The Fairy of the Well.

A NOItiIAN STOKY. The civil war between the Cavaliers and Puritans, which was then desolating the land, had taken Landleigh castle in its j destructive course, and that once lordly pile was now a ruin. An ancient well stood near its blackened walls, with a square coping of old, gray mossy stones, | into which flowed a translucent stream. I At the back of this well was an antique recess of stone, from the centre of which the water took its course. I The beams of early sunlight glittered on I the water, as a young cavalier approached I the well. If there be a spell called ■sweet memories,' which, they say, binds I | Ue heart to certain places, and if the I lovliness of the scenes in which one's I childhood has been passed serves to renew I the guileless joys of infancy, then, in deed, might Denzil Norman attribute to I their influence his increasing reluctance 'to depart and rejoin his regimont. But no; he knew the spall that bound him to that spot was the charm of a simple village maiden. Yet from the moment he i had behold the lovely and gentle Alice Brooko, he felt that his destiny was : fixed. Ha knew the legend of the old well Its waters were said to be guarded by the Fairy of the Castle. She harmed but the wicked. Those who had beheld her (which he never bad) said that her smile was so sweet that it made everybody who was fortunate enough to encounter it good looking and happy. 'Ah! famous fairy of this well,' ho

cried, apostrophizing it—'

■' indeed, such

spirits exist bewleen heaven and man —how gladly would I i_.por.une you to award mo the affection of a village maiden. Then far —far from the kingly courts and the hostile din of warfare—' He paused abruptly, for it appeared to him as if a voice answered him from the well. He listened iuteatly and heard a sweet, silvery voice mingling with the rippling ef the waves, which chanted these words:

De.zU isrorm-ti—D.nzil Norman ! List the Fairy of the Well ; _?o 3 are coming— B-es *re comi-'g, Hsro no .oager thou must _,v_*i. H-.ppisr days .-nay on thee wait! Fly from love and fly from f t+b !

Denzil was filled with amai.oj.ient. ' The

voice sounded to his our like the wreathed

i choir of un3ceu spirits. Could it be ' possible, he asked himself, that there were ! stick beings as fairies, who watch our ''■ actions and know our inmost thoughts ? I The voice had ceased, but now another 11 sound broke upou his ear—a distant hum !.; as of troop, upon the march. The warn "*« sing was true then —he was in peril. The 'i. Eoundheads were near. If detected he .y knew he should be denounced as a spy |. and shot without delay. Yet still he I would not fly until he had exchanged a ! few farewell word- with the lovely Alice. He hastened back to the house of Dr. I Brooke, the village physician and the ; father of his love. The worthy doctor ; was surprised at his return. 'Eash youth!' he exclaimed, 'were wE you not admonished on your way hither I to fly at once from Landleigh ?' ' How know you that;' answered Denzil |in amazement. ' Yes, I was admonished, ,1 but I had not said farewell to Alice.' I 'This is absolute madness,'said Doctor I Brooke. ' Boy, boy, are you aware that I that farewell may cost you your life ?' 1 'Not so, worthy host; I wear a good i sword and possess a strong heart and a fslrong arm to back it,' replied Denzil' ml with the confidence of youth. ' Where I is Alice ?' I ' She is absent, but will shortly return ; i aud when she does I will send her to you,' Isaid the doctor, and left the room. i As Denzil gazed listlessly from the I .|window a panel in the well glided ' i aioiselessly to one side, and through the fwapcrture came a lovely girl some eighteen iyyears of age, clad in the plain but be jyjcoming costume of a village maid, She %iclosed the panel quietly, advanced to '""jiyDenzil's side, and laid her hand upon jjpliis shoulder. He started up in joyous I surprise. ' Ah. sweet, Alice !' he exclaimed.

'Denzil, Denzil!' she answered itnpati- I eutly; ' why do you tarry here when I every moment adds to the peril of your ' safety?' »:. 'Chide mo not, Alice,' he returned, i"" 'since I tarried but to ask you if you ■pill love me when I am gone, as I ; shall continue to love you ?' 'Oh, Denzil, Denzil!' she responded r plaintively, 'is it generous to leave this impression on the heart of a poor maiden i whose last hope could be to unite her self in wedlock "with one of noble descent I like yours? I do love you, Denzil—nor I blush to acknowledge that which is lias dear lo me a.-i the love of life itself. But, Silas! I have heard it said, your hand Was devoted to another.' 'Another! What other?' demanded I Denzil, in surprise. ' The daughter of your father's friend I lord Eustace Bionfc, and the proprietor B^j;.of yonder ruined castle,' answered Alice. ' Lord Eustace perished at the battle _ii of Worcester,' said Denzil; ' his daughter ■"' I fled or was lost in the conflict. The

rtj:heart and hand of Denzil Norman are llree, and to you, Alice, they will bo true.' j , Alice made no further remonstrance, '?|: fcut she presently inquired; 'You '*[leinember, then, the Lord Eustace and Sft'fcis young, motherless daughter.' S:U 'Alice I do.' he answered; 'who ever ld« forgets the companions of earliest years? ittrnv was my guardian—she the playful

companion of my summer walks. All are gone! But the influence of their good wishes seem 3 still to direct my destiny.' They were now disturbect by the abrupt entrance of a servant, who infromed them that the h<->use was surrounded by Puritans, and that they had evidently come in search of Denzil Norman. Alice showed Denzil the secret panel, and urged him to conceal himself. He did so with reluctance, and Alice awaited the coming' of the Eoundheads soldiers with a flutter ing heart.

The Eoundheads, were under the command of the stern Col. Ireton. He was much incensed when he found that Denzil had escaped him, and ordered his soldiers to seize upon the doctor and Alice and bear them away prisoners. Denzil, who had lingered behind the panel, fearing some such result, now made his appearance and gave himself up to preserve his friends. Alice cast a reproachful glance upon him as the Roundhead marched him away.

A brief trial was allotted to the young cavalier. He was adjudged a spy, and sentenced to be shot. He was placed for safe keeping in the chapel of the ruined castle of Landleigh, and a guard kept vigilant watch over him.

It was night. A lamp burned dimly at the foot of a pedestal supporting the statue of a warrior, beneath the shadow of whose shield Denzil Norman sat immeased in gloomy thought. His dream of life seemed to have reached its end. In half an hour in that chapel, at the foot of his great ancestor, whose battle-ax did such marvels in Palistine over the infidels, he, the last of his proud race, was about to sink ; aud it must be without a struggle, ignobly, ignominiously. Suddenly a voice of sweetest melody broke through the gloomy stillness.

Dauzil Norman—Denzil Norman ! Li.t the Fairy o£ the Well; I am near the—Denzil, hear mo : htero shall thou no longer dwell. Happy daya for thee await. Fly from love, and fly from fate.

Denzil took up the lanp to see from whence the voice proceeded, but a sudden gust of wind extinguished it. But at that moment the moonlight falling with radiant brilliancy on tho broken window of the gallery, discovered to him the form of the fairy standing on the base of a lofty column. .Neither form nor feature were visible, however, and a large tvhite vail completely enveloped her person. She looked like the marble image of some sculptured saint.

, Denzil,' she said, in a voice that sounded strangely familiar to his ear, ' the Fairy of the Well is the friend of true love, and would have thee live. Therefore take thou heart; the fairy is here to secure your fli_rht. The king hath landed on his native shore.'

' G-od save King Charles !' cried Denzil joyfully.

' Amen !' responded the fairy ; ' thou shalt join him soon. Touch tho right knee of the statue, press hard, and a door will open iv the pedestal; through it you will find liberty. Freed from this chapel, seek the old hermitage at the depth of the glen. A friend awaiteth thee there — the fairy's friend. Pronounce in his ear the name of Alice Brooko; he will recognize and conduct thee to the feet of thy triumphant sovereign. Denzil, fare well !'

The moonbeams were suddenly obscured by a passing cloud, and when her light shone forth again the fairy had dis appeared. Denzil hastened to obey her instructions. He found the secret door, entered the subterranean passage to which it conducted ; and speedily emerged into a wood beyond the chapel wall. He hastened to the hermitage, and there, to his great susprise and joy, encountered his old friend and guardian, Lord Eustace Blount, who he thought had been untimely slain on Worcester's field. Lord Eustace's story was soon told. He had been saved by the Fairy of the Well. Wounded nigh to death, concealed in the ruins of his castle, she had been his nurse. His life proscribed, she was his guardian angel, as she had been Denzil's. His story told, he told Dcn_.il to go with him to the King, assuring him that his sovereignty had been proclaimed in London, and that the fierce civil war was well nigh over. But Denzil must stop by the way at Dr. Brooks' cottage to exchange a few words with Alice. The doctor welcomed them both most joyfully. 'And Alice —where is she? asked Denzil, anxiously

' What Alice ?' inquired Lord Eustace. ' She to whom I am engaged, my lord,' answered Denzil; ' one dearer to me, far dearer to me, far dearer than life.' 'Engaged, Denzil?' cried Lord Eus tace; 'you forgot I have a daughter named Kate, to whom in early youth you were betrothed.' ' Pardon me, noble lord, I waa a boy then, remarked Denzil. The heart will not be commanded ; despite myself Hove another

and surely you would not covet for your daughter the heart of a man who could n^rer bestow upon her his affection. But I cannot wed your daughter; my love— my vow —is irrevocable.' ' JSTay, stay until you have seen Kate,' urged Lord Eustace; 'let her plead for herself. Doctor, bring her hither.' Dr. Brooke left the room, but presently returned, leading a female by the hand who wore over head aud person a flowing

white veil. 'Here she is, Denzil,' he said, 'you have met her before, 1 am told.' ' The Fairy of the Well!' cried Denzil, in astonishment.

'Otherwise, Kate Blount,' replied Lord Eustace, 'pleasantly ; ' who, under that disguise (by various subterranean passages of the castle), for years saved the life of her proscribed father.' ' r:-"..

' To such a daughter can Denzil, refuse his hand ?' asked Dr. Brooke.

' Doctor, do you, my friend, urge me to this apostacy?' cried Denzil, reproach fully. * Oh, lady, 1 must appeal to you/ he continued, 'you have proved my guardian spirit. I loved ere I beheld you. 1 cannot give you that which is already given—could not; even if you were the divinity you appear.'

The fairy put back her veil and disco vered the features of Alice Brooke.

' Denzil, dear, faithful Denzil!' she exclaimed tenderly, ' It is I!'

He started to his feet in fresh amaze ment, crying out joyfully, ' Alice !' ' No, Kate, thy cousin,' said the doc tor. ' She but passes as my daughter to escape the prosecutions of her father's foes. She is the daughter of this noble lord, and her true name the Lady Cathe rine Blount. Say, will you now refuse her hand ?'

Denzil eagerly grasped the hand which his cousin extended to him.

'And now our mystery solves itself into a sweet reality,' exclaimed Lord Eustace joyfully; and he joined their hands to gether and blessed them. When Charles the Second, restored to the throne of his ancestors, summoned his defenders around him to form his court principal among them came Denzil Nor man, Lord Eustace Blount and his fair daughter, then Lady Denzil Norman.

Ward's Donkey.

My nem is Ward. Nickerdemus Ward, at your serviss. On tho gret Amerikan kintinent, my father feeds his flock—thet is 2 say, he gits up early of a mornin' and lets the old donkey abroad to browse on the grin paschures. The donkey is a gret institootun. He hez bin a member of the fameily of Ward ever sints the days of Benjie Franklin and Geo. Washington. Konsequently he is morn'n a sentry in eggsistense, and he luks tuff enuff to larst thru another sentry at least. He is, in fact, the gretest old ass alive at tho present time, with the exseption, probly, of Brig'm Yung and the present Shar of Pershy. Old gran'father Ward was very prowd of this critter in his time, and used to take him in 2 his konfidence when things whar goin' rong on the farm. They used to stroll out together in 2 the fields, and the old man would hold forth to it in a gret way, for ours at a stretch, on the waste and mismanagement of his sons and servant gals. The donkey would jest potter alongside, wallopin' his long years, and now and then pickin, up a thistle top by way of refreshment. Sum times, when the old man pawsed to take breth, the darned critter would but his head over gran'father's sholder, lift his years up straight, and let off a most tretnengeous burst of applause, which kinder stirred the old man up, and he'd start to diskourse agin more cheerful like, and probly never stop till he had gone over the whole histry of the battle of Bunker's Hill and the war of indepen dence.

He was very fond of Milkisidick, was ole gran'father. He kalled him by that name on account of his famerly histry bein' sumwhat missterms. He wasn't like other donkeys that air born on a farm in a reglar way, and grow up into full bloom surrounded by their pareutsand other relashns. No, he jist walked quietly one day, about a sentry ago, into gran' father's back-yard, straight from the primeval forest that stretched away from our little garden of sweet potatoes and cabbages, rite on to the base of the Bocky Mountains.

This donkey led a calm, contemplative life on the farm, never puttin' hisself about for ennything except his tucker. He had the easiest times of it of any critter I ever seed. I've seen all the folks on the farm workin' away in the hot weather, makin' hay while the sun was shinin', like to burst themselves up, and that ere donkey would pass the time pleasantly in the shade of the old house, his tail stuck against the timbers as if ho were holdin' the bildin' up, and there he'd ruminate for days together, with one year up and t'other down, turn about, lukin' as cool as a cucumber and as wise as a filoso fer- One day, I remember, when I was a boy, my cousin Artemus, who lived in 2 Baldinsville, and sumetimes went about with a show of wild animals and wax statues, came to see ole gran'father, who was his uncle, bein' his father's oldest beruther. ' I guess,' said Artemus. ' yu would be kinder glad to sell that ole cuss now, uncle. I don't mind takin' him into my show and puttin' a label on to hi in to see whether he'd pass for Balaam's donkey. I reckon he might for a fu weeks.' ' Well.' says the old man, ' I guess you needn't be badly off to fill up that vacancy in yur show. Talkin' donkeys air nof a scarce commodity in these times.' and with that lie gave a sly twinkle over his speks. 'But howsumever,' says he. 'if you want to specklate yu can have him for 100 dollars down, only I tell yu honest ly that I've sold him six times already, and he's allers come back agin on my hands, and the parties that put their money into him have not cum back to; explain.' The old man chuckled, and says he, 'I guess there's suthin' misterius abeowt Milkisidick—suthin' very mister ius.'

This, of course, made Artemus keen to git hold of sech a wonderful critter, so he paid down the money, and next day started off with the donkey at the rate of about six miles a week. We all went out 2 see them off, and before they had goue out of site we seed Artemus git on the donkey's back and beg'n to wake him up slitely with his hickory cane; When they was out of site, ole gran'father too a pinch of snuff and says he, 'We shell all live to see Milkisidick back agin. He won't go far. Aye, aye,' says he, quite solemn like, ' there's suthin' very misterius abeowt Milkisidick —suthin' very mister ius .' Sure enuff, about a week afterwards, we found the donkey one morniu' quietly holdin' up the lean-to at the back of the house, as if nuthin' had happened. Arte mus never came back far him, aud altho' I rote him onct for an explanation, I got no answer to my letter. Ho gave up the show business shortly afterwards, and went out west to see Brig'm Yung on a lecturing tour. He rose to get distinkshn as a lecturer and littery man, but I have never seen any illusion to thet donkey in all his ritin's, but I have my own sespishns that his adventures with that onearthly critter had much to do with poor Arte mus's early and lamented death. On talkin' with gran'father about it afterwards, ' Aye, aye,' says he, ' poor Artemus is dead and gone—dead and gone —and I'll soon toiler (which he did a month or so arterwards), but that donkey will descend as a heirloom in the famerly for many generations. I wish I hadn't sold poor Artemus, but I'll pay him back—l'll pay him back over yonder first time I come across his tracks on the green prairies. Ho was a good lad—a good lad was poor Artemus. But there's suthin' very misterius.' The old man was 102 when he died, and the donkey still walks about quite cherful. Larst letter I had from the old folks, the critter had .jest finished gettin' a new set of teeth. I shall let yu kno if enny thing turther transpires abeowt this 4-legged and aged filosofer. 1 am, &c, NICKEKDEMUS WAUD.

Identical Smith.

Dabby is a dull place, and it_ most remark able feature is the great dearth of yonug aud marriageable men. Whether its duiineai_ causes all the young men to leave its pre cincts as soon as they come of ago, or whether their absence causes tho dullness, lam unable to say. But be that as io may the census-taker's reports have always shown that two-thirds of the population bear the name of Smith, that old. maids are on tho increase, and that marriages are as uncom mon as total eclipses. 1 remember hear ing, when a child, a facetious old gentleman propound to a maiden aunt this conundrum, ' Why is Darby like heaven?' She being unable to think of any points of resemblance between the two phices, he replied, with a knowing wink, ' Because there is neither marrying nor giviug in marriage.' The color flamed up even to the yrim littlo curls on aunt Eunice's fore-head, but she f ioe>.ingly rejoined that she, had no doubt that was tne very reason heaven and Darby were such happy places.' I waa born in Darby : and though my parents had not botmeathod to me "the name of Sinich, for which I was supremely thankful, I was disposed to uuarrt.l with destiny because when my nine teenth birthday arrived I had not had a lover, and there was no jjrosp-.ct that I ever would have. To my almost iu_eparabie companion, Zor, Brown, I unburdened my mind without reserve. ' Zoo,' I said, I feci like running off to see if somuthiug rou_.au.ic won't happon. Did you ever see such a place a. JJarbyj any way ? -No. a single man in the whole town, and everybody named Smith ! Why, I believe I would enjoy sum-ring from ■ a broken hea.6 iv comparison to having no experience in heart affairs at all. It would be vastly romantic to pine away because of misplaced afT-Cuiou, and would be about the proper thing,' too, if the aii'eu.ion hadn't beau placed on eats aud canaries. That in what I call misplaced affection and that's what I'm destined to pine away of, I know. Sow, there's the new dress pa gave me for my birthday gift, it's perfectly lovely ; but what of it, if tnere is no one to admire* when I have it on ? 1 shall coax pa to leave .Darby, so I shall-' ' Oh, Fannie, don't' said Zoe, starting up. ' You know I couldn't live here without you. Then, you don't know what you are talking about. You wish for an experience, bub I pray that you may never have one like mine.

' Yes, loving Is a painful thrill, And not to lovo more paiufut still But, oh I it is tho worst of pain To love and not bo loved again "

Two pearly drops hunt; on Zee's long lashes as she said this, for she as well as several other Darby girls, had placed her affections on the schoolmaster, who wa3 an uninterest ing mortal, wit 1 wliica hair that curled in light little knots over his head. She had fallen in love with him, not because he waa biilliant or handsome, but simply bccauae there was no one else to fall in hive with ; while he seemed to be somewhat bewildered at the situation, and distributed his atten tions so impartially thav, Zoe was in a constant skate of perplexity aa to the real condition of tho young man's heart. She smiled upon him, sung melancholy little song-* to him, ..aud used-a thousand. o.u„r innocent wile* by way of chaining hiiu aud encouraging him to expreaa any tender senti ment that he nvght feel too backward to betray; biiihewas entirely for non-committal. There existed between Zoe and myseif something more than an ordinary friendship, and before I left her that day I promised that I would not tease my in ulgenfc and only parent to go aw-»v from Darby so long as my dearest friend remained there/ even though i_ did seem hard to have nothing to look forward to in the future.

The next Sunday after this the usher showed a stranger into our family pew, aud during the services I drew his face in pro

file on y-leaf of my hymn-book. The features <ire uofc at all striking, but the expression was not unpleasant. ' Well,' I mentally commeuted, ' his name is Smith, I know, for all the Smiths come to Darby. Darby ! Why don't they call it Smithtown ?' and I wrote Smith with a flourish under the face on the leaf.

The next day pa brought the stranger home with him to dinner and introduced him as Mr. Smith, his new clerk.

' I remember you as the gentleman who occupied a seat in our pew yesterday. You are a stranger in Darby, I believe ?' wa3 my first remark.

' ics,' he replied, ' this i3 my first visit to the place, and I assure yon I was quite surprised to see that even yesterday you were acquainted with my name. Ido not know wnorn I ought to thank for being so kind as to speak of mo beforehand/

' There must be some mistake,' I said, with surprise, 'as I have only learned your name from pa just now.'

'Ah,' he said, with a curious smile, ' how then could you guess so well !'

I remembered my hymn-book. He had noticed the drawing, and had recogniz.d his own likeness. I felb a little confused, but laughed as I replied :

' Oh ! everybody here is named Smith, and I supposed you had come to seejyour relatives. Smith i_ parsed in the Darby schools as a common noun. In fact, it is no name at all, and you will soon lose your identity iv the mas 3of Darbyiteg unless you come to be spoken of as we speak of other books and the Bible. You will h-.ve to he the Smith, the Smith of Smiths, the identical Smith, or else be just anybody or nobody at all.' ' I don't relish the idea of being lost in a crowd. Let me, then, be the identical Smith,' and ho langhed good-naturedly. In a short time half the girls in Darby had quite forgotten that there was any other Smith in town, and to them at least, ho was the Smith of Smiths. He had the disposition to make himself agreeable, and not being blind, he quickly perceived that young men were needed to make society interesting, and made a laudable effort to supply the whole deficiency himself by employing all hia leisure in accepting invitations to tea and croquet parties. Had he not come to Darby he never would have known that he was ' a lion among the ladies.' One day I said to Zos 5 'Did yon ever see cay thing like the way tho J.""^ an«le Smith ? I wonder they a.c nob ashamed. * I have not noticed,' sue replied, ' but if _h?y do it's perfectly shameful. Why, his wife hasn't beau dead a _ mouth j yet. Anyway, who would want a widdower? 'A widdowcr !' I exclaimed almost indig nantly; Smith was never married.' Why, Fannie Bayfield ! And you were at the funeral jas. .hreo weeks ago to-day. ' Oh ' I laughed, you mean one man and I mean another. I was talking about our Smith ; Identical, you know.' Zoe came up, and putting her arm 3 about me said coaxingly. ' Hay, Fannie, tell me, aren't yau in love with Identical, as you call

him ?'

Tho question startled me. 'In love with Identical ? Why, no. He is not like my aoro a bit. He is too tame, and thinks more about being a pet among the girls than auythint, else. I want a great, grand, whole-HOuled man, not an advertisement of Lubiu's extract in the shape of a dry goods clerk.' ' Oh, yes, Fannie dear, that's ail very fine, but whoro will yon had your hero? Not in Darby I can tell you. Then, Identical is very nice, and I know he is more than halt iv love with you. I heard him 3ay you were the loveliest girl ia Darby.'

' You did ?' ' Yes, and that isn't all. Now, Fannie, treat him well and I'll do the little maneuver ing to match that of the other gir_3. And— Dannie ' hero she hid her face on my smoulder— I believe I am huppier than I wa3. Henry Thomson came over after school yesterday. He said he wa3 going .-.way to spend his vacation, and ask'jd me to write. He s jya h>. doseu't care to get letters from any one but! me while he is away.' ' Zoe de_.ric,' I said, ' I am glad it is all coming out right. But tell the rest that you heard Identical say about me.'

'110 said you were the most graceful and queenly girl he ever saw, hut that you were so proud he was afraid of you.'

I felt flattered and pleased ; Zoo was right, any way. I never would meet my hero, and if Identical Smith loved and ad mired ma, that would go far iv atoniog for the lack of tho_e qualities that I had hoped to find in a lovec. J. might after all find him a better man than many another better woman than I had loved, so I stooped there in the twilight and kissed Zoe, saying. ' I will be kind to Identical.'

After this 1 gave him no cause to be afraid of me, but no sooner had I chaugsd my manner of cool inciffonce to one of positive kindness, than it was noted by a (iozon pairs of watchful eyes, and tea par ties and challenges to croquet so multiplied that I scarcely caught a glimpse of my hero for more than a v/eeic after my first display of the Olive branch. Indeed, I think he never would haVe been allowed leisure to exchange the common civilities with me again had not Zoe come to the rescue. ' Oh, thosn artful, manoetivering things,' she s;iid, referring to the girls of course.

' lie hi first pulled this way and then that way, till really it aeetm. as if the poor man doesn't have time Bo take a.lonij breath. I wonder they are not ashamed ; but I'll match them.'

And aba did match them ; for she planned picnics aud. excursions in rapid succession t*n:i always invited myself aud our itideutical *uiifch to assist iv perfecting the arrangements. When I spent the afternoon with her she sent for him to cotne to tea, then he could do nothing else than escort me home. She told him there was a, Reading Club in Darby, and that she and I were the only members, and askori him *,o make the number three. He was delighted, and readily complied ft_ '.ruth, uo akilfally did Zoe mtiuceaver that the other girld gave up the couieau in despair, aud als las--. Smith swayed like a pendulum between Zoe and m\ I erjjoyed the chagrin of the other girls, thiukiug they were being taught a good leasou, and never once Btoppe_

EVENING STAR SUPPLEMENT, OCTOBER 28, 1867.