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KATUHB HATH A KOVRNFBB
FACE.
mrratT Is dead; too food lier radWinl snap©
Beneath n, bmnJd i>al1 of leaves Is laid;
*00 soon Is fie tbe swallow, to BFeape
Ihe billot wind, and wlntei’s ©ruel a'rtvde.
B*Brraer Is deed ; tbe weeping V reef tree
UepeatH tLie • y amid, its lalllng leaves;
Fan Is the chftr.nl hmn of la ien bte,
Taulslw-d the mellow glory of tue sbeaveu
How do grlru shadows nsber In the night,
Thai follows last npon the shortened day
Here boldly doth the night bird wing b«r
flight,
And eroak defiance to the moon’s wan raj,
How doth the peasant, hastening sadly home.
Trembling, recall some hall-lorgotten tale;
Hew In the chill of evening, elt and gnome,
Sporting, hold revel Llgh on bill and dale.
Up Turn the d«ep moht botem of the earth,
Autumn arising shakes her dewy hair,
Amt leaves the sedgy marshes of her birth
To soar aloft; a areal are wondrous fair!
Hat rale and sad; one slender hand upholds
Above her head a veil’s Iraualricent sheen,
That,falling, wraps within its siivery folds
Her limbs, whoso charm thus hidden, yet
is seen,
A>1erd light flickers faintly round her heard
And spark les on the tinted gosaamer
Of delicate wlr.gs, that to the brei »a ont
spread
Support her flight, yet scarcely seem to
stir.
Tet tears are In her eyes, ah! monrnful tears;
A shadow dims her pale brow as of pain;
Tolling of faded dopes and vanished years,
Of mirth and Joys that may not ©erne again.
Bo I have heard her from her eoooh arise,
When night Is loll of murmurs, and the
sound
Of the chill air that rustles as she flies,
And the deaa twigs that craokle on the-
ground.
And thus she float*th, brushing from tbe
bough
The russet leaves that sadly Unger there;
And wreathes them,Into chaplets ir her
brow,
Or plucks the drooping floweret* ler hrr
hair.
And while the pattering rain drops on the
grass
Fall with a oenseless monotone, the night
Unwraps her, and the stars behold her pass
Through the bleak darkness In her silent
flight.
Waiting.
He was tired of the world—Pierce
Hay ward decreed unto himself—tired
of their wiles, their sophistry, tbyir
deceptions, their vt ry attractions.
Was it because these latter bad, in one
ease, proved well nigh fatal to his
, peace of mind—that Pauline Irving’s
dark, passionate, soul-lit eyes pursued
him even here in this quiet couniry
retreat, where he had taken refuge;
that the memcry of her low v musical
voioe nestled in the rustling leaves,
or sighed with the sighing of the
night wind.
He admitted to litmseil none of this
Boning, only said that he was tired;
when in the course of his wander
ing, he discovered the pretty daughter
|the miller of the place, a t hy maiden
some eighteen summers, he turned
her as to a new study.
Bhe blushed when he spoke, and ho
fanoied her blushes charming; she
stammered when she answered him,
and he imagined that rather would he
have it thus than listen to any flow of
wit from betwixt her crimson lips.
She was as innocent as the flowers
whieh she tended in her garden, and
he knew that she coaid boast no
greater charm. Therefore the idea
eame to him that he would marry her.
He was no welf in man’s clothing.
It was no difficult task for him to read
e'er soon the love he had awakened
in his guileless heart; but to take ad
vantage of it to its own undoing, of
this thought he was as pure ns she.
Her sweet face grew very pafe when
one evening, in the shadows, he asked
•r to be,ci me his wife. A frightened,
startled look grew in her great blue
ayes.
•«I—I to be your wife ?” she repeat
ed. “Why, you are a gentleman, and
I— M Bhe left the seutenee unfinished;
the gulf between them was too deep
to bridge over with words.
“You are all that is sweet in wo
man !” he replied. I am tired of art, J
want nature. Promise me only to be
as good, and as pure,and artless as you
i to-day, aud I will promise you to
to be worthy of you. Edna, do you
ir to trust your happiness to my
ipiog ?”
^'Yon do love me, then?” she
|lilHnered, as though breathing an
ipocBibiiity.
ind be, believing that he spoke the
i, answered, “Tee.”
Then elie flung herself upon his bo
som and subbed ont her Joy ymon his
heart. He* emotion startled him, lit
Qatar* he hadl
n>.fe known she possessed { but he
quieted her with hi« kisses and as he
walked home alone, having gained
her father’s consent to a speedy wed
ding, he consoled himself with the
thought:
“I will be good to her. Bhe will not
be ex ictlng. Of couise she cannot be
my companion in thought, in in
terest : but my plaything—yes.”
The next month they weremairied
Pierce Hay ward had been too long a
cherished member of society not to
have it desire with eager curiosity to
see this bartily-woed wife. But one
woman read tbe newspaper announce
merit, in her boudoir, with a quick
pang of pain. The paper dropped from
her nerveless bands.
‘•Married!” she said to herself, over
and over—“married 1 He took me at
my word, then. Yet may God grant
him the happiness I have missed, or
rath* r, thrown away by a wretched
pTid© and a momentary recklessness I”
But among the numerous calls on
the child-wife was one drawn thither
otherwise than by curiosity.
Edna tock the card from the bufler’B
hand with no premonition, and read
tbe name which he had brought her.
“Bay to Miss Irving that 1 will see
her immediately.” Bhe said to the
man in whose august jresence she
always stood a little in awe in spite of
herself, he looked so very superior in
his livery. “Another call, Pieroe!”
she cried, stoppLng an instant in the
library where he sat, and holding the
card before his eyes. “Why, how pale
you are, dear! You are 11L Bhall I
excuse myself?”
“No, no! Go in at onoe,” he an
swered, with the first touch of impa
tience in his tone he had ever shown
h<r, and surveying her critically as he
poke, with a half dissatisfied air.
The face was young and lovely—
none could deny that; but there was
something in the general ensemblo her
artist eye missed—a something which
as she entered the drawing room and
advanced to meet b< r guest, who rose,
tall and graceful and exquisitely cos
tumed, gave to Mi-B Irving’B tones a
gentler accent, as in her heart she
whispered:
“Poor child 1 Borne day she will
need a friend. If she will let me I
will be the friend she needs ”
Of all her guests none had charmed
her as this beautiful lady. She found
her telling her of her early life, of her
courtship, and the BtraDge wonderful
thing Pierce’s love still seemed to her,
and all the while her guest kept
repeating to herself: “Poor ohild !”
“Will you not come again soon?”
she said almost wistfully, when Miss
Irving at last rose to go. “Of course 1
will return your visit first; but I
mean—I mean—”
“You mean, you would like we
would be friends. I hope that is what
you mean, for I am sure it is my
wish.”
Tbe sweet smile was more than Ed
na could bear. Impulsively Bhe lifted
her lit tie mouth for a kiss.
“Please forgive me,” she said, “but
I love you already.”
“Can he help loving her?” thought
Pauline, as she drove homeward.
Could I have believed a week—an
hour—ago that I would pray thus
fervently that all hls.he: rt might be
given to another woman.”
Pierce Hayward meant to be true to
his vows, his wife and his manhood,
bnt spite of himself, as the days wore
into weeks and the weeks into months
a bitter sense of suicidal folly over
whelmed him.
He was a cultured, cultivated man
of the world, and he had man led a
simple child, whose brain had grasped
the rudiments of a common school ed
ucation and had never gone beyond.
He saw her among his friends, and
knew they wondered that a pretty
face could thus have bewitched him,
and the knowledge of their wonder
rankled in his soul. •
He saw her side by side with the
beautiful woman he had loved—for
whom (God help him!) his love would
not die. It had only been sleeping,
and his misery warred against his
iron hand of control with which he
held it down.
He did not mean to be unkind, but
Edna detected the impatience in his
tone and the look of annoyance whieh
sometimes swept across his handsome,
expressive faoe—and her own heart
grew sad and heavy. But ohild as she
was, her loyalty kept her silent even
to her cherished frieud.
One day Pauline went to the house
but found her out.
“I will wait for her in the library,”
she said. “Tell her I am there.”
Bhe passed into the room, expecting
instead, it was
i
occupied by its master. Hs head
whs bowed upon the In> !e, his whole
attitude wue one of misery which hsd
throw n of! its nii-k.
Bhe beat a retreat, but he hfted his
faoe and saw her.
" Come in 1” he said, “ Tills Is your
work ! It is fitting you should look
upon it.”
“ My work !” she answered, aghast.
“Yes. "Whose else? A year ago to-
day I found you had deceived me.
Do you wonder that, miserable and
wretched as I was, I sought to find a
woman who had not learned the les
son of deception ? I was mad 1 I
bought a pretty toy, and thought to
while away with it the hours of medi
tation—to use It as a chir-ua to banish
memory. Instead it shows me every
hour the falsity of my reasoning, and
holds up to my tortured sight the
‘might have been.’ Why do I still
love you ? Why do I not rather ourae
you? Why do you oonie here day
after day to add fuel to the flame ?”
“ I will never come again, Pierce.
I thought, I prayed, you had long
ceased to love me; but in this last
moment I will tell you the truth. I
did not deceive you; you were mad
with jealous doubts, and I too proud
to explain to you the truth—therefore,
I sent you from me. 1 thought you
would oome back; I did not
dream—”
Her voice choked.
“ That I could be such a mad, insa
tiate fool,” he finished, taking np her
words. “Ah, Pauline, my only
j love—” he added, under bis breath.
“Hush!” she commanded imperi
ously. Be a man and true to your
manhood. Edna loves you better
than I know how to love, ptrhaps
better than any deserve. Bhe is a
simple child ; honor her for it. I will
not oome here mere. I will make to
her some excuse. But, oh, make her
happy, Pieroe. What matters it to
you and me? Our happiness is lost,
but do nob let that fact lead her’s
astray. Bee, I fall on my knees—1
plead to you—l kiss your hand. By
all that is pure in her life, do not let
her dream your chains are not flowers!
it would kill her, as the cjrjel wind
blasts with a single breath the shi ink
ing, sensitive plant. Your soul is
noble j prove it so. Be gentle, be lov
ing, be tender. By the memory of
your every hope for the futurer-by the
memory of, if that may sway you,—
of your love for me—’’
At the t i nstan t the por tit re was s wept
back. Edna stood upon the thresh
old, but an Edna transformed from
the timid, shrinking gill into a lion
ess. Her eyes fl ushed;her slight figure
was almost tall, in indignation draw
ing to its full height ; her voice rang
out clear and scornful.
“You need not fear,” she said. “I
have only heard your last sentence,
I would not play eaves dropper tP sin
gle moment—not even to more thor
oughly expose the falseness of the
woman who thus plays t r.dtor to my
husband. By the memory of his love
for you ! How dare you say that? He
never loved you ! Pierce, tell me that
you never loved her !”
She sprang to his side and twined
her bands about his arm.
“Edna,” he said, “you are doing the
bitterest wring—I—”
Another minute and he would hav^
told her all the truth, but Pauline
had by this time regained her feet,
“Hush,” she commanded him.
“Not a single word! What oould you
say that would not further wreck her
happiness^? Ncr would the storm
which devestates her drive our ships
into harbor. Good-bye Edna! Think
of me as gently as you can. We both
loved him. Let that plead my ex
ouse.”
Once her glance fell on his face.
Again it entreated him in its voice
less eloquence to leave her in her be
lief, then she turned and left them.
Without all was dark, but, thank
God ! she might yet look within.
The man’s own nnworlhiness smote
him as Edna fell weeping piteously in
his arms. He felt a coward, that he
dared not vindicate the noble woman
who had left them, but the blow
would strike with crueleet force on her
who had done no wrong. His silence
was his own bittereet punishment;
but at least he might atone.
Very gentle, very tender was he to
his child-wife. Bhe no longer shrank
at an Impatient word or missed a
something In her life. It seemed fall
to repletion—eo full that when at the
close of one more short year Otod call
ed her to lay it down, she oluda to the
sweet boon with arms olose lresstd
about her husband’s neok.
“You never loved her ?” shelpld.ln
that last hour. “Tell me, darlin”
“Bhe never tried, my love. She
taught me, rather, to love you.”
Bhe thought he meant that he thus
had Judged between them, and was
contest.
“Tell her,” she whispered, “that I
forgive her now because she loved you
even though her love was false and
wiofced. Oh, Pierce, how oould any
W'-man help loving you?”
They laid her to rest with her baby
on her breast, and they were honest
tears of love and rtpe tanee and re
morse which Pierce Hayward shed
upon that new-made grave. Then he
went abroad, and the world looked at
him, said that he had loved his wife
in very deed, and wondered yet the
more.
But after two years travel he return
ed to go straightway into Pauline Irv
ing’s presenoe. She was alone in the
room into which the servant ushered
him, and looked up with a great joy In
her beautiful eyes.
“I am oome at last, Pauline, my
love! my love I” he said, advancing
toward her with outstretched arms.
Bhe let her weary bend fall on his
heart.
“And I have been waiting,” she
answered—“waiting always! I thought
I was tired, but I never shall be tired
again.”
Their secret was their own now,and
they belonged to each other. Yes, the
secret was their own, but, In heaven,
did EdDa share it?
tried to win you from me, bi
failed?”
Pious Gems. •
If each man of a generation grow a
little, the race has a marked uplifting.
It is the growth of individuals that
secures the growth of the whole.
No man is ever ofi duty. In all
places and at all times he is to be arm
ed, watchful, ready for his work. The
Scriptures make no provision for put
ting off the armor of God.
God Cam for He.
I stood in the door at evf nllde,
My heart was loll of fears ;
And I saw the landscape before me Ue
Through mists of burning tears—
I thonght to myself the world la dark,
No light nor Joy £ fee;
Nothing hut toll and want Is mine,
And no one oares for me.
A sparrow was twittering at my feet,
With Its beautiful auburn head,
And looked at me with dark, mild eyes,
As it picked up crumbs of bread ;
And said to me In words aa plain
As the words of a bird o uld be,
‘I'm only a sparrow, a worthless bird.
But tbe dear Lord oares for me.”
A ll’y was growing beside tbe hedge,
Beantlfu), tall, aud white,
And It Bhone through the glossy leaves of
green
Like an angel olotbed In light;
And It said to me, aa it waved Us head
On tne breezes soft and free,
“I’m ODly a lily, a of ©less flower,
but the Master oares for me.”
men It seemed that tbe hand of the loving
Lord
Over my head was laid,
And He said to me, “O faithless child,
Wherefore art thou dismay edf
I clothe the lilies, I feed tne birds,
I see the sparrows fall;
Nothing escapes my watchful eye,
My kindness Is over all.”
It is they who glorify who shall en
joy him ; they who deny themselves,
who shall not be denied; they who
labor on earth, who shall rest In
heaven; they who bear the cross, who
shall wear the orown ; they who seek
to bless others, who shall be blessed
There is nothing, no nothing, inno
cent or good, that dies aud is fergot-
ten ; let us hold to that fiiith or none.
An infant, a prattling ohild, dying in
the cradle, will live agaiu in the bet
ter thoughts of those that loved it, and
play its pait through them in the re
deeming aotions of the world, though
its body be burnt to ashes, or drowned
In the deep sea, Forgotten! Oh, if
the deeds of human creatures could be
traced to their source, how beautiful
would even death appear! for how
much charity, mercy and purified af
fection would be seen to have their
growth In dusky graves!
The home atmosphere generally de
termines the character of the young
raised under its influence. Where a
worldly, selfish spirit controls the
parents, the ohlldren are quite cer aln
to partake of the same. Where a cruel,
oensorious and domineering spirit pre
vails, the young are certain to mani
fest the like. Where a jealous, fault
finding and self-righteous spirit Is pre-
domlnent with the head of the family,
the other members are quite certain to
become Imbued with it. And where
love, politeness and tender affeotion
uulformily govern the parents in their
daily life, the younger members are
quite oertaln to Imitate them.
Personal Experiences Durirg
the Exp.osion of a
Magazine.
The sun rose ruddy and peatefial
out of old ocean, and gave promise of
a quitt day in which t> bury the dead
aud care for the wounded. Some fif
teen hundred men weie still quietly
slumbering upon the parade, when
there came an earth uahe shock, and
the heavens were darkened by a dense
cloud of smoke and flying limbers, in
which the glimpse ot many human
bodies were distinguishable to those
within view. The writer, who
was a mile distant at the
instant, feeling the earth heave
beneath him, turned and saw what
laaguage is too weak fitly to describe.
For an iustant there w^ re visions of
Vesuvius aud Maunaloa In active
eruption. Minutes seemed to pass be
fore the earth ceased to tremble with
the shock, and the mky mass to de
scend from its thousand feet of eleva
tion hr tne ground. Nearly a whole
brigade had been Involved in the dis
aster to a greater r les extent. Two
hundred men had been burled In
premature graves beyond rescue, or
had been killed by the hurricane of
flying timbers and debris of the fort.
A week was occupied by the living in
excavating to unearth the dead, who
were often found fifteen and twenty
, feet below the surfice—many as If In
the ealm embrace of sleep, from which
no movement of limb or muscle had
changed the body’s position.
After the first feeling of surprise and
horror had parsed, there was a general
belief that the explosion had been pre
meditated by the enemy, and the mag
azine fir ad by an electrio spark from a
ooDoealed battery on this or the oppo
site side of the river. The fact that
such electric batteries were in ase at a
fort on the river above, for exploding
tcfpedos in channel way, gave g.ound
for this suspicion, which with many Is
cherished to this day. Calmer and
more charitable views, however, came^
to travail, and by general consent ti
crowning disaster was referred to
careless intrusion of a curious Iris
man, with that everlasting pipe,
was his last smoke.
The Pilgrim and the Puritan^
Apropos of the Egyptian trouble,
wish to relate a little story, the circui!
stances of which occurred during
trip to the Holy Land several y<
or more ago. He was a devout Cl
tian and had made the study of j
Bible and a proper understanding
the Big Book the highest aim of
When he arrived at the Bea of Gallic
his heart was filled with awe, and
felt enervated and cleansed by
thought that he was Lazing on
very same spot where his Saviour onci
stood. Approaching the boatman,j
addressed him m his choicest Arabl
and, with Bible and commentary
hand, awdted an answer, ‘^b ! whatl
amatter ’th yer? "Whydoiftyer tall
the United States?” asked the mai
contemptuously. He was a real live^
Yankee, who was picking up a living
by ferrying tourists across the t
“Bo this is the Bea of Galilee,”
youtly murmured the searcher aft*
knowledge. “Y-aa-s.” “And this
where our Saviour walk upon the
waters?” “Ya-a-s.” “How much
will you charge to take me to the
exact spot?” “Waal, you look like a
clergyman, an’ I won’t charge you
nothin’.” #The devout one boarded
the boat, and at last was pointed out
where the miracle Is said to have oc
curred. After gazing at the waters
and dividing his time between glanoes
at his books and devout ejaculations
of satisfaction, the searcher signified'
his willingness to return. “Charge
you $20 to lake you back,” said the
speculative Yankee. “But you said
you would oharge nothing.” “Naw
didn't. Nothin’ to bring you out;
twenty to get baok.” “And do you
oharge everybody $20 to take them
back?” asked the astonished searcher.
“Ya-a-s ; that’s about the flgger.”
A new variety of clover, oalled
Japan clover, is highly spoken of In
Mississippi. If it prove a real olover
and successful in the Bouth It will be
a great boon to Bouthern farmers, who
sadly need a renovating crop such as
Northern farmers find in ordinary
olover.
Wm. Ramsey, of Gainesville, N. Y.,
has this year sold 421 bushelia of pota-
otesatan average price of eighty cento,
all the product of two acres < f laud.
The ground was a olover sod plowed
after the olover had muds some growtl
and well manured besides.