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{INSERTKEYS}[uned]. [uned] 1iiessrs. Square I6mo. Moulton's'Bed-time Stories' are tender and loving, as the last thoughts of the day should be. They are told simply and sweetly. All of them teach unselfishness, faithfulness, and courage. Turk, and what became of him,' is such a sympathetic revelation of a bit of child life, that we are half inclined to give it the first place. The stories are not for very young children, but for those old enough to think for themselves; and the influence they exert will be pure, gentle, and decidedly religious.

The dedication is very graceful. Moulton's coinage, and have wept sweet tears with others, just as, we have no doubt, many a boy and girl will do who takes our advice and secures this delightful budget of stories out of their first savings. Parents, who appreciate the difficulty of providing suitable reading for young people when they are at the doubtful age which Burns describes as being "''twixt a man and a boy,' will find Mrs.

Moulton one of the most graceful and thoughtful purveyors of an elevated literature, especially adapted to the wants and tastes of their bright-eyed and quickwitted sons and daughters. Chiildren, the kindest and sharpest of critics, will willingly read them too. And not on the other side of the Atlantic only, but on this, and in every land where the English language is spoken. Real stories these for real children, not namby-pamby, teachyteachy little tales, but regular stories, full of life, told in the good old-fashioned, diffuse, delightful manner.

Ir Prejnaralion. Sold by all Booksellers. The sense of the world is short, - Long and various the report, - To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned it; And, how oft soe'er they've turned it,'Twill not be improved. MAY, DUS5K was settling down upon the great, roomy house in which the Fordyces lived. It was a AIay evening, but chill, with some lingering breath of the vanished winter, and a bright fire was kindled in the great open stove. A servant brought in lights, and plaoed one on the centre-table, and another on the mantel.

They revealed the group in the room quite clearly. A set of merry young people were these Fordyces,-pure blondes, all of them, except one who stood at the window, and who was not a daughter of the house, though her name was also Fordyce. Kate Fordyce was the eldest of the party, and besides her there were two other sisters, and two brothers, - all Saxon, and rosy, and merry. They were teasing each other good-naturedly, laughing a great deal, and saying a good many things which passed with them for wit, because it takes so little in this respect to satisfy those who are ready and waiting to be amused.

The girl at the window paid no heed to them. She 1 A. A little at one side, as the windbw framed the landscape, was her uncle's iron manufactory, from which a red light streamed high, and sparkling cinders rayed off and glittered through the dusk. She always liked to look out of this window at this hour.

The manufactory, prosaic as it might be by daylight, gave to the evening landscape a weird picturesqueness. Its mystery allured, as well as its brightness. Then there were the hills, - not the one on which the village of Lenox stood, -but the distant, solitary ones, where free winds blew, which wild birds haunted.

Their aspect made her sad, oftentimes; touched her to pain; and yet she used to say that if her ghost could come back she knew it would walk among those hills. To-night, however, and a great many other times when she looked at them, they seemed to her like prison-walls, shutting her in fiom the world, -the world which must be somewhere, and mean something besides woods, and slopes, and waters, - the world which held excitements the thought of which thrilled her pulses, triumphs which fired her fancy, delights which haunted her dreams.

Would she ever, ever know any thing about it; or was Lenox to be all her world? She was not unhappy. Her feeling was not positive enough for that. She was only beset by the longing to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, - the longing which is always the inheritance of an imaginative youth. In a certain fashion they all loved her. If there were an imperceptible dividing line between them and her, it was she, not they, who drew it. For they were not of her kind. Their father and hers had been brothers, and certain family traits were reproduced in them all.

But this girl had taken something from her mother which did not run in the Fordyce blood, - a fine and keen imagination, a capacity to enjoy and to suffer, of which they knew nothing. She was not heeding now their merry nightfall talk. Her thoughts were far away, tilting in some great tournament of life, living in some other world of poetry, and passion, and love, and woe. {/INSERTKEYS}

Chandler mythical creature cheating women Victor

She dared sometimes even to utter longing prayers that a door might be opened into this world of her dreams. It was almost the only prayer she ever said, except the Lord's prayer, which she still repeated every night as simply as. Of deep spiritual experiences, of mental conflicts, she knew nothing as yet. She guessed vaguely at her own capacity for emotion.

I am glad that I can show her to you once, while still all her sorrows lay before her. I have not heard a word you have been saying. To do that was something, for. It was not sweet, simply, but low, and clear, and tender. You felt that it indicated a deep and thoughtful nature. She was a tall, slight girl, this Elizabeth Fordyce, whom her cousin called Queen Bess. She had clark gray eyes, which sometimes seemed hazel, and sometimes black. They were shaded by lashes so long that they cast a shadow.

Her complexion was clear, but not fair. She had no color in her cheeks, except when some strong emotion stirred her, and then a glow, deep and warm as the heart of a summer rose, would suffuse them. Her lips alone were bright always. Her head was proudly set on her slender throat. Her hair was soft, ancl dark, and abundant.

Her features were not faultless, but one who cared for her would never remember to find fault with them. She had a low, womanly brow; too broad, perhaps, for some tastes. Her mouth was not small, but the bright, mobile lips expressed every passing shade of feeling. I have told you all this, and yet I am conscious that I have given you no true conception of Elizabeth.

I can only trust to your learning to know her as my story goes on. In those early days, when, as I said, all her troubles lay before her, she neither understood herself, nor was understood by any one else. Perhaps no one loved her quite well enough to take the trouble of studying her. Her individuality was too decided for her to be generally popular. Nor had it even been the fashion in Lenox to call her pretty. Hier cousinswith their full contours, their pink cheeks, and yellow. And yet she had a charm of her own for those who had ears to hear and eyes to see. As she turned to ask what her cousins had been talking about, her eyes and cheeks brightened, and the Fordyce blondes paled beside her.

Kate answered her, speaking in a pretty, eager way, which seemed like a reminiscence of the time when she was fifteen; but then she had been kept young by overmuch petting, though she was twenty-four now, and the eldest of the Fordyce sisters. We must have it on Thursday, or we can't, by any stretch of imagination, call it Ml[ay-day, for the month goes out on that day. We were discussing the propriety of asking Elliott Le Roy. Hie is boarding at the Gilmans, you know. For my part, I think the one charm of the May picnic has always been that we had only Lenox people, who had known about one another all their lives.

I don't like strangers. After all, MIrr. Le Roy isn't exactly a stranger. He belongs to us and to Lenox in a certain way. He is a cousin of Uncle Henry's new wife. It's very different, don't you see. I suppose Aunt Julia's having settled here was what attracted him to the place.

He keeps house in New York, she says, - has an elegant establishment, though he is a bachelor. But he is an author, and he has so many associations and engagements in the city that he couldn't get on with his work there, and, as it was something he was in a hurry to finish, he came here for the quiet. She was only eighteen then, and full of enthusiasm; very young, too, of her age, because she had lived so much in a world of fancy and imagination, and known so little of the coarser realities of actual life.

To her dreaming soul an author meant something a little less than divine, —a sort of demli-god, to whom she could have offered incense like a pagan. I heard Aunt Julia say that he was a philosophical historian, or a historical philosopher, I forget which. But there's no doubt about his cleverness, any more than about his money.

She says he.

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He has never loved any one, and does not care to marry. He is a good comrade, she says, and generous in a certain way; but that comes of his brain, - his heart was forgotten and left out when he was made. For my part, I hope he'll come. I confess I should like to see a real, live book-maker. We will have the picnic on Thursday, and we will ask the bookmaker. Dick, you must see about it to-morrow; and you and Rob must give all the rest of the invitations.

We girls shall have enough to do in making our part of the good things; for I don't suppose even authors are above eating at a picnic. Le Roy before, since he is a family connection? I suppose Aunt Julia would soon have brought him round, or we should have met him there, for I guess he goes to her house every day; but now she will be as busy about the picnic as we shall, and I suppose we shall see him first on the shore of the Mountain Mirror.

So she withdrew into herself; and began to fancy. How could people tell that he had no heart? How unfair to pronounce such judgment when they really knew nothing about it.

Chandler mythical creature cheating women Victor

Just because he had never loved any one yet, —as if every line were long enough to fathom a deep nature. She was quite prepared to make a hero of him, and hitherto she had known only book heroes.

Chandler mythical creature cheating women Victor

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