marsden the news of Grace’s
engagement to a young talented law
| yer, Stuart Hasting by name. The
match was one that was satisfactory
in every way to Mr, and Mrs. Mars
den, and to do them justice, they had
both looked upon the attachment of
Louis for his cousin as a mere boyish
passion that had not survived the
tests of time and absence. This let
ter received no response, but Louis
wrote a few hurried lines to Grace,
declaring bis intention of being pres
ent at her marriage. “And to prove
to my pretty cousin that I bear her
no malice for the way that she lias
trifled with my affections,'’ hs wrote:
“I will bring her a wedding present
such as few brides in this nineteenth
century have ever seen,”
But it was not-ill the day before
that fixed for the ceremony that
Louis made his appearance at the
| house of his aunt. He received a
! warm welcome from Mrs, Marsden,
i who had always looked upon him as
j one of h®r own childred.
| ‘/You have grown tali and manly,
' Louis,” she s dd, after the first greet
ings were at a i end, “but you look
wind, haggard and feverish. Are you
suffering from malaria? You must
1 not fall ill on the very day of your re
turn—the eve of Grace’s wedding
• day. Your playmate of bygone days
• woulil feel sorely grieved if you were
not to be present to morrow.”
| “Ah, yes—where is G ace?—I had
forget ten Grace!” the young man
responded, hurriedly. “I want to see
her—I have my wedding gift ready
: for her, and I want to present it to
her myself.”
“Go into the library, then, and I
will send her'to you in a moment.
See is just having her wedding dres3
tried on for the last time, and T will
| tell her not to take it off, for I want
! you to see how charmingly 3he looks
[in it.”
! And with a nod and a smile. Mrs.
J
j Marsden disappeared.
| Some ten minutes later the door
j of the library where Louis wns pac
ing the floor impatiently, was slowly
'opened, and the bride elect, graceful
, and charming in her vesture of snown
; satin, with a mien of grave sweet
| maidenliniss, advanced with out
: stretched hands to meet the newly
! returned wanderer. • He gazed upon
j her for a moment wiie a lowering
brow and a bitter smile.
“So it is thus that I find you,
j woman that I loved,” he said be
; tweeu his teeth, “on the eve of your
| marriage , all radiant and smiling in
! your bridal finery!”
“Coij9in—Cousin Louis!” stam
mered the young girl,. amazed and
halfyilarraed at Sea'brook’s demeanor.
‘ Oh, you need not be afraid—I
have,not come to overwhelm j-ou
reproaches or tell you all the ill that
yon have wrought, my Cousin Grace.
I have brought you a present from
! beyond the seas. Take it, and with
■ it such blessings from me as you anti
your kinsfold richly deserve.”
So saying, he turned toward the
table, anti brought forward to the
light an ivory casket that stood there,
still half secluded in its wrappings.
Divested of these, it showed in the
sunset light as a morvel of artistic
beauty. In high relief ppoin the lid
was carved the meeting of Bacchus
and Ariadne, and the sides were
adorned with a representation of the
bridal procession of the god, wherein
bacchantes and satyrs, nymphs and
fauns, and cupids and panthers, were
all mingled in graceful confusion.
The mountings of the casket were in
antique silver, and on a shield jnsfc
above the lock were engraved the in
\ ■;. .. ‘V ; - ; ■ "■*.... -; v - :
tertwined initials “C, B.” and below
them a “V.” surmounted with a ducal
coronet, the insignia of “Caesar Bor
gia, Duke of Valentinois.” It was a
gift worthy to be ctfered by an enam
ored monarch to his future Queen.
Grace drew near and gazed with
breathless delight at the exquisite
workmanship of the' ivcry carvings.
Meantime Louis took from his pocket
book an antique key. , in darkened
silver. This, too, was a veritable
work of art The tube was held in
the upraised hands of a mermaid,
whose curved fish tail formed the
handle of the key. This handle on
its outer edge was bordered with
small, scarcely perceptible points, or
spines, which would be apt to wound
the hand of any one trying to open
the lock and not warned to take due
precautions. This key Louis care
fully fitted into the lock of the cas
ket. ]
“Open it—open it, Grace!”, he
cried with feverish eagerness. “With
in you will find inclosed a necklace
of the choicest pearls to be found in
all Paris. Open it—open it, and tell
me what you think of your wedding
presents.”
But without touching the key the
girl glided forward, and, resting her
clasped hands on the lid of the cas
she looked into the dark, troubled
depths of her cousin’s eyes with a
tender seriousness in her glance'lhat
caused him to turn paie and look
aside.
•‘Deal* Cousin Louis,” sue said,
“you have brought me a magnificent
gift, but.do not think me exacting or
ungrateful if 1,ask you for something
more. You know I am going out to
morrow to a new life, and 1 want to
take with me all the kindly thoughts
and laffectiou of those who loved me
when 1 was a little child. You (eel
bitterly towards us all, I know, be
cause I could not love you better
than I have done—jjust as I have
ioved my brothers. It will cast a
shadow on the brightness of my we l
ding day if I think you are still dis
pleased with my parents, and si ill
feel unkindly towards me. Dear
Cousin Louis—ray brother Louis—in
memory of our old pleasant days to
gether, will you not grant me my re
quest? Take back your lovely’ casket
and your necklace of pearls, and give
me instead your frank brotherly af
fection once more.”
He fixed his dark, burning eyes on
the soft-blue ones raised so plead
ingly’ to his own.
“c?o y ou wi l not op* n the caske^
Grace?” he said, hoarsely.
**Not till you promise to grant me
my request. Ah, Louis, have you
"forgotten all those days when we
were children together, and litt e
Cousin Grace used to pet you, and
watch over you, and keep her bois
terous brothers from teasing you?
You were always very dear to me,
Louis—be my dear brother once
again and always.”.
Still gazing fixedly upon her, he
! drew the casket towards him, un
locked it threw back the lid, and
withdrew the key. lie held up his
baud with its open palm turned to
ward Grase as he did so, and the
astonished girl could see upon it one
or two minute drops of blood caused
by the punctnres of the points on
the hapdle of the key.
•‘Take your casket and your pearls,
Grace, and with them my full for
givuess. You do not know what
good service I have done you to-day.
I have swept from your path a bitter
and dangerous foe. Did you ever
read Victor Hugo’s ‘EsmeraldaT
There are four lines in an old trans
lation of that po m which are now
ringing in my brain:
“ ‘Mine be the tomb and thine be light
and life.
I die, and Fate avenges thee. ’Tis well.
I go, Oh angel of my life, to learn
If Heav’n is sweet as were thy love.
Farewell.”’
So saying, he took Grace’s bead
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in both his hands, kissed her tenderly
on the forehead, and departed.
A week later the community was
electrified by the news of the sudden
death of young Louis Seabr-ook, who
succumbed to a rapid and mysteri
ous malady a few days after the mar
riage of Miss Marsden. The disease
which proved so speedily fatal baf
fled all the science and conjectures of
| the physicians called in Ito attend
him. They agreed that hinssmptoms
closely resembled those produced by
the bite of a serpent, and finally de
cides that the patient had fallen a
victim to some acute and mysterious
form of blood-poisoning.
It was only Richard Marsden who
learned the truth, and that was after
the death of Louis Seabrook.
Amongst the papers of the deceased
was fuund a letter addressed to his
uncle. It set forth in rambling, in
coherent fashion these facts: “I
brought the casket of Ctesar Borgia
a3 a present to Grace,” he wrote, in
tending that she should not long sur
vive her marriage. The little points
that stud the handle of the silver key.
and that are arranged so as to punc
ture the hand of any one who tries,
unwarned, to open the .casket, con
tain a deadly venom. But once
brought face to face with my fair and
gentle cousin, I could not find it in
my heart to carry out my purpose.
Two natures have striven lor'super
I maey in my sbul. The one is the
cruel serpent-cunning infused there
by the Borgia blood of niy maternal
ancestors. The other is the frank
kindliness of niv American father.
What if the fi st named element
should once again win the upper
hand, as it did when I * planned
Grace’s bridal g.ft? I have deliber
ately tested on myself the death*
dealing properties of the poisoned
key. I have destroyed it. Never
again will it work harm on any
human being. Ind never again shall
I. I would not live to deal with
fresh temptations—perhaps to suc
cumb to them. The legacy of my
great-grandfather has wrought evil,
for no one—not even for myself. I
g°
“ ‘To where, beyond these voices there U ,
peace.’ ”
—Frank Leslie's.
A kidnapper—paregoric.
A stable government should be
i one that ruled by horse sense.
“I think I’ll give this country the
shake,” remarked' the malaria, as it
prepared for business.
Cardinal Newman says : “A gen
tleman is one who never inflicts pain.”
That settles it, then ! The watermelon
! is no gentlemfh.
Miss■Bli»k5X-,‘\Yhy do you marry
Torn Bloodgood? He is well off in
years.” Miss Jinks—“Yes, but he is
also well offiu money.”
“What is more lovely than a peace
ful grandmother?” asks a:i exchange.
Her granddaughter. If this is not the
right answer, we give' it up.
Husband (attempting to sing)-y^
“My voice is rather h-tms-husky to
night.”- Wife—“No wonder it’s
husky. You arefui! of eorn.”
“What do you sell that ribbon
for!” asked a young lady in a dry
goods store. “Eight dollars a week
—bb, beg pardon—50 cents a yard,
Miss.
A New York brewer is said to give
away to his workmen forty kegs of
beer a day. He must be busy. At
least this looks like an evidence that
he has his hands “full/
When Dr. H. and Lawyer S. were
were walking arm in arm, a wag said
to a friend: “These. two juat equal
to one highwayman.” “Why/ asked
his friend. “Because,” rejoined the
wag, “it is a lawyer and doctor***
your money or yonr life.”
As *0* ■ / *1: ‘ &j|r. :
•.■ -