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Literature and the Literati.
The public taste lor the Z >la litera
ture is sa f d to have lately cooled in
France.
Oscar Wilde is reported to be writ
ing a book on the education of chil
dren.
Henry Vizitelly has written a His
tory of Champagne, which is said to be
sparkling.
Both Mr. Longfllow and Mr.
Emerson died from the effects of im
prudent exposure to chilly air.
M. Louis Blanc ii preparing for
the press a complete edition of his
works.
The Literary World, of Boston, has
absorbed a monthly journal of Buffalo,
called Literature.
Whoever fails to read The Vicar of
Morwemtow, misses one of the most
enjoyable of modern books.
What word in the English language
possesses the greatest number of one
particular letter? “Possesses.”
The lady who writes under the
name of “Sarah Tytler” is named Mrs.
Henrietta Keddie.
The late James Rice wrote nothing
of importance, it is asserted, unaided
by Walter Besant, except a History of
the Turf.
“Uncle Remus”—otherwise Joel
Chandler Harris—has written a short
story which is mentiom d as a work of
genius equal to the Tar Baby.
It is reported that Miss Adcott is the
author of the new and far from strik
ing novel Aschenbroedel. It suggests
also the hand of the author of Au
Earnest Triflcr.
John Morley, after retiring in No
vember from the editorship of the
FortnightJy Review, will devote all
the time not given to editing the Pall
Mall Gazette to purely literary work.
The Library Bureau of Boston ad
vertises a “Pamflet Casewhich is
not a misprint, but a ease of spelling
reform. But to be consistent, why
should not Mr. Melvil Due’s concern
be called a Library Bewrow ?
A new monthly magazine, which
is heralded as the best of its class, and
one which is to cast all others into the
shade, is to appear in England in the
autumn. Longman & Co. are to be
the publishers.
Burying the Birds.
How often do we hear the query,
“What becomes of all the dead birds?”
The secret of fheir mysterious disap
pearance was but just now half told
by the buzz of those brown wings, and
the other half is welcome to any one
who will take the trouble to follow
their lead. This beetle is one of man’s
incalculable benefactors. It is his
mission to keep fresh and pure the
air we breathe. He is the sexton that
takes beneath the mould not only the
fallen sparrows, but tfie mice, tiie
squirrels, and even much larger crea
tures, that die in our woods and fields.
Beneath that clump of yarrow I
found just what I had expected—asmall
dead bird ; and the gravediggers were
in the midst of their work. Already
the rampart of fresh earth was raised
around the body, and the cavity was
growing deeper with every moment
as the busy diggers excavated the turf
beneath.
These Nature burials ar9 by no
means rare, and where the listless eye
fails to discover them the nostrils will
often indicate the May ; and to any
one desirous of witnessing the opera
tion without the trouble of search, it is
only necessary to place in some conve
nient spot of loose earth the carcass of
some small animaJ. The most casual
observer could not fail soon to be at
tracted by the orange-spotted beetles.
I am al ways glad of the opportunity
to watch the progress of these meadow-
burials ; and had you accompanied me
on that morning walk you would have
looked with interest at these little un
dertakers—seen that feathery body
toss and heave with Htrange mockery
of life as the busy sextons worked be
neath it, digging with their spiked
thighs, shovelling out the l'>ose earth
with their broad heads and pulling
down the body into the deepened cav
ity.
A gentleman saw an advertisement
that a cure for dyspepsia might be had
by sending a postage stamp to the ad
vertiser. He sent his stamp, and the
answer was: “Dig in your garden and
let whisky alone.
T a town meeting a large taxpayer
building a
paft of
The Thrush.
All through the sultry hours of June,
From morning blithe to golclc i noon
And till the star of evening climbs
The gray-blne east, a worla too soon,
there sings a Thrush amid t ie limes.
Gou’s poet,hid In foliage green,
Sings endless songs, himself unseen ;
Itignt seldom come his silent, tiroes.
Linger, ye summer hours si r?ne!
Sing od, dear Thrush, among the limes!
• *
May I not dream God sends thee there,
Thou mellow nneel of the air,
Even to rebuke my earthller rhymes
With music's soul, ail praise ana prayer?
Is that tny lesson In the lime<?
Closer to God art thou than I;
His minstrel thou, whose brown wings fly
Through silent tether's summer climes.
Ah, never may thy music die!
Sing od, dear Thrush, amid the limes!
—Moktimek Collins.
May Queen at Barret s
Crossing.
BY SOPHIE E. EASTMAN.
There never was another such a
place for neighborhood quarrels as
down at Barret’s. The junction had
always been proverbial for the number
of its resident lawyers, aud there were
people malicious enough to suggest that
this latter fact accounted for the for
mer. This, however, might not have
been the case. Tenterden Steeple was
not the cause of Goodwin Sands. But,
whatever quarrels were imminent,
there was one person who never shared
them and whom all parties united in
treating with respect. Jason Williams,
or ’Squire Williams, as he was gener
ally called, had become known to
them at first simply or a prosperous
merchant from a neighboring city, a
man whose hand seemed by some hid
den magic to transmute all that he
touched into gold. His argosies al
ways came safely into harbor and the
devastating fires that swept round
him on either side had, as yet, left
him unscathed. He had come here
years ago, to prepare a home for his
wife and children among the hills and
vales aud miniature lakes of Barret’s
Crossing 1 . Clovernook was the name
by which his little Rose had christened
the lovely lawns where hammocks
swung idly from the trees, tennis and
croquet balls woof-d to gentle exercise,
aud white-winged sail boats floated at
their moorings, looking in the distance
as if some regal swan had alighted on
the silver sheen of the lake. It was a
place full of delightful surprises ; dim
and shadowy alleys, overhung with
thickly branching trees, and ending
suddenly in a concealed summer-house,
or a parterre of bright colored flowers,
or leading by devious paths to a mimic
waterfall. There were rustic bridges
here, rare exotics there; everywhere
something to reward one’s search.
But the place had grown strangely
silent dow. Sometimes a white-haired
man, with a sad, gentle face, walked
quietly in and out the labyrinth paths.
There might or might not be with
him the pale, sorrowful wife; but the
children’s voices were hushed forever—
nay, rather, were turned to sweeter
melodies and diviner harmonies than
it is given to human lips to utter.
What to him were gold and argosies
now ? He had exulted once that the
might of his wealth had opened all
doors before his dear ones. He had
forgotten that the gate of heaven
might also stand ajar. He wearied
himself no longer to be rich. Now and
then he threw aside the busy cares of
his city life, and buried himself in the
dimrecessts of Clovernook, but with
that ever-present seuse of loss that
none but an intense nature like his
could suffer. And so, in grief and
pain, his days went on, waiting pa
tiently for the time to come when the
fretted river should follow the dimp
ling streamlet and lose itself in the
boundless sea.
“Prepare your ballots!” said Janie
Morris, in a magisterial tone of voice.
“Are the boys allowed to vote?”
It was rather a critical moment, for
the choice was now to be made be
tween the two rival candidates for
May Queen—Bell Bristol, dignified,
and intellectual, with black hair, and
shining eyes, aud lips that could curl
in haughty surprise, if she so decreed.
And on the otherside, Molly Simpson,
with her violet eyes and auburn hair—
impulsive, generous, quick-tempered,
but warm-hearted Molly. At the mo
ment, Bell was leaning back in her
chair, as if in proud ludiflereuce to
the result of the contest; while Molly
appeared excited and restless, her
nervous Augers pulling a rose in pieces,
leaf by leaf, for she had two brothers
and three cousins among the academy
toys, and it was Charlie Simpson who
founded the question in
of suffrage.
Janie Morris who had been appoint
ed to preside over the meeting, turned
to Bell Bristol M’ith a look of mute
appeal
“I think,” said Bell, in her slow,
stately way, “that when the state leg
islature is willing to give us women
suffrage it will then be quite time for
your sex to be asking a voice in our
councils.”
“Prepare your ballots!” repeated
Janie, anxious to magnify her office.
“The hoys are not allowed to vote.’.
There came a moment of busy writ
ing and the folding of papers care
fully^ that the name might not be seen;
then the chairman borrowed Charley
Simpson’s hat to collect the votes, and
appointed two girls to count them and
announce the result. Amid a breath
less stillness, the committee gave in
their report. There was a tie.
Again Bell Bristol came to the fore,
in answer to Janie’s pleading eyes. “I
believe in such cases it is customary
for the chairman to vote,” she said
smoothly.
Molly’s cheeks flushed, for every
one knew on which side Janie ranked
herself; and moreover, her father, Mr.
Morris, had been Mr. Bristol’s lawyer
for many years.
“But I have voted already,” an
swered Janie, innocently.
There was a smothered laugh from
the boys, followed by an embarrassed
pause in the proceedings of the little
assembly. She was just beginning to
feel, as Coleridge expresses it, “A bit
ter and perplexed what shall I do?”
when through the open door that
Charley Simpson, entering late, had
left ajar, there floated in the sound of
a clear young voice, singing at her
work:
“Our master has taken his Journey
To a country that’s far away,
And has left us the care of the vineyard,
To work for him day by day .
In this little while doth It matter,
As we work and we watch and we wait.
If we’re filling the place he assigns us,
Be its service small or great.
There’s a work for me aud a work for you
Something for eacU of us lo do.’*
A now idea flashed through Janie’s
mind. “There’s Rosa La Plante
sweeping. “I’ll ask her to come and
vote.” And the presiding officer dart
ed away in a most unstatesman like
manner. Her return was more slow
and her expression rather crestfallen.
“I told hpr about the tie,” she ex
plained ; “but she preferred not to
come and vote. She says Bill and
Molly are both her friends and she
does not like to take any responsibility
in the matter.”
In the silehce that followed they
caught again the sweet refrain :
“There’s a work for me and a work for you
Something for each ol us to do.”
“Now to do,” whispered Molly to
herself,and she spoke, without waitfng
for a second thought. “I would like
to have Bell Bristol queen, she said.
“I hope we shall all vote for her on
the next ballot.”
There was a decided iustle of dissent
among her followers, like the stirring
of leaves that presages a coming storm.
Charley Simpson frowned angrily at
his sister; but she only smiled back
pleasantly.
“No,” said Bell, touched hy her ri
val’s generosity, that would he neither
right nor best. We are a divided
school,” she continued, g’ancing about
her; “but perhaps we can all unite in
choosing poor little Rosa La Plante for
May Queen, and so give her a pleas
ant memory to carry Into the hard
life before her.”
Both sides caught at the idea at
once. The orphan child of a French
refugee, she had endeared herself to
them all by her gentleness and cheer
ful patience. She possessed both the
culture and manners of a lady, al
though compelled by grinding poverty
to perform the menial olllcesof a jani
tor’s assistant, in her determined ef
forts to obtain an education. But the
unequal struggle was well nigh over.
These were her last days at school,
aud next week the clang of the factory
bell w mid waken her in the dusk of
the morning to a day of toil.
“Prepare your ballots!” reiterated
Janie, who Charley Simpson declared
would keep “cheerful and chirrupy
under a mountain of mistakes.”
The hat, upon its second rouud,
proved to contain no vote except those
for tiie little Rosa.
Six maids of honor were next ap
pointed, and it then remained to de
cide where the coronation should take
place. There was a great diversity of
opinion upon this point, and at last
Bell cut the Gordian knot by nomina^
ting a committee of three, among
whom Molly stood first, the duty of
this committee being to select the
place for the picnic. All other arrange
ments were left with the maids of
honor, and, with a great sigh of satis
faction, Janie Morris dismissed the
assembly.
As Charlie Simpson and his sister
walke 1 past Clovernook, on their w r ay
home, he suggested what a delightful
place that would be for their May
party.
“Oh ! lovely,” cried Molly raptur
ously ; “but 1 should never dare to
as c permission for such a thing.”
There was a little rustle on the other
side of the tall hedge; but it passed
unnoticed, and they continued to talk
of the beautiful grounds, as they
walked on. S maewhat to their sur
prise, when they reached the gate, the
white-haired owner accosted them,
and, after a few inquiries, offered them
the use of his park for their May-day
festivities.
“It will be very pleasant to see
young people flitting in and out among
the trees,” he said, hospitably. “And
please do not trouble yourselves to
bring any refreshments. You will
allow me to make that my care,” he
added with kind decision.
As for Molly, she was so happy tiiat
she must needs go over to Mr. Bristol’s
at once, to tell Bell; and, as it was
the first time for weeks that she had
crossed their threshold, ’Squire Wil
liams, could he only have known of
it, would have felt that his kind act
had not been in vain. And, to be
sure, what would happen, but that the
household at Cloverpook, returning
from a call at tiie dressmaker’s, heard
the whole story, and repeated it to
him the very next morning. Well, at
last the st of May came, just as May-
day always does come, whether we
watch for it or not. The sun shone
forth with unwonted splendor from
the cloudless blue that bent to toucli
the purple hills, shone so brightly that
it peeped beneath the russet leaves of
the arbutus, where the pink and white
blossoms had thought themselves se
curely hidden, shone so brightly that,
to their surprise, it even stared the
cowslips almost out of countenance.
Of course, every scholar in the acad
emy was at the May-dav feast; the
girls pretty and graceful in their best
attire, the boys constrained and awk
ward in their Sunday suits. Each one
had brought a bouquet of flowers to
present before the queen, who, throned
in state, received their homage with
blushing humility. As the last of her
schoolmates knelt be’ore her, ’Squire
Williams advanced from a clump of
sheltering trees and laid a large bou
quet at her feet.
“May I ask,” he said’ “that you will
keep this uutil it is withered, in mem
ory of one who will find hi* highest
pleasure to-day in witnessing your en
joyment? I hope you all,” he contin
ued, turning toward the rest, “will
feel to day that everything here is
your own ; and, perhaps, I too shall be
able to catch some of your happiness.”
But, as he walked away, they no
ticed that his lips quivered, and the
happy little queen could scarcely in
terpret the earnest look with which
he regarded her. All else, however,
was soon forgotten in the excitement
of thf games and boating. ’Squire
Simpson gave Bell Bristol and Janie
Morris a sail in the white-winged
shallop, and, after such a display of
magnanimity, felt himself exceed
ingly virtuous.
The time passed so rapidly, they
could scarcely credit the call to lunch,
which was spread for them in the wide
piazzas. And such bountiful tables as
met their astonished vision ! It makes
me hungry just to think about them.
There was lobster and chicken salad,
scalloped oysters, boned turkey,
French rolls, all sorts of jellies, and
cakes and comflls innumerable ; three
kinds of ice cream, and oranges and
nuts and bananas, besides bonbons
aud imported candies. Everybody
ate until they were quite ashamed of
themselves; but there was so much left
that Mrs. Williams spent a consider
able part of the afternoon in wrapping
the cake and candies in white paper
for them to carry home.
Such a day had never been known
before at Barret’s; but that is quite a
superfluous remark, for you will all
imagine itu pleasures better, perhaps,
than I can describe them. They
thought the sun went down unusually
early tiiat night—at least an hour before
its regular time for settiug; but, upon
investigation, it was found that tiie
clock in the almanac did not vary a
minute. Consolation, however, came
in the form of au invitation to return
to the house and ttuish the chicken
salad, oysters and ice cream. They
exhausted most of the adjectives to be
found in “Webster’s Unabridged” and
“Worcester” on their way home, and
then grumbled beeause some one did
not publish a new dictionary; but
truth oompels me to add that the next
morning they were as tired and cross a
set of youths and maidens as ever trod
the streets of Barret’s Crossing But
all this is but a preamble to tiie main
incidents of my story.
Little Rosa La Plant kept the bou
quet of flowers that had been gathered
for her at Cloveruook, putting them
into fresh w ter every day and care
fully picking off the dead leaves. One
morning she caught a gleam of some
strange substance deftly inserted in
the very heart of the flowers. Hastily
separating them, there appeared to
her bewildered eyes six golden half
eagles, witli a request delicately word
ed that she would use them in enab
ling her to finish her term at school.
Quickly donning her hat and shawl,
she walked, with a beating heart, up
the winding path to the open door at
Clovernook. A sudden breeze closed
the door behind her, and what passed
in that interview was never known.
“I am going up every Saturday after
noon to read aloud to Mrs. Williams
lor an hour,” was all she told her
schoolmates in regard to it; but the
housekeeper said in the dressmakor’s
shop that the ’Squire took more notice
of her than he had of any other young
girl since his daughter died, and, this
remark being reported throughout the
town, people were not unprepared for
the news that came later, that she had
been adopted as his child and was heir
presumptive of Clovernook. When,
some years later, she returned from a
continental tour, one would scarcely
have recognized in the beautiful and
popular Miss Rosa Williams the little
brown-eyed sweeper of the academy
buildings.
“And to think that I presided at the
meeting when she was chosen May
queen!” exulted Janie Morris, who
looked upon that election as the foun
dation stone of Rosa’s good fortune.
“Yes,” said Bell Bristol; “but if I
had not objected to the boys voting,
Molly S.mpson would have been elect
ed, aDd perhaps Rosa might not have
been at the picnic that day.”
“Or, if I had not come in late,” re
marked Charley Simpson, “and left
both doors open behind me, you wpuld
not have heard her singing; and so
3he might have missed her beautiful
home, after all.”
“Nonsense 1” exclaimed the house
keeper, when she heard of these re
marks. “If I had not told the ’Squire
beforehand what a nice girl she was,
and so poor that she was going into
the factory to work, he would never
have interested himself to help her.”
“If I had not told the housekeeper,”
began the dressmaker ; and then they
all laughed and acknowledged that, if
Rosa La Plante h id not been the most
amiable and gentle girl in the world,
they should none of them have
thought much about her.
I am glad to say that this sudden
prosperity, that might have fostered
vanity and idleness in some, has had
no such effect upon our heroine. She
is kindness itself to the poor, generous
and sympathiz ng toward all, terfiler
and loving to her friends and adopted
parents, and so simple and unaff. cted
are her manners that she seems to
have been permanently installed as
Queen of Hearts at Barret’s Crossing.
Walking Through Fire.
The superstitious practice of walk
ing through fire at certain festivals
still survives in Madras, and the Eu
ropean magistrate at North Arcot re
ports that tyo deaths occurred last
year from this fanatical custom. Thus
an old woman was so severely burned
that she died almost immediately,
while a lad fell as he was walking
through the firepit. It had been
hoped that education and the advance
of civilization would have gradually
extinguished the habit, but 127 years
of European rule have not changed
the natives’ opinions, and the Gov
ernor of Madras has been petitioned
to interfere. Mr. Grant Duff, how
ever, does not consider the case suita
ble for Government action, and points
out that it took centuries to eradicate
the similar rite of rushing through^
the fires of St. John in Bohemia.
“The effects of modern scepticism as
indulged in by young men,” the Rev.
Dr Newman S nyth suid in tiie course
of his sermon last Sunday before the
congregation of tiie Old S >uth Church
in Boston, “young men, who do not
know how to take the first deep sound
ing in passage of thought, are as piti
ful as the conceit of a sea gull who,
having dipped its wings in the briny
deep, seeks the upper currents of the
air, firmly believing that it knows all
about salt water.”
In a fight at Mount Grove, Mo., two
cowboys shot and killed Jamea
Burns.