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CAIS N WIFE.
(Extract from an Unpublished Poem.)
’Twas
BT W. 8, TURNER.
• • • * Ere night had hnng around
It's sable curtains, be alighted near
His father’s door. His mother came in haste
And soon she held her long lost son in her
Embrace! Then Adam, Beth, and other sons
From out the fields arrived, and greeted him
With overflowing joy! Up from the spring
A lovely maiden came who bore a pail
Of water on her head. “See here,” to Cain,
The father said, “is one whom you should see—
A sister fair and bright—Miss Eva is
Her lovely name.” Cain took her to his heart
And said, “She shall be mine, my wlfiE^ my all
Of earth, tobless me in my distant home!”
The group—or rather host—in Adam’s house
That night was full of flowing joy as there
They sat and talked together of the years
And scenes through which they’d passed,
late when they
Retired to rest in sleep. Next morn the sun
Was brightly shiniDg when they rose t’ enjoy
The pleasure of the day. Tbeir worship o’er,
They ate their morning meal, and gather’d ’round
To hear and tell the history of more
Than forty long and weary years. Cain sat
Beside his mother all the while, and she.
Whom Cain now called hit wife, her place did take
Upon the other side of him. The two
Were now in love! ’Twas evident to all the house,
And so, ere many days had pass’d. Eve said
To Adam, "We must give her to our son
That she may be his wife. Thus doing we
Will greatly bless the two.” ‘•Yes,” Adam said
“ ’Tis meet that we consent to let her go
And bless him in this distant land. ’Tis hard
To think that we should give her up, but then
’Tis meet and well—and we must serve the will
Of Holy Heav’n ! You know the Lord to us
Hath said, ‘Be fruitful, multiply the Earth,
Replenish and subdue?’ ” On Sabbath morn
The father led his house—now full and large—
Unto the altar on the hill, and there
With joy they offered up in sacrifice
A lamb to God. This done, Cain led his bride
Unto the altar place and said : “This day
We ask that thou would’st join our lives in bonds
That never shall be broke, so we, henceforth,
May live as men and wife.” The solemn man
Then asked: “Are all agreed that I shall do
As they desire?” “Yes, yes V they all replied!
Then he approached the two and joined their hands
And said: “As I this day have Joined your hands
May love unite your hearts, and Heav’n so blend
Your lives that ye now twain may henceforth bo
Asone!” “Amen, Amen!” was said
By Cain and Eva and the rest!
With kisses and embraces sweet and long
They lingered there. Atiength they all returned
Unto the consecrated home and spent
The remnant of the sacred day in songs.
And prayer, and conversation of the things
Of God and Heaven. When morning came Cain
said:
“We must depart unto our distant home
Ere yonder sun shall rise again. ’Tis meet
That X should know how go the place and all
The int’rests there?” Just then the family
Began to realize how sad ’twould be
To give np Cain and her who was his wife.
Tears filled all eyes that day! ’Twas hard to part!
But Cain relieved them much by promising
That heand Eva would return, at least.
Once ev'ry yearand spend a week or more
With them. ’Twas also well agreed thai Seth
film one or two of the younger sons niig^tt go
With Cain, and see his home and learn tin-way
Which led unto the distant land—now called
By Cain llie Iarndjof Nod—that lay out East
Borne threescore leagues, me u.™un sown ar
ranged
The wardrobe of the bride and that which to
The boys belonged. Provision, too, was cooked,
And fruits, and provender, were packed for man
And beast. Next morn, just as the light began
To ope the East, the caravan set out
Upon the way that led unto the land
Of Nod. Along the way which passed o’er hills
And plains, Cain's wife and her two brothers saw
Great Iherds of cattle, buffalo, and wild
Gazelles. The active squirrels, too, and birds n
Were seen amid thetrees. The flow’rs adorned
The wide and fertile plains,and here and there
The bills. Oft did they see huge serpents too
That hissed and raised their heads in angry hate!
Cain led the way, his wife came next, and then
Came Seth, while in the rear, the younger boys
Pursued with eager haste and joy! When noon
Had come, they halted at a flowing spring
Where Cain proposed they all shouldrestand dine!
“Here is the place,” said he, “at which there came
An angel unto me when I had 3ed from home.
He found me on my knees in prayer beside
That noble tree, and here we sat beneath
Thisshade and talked of things within the past
And future too. Hopointed out to me the way
Of life, and bade me walk tberein.| He said :
“When more than forty years have passed away
Thou wilt return with Joy to see the home
Of him wbo is thy sire, and And among
Thy sisters one most fair and bright who will
Become thy wife and share with theein all
Thy life the joys and sorrows of thy way!”
Then, turning to his wife and brothers, ho
Proposed that they should bow with him in prayer
And praise to God, and, on the very spot,
Re-consecrate themselves to Him whose grace
And love had richly crowned his life amid
Eventful years !”•*•*
replies Jane.
“Then girls, yon all know that Mr. Benford
was on a wretched spree at the time the Ever
glade made that excursion up the river. I saw
him myself,” says Maria Alford, emphatically.
“Seems to me we all talk too much. It ii
none of our business. I do not believe one word
against Mr. Benford. He is all that is generous
and noble.”
“We all grant that Susie Caseman, but that is
the very type of man for conviviality, yes more
than any other.”
“It tacks but ten minutes to adjournment'
says Julia, rising, “and I have to visit a siok
friend before I go home. Our society meets at
your home, Jane, next Friday ?”
“Yes."
“I shall be there. Good-bye girls. ’’
Julia walks off with compressed lips. “I wonder
if it istrue! Off must be so,” murmurs the girl
that night “and I must send back my chain. I
promised I would. Oh ! it is so hard” she wails
as she removes the gold-linked treasure from
her slender throat and seals it up in a small box
The next day it is sent to Mr. Benford without
a word, and thus ends a betrothment of a few
days.
“The use of character is to shield us from
calumny »says the eloquent Burke ; but in gath
erings known popularly as sewing societies, the
only practical use of this same character seems
to be a target at which the shafts of idle gossip
are fired, and we pity the poor wretch whose
name is riddled under such fusiladeg.
Women are quick te set; swift in revenge ;
hasty in word, and often have to repent at lei
sure, when a little deliberation wonld have saved
muoh pain in the end.
she must live apart from him, better never to
see him—far better to have no reminder of the
proud lofty being whom, strive as she may, she
cannot forget
THE PEACE OFFERING.
BY MARY FAITH FLOYD.
Julia’s eyes grow larger, her sweet face paler
and more subdued in its lovely sadness. A pa
tient weariness is its constant expression.
“Julia dear what is it,” asks Miss Lizzie
Graves her sick friend. “I have a slight cough’
says Julia with a faint aim at a smile, “but it is
only a trifle."
“Look to it ohild, for consumption is heredi
tary in your family. Be warned by my case, a
neglected oongh is dangerous.”
“I do take remedies but they do no good.”
“You have coma to stay all night?” asks tho
invalid.
No, dear Miss Lizzie. Grandma is not well
to-night and I oaDnot, but Susie Caseman pro
mised she would, and she is a better nurse than
I. Ah here she is,” as the door bell rings.
“Good-bye I will send her in.’’
“Susie did you ever see any one change so
much as Julia in the past few months? What
ails the girl ?” questions the sick lady in quiok
succession.
“I do not know, but suspect it is heart-sick
ness about Ashby Benford.”
“Has he trifled with her?” she asks turning
sharply round in her eusy chair and staring
Susie in the face with an indignant expression.
“O’h ! no, Miss Lizzie. Ashby is too honor-
ble to trifle with any one. It is all old Mr.
Lansing's fault. He is Julia’s guardian and
will not let her marry a dissipated maD.”
“Does Ashby drink?”
“He is not an inebriate I am certain. I sup
pose, like many young fellows, he may have
been led into a frolic. I have heard such rumor,
and that is enough for Mr. Lansing. The
old sinner boasts that he never drinks even wa
ter and I presume he thinks no one else should.
He does not like Ashby, and makes drink a shal
low pretest to prevent Julia’s marrying him.
“Poor Julia! can nothing be done ?”
“I do not know. Y/hat I have said is only
conjecture. She used to wear Ashby’s chain
ana I think was engaged to him. Now I do not
see it, end they are nevrs: together as formoHy.
Ashby is very proud ifod keeps ale of. I have-
seen him, with his stern face, turn off the street
into another to avoid meeting Julia. I have
fePWRi/lf flW’Si^iffmrnrcn. ’ An*! it is
a sad pity that two such noble hearts should be
divided,” says Susie with a sigh.
“Sad indeed,” echoes the invalid. “You are
very inventive my dear. Contrive some way of
making peace between them. It pains me to see
Julia pining away, and young people are so
stubborn and silly about love-quarrels, they
need a cool head to set them right.” She relap
ses into silence after her speech. She thinks of
a lime in the long ago, when she too had a rom
ance which ended in one of these quarrels and
left nothing but a few faded flowers which are
treasured away and sometimes moistened by a
penitent tear from her dimmed eyes. Her lover
bad been a naval officer and was lost at sea.
Poor Miss Lizzie could never bear to look at the
ocean even in its calmest moods since then ; but
she had smothered her trouble and striven to do
good as a[ sort of penitential offering for her
misdeed ; for, in her mind, she insisted on tak
ing all the blame of the difficulty which had left
her a lonely spinster.
“I have been thinking about it” Snsie says at
last. "Let me see; New Years is not far off.
Sancho Lenox is coming then. Yon know Sancho
belonged to Jnlia's uncle, old Mr. Denton, and
when he died he left Sancho under father’s
charge, with the privilege of buying himself free.
He thinks all the world of Julia and myself, and
prides himself on his match-making qualities.
1*11 think np some plan and enlist Sanoho‘8
good offices."
The day before New Years is dull and dreary,
leaden gloom over sea and land. After dinner
a thiok fog rises out of the ocean, and spreads
itself slowly over the lanseape, threatening be
fore night to obliterate land-marks, as it some
times does at this season.
Late in the afternoon, a tall, handsome, man,
with bare head, showing to advantage his dark
hair in loose curls around his white forehead, is
promenading np and down his piszza. His
bands are in his pockets and his reflections are
not pleasant, judging from the frown that occa
sionally contracts his brows. He pauses in his
walk as an elderly man draws near.
“How are yon Sancho, when did you come?”
“Come to spen’ ebrismue with wife marster,’’
says Sancho, a light-colored, respeotable negro,
pulling his foretop and scraping back his foot
with peculiar African suavity. Sancho is well
dressed and genteel, had gone as waiting man to
some officer in theMexican war and imagines him
self the hero of ail the battles there fought. He
is a general favorite, very trust worthy, and a
privileged character. He fidgets uneasily after
his salntation and moves a boquet-, which he
holds, from one hand to the other.
“Did you bring that handsome bouquet for
nr wife's New Year present?’ asks Ashby
watching Sanoho with some amnsement.
“La now, Mars Ashby, yon’s making fun of
me. This bouquet is sent not fnr off. ”
“Perhaps it is for me,’’ says Ashby extending
his hand in jest.
“She sends compliments and wishes you a
happy New Year,’’ says Sancho with another
pull at his hair and a more vigorous scrape of
the foot.
The surprised Konford receives the flowers
and asks “Who am I to thank?" as he inhales
the rich perfume. “Ah that‘s a secret. I‘m not
to tell marster. You jest keep the posy an
make somebody happy."
“Look here Sanoho, this is trifling. I> m not
going to accept a thing and, have no body to
thank. “
“Mars Ashby, yon‘s tirely too perticklor.
Sure now you’re not going to make her pretty
face grow paler by retusin. “
“Well what is the young lady like ?“ asks Ben-
ford, a dim perception growing in his mind as
to who the donor may be.
THE FANCY_WORK CRAZE.
A True Story.
“That dog? yes, he is a noble old fellow, and
be thinks considerable of me, don’t yon, sir?
Kiss me if you're glad to see me—down, sir,
down! that’ll do. See here. Brnno, where's
little Will ? little Will, Bruno ?“ .
The dog looked np In his questioner's face JJY °J Wesleys, of Watts
and began a low monrnfnl whine almost human |, ® the generation
in its sadness.
churchos to say that flllT tm
aUd aii M laigslyxt!
intention contributed teitel ‘
other parties to this fssnlt
By the emphasis pal lass tbs Hafex
no°iJL a ? d *K 7 the teJJ-
nology in the pnblio worship of the cr,
muoh has been done tir dtssnUuall Ibw
faculty from all these- hoary, ponsitfe sea
which have seemed to keep II tfctafe
^xr dr, ! g ^ ed it down. TBs sasnv-
: “Dissepated !” Why of course he is, says Jane,
“There is never a spree in this town but be is
in it.”
“I know be drinks;” says Maria Alford,
“father says so.”
“Certainly he does. I’ve heard it many a
time,’’ interjects Ellen Glenn, as she finishes an
apron and lays it on the table.
“I think yon do Mr. Ashby Benford injustice,”
says Snsie Caseman who listens to this gossip as
she works on her crochet. “Yon know, girls”
with a slight flush mantling her face,” brother
Tom is sometimes out of tbe way wben influenc
ed by convivial companions. Well, one night
be esme near getting into a very serions diffi
culty with Joe Bradly ; bnt Mr. Benford persuad
ed him to go to bw bouse and kept Tom all
night We did not know a word until after
wards, Mr.£ Benford sent ns word that Tom
wonld sleep with him. That does not look like
being a drunkard.’’
“He may have been sober that night, bnt that
does not disprove wbat I said,” remarked Jane
Convetse, the first speaker. “Yon remember,
Julia Denton,” tnrning to this yonng lady all
the while a silent listener, “that night I spent
with yon and we had a serenade? Ashby was
on horseback and looking very handsome. It
was moonlight and we peeped through the oar-
tain and saw him. He was drank that night—
yes disgustingly so, for cousin James told me he
was there and knew all about it”
Julia a pale blackeyed maiden, tail and grace
ful involuntarily puts bet band upon a slender
chain of gold about her throat and a shadow of
nain flit* for * moment over her face.
•5 don’t remember,” is all she says.
“Yon are blessed with a very short memory.
Jnlia has been bearing her harden as best she
may, trying to live down her pain ; bnt tbe sur
roundings are so fall of memories, that almost
every day some thorn tears anew the quivering
flesh and caused it to bleed afresh. She is not
a weak girl, a little hasty perhaps ; but if Ashby
is intemperate, and it must be true, she has
heard it from so many credible witnesses, it is
her duty to give him up. Better bear the agony
of a sharp quick death than live a life long mis
ery by seeing her idol degraded in the slough
of inebriation. Of late her grief bas been some
what dolled by the affliction of watching a dear
relative pine slowly and die a painful death.
The day of her return home is one of those
mild blue days in November which oome on the
Southern sea coast. The sky is bine, tbe water
reflects its color, and moves with just a gentle
ripple nnder the passing breeze, whioh sways
tbe brown marsh grass in graceful waves as it
goes onward. Jnlia leans against the bulwark
near the cabin door, as the vessel steams np the
barbor. She watches tbe little ontward-bonnd
boats with their white sails extended to catch
tbe wind, their cutwaters throwing np a yeasty
foam as they breast the waves. Presently they
meet a gallant steamer leaving port Passen
gers are loitering an deck enjoying the lovely
prospect and inhaling the salt-sea breeze. As
tbe vessels pass, there goes np a shout of saluta
tion, and bats are waved merrily ; bnt Julia sees
only one figure, a tall, stately, man, who stands
near the wheel-honse his hands folded across
his chest, one leg slightly extended, military
fashion, bis hat pendent in one hand. His
stern, handsome faee is unreadable. Ia its ex
pression one of contempt, or one of pensive un
rest, snoh as a heart-disappointment generally
leaves as a legacy to those who suffer deeply?
Jnlia cannot decide which ; bnt the sigh of Ash
by Benford recalls all the past that a fresher
grief had dulled for a season, and Bets her poor
quivering heart aobing with all its old foroe.
We have said that Jnlia Denton is not a weak
girl, and she knows as she sets foot again in her
native town, that she must take np the old
threads of daily life, jus* when they were broken
off, and learn to endure, with calmness if she
can; bnt endure she must, even if she perish
in the trial. ; Benford is absent, for how long
she does not know, but that is some respite. If
‘She's tali and slender-an-ah !-purty as a pic-
tnr‘,“ adds Sancho at a loss for similes.
“I cannot guess; so Sancho you must carry
the bouquet back" extending the flowers towards
him.
‘Sure now, mars Ashby, yon know as well as
me who ‘tis. Only one yonng lady in this town
thinks enough of you to send yon flowers. I‘ve
seen you ridin' with her many’s the time.’
Oh ! is it she ! God bless her ! Give her my
compliments and thanks, and I’ll owe you a
favor, Sancho if it all turns ont right.’
“Now mars Ashby, be sure that I never tole
you Miss Julia sent them thar flowers, case you
jes’ guessed.”
“Of course l’just guessed*, Sancho, and I
never tell tales. You know this is between ns, a
dead secret, “ says Ashby smiling.
Sancho touches his hat and is off, with a proud
feeling of performing a brilliant coup d’ etat in
thus reconciling two estranged hearts.
Ashby continues his promenade, his spirits
rising many mere degrees in cheerfu'ness'than
when he began Jus walk, by reason of the frag-
rant gift bound with a blue ribbon, npor. one
:.d of whioh motto sea! ’he one word ,
Forgive, '^scrjteft upon it. Yos, Julia retort,,,
and he feels caSun of future feiioity.
% r j>_ * • *
fortable room, { but the warmth and cheer add
little to her. Sfre is burdened with sadness on
this New Yearsteve which brings nothing to
her ; no suroeasfc to the heart-pain that pales her
cheek and hnshls her laughter. Grandmother
is confined to mer chamber with one of those
ailments' that afflicts old people, and Julia is
alone, a book resting on her knee, as she sits
beside the hearth gazing at the red flame leaping
with forked tongnes up the chimney. She looks
pallid, in contrast to a close-fitting black dress,
with not even a white ruff in the neck to relieve
its sombreness. Her eyes are shadowy and
melancholy, and the whole attitude is dreamy,
as are the thoughts of the young girl.
A rap at the door and a gentleman is ushered
in. “Julia, did you send this?" asks Ashby
Konford in a clear, eager voice, as he strides to
ward her with a bouquet in his hand.
“I did not," she says in a low voice, her face
grown paler from surprise, “but," she adds af
ter a moments pause, ‘‘I am glad it was sent,
Oh ! Ashby, if it brings you to me. “
“Julia, how could you send back my chain?"
he asks with a ring of reproach in his deep
voice.
“I heard—, I oannot say it—I promised uncle
you know,“ cries the girl her features quivering
with pain and embarrassment.
“Julia" says Benford hiB arms folded proud
ly over his chest “I will not deceive you though
the reward be your hand. You were informed
aright. I was intoxicated both times yon heard
it, but the cause was yourself. I was told you
were angry with me. It was weak ; but I could
not bear that."
“0 Ashby!“ orits the girl covering her face
with her white hands as if to shut out tho har
rowing truth.
He looks at her with compressed ’ip. and
brows contracted with pain. The silence bet
ween them is like a great wall dividing.
“Must I go or stay ?“ asks Benford when he
can bear the torture no longer.
She looks np with eyes lnminons as cioud-
dimmed stars “Stay! Forsaking all others I cling
to thee. “
“Dear, sweetheart," says Benford folding
her in his arms, “mine forever, and now only
can I feel that the cruel past is blotted out
and the New Year's Eve, with its murky atmos
phere, brings benisons and light to fill the room
and the hearts of its reconciled occupants.
There!" said Mr. Snow to me, “yon hear
that? that old boy remembers the child's name
and he knows little Will is dead."
“Was he the dog's little master ?“
“Yes ; do yon see that little brown house down
there between these maples ? The Melvilles
lived there—father, mother, and three-year-old
boy. . A year ago there wasn't a happier family
in this state, and a tidv, made on this Java can-
J* 8 - I believe they call it, rained it; made the
father old before his time, and the mother a con'
firmed invalid. “
“A Java canvass tidy ! how on earth oonld it?*
“Well, Mrs. Melville got what I call the ‘fancy'
' Craz9 '' made tidies and lamp-mats
and all those things until the house was full of
them. By-and-by she didn‘t have time to go to
the grange with her husband, or to lectures, or
walks, or rides, because she had hired, or bor
rowed, a pattern of somebody and must get it
worked as soon as she could. I noticed, too—
she's my favorite neice, sir, and I was there a
good deal afternoons—that she didn't have time
to play or talk much with little Will, because
you see they have to count the stitches on this
kind of work, and it brechers 'em to look off the
pattern, til! at last Bruno got-to be about all the
playmate or company little Will had through the
aay, while his father was away.
I don't want yon to think, sir, that I don't
like pretty things, because I do ; I love to see
'em, and the good God who made the flowers
meant wo should ; but there's some women who
never ought to touch fancy-work because it fas
cinates 'em so that it spoils 'em for anything
oise, and Laura Melville was one of them. Well,
along in the spring Laura went to Boston to visit
her aunt—my sister—and when she earae home
she had learned two or three new stitches, and
a pattern for a Java canvas tidy that was some
thing new around here. She hardly waited to
get settled, down at home before going to work
on that tidy ; how she did work ! every moment
that she could spare from household duties she
-evoted to that tidy. It was designed to cover
a sofa, and of course there was no end of work
in it. One afternoon she tied on little Will's
hat and sent him out to play with Bruno while
sue sat down to work on her beloved tidy. The
doors and windows were open and for a while
she heard the baby vo ca commanding Bruno to
‘Dit up ! whoa !' then there was a mad barking
and brnno rushed in and caught her dr-ss trv
ing to pull her toward the door ; she was so ab
sorbed in her work that she never noticed the
little sunny head was not behind him, and civ
mg him an impatient push and a command to
‘go away !‘ she went on with her work, but the
dog did not obey ; he made a snatch at her
work, dragging it from her hands, she rescued
it, and striking him, pushed him ont and shut
the door after him. He barked and whined at
the door a few seconds, then all was still again
‘I never knew him so rough !' she exclaimed’
impatiently, as she gathered up her work once
more. The time sped by unheeded until her
husband opened the door. ‘One, two, fchre«
four,' she counted, without looking up He
strode in and laid little Will in ho
labors of such evangelists^uid ^
Bliss and San key in the presaal day have
nmca.to.bring about and moni thorough!
tablish this s ate of affairs.
So too the world has come to •
hension of the uses and value of arte «*nt ts
the literary art. Music and sonehwfa? k
delivered from the low ■>' **
•ps- 1 -
ueuverea irom the low slavery of pMt&M
the exalted service of cultivating zadmutfvh
“f™ 68 ’ tbelr «^ 6r arts hav ° feluiffiSk
Herein sh “ r ? d the benefits of their Ubanttot
Here, too, ohnstian truth and enterDfS»Wv
been influential. Through the cburchfttlf Jw!l
The art of picturing, comprehending —«-*
mg and all cognate processes, now holds Z2St>~
place m the work of the world. ItsmtoSiSta
no ionger bounded by the narrow
ish gratification; it too has been rec<Snfz£!K
notent ia— The wor , d ^ 2
Of the English writer and lawyer, Jndge Tal-
fonrd, a very delightful story is told. At one
ooraer of Bussell Square, near his house, an old
woman had for several years kept an apple-stall
where he frequently made a small purchase.
Standing at his parlor window ono very wet day,
Talfourd observed the poor old creature in her
nsnal place, and crouching down wet through
with the pelting rain. The sight aronsed all
his kind and pitying nature. He tried in vain
to pursue his literary or legal labors; again and
again he went to the window to see the same
distressing sight. At last he threw on ooat and
hat, rushed off into the rain, purchased an enor
mous gingham umbrella, and brought it back
triumphantly and placed it over the old woman.
“Wasn’t it a glorious thought?" he was heard
to ask. “The thing actually oovered her and
her apple-stall too."
"No man shall ever kiss me except my. future
husband,” she said, as he was about leaving her
at the gate. “Suppose I agree to be yonr fu
ture—” “Why, then, I’ll kiss yon," she replied
eargerly, and she did. Her mother was inform
ed that he had proposed, and the old lady call
ed ground the next day to fasten matters, and
before he knew of it he was eternally booked.
It was a mean advantage, bat a bird in the hand
is worth two at the front gate.
S ap, ’ui,j
IS by
dea ha.rall imJ.ad villi mad, bl
ihcn r A'ie'pnt'him 1 bi£’t'hUfl'>or saying’: ’ T " land
‘There, go and play, Willie, mamma J
You see, sir, the shock had crazed her, but
the boy's father was so full of bitter feelings to
ward her for her neglect that he never stopped
to think of the mighty volume of mother-love
behind its barrier of fancy-work. They got her
to bed and gave ker‘s strong opiate, and then
kind neighbors came and did all that earthly
hands would ever need to do for little Will.
Poor little Will! Yon staid with him till the
last, didn't yoa, Bruno? and when they walked
to the grave to lay him to rest yon followed close
behind the tiny casket, and no one disputed
your right.
It happened in this way : In the garden there
was a shallow tub containing pond lilies ; we
suppose that in running little Will struck his
foot against the tub and it threw him right across
the edge, his face in the water ; his struggles
drew liirn over farther, and though poor old
Bruno did his best it was of no avail. Mr. Mel
ville saw them before he reached the honse, com
ing from his work, and Bruno was hoklipg him
tightly by the skirts ; when he heard his master's
step he whined pitifully but never relaxed his
hold till Mr. Melville lifted up the baby form.
A large spike on the inside of the tub had slip
ped under a leather belt little Will wore, thus
holding him back so Bruno could not rescue
him ; that he had tried hard was evident from
the boy's clothes which were torn to shreds be
hind ; when he found he could not draw up his
little master he had gripped his clothes tight
and held him until Mr. Melville came. Yes, it
is a sad story, a sadder one I never knew.
Laura? She was sick and nnconseions a quite
a time ; she has never fully recovered, nor do I
think she ever will. Her first request was for
little Will; they told her as gently as possible
that he had been np yonder almost two weeks,
bnt her grief was uncontrollable. She asked
that all her worsteds and fancy-work might be dis
tribnted among her friends, as reminders, she
said that fancy-work was well in its place, bnt
should never absorb the mind to the exclusion
of real anties, and particularly motherly duties.
The sofa tidy she kept herself, jnst as it was, tor
she has never tonohed worsteds since.
Poor old Brnno! yon know every word she
said, don't yon ? yon did yonr best; no one
blames yon."
no ionger bounded by the narrow limits of ~if
ish gratification; it too h*- K— °* " af ’
potent educative foroe.
more sensibly today than e^er "b^ore"thTp«rar
of the eye to assist the mind in grasping £*2
taming truth Perhaps it is comparatively 2
insignificant illustration of this asserUon • bS
it is well known and well understood thkf
most of the best equipped Sunday schools of
our time and country, the blackboard with its
marvelous crayon pictures is considered an in
dispensable adjunct to the labors of the “eacher
So in many other forms we find the sam- truth
exemplified. The vast chromo trade which h£
done and is doing m spite of its faults so mm-'
to elevate and refine the poor who can not owl
more costly pictures, is another fact upon
same line of tnought. v
These meditations have occurred to me in thr-
examiaation of a book which has lately faliei
titHod'^T n adS ‘ K H a l8r ;e 1 carto volume en-
r L t S ^ 6 ’ ArfcBnJ S°ag-' Itisnnb-
l.shed by J. H. Cnambers and Co. St. Louis, At-
* an * a ’ Chicago and Philadelphia. Thepoetr
ot the book consists of those charming ‘Irish
Melodies and ’American Poems’ of Thomas
Moore. The people who wil! be interested in
the perusa 1 ot this paper do not need for me to
criticize the work of this High Priest of Lyric
poetry. The illustrations consist of nearly 100
. Th ® i,lnstrati ons to the ‘Melodies’
il J h& , Ud 0t that mast<jr Daniel McClise.
tha! an Irish artist should have il
lustrated tne national songs of Erin’s bard. Our
American artist William Riches furnished tbe
illustrations for tho American poems. His
work is not so foil of exuberance as that of Mc-
♦ ° h t S haS a hand of more subdued and
cnasfce touch.
In respect to bolh of th6m as regards their
ofTV- U R 0t U h ii vol " me 1 mft y adopt the words
of Li. B. bbeboc McKenzie. He says ‘It is
ot°ri i°oi^T b t0 8a J tbat nfi ver before was po-
nf LT n d U ?° n b l* nch a loveJ y hand maiden
„ f! '. Beauty and grace pervade every page
bring out as it were the deeper and more
subtle meaning of the bard.’ As if seeking to
make a book symbolic of ths oriental richness
s , sfc y le ’ addition to all this prodi
gality of charms, the publishers have bound in
this volume a collection of choice melodies bv
bir John Stevenson and ethers. Many of ”'esc
Poems and Pictures.
BY WARREN CANDLEB, A. II.
Perhaps this age is deficient in the prodnetion
of art bnt it certainly is awake to its utility. It
is getting to be a trite charge indeed that this is
a fearfully utilitarian period. I am not sure
but that the oharge implies a compliment; for
while it may intimate that the more subtle fac
ulties of mind are not active it indicates that we
exercise a vast deal of that indefinite and inval
uable something called common sense.
So it has come about that we require of a poem
something more than glittering imagery to fire
the imagination without informing the intellect
So poetry as an art has gravitated to ite true po
sition in the elevating forces of life. It is no
longer the means of gratifying a literary epicu
reanism. These times demand that it shall be
something more useful than a mere luxury. The
world has oome to see that the most approacha
ble avenne through whioh to impart trnth to
the mind is to enter by way of the imagination.
It has began to see tbat the most fructifying
Btreams that fall upon the sonl are those which
are showered through the sensibilities. Expe
rience has exploded tbat pretentions and affect
ed theory that snch an employment of imagina
tion detracted from the dignity and Bolid worth
of the trnth tanght, or that it rendered fancy
less etherial and spontaneous.
It is but the merest jnstioe to the Christian
songs with their music—indeed most of thi.-m—
aro the original words and airs bv which Moore
A Heavy Burden.—The ex-Empress Eugenis
received four thousand dispatches and seven
hundred letters on the day after the news of her
son’s death. This was sympathetic, but must
hav6 been a burden to tbe parsons commission
ed to look over the lightning and railway mail.
It speaks well for the human heart.
Humorous Correspondence.
BY VIRGINIA ROSALIE.
“Lone Star of Texas” says she Is a young lady of
thirty-five, and would like to get married. \V hat
must she do—nobody has asked her yet. We think
a young lady of your age is entirely too young to
think of marriage, or to receive gentlemen’s com
pany ; but, if in the course of a few years, you still
have the same resolution, put an advertisement in
some paper and add that you iia.ve pientj of money,
and we’ll wager ten cents that you will have moi>
offers than you’ll know what to do with. If ou‘
plan fails, we will pay the wager, and you can ask
somebody to have you.
“Adolphus,” says he is a very handsome gentle
man, and his only objection to his beauty is that he
has very light blue eyes, whereas, he would like to
have black. Would we kindly inform him what
will change their color. Get into a fight Adolphu*
If you wish to have black eyes all the time flght i
every week.
Queen Victoria writes from England and wants
to know what will cure corns—she is troubled witli
them constantly. Don’t like to publish our receipts
publicly, old lady; but if you will Write and give us
your address, we will apply to some stray spiritual
ist and see if he can’t drum up some spirit that can
give you relief.
“George” asks: “What must I do with my knlte
and fork when I finish eating?” If you areaway
from home, at a strange table, and the knife and
fork are silver, and valuable, put them In your
pocket.
“Pearl” wishes to know on which side of the bug
gy a lady should sit when she is out riding with a
gentleman. In first society the lady sits on the
horse, while the gentleman hangs on to the back of
the buggy—it presents a more graceful appearance.
“House-keeper” wants to know how to get rid of
rats. The best receipt we know of, and it never
fails, is to kill them.
Rutherford B. Hayes, says he Is troubled with
nose bleeding. This is the first time he has ever
troubled us for information, will we be so kind as
to give it to him. Afllicted people generally go to
the doctor’s office for information, not to a literary
paper, but, as yon are the president, we will say.
wear a rag around your nose and that will prevent
it from bleeding.
“Claudia Jones” asks how to keep white kid
gloves clean—don’t wear them,
A young lady just heme from boarding school
says : “What is George Washington—I have heard
a great deal about him but unfortunately 1 have
never known who he is.” Unfortunate Indeed
George Washington is a standard writer. He wrote
some very standard works. The Cook Book,
Mother Goose, the Blue Back Spelling Book,
the Catalogue of Flowers, and McGuffey’s First
Reader are all his productions. In fact, hehas made
such a great name as a writer that they want to
run him for councilman when the next election
takes place.
“B. George Aaron” wants to know If it Is etiquette
to wipe your mouth on the tablecloth after eating.
Yes.
• Several letters remain over to be answered
next week.