19th century, in England or abroad, may be allowed to put in a claim for the credit of not having livedfin vain, that woman, we honestly believe, was Harriet Martineau.

Mattie Moore's Lovers.

i I WONT stand it, Mattie; I wont indeed ! Every throb of a strong, true heart is yours. j)o with me as you will, but not trifle, my darling, with an affection that seeks only your happiness.' The speaker gazed with sad earnestness, bat compressed lips, that indicated a de:e mined purpose, into the charming pouting face before him. 'Well, Mr. Delano, if you ' wont stand it,' Irealydonot know what is left; for me to do but say good-by ; I do not care to be robbed of my liberty'— ' Kobbed of your liberty ! Why, Mattie, if you think I have so little spirit of manli ness in my compositiou that I will permit another man to take a lover's privileges with my intended wife, you have indeed made a mistake; if this is the liberty yoix do not care to be robbed of, the liberty of having gome other man embrace you—' ' Mr. Delano !'

1 Your high tragedy attitude is becoming to you, Miss Moore, but I am saying nothing more absurd than repeating facts. If your sense of honor craves for such liberty, you shall have it. Oh, Mattie ! Mattio ! Is this the end of all my glorious anticipations ?'

'Mattie stood one moment looking at him w ith flashing eyes, her pouting lips quivering with intense scorn not unmingled with, pain, then, with a little sniff of girlish contempt, turned away and walked into the cottage at the end of the path where the two had been standing. ' Mattie, you are acting very foolish, said her mother, who had observed the scene from her seat at the window, ' Harry is right; you have no business flirting with that silly dandy, as you did at the picnic yesterday. Harry is worth a million of such useless creatures as Judge Harwood's son.' 'Mother, I wont be dictated to by Harry ; he is too jealous for anything, and if Mr. Harwood condescends to show me some little gentlemanly attentions, I'm not going to snub him to oblige Harry's whims.' 'Mattie, don't ruin your future happiness for the condescending trifling of a man who is only amusing himself.' Matties face crimsoned.

'Mother, he is not trifling,' she stam mered.

IMy child, what do you mean!' the mother exclaimed, in sfcarbled anxiety, going to her daughter and tenderly drawing the pretty head to her bosom. The girl put her arm 3 aboub the motherly form, and in broken sentences said :

'Mr. Harwood says I am fib to grace any society ; he wants me to make his people's acquaintance. His sister is going to invite me to visit them, and indeed, mother, he is so nice.'

' Mattie, child, you are dazzled, blinded by his attentions and insinuating ways ; it is all folly, dear. Don't look beyond your sphere for happiness, here where nature has placed yon. We love you, and understand the disposition, habit and association has formed. Among such people you would be simply a nonentity, your impulses laughed at, and yonr heart "crushed. Child, bear in mind this homely maxim : ' Tis better to be at the head of the mice than the tail of the rats.' Make up your quarrel with Harry. There is no condescension in his love, because he feels you are his equal, and a marriage foun ded upon less than this is misery for both.' ' Mother, you do not know, you do not understand.'

..'Mattie, I do ! If his intentions were honorable and his family favored his ad dresses, he and they would have acted quite differently, and I should regret it more than I can tell if I thought it possible for you to think of him seriously. His social position and wealth place him far above you, but morally and intellectually you are as far above him as the sky is above the water|that reflects only its glitter. Oh, my dear child, all I have to love on earth. May the God of the Fatherless direct your heart. Amen.' With this whispered invocation, the mother left her daughter alone. A few days later a footman in full uniform c'elivered a letter envelope, containing a dain ty note of gray-tinted paper, at the cottage. With an affable bow and flourish he begged permission to wait for an answer. That wsb granted with a nervous fluttering heart by the expectant Mattie, who hastened with the note to her mother, and together they read:

'Miss Lillie Harwood is deputized by her brother to extend the hospitality of their house to Miss Moore. Not having the pleasure of the young persons's accquain tance herself, she will make her welcome for her brother's sake

'Harwood Place, June, 187—.' Mrs. Moore watched her daughter's chang ing face in silence. With bosom heaving tumultuously, and eyes flashing anger from their tearful bed, Mattie was about as near having an attack of genuine hysteria as ever asßailed the varying emotions of the human heart.

' Mother, this ia an insult!' ' No, my daughter, it is condescension. I A burst of tears relieved the girlish indig ■■ nation, then going to the hall where the affable footman was staring patiently into vacancy she said with calm dignity, ' tell ! your mistress, Miss Moore is incapable of I making a reply to her ladylike invitation.' I The same evening Judge Harwood's son I received hiß sister's note to MiEs Moore, ' accompanied by a wee document that cooled the ardor of his sudden flame. It read rather blunt than loving. ' Will Mr. Harwood be good enough to return the enclosed note to ita writer, with the compliments of the undersigned, and explain to the lady that Bhe has probably made a mistake in the PERSON? Very truly, Martha Moore.' Rose Coitage, June 18.' But Harry Delano received quite a differ -1 6Ht sounding document that sent him | to the door of his love, with steps less I heavy than he left it. It was not very long,

but it said all he cared to know—that she loved him and him only •

-- g Don't be so cross, Harry, indeed, and I didn't let anybody but you embrace me, and never will as long as I live ! Mother nays I'm a goose, and mother is generally correct. But Harry, darling, believe me, the goose is wholly and only yours, if you still love me,' 'If I still love you !' he exclaimed rap turously, when he held her in his arms the same evening. • Why, my pet, I don't be lieve there is a drop of blood in my body that does not dance a mad, sweet jubilee every time I think of you, and that is all the time. I'm suro I should have killed that Jackanapes if I had ever met you abroad with him !'

Mattie laughed, eaying, ' I have found onb it is ' better to be at the head of the mice than the tail of the rats.'

What he Wanted.

A well-to-do citizen of Datroit almost had the breath knocked out of him by thejrequest of a ragged side-walk tramp, who stopped him and asked :

'Say, can't you lend me $10, 000?' ' What ! Who are you, sir ? No, sir ; I can't, sir !' exclaimed the citizen.

' Couldn't possibly do it eh ?' 'No, sir.'

'Tell you what you might do ' suggested the tramp ; you might hand me fifteen cents now and lend me the balance when times get a little easier.'

' I can't lend you a shilling, sir, or a cent sir, and I wont give you a penny, sir.' ' Sorry both of us happen to be hard up at once,' sighed the tramp, and he continued his walk.—[Detroit Press

Combinations of Colors.

Color decoration in particular offers a broad field for the crude atcemps of the tyro, and the unmeaning forms and less harmonious tints, instead of gratifying, are likely to become an outrage to good taste. Now, in order to overcome this, one of the first principles which it would bo desirable for us to establish is the theory of complimen tary colors. Although we do not propose to make this a technical paper, perhap» a few remarks upon the subject would not come amiss. We know almost instinctively that blue will not harmonize with green, and that red will, but the theory upon which this .contrast is based is but vaguely understood. We \ remember learning in our natural philosophy that white is the reflection of all colors, that is, that all the primary colors combined produce it. It is the general impression that there are seven primary colors, namely, those seen in the rain-bow, whereas in rality there are but three —blue, red and yellow.

Green, orange, and purple are secondary colors, produced by the admixture of the primaries. Thus, blue and yellow make green ; red and yellow produce orange ; and blue and red, purple.

The mixture of these again produces what are callec tertiary colors—citrine, russet, and olive ; orange and green forming citrine ; purple and orange, russet; and green and purple, olive.

A knowledge, also of the quantities in which these colors harmonize is requisite, the whole system being to combine them in the]proportions which produce white, which in the primaries are live of red, three of yellow, and eight of blue; in the secon daries, thirteen of purple, eleven of green, and eight of orange ; and in the tertiaries, twenty-fur of olive, twenty-one of russet, and nineteen of citrine.

' A primary color —say, red —juxtaposed to the secondary green, which is its compli mentary (being composed of one two remaia ing primary colors, blue and yellow), arran ged in the above proportious, produces the harmony required. It is also a fact; that in looking at any color, its complimentary is rellected. Thus green reflects red, and when placed in juxtaposition with it, makes the green greener and the red more intense, whereby richness of effect is produced j and to complete the formula, blue and orange, also yellow and purple, are harmonious, for in each ca3e all the colors producing white when mixed in the right proportions are present. We would here abate that when several primary colors are placed together, the con trast is apt to become too violent, producing we might say, something of a swimming sensation, If "these, however, are separated by small members of lines of white, this dazzling elfect may be obviated.

By certain combinations, colors may have an enlivening or depressing elfect. For exrmple, blue is a cold, quieting color, while red is warm and exciting, and they can be made to affect; the mind in any manner de sired. Again, prominence or subordination may be given by tneir employment. For instant, blue producing the effect of distance, and if placed upon the ceiling, causes it to appear higher ; or if in a recess will deepen it Yellow, on the contrary, appears to advance toward the eye, and if used upon the ceiling, will seem to lower it; or if upon a projected moulding, will exaggerate its prominence ; while red is the only color that remains stationary. It is as painful to the eye to see hues inharmoniously disposed as are discordant sounds to the musical ear.— [' Harper's Magazine for June.'

Luella Goodale's Fate.

Otter Tail county, Minnesota, tells a tale of woe and mystery and crime which may have a tragical sequel. On Parker's prairie lives one Henry Goodale with his second wife, and until lately Luelia Goodale, his daughter of a former marriage lived with him. Last winter and about mid-winter time, the girl, about 18 years of age. disappeared, and lately Goodale's neighbours have been trying; to trace her. Early in the winter it has been ascertained ( ioodale took hia daughter to O3akis and left her among stranger?. Some ladies found Luelia a subject for their inquiries and advice, but it appears not sympathy,! for in the depth of winter they drove her out in the deep anow, aud told her she had better go home. She told a story that implicated her father in a great crime,

and the good ladies of Osakia thought the old raan ought to be faced with tha consequences. The girl started home and was saen by the neighbours battling with the storm near her father's house. But she did not go to live there any more, and then the neighbours began to inquire of Goodale what had become of Luella. He said that when she came home he had taken her with oxen and sled to a certain Norwegian settlement where he had left her well cared for. Luella could not be found in the Norwegian settlement, nor could she be heard of there. Further in vestigation revealed that Goodale had been guilty of a most inhuman act towards his daughter, which was intended to murder her, but failed. The keeper of a tank-house on the St Paul and Paciiic railroad had a tale to tell, in the thread of -which the unfortunate Luella was traced. He said one mid-night of midwinter his family was awakened by a knocking at his lowly door. Out of the wild snow storm they took in a poor girl whose delicate condition was evident to all. She had no money and no friends except, perhaps, a brother in lowa, and she wanted to get to him if possible before her coming trouble, which, she said, was a calamity for which her father and everybody had cast her out into the cold. Her father had carried her off from his house that night in a sled, and had dropped her on the broad white waste of the prairie six miles from any habitation. He had evidently left her out in the snow.to die of cold and starvation, but she had resolutely wandered on to find shelter. The keeper took care of her for a week, and finally got a conductor to take her on the road towards St. Paul. The Otter Tail people are still prosecuting their search for Luella Goodale, in order to secure the only witness that can aid them in bringing this monster of a father to the bar of justice. The poor girl was traced to St. Paul where she appears to have glost herself in the northern night. Goodale was arrested and examined relative to his daughter's disappearance, but as the authorities could not get sufficient evidence to hold him they had to let him go for the present, and turned their attention vigorously to the discovery of Luella's retreat—be it either a poor-house, or a pauper's grave.

A Fatal Enchanter.

Theee are in Europe, in all the most charming spots, such as the neighborhood of Baden-Baden, on the lake of Como, near Florence, and in Home, certain unoccupied houses, belonging generally to royalty, or to the unreigning scions of royal families. These houses, fitted up with works of art, beautifully furnished, and with an equipage of servants, stand always ready for their host and hostess, and are in their absence freely shown to guests, who pay a trifling gratuity to the steward for the privilege. Such a house, rich in Oanova's masterpieces, stands, always empty, always open, on the lake of Como, It is the Villa Carlotta, known to all travelers. Not so well known, and on a different part of the lake, stands another villa, which we will call Villa Lucca. I had gone there to see a disputed Correggio of which I had heard at Parma. I found tho house the perfection of solitude, luxury, refinement and beauty, and full of statues, pictures, storied tapestry, goblets of Benvenuto, old china, and bric-a-brac enough to break the heart of a collector. 1 had permisson from a great personage con nected with the owner of the villa to copy the Correggio, and the old steward told me that there were certain apartments in a pavilion in the gardens which he had the right to let. I could take them for., a month. The princess who owned the villa had not been near it for several years ; he did not know if she would ever come again, but his orders were imperative —he was to keep the house always ready for her.

So I took up my comfortable quarters in the pavilion, and began my copy of the Correggio. The room in which it hung looked out on a secluded part of the garden, iar away from the noblo front entrance. The people who came to see the villa often passed through the grand state apartments, nor noticed the modest wing where I was at work. This pleased me ; it helped the illusion which I was carefully creating in my own mind that I owned the villa, and should continue to work and live there, forgotten by the world, unintruded upon by the real owners, perhaps for the whole summer. This charm was rudely broken in upon by a most silvery voice, one morning—a woman's voice. I heard her parleying with the old steward.

' I want to see the-Correggio ! My friend the princess says I am to see the Correggio !' said the voice.

• Yes, excellenza, said the old Italian, ' but there is a young man painting in that room. Let me ask him to retire first, and then your ladyship shall enter.' I was about to jump out of the window, when I heard the voice again.

'No ! I was to see the artist. I have a letter from the princess in my hand. Go in and give this card to him, his name is— his name is—Thornton,' said the voice, hesitatingly. 'Yes,' said a masculine voice responding, which I had not heard before, a voice scarcely less sweet than that of the woman.

I recognized English voices, English accent, English speech, and the old steward put into my hands the cards of ' Lady Diana Estcourt,' and 'Mr Alfred Courtnay'

A tall, superb figure in a white dress, and wearing a sort of Eubens hat with a long feather, a few minutes thereafter swept into the room. I had only time to observe that I stood before a beauty, an English beauty, a young and fresh woman, not more than 20 years of age—perhaps not so old—and that with her was a tall, uark young man in the irreproachable

morning toilet of London, when she addressed me :— ' 'Excuse me, Mr Thornton,' she ?-' '. for intruding on your working-hours, >»_. I have a pocket-full of letters to you. In the first place, here is one from Holman Hunt, another from Buskin, another from Millais. They all tell me you have the secrets of the water-color brush, and that you will perhaps give me a few lessons. Then here is one from your uncle, the ex minister to London, one of my intimate i

friends, I assure you. Tnen here is another from your unknown hostess, the princess, who gives me leave to take up my residence here, and to paint as many views of the lake as I please. Ifow let me introduce my friend, Mr Alfred Courtnay, who will in his turn introduce me, and assure you that I am Diana Est court, a woman of caprices, and not apt to be foiled in anything she undertakes.' I had lived many years in London ; I knew all these people ; I had an uncle who was an ex-minister; I had influence enough here and there, to reach my princess, and obtain permission to copy her Correggio ; but I was withal a very modest personage, nor had I catalogued my own greatness or merits quite so rapidly as had Lady Diana Estcourt. I was much embarrass-

cd. but I knew enough to express my willingness to place my poor talents at the disposition of Lady Diana. She told me that she was staying with her mother at Caddennabia. and should, the next day, be glad to come and begin the water-color lessons. I accompanied her and Mr Courtnay to the shore of the lake, There they seated themselves in a little row-boat, and, each taking an oar, were soon receding toward Caddennabia. I noticed that Lady Diana pulled a Tory good oar. There were good muscles in those well shaped arms and hands ; there was health and vigor behind the delicate beauty. When I came back to my Correggio it struck me that his Madonna was not so

fair as I had thought her, nor his flesh tints so irreproachable. Tho beauty of Lady Diana was unbecoming to oven Correggio, the sweetest and most perfect to the painters of women and children. Lady Estcourt, her daughter, and a troop of maids and serving-men, came down by the steamer, next morniDg, and took up their residence in one of the hand somest suites of the unoccupied villa. They did not pay me a visit that day, be ing busy, I suppose, and arranging themselves; but Mr Alfred Courtnay pulled himself over in his little boat, and kindly camo in to see me. He, too, was singularly handsome. I felt as if I were to be swamped with beauty. He was an English-looking man, witn an Italian complexion, pale, dark, clear, with a pair of black eyes which fascinated and held the person into whose face he was looking with a sort of magnetic power. ' I have come, M"r Thornton,' said he, with that voice which I had noticed before as singularly musical—' I have come at Lady Diana's request to explain her rather sudden descent upon you, yester day. She is. as you know, the daughter of an carl, and left by his cbath, with her widowed mother and a very large fortune, entirely free to do as she pleases—in fact, that is what she has always done. She happened to see a water-color of yours in London which pleased her very much, and she determined to find you out. Water color painting happens to be her passion at present, and she will follow that until she gets another fancy. My aunt, Lady Estcourt (for I happen to be a sort of distant cousin), is the slave of her daugh ter and of her own ill-health, and if you

run round with a shawl, and tell her she is in a draught, Lady Estcourt will take you into high favor. The princess we met at Milan. She is a friend of Lady Diana, and it was by the merest accident that in their chat it came out that Mr Frank Thornton, whom we had been looking for at Parma, was here, at her own Villa Lucca, copying the Correggio.' ' I am very happy,' I replied, • and very much flattered, Mr Courtnay, to have be come of so much importance all at once ; it never happened to me before, I assure you. Now, will you add to your kindness, and tell me about the princess ?—for I never have seen her.' I was looking straight into Mr Court nay's black eyes as I spoke —peculiar eyes, in which every emotion seemed to show itself; shifting shadows came and went as he talked, even with me, who looked at him only with an artist's curiosity. As I spoke of the princess, his eyes filled with a great light; they seemed to become larger and more beautiful —they were positively dazzling. ' You have not seen the princess ? said he. • The most beautiful woman in Europe !' ' Jupiter Ammon! more beauty. Why, this is getting monstrous ! I hope I shall not see her,' said I. ' Lady Diana is quite as much as a poor fellow can stand for one summer.' ' Yes,' said Courtnay, the brilliant light shifting again in his expressive eyes, and a sort of cloud coming over their brilliancy —'yes Lady Di is certainly very handsome. —You know the story of the princess ? She married, very young, the brother of the now reinging king, and had a son. Her husband died very soon after her marriage. She has remained a widow. This boy of hers may become of great importance from his nearness to the reigning family, and her royal brother in-law holds a pretty powerful hand over her. Still she continues to enjoy some liberty, and his happier everywhere than here, where I suspect she passed some very unhappy years.' < '■•■

I 1 How old is her son ?' said I, carelessly. ' Oh, about six years, I suppose. Old enough to ride a poney, run risks of being drowned, and giving all his suite continued uneasiness, including his mother, who adores, him, the cub!' I thought Mr Courtnay's voice was a trifle less musical as he described the future princeling, the young gentleman whose fortunes might become kingly, but who was now a cub! But he took on again his fascinating

manner, and talked of the Correggio. Then he left me, and I fell dreaming of the princess. I pictured to myself the royal lady who had lived in this beautiful villa, and who had been unhappy. • Th« mother of a son, six years old, she probably looks,' thought I, 'like Mary Queen of Scots. She wears a black velret dress and a white coif on her head, as do royal widows. She is pale, sad, noble-looking—the • most beautiful wo man in Europe!' Ah, Mr Courtnay was mistaken. He has forgotten that Lady Diana Estcourt was in Europe ! The next day, Lady Diana came in to take her painting-lesson, with a maid bearing water-color boxes, and her beautiful person shrouded in a brown-

linen guard, such as I hare noticed Eng lish ladies are found.of donning when they work away at their paints. Her mother followed her, a stout, elderly, aquiline featured person, smothered in shawls. I was duly presented, and, remembering Courtnay's hint, warned her of the draft and received a gracious smile. Lady Diana showed me her sketches, and went to work. She was painting away with conscientiousness and fervor, when Mr Courtnay was announced. She began talking to him with vivacity, but 1 noticed that the strong, white hand which had been dabbing away so firmly at the ' Lake of Como' began to tremble, and that the little ear nearest me become rerv

pink, indeed. Courtnay, after a courteous salutation to me and a ' Good-morning, aunt,' seated himself by the young lady. ' Why, Di, you have improved already,' said he. ' What a good teacher Mr Thornton must be ! But the Lake of Como is getting jealous I think yoti have painted it long enough. Won't you come out and take a row with old Giusepp© and me ?' Lady Diana had just got to that part of her picture which needed still a little more before she left it. She asked Courtnay to wait a halfhour. He acceded rather ungraciously, and the shadows in his curious eyes grew gloomy. He looked at me once or twice. Could he possibly pay me the compliment of being jealous ? Lady Estcourt had been asleep, I think in the sheltered alcore where I had placed her. Lady Diana and Courtnay had gone, and the maid was picking up the brushes, when she awoke or came to, and began talking to me. A high-bred English lady knows how to be agreeable, even if she is profoundly selfish and is afraid of draughts, and Lady Estcourt condescended to be agreeable for five minutes. She talked of my work and of her daughter ; asked what 1 thought of her talents, and if she was achieving much in water-color; and then said that she would probably not care for it long, as there was every probability of her marring her cousin, Alfred Courtnay, who was devoted to her; ' and then, you know, Mr Thornton,' said Lady Estcourt, with a rather crippled effort at playfulness—' then ladies lose their interest in the accomplishments. 1

' Yes they do,' thought I, as the days went on, and I watched my beautiful pupil and her agitation when Courtnay entered the room, or saw them as they walked through the flowering, shaded alleys, in that deep converse which loreri love. As she walked with Courtnay, Lady Dinna had one beautiful trick, which I always admired, of holding hi 3 arm and turning to look at him with her head thrown back like a deer. Her heavy, glorious hair had given her a certain carriage of the head which was very noble. As she walked away, one day, leaning on his arm, I noticed this attitued especially. It seemed to me that she was adoring Courtnay far more than he did her. The lessons went on unremittingly, and, one day, when Courtnay had left us for a journey to Milan, I ventured to speak of his extraordinary beauty, and to show her a sketch I had made of him from memory. Lady Diana was highly delighU ed, and proposed that we should both ask him to sit, and that she should sketch him in water-color, while I attempted him, in a sort of Titianesque dress, in oils: Court nay was very good-natured under this joint infliction, and posed for us patiently. He was indeed a subject worthy of work and a perfect represnation of a Venetian noble. 1 have never seen a more superb masculine beauty. To see the woman who loved him so tenderly, and with a sort of attempted concealment of her passion to see her gracious, noble and aristocratic head thrown back as she looked at him with an artist's comprehension and a woman's adoration, was the most worthy picture I have ever seen. 1 sat up nights to paint her from memory, and 1 hare the sketch by me still. We made two pictures of the same man totally nnlike each other. Mine was the best picture and the most like him,. 1 still think; but, do what 1 would, it would look like Caesar Borgia. 1 got in Court nay's eyes, but they had a baleful luster. • You have made mo a very handaomt

EVENING STAR SUPPLEMENT. OCTOBER 21, 1876.