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THE SUNNY SOUTH.
APPLES OF SODOM
trembled as he said alouil:
•True heart! msiilv to the core! You have
won a harder-fought battle than il you had
i coimiu rod the whole union army single-
! handed. Verily, “He that ruletli his own
| spirit is greater than he that taketh a city.”
j CHAPTER XV.
•‘Is life worth living?”
pear of our desires, it would be all sweet to
the taste, good for the health and the fulfill
ment of all our ho|>es and dreams.
Alice, poor baby! has “sought out many
inventions,” since her ticket in the great
lottery failed to draw the prize she hoped for,
but while most of them have brought her
some measure of enjoyment, all have failed
to exorcise the demon of unrest, that ; e,s sses
her. She is an ambitious little .Puss, and I ]
BY l.ll>E.
CHAPTER XIV.
VICTOR.
“O er the w ild waste of waters 1 send forth my
Save the wail of those waters, there comes no re-
But away, far away, on the wild ocean ( ***“*.
The waves hoarsely murmur, no ”'.' r
more.”
The rays of the harvest moon fell athwart
the boughs of the ohl elm tree that shaded
rofctij* r e window where Alice ^at with tue
brown head of larby Laura
breast. She had never “worn her heart upon
her sleeve;” she did not now. Her fate was
tain, and quiet, though the sa.lness of dent ,
looked out of her eyes; but she hud ulked ou
all day in the old way, and gone about hi i
household duties with her accustomed cheer
fulness. Now, she had stolen away to the
quiet of her little moonlit chamlter to slug
baby to sleep. The curly head soon lay pas
sive on her bosom, and Birdie gathered (low
ers in dreamland; but the little mother sang
on, unconsciously giving voice to all her _
pain. Her voice was always clear a.s a > K[sj(; t j ts j„ j ts ,, 00 i embrasure, hold- j And God’s own breath on his forehead, gave
- — -weet sadness i -■ , a. .. .......1 e., n.
for beauty. Let ns cleave fast to it, wherev
er we behold it. Let us see to it, if possible,
that it looks down upon us from our walls,
and spreads itself up m our floors. Let us
hearken to it in the voice of mighty poets
and in the great tone-master’s glorious har
monies; but God forbid that any of these
things should be a refuge from the paltrines-.
and meanness and frivolity of our habitual
life; but let them first remind us that we
The long agony is over. Six years of peace know, had her dreams, when she first began should make our lives picture, and music,
and industry have rebuilt many a chaired to publish her |>oems, and the awakening has | and eloquence, and song. We should, and if
homestead, and caused many a wudernes~, not geen satifactory. She sends me a late . we will, we can. I cure not who you are,
made by desolating torch and sword, to one j will read it, for it tells her story bet- | however humble your position, however
common-place your tasks, if you will but
persistently obey those law-s of truth ami
righteousness, which are not far from any
of you, ami which forever wait on Vour de
sire to know their secret, and which grow
more clear with every day’s obedience; if
you will but oliev those laws, your daily life
shall glow with a diviner beauty than of any
picture that was ever Imng on wall—of any
poem that was ever written—of any music
that was ever played—simply because the
uc.utl beauty of a failhfui. icoder and he
roic life is more to God and man than the
report or fiction of tiie most splendid deeds
that have lieen done or dream ■ (since human
life began!”
[TO BE CONTINUED ]
blossom like the rose.” . ter than I could.”
It is the evening of a bright June day, in j He to()k , , the . K)em and read
iSyo, Dr. Urey and Elsie are again at Rose- j
nil »nt cottage. The grand old oaks stand as j GENIUS AND TALENT.
serenely, the rose hedges waft ^ sweet an Whe|1 darkness over the waters walked,
incense; the magnolias rustle their fining And tlje young earth lay ^
e ‘L Tn tt tZo'ddavs of The ^ uJi took voiced and* talked
’> as ,n the °-' 1 dayS 0t I With the waves of the moveless deep:
leaves and turn the
catch the suubeanis.
peace and plenty.
The interior of the cottage is—
‘Bright with all eloquent, potent things,
This home of quiet jieace;
Ebon ami palm trom the deserts springs,
With the marble gods of Greece;
Conch, and coral, ami painted wings
Of birds from Indian seas.”
Sniilax and German ivy twine their deli
cate tendrils over the arch of the liay win
dow, with its gardineire of many colored
When the two great lights of heaven bin
birth,
And His mightiest work was dour,
A radiant creature sprang to earth
Full armed, from the central sun.
He sang his song with the morning stars,
Touched the clouds with rainbow dyes,
Hetnlkedby turns, with the flowers, the trees,
Ami the bright winged butterflies;
All beautiful gifls his young life loved
In a gleaming, golden shower;
mocking-bird's, with a wild, s "
in its notes; now the sharp nng of remorse,
and the h< qielessnesi of despair mingled in
the tones, as they floated out on the summer
night like the wail of a lost soul.
' When swallows build, nml the leaves break
forth.
Mv old sorrow wakes and cries;
For 1 know there is dawn in the lar, far norm,
Aiida scarlet sun doth rise*;
Like a scarlet fleece the snow field spreads
And the icy founts run free.
Ami the bergs begin to bow lheir heads,
And pmngc, and sail ill the sea.
••Oh 1 my lost love, and my own, own love,
And mv love that loved me so.
Is there never a chink in tile world above.
Where they listen for words from below .
Nay, I spoke once and I grieved thee sore.
I remember all that I said;
And now thou wilt hear me no more, no more.
Ti l the sea gives up her dead.
“We shall walk no more through the sodden
plain.
Witli the faded bentso'erspread.
We slm'd stand no more by the seething mam,
While the dark w rack drives o'erliend:
We shall pari no more in the wind and the ram,
W here our Iasi farewell was said;
But perhaps 1 shall meet tliee and know thee
again. , A , „
When the sea gives up her dead.
l>r. Grey and Don Campbell sat on a rustic
bench under an old poplar in view of the
window. They were talking, as soldiers
talked in those days, of their hopes, then-
fears, their plans. Don was young, eager
and hopeful; the doctor, old, cool and philo
sophical; liut. the hearts of the two were
bound together by tiie strong and enduring
bond of a true and genuine manhood, The
doctor’s keen grey eyes looked steadily iii'o
the youthful face, with its nobility ot mail-
hood, its depth of tend -mess, its intensity of
passion written on its surface as by a sun
beam. , , _ . ,, ,
As the notes of the sweet old English ballad
floated out ou the night air, Llie two men sat
silent and absorbed. At its close the watch
ful grey eyes looked into the young soldier s
face He sat with his head resting against
the trunk of the tree, the face was calm and
set, not a muscle quivered; but it was not
whiter when it lay turned up to the moon
light in the dust in front ol Fair Oaks; it
will be no whiter when it lies “under the sod
and the dew.” ,
The old philosopher had gleaned much wis
dom from many books, but bis liest and most
effective knowledge had been conned from
half a century’s study of the volume "writ
ten in red letters, whose binding is warm and
tender to every touch.” Ho he sat now read
•ing the open book before him. ^
t*ei} {l BifiiksWH 1, ^llil'l^nc&'Sii<l lidiior. tie’ll
not shipwreck if he’s piloted steadily.”
He rose from the bench and said,
“Let us take a walk, Don; my old muscles
grow stiff with long sitting and these woods
are safe enough for a i: ile or two. ’
They walked along in silence through the
woods; the brown leaves rustling to their
tread, the “to-whit, to-whoo”of the owl, and
the lonely cry of the whippoorwill, answer
ing each other through the deepening shad
ows. At length the doctor stopped und- r the
shadow of a gnarled old sycamore, and laid
his hand on Don's shoulder-
“Don, my boy, 1 love you as my own son.
This must eir 1 . You must go away from
here.”
Tiie answer came slowly w ith a tremor of
hesitation in the tones:
“1 iiad thought so too, doctor, blit to-day,
and most of all to-night, has unsettled me. 1
see now that 1 can harm no one but myself
by staying. The ashes of a heait was laid in
that open grave—1 cannot kindle a flame
from dead and buried ashes. It 1 stay, 1
may be of some service to her—to him—and
their child. 1 don't—know ’
“But I do. You mistake, my boy; 1 have
known her longer and read her better than
you have. Among passionate na ures there
are two distinct kinds, in one the fierce lire
of a strong passionate love burns, not the
heart but the whole passionate nature to
ashes, and they lie white and still, henceforth
evermore. Such a nature is Elsie Vane’s.
She bus not married—never will—simply lie-
cause she knows full well that no human
hand can ever again sweep her heartstrings
with a touch so sliong as to awake one ans
wering echo from the mute chords. But the
other is a far different nature. There the
heart is lonely and bereaved but the nature
born in her w as not dead, it was only sleep
ing, and often it aw oke and cried with the
frenzy of a tierce starve t ion for the food of a
sympathetic nature. Her marriage was a
vain effort to satisfy this hunger, fostered,
aided and precipitated by that most damn
able of all weil-mt ant intermeddling, the
“judicious advice” of a worldly and utterly
couion-place woman. It was a mistake. It
has not been her fault; she has striven with
all her strength to tat anti lie filled with the
food held to her lips, but the hunger remains.
1 know you are sincere and.honest as the sun- ^ t
light but you are acting under a fatal delu- ^Vand or daiued of God
sion. And if, under the belief that you can- p ut oldy true mart'
I .1.....] ». lii.e iiitn flnma viill Ufiitiil* .. .. .. .
not wuke dead ashes into flame you water
that grave with the refreshing (lew of a sym
pathetic heart, plant over it the flowers of
congenial tastes and pursuits and flash into
its darkness the sunlight of a strong, mag
netic, passionate personality, it will arise like
the fabled Phoenix, strong, bright-winged
and beautiful, and nestle in your bosom, only
to be slain by tbe band that woke it into life.
There are times in the life of a soldier when
“discretion is the 1 tetter part of valor;” there
are even times when his only safety lies in
flight. This sounds dastardly but it is tbe
only true courage. You are her friend and
his; you aie also that noblest of God’s handi
work—an honorable umn. Come, my son,
“put on the whole armor of righteousness;”
you will need it. for you fight ho human foe
but a legion of devils, but stand to your col
ors and prove yourself “woman’s friend and
virtue’s lover,” and may God deal with you
as you deal with her and hers. I have in
my possession a colonel’s commission for the
regiment of the urmy of the Potomac,
The young friend whose name it bears got
his last promotion three days ago from a
minnie tail. I can have it transferred to
you. Will you take it?”
The set lips were livid and the hand that
clasped his old frie d’swas cold as death, but
tbe grasp was firm and the answer steady:
“Thank you, yes.”
Two weeks inter Colonel Donald Campbell
stood on the cottage porch ready fordejiart-
ure. He lifted Birdie from the floor and
kissed her in silence, then turned to Alice.
She put her anus around his neck and raised
her face to his with tbe confiding innocence
of a child. He clasped her in bis arms, press
ed one kiss on her lips, whispered in husky
tones: “My savior, my sister, God bless you,’
and was gone.
Old Dr. .Grey looked after the tall, soldierly
figure as it vanished through the trees. The
keen grey eyes were misty and the calm voice ,
ing the letter she has just read aloud to Dr.
Grey.
“Poor Sybil! What a sad ending to a
weak, weary, profitless and disappointed lile.
And it must have been a sore humiliation to
her, to be coiiqielled to ask a home for her
lx>y- at my bands. How glad 1 am, that I,
through your kind care, aui able to give it.
1 t hink Loring will be here to-moarow. What
a weird, unreal dream it seems, that I am to
stand as mother to Norman’s child.”
“God grant that his future may reward
you! I am glad he is no older. There is much
to hope for the result of good training and
example upon a child so young. 1 am told
he is a very promising boy—a mingled like-,
ness of both parents. 1 hope he may inherit
his father’s good qualities, and be spared his
weaknesses, though that is hoping a little too
much, especially as he has had, thus far. his
mother’s training and example; und 1 think
Sybil could scarcely transmit any character
istics that would benefit a boy.”
“A little bard on Sybil.” said Elsie, smil
ing. “You are too partial to your daughtei,
to be quite just. V ell, let us hope lor the
best for Loring. He shall at least have the
best training we can give him. 1 saw a letter
from Alice, on your table this morning.
What news J”
“Good—very good. Archie’s practice is
increasing steadily; they are settled in their
new home, and improving it. Alice's health
seems entirely restored, and baby Laura
grows like a wild rose.”
“Uncle Harry, w hat captious spirit of con
tradictiou is it that always possesses me when
1 think of Alice ? They arc in comfortable
circumstances; she suffers none of tbe hard
ships and privations endured by so many
women of culture and refinement since the
war; her husband is a man of good mental
capacity, well informed in his profession, of
a sweet, affectionate nature; amiable dispo
sition, und unexceptionable habits; she idol
izes her child; 1 know of no woman of her
station in life w ho works harder in all charit
able enterprises, or seems more successful in
her work; she has unusual talent, and 1 think
her literary efforts tire appreciated—I am
sure they are among her friends. As a daily
companion, she seems the most joyous,
sunny-hearted little bird I have ever known;
anil yet, no withstanding all this, I always
find myself thinking of her as a lovely wo
man, with a hungry heart, audan unfulfilled
destiny.”
“So she is—with all these conditions for
happiness. \V by! Because her marriage
wus a mistake. Archie Melville is one of
the very best fellows 1 know; Alice is one of
the best women: thev have all jxissible trust
and COJlfi<J"r.c*V»i eas-h other .....I
nut it is simply one of those cases where
spiritual oil anil water are accidentally
poured together and ixpectetl to mingle and
they won’t do it. The laws of spiritual are
as inexorable as those of physical chemistry;
and there is no use in shaking up the mix
ture, you may shake till doom’s day and it is
oil und water still—very good ingredients,
both of them, hut most useful in separate
bottles. If we must lie cursed with match
makers, it is a pity thej- couldn’t he induced
to study spiritual chemistry as a prepara
tion for the practice ot their profession. 1
would recommend for their perusal, the
works of one of our deep modern thinkers,
who says, “An opposite, or discordant tern
perament docs not yield us discipline, as has
been supposed, nor generate advantage of
any kind, it merely frets, irritates, sours,
deteriorates. It hurts, anti is hurt in turn,
creates misapprehension, stubborn resist
ance, and eventually, the inability to be just.
The curse of any temperament is to be com
pelled to union with its opposite. The bless
ing of any temperament, is the freedom to
choose the one which, from all eternity, was
its ow n. The deeper we go into cosmogony,
the plainer it will be, to us, that grim and
inexorable a tyrant as Temperament is,
when denied and combatted, ho may be
turned into a gracious, noble, und radiant
monarch, by offering him the crown of sym
pathy, and the sceptre of appreciation.”
No truer words were ever written; and
most of us feel their truth instinctively,
though we may never embody the thought
in words. And the God who gave us these
strange, mysterious affinities, also endowed
us with an instinct, impelling us to seek a
harmonious nature, und instinctively to rec
ognize it. if women were let alone, left to
the guidance of their own instinct, there
would be fewer uncongenial marriages. But
our matrimonial Soluns must needs tie wiser
than the God who made them; must teach a
girl that she is ignorant, frail, ami unregen
erate, that the only road to true happiness
lies in crushing out her own instincts, quench
ing the sunlight of her natural, inborn de
sires, and lighting her life path by the far
thing candle of “their observation and ex
perience.” Moreover, their lin-t and great
est aim must lie, to crush out all idea and
hope of self-dependence in a woman; to
teach her that marriage is tiie “be all and
end all” of her existence. Marriage is uatu-
1 don’t deny that—
This partnership
His own creative power.
He walks the eai th inu human form,
And his glorious gilts of mind
He showers down like the sunlight warm,
To brighten, and bless mankind!
He lives in the sculptor’s God like hand,
Whose marbles living seem,
He breathes from the blind musician’s wand,
And walks through the poet’s dream.
Still burns forever, his glowing pyre,
Illuming the ages’ gloom,
When the hand that lit it’s altar fire
Is dust within the tomb:
The deathless strain that Genius woke
All human hearts shall thrill,
Though the human voice through w'hich it
spoke
Is mute, and hushed, and still.
The deathless marble sounds his fame
Down the ho .ry centuries;
Etern,-. youth has found a name,
True genius never dies.
Eternal sunbeams round him sweep,
And their noon refulgence pour,
IVheie hoi»e, and promise lie asleep
On bright Fruition’s shore.
When the greater light had doffed his crown
To hail the dying day, ^
His fair young sister floated down
On the moon’s first lambent ray;
A band of stars with their liquid flame
Encircled her forehead fair;
And Talent wrote her mystic name
On the trail of her golden hair.
Through light and shade, through calm and
storm,
She wanders from vale to hill,
Aglow with the restless longings warm
Of a woman’s wayward will;
Forever decking some liorrowed throne
With borrowed garlands bright,
Forever pining, that she alone
Can shine by reflected light.
A wayward torch, whose fitful beams
Have radiant lustre thrown,
Lighting the holies, the joys the dreams,
On all paths but it's own:
A tender, soft, melodious lute
Attuned in the dreamer’s land,
Whose sweetest chords lie hushed and mute,
Till struck by a master hand.
Part a child, in it’s mad delight
in sounding sea-girt caves,
In the loves of the birds and blossoms bright,
And the Song of the winds and wuvt>-"
Part a woirutn, with Ajnil’s plntr
i In her dfftnigeful 1 Jis.e“f; •
L es close to her saddest tears. ’ f
Part a Goddess, whose soul has gleamed
With the lieacousof sunlit fires,
But the passionate heart is ridged and seam
ed
With the graves of vain desires:
Part an angel, with wistful eyes
Still clouded by doubt, and sin,
Standing in sight of Paradise—
Forbidden to enter in.
Deep in her searching, dreamy eyes,
Forbidden to common ken,
Live other world’s, and other lives,
Forgotten by common men,
Who call it “dreams,” and “longings vain,”
This restless, withering lire;
IV hat boots it, whether joy or pain?
Remembrance, or desire?
What matter? since on the sunset shore
Where her past in shadow dwells,
Lost lines, dead dreams, lie scattered o'er
Like sounding scallop shells;
What matter? since from the temple high
Toward which her footsteps press,
All beautiful things of earth and sky
Seem poor, and valueless.
A Rift in the Clouds.
of eligible qualities and considerations, the
so-called “suitable” marriage, made to order
by outside iullueuce and worldly considera
tions that compel a woman to feel in the bit
terness of her soul that she is a living, em
bodied lie; 1 care not how fair the outside of
the sepulchre may lie, “inside, it is full of
dead men’s bones and all manner of unclean
ness,” und is “an ubomination in the Lord’s
sight.”
In this instance, lioth natures are good and
true, the tustes, habits, and pursuits of lioth,
are ietined, pure and noble—only they are
all different—wide as the jxiles asunder.
Added lo this, one character is, as it were,
sketched in pencil; the other, dashed in with
the blackest India ink. One temperament is
interne, enthusiastic, tropical, passionate;
the other is cool, calm, deliberate, philosoph
ic. Can you imagine a oneness of heart and
life resulting from the union of two such na
tures?”
“And do you think, uncle, that under such
conditions life is worth living?”
“A question, my dear, that a large elass of
our modern thinkers and writers are much
exercised upon, with no great advantage
that 1 can see, either to themselves, or their
neighbors, since it don’t alter the fact that
we are here and are obliged to live it, wheth
er it lie worth the trouble or no. However,
most of us do ask it sometimes. Very few—
none that I have known—are so fortunate as
not to be reduced sometimes to a diet of Sod
om apples. They are not good to eat, the
ashes contained in them is very hard to
swallow; and it is often equally hard for us
to discover in what way the alkali benefits
our spiritual digestion. Doubtless it does,
however; and if the process is dark to us, it
is clear to the eye of the Great Physician.
And while we are eating our alkaline fru t,
with many wry faces, we are apt to think if
In the after life, will siie too stand
Oil proud Fruition’s tower?
Will she grasp her fair twin brother’s hand
With equal, God like power?
Will tne gifts lie hers that most she prized ?
Will her doubts and shadows die?
Will her golden dreams be realized
In the cloudless bye and byej
Or, must that, too, be the tangled skein
That shine and shadow weaves
From the changing, lustrous opalline
Of the frost-kissed Autumn leaves?
From the fair anil fading bow that bends
Where the summer rain is o’er;
From the fitful breath of the wandering winds
And the sands on a shifting shore?
By Mt'plirn Brent.
“There is a rift in the clouds, Pluelie, see
I thought the window brightened just then.”
Patient Phoebe put down her work, and
raised the curtain; but no cheering sunbeam
met her eyes. The clouds hung dark and
sullen over the brown, bare earth, and a chill
wind rattled the scrubby trees on the side
walk and fluttered the rags of a poor beggar.
Phtebe dropped the curiam.
“You are mistaken, dear.”
The invalid moaned in fretful impatince.
‘Oh, why can’t we have sunshine ! We
have enough to bear not to lie denied that.”
Phtebe knelt down by the low cot stroking
the re-t less hands tenderly.
“Don’t talk so, Leslie. We have not any
more to bear than we can bear. Try to sleep
now while 1 go to take this work home.”
“On, Pucebe! Phceebe! to think you have
to trudge around carrying work, It breaks
my heart,” and the sick girl’s eyes brimmed
over with tears.
“It does not break mine. It is good for
me. It keeps down my pride. There, do not.
fret any more. Let me beat up your pil
lows; it will make them feel better.”
She kissed the wet eyes and pal • lips softly,
then tying on her hat and cloak, she took tip
her bundle and went out.
On the street -she glanced up, but no blue
gleams appeared between broken clouds, and
she sighed faintly, likening this day to the
two sunless years that had passed since
trouble first came upon them. Her mind
went swiftly buck over the weeks and months,
and her grey calm eyeij grew dreamy. First
poverty dragged them down from their high
place to wotk and walk with the lower
classes—then, oh, miserable day! her father
died. Mr. Olney could not bear his loss of
wealth and position, anil bid his sorrow in
the grave, leaving his two motherless girls to
win their oh n bread and fight their own bat
tles. They did it right br.vely until Leslie
fell •ill front overwork and exposure. She
dnl not have the strength nor the patience of
quiet, self-reliant Phtebe, so dropped out of
the ri e
Phoebe delivered her work, but did not re
ceive any pay.
“1 have not the change now. You may
call some other time,” said Mrs. Marsdeu
careless! y.
“But 1 need it now, Mrs. Marsden. My
-r is sick and must bane medicine. Yyu
. ea Ve'lady bate.” u^\ m
at the shabby girl's audacity.
“Excuse me, I do not wish to be troubled
about it this morning. I told you wliat to
do.”
“Very easily done, no doubt,,” said the girl
bitterly, “but do you reflect—”
“No, 1 never reflect on such low, uninter
esting subjects.”
Phoebe bowed with all the grace of hap
pier days.
“It is a treat to find one with a mind so
elevated. Whenever you can come down to
the vulgar level of paying your honest debts,
please let me know,” and she walked out, her
soul in a tumult of pain and anger. How
could she buy wine and fruit for Leslie.
Poor, weary, impatient Leslie, longing for
the sunshine of happint ss. Would the clouds
never break?
Mrs. Marsden was unpleasantly aroused.
“Impertinent beggar! to insult me in my
own house.”
“Who has insulted you, Louie?” inquired
a pleasant voice, and her handsome brother
crossed the threshold lazily.
“Only a common seamstress. Some of
them are so insolent. Draw up a chair.
Max.”
“And you look like a little grey ghost.”
Then with a changing face she suddenly said:
“Phodie, I do feel strangely tonight, and
I want you to tell me about that Mr. Under
wood vou met iu Italy before—you know
when.”'
Pnobe shivered like one s'ruck and in the
dim twilight her face looked paler.
“You already know all about it, Leslie, I
told you, dont you remember?’’
“Yes, but 1 am afraid I have forgotten it.
Where was it?”
“In Florence one fair, fair day.”
“And—and lie loved you?”
“So he sa d.’
“But you quarreled like two foolish chil
dren and he went awuy to Spain and you
came home?”
“Yes.”
After all Leslie told the story herself,
Pan'be only assenting in a tired voice. The
sick girl laid her slender hand over her sis
ter's.
“Do you still love him, Phteliei”
“Do we ever forget?” she replied sadly.
“No,” and a faint smile played around her
mouth.
From the shadowy doorway some one came
across the bare floor—came and bent over
Pho-be’s chair, took Phoebe’s face in his
brown hands and kissed it with io\ fill tender
ness.
“Phtebe, Ph<eta, liow long I have searched
for vou, my darling! Forgive me and take
me back into your tender heart.”
“You have never been cast out of it, Mux,”
laying her face down against his arm.
Leslie smiled through thankful tears.
“And only a few hoursago I repined bittrely
at our lot,” she murmured softly.
Mr. Underwood ended a long conversation
by saying:
“And we will be married to-morrow my
clearest, my brave Phoebe.”
The rift iiad appeared in the clouds.
%
•I no
pome physician,
St:iinl»:i<‘k Wilson, - 1
Editor, II l,o.i <1 !■*!.,
Atlant:i, 4iia.
popular Jrcicncc*
“Poor little Alice! She is only Talent, and
she thinks she would dwell in the land of
complete content if she were Genius. She is
mistaken. She would find Apples of Sodom
growing even on the Mount of Fruition, and
they would “turn to ashes on her lips.”
But our little woman is versatile; she has
many resources, and she should thank God
(as her friends do) that “age cannot wither,
nor custom stale, her infinite variety.”
When one apple tastes alkaline, she plucks
another, and it sometimes happens that she
finds at its core, the seeds of a measureless
content, f will never forget the pathetic
story she told me once of a little unfortunate
whom she hail saved. The case became known
to her by accident, and she went to see her.
A mere child she was, not seventeen, with a
little boy i.early two years old. Alice took
both mother and child to her own home, and
gave them both care and love as if they had
been her own. “For,” said she, “I saw the
boy’s father several times and found him far
above Mary by birth ami education, and he
really loved the child, though he had so
wronged her. And I soon learned her nature
and its needs, and knew that she had had
love and tenderness, and if they were denied
her, she would seek them again.” So she
kept both for many months, giving them all
the loving care she would have lavished on
her own children. Finally, she wrote to the
girl’s friends, who hail believed her dead;
and they replied, askiug her to come home.
Alice provided the means, and the wanderer
went home. After two or three years—
very trying years too—during which Alice
wrote regularly,giving all possible sympathy,
advice and assistance, a sturdy young me
chanic discovered her true worth, loved and
married her, knowing all her story. She
showed me a letter, the first she had received,
after they began house-keeping. It was
badly composed and worse spelled; but it was
the veritable “incense of a grateful heart;"
and the brave little woman dropped shining
tears upon the page as she said, looking up
at me with glistening eyes: “ I wouldn't
have a word spelled right—it wouldn’t sound
half so sweet in any other way. Oh, Doctor,
this is worth living for.” I looked down rev
erently into her sunny eyes, and thought of
the grand words of one of the teachers of the
true “ Art of Life,” in our own day and
But Mr. Max Underwood declined. He
sto red up the fire, and leaned against the
mantel, his strange, sun-browned face full of
appreciative satisfaction.
“it is miserably cold and disagrtuble.
AVhat dill she say to you? the truth?”
Mrs. Marsden’s face flushed at her broth
er's careless words.
“Nonsense, Max.”
“Yes, of course, I meant it as nonsense,”
he said, taking out his watch.
“They were once wealthy people and went
in our circle, but now—”
“Who?”
“These sewing girls—there are two.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, but they have come down low
enough now.”
“Perhaps too low for their peace.”
“I never did think Phoebe Olney pretty.”
“Phot-be Olney? is she your seamstress,
Louie?”
“Yes, you have been abroad so long that
you have forgotten them 1 suppose,” said
the lady placidly.
Forgotten them! forgotten the liquid grey
eyes and delicate fair face he had looked on
last one moon lit night in Itah ? His face
paled visibly for an instant under tne rush of
strong emotion, but Mrs. Marsden rocked
gently, utterly ignorant of what she had
done,
“I have not altogether forgotten them, I
believe, i met Miss Olney in Ituly nearly
three years ago.”
"Ah, yes. It was Phtebe. She went
abroad with the Claverings; they lost their
money soon after she returned home. ”
“And have been at work ever since.”
‘ Yes, of course, they could not starve, and
their father did not live to work for them.”
“Where do they live, Louie?”
“In a garret I suppose, like all poor people.
You do not think of such a thing us culling
on them I trust?”
“Certainly, if I can find them, Louie.”
“I thought you had some some sense, Max.”
“And I thought you had a heart, Louie.
Both mistaken you see. ”
Phtebe did not go home until she had
walked off some of her disappointment and
care, and then twilight was fast enshrouding
the city.
Leslie smiled at her with remarkable cheer
fulness and actually turned comforter.
“Never mind, I do not need the wine,
Phtebe darling. To-night I have got some
thing b.-tter than wine.”
“What is it, Leslie?” Phtebe asked, bend
ing over her.
“It is—hope.”
“Where did you get hope?”
“Never mind, I have it and I mean to hold
Mercury freezes at 38 deg. F.
A pint of water converted into steam fills
a space of about 18oo pints.
The air we breathe contains five grains of
water to every cubic foot of bulk.
Scientists say that one-twelfth of the hu
man brain is composed of phosphorus.
The number of optic nerve fibres is 438,000,
and of retinal cones in each human eye 3,-
360,000.
The phenomenon known as will-o’-the-wisp
and ignis fatuus is simply the phosphoretted
hydrogen gas which rises from stagnant
water and marshes.
Prof. Lew is Sw ift lias just discovered an
other comet, making the fourth he has found
in the past four years. It was in Ursa .Ma
jor, right ascension about uh. 28m. declina
tion 68 deg. north.
It would seem that the entire absence of
sunlight on the deep sea bottom has the saint-
effect as the darkness of caw-, in reducing
to a rudimentary condition the eyes of its
inhabitants.
The Smithsonian Institute at Washington
has just received a collection of 184 species
of fishes from Japan, being nearly a com
plete collection of all the fishes known to Jap
anese waters.
The Mt. Washington tower is so fur com
pleted that Prof. Quimby begins his work in
the triangulation of tiie State on the first
fair day. The upper floor of the tower is
6333 feet above the sea level.
During an ascent, from Rouen, a few days
ago, a balloonist tried the experient of pho
tographing the land oyer which he was pass
ing, and succeeded, in securing a dozen or
more finely executed views.
Galloway says that the most effectual way
r.c 0-.ui.-tisuuus expulsions m coal
mines where there is not much fire damp but
w here there is a vast quantity of dry dust, is
to keep the floor of the mine continually wet
with a weak solution of calcium chloride.
The lacquers produced from yellow amber
w Inch are so remarkable for theii hardness
and the facility with which they acquire a
brilliant polish, necessitate, however, the
greatest care in their manufacture, in order
to prevent their becoming black or being
covered with greenish spots.
The reason why snow at great elevations
does not melt but remains permanent is, ac
cording to Nature, ow ing to the fact that the
heat received front the sun is thrown off into
stellar space so rapidly by radiation and re
flection that the sun fails to raise the tem
perature of the snow to the melting point.
The Astronomer Royal for Scotland, Prof.
Piazzi Smyth, announces a somewhat re
markable discovery relating to the Scottish
rainfall. A11 easterly wind does not usually
bring rain to Scotland, but w hen it does the
fall is apt to be a heavy one. It appears
that the coming of such a storm, even when
not predicted by the fall of the barometer,
may be detected by spectroscopic observa
tion of the light of the skv. For some time
before the rain, if this ‘light is allowed to
pass through a prism, its spectrum will re
veal a peculiar baud, which is not seen on
other occasions.
A report was presented this year, by a
committee of the British Association ap
pointed at a former meeting, to facilitate the
use of steel in railway and other construc
tions, and to lay down the conditions 011
which its employment might be sanctioned
by the railw ay authorities. Sir John Hawk-
shaw, the distiguished engineer and an ex-
president of the association, was a member
of this committee. It recommended that all
steel to lx? used on railways should be cast
or produced by some process of fusion, and
duly hammered or rolled, and that the strain
on any part of the structure, including
weight of material, should not !>e more than
six and a haif tons to the square inch.
(Gems of ^bought.
Note.—Questions pertaining to health ami
disease will be answered under tlii- end
when this can be done with propriety.
When, Irom the nature of tiie case, or oth
er reasons, a private answer is desired, a
full descriution sIk uld be sent, with a
stamp enclosed. Address I>r. Wilson as
above, writing mitMIe name in full.
CHANGE OF AIR—WATERING PLACES.
The remarkable benefi's that have Ixten
witnessed from a change of place in some
cases t>f sickness have given rise to the prev
alent idea that there is something magical
and wonderfully curative in the very chunye
itself, apart from the concomitants of such
change. But as pure air is essentially the
same the world over, it is obvious that no
change can he beneficial, unless it be a
change from un impure atmosphere, or air
in some way unsuited to the case, to one
more suitable by its purity, moisture, dry
ness, temperature, or something of tiiis kind.
When these conditions of the air are more
favorable a change from a comparatively
pure to an impure air may be bent iicial 111
some cases; yet it should be remembered
that the improvement is due to some condi
tion of the air which affects or counteracts
its impurity, and that the invalid improves
in spite of the bad ;ur. A change from a
pme, dry air to an atmosphere comparative
ly impure but moist has been consider- d l>eh-
eficial in s- >me cases. This is the reason, per
haps, why the inhabitants of the most a ry
part of Edinburgh find relief foi their chil
dren with hooping cough by sending them to
Cowgate street, a street filled with tilth and
water. Admitting the benefi s claimed for
such a course, it would certainly be much
better for the children to have tiie pur r air
of their homes, supplying the deficiency in
moisture by inhalations of vapor, or by im
pregnating the atmosphere of the room with
moisture trom the evaporation of water in it.
The idea is to have th*- purest air possible at
aii times and under all circumstances, r*-gu-
luiing its temperature and amount of mois
ture if nt cessary by artificial means. This
idea of the great advantage to Ixt gained by
a mere change of air is w hat drives pe .pie
by thousands lo springs and watering places
every summer. It cannot be denied that it
is a good thing to escape from the heat and
dust and foul air of our cities and to fly to
the mountains where tile air is pure and in
vigorating. And the benefits from such an
exchange would be much greater were it not
for the want of judgment and common
sense in the selection of a place as a health
resort; and were it not that the habits and
customs of fashionable watering places are
such as to counteract, to a great extent, all
the advantages to be obtained from pure air,
rest, relaxation and temperance in eating
and drinking—all of which are essential to
health at the springs or elsewhere; and all of
which are generally disregarded at our fash
ionable watering places.
I11 tne first place, people in search of health
do not exercise common sense in the selec
tion of the mineral springs to which they
generally resort. The idea seems to be that
u mineral spring is—a mineral spriny; or in
other words, that mineral waters are pretty
much alike, und that nature has given all a
specific a«l ptution to every kind of disea.-e.
A more erroneous idea could not well be con
ceived, unless it be the no less prevalent no
tion that the nostrums publish d n newspa
pers are appropriate to all the cases for
which they are recommended. To derive
any medicinal benefit from “a trip to the
springs,” the ease should be adapted to the
water, just as we would select a remedy for
diseases from the ding store. If iron is a
principal ingredient of water, this is adapted
to cases in w hich the medicinal use of iron
would be indicated; such as general deb lity,
some forms of dyspepsia, some nervous dis
orders, some kinds of dropsies, etc. But
being specially adapted to cases of debility,
chalybeate water would be inappropriate in
most inflammatory diseases. And so of sul
phur, acid and alkaline waters. Each is
adapted to a certain class of diseases, and out
of place or injudicious in another class. In
tbe second place, even iu cases where min
eral waters are appropriate, their good ef
fects arc often entirely counteracted by the
ruinous customs of the watering places.
How can an invalid reasonably expect to
improve when the diet is improper in qual
ity, excessive in quantity, and irregular in
time. When hours which should be devoted
to rest, are spent in close, crowded rooms
where evert thing is adverse to health—where
the air is poisoned, where the food and drink
are deadly, and where the mind is often a
prey to the strife of passions that fret anil
torture the poor body like a frail bark lashed
by an angry storm? If then, people expect
to derive any benefit from mineral waters
tiie w aters must be adapted to their cases,
and they must, while using them, obey those
laws of health which are essential to recovery
under all circumstances.
I
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Miss X. Y. Z.—If you would increase your
flesh, the best course to pursue is to take a
tepid or cold shower bath every morning,
regulating the temperature of the water ac
cording to your feelings. Your diet should
be of the most nourishing and fat-producing
kind, such us game, fish, poultry, soups,
broths, beef, eggs, butter, cream, chee.-e,
Graham bread, milk custards, and sweet
things generally, as syrup, sugar, honey,
preserves; and vegetables containg sugar, as
beets, sweet potatoes, carrots, etc. Drinks,
beside sweet milk, coca or chocolate, tea und
coffee.
A pretty luscious and liberal allowance,
my dear miss. In addition to this, you will
find it very conducive to the end in view to
have the whole body shampooed, or rubbed
and kneaded every day. Exercise, moder
ate.
Mr. G. IV. P.—Asthma of long standing is
very difficult to cure, and the treatment for
the prevention of a paroxysm, anil for relief
during un attack must Ixr varied according
to the nature of the case, as 1 wrote you.
For immediate relief the most approved
One may do a very good action and not be ! remedies are an emetic of lolxdia or ipecac
we only had this peach of our ambitions, country.” ” I “What is the matter, dear? you look so
that plum of our sympathies, or the other “Let us not be afraid of caring overmuch ; bright.
Phoebe mended the fire, then Leslie called
her.
“Don’t light the lamp yet. Come, sit here
and talk to me; the fire light looks warm and
good.”
“But I most get your supper ready, Leslie.”
“Not yet; let it wait awhile. I am not
hungry.”
So Phoebe drew her chair up by the bed
side to humor her sister.
a good man, but he cannot do a bail one and
not be a bad man.
Proud men seldom have friends. In pros
perity they know nobody, and in adversity
nobody cares for them.
Envy feeds upon the living; after death
it ceases—then, every man’s well-earned hon
ors defend him against their calumny.—Ol id
One capital error in men’s preparing them
selves for the sacred function is, that they
read divinity more iu other books than in
the Scriptures.
Order in a house ought to be like the ma
chines in an opera, whose effect produces a
great pleasure, but w hose euds must be hid.
—Madame Seeker.
The foundation of every good government
is the family. The best and most prosperous
country is that which has the greatest num
ber of happy firesides.
The expectation of future happiness is the
best relief for anxious thoughts, the most per
fect cure of melancholy, the guide of life
and the comfort of death.
Private credit is wealth—public honor is
security. The feather that adorns the royal
bird supports its flight. Strip him of his
plumage, and you fix him to the earth.
What madness is it for a man to starve
himself to enricu his heir, and so turn a friend
into an enemy! For his joy at your death
will only be proportioned to what you leave
him.
Good service is prompt service. It ceases
to be a favor when he upon whom it is con
ferred has lost in patience and hope deferred
what he might have bestowed in love and
gratitude.
A tender conscience is an inestimable bless
ing; that is a conscience not only quick to dis
cern wbat is evil, but instantly to shun it, as
the eyelid closes itself against the mote.—T.
Adams.
in the beginning of the paroxysm, and the
inhalation of various preparations 111 a gas
eous or vapory form. The steam of equal
parts of vinegar and water from the spout of
a eoffee pot is a good remedy. Also, the in
halation of chloroform, fifteen or twenty-
drops at one time. But this should be used
carefully.
A safer remedy is this: Make a strong
or saturated solution of salt petre (nitrate of
potashl soak paper in the solution, dry it,
and inbale the fumes arising from the burn
ing paper. If desired further information
will be given by- letter.
Mrs. C.—1 treat dyspepsia v ry success
fully, if patients will follow directions, and
the treatment can frequently be made effec
tual when carried out at home. In these
cases a full account of the case should be
sent, and if not sufliciently full, a list of
written questions will be asked before pre
scribing. I treat this disease, and all others
on scientific principles, adapting the reme
dies to the case in hand. This is the only-
proper way of treating any disease. Due
remedy for all diseases will not do, nor will
one remedy do for any siugle disease, wheth
er it he in the form of pill, powder, mixture
inhalation, spray, or what not.
Bishop Elder of Cincinnati has declared
that no banged or frizzed hair will lie allowed
among the women of his congregation.
The Baroness Roger de Launay ventured
to ascend the Right of the Alps without a
guide. She slipped over a small pricipice
and received injuries from which she expired
two hours later.
A flowing sleeve turned back half way- up
the arm to show a bright facing is an innova
tion which will appear this Winter.
Two Western women, named Mary Jewett
and Belle Cook, are to ride a twenty-mile
race at the Minneapolis Exposition.