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W^VE AFTER WAVE,
Ont of the bosom of the sea,
From dim, rich coasts eye may not see,
By vast and urging forces blent,
Untlred, untiring and unspent,
The glad waves speed them one by one;
And, goal attained and errand done,
They lap the sin'Is and sottly lave—
Wave after wave, wave after wave.
As stirred by longing for repose
Higher and higher each vave goes,
Striving to clasp with foam-white hands
The yielding and eluding sands;
And still the sf a,relentless, grim,
Calls his wild truants bach to him;
Recalls the liberty he gave
Wave after wave, wave alter wave.
All sad at heaj-t and desolate
They heed the call, they bow to fate;
And outward swept, a baffled train,
Each feels Ills effort was in vain;
But fed by impulse lent by each
The gradual tide upon the bench
Rises to full, and thunders brave,
Wave alter wave, wave after wave.
Ah, tired, discouraged heart and head,
Look up, and be Ihou comlorted !
Thy pusy eflort may 6eem vain,
Wasted thy toll and naught thy pain,
Thy br'ef sun quench Itself in shade.
Thy worthiest strength be weaknes, made
Caught up in one great whelming grave.
Wave after wave, wave after water.
Yet still, though baffled and denied,
Thy spended strength has swelled ihetlde
A leather's weight where oceans roll—
One atom In a mighty whole—
God’s hand uncounted agencies
Marshals and notes and counts as bis;
His threads to bind, his sands to save,
His tides to build, wave alter wave.
The Spirit of the Mist.
A wild, Dleak place it seemed to
strangers but as it was, Dame Brelt-
maun loved it. Her thatched cottage
was placed in a niche far up the moun
tain side, and all around were cliffs*
and rocks, and snatches of hilly
clearings, where her little flock of
sheep browsed, except when the snow
lay there in great drifts, as it did
throughout every winter.
People wondered that the dame
should have chosen such an isolated
spot for her abode, while the valley
lay beneath, with its green fields, its
sparkling streams and varied wood
land, which cou d not find footing in
the shallow soil above.
The reason that the dame loved the
place, with its summer gusts and sudden
storms, its winter cold and driving
■bows, was that she was a native
Bwiss, and all these reminded her of
the land she left years and years be
fore.
Then she had been a hale young
matron, with a strong, honest, toil
some, good man, and thiee little ones
after her, clinging to her skirts, as she
worked with willing heart and hands
to add comfort to the new home. Ah,
me! she had seen sorrow since, and
her husband and babes all lay in the
church-yard, with Blabs of granite
above their heads.
Now she was a withered, wrinkled
old woman, with hair lying white and
smooth beneath her muslin cap, and
with rheumatic twinges that often
kept he# from bobbing down the
mountain path on Sunday to the little
church where she had gone for forty
years.
Only Bretta, her grand-niece lived
with her. A blithesome, neat-handed
lass was Bretta, but with a head as
light as her heart, and some vain no
tions in it, which gave Dame Breit-
mann many a qualm of misgiving,
and called many a reproof down upon
the young girl.
But Breita was a willful minx, and
the dame’s precepts fell without im
pression on her mind. She would fin
ger in the village where she went to
sell the bunches of produce gathered
from the garden, the great white-shell
ed eggs from the poultry yard, and the
rolls of yellow butter which the dame
gathered from the milk of her cow.
Never a Saturday but Bretta In her
neatBhort gown and white starched
sun bonnet with the heavy basket on
her arm, trudged down the mountain
path, out across the valley to the vil
lage houses ; where her patrons lived.
And never such an occasion but she
returned with a yard or two of gaudy
ribbon, a tinsel brooch, or some other
bit of finery to adorn her person at the
next day’s meeting, where she dropped
a penny into the mission-box instead
of the shilling which the dame allowed
her.
All this troubled the good dame
sorely, and besides, she worried her
self into a fever of anxiety every night
when the girl went down to the moun
tain to drive the cow up from the pas
tures. The dusk would creep dowu
and the mists settle over the valley,
before the bell about Crum pie's neck
could be heard tinkling as she came
slowly up the path. It was no use to
find fault with or to send her hours
earlier, for she only loitered the more
on the way. But Dame Breitmann
need not have ftaied for her Bretta
was fleet aud sure of foot as a
chamois, and knew every rock and
crevice until she could tread them
safely in the darkest night.
“Make haste, Bretta,” tin dame
would say, every evening when the
girl tied her bonnet over her glossy
brown hair, “Get thee home before the
twilight falls.”
“Ay, granny,” Bretta would re
spond, bounding away before other
admonition could be given her.
And then she would sing snatches
of song, and turn from the path into
all sorts of out-of-the-way places, in
search of gray lichens and red cup
moss, or clamber up the precipices
after glittering spaiks, which she was
sure were precious jewels until she
reached them, when they turned to
pink or white pebbles in her hand. So
when the valley was reached, the
shadows would lie thick and dark in
in every nook, and the mountain top
would be lost from sight by the mist
which hung between. Then Bretta,
who knew nothing of fear, would call
Crumple and start her along the path,
while she lingered to chat with the
lasses she might meet. So it was that
she trudged homeward one night,
later than was her wont, with Cruin-
ble’s bell sounding far ahead.
Now, the broad path up the moun
tain wound in and out in great curves,
avoiding the chasms, and choosing the
most gradual ascent. There was an
other and more direct way which
Bretta often followtd, and which she
chose now to accelerate her return.
This was narrow and rough, and in
some places so steep that climbing up
it from rock to rock was like asoenu
ing a great natural stairway.
This night the mist had settled down
until it hung an impenetrable curtain,
shutting out everything into a
region of obscurity. Even Bretta’s
sharp eyes could net distinguish ob
jects more than a yard distant; but
she clambered on fearlessly, secure in
her perfect knowledge of the way. At
length the path verged upon a more
level space, where on one side there was
a sheer descent of a hundred feet, and
on the other the rocks broke away in a
wide cleft or ravine.
Bretta was half way across this ridge
stretching over this space to the next
ascent, when she paused at a sight
which took av ay her breath and held
her motionless as she gazed at it.
A woman's figure, taller, sfie knew,
than any living woman could be, white
aud dim, and wavering, stood up
against the mist out over the middle
of the precipice. It had long floating
hair waving about its shoulders, and
seemed to approach or recede as the
mist thickened or was pierced by the
moon rays.
For a moment Bretta lost speech and
thought, and gazed awe stricken upon
it. Then her native courage came
back, and clasping her hands rever
ently, she addressed it:
“Spirit, whatever thou art, what
wouidst ihou with me?”
The spirit did not speak, but as
Bretta folded her hands, threw up its
arms as though warning her back.
“Speak to me,” Bretta cried, implor
ingly. “See I do not fear thee. Tell
me why thou hast sought me here ?”
But the figure wavered away, and
Bretta turned to see the mist break
ing and rolling up before the moon
light. When she looked again, spirit
and mist had both vanished. She
turned her face toward the mountain,
and there, a few steps before her, the
ledge had crumbled away, leaviug a
yawning gulf in to which she surely
would have fallen had she attempted to
traverse it through the mist.
“Ah, now I know it was a good
spirit,” she said to herself. “But for
it I should be lying down there bruised
and dying upon the rock.”
With a thankful heart Bretta crept
down the ledge and back through the
ravine, until she could regain the path
beyond the new-made fissure.
She found Crumple grazing near the
cow yard and shut her within, while
sue went on to the cottage, where
Dame Breitmann had grown nervous
over ner absceuce.
“Child, Child! why wilt thou loiter
so late? Thou wilt come to no good by
it.”
“Nevermind, granny,” Bretta an
swered, with her usual careless laugh,
as she reached down the bright tin
pail from the shelf. “I have come to
no 111 by It yet.”
The dame sighed, and took up the
gray stooking from her lap. But her
thoughts were troubled, and her hands
trembled so that she diopped the
stitches from her needle and tangled
the yarn unwound from her ball.
Bretta, ooming in with foaming,
brimming pail, found her straining
her eyes over the mis wrought work.
“Let me do it, granny,” Bhe said,
with more thoughtfulness than she
often displayed. Aud taking the
knitting from the aged hand, she
kneeled before the fire and proceeded
to set it right.
Dame Breitmann laid her quivering
hand upon the girl’s head, passing it
down the long locks which had es
caped from their fastening, then ut
tered a reproving exclamation :
“Bretta, child, thy hair is heavy
with damp ; where was thy bonnet?”
But Bretta was lost in her own
thoughts, and it was easy to conjecture
that she had carried her head covering
instead of wearing it.
From that day tho girl studied more
carefully her grandaunt’s comfort.
When she sewed, she picked up the
scraps and lint she had scattered, in
stead of racing away, as heretofore,
the moment her task was done. A lit
tle watchfulness on her part spaied
the good dame many a painful step.
The latter wondered at the change aud
was thankful; but knew not the cause
of it, for Bretta had never told her
that she seen the Spirit of the Mist.
The girl thought the spectre she had
seen was a special protecting power,
and thinking that suen was watching
over her, taught her greater gentleuess
toward others who were not so favored.
For a time the dame had no cause
for complaint. Then Bretta longed to
see the spirit again, and lingered late
upon the ledge. But night after night
passed and it did not come.
Weeks passed. Bretta was gradually
going back to her light ways. One
night she lingered late in the valley,
and speeding homeward, thought
nothing of the spirit until she reached
the ledge. She was half startled to
find it there again, pictured against
the mist midway out over the preci
pice. She spoke but it did not an
swer, and vanished as before when the
mist rwlled away in the moonlight.
A sound floated up from the void
ot space which chilled her blood. But
she was a brave girl, so she leaned far
out over the precipice, striving to
pierce the darkness neneath. Then the
sound was repeated, and she knew it
to be a moan of some one in pain.
She halloed, and a faint voice an
swered her. It was many minutes be
fore she made out the situation, which
we shall in a few words.
A man had been hunting on the
mountain. Returning he had lost his
way, and the mist had closed down
around him. Wandering hither and
thither, he had missed his footing at
last, and fallen over the precipice.
Dowu, down, brushing against pro
jecting crags, until he clutched the
branches of a scraggy pine tree, which
hadftfound root in a crevice and grew
horizontally from it, thus saving him
from the certain death which would
have met him below. He was cling
ing there still to the frail support, but
he was chilled and numbed by the
paiet, and felt that he could not much
longer retain his hold. This much
Bretta learned, and calling out her as
surance of speedy aid, fled up the
mountain path to her home.
Soon she was back with ropes,
■which she securely fastened and threw
down to him. With renewed hope he
gained new strength and following
Bretta's directions, climbed slowly,
resting wherever he could find foot
hold, and ere long he stood with her
upon the ledge.
Her strong young arm aided him up
the pathway, and the cottage reached,
he sank down weak and trembling,
all his over-taxed strength gone for
the time. It was days before he was
well enough to leave, and meantime
he won Bretta’s confidence until she
told him of the Spirit of the Mist
which had appeared to her.
He made her promise to take him to
the place, and when he was well again
they went there together. Only the
mist hung In thiok darkness about the
spot; the spectral figure did not ap
pear.
“It will not come,” Bretta said,
when they had waited. She was
scarcely disappointed, after having
looked for it so many times before.
“Ah,” the gentleman replied, “if it
is what I think, you will only see it
when the moon js full.”
Afterward, when he was gone, Bretta
remembered hla words and proved
them true. Any night that she visited
the ledge when the moon was full and
mist gathered there, she would behold
the spirit, but at no other time was it
visible.
Time sped away, and Bretta no
longer lived in the thatohed cottage
upon the mountain. Good Dame
Breitmann was laid beside her dear
ones in the churchward, and the gen
tleman whom the mountain maid had
resoued, and who had since kindly in
terested himself in her welfare, took
Bretta to his home, to be educated and
provided for with his own daughters.
But one thing which Bretta’s studies
might have taught her she would
never believe. It was regarding an
optical illusion produced by certain
degrees of light and density of air,
and which explained the figure, she
had seen as nothing more than her
own shadow thrown against the mist.
But Bretta went on believing in the
spirit to the last.
Discouraging French Military
Swells.
The Marquis de Galliffet, who com
mands the Twelfth Corps d’ Armee, is
not satisfied with the eclat he gained
in political circles by his recent con
version to Republicanism, or by his
friendship with M. Gambetta. He re
quires something more, aud forgetful
of those traditions he so highly culti
vated when he was a young and bril
liant officer, using every art aud strata
gem to wiu the heart of the handsome
and wealthy daughter of Charles
Lt;ffilte, he has indulged in a long
diatribe against what the < ffleers of the
French service term “fantasia.” He
has leveled his pen against those who
have attempted to embellish the uni
form of the Republic, and in the circu
lar lie has recently issued he calls the
attention of those who are under his
orders to the regulations of.the service
and the patterns which have been
deposited in the Army Clothing De
partment. General de Galliffet accuses
some of his officers of wearing jackets
with absurdly wide sleeves. He
makes the same complaint about shirts,
and taunts those who display a “clean
boiled iag,” as Artemus Ward has
called it. The inexpressibles are, ac
cording to the Marquis, made too tight
in the leg and too wide at the bottom,
where they fall over tne boots, which
have been made so ‘ridiculous that
they resemble far more the shoes worn
by the courtiers in the days of Henry
11. than a useful article for a horseman
who has to do plenty of rough work.
General de Galliffet has not limited
kisobjections to costume alone; he
evidently wears the regimental barber
in his heart and has a regard for the
Figaros of the garrison towns. He
says: “Officers now wear their hair
in such a manner as to permit a part
ing back and front, and in many
cases the hair is plastered down on the
forehead, giving an offensively
effeminate appearance.” In fact, the
General declares that he preceives
with the utmost regref an inclination
on the part of his officers “to follow
the fashions which have been intro
duced by a certain class of civilians,
who, though young, are neither con
spicuous for their intelligence nor lor
their manly tastes.”
The Prince’s Cigar.
The scene was a first-class carriage
on the Great Western Railway. The
date need not be mentioned. There
were no ladles in the carriages. One
of the passengers took out his cigar
case, and, giving a look ef inquiry, but
not making any remark, lit up, and
vigorously puffed away. As he pro
gressed toward the end of his cigar, he
noticed a look of great irritation on
the face of his visa vis. “ I am afraid,
sir,” said the smoker,hurriedly, “ that
my cigar annoys you.” “ It does, sir;
It annoys me excessively.” “I am
sure I beg your pardon,” said the gen
tleman, and threw his cigar out of- the
window. “ That’s all very well,” said
his fellow-passenger; “but I mean to
give you in charge directly I get to
Bath. You were perfectly well aware
that this is not a smoking-carriage,
and I mean to defend the rights of
passengers.” “ I am really very sorry,
sir; but I took it for granted that
there w%3 no objection.” “ I made up
my mind, sir,” was the dogmatic
reproach, “ soon after we left Bwinton,
that I would give you in charge the
first opportunity.”
There was an awkward pause, and
presently the offender said, “ Perhaps
you will take my card ? I happen to
hold a public position, and should like
to avoid any disturbance.” “I don’t
want your oard, sir.” “ But you had
better look at it.” The aggrieved pas
senger looked at it contemptuously,
but it was the card of a Royal Duke!
Things now went on pleasantly ; but
before he left the carriage the gentle
man expressed a hope that H. R. H.
would not think that he had acted
wrongly, “That is a point which we
need not disouss,” Bald II. R. H.
What sunshine is to flowers, smiles
are to humanity. They are but trifles,
to be sure, nut scattered along life’s
pathway, tne good they do is inoon-
oelvable.
By the Sea.
Only a long:, gray strPto i of ghostly san 1 ;
Only a dark, dim sky that scovrls In h ite
Above this barren, baleful line ofland.
Only a harsh red sea Insatiate.
There on the shore lie Rea-flung weeds like
flame,
And out amid the bloody waves’ hot J iws
Tosses a broken spar; this sea shall tamo
To wreck each vessel caught by his tiger
paws.
"Ha, how I laughed to see you drag her
down
And break her with your teeth.” ” vnd I,
the sky.
Jeered as the tools prayed, face against my
frown.”
• ” 'Twas good. You saw . . those two
young lovers die?”
Song.
Go hold white loses to thy cht k,
And twine them in thy hair;
Go gaze Into their hearts, and seek
Tho message hidden there;
And when they softly, sweetly tell
Their secrets, pray thee listen well.
And dream ’tls I who speak.
Go wander where, low murmuring,
The >rooklet glides anear,
And trembling willows droop and cling
W 1th bended heads to hear;
And when the streamlet, rippling by,
Repeats its wooing melody,
Oh, dream 'tis I who sing !
Sweetheart, as f vdeleis perfumes throng ]
From roses long since crushed,
And as the brooklet’s tender song
Is never, never hushed,
So will my heart keep day and night,.
Its peerless love forever bright#
Through sorrow and through wrong.
Beautiful Fans.
Among the many beautiful presents
given by the Duke of Albany to his
bride was a lace fan with s<icks of
goldfish pearl inlaid with gold. These
sticks tapered toward the point, and
hecame paler in coloring. Tne Inlay
ing was floral—Marguerites, daffodils
and roses—and the design was repeat
ed in the lace, where the rose petals
were detached and fluttered with every
movement of the f*n. Tills is an illus
tration of the exceeding beauty of some
of the most costly fans, which are of
enormous size. Most of these not made
of lace have lace borders supported by
the sticks, which constitute a part and
parcel of the fan itself, coming to the
very edge of the lace.
The artistic feeling of the day is
shown in the exquisite beauty of the
painted fans. White and black satin
fans, large in size, display the most
admirable bunches of roses, flags, pas
sion flowers, lilies and hundreds of
other flowers, all so true to nature in
form and coloring that you feel you
could pluck them. These have the
lace bordering. Another favorite
painted fan is in sepia, with charming-
Watteau-like scenes on cream; and.
equally beautiful are the black tans of
gray and white, with figure subjects.
Many of these black fans have an
applique of lace laid on All round.
Large fans, oval at the top, with side
ends shorter than those in the centre,
composed entirely of smooth, shiny
feathers, generally shaded, such as red
and f* reen, are new. They have mostly
a silver ring slipped over them. Their
great beauty is in the shading, espe
cially in the gray tones. They are
aLo to be had in plain colors, and they
as often as not have a butterfly In
green feathers settling on them. They
are composed entirely ot small pigeon
feathers, and the sticks of many of
them are inlaid with gold. Another
class of the same sort of fan is made
with tips of contrasting color, and
some are spaced, such as brown, gray
aud gold, green, gray and black.
Another novelty is that in the cen
tre of many of these feather ribs oblong
pieces of ivory are let in. But with all
these fans the same half-crescent shape
is preserved —short at the sides, long
in the centre.
Circular fans of marabout, shaded
and in plain colors, not collapsible, are
costly and most fashionable. There
is a cheaper fan of the same class made
of feathers, with a olaw handle and a
beetle or butterfly in metal resting on
it.
Circular fans, oovered with laoe or
with flowers, real or imitation, are
among the latest introductions, and
are really good additions to a dress.
There is a grotesque element, too, in
fans. Very fashionable are large
black satin fans, lined with old-gold
or Borne other color, with a huge mon
key or a parrot painted on It, the col
oring carried down on the stlok. Some
cotton fans at low prioes, in brown
shades, with colored sticks, like cherry
wood, hare designs of Kate Green*
away figures in black outline; and »
very large number of huge fl * we red
cretonne fans are selling; lndeed t
during the season they will be made
match the cotton dresses.