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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.