NOT
SATISFIED.
BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.
“Goon morning, Mrs. Nichols.”
“Good morning, Mr. Wilcox,” echoed the soft voice of the lady, as she stood in the window, and pulled away one of the woodbine bells from the vine that matted it with jewels.
The gentleman lifted his head with a grace that would have done honor to the court of a grand monarch, then he lightly gave the reins of the noble animal on which he had just sprung, while the lady's eyes followed him, as he dashed down the road. He was a striking, rather than a handsome man, for bis dark hair, eyes, complexion and moustache, gave rather a stern expression to his face. He had a remarkably fine. figure; tall, lithe, well developed limbs: and he was still young, not more than thirty: a man with such bearing and presence as would be apt to strike a woman's fancy. But the Iady, the lady who stood by the window of that brown manorial-looking residence which rose so stately among its evergreens of pine, and spruce, and hemlock: she was a dainty, dainty little woman, with lips like spring rose-buds, and eyes like some blue wood-spring, with long, thick curls of golden bair, and the whitest arms and hand.
Bosaline, or Rose, as she was usually called, and the name was no misnomer in her age, for it just suited. The pretty little creature had no great depth of intellect, perhaps not of heart, still, she was, on the whole, an average sort of woman, just the kind that men are most apt to get in love with, rave about, to swear, it may be to shoot each other over.
Avery few words will comprise all of her history it is necessary for you to know. She was the only daughter of a New England farmer, petted and spoiled from her youth.
At eighteen she was as perfect a little coquette ae ever blossomed in the quiet atmosphere of a New England farm house, being vain of her beanty, and prising herself mostly for the number of offers she had received.
She was warm-hearted, impulsively generous, and could be roused by a tale of suffering to make « grent sacrifice for others.
But, whether she could have made an enduring one, whether she would not have subordinated the interests of her dearest friends to the gratification of her own petty vanity, whether, short, with all her social brightness, and winning courtesy, she might not, were the temptation strong enough, have been guilty of a great wrong, or meanness, is more than I can venture to deny; and you, reader, if you are an acute stadent of human nature, will enderstand of how few individuals this can be denied; and if you are a loving student of this same nature, and God forbid you should be otherwise, the knowledge will pot embitter your heart, but rather stimulate your pity and charity for your fellow men. But, to return to my beroine, at eighteen he met the man who certainly struck her fancy, and, mayhap, sounded her heart deeper than any other had ever done. Ruel Wylie was in his twenty fourth year when he visited his aunt at Longwood, and first met with Rosaline Wayne. He was always an intense admirer of a certain kind of beauty, and became desperately enamored of the lady at first sight.
In less than two months they were engaged, and would probably have been sbortly married but the young gentleman was poor, though of good family, and he was about to sail for South America on mercantile business.
So with many vows of eternal constancy on both sides they departed. Shortly afterward both Rosaline’s parents died, and she went to reside with an aunt, at whose home she first met Hugh Nichols, ‘*Hugh Nichols, Exsq.,” as they called him on Wall street.
He was a rich man, both by inheritance and his own good business tact, for he was now a bachelor of thirty-seven, but his hitherto unsusceptible heart succumbed at once to the charms of the dainty little village maiden.
At first, Hugh Nichols did not find his suit very successful one, although he had the influence of all the lady's friends fn his behalf; but the memory of her absent lover grew fainter in Rosaline's soul as his letters grew fewer; and the elegant home and its beautiful surroundings, which the rich man promised her, began to ocoupy her imagination.
Then the little girl-woman was beset on all sides by her friends, who thought it would be madness to let such an opportunity slip.
At last, her consent made Hugh Nichols the happiest of men, and two years had Rosaline
