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THE HERMIT KNIGHT.
In'a shaggy forest 1 know a glen
Where the were-wolf made his lair;
’Twas haunted of owls, but ’twas shunned of
men,
For a demon dwelleth there.
When the night was dismal, and wild, and
wet.
And yells were on the gale,
1 rode my black steed to the glen, and nv
That demon weirdly pale.
1 sprang from my charger where he stootl,
And X hailed the specter dire:
The ground was rank with the smell of
blood,
And hot with a .smouldering fire.
I called him by his loathly name,
Unmeet fora human ear.
And I saw his face, by a sudden flame.
Lurid with hate and fear.
I plucked the fiend by his long right hand,
As he sate on a corse, new slain.
My voice was strong with a firm command:
“I have sought thee once again.
Show me to-night, show ms to-night,
What thou may’st not keep from me’’
His coward eye was hellish bright
' _With a glare not good to see.
My shivermg steed ... he pawed the moss,
His gasps began to fait:
By a murdered corse, and a dying horse,
I heard that goblin’s tale;
But never a spirit that skims the sea,
Or a phantom of the air,
Must guess what the foul fiend whispered me,
Or dream what lie showed me there.
1 had power, I had power in that grewsome
hour, i
And I read his spirit through: j
_ I made , ,. him . :
cringe and I r bade him cower,
For my heart was brave and true.
I chained him there with a new-forged chain,
By the side of the murdered wight,
And llerthim howling a wilder strain.
Than the howling of the night.
I had worn the stones witn my knees
prayer
To conquer a grace the more;
And to weave a spell for a fiendish heart—
A spell for a fiendish will—
To baffle the spite of a demou’s art
I dwelt on the doleful hill.
He may harm no hapless passer-by;
He may spread nor ban nor bale;
1 had strength and mast’ry from One on
high,
And my courage did not fail.
1 won my will, for my soul was pure,
And the secret that I know
Hath given me power great ills to cure
As I journey to and fro.
•Go not that wav. It is haunted stilU
The wolf hath left his lair;
The owls have flown to my barren till;
No living thing Zr is there.
.A murdered corse by a ki blackened i . stone, .
Neath an old tree, gnarled and gray,
And a frenzied demon, alone, alone,
Till the earth shall pass away.
Danske Dandridge, in Cosmopolitan,
Groom or Bridegroom ?
BY wir.t. K. 1-OXD.
“By Jove, I’ll do it! there is no
other way of wooing her; so to the
winds with common sense aud propriety,
Kccommend nte for the post at once,
dear Jack, and put me down your debtor
for life.”
The speaker was Tom Bainforth, a
hair-brained young journalist, and the
person addressed was Jack Fortcscue,
Esq., landed proprietor and gentleman at
large. Tom and he had been diuing
the Savage Club, and, refiling to the
smoke room, had Leon elaborating a lit
tie plot, hatched by the ferti'e brain of
the brilliant young journalist. The
facts of the case at issue were these :
At the hunt ball recently held in the
quaint old Lincolnshire village of Heves
by, Tom Rainforth had the misfortune
(or good opinion) fortune, according to the road
■cr’s to meet and fall desperately
in love with Edith, the pretty daughter
-of eccentric Squire Everingham, who, being an
gentleman, deemed every young
closed man a fortune hunter, and systematically
his doors in the face of the nu
merous admirers attracted by bis daugh
ter’s pretty face, and her ample dot.
Tom had fared no better than the
others, but on con tiding his sorrows to
his friend and guest they had between
them matured a scheme of romance and
impudence unparalleled in these prosaic
Nineteenth century days.
Squire Everingham was the right hand
man and general estate manager to Lord
Braintree, an office his family had held
for several generations; he was, besides,
a landowner of no small extent, and a
magistrate; hence his popular title of
“Squire.” He resided some few miles
away on the Lincolnshire coast, in a
moderately sized village, which consisted
of a single long, straggling street, a
church, a chapel, and some venerable
relics of the Saxon and early Norman
crus. The Squire occupied the great
white house at the corner of this road,
patronized the entire village, and was,of
com . sej ) 00 p e d up to with unquestioning He, how
reverence by the inhabitants. socially,
ever, never mixed with them
and ns his [nearest neighbor, whom he
honored by admit!ing to a questionable
equality, and li ved some miles lived away, the
Squire his daughter a some
what secluded life, broken only at rare
intervals by visits from lady friends to
I her, and by his journeys to the market
! town or magisterial bench.
! Popular as the Squire was in the vil
j ] a g e) } ie had one blot on his escutcheon
i in the eyes of the hunt (to which he sub
j scribed liberally), and in those of the
| few county families in the neighborhood.
j and that was, lie had become accustomed
J (since wisely, the but loss too of his well,” wife and, i to drink, as may “not be
^ for habit he incurrc tolerated 4 serious in these censure da
j a not {he vs.
, Jn othcr re ects the Sc , uire was stiU
man as of yore; his
kitchen door was ever open to the hun
grv. The only other change was in his
appearance; the tall lithe figure became
slightly bowed, the hair tinged with
his riding in the field became
reckless and irregular, and (greatest
crime of all in a hunting country) he
commenced to “crane” at his fences and
knock his horses about for faults due to
himself. He also grew quarrelsome, and
new-comers not feel in" the same amount
of res or being^imdci the same several ob
ligation as the old inhabitants,
brawls had taken place, and in one or
two the Squire was severely handled.
1
tented with the slow rate and of S|>eed invested obtain- in
able f rom j dg Dorses,
several fast trotters, and went whirling
from place to place, to the danger of
cverv one he met. This was endurable
in his sober moments, but when, after a
court meeting at the neighboring the “ribbons” town,
he insisted upon taking
himself, thrashing the horse into a
gallop, going over or through ioking every
thing in his wav, it became no "
matter-
On one occasion, and at
night, he drove over a stone heap broad
spilled himself and groom into a
and deep drain that ran bv the roadside;
on another he collided with his own
r° st > smashing the cart to matchwood
and breaking his groom’s ribs, being
himself dragged into the yam in cob.
sequence of haying become entangled in
the reins, whilst the horse was kicking
and lunging in all directions.
Grooms soon grew scarce; finally, no
onc coldd p e found to take the place;
then, for some time the Squire drove
himself, and after having been several
times fined for furious driving by his
brother magistrates, they determined to
put a stop to the growing scandal by dc
daring to him their intention of sending
him to prison for a month if he appeared desired
before them again. This had the
effect, and sen him seeking for a steady,
capable Such groom. the state of affairs at the
was
time of the hunt ball; and the intention
0 f Tom Bainforth, as declared at the
opening of our story, was to offer him
self for the post, drive the Squire, keep
him, if possible, sober, and, most im
portnnt of all, do his best to win the
of the fair Edith, who was already
more than towards him.
After some preliminary contracted, correspondence Tom
an tered engagement into his duties, was and became the cn
Squire’s shadow. If any one took offense
at the Squire's unseasonable remarks he
was always on hand to smooth matters
down, and for a time all went well,
Gossips noticed, however, that Miss
Edith took a greater amount of horse
exercise than usual, and that the new
groom ww invariably in attendance,
whilst it was said that her latest “fail”
was always to see her horse cleaned every
morning. Truth tell, recognized Tom the
to sne
very first morning, and threatened to de
nouncc him to her father: b it Tom over
came her scruples, and of their mutual
misunderstandings, love-makings, and
its attendant pleasures and pains, lam
no envious chronicler; suffice to say she
was pleased to keep his secret, but
woman-like, delayed her had happiness, undergone and,
notwithstanding all he to
win her, declared capriciously she would
never accept him unless he accompanied
her as groom to the opening meet of the
season.
Poor Tom! he had not counted upon
a girl’s mischievous fancy, and sorely
against his will he bowed to the in¬
evitable.
Downward steps are not easily retraced;
so the conduct of the Squire proved;
for after a brief period of good behavior
he gradually grew worse and worse, un¬
til he was nearly, if not qnite, as bad as
ever. Do all that he could, Tom could
not ing keep him the sober. Once after attend¬
one of meetings, he drank rather
more heavily than usual, and insisted
upon did driving himself home, which he
short at of a gallop, escaping injury by little
a miracle. This resulted, how¬
ever, in abrief illness, which gave Tom a
chance to think the matter over, and
evolve a scheme to put an end to these
midnight dangers.
He had a brown-tanned leather rug
made for the horse, which extended from
the saddle to the tail, where it was fast¬
ened to the crupper and loosely girthed
underneath; being nearly the color of
the horse, a casual observer at night
would not notice it. He then took the
horse out every night to exercise, instead
of in the morning, and by the time the
Squire recovered Tom was ready for
him.
During these weeks Jack Fortescuo
made one or two surreptitious calls, and
in his quiet way had much fun with
Tom; but he only received his rallies
w ith a grim smile, saying: “Let those
laugh hands who win, if have and the game is in my
own shall dance I wedding but patience. in the third You
at my
week of October. ”
“And see you as groom to the Lady
Edith at the opening meet—eh, old
man!” responded the imperturbable Jack.
"We!!, yes, I suppose sol But you
wilIget ise noiaughatmyexper.se, i prom
you. tins
From time, strange to say, no
further accidents occurred when the
Squire rode home; the horse went qui¬
etly along, taking r.o notice of his furi¬
ous jerking of the reins, or vigorous
thrashing, beyond a slight jump head to left
or right as When the whip the Squire struck railed its it for or
neck. at
not galloping, Tom declared that it. was
galloping at full speed, and that he
could scarcely hold on, and the Squire,
in doubt, his word.
Meanwhile, the horse grew more and
more steady, as though it had and taken its.
master's character in hand, was in
league with Tom to save the old genile
man from further disasters,
The opening meet drew nigh, and what Tom
was daily teased by his off. fiancee as to
he would give to be let
Tom laughed, and said: promise
“Nothing! You keep your October, to
marry me the third week in
and I will ride to the meet as your
groom.” Edith looked wi-t fully him, half
at re
gretting her bargain, but too high
spirited imposing to let him it. off his penance after
onee
At last the day arrived, and at 10 k. with m.
Tom, duly attired broad in a green coat
brass buttons, a leathern strap
round his waist, cords and boots, and hat
with a cockade, was to be seer, holding
two horses at the front door. The Squire
had an attack of gout and could not go.
Daintily attired in a dark blue riding
habit, Edith was lilted to the saddle,
and, with Tom riding decorously in the
rear, passed out of the gate. Once,
however, in the green lanes, he ranged
alongside, but Edith was in a dejected
mood and scarcely spoke.
At last she said :
“Tom, dear’, it’s no use, 1 can’t do it.
Go back and put oil your own
will not make a public enough show of you; you
have undergone for me.’’ bar
“Nay; nay!” laughed Ton:. “A
gain is a bargain; you might want to cry
torfeit to vonr own stake; and deir.”
lowering hi's^oice, “I cannot let you do
that now ”
“\'o no' indeed, 1 will not! I will
keep my word! But if you will not.
ride bark and change that hateful suit I
will turn back myself and forego the
'
mect n
"Is that so':’ said Tom; “then here
goes!” and taking off his hat he drew
out a velvet cap, and unbuckling his
belt and throwing off the green coat, he
sat revealed in the Melton Hunt colors,
Tossing the coat and strap after the hat,
he lifted her hand, and kissing it ?” said:
“And do I still ride as your groom
“Yes,” said she, with a marry " laugh;
as my bridegroom.” speculation rife to
At the meet was as
who Tom was, and leaked owing to The
Fortescuo the secret out.
Squire drive only him, stipulated that his Tom should
still and gave consent.
At the wedding breakfast Tom was
asked the secret of his success with the
Squire’s “Well, horse. trained He laughed stand and said: whip
I him to the
on that leather rug he always wore at
night: and 1 had two pairs of reins, one
running round from the bit along tbe shafts
to the back of the cart where I sat;
and the other pair, which the Squire
used, were buckled to the. collar. ”
Of course a tremendous laugh was the
result of this disclosure, and although
against and himself, the Squire joined health, in it,
asked: proposing his son-in-law’s days of
“Who shall say the
chivalry are past?”
Tom and his wife still live happily to¬
gether, but the Squire was shortly after
the marriage gathered to his fathers, hav¬
ing been killed in the hunting field, and
a brass tablet records his manifold virtues
in the villagechurch— Journalist.
The Poor Irish Crofters.
Besides fishing up herring and hake the
poor people at the head of Bantrp Bay
fish np sand, “.‘■'and raising,” as it is
called, is as important an industry as
catching fish. This kind of sand, known
sometimes as “coral sand.” is used for
farm manure and < osts from eight to nine
shillings a boat load—a poor price con¬
sidering the toilsome character of the
work'and cost of sand the boats required when to
carry it on. A boat costs .£31
new and $2 a year in repair. do The in utmost day
a boat owner or partner can a
is to bring to shore two boat loads. The
proceeds have to be divided among a
number of workers, while the working
season lasts for a portion of the year
only. In spite of all their lifelong labor
from morning and to night, and in winter and
summer, in calm in storm, these
crofter fishermen are in a.state of chronic
poverty. They do not live by th ir
scrappy patches of holdings. They earn
with difficulty sleeping from the sea and barely
enough to buy room a foot¬
hold on the laud.
They even do more than that, they
partly create, with the help of the sea,
the very soil for which they pay rent.
The calcareous deposit whic h they call
“coral sand” they have used to reclaim
these shores of rock and bog. They
have used the seaweed for the same pur¬
pose, cutting it up from the deep water
with a primitive machine which may he
described as a matinc scythe; and the
seaweed has to be paid for, if not as a
separate item, then as included in the
holding, ( oral sand, seaweed, tbe leads refuse
of house and pigsty, and basket of
soil found among the bowlders, these are
the ingredients out of wlich, after years
of work, the crofter fishermen have pro¬
duced the green patches which dot in¬
numerably the rocky shores and the gray
brown.sides of the sterile but incompara¬
bly picturesque mountains that surround
Glcngraiff tiic beautiful. And tbe dwell¬
ings of tbe hard working people I They
are more fit for the pigs that go grunting than
an d snouting in and out of them
j they '<; arc for beings \ry'stone created in the image
p{ od _ \ t box with earthen
. q oov and without windows, two or three
, rccesscs stuffed with straw for beds, and
t ij C w ). 0 i,, uiUcei with peat reek, such
; jg the 0 rdinarv type of house where a
fisherman and'his wife lire with half a
dozcn or morc children. In one such
1)0Ugc w hicli I visited there were seven
children.— fjondrn Netc*.
Concerning Temperature,
ihere is a popular , notion, .. chiefly , .
among unobservant people, that our
winters arc becoming colder and our
summers hotter. As a matter of fact,
flie average winter temperature has not
g one below its mean say fifty degrees
l )l, t eight tunes in forty-.oui \cais. i ht?
same general statement may be made m
regard to summer temperature during
0 lfi SJlule time, the average mean of each
year varying through a very narrow range
during the period mankind above mentioned, regard it
is the habit of to cverv
thing as phenomenal that coldest appeals weather strong
ly t > the senses. i he
within the memory of tin, eldest inhabit
ant” is a saying that is older than the
oldest inhabitant, if it were a truthful
saying, the gradual which cooling alarmists of the betieve terres
trial globe, freeze humanity some in the
will out course
of ages, is going on at a great rate.—
Newark Atlctr i>e •.
A census has been begun of the French
carrier pigeons. They are regarded now
as of such importance in the event of
war that all owners are obliged to report
their pigeons under a penalty of a
maximum fine of $2,000 francs.