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THE OLD MILL.
Here from tb« brow of the hill I look
Through a lattice of boughs aud leaves
On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof,
And the moae on its rotting eaves,
I hear the clatter that j&ra its walls,
And the rushing water’s sound,
And I see the black floats rise and fall
As tho wheel goes slowly roun&
I rode theifc often when I was young,
With my grist on the home before,
And talked with Nellie, the miller’s girl,
As I waited my turn at the door.
And while she tossed her ringlets brown,
And flirted and chatted so free,
The wheel mightstop or the wheel might go,
It was all the same to me.
’TU twenty years since last I stood
On the spot where 1 stand to-day,
And Nellie is wed and the miller is dead,
And the mill and I are gray.
But both, till we fall into ruin and wreck,
To our fortunes of toil are bound,
And the man goes aud the stream flows,
And the wheel moves slowly round.
Thomas Dunm English.
THE OLD BACHELOR.
“How did I come to adopt her ?” My
dear friend, that is about one of the sil¬
liest questions I ever heard to come
from a man of your wisdom and com¬
mon sense ! It was Fate, that’s what it
was! Personally, I had no more to do
with it than you have this moment.
These things are all ordained and marked
out for us, and we can neither avoid nor
alter thorn.. Fatality, do you call the
doctrine ? Well, call it what you will—
there it is, and you oan’t make anything
else out of it!
But about little Magdalen. I was
coming down Broadway in a great
hurry to catch an uptown stage before
all those ferry people blocked into it,
when there she sat on a curb-stone, the
wind blowing her yellow hair about and
her poor little hands blue with cold,
crying as if her heart would break. I
didn’t think the veriest savage could
have helped stopping to ask her what
the matter was, aud I don’t call myself
a savage, if I do happen to htfve' my
little crusty fits now and then. So
says I:
“Child, what’s the mattor ?”
•“I’m lost 1” said she.
And come to inquiro, why, the poor
little olf was fatherless, motherless,
friendless, in all the wide world! Of
coarse, I took her home, and you ought
to have seen old Hannah, my house¬
keeper, stare when I walked in with the
yellow-haired baby clinging to the
little finger of my left hand. For she
wasn’t more than eight years old, and
small at that!
“I give yt i a monih’s warning, sir !”
says Hannah. But, bless your soul, sho
didn’t go. Maggie to ok her heart by
storm, as she always has done that of
the rest of the world, and at the month’s
end you couldn’t have hired old Hannah
to leave the child.
Well, sir, she grew up as tall as a
reed, and as pretty as a posy. I sont her
to Madam Aimard’s fashionable French
boarding-school, for I was not going to
have my Maggie a whit behind any
one’s else girl, I can tell you. My sister
Simpkins objected. You see, with those
nine daughters of hers, she grudged
every penny of my money that was
spent on any one else.
“Your putting silly notions iu the
child’s head,” said she. “A girl that
will have her own living to earn, ought
not to mingle with Madam Aimanl’s
young ladies.”
“I should like to know why ?” says I.
“Beoauao she is in no way their
equal !” said Sister Simpkins.
“Fiddlesticks !” says I. “My Maggio
is good and pretty, and if that don’t
constitute equality with any girl alive,
I’ll own up that we don’t live iu a repub¬
lican country ! As ior oaruiug her own
living, why it’a my business to look
after that, and no one else need trouble
their head about it I”
Mrs. Simpkins parsed np her lip and
looked unutterable things, but she did
ent dare to «av auvthiuR more. She
knew oi old toat i wasn t to oe disputed
when my will was up. But I sent the
nine Miss Simpkinses nine coral neck
laces the next Christmas, and that kept
the peace for awhile.
When she came home from the board¬
ing-school, she was prettier than ever—
lyel
with lashes that curled up at the ends,
and cheeks as fresh and pink as I re¬
member the inside of two big shells that
used to stand on my grandfather’s best
room mantel fifty good years ago.
So I cast about in my mind to find
some new plan for making the old bouse
lively for my little girl. I knew she
couldn’t thrive without her innocent
gayeties, any more than a bird could
without free air and sunshine; sol in
vited company, and made up little im
prowptu parties and frolics, and beat
my brains for something to keep her
amused. And I believe I succeeded,
too, for her step was as light as a
feather, mi you could hear her sing all
over the house, when she thought she
" AnVone day old Hannah about came in, for
dusting chairs, and prying
finger-marks on the paint in her odd,
near-sighted way. rubbing
“Mr. Pelham,” says she,
away st a door-knob that was as bright
before as hands could make it, “what
wonld you say if we were to have a wod
ding in the old house ?”
“A wedding 1” I dropped my pen so
that it made a big round blot on the pa¬
per, and stared. “Why, you’re not go
ing to be married, Hannah, after all
these years?”
“Do I look like it ?” sniffed Hannah,
contemptuously—and, to tell the truth,
she didn’t very much. “No, indeed,
sir; I hope I know my place better than
that. It’s Miss Maggie I’m thinking
°f» s i r «”
had been stricken . with .
I sat as if I a
paralytic shook. Maggie to be married !
Strange that I had nev«r thought of
that, as a natural consequence, ol
parties, companies, evening concerts
and summer picnics 1 And somehow a
desolate chill crept dow?* my veins as 1
thought how lonesome and dreary the
old house would seem without Maggie.
“What makes you think so, Han¬
nah ?” I asked rather dolorously, and
the old woman lowered her voice mys¬
teriously as she answered :
“It's that Mr.Carlisle--he keeps com¬
ing all the time, and it’s my honest be¬
lief he just worships the ground my
young lady walks on. He is very hand¬
some, too, and folks tell me he’s worth
money.”
Mr. Carlisle 1 Well, old Hannah was
right. He was a fine-looking fellow,
and well-to-do in this world’s goods; but
—-wno was there, after all, worthy of
my tall, golden-haired princess with
dewy blue eyes and lips like scarlet
coral newly plucked out of the sea ?
Why couldn’t Carlisle go off and marry
one of the wiso Miss Simpkinses, whose
mother was on the look-out for husbands
as an ogress watches for eatable young
travelers ? I began to hate Carlisle.
“Pooh !” said I, upsetting my waste
basket of papers over the floor with an
unwary lling of my feet. “I don’t think
she oares for Carlisle.”
“Just you watch her, tbea, and see
for youreolf,” said old Hauuah, wisely
wagging her cap border. “I never did
set up for a prophet, Mr. Pelham, but
them as isn’t blind can’t help seeing,
and our eyes is given to us to use.”
So old Hannah went her way, leaving
me about as unoomxortable as a man
has any business to be. My Maggie to
be married ! My pretty blossom to be
plucked just as soon as it began to shed
fragrauoo round my door-stone. I felt
as a monarch may whoso domains are
invaded by au audacious foe. {Should 1
write Carlisle a note and tell him to go
iibont 1m bushiest., or aboulJ I
convey to him by my mauuera the hint
that bis preseuce was no longer specially
desirable, or—but old Hauuah s words
recurred uncomfortably to my mind—
should I at first find out whether Mag
gj e really did care for the young up
g^t?
My head dropped on my hands—my
heart sunk somewhere below zero at the
idea! I wondered if all fathers felt so
when gay young cavaliers came wooing
their «<“<* ! And after all, Maggie
^'tmy real child dearly as I loved
and tenderly as I had cherished her.
I think I hardly slept all that night.
I tossed to and fro on my pillow, oount
“g the chimes of the old clock, as one
by one it told the hours, thinking about
Maggie and Carlisle, and wondering if
the tardy daybreak would never redden
over the hill-tops,
By that time my mind was made up.
I would repress ali these selfish ideas
an< ^ only think of my gin s ultimate
happiness. If she liked Carlisle, why
Carlisle should have her,
I rose, dressed and went down to my
study. The first thing I saw was a note
«“ “7 “>>rary table. P«bably >t
had amved late last n lg ht. I broke the
seal; it was from George Carlisle, asking
permission to address Miss Magdalen
Pelham.
Well-it was nothing more than I had
expeoted-in faot, it rather expedited
matters, which ought not to run too
slowly. I refolded the epistle, and
looked severely at myself m the opposite
glass, quoth I,
You middle-aged old fogy,”
staring at myself with the severest ex¬
pression of countenance I could call up
at so short a notice, “I see through you.
Yon have dared to suppose bright-eyed
Magdalen could prefer you to these gay
young fellows nearer her own age—you
have even presumed to fall a little spice
in love with her yourself. It will do you
good to have some of the nonsense taken
out of you. At your time of life too !
Did you ever see a chestnut tree bios
soming in November or a grape-vine
j oa ^ e( j w itii blue fruit at mid-winter?"
go off j trudged into the garden where
Magdalen always walked in the early
tell her of iyoung Carlisle’s
proposal.
She listened, looking very pretty and
preoccupied, until I had finished.
“Well?” said she.
“Well ?” I quoth, “what do you say?”
“What do I aay? No, of course 1”
“You mean yes, my dear,” said I, “if
you’ll only take time to think.”
“ I mean nol” she flashed out. “Oh,
Mr. Pelham, how can you think so
basely of me ?”
“Baseiy, my dear. I don’t compre¬
hend you.”
She was beginning to cry now—big,
sparkling drops like the first glittering
diamonds of a July dhower.
“I don’t love him. I never can love
him.”
“But, why not, my dear ?”
“Because I love somebody else,” she
sobbed, growing pinker ,*nd prettier
than ever.
“Who is it, Maggie? You’ll toll me,
won’t you? Why, chilci”—as she shrank
blushingly back—“I am old enough to
be your father 1” • •
“You are not 1” she exclaimed, indig
nantly, “and you are the last person in
the world I would tell 1”
“My darling, why not ?”
The. enigmas these women are! in
stead of answering me, she began to
cry again as if her dear little heart was
going to break.
And suddenly a great light flashed in
upon my mind !
“Magdalen! Darling! Is it me that
von love ?”
‘ moment she
And in another was
laughing and crying on my breast!
The old chestnut tree was garlanded
with blossoms, even though its prime
past—the vims of life was mantling
inbiue ____i clusters in in the late, ut* late late harvest!
i w So I * had ——-------- to send as civil a note ns - pos
mi , . .
table to young Carlisle- it a aurpna
ing how my feeling, moderated toward
him as I wrote it!
And that is the way I won this peer-
less rose among women to be my wife—
and I don’t think she has ever regretted
marrying the old man yet. Though I
shouldn’t dare to call myself “old” in
her presence, to speak truth. People
say it’s a romantic story, but I say it is
only an illustration of the fact that there
is more romance in real life than there is
in books, if we only knew it
Spoke to the Admiral About It,
When the late Captain DeLong, of
the Jeannette, graduated at Memphis he
was ordered to report to Admiral String
ham for sea duty on board the Canan¬
daigua. On inspecting his quarters he
found only two bunks for four midship¬
men, which wonld result in two of them
swinging in hammocks daring the whole
two years’ voyage. Off he started to
see the Admiral, being ironically en¬
couraged by some officers whom he met,
and who said:
“That’s right. The thing should be
attended to. Just speak to the Admiral
positively about it and you’ll get what
you want. ”
Unconscious that they were chaffing
him he walked straight into the Ad¬
miral’s presence and encountered an
erect gentleman with white hair and
sharp black eyes, who eat at his desk
writing. His visitor advanced toward
him, cap in hafid, and said:
“Admiral, I am Midshipman DeLong,
of the United States steamer Canan
daigua. Sir, I have been inspecting my
quarters on board and I hud only two
bunks in the steerage for four midship
men. I came, sir, to ask you to have
two more berths put in before we start
for sea.”
The Admiral looked up quickly and
said:
“So you are Midshipman DeLong, of
the United States steamer Canan¬
daigua ?”
“Yes, sir,” ,
“Well, Midshipman DeLong, of the
United States steamer Canandaigua,
I advise you to return on board the
United States steamer Canandaigua, and
consider yourselfvery chappy that you
have any bunks at all in tue steerage.”
The Admiral was. better than his
word, however. His amusement was
greater than his amazement, and he
ordered the additional bunks to be
made.
Maine’s Prohibitory Law.
A dispatch from Portland says : The
new Prohibitory law has gone into
effect. Drummers can no longer solicit
orders for liquors. On this point the
law is very emphatic. The next im¬
portant change is one intended to pre¬
vent a liquor dealer from concealing the
fact of his guilt by destroying his stock.
No fine is imposed in cases of intoxica
tiou. Drunkards will be imprisoned
from five to thirty days for a first
offence, and from ten to ninety days fora
second offence. Gen. Dow believes that
very little good will result from these
and other changes made by the last
Legislature in tho prohibitory laws. It
is reported that “bottle carriers” have
again become quite numerous. These
men have only a bottle at a time, from
which they peddle out drinks. Of
course they are liable to arrest.
Enough of Them. —A Texas paper
Bays : Texas lias enough women if they
would only be sensible enough to marry
industrious, generous hearted cowboys
and make them happy, instead of enter¬
taining dudes in their \ arloxs and dis
hipating their lives in idle gossip and
fashionable, favoloua, airy nothing¬
ness.
“Holv Moses j what is mat?" ex
churned u fellow, as be sat up iu bed and
listened, “it soundtd as though a lamp
exploded exploded down down in in the thu kitchen.” kitchen, ” ho ho
mused. After listening attentively for
> „ laid down,
ball au hour . he . once j more mo,
my mg: ••OU. pshaw ! « « _i>uhlu’t have
beeu that, or thu house would have l*een
| vu thtmesere this.”— J\ck'» Sun.