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Gems of Seniiment.
Hearts agree; minds dispute.
The greatest wealth is contentment
with a little.
The Call Of the Partridge.
The Helds are wet, the fields are green,
All thlng3 are glad and growing,
And fresh and cool across the pool
The gentle wind Is blowing.
Tho’ humid clouds yet fill the sky,
he rain Iihs ceased Its falling,
And from his 'all across the swale
1 hear the pai trldge calling,
The spotted partridge calling.
Thro’ the silence not a note
His listening ear is greeting,
But hear, O hear, how loud and clear
His call he Is repeating.
"What pleading Ungers In his tone,
What tenderness revealing!
O, soft and sweet across the wheat
A timid answer’s stealing,
The timid answer’s stealing.
Stella A. Ganono.
Friendship survives death better
ithan absence.
Arbutus.1
Under the winter snow,
Under dead leaves below,
Where brooks la secret flow,
To the bare earth there cling,
Heavy with scent c.f spring,
Tinged like dawn’s flushing hours,
Fragrant Arbutus flowers.
Under the snow of years,
Under t le weight of cares,
Watered by secret tears,
To the hire heart there cling,
Heavy with scent o! spring,
Had thoughts of sunny hours,
Memory’s arbutus flowers.
M. W. G.
The best society and conversation is
that in which the heart has a greater
share than the head.
A Song.
Where, from the eve of day,
The dark and silent river
Pursues througn the tangUd woods awav
O’er which the tall trees quiver;
The sileut mist that breaks
From out that woodlaad cover
Betrays the hidden path litak.es
And hangs the current over l
So oft the tnoughts that burst
From hidden springs of leellng,
'Like silent streams, unseen at first,
From our cold hearts are stealing.
But soon th«- clou Is that veil
The eye of Love, when glowing,
Betray the long un whispered tale
■ Of thoughts in daikness flowing 1
Longfellow, 1826.
Simeon adopted the following rules
for the conduct of his life : 1. To hear
as little as possible of whatever is to
the prejudice of others. 2. To believe
nothing of the kind till I am abso
lutely forced to. 3. Never to drink
in the spirit of one who circulates
an ill report. 4. Always to mod
erate the unkindnees which is ex
pected towards others. 5. Always to
believe that if the other side were
heard a different account would be
given of the matter.
THE PIGEON GIUL.
On the sloping markel-place,
In the village of Compelgne,
Every Saiurday her face,
Like a Sunday, comes acain ;
Daylight fluds her In her seat,
W 1t h her * * pannier ” at her feet,
Where her pigeons lie In pairs;
Like their plumage, gray her gown,
To her “ sabots ” drooping down;
And a kerchief, brightly brown,
Binds her smooth, dai k hair.
All the buyers know her well,
And, perforce, her face must see,
As a holy hap'iael
Lures us In a gallery,
Round about the rusllcs gape,
Drinking in her comely shape,
And the housewives gently speak
When Into her eyes they look,
As within som<‘ holy b< ok,
An i the gables, high and crook,
Fling their sunshine on her cheek.
In her hands two milk-white doves—
Happy In her lap to He—
Softly murmur of their loves,
Envied by thepassers-
One by one their flight they take,
Bought and cherished for her sake.
Leaving so reluctantly;
Till the shadows close approach
Fades the pageant, foot and coach,
And the giants in the cloche
Ring the noon for Picardie.
Round 1he vi lage see her glide,
With a slender sunbeam’s pace 1
Mirrored In ihe Oise’s tide,
The gold-flsh float upon her faee;
All the soldRrs touch their caps;
In the cafes quit their naps
Garcon,» uvst, to wish her back ;
And the fat old beadles smile,
As she kneels »long the aisle
Like Pucelle in other while,
In the dim church ol Saint Jacques.
Now she climbs her dappled ass—
He well-ph ased such friend to know—
And right merrily they pass
The armorial chateau;
Down the long (■tralght paths they tread,
Till the forest, overhead,
Whispers low Its leafy love;
In the archways’ green caress,
Rides the wondrous drya iess—
.thrills the grass beneath he’ - press,
And the blue-eyed sky above.
I have met her o’er and o’er,
As I strolled alone apart,
By a lonely “ carrefour ”
In the forest’s tangled heart,
Safe as any stag that bore
Imprint of the Emperor;
In the copse that round her grew
Tip-toe the s’ralght saplings stood,
Peeped the wild b iar’s satyr brood,
Like an arrow close the wood
The glad note of the cuckoo.
How I wished myself her friend !
(So she w lshed that l were more),
Jogging toward her Journey’s end
At St. Jean au Beds before,
Where her father’s acres fall
Just without the abbey wail;
By the cool well lolterlngly
The shaggy Norman horses stray,
In the thatch the pigeons pliy,
And the f >rest round alway
Folds the hamlet like a sea.
Far forgotten all the feud
In my New World’s childhood haunts,
If my childhood she renewed
In this pleasant nook of Fiance;
Might sue knit the “ blouse ” I wear,
Welcome then her homely fare
A nd her sensuous religion!
To the market we should ride,
To the kirk go side t-y side,
Might I warm, each eventide,
In my heart, my pretty pigeon.
Have Patience.
Som^parents and teachers seem to
think praise a dangerous thing for
children. While reticent in commend
ing they are voluble in blaming. Like
Iago, they are “nothing if not criti
cal.” Mr. William Matthews tells an
anecdote which illustrates the lack of
penetration in some parents and teach
ers. A boy was brought one day to
General Salem Towne, labeled as an
incorrigible dunce. No master had
been able to i> ake him learn, and if
Mr. Towne couldn’t he should be ap
prenticed to a trade. Mft Towne pro
ceeded to examine him. The boy
soon made a mistake and instantly
dodged, as if frightened.
“Why do you do that ?” asked the
master.
“Because I was afraid you were
going to strike me.”
“Why should you think so?”
“Because I have always been struck
whenever I made a mistake.”
“You need not fear being struck by
me,” said Mr. Towne. “That is not
my way of teaching boys who do as
well as they can.”
Under the wise teacher’s judicious
encouragement the boy showed so
much intelligence that he was sent to
college. In after years he became a
lawyer, an editor, a judge, a governor,
United States Senator, and Secretary
of War and of State. That boy was
William L. Maroy, of New York.
Six thousand five hundred and
twenty-nine dollarsis the amount of
the liquor bill that the people have
Just paid for the Congressional jam
boree at Yorktown. It included an
item of 180 cases of champagne ($3900),
08 gallons of whisky, 22 dozen sherry,
16 gallons of brandy and $2600 worth
of cigars.
The Red Ear.
It was October when I came to the
Sumac Farm—red, rare October, with
(he maple trees all dyed In scarlet, the
woodland streams chocked with dead
leaves, and the nuts ripening on th#
chestnut boughs ; and I can well re
member the thrill which went through
all my veius at the sight of the glori
ous landscape, as the stage driver set
me down on Ihe door-step, with my
trunk and carpet-bag, just as the sun
set, bursting through a shield of low
ering cloud, blazed across the old
house, painting its eaves with orange
light, and turning the small window
panes to quivering tablets of gold.
For I had been born and brought up
in the city and all this wide, wild
landscape, colored with autumn for
ests and scented with dead leaves, was
new and marvelous in my sight.
“Do you like it, Cousin Olga?”
Coquettish like Barbara Blake asked
the question, as she flitted to and fro,
apparently intent upon the arrange
ment of the supper table, while all the
time she ^ept a bright eye on Walter
Mildmay, who sat by the light mend
ing a defective spot in the harness.
“Very much,” I said, quietly.
Walter did not lock up, but I could
feel his quiet eye on me all the time.
I wondered what he thought of me. I
thought, uneasily, of my dusty dress,
my disheveled hair,' he stiff, unbecom
ing linen collar which I had chosen to
wear, instead of the laee frill which
best suited my face. Not that I wanted
him to admire me ; but every woman
likes to appear to the best advantage,
and I was no whit different from the
rest of my sex.
I was a Philadelphia shop-girl.
There was no glamour of romance
about my life. I worked for my liv
ing, like many another, lived quietly
in scant and forlorn lodgings, and felt,
sadly enough, that my lot in life was
to be a chrysalis’s rather than a butter
fly’s—until Fayal & Co. failed, and
hearirg that I was out of employment,
my unknown cousins of Sumac Farm
I wrote to me to come and spend the
winter with them.
They welcomed me kindly after
their fashion. Uncle Blake gave me
kiss, and remarked dubiously, that
l I didn’t favor any ©f the Blakes that
ever he kn«wof.” Barbara, his daugh
ter, wondered why I looked so pale.
Jonas brought his pretty young wife—
who had been a Mildmay—to greet
me; and her brother Walter, who was
boaiding there, also shook hands
joolitely with me, and “hoped I should
like the country,” in an indifferent
way.
The fire of huge logs blazed and
crackled in the deep, smoke blackened
chimney-pi ace, and the leaves rustled
against the doorstep outside, and a
cricket chirped, shrilly under the
hearth, and it was all so strange—so
strange, yet so restful!
Aft^r supper they left me all alone,
Mrs. Jonas Blake went out to skim the
milk. My cousin and his father van
ished to attend a “District School
Meeting” somewhere. Walter and
Barbara had been invisible for some
time, and after sitting dreamily for
awhile before the fire, t rose and went
out into the kitchen beyond, vaguely
desirous of some companionship be
lli es my own.
No one was there, but I heard the
sound of voices in the shed at the rear,
where Barbara was holding the light
for Walter Mildmay to sharpen some
edged tool on the grindstone. Unwit
tingly I advanced toward the door just
in time to hear their words :
“A stiff, ugly old maid,” said Wal
ter, indifferently. “A little higher,
Barbara, please. If that is the sort of
girls they turn out in Philadelphia, I
prefer the country specimens.”
I stood rooted to the floor, feeling
myself grow hot all over. They went
on talking aud laughing, but I did not
hear a word that they said.
Noiselessly I crept back into the
house up to my own room, lighted the
candle, and looked into the lit le,
muslin draped glass that hung over
the home-made dressing table.
Stiff, ugly, and an old maid ! Tin
latter I certainly was not, at four-and-
twenty. Stiff, I might be—who could
avoid that, in the presence of utter
strangers, surrounded by a domestic
atmosphere that was entirely novel
to me? And ugly—was I that? I
looked into the gla-s, to see hair braid
ed straight back from a pale oval face,
eyes Heavy with weariness, cheeks
quite colorless. Did he think I always
looted like that? He should see.
So I went to bed, and cried myself
to sleep.
The next morning, I got up and
dressed myself with care. I brushed
the soft, crimped masses of jet black
hair away from my temples, and fast
ened a spray of coral red berries which
I had gathered on the roadside into it,
and knotting- my loose scarlet silk
necktie under my lace collar, I smiled
to see the soft glow of color that was
returning to my cheeks, the brilliancy
of my eyes.
My dress was of black cashmere,
enlivened heie and there by a bow of
scarlet ribbon, instead of the gray trav
eling suit I had worn the evening
before and it fitted me as if I had
grown into it.
“T don’t think I am quite so ugly as
I was last night,” I thought. “But if
Mr. Mildmay don’t like me, of course
I cannot help it.”
So I went down stairs, Uncle Blake
stared at me over his spectacle glasses.
“Mercy on us!” cried Mrs. Jonas;
“what has the girl been doing to her
self?”
“Someone must have changed her
off while she slept!” said Barbara
running up to me and giving me a
kiss.
Walter Mildmay said nothing; he
only drank his coffee.
How I enjoyed the next fortnight I
The weather was beautiful and balmy
beyond all description. We had nut
ting expeditious, and boating parties,
and long walks to gather brilliant
autumn leaves. At nigh we sat around
the blazing logs, and on the few rainy
days, Mrs. Jonas showed me how to
make butter, and Barbara took me up
into the great garret, where there were
chests of old relics, piles of books and
papers, and all the antique belongings
of a whole century of Blakes.
But all this time, Walter Mildmay
kept his quiet dibtance;and to save
my life, I could not tell whether ho
still thought mo a “stiff old maid,” or
n °t. |
And thru
1
i
came the husking frolic.
The barn was illuminated by can-
dhs, stuck in tin sconces, along the
sides—I had never seen so wild and
romantic a sight. The neighborhood
gathered to the gala. Mrs. Jonas and
Barbara had been baking cakes and
buttering sandwiches all day, while
Uncle Blake had rolled a barrel! of
sparkling new cider close to the barn
door. Merry laughter sounded, bright
faces glanced to and fro in tho Rem-
brandtesque light ot the candles, while
ever and anon, the tone of flute and
fiddle-tuning up in the barn loft was
plainly audible.
I had been helping Mrs. Jonas to
put the iceing on the big fruit-cake
which held the ring, and as it was late
when I caine into the big, sweet-smell
ing barn with my black cashmere
dress all sprinkled with cherry-red
bows, and a cluster of deep scarlet
autumn leaves in my hair.
“Here’s Olga!” cried my Cousin
Jonas, cherrily. “Come here, little
Olga and sit by me and I’ll give you
some ears to husk.”
1 laugbed and nestled down into the
hay, close at his side ; and just at this
moment a storm of merry laughter
rose ou the air.
“The red ear! the red ear!” they
cried, in chorus, clapping their hands
and cheering veheineutly. “Walter
Mildway has got the red ear!”
I looked up at Cousin Jonas, in be
wilderment.
“What is a red ear?” said I.
Cousin Jonas laughed.
“What a little greenhorn it is!”
said he. “The red ear is “*
Just then Walter Mildmay came up
and stood before me, the r*ch maroon-
colored ear of corn in his hand. He
laid it at my feet.
“I claim my privilege, Olga,” said
he.
I looked at him in amazement.
“I don’t understand you,” said I.
The next moment he had stooped
over me, and putting both hands
lightly on my shoulder, had imprinted
a kiss upon my astonished lips.
I sprang up, feeling myself grow
scarlet; I rubbed my lips passionately
with my haLdkerchief, as if to wipe
off the insult.
“How dare you ?” I cried. Oh I’ll
never forgive you in the world—never,
never!”
And then, half maddened by the
noisy laughter of the crowd, the din
of jubliaut voices, I tore myself from
Jonas Blake’s detaining hand, and
flew out into the starry cold of the
outer air. Mrs. Jonas followed me.
“Olga, what is the matter? Come
back, child,” she cried.
“He has insulted me!” I sobbed.
“Insulted you? Oh, what nonsense,
Olga!” said Mrs. Jonas, putting her
arm around my neck. “He has paid
you the highest compliment a man
could pay to a woman. There’s not a
girl in the barn to night but envies
you, child. Don’t you know what the
red ear means ?”
“No,” said I, looking up with won
dering eyfs.
She laughed.
“It means that the lucky finder
thereof is entitled to kiss the prettiest
girl in the room,” said she. “It has
been his privilege from time Immemo
rial ; and in this it means that Walter
Mildmay thinks Olga Blake is the
prettiest girl in all that crowd of rustic
beauties.”
“Olga, you are not really angry with
me?”
It was Walter’s voic6, close to me.
Mrs. Jonas made some exclamation
about the cake she promised to cut,
and slipped away into the darkness,
leaving us alone.
“Angry ?” I repeated. “Yes, I was
angry. I didn’t know—no one had
told me—”
“About our rustic usages? But you
will forgive me, Olga?”
My presence of mind was slowly
coming baek to me. I drew my hand
from his.
“But you didn’t seriously think me
—pretty ?” said I.
“Do you want me to say what I seri
ously did think?” he asked.
“Yes,” said I, laughing. “The truth
uow the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth.”
“Then,” said he, “I thought you
was the sweetest, prettiest, most actu
ally perfeot creature that Frovidenoe
ever made!”
“Not at all,” I replied, demurely, “I
am a stiff, ugly old maid. Aud if this
is the sort of girls they turn out in
Philadelphia, you prefer the country
specimens! ”
I could see the color flood his face,
even in the starlight.
“Olga, did you hear that?” he asked.
“I did hear it, Walter,” I reap
“l was a fool—a
fool!” he saicl. ^
impression may have been, I think
very differently now. Dear Olga,
may I say all that is in my heart?”
“I think we hail better go back to
the barn now,” said I, quietly.
“And T think we hail better not,”
pleaded Walter,gently restraining me.
‘ Listen, Olga. Even the most wretch
ed criminal that stands at the bar is
entitled to insist upon a hearing in
his own defense. Snail I be less fa
vored than he?”
“Well,” 1 hesitated, “if you have
really anything to say ”
When we came back into the barn,
the husking was over, the debris was
all cleared away, aud they were danc
ing to the rude music of ttie baud—
“Killarny,” I believe was the air. My
cheeks were burning, my eyes shone;
my heart danced also to the wild,
swaying music.
Mrs. Jonas looked keenly at me.
“Ah,” she said, “I thought it would
be. \ou are—engaged? I am so glad
for, for your sake and Walter’s, too.”
“And so am I,” said I quietly.
I am a farmer’s wife now, and live
in a little brown cottage near Sumac
Farm. And, fancifully tied with blue
ribbon, over the parlor mantle, hangs
au ear of corn—a red ear.
Aud Walter says that as long as
both of us live we shall have a yearly
husking frolic In the new barn we are
building.
Fisting For Amber.
AtKonigsberg, a few days ago, the
right to collect amber on the beach
near Sjhwaizort duriug a space of
twelve years, from the 1st of Djcam-
ber next, was sold to the Arm of
Becker and Co., which has held the
contract during the last twenty-four
years. Tne price paid is 150,000 marks
a year—say $37,000. Tne Prussian
coast of the Baltic, between Memeland
Konigsberg, yields more amber than
any other known locality, and it is
from this source that the great de
maud for the material in the east is
supplied. Originally Konigsberg did
a vast business in amber, having some
seventy turners, but Dautzic is now
the chief seat of the industry and nota
bly of the manufacture of mouth-pieces
for pipes. In old times the grand
masters of the Teutonic order enj jyed
a monopoly in the amoer trade; then it
passed to the cro wa, aud very s Driugent
regulations were enacted to prevent its
infringement. “Strand-riders” pa
trolled the coast and a range of gallows
were kept standing in terrorem, on
which the hapless peasant taken with
a piece of the precious material in his
possession was hanged out of hand.
Even now it is a theft for a person to
retain a piece of amber he has picked
up on the coast, and a trespass to ven
ture there in certain districts. The
amber, washed out of extensions of
coal-beds beneath the sea, comes to the
shore in the sea-weed cast up after a
storm. The men drag the weed ou
shore in nets, aud the women and
children pick out the amber. In win
ter, when the sea is frozen over, holes
are broken in the ice and the weed is
hauled up with pikes and spears.
An Actor’s Dream.
Mrs. Duff and her husband sailed
from Boston on theship New-Eugland
for Liverpool on the 4th of December,
1827. Steam packets were yet un
known, and at that period of the year
it may be Imagined that the voyage
was not over pleasant or very speedy.
After Mr. Duff had taken his passage,
he was disturbed by a dream in which
he beheld the destruction by ship
wreck of the vessel in which he was to
sail. This made such an impression
upon his mind that he changed his
tickets for those on a packet to 1
at a later date, in which he
his wife reached their destinatio
safety; but in Liverpool he
that the former ship had not
rived, nor was she ever heard
The story of this dream has b
verted into quite another sh
has been told iu print as
the late Count Joannes) :
“Mrs. Duff, after her wido
formed an engagement o
with Mr. Conway, the trag
soon after sailed for Savanh
nights after his departure t
ghost of the tragedian
Mrs. Duff'in a dream,
she wrote down th
date and hour,
that Mr.
suicide by
Charleston
and hour o
Inoorrectu
story
“Wnat