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WE8TMINSTER ABBEY.
f
Rough was the winter eve;
Their craft the fishers leave,
And down o’er the Thames the ifarkness
drew.
One still lags lasts, and turns, and eyes
the Pile,
Huge lu the gloom, across In Thorney Isle,
King Sebert’s work, the wondrous Minster
new.
—’Tls Darnbeth now, where then
They moor’d their boats among the bulrush
stems ;
And that new minster in the matted fen.
The world-lam ed Abbey by the westering
T hames.
His mates are gone, and he
For mist can hardly see
A strange wayfarer coming to his side,
Who bade him loose his boat, and fix his
oar,
And row him straightway to the further
shore,
And wait while he did there a space abide.
The fisher awed obeys,
That voice had note so clear of sweet com
mand :
Through pouring tide he pnlls and driz
zling haze,
And sets his irelght ashore on Thorney
strand.
The minster’s outlined mass
Rose dim from the morass,
And thitherward the stranger took his way.
Lo, on a sudden all the Pile is bright!
Nave, choir and transept glorified with
light
While tongues of fire on ooign and carving
play!
And heavenly odors fair
Come streaming with the floods of elory in,
And carols float along the happy air
As if the reign of joy did now begin.
Then all again is dark.
And by the fisher’s bark
The unknown passenger returning stands,
—O Saxon fisher ! thou hast had with thee
The fisher lrom the Lake of Galilee,
So saitb he, blessing him with outspread
hands;
Then fades, ImtspeakB the while:
At dawn thou to King Sebert shalt relate
How his Saint Peter's Church in Thorney
Isle
Peter, his iriend, with light did consecrate.
MATTIIKVr AKNOL1).
Coming Back.
Up in a city garret, on a hot June
day, a weary woman leaned back, in
her chair, and pressed her fingers
against the eyes that refused longer to
see the stitches in the shop-work over
which she had toiled from day-break
till now four o’clock in the afternoon.
From the street far below her, a
voice had only that moment soared
upward, calling, “Btrawberr-ees ! ripe,
red, strawberr-ees!”
And, as if by magic, her thoughts
turning backward hsd carried her to
Depdene, the home of her youth, and
to a certain lovely June day in her
sixteenth year, when she had stood in
the strawberry pasture on the Blessing
Farm, with the red berries perfuming
the air, and said the words which sev
ered her fate from that of Maurice
Blessing, and made her life what it
was on this day, almost hopeless and
ceaseless struggle for bread won at
k he needle’s point.
Ho\^ all rose up before her! The
^pture sloping upward to the
r gm k ten woods, whose tops seemed
toucM^Jfc|^P lj l ue Bky, sloping
waff
th the cold spring leapRft- <4|^
rough a wooden trough among its
lower stones.
And below the wall—“the thirty-acre
mowing” spread out like an immense
emerald velvet carpet, with the two-
story cream colored house lifting its
piazzaed front at the extreme end just
where the shaded lane began, and led
from the Blessing farm o« into the
village road.
“She, the poor orphan girl, had been
offered this comfortable home; and
she had refused it—for what ? For
dream of fame which had left her
toiling in this hot garret while in the
black trunk yonder, the book which
was to have made her fortune, refused
by one publisher after another, was
lying till she could find courage to
thrust it into the fire.
“Scarcely two years!” she sighed,
rockim* herself to and fro. “And
Maurice has sold his old farm and
gone to Colorado, and I am here,
lonely, disappointed, old before
time. Oh, if I could only live
day over again and be as wise
now ! For now I know tlu^I love
him—row, wLAAisforej^Kolate!”
calenture
ets for one
>me, Hester
e desk where
'ealth was stored,
closest economy, she had
ma^m^ro lay aside a few dollars, for
the gl )omy purpose of paying the ex
euse of her own sickness and death,
heu tiie time should come for her to
die amoug strangers.
From this sacred hoard she counted
.out jl sum sufficient to take
thought. “Aud will work all the
harder after I return, to make up this
sum again. But see Depdene, uow
that it is fairly in my mind, I must!
And uow I will take one more look at
the dear old farm before it is in the
hands of strangers, aud so altered that
I shall not know it.”
The next day saw her on her way.
The two years of her absence had
been years of change to the little
country village.
A railway wiaked across the hill-
road from Torrington. Once she would
have made the journey in a yellow
“stage” drawn by four horses, with
John Colney the crossest and most dis
agreeable of earthly stage drivers, on
the box.
The village, too, was smartened und
freshened up—new houses, new fences,
a new iron fence around the small
oval park that graced the centre of the
town; new names above the gilded
frouts of the shops ; a new set of gig
gliug misses, on their way to the new
brown stone Academy, which stood
where she had once thought it an
•honor to attend the district school, in
a plain one story structure of faded
brick.
No doubt all these alterations were
for the better ; but they made her heart
ache with a sense of loss unspeakable;
And she turned Into the shaded lane
that led only to the Blessing Farm,
dreading to see the old home desecra
ted by the stranger's hand.
No ; there it stood, as she had always
knowu it—the very picture of home
comfort, the centre of all those modest
luxuries that a well to-do farmer of all
other men most easily commands.
But Although the dear old house was
unchanged, its inmates were new and
strange to her. A stout, middle-aged
man, in a white summer suit, with a
broad brimmed hat and cigar, sat on
the steps of the piazza, reading a news
paper. A fashionably dressed lady,
some y ars bis junior, swung in a
hammock upon the lawn, lost in a
novel.
Several children, in .s-oad-brimmed
bats and brown Holland blouses, were
making the lives of two nurses a
burden to them further down the
lawn, among the elm trees, where a
swing had hung lrom time imme
morial.
City” was stamped on every face
and figure that she saw.
Had Maurice sold his place to some
retired merchant, who would over-or
nament and disfigure it. in the mod
ern villa style ?
“If one could live their lives over
after they grow older aud are taught
by experience what is best for them:”
thought Hester in her sadness, once
more.
Bhe would have gone up to the house
and asked leave to rest aud look around
if it bad remained in the care of old
Farmer Williams and his wife, the
tenants of the upper farm.
But she could not face those prosper
ous, hapi y “city people,” who would
look at her with their coldly curious
eyes aud wonder, almost audibly,
what she could waut,” eveu if they
did*^^bsolutely mistake her for a
‘ * tramp7^^*»
“I wish I could have gone through
the strawberry pasture once more,”
she thought, as she turned buck to
ward the railway station, tired, hungry
and unrefreshed.
At the foot of the lane a gentleman,
in a summer suit of silver-gray, Btood
leaning against the bars, with his
straw hat drawn down over his eyes so
far that he failed to Bee the stranger's
silent approach.
“Will you let me pass, If you
please?” said Hester, at last, after
waiting some moments.
He wheeled round, as if she had
struck him, and stared doubtiugly in
her face.
She uitered a great cry.
“Maurice! Maurice! I heard that
youHiad sold the farm and gone to
olorado.”
“Hester! Can this be you?” he an
swered.
His eyes seemed to devour her-
Words rose to his lips aud were forced
back again. At last he asked :
“Is your husband here with you,
Hestety ?” M
“My kusband!” w
“Whm yes! I heard that you were
marrieofvery soon after you went to
the city!”
“You heard wrong, Maurice. I have
not been married. I have never eve
thought of such a thing.”
“But why did you go, then, lleHter?
Why dul you leave Depdene? Why
did you refuse to mn.rry me, if —if there
wasj^^pe else in the way ?”
been realized, of ihe unlucky book
that was lying in the black trunk, of
the little burial board so hardly earned
and saved.
The tears came quickly to her eyes ,
obscuring the honest, handsome face
on which she gazed.
“Don’t cry, Hester,” said Maurice
Blessing, taking her hand. “And tell
me why you would uot marry me,
dear?”
“Because I was a fool!” sobbed
Hester.
“Isthe folly ended?” asked Maurice,
hiding a smile as he bent over her.
“Can you give me a different answer,
now, Hester? If you can, we will be
just the happiest pair on earth, here
on the dear old farm.”
“But you sold it and went to Colo
rado,” said Hester, wonderingly, “at
least I heard so.”
“I was a fool, too, Hester; for I went
to Colorado, and I was quite ready to
sell. But my brother-in-law, from the
city, persuaded me to rent it to him
for one year, till I had ti ne to think
the matter over. When I came to my
senses—although I had uot forgotten
you, darling—I was very glad that the
poor old place was mine still, and I
came back some six weeks ago, to see
it. My sister and her husband and
family go back to the city next week,
stopping at the mountains on their
way. I shall be left alone, with good
Mrs. Williams for my housekeeper,
and her husband as head hired man—
just as I was before. Hester won’t
you take pity on me, and come and
share my home ? I have never cared
for any one but you.”
I do not know in what words Hester
answered him. But I see her daily in
the cream-colored farmhouse, the very
model of au active, bustling, good ttm-
pered farmer’s wife.
As for the book, she has utterly for
gotten it. She needs its recompense
no longer, and she is far too happy to
care or wish for fame.
Heart Offerings
The light dispels our mourning dreams,
Dissolves our castles in the air,
Whose turrets seemed to reach the skies,
So beautiful aud fair.
StUl may the wild wood yield a shade,
The desert hold a spring,
Whose limpid waters lu our need
May rest and solace bring.
— MKS. ,1 Kit N INGHAM.
The ainted branches of the tree,
II lopped with care a strength may give
By which the rest may bloom and live.
—BYKON.
Love comes and tarries,
Love the load carries,
When love with love marries,
Only for Love.
— O. w. BUNGAY.
The Choicest Gems of Purest
Ray Serene.
Day Is a snow-white dove of heaven,
That from the east glad message brings ,
Night in a stealthy, evil raven.
Wrapt to the eyes in Ms black wings.
—T. B. ALDRICH
it
Man is but half without woman; and
As do idolators their heavenly gods,
We dely ihe things that we adore.
—FE8TUU.
Still panting o’er the orowd to reign,
More Joy it giveN a woman’s breast,
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain,
Than one true manly lover’s breast.
— UOOKII.
Charming woman can true converts make
We love the precepts for the teacher’s sake:
Virtue in her appeals so bright and gay.
We hear with pleasure and with pride obey.
— FRANKLIN.
N aught can to peace the busy woman charm;
And, if she can’t do good, she must do harm.
—LAMB.
An Eccentric Visitor.
A Man whe Proposed to Institute a New
School of Philosophy.
“Are you busy ?” asked the city ed
itor. “Always have time to hear long
stories, particularly those in which
Bint and John figure, and where Ike,
the neighborhood wit, tells how he
came to town and cheated a Hebrew
gentleman who swore that he wouldn’t
sell the coat for less than $10, but who
finally let Ike have the garment for
75 cents and a promise to call again.”
The man was bored. He put his
elbows on the table and looked sor
rowful. “I am the author of a new
school of philosophy,” he said, “but I
have found no disciples. The world is
too rapid. The present becomes the
past before I can make, any one under
stand me. AVhen I explain myself
you may consider me insane.”
“When did you kill him?”
“I have killed no one.”
“Then you are not insane.”
“Bince the days of Chaucer there
have been a great m ny eminent men
in the world. From that time until
‘the present day a great many children
have died before they arrived at the
age of ten years. Now, sir, I have
taken np the belief that if all the peo
ple who have lived h*ad died, and if
all the children that died had lived,
the world would have had its Shake
speare, its Bacon, its Newton and its
Napoleon.”
“How about Oscar Wilde?”
“I say that the world would have
been just as well off. We might uot
nave had the railroad, for invention
is an accident, but we would have had
something just as complete. America
would have been built—”
“And would the jury have brought
in a verdict of guilty as indicated ?”
“I say that nothing w°uld be lost.
Now, the souls of these children that
died young. What became ©f them?
At what trine, I ask, does the soul
enter the body? Can’t answer? Are
Infant Bhakespeares to be raised up at
the resurrection ? Will they continue
the process of teethiug, and will their
mothers walk around with them ! At
what time, I ask, sir, will the body
arise? In what shape? AVill it be
young, or will it arise with wrinkles
of age on its brows ? Can the mitn who
ha« been eaten by cannibals arise?”
“Walt, I’ll be back in a minute,”
aud the city editor went back ami re
quested the foreman to help him ijeot
a taazy man. When he returned he
found that the man had stolen his
p’pe and a new book, The Three
Links of Sausage; or, “The Spoiled
Venison Ham.”
iy only one day,
Everywhere some dear temptation
Holds allurements fair and new;
Sale a little child doth lead him,
All the perilous pathway through.
Evermore his spirit sees her,
Be it early, be it late—
Still the little, dear child daughter,
Molly, waiting by the gate.
MAKY CLEMMER.
Misunderstandings are far more dif
ficult things than people imagine, in
love or in friendship.
He that does good for good’s sake
seeks neither praise nor reward though
sure of both at last.
To most men experience is like the
stern lights of a ship, which illumine
only the track it has passed.- Cole-
ridge.
*Tbe lovliest faces are to be seen at
moonlight, when one sees half with
the eye and half with the fancy.
—Bovee.
Be thou the iainbow to the storms
of life ! the evening beam that smiles
the clouds away and tints to-morrow
with prophetic ray!— Byron.
Utopia.
Your lazy loon, If dainty pigeons
Up to his mouth well roasted flew,
He would not taste them, no, not he,
Unless well carved and served up, too !
—Blackwood'8 Magazine
Aglaia.
The tamarisks bow’d their heads, compell'd
By no ungentle force;
The breeze a sunny fragrance held,
Mingled of sea and gorse;
And on the turf the daisies shone ;
The heaving turfs desire
Was plainly to be trodden on ;
The daisies were on fire
For something far more pure and warm
Than they ; and on them there
I for a moment, saw thy form
Rise In the happy air.
—The Spectator.
Misfortunes, in fine, can not be
avoided ; but they can be sweetened,
if not overcome, and our live# made
happy by philosophy. — Seneca.
We are surrouuded by abysses, but
the greatest of all depths is in our own
heart, and an irresistible leaning
leads us there. Draw thyself from
th y sel f.—Ooethe.
To vilify a great man is the readiest
way in which a little man can him
self attain greatness. The crab might
never have become a a*>ustellation bu^
for the courage evinced in nibbling
Hercules on the heel,—Poe.
Blessings often fail to reach us
through the wall of circumstances
with which ws have surrounded our
lives.
The Ignorance of Amateur
Collectors.
■ .
About Crows.
Is there ever a hard question In mor
als, that children do not drive straight
ueitioniug ?
Mr. Tuer records some curious anec
dotes of the exaggerated value set
upon Bartolozzi’s engravings by cer
tain persons. One of his correspond
ents had a set of the “ Elements ” and
au historical print, all in fair condi
tion, but cut close, which the pro
prietor supposed to be worth about
£700 or £800 apiece. Before, however,
even this sum was accepted, Messrs.
Christie were to be asked to value the
prints, in case they might be worth
still more. This is ignorance of one
sort. Here is ignorance of another
sort. A lady took a print out of a
frame, folded it up in a letter, and
asked for an opinion as to its value,
explaining that she prized it highly
because it had descended to her from
ber grandmother. Two anecdotes
giveu by Mr. Tuer, showing the cruel
damage done by the ignorant wealthy
we will transfer to our pages:
Au amateur, wishing to illustrate a
book with a head of the Virgiu Mary,
bought of one of our largest print-
dealers a proof worth about £60 of
Muller’s “Madonna di Ban Sisto,”
after Raffaelle. When he had paid
for it, he calmly proceeded in the pres-
of the astonished dealer to cut out the
head of the Madonna with a penknife,
saying he did not want the remaining
portion of the print, which he left be
hind. Some years afterward tne ama
teur died, aud his effects were sold at
Christie’s; amongst them was the
small book containing the head of the
Madonna, which the printrdealer
bought at the sale for a mere trifle.
The h«ad was carefully removed from
the book, and sent, together with the
remaining portion of the print, to the
restorer, who inlaid it so well that it
appeared uninjured.
The next instance is still worse
A nobleman, now living, commis
sioned a print-dealer some five years
ago to make a colleotoon of fine prints,
principally fancy subjects after Sir
Joshua Reyuolds, for which, as might
be expected, he gave long prices,
When he thought he had accumulated
sufficient for his purpose he had his
treasures cut out into various shapes
t,o fit harmoniously, as he thought,
one into the other, and mounted,
brilliantly varnished ovi r, on a tliree-
leaved screen; but when the work
was finished he did net like the ap
pearance, so forthwith had the prints
carefully taken off, aud the varnish
removed, for placing in a scrap-book.
Professor Linden said a good word
the other day at Buffalo for that much
persecuted bird, the common crow
(Corvut Americanua). The crow of
Amenica belongs to a scattered family
of about 200 species, iucluding among
them the buzzard, jay, raven and
magpie. Cf the genus proper to which
the crow belongs, seven examples are
found in the United States, the great
black raven being at the head. In the
wilderness abut 100 mile3 from Buf
falo, on the shores of Lake Ontario,
ravens weie found. Their nests were
so secluded as rarely to be discovered.
So wary were the birds that Mr. Lin
den had found it impossible to obtain
a specimen. They were reported
more abundant on the Canada shore
of Lake Ontario, but it was impossi
ble to procure a specimen even there,
though a liberal reward had been of
fered. The crow was only preserved
from annihilation by its great cun
ning. Even in captivity the bird dis
plays a degree of sagacity which
almost resembles human intelligence.
Air. Linden admitted that the crow
could hardly be called a sweet singer ;
still when tamed he made a very in
teresting pet. On the whole, he
might safely be set down as a useful
bird and a real frieud of the farmer.
He eats large quantities of noxious in
sects, aud though he has a bad habit
of pulling up young tender shoots of
grain, it was a question whether the
damage was not more than compen
sated by the number of larvtB of bee
tles thus brought to light and de
voured.
X
Aphoristic.
To be understood is twice one’s self.
Love dies of satiety ana is buried in
Aff pbilosopy lies in two words—
“sustain” and “abstain.”
oblivion.
Politeness is a wreath of flowers that,
adorns the world,
The homeliest task gets beautiful, if
loving hands do them.
Where is the thief who cannot find
bad when he hunts it?
Grief may bide an evening gitest,
Hut Joy Khali come a morning guest.
A woman’s dress is like the envelope
of a letter; the cover is frequently an
index to the contents.
Every strong, active bad man is
systematically engaged in creating
aud sharpening the instrumen. ofj
his own destruction.
He who reads much
'is a great observer, and looks
| tiulte through the deeds ol men.
ke may be as much courage dis-
li iu enduring with resignation
[fferings of the soul, as remain-
i\ under under the showers of
n a battery,
ytunlty no li as
11L..4
Age is’i
Thau
And i