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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.