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ON HEIGHTS.
Who dwells upon the heights exists alone
Uafound of Love that seeks a genial air,
Sot such as permeates cold spaces where
The snow possesses mountains for a throne
And glaciers bind them with a frozen zone.
Love joys to see each cascade’s silvery hair
Wave flowing tresses o’er a rocky stair.
Not changed by gorgon-Winds to rigid stone.
Be not on some lone pinnacle your goal;
For though the icy silence is sublime,
Coeval with the ancient gray-haired Time,
It (thills the wanner feelings of the soul
And eyes, that only o’er such prospects roll,
See not the graces of a softer clime.
—Mary L. Goodrich, in Current.
Our Next Door Neighbor.
T1V ADELAIDE D. ROLLSTON.
cried. “I declare, Bess, seating it’s just too provokum’”
herself by the win
dow, and fanning herself vigorously with
her straw-liat.
“What’s the matter now?” I asked,
looking up from my easel.
“I infer from your tone that there is
always something the matter, ” she said,
pettishly, and with something like a
tear in her eye.
“I believe there is, dear; at least, there
seems little daubs to be lately,” of I remarked, making
spoke. paint on my palette as I
“Bess, don’t you think I’ve
made my sky a trifle too blue!” I asked,
changing beginning the subject dread abruptly, for 1 was
to these sudden out
> bursts of temper from my usually good
natured sister.
“Oh, it’s ail very well for you to treat
my burst troubles lightly!” cried Bess, ready
to into tears. “You didn’t make
the flower teds, and you don’t mind if
they are spoiled! You don’t waste your
time and breath these warm mornings
chasing chickens out of the yard !”J
“So it’s the chickens this time!” I said,
laughing. and the day “Yesterday before it was the geese,
the pigs, I wonder
what it will be to-morrow?”
“I wish you’d be sensible, Fan,” and
Bess came over and took the brush and
palette out of my hand. “There!” and
she threw them on the table, “I’ve a
good mind to spoil your picture for treat¬
ing mo as if I were a little child.”
“I’m sure I am as sorry as you are
about the flower-beds, hut wliat are we
to do?” 1 asked. “We are careful to
keep the gates fastened, and we’ve
somehow stopped all the cracks in the fence; but
the pigs, chickens and geese
manage to get in. I sometimes think
they’re bewitched. One thing is certain:
we can’t spend our whole time driving
them out, or in fretting about them.”
“My mignonette was coming up so
nicely!” said Bess, with a sigh. “And
I to-day. was thinking wish I’d set out my geraniums
I you could see them,
Fan! I found them lying by the porch,
as brown and wilted as weeds in autumn.
People with chickens who live in town have no business
and such things. If they
want to raise poultry, let them move to
the country. Why drfh’t those chickens
scratch around in Mrs. Brown's garden,
I wonder? I look at her flowers and
vegetables, growing so nicely, and then at
mine, Scattered to the four winds: and I
think she is the most disagreeable old
woman in the world. She saw me throw
a stone at her old rooster this morning,
and called out over the fence that I'd
better let her property alone.”
“I hope you said nothing saucy to her
—you reprovingly. are so hasty, Bess!” I said,
“I tod her to keep her chickens out
of my yard, if she didn’t wan’t them
killed,” said Bess, looking defiantly out
of the window'.
“O Bess, you’lmal ke matters worse,
if you go on at that rate! ” I cried, as I
thought sharper of our neighbor’s sharp face and
kill tongue. “If you should happen
to one of her chickens, likelv as not
She’d have you arrested. She's 'just the
sort of woman to do it.”
“I know something about the law!
replied Bess, shaking her head angrily.
“No one has a right to keep anything that
is a source of annoyance to "liis or her
neighbor, scratching if those chickens persist in
up my flower-beds, and if
Mrs. Brown makes no effort to keep them
at home, I shall certainly kill them.”
“ You shall do nothing of the kind! ”
I said, as I gathered up my brushes and
put my easel away.
“Fan, I haven’t old you half,” said
Bess. “ You know how anxious I am to
learn to be a good housekeeper, and an
"economical one. I’m sure S ally is a
good it Cook, and is very saving. I might
■put a little stronger, and say that she's
a stingy cook, for she often makes us go
without a dessert when we might as well
have one every day. But in spite of
pinching than and they saving, our expenses are
greater Well, were a month ago.”
“ you can’t blame our neighbor
for that, can you?” I asked, wondering
what possible connection Mrs. Brown anil
the pigs and geese and chickens could
have with our household expenses.
“ Your it is, ignorance orinnocence, which¬ said
ever is certainly sublime,”
Bess, with a lofty smile. “Don’t you
know that Mrs. Brown is continually
borrowing, and never paying back?”
“Why, no; I had no idea she had
ever borrowed anything!” I said, in great
surprise.
“Because you’re blind to everybody
and everything except your music class
and your painting,” said Bess, in an in¬
jured tone. “Why, she’s borrowed sugar
and coffee and flour and lard and the mop
and a flat iron—oh, I can’t begin to-tell
you what she has borrowed, ond I’m get
ting tired of it! We can’t keep up two
families, that’s certain.”
“Can’t you find a way to refuse with
0llt offending her?” I asked, a little
vaguely.
I had had no experience at housekeep
. ^.nd since coming to the cottage I
n W’
had though “epenued entirely upon than Bess, myself, who,
two years younger
was of a move practical turn of mind,
•‘ ind had gMly taken upon her young
shoulders the whole responsibility of do
i»’. Stic affairs,
‘ ‘I did refuse once or twice, but she
keeps on sending,” said Bess, with a
sigh. “And she gets what she wants at
last, for I let licr have it just to get rid
of her. Yesterday it was a quart of flour,
and the day before it,’was a little butter;
and when I politely informed her that
she already owed me a pound of butter,
she said she’d be certain to send back
but everything she hasn’t, she and owed me this morning;
we can’t go on at this
rate much longer, She won’t take a
hint, and if I flatly refuse to lend her
anything more, she'll be sure to do all
she can to annoy us.”
“ And we were just beginning to get
along so nicely!” I said, looking around
at the cozy room, “It will never do to
complain to Uncle Robert,” I went on,
“for you know he said if we were de¬
termined to work for a living, that we
should have this cottage free. We can’t
pay house rent, and live in any degree of
comfort; and if we find fauit with the
place, uncle will think we regret coming
here, and will insist on our going back
to him.”
“I’m sure I haven’t the least idea of
giving don’t up the house,” said Bess. “But
I see how we are going to live
peaceably with such a neighbor. Think
what good neighbors we had ar uncle's!
There were the Greys on one side—such
nice, friendly girls—and the Lernans—
such quiet people—on the other. Well,
I shall work my flower-beds over, sow
the rest of my seed, and if they are
scratched up again, I shall retaliate by
purchasing a dozen fowls and letting
them run in Mrs. Brown's garden.”
“ Bnt will that be showing the proper
spirit ?” I asked. “ You know the Bible
says ”—
“Don't preach, if you please, Fan,”
and Bess stopped up her ears, and began
humming that, I a lively it tune. When Bess did
knew was useless to argue the
matter dropped. further, so the subject was
It was renewed, however, the next
day, when Bess found her fldwet-beds
up rooted by the pigs, and the geese
making old havoc of her potted plants, one
fondness gander seeming to have a special
for some lily-buds that were
almost ready to open.
“I shall not try any more, ” said Bess,
when she had stormed and wept by turns
for half an hour, “i’ll le': the flower¬
beds go and turn my attention to con¬
cocting-all sorts of detestable puddings
and pies for your give benefit, Fan. They’ll
be certain to you dyspepsia, and
then you’ll wish you’d helped me to
raise, flowers.”
Now 1 loved flowers as much as Boss
did, but I was not willing to work in
the face of so many difficulties, and told
her so.
When summer came, and all around
us were pretty green lawns, vine-covered
porches hues and the flower-beds that gave out
the of rainbow, our little plat
of ground was desolate, save for the
pigs and their chickens and geese that roamed
there at own sweet will.
Even the grass refused to grow, except
in little patches,interspersed with weeds,
and the two cedar-trees that stood by the
porch ashamed took on a dismal air, as if they
were to be seen growing there.
Bess kept her word, and turned her
attention to pie making, How she
managed to endure the atmosphere of the
close kitchen was a mystery "to me; but
she resented my-efforts to keep her in the
sitting-room, and treated Sally’s ex¬
postulations with quiet distain. 1 think
she was really she in earnest about learning
to cook, for worked hard enough;
but her success was far less than her
merit.
“Bess, you must waste a lot of eggs,”
I remarked one day severely, though I
couldn’t help laughing at the funny¬
looking object before" me which Bess
said was an egg custard.
“Oh, eggs are cheap!” said Bess,gayly,
though her face flushed a little as she
spoke. believe
“I really you make these pies
and puddings for the benefit of the
chickens,” said I, teasingly; have “they.usu¬
ally eat them after we looked at
them!"
“You can make all the fun you want
to, but I shall learn to be a famous cook
yet,” said Bess.
But before the summer was half gone
Bess paid dearly for those days in the
close little kitchen. A slow fever at¬
tacked her, not at all alarming at first,
but fever gradually of developing and into typhoid
a severe type, I was com¬
pelled might be to give up my music c lass that I
constantly at her b jdside.
Fortunately I liad a small sum of money
laid by, enough for our present need at
least, so I was not obliged to apply to
Uncle Robert for assistance. In fact, I
determined not to write to him at all,
unless Bess desired, I knew his family
was at the seaside, and that he was ab¬
sorbed in important business matters, so
that if he ran down to see us it would
inconvenience him much.
The days that followed were trying
ones, and to make matters worse most of
our friends had left town for the summer,
and I had to depend almost entirely upon
assist Sally, who, though obliged ready and willing to
me, was to lie in the kitch¬
en a greater part of the time.
I saw the necessity of getting an ex¬
perienced nurse at once, and concluded
to write to Uncle Robert and ask him to
procure me one, if possible, m Bridge
water.
Bess had been delirious for three days,
and I was almost beside myself with fear
and anxiety. I sat down, hurriedly
wrote my letter and was just about to
seal it, when I became conscious of the
fact that some one had just entered the
room.
neighbor, Looking standing up I saw Mrs. Brown, our
ing down by the bed, and gaz¬
at Bess who had fallen into a
fitful, troubled sleep.
‘“I’ve been a-wantin’ to come ever
since your sister was took down,” she
said, in a low tone, “but I was kinder
’fraid you wouldn’t want me. We haint
been very neighborly, it’s true; but if
there is anything I can do, I'll be glad
to do it. I’m a right smart hand at
nursin’ sick folks, especially in fevers
like this.”
I was quite at a loss what to say. I
for thought of Bess and her strong dislike
the woman, and wondered if her
presence in the sick loom might not
make matters worse. Bess was so impul¬
sive and frank spoken that if she dis¬
liked any one she took no pains to con¬
ceal it, and it was very probable that
she would resent Mrs. Brown’s coming.
“Iam sure you are very kind, and I
thank you ever so much, Mrs. Brown,”
I faltered, at last. Then seeing her
face sively brighten shall at once, I added, impul¬
: “I be glad to have you help
me nurse my sister, if you will.”
Whether Bess was conscious of who
watched beside her from that day on or
not, I could not tell, but it is certain
that Mrs. Brown’had a wonderful influ¬
ence over her, and could qui'et her when
no one else could, and that Bess clung to
her with a childish fondness that
very touching. At times, however, it
gave from me a pang of jealousy to have her
t urn me to the arms of the withered
old woman.
It was wonderful how fast the dear
change child improved. the In fact, I dated the
for better almost from the
very day that Mrs. Brown canto to us.
She seemed to know just what to do,
and when, and how to do it, and moved
about the sick room so noiselessly that I
often found myself wondering that I had
ever though her declared, loud-voiced and fussy.
The doctor with mock indig¬
nation, that if we persisted in keeping
Mrs. Brown we would have no further
need of his services.
“I reckon you're jnst havin’ a little fun
at my and expense,” said Mrs. Brown, laugh¬
ing shaking her head, “for I don’t
set myself up for a doctor,by no means.”
When Bess was able to sit up a little
she was in such a weak state, both
physically and mentally, that the least
opposition her irritable to and her wishes would make
cross, and I was often
puzzled to know what to do.
Often when ihy patience was taxed tct.
the utmost I would run over to Mrs.
Brown's who, when she saw me coming,
would drop her knitling and say:
‘•■Little Bess wants me, I know! You
haven’t learned how to manage her yet.
You must humor her odd notions, and
by-and-by, when she’s strong again,
she’ll forget all about ’em and be her old
self again.”
It was several weeks after Bess grew
strong and well before either of us al¬
luded to the dislike we had formerly felt
for Mrs. Brown. I think we were both
silent for very shame.
Then one evening, as we sat in our
accustomed places by the window, I
busy with my sewing, Bess trying to
figure up how much it would cost to keep
a cow, she turned to me and said: “Fan,
I want to tell yon something. I've bad
it on my mind for a long time, and I
can’t keep it and any longer!” down
“Well:” I laid my sewing
and prepared to listen.
“I expect you’ll laugh,but, indeed, it’s
no laughing matter,” said Bess. pies “Do and
you remember these terrible
puddings?”
“Can I ever forget them?” I cried,
“You don’t mean to tell me that you in¬
tend to go to making pies and puddings
again?” “No, that
I only want to tell you every
egg wasted in those detestable desserts
belonged to M.rs Brown I” said Bess,
lowering red. her voice and growing very
“Oh, Bess!” and I could get no
further.
“It’s the truth and I do feel so mean
about it!” said Bess, “When I gave up
the hope of having flowers, andjfound
that I couldn’t keep the chickens out, I
made some nests in the o’d shed hack of
the, coal house and the liens laid there
every dav. Even Sully didn’t know
where the eggs came from, though find I trem¬
bled every day lest she should out.
“You see, Mrs, Brown had sent R,ek.
said everything that She wouldn’t had borrowed, have troubled and had
she me
at all only she had been rathet pinched
for money, and I felt that I had been a
little too hard with her, but I wasn’t
willing to be friendly e'gg3 just then, and so
went on taking the just out of
spite, them in for the I didn't want them or need
least. And now I am so
sorry and so ashamed of what I did!
When I got well enough to know vyho
j was helping to nurse me, I thought
1 every day I’d tell her about it, but her
very kindness made me afraid.”
“I don’t wonder that your pies and
puddings smothering didn’t turn out well!” I said,
a strong desire to laugh
when I saw how troubled Bess was.
“I think it was because I used a goosc
egg now and then, and they are always
so strong,” said Bess, solemnly. “Fail.
I knew you would laugh at last!” she
added reproachfully.
“I can’t help it, and I think Mrs.
Brown would laugh too, if she knew it,”
I said. “Suppose you tell her-and see if
she don't,” I added.
Bess was silent ; and to this day I am
not sure that she acted upon my sugges¬
tion, but I am inclined to think that she
did.
This much I do know—that the most
valued friend and neighbor we have is
Mrs. Brown; that she lias taught Bess to
the make pigs excellent and chickens pies and and puddings; that
gee e have
all been sold “because] they wa’n’t lit ten
to raise in town,” Mrs. Brown said.
Finally when we goto the seaside next
summer, Mrs. Brown will go with us.
For, as Bess says, we shall need a kind,
though motherly sou! fashionable to look after us, and
our friends laugh and
shaketheir heads when we speak of our
plans, it does not alter oar determinate
in the least. — 1 ■• a? ■'.< Conijmni.-n.
The Great Salt Lake.
In spring, when the mountain snows
are melting, the lake that sometimes spreads
over the plains border its shores.
But it is a large lake at any time ; about
ninety miles in length. I believe, and
forty miles wide. An immense sheet of
water! And no living thing can exist
in it. Not a fish in all that silent sea!
It is the heaviest sort of brime, charged
with salt and other mineral substances.
Leave a stick in it a few hours, and when
you take it out it will appear covered
with crystals. Put a live trout in it,
and it will turn over on its back and die
in about three or four gasps. It is a
wonderful lake.— 8K Nicholas.
