PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.
MARRYING FOR MONEY vs. LOVE.
There was luxury in that noble library. The light fell with a mellowed radiance through the crimson baogings, on long rows of richly bound volumes; the glowing carpet yielded like moss to the lightest tread; lounges, sofas and rocking-chairs, with their soft cushions and quaint carvings invited to dreamy repose; the brilliant chandelier hung over a table sarewn with rare prints and costly magazines; marble busts aad pure vases shed an elegance and beauly over all; while the breath of summer flowers floated ia through the large windows that opened to the for ‘oa the Ionic portico, But it was the human hearts, beating beneath the fretted ceiling; the human voices, mingling together in the air of that summer eve, which gave to the apartment its living interest.
“It is usoleas to tall of it, father,” said Henry Stafford, at lengih. “It would be but solemn mockery fot me to swear in God’s name to love end cherish Floteace Herbert, when I do not love ber sod never can!”
“Love—fet I ask for a reason, young man, why you will not marry the lady I recommend?”
“I Rave said she is a cold, heartless, unprincipled woman of fashion, and more, a ——”
“——, Witty, accomplished, graceful, beautiful heiress! I wonder what your highnesa expects in a wife.”
‘Henry saw that his reasons would weigh nothing with such a judge, and be only replied—“I expect in myself honesty. The marriage vow breathed to Miss Herbert would be a wilful, deliberate lie; and, faiber, I will not lie!”
“Oh, Harry,” retorted the colonel, in a low, bland tone, shrugging his shoulders elightly as be spoke— “dot say lie! it’s decidedly vulgar; aud beside, none but footmen and chambermaids ever lie! But ‘whet fine-spum principles and inconvenient, Heavenly morals you bave been cultivating. All romance, Harry, I shouldn't wonder if you’d tell me ext that your angel mother was whispering in your ear.”
Young Stafford started involuntarily to his feet, his hands clenched tilt the nails sunk into the smooth palm, while bis dark eye dashed, and the hot blood mounted to his brow in the quick gush of pausion. His mother had been the one object of his worship from infancy, and he could not heer her name tried with.
The colonel laughed, a low, sneering laugh, while he drew his dressing-gown eround him, and slid his foot into the slipper that bad fallen beueath the em- broidered footstool. “Now be cool, my dear boy,” he continued, “ there’s nothing in the world like sdlf- possession, and how often I’ve told yon it’s not polite to get in a passion, do try and remember! So you won't marty Miss Herbert; you'll thiok better of it in sa hour.”
There was a soft, gliding step, a smooth opening of the door—" you must make up your mind before you leave this room, Harry,” said the colonel, looking hack, “either to marry Miss Herbert, aye, ber money if you choove, or leave the house forever. When you have decided, please let mo know; I may bave something unpleasant to tell you.” The door closed smoothly as it had opened, and Henry, giad to be alone again, sunk back on the sofa, and shading out the light with his cold hand, lay motionless 2s a statue and thought and felt. The door opened again, and a servant entered, bearing a note on a email, silver wniter. He tore it open impatiently and read——
“Noble, generous Stafford, what shall I eay? I feel grateful, deeply grateful, that you think me worthy of fuch saerifice, but 1 love you too well to permit it. ‘You shall not be homeless ead penniless for my sake, There ore many more worthy of your love than I who would cherish it with pride; seek them and be bappy. You have my prayers for your happiness, and ii friendship until death. Before you shall receive this shall bave left home on a jouraey, and it will be wecloss to seek me. We shall never meet again. Forever, farewell my friend, Aowes Eee ton.”
Pale and gasping with emotion—“ob, Agnes, Agnes!” he groaned, “this blow from you. Cold, cold, as an iceberg! You koow 1 will not sell my soul for money, and I did not tail of sacrifice. Ob, God! is there no tratbfulness on earth?”
Another boar rolled by, while the sun went down, and the whip-poor-will’s note came sadly through tha twilight. At length he started up, and with s haughty ‘cur! of his lip tore the note into hundred fragments. “True, I shall not be Col, Stafford’s heir,” be exclaimed, proudly, ‘but I am a man—why should I be homeless and peooiless?” and with a step which rang out even on that mosey carpet, be passed from the room, teaving there no living presence but the �
