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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.