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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.