CHAPTER XXII. MADAME FUTURE. FLORENCE ELLIOT reads in the morning paper: N ASTONISHING ASTROLOGER-MADAM FUTURE.-This highly gifted lady is A the seventh daughter, and was born with a gift to tell the past, present, and future events of life. All who wish a speedy marriage, may call soon and see her invoke the powers of her wonderful science. She will tell you all you wish to know, even your very thoughts, and show you the likeness of your intended husband. She has just returned from Europe, where she had unparal leled success. No charge if not satisfied." Florence Elliot was soon at the office of the far-famed and learned Madam Future. The room was dimly lighted, and quite heavily draped in black, and the light fell rather on the face of Florence than on the astrologer, gipsy, magician, or whatever she was. She was closely veiled. "Lady, do you want your fortune told ?" said she, addressing Florence. You advertised, and to amuse an idle hour I have come. Curiosity drew me hither. Can you read the future? Here is my hand," said Florence, as she held out her small, deli• cate, jewelled hand, and a piece of gold. "I see nothing in your hand-no destiny-there are not many crosses there," said the woman. "Fortune favors you-you were born rich-you will die rich. You are an only child. You have been, until recently, the only young person living in that house. Your father was killed in battle. Your were born on Southern soil. That accounts for your blood and temperament, as hot as the climate. Only a week ago you stood by the mirror, and you said to yourself, I am young and beautiful, my hair is glossy, my eyes are bright, my lashes long and heavy, my form is symmetrical, and my step elastic. But one thing I must have.' With all these charms, you are not happy. I see it in your restless eye, flushed cheek and impatient step. I see it as you walk in the street, and when you promenade Broadway so often at three o'clock. One image sits at your heartone form hovers in your dreams-one hope is burning in your life, and one fear tortures you lest that hope be not gratified." She took her glass, looking in it awhile, and muttering. At length she speaks: "I watched your star. It has been slowly rising, clear and bright, climbing up the western sky. I turn the glass, and far off in the dim distance, I see a little pale star. From the western sky it rises, appears clear and bright, disappears, pales and vanishes. That little star appears again, slowly rises, and follows in your path." "Tell me, witch, wizard, sybil, whatever you are, is that a star of magnitude? Is it a meteor only to fade, a planet to wander, or will it be a fixed star in my path?" "What is your path, lady?" "That is for you to tell," said Florence. "I came not here to reveal, but to learn." "The future is always veiled. I can only see it through misty clouds and shadowy outlines. I can see but one obstacle in your path that must be crushed. I cannot tell you now the end-come again, and I will cast your horoscope more fully." Have you no charms ?" said Florence. I have nothing to cause love. Your charms are already all-sufficient, but even these I can heighten. You shall become radiantly beautiful, as beautiful as an artist's dream." Florence started. Did this strange woman really know that the dream of her life was of an artist ? No man is insensible to personal beauty," said the woman, going behind a curtain, and bringing out a vial, saying, "This is no love charm, no spell, but this I give you shall heighten your already peerless beauty. I will give it you in minute doses. It is a tonic and alterative-is sometimes given by oriental physicians, and is remarkable for its wonderful influence upon the skin. I call it Hidri. It may be swallowed daily for years, and no harm be done. It will give plumpness to the figure, clearness and softness to the skin, beauty and freshness to the complexion. It will improve the breathing, so that steep heights can be easily climbed; it will heighten your charms-your complexion will be clear and blooming, your figure full and round. You must take half a grain two or three times a week, in the morning, fasting, till you get accustomed to it, carefully increasing the dose. You will soon breathe with greater ease, and your voice will have greater compass and flexibility. But once commence it, you must continue the practice through life, and the results are sure and satisfactory. The dose must be adapted to the constitution and habit of body; but of this I will tell you more hereafter. I myself have taken it for thirty years. I take two grains at each dose." Florence looked through a long glass, to see the object she loved best. She was a little frightened and excited, but sure enough, at the other end of the glass there was a picture of Frank Carleyn's face, distinct, vivid, and life-like. The globe, charms, parchments, hieroglyphics, heavy curtains, dark-looking bottles, the artist's portrait, and the halfveiled face of the woman, bewildered and excited Florence, and she went home in a strange, unhappy mood, more anxious and determined than ever to go again to the consulting office of the far-famed and learned Madame Future. As Florence passed out, a lady closely-veiled passed in. Her form, and something in her walk seemed familiar to Florence, but the lady seemed anxious to pass out of sight, and escape observation; and Florence was so desirous of preserving her own incognito, that she dared not to look back at the lady, to guess or wonder if possible who she might be-and yet there was something so familiar about her. CHAPTER XXIII. CARLEYN'S JOURNAL-SUBJECT, MATRIMONY. "Of all the myriad moods of mind "BEFORE I marry, I must know a woman thoroughly-so Selwyn tells me. A woman may be bewitching at opera, fête, or ball, but be no soother or sympathizer to come home to when weary. Before an engagement is formed, solemn and binding as any engagement ought to be, the every-day type of a woman's life should be known. How she treats servants, how much respect, consideration, kindness she shows other members of her family-how she consoles the poor and the sick and the unfortunate. Many women get up sets of charms for public levees, soirées and receptions, hops and musicals. Yet a true wife is a diamond, shining brighter in life's daily rough friction-so the old book says. If I only visit a lady when she expects me, I can't find her out-so says my mentor, Selwyn. She can much easier learn my taste, habits and disposition. A business or professional man can never quite hush up his faults among his friends. If he is dishonorable, or ill-tempered, some lady will find it out-she may have some brother or friend who can easily hear of his peculiarities. A man in the business world can't be so walled about with conventionalities as to prevent sundry revealings and multifarious disclosures. Somebody will hear somebody say that he is arbitrary, tyrannical, selfish, passionate, dishonest, immoral, or avaricious-if he really is so, it will leak out. The real man is chiselled out in society with strongly marked features. His tailor and his shoemaker, even while the one takes his measure and the other makes a last for his sole, may get some idea of the spiritual dimensions and the shape and cast of his real soul. 66 Men's daguerreotypes and portraits often take more easily than women's-their features are usually more strongly marked. So on the canvas of society, many a man's character is clearly drawn and fully revealed, from some rough and truthful sketch, taken by anxious, watching eyes, in his counting-house, office or studio. But a woman shut up in a temple of home apart, is brought out on festal days, decked with flowers and wreathed with smiles, to receive as her right, the incense of praise and flattery. How easy to robe herself with the magic of loveliness, attracting the admiration of man, and piqueing the ambition of rival women. If she be as peerlessly beautiful as Florence Elliott, how many captivated hearts and worshipful knees will bow at her elegant shrine. 66 Selwyn keeps talking to me about behind the stage, as if a woman when in company like the figures in show windows was out on exhibition looking her prettiest. ""Tis true you find out what the actor is, and what part he takes, and how much he drills for the public, if you get behind the stage. What a pity that in love as in law, the attachment comes first and the judgment afterwards. "It is a serious business to get a wife-but I don't mean, "If many a man had walked out blindfolded and married the first woman he met, he might have done better. There is said to be a place made for each person to fill; if a few get into the wrong places, what is to become of the rest? There must be an odd kind of pairing off if the leading ones are mismatched, yet I have always thought Frank Carleyn ̧ would want not only a beautiful wife, but an uncommonly beautiful one." "These geniuses are not the most desirable of husbands, Florence. They're restless, abstracted, peculiar, and they don't make practical husbands. They'll buy meat all fat or all bone, and pay twice as much as any one else for it. They'll forget all kinds of household matters-they know nothing of practical financiering. If they earn money, some how they never get rich." "I could manage all that," said Florence. "I would rather have a husband that couldn't tell beef from mutton, than one who would be sending roast meat from the table because not brown enough or too brown to suit his lordship, -or indignantly reject a griddle cake because its circumference was not an exact circle; or one who is always giving essays about the right way of making coffee, bread, sauces and gravies. Marry the best man, and you'll soon find he has some queer little kinks, some eccentric oddity. It may be he can't eat anything spiced with nutmeg, or sweetened with molasses, or flavored with cinnamon, and then he talks so glowingly of the way his mother used to make pies -fat pies, he calls them-and that apple sauce, if you could only make some like that. He always thinks his mother used to fix up things in some wonderful way, a little better than any other woman can. Put the same dishes on the table now, and they wouldn't taste the same. "A man forgets that boyish play, chasing ball, hoop and horse, give marvellous appetite, and the tired hungry boy likes, as he can never like again, mother's dinners, soups and sauces. "Those old green hills, that bordered the valley, where nestled his childhood's home were lofty mountains to his boyish eyes are only little hills now; so the virtue of those rare dishes so marvellously good was heightened by boyish exercise and boyish fancy. "But it isn't the eating part that makes all the trouble. |