SCHOOLING A HUSBAND. 315 She was amazed at the coolness of her husband's fair cousin. Before, she had believed it was only a flirtation. Now, she was sure it was something infinitely worse, and she thought about a divorce, or at least a separation. She was astounded, and asked no more questions. Did the guilty pair hope to deceive her-her, the argus-eyed wife? She had some shrewdness, and she had the cunning to conceal her purpose by refraining from any appearance of distrust. After a few words upon commonplace topics, she took her leave. When she reached the sidewalk, there she planted herself, determined to wait till Centre came out. For more than an hour she stood there, nursing the yellow demon of jealousy. He came not. While she, the true, faithful, and legal wife of Centre, was waiting on the cold pavement, shivering in the cold blast of autumn, he was folded in the arms of the black-hearted Sophia, before a comfortable coal-fire. She was catching her death a-cold. What did he care-the brute! He was bestowing his affections upon her who had no legal right to them. The wind blew, and it began to rain. She could stand it no longer. She should die before she got the divorce, and that was just what the inhuman Centre would wish her to do. She must preserve her precious life for the present, and she reluctantly concluded to go home. Centre had not come out, and it required a struggle for her to forego the exposure of the nefarious scheme. She rushed into the house,-into her room. Mrs. Wallis was there still. Throwing herself upon the sofa, she wept like a great baby. Her friend tried to comfort her, but she was firmly resolved not to be comforted. In vain Mrs. Wallis tried to assure her of the fidelity of her husband. She would not listen to the words. But while she was thus weeping, Mr. Centre entered the room, looking just as though nothing had happened. "You wretch!" sobbed the lady. "What is the matter, my dear?" coolly inquired the gentleman, for he had not passed through the battle and storm of matrimonial warfare without being able to "stand fire." "You wretch!" repeated the lady, with compound unction. "You insult me, abuse me, and then ask me what the matter is!" cried the lady. "Haven't I been waiting in C-Street for two hours for you to come out of Smithers' house?" Have you?" "I have, you wretch !" 316 THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. "And I did not come out?" "No! You know you didn't!" "There was an excellent reason for that, my dear. I wasn't there," said Centre, calmly. "You weren't there, you wretch! How dare you tell me such an abominable lie! But I have found you out. You go there every day, yes, twice, three times, a day! I know your amiable cousin, now! She can lie as well as you!" 'Sophia tell a lie! Oh, no, my dear!" "But she did. She said you were not there." "That was very true; I was not." "How dare you tell me such a lie! You have been with Sophia all the evening. She is a nasty baggage!" "Nay, Mrs. Centre, you are mistaken," interposed Mrs. Wallis. "Mr. Centre has been with me in this room all the evening." "What! didn't I see him go out, and follow him to C-Street?" "No, my dear, I haven't been out this evening. I changed my mind. Just then Wallis entered the room with that peculiar Kossuth on his head, and the mystery was explained. Mrs. Centre was not a little confused, and very much ashamed of herself. Wallis had been in Smithers' library smoking a cigar, and had not seen Sophia. Her statement that she had not seen Centre for a month was strictly true, and Mrs. Centre was obliged to acknowledge that she had been jealous without a cause, though she was not "let into" the plot of Wallis. But Centre should have known better than to tell his wife what a pretty, intelligent, amiable, and kind-hearted girl Sophia was. No husband should speak well of any lady but his wife. THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. ALFRED TENNYSON. ULL knee-deep lics the winter snow, Toll ye the church-bell, sad and slow, Old year, you must not die; You came to us so readily, He lieth still; he doth not move; He will not see the dawn of day; He gave me a friend, and a true, true love, He frothed his bumpers to the brim ; Old year, you shall not die; He was full of joke and jest ; But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. How hard he breathes! o'er the snow Shake hands before you die. His face is growing sharp and thin;- And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, BARBARA FRIETCHIE JOHN G. WHITTIER. P from the meadows rich with corn, Forty flags with their silver stars, Green-walled by the hills of Mary- Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, land. Round about them orchards sweep, Fair as a garden of the Lord, To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, Over the mountains winding down, Bowed with her four-score years and ten; In her attic-window the staff she set. Up the street came the rebel tread, Under his slouched hat left and right 318 CIVIL WAR. 'Halt!"-the dust-brown ranks stood fast; "Fire!"-out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash, All day long that free flag tossed On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill- Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, Honor to her! and let a tear Over Barbara Frietchie's grave R CIVIL WAR. IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vedette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!" 'Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. "Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes and snatch From your victim some trinket to hansel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!" |