214 MY PLANETS - MARS, JUPITER, VENUS.
and I had no right to expect you would be so good to such'a horrid madcap asIam. Do, do forgive my saucy note; I’m as wicked as poor Topsey was. And don’t let aunt Frances bully me! I shall never, never call either you or Marguerite cold and hard-hearted again.” Guardy gave me a queer look.
“Pray, what has, your wise head got in it now? Has Miss Vivian been casting her spells over you? I used to call her.a white witch long ago, but she seems more like a pure, stately pearl now-a-days. And, if you have made such a discovery about my warm-hearted qualities, how in the world did you happen to arrive at the conclusion that she is not cold? Verily, she has changed since lang syne,”
I looked up through the half open door, where beyond, in the music-room, I could see Marguerite’s fair, classic profile bent over her embroidery-frame; and I made an audacious resolution.
“Guardy,” quoth I, slipping down on the floor in my favorite position, and looking very innocently up into his face, ‘I want to tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a beau- tifal Prince, (at least he would have been a Prince if we had such things in America,) and he had a garden, of which he was very fond. He admired all the flowers there, but he took the most care of a certain ‘blush-rose, and a beautiful, stately lily. And one day he said to himself, ‘I will gather the rose and wear it on my heart; see how she smiles and blushes when I stand beside her—the lily is always the same, she is more to be admired at a distance.’ But, after it was plucked, the rose began to fade; and the Prince was smitten with sore grief when he saw it wither away and die. And the lily stretched out her hands to him, and longed to comfort him, but he was selfish in his grief, and was blind. And day by day the lily grew paler and colder, till the Prince began to think it a marble flower.”
“Kathie!” and Guardy’s angry face frightened me, but I went on faster than ever.
“So the Prince wandered away all over the world, and at last, after many years, he came back to visit his long neglected garden. And a pert, little daisy lifted up her head, and whispered in his ears, ‘See! the lily queen would suffer no hand to pluck it but yours. Place it on your breast, and learn its sweetness.’ And, behold! the scales fell from the Prince's eyes, and taking the daisy’s advice in good part— Guardy, suppose you finish the story!”
For a second there was silence; I dared not lift my eyes to Gerald King’s face. Then, imperiously,
«Kathie, are you an angel, or an impish monkey, to tear open hearts thus? Brave child!”—and, actually, my stern, proud, dig- nified Guardy, hurried from the room in as hot haste as if he had been Charley himself.
I know it was abominably mean, but I could not help peeping through the door after him. I saw him go to Marguerite’s side, and behel:l the crimson blood dye her pearly throat as lie took her unresisting hand; and then, with a more perfectly triumphant heart than I ever expect to possess again, I danced every step of the way up stairs into my own room. Positively, Charley and my own delight fled away for full five minutes, inthe overwhelming idea that I had had a share in the darling white witch’s joy.
So you see, Guardy having found his ‘Pearl,” his heart relented even more toward Charley and me. And I am to take my European tour this fall, instead of a year hence; and to prevent any more elopements, Charley will accompany us; for, as soon as the dress-makers and such bothers will, let us, Marguerite and I are going to change our names, and we shall all go across the Atlantic together—such a jolly party.
Guardy has forgiven me for my impudence, and tries his best to induce ‘Pearl” to overlock my awful breach of confidence. He has generously supplied the deficiencies of my jewel-case; and Charley and I are more happy than two such monkeys deserve to be. Good-by!
MY PLANETS—MARS, JUPITER, VENUS.
BY FRANCES HENRIETTA SHEFFIELD.
Are these my stars? the mystic planets
Presiding o’er my mortal life?
I well believe that Mars is one,
For fate and I are still at strife.
And Jupiter, the traveling planet,
Homeless as Autumn leaf, and
Driven by each wind of circumstance,
Against an ever darkening sky.
But Venus, she whose silver radiance
Flings bright enchantment o’er the Heaven,
Oh! naught so mild and beautiful
Can to my restless course be given.
It must be Saturn, the misanthrope,
Progeni of cannibals;
Those outre folks we sometimes find,
That man their choicest morsel call.
Oh! mystic planets, though we scorn you,
We shrink at your far-reaching power;
We walk, encircled by your influence,
To death, e’en from our natal hour,
