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PLOWING OUT THE CORN.
* Wi6 dew Is dried from off the freshened
leaves;
The birds have finished all their morning
song,
And, busy with their callow nestlings’ needs,
With tireless wings flit through the bright
hours long.
3 he cattle in the fields have ceased to graze,
And stand, knee deep, amid the cooling
stream,
Chewing their cuds with drowsy, half-shut
eyes,
Whisking at flies that in the sunlight
gleam,
While patiently and slow, this blithe June
morn,
Along the furrowed rows John plows the
corn.
The sheep have left the hill-side’s sultry slope,
And, peaceful lying ’neath the elm tree’s
shade.
Seem dreaming of a fairer landscape where
“Green pastures” and the “still waters”
glide.
The daisies lightly nod their snowy heads,
Field lilies scarcely ring their scarlet bells,
The tide ot ripening grain, with shimmering
light,
Like that of the great ocean heaves and
swells.
With secret thought, half fear, half hope
new-born,
Along the furrowed rows John plows the
corn.
Wild heavy-laden sweets the toilsome bee
Low-flying homeward seeks his weary way,
Humming his air of satisfaction o’er
Of rich stores gathered for a wintry day.
The gay-winged butterflies that all the morn
Have been coquetting with the flowers fair,
Intoxicated with the nectars sipped,
Fly zigzag through the quivering, heated
air.
While many a bright-hued insect sounds his
horn,
Along the furrowed rows John plows the
corn.
The fragrance of the field and Woodland
blooms
Blend with the odors of the fresh-turned
loam;
The weird-like whispers of the rustling
leaves
Speak to his heart of happier days to come;
But dreams of mortals, though however fair,
Sometimes have wakings even far more
bright;
For, lo! sweet Polly Blynn comes down the
lane,
Dawning like Eden’s vision on his sightl
“Whoa; Billy, slower! (Ne’er was lovelier
lass!)
I must not end this furrow ere she pass!”
Sly glances toward the lane John furtive
casts,
And tries to frame some well-set speech to¬
gether.
The while bewildering words all coursing
toward
Prosaic comments on the “crops” and
“weather.”
Does see him?, Yes—if the love-lit glow
‘On her fair face the secret may betray!
No-if we watch her gaze that looks afar,
Over the fields beyond, another way!
Whoa, Billy! Whoa!” And patient horse
and plow
Stand idly in the half-turned furrow now.
Is there an artist who can paint a scene
Equal to that of Love’^urst rosy dawn?
Lives there the poet who can tell the bliss,
The rapture of two spirits wholly one?
The birds and butterflies-they saw just this..
A bashful youth and winsome, blushing
But maid
never told what John so awkward
phrased.
Nor, in reply, what pretty Polly said;
But honest Billy wondered why, forlorn,
He waited long amid the half-plowed corn.
Mrs. A. Murk, in the Housewife,
AN ADOPTED CHILD.
BY KATE A, BRADLEY,
She’s such a little thing, Simpson—
and so thin and sera wney!”
“She’ll grow, mem.”
“And her eyes are so big and—child,
don’t stare at me like that! She is very
dirty, Simpson.”
“She’ll wash, mem."
“Well, take her away and 'do the best
you can with her. I'm afraid she won’t
turn out to be as pretty as I thought she
would when I looked at her in the
Home. One can never tell about that
kind of children. ”
Mrs. Lee turned away with a sigh as
-the housekeeper left the room.
“I don’t know but I shall be sorry I
took her," she thought. “If my own
little Elsie had only been spared to me
what a beautiful, good little child she
would have been by this time!"
Two long years of sorrow had passed
since that cruel day when the new nurse¬
maid burst into the room where sat the
startled mother, crying; “She’s gone!
I’ve lost her!” and ending with a bur3t
of hysterical tears. Oh, what hours ol
vain and agonized search followed ! The
little baby daughter, left alone in her
carriage maid l or a moment while the careless
entered a store to ask the price of
some coveted article, had disappeared,
nor could one clue to her whereabouts
be discovered from that time.
had Gradually in the belief that their darling
some way met an early death be¬
came fixed in the minds of the parents,
and they finally ceased to regard her as
lost ,
and mourned for her as one dead.
Another year passed and then fell the
second overwhelming blow of the death
of her husband, and after a year of lone¬
liness, being comparatively wealthy, Mrs.
Lee decided to adopt into her home some
little friendless waif, instead of the
fort daughter who would have been a com¬
to her declining years.
“the’s come, mother,” she said, asthe
door opened and an elderly lady entered
the room. “I don’t believe she will be
pretty after all—and I do so dislike
homely children of that class. Her eyes
are too large—out of all pronort.on—and
her nose is as much too small."
“when “My dear," said her mother, smiling,
you were her age you were nearly
all eyes, and you had scarcely any nose
at all to speak of., I was sometimes
afraid you would never be pre entable.”
Phe smiled with motherly pride at the
fair face opposite her.
“And, my dear,” she continued, more
gravely, her “remember you have adopted
now for your own, and have, per¬
haps, the making or marring of her life
in your hands. Lou must be patient
with her aud allow for the difference in
blood.”
At this moment Mrs. Simpson entered,
holding ladies the child by the hand. Both
uttered an exclamation. The
rosy face fresh from the ba.h, the stray¬
ing locks caught with a blue ribbon and
twined into golden curls, and the uni¬
form of the Home exchanged fora dainty
dress of white, made the child almost
unrecognizable. She slipped her hand
from Simpson’s aud crossed the room
with a little, stately tread. “Is oo my
mamma ;” she asked with sweet shyness,
looking up at Mrs. Lee from under her
long lashes. “S’all me love oo?”
“A'o.no, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Lee,
ing drawing back involuntarily; then, see¬
the hurt, disappointed look on the
little one's face, she added: “I will love
you, yes, if you’re a good child, but you
must not call me ‘mamma,’ call me
‘auntie.’ I can’t help it, mother,” she
said, excitedly, answering the look of
disapproval, place “I can't give her Elsie’s
- nor Elsie’s name, as you sug¬
gested. We can call her ‘Mabel’ after
you, if you like, You know we were
sorry we had not named ‘Elsie’ after
you,” she added, apologetically.
looking During this speech the child had been
“Den where piteously from one to the ether.
is my mamma?” she asked.
“Gome here, dear,” said the elderly
will lady. “Be a good little girl and you
find a mamma, sometime.” And
she gathered the little waif close in her
motherly arms.
“Den me wait,” murmured the little
one, and in a few minutes was fast asleep
in her new home.
‘{Whatever ant I to do with her,
mother? Of all thiugs I detest an un
truthful child!”
“You are too harsh with har, my
dear. A frightened child will tell a lie,
nine eases out of ten, where the truth
would have done better. 1 used to think
I should never be able to break y oui
brother of that habit, though he is now
a deacon in the church and one of the
most “But pious she men I know.”
deceives me, mother and,
the other day I missed that little choral
pin of mine, and when I asked her for
it she denied all knowledge of it with
the utmost impudence, and then I found
it shut close in her little hand. One
can’t teach a child honor aud honesty
when they have common blood in their
veins. I believe thoroughly in heredi¬
tary virtue aud the refinement of an un
broken line of noble ancestry.” Mrs.
Lee raises her head proudly, conscious
of that same noble line of ancestors for
herself.
plums, “You mother; can’t help neither a plum tree's bearing
natural vices of the lower can you classes help from the
appearing in one of their own, however
much of an exception she may be in tha
matter of looks,” she finished.
Her mother smiled.then looked grave.
“1 do not by any means hold that the
circumstance , of birth
is responsible for
our little one’s faults, Augusta,” she
said. “In fact, your great grandfather
though, was a notorious—swindler, my dear,
to be sure, he reformed and
lived a Christian life for many years be¬
fore he died. Because a man is noble
in name he is not necessarily noble in
nature as well. There are lords in hovels
and louts in palaces, Remember the
child’s constant associations, my dear,
and do not expect three months—or,
possibly, even three yetrs, to entirely
eradicate the training in vice she has al
ready received.
trial,” “Well, moiher.I will give her another
“though replied the da ighter reluctantly,
I had almost made up my mind
to send her back and let her take her
chances with the rest. If she gives me
any in time.” proof—that is, that she will improve
Little feet pattered through the hall;
little hands fumbled at the door.
“Me’s turn,” she announced, stopping
on the threshold. With the wonderful
intuition of childhood, she scented
danger Mrs. of some kind, and retreated to
Taunton’s chair.
“Tell grandma what makes Mabel such
a her naughty girl:” said the latter, taking
tenderly in her arms.
“Mabel dood, now,” protested the lit¬
tle one, nestling her cheek on Mrs. Taun¬
ton's hand. “Mabel fordet, an’ de black
man catch her an’ make her tell ’tones.”
This last with an evidentappreciation of
her own imaginative effort.
heart “Augusta, how can you steel your
against her?” cried the elder lady,
gathering and the little, satisfied mite close
kiss ng the top of her curly head.
“I don’t, mother,” answered Mrs. Lee,
with tears in her eyes. “ I love her too
well, I am sometimes afraid. But ‘blood
will tell,’ you know, and too much in¬
dulgence afraid will be sure to spoil her. I am
the responsibility will be too
much for me, and that I must send her
back in the end. ”
The child slipped down from her
folded place and stood before Mrs. Lee with
hands.
“Mabel be dood now.” she said grave¬
ly. “Mabel love ’oo—don’t send .'.label
’way!” Her lip quivered ominously.
“Poor child.” said Mrs. Lee, moved
against her will. “No, Mabel shall stay
if she will be good.”
The next afternoon the ladies left the
house to pay a promised visit, ieaviug
Mabel seated on the floor quietly engaged
with anew picture-book, with big Bruno
for company.
“ Es, Mabel be dood,” she said in re¬
ply ‘What to Mrs. Lee’s query, “she loves oo.”
‘ is your ouiuion now, Augusta?”
asked her mother as they walked along.
“ Just what it always was, mother,”
replied Mrs. Lee, smiling. “There can¬
not but be a difference between a child
with the noble blood of generations in
her veins, and one with the inheritance
of the ignoble traits of as many genera¬
tions. Now, Elsie would have had as
great ahorror of decit and dishonesty as
I have myself. ” Mrs. Lee sighed deeply.
“But you must admit that there are
exceptions, Augusta. ”
“Exceptions that prove the rule. No,
mother, it would take some stronger ar¬
gument than you can produce, I am
afraid, to make me change my opinion.”
It was dark when they reached home.
An excited servant met them at the door.
“ The doctor said it must bo kept quiet,”
she whispered.
“What is it—what has happened?”
cried both ladies in a breath.
At this moment the doctor made his
appeal Will ance. die, Doctor?” asked
“ she Mr-.
Lee, clutching at the railing for support.
“No, madam, no,” said the Doctor.
“She is not at all hurt—only frightened
a little. It seems you had told her not
to leave the room, and after the lamp
was lighted it the dogran against the table
and tipped over, it didn’t break the
lamp, but the flame caught the muslin
drapery after and short when the servant found returned,
a absence, she the
child standing in the middle of the floor
crying for ‘Auntie,’ while the dog had
fled down stairs. She will be all right
by to-morrow.”
Mrs. Lee did not hear this last assu¬
rance, beiug Taunton already half way up the
stairs. Mrs. was not far behind
her.
“ Auntie,”' cried the little one, as Lira.
Lee entered the room, “tan’t Mabel have
her ownty mamma now? Mabel was
dood—B’uno was bad doggie. Please,
aunty, ” she pleaded.
Mrs. Lee held out her arms. “My
darling,” she said, “I will be your
mamma, ‘mamma,’ your darling,” ‘ownty’ cried, mamma. Say
she the tear#
running down her cheeks.
“My ownty mamma? Mabel so happy
—Mabel so seepy.” The blue eyes
closed and they left her sleeping with a
smile on her lips.
The servant met them in the hall.
“Please ma’am, there’s a poor body
to see you. I was sort o’ M'raid o’ her,
ma’am, and didn’t want to let her in,
but she said ’twas mportant business.”
Mrs. Leo followed her down stairs.
“What can I do for you, my good
woman?” she asked,
“Yer can’t do nothin’ fer me,” said
the woman, roughly, “but I kin do fer
you. Thar’s some clus what belongs
ter “Mamma!” ye. They’re yer young un’s.”
cried a little voice. “Me
'ants my new mamma. Oh!”
A child’s scream of terror. “Bad
woman, send ’way, mamma! Mabel
’fraid.” She hid her face in Mrs. Lee’s
dress.
“Wha—what do you mean?” cried
she, breathlessly.
“I mean, mum, thet I stole er’ an’
then guv ’er away. ’Ere’s ’er things she
hed on. Thet’s what I mean, mum—
she’s yer own. Good day, mum.”
The hardened woman closed the door
softly behind her, wiping ashamed tear
from her eve at thought of the pi tore
she had left in the hall behind het; the
figure of a sobbing woman kneeling on
the cold stones, and c asping close to
her thankful breast a little wondering
child.
“What do you think of your theory,
now, Augusta?” asked Mrs. Taunton,
when she had heard the whole story.
“I—I think I haven’t any, mother,’*
she said, laughing through happy tears.
—Detroit Free Frets.
A Russian Prison Kitchen.
We went to the pii-on kitchen, where
ihe dinner was leiug got ready for tha
convicts, says a Russian correspondent
of the Full Mali Gazette. The smell of
the soup was fragrant and appetizing.
Great bowls of boiled buckwheat stood
ready to be served and the reservoir of
soup was piping hot. I tasted both.
Buekweat is an acquired ta-te, but the
soitp wooden was capital. It is served out in
bowls, each containing a portion
for five, who sit round the bowl with
wooden spoons, helping themselves. In
the bakery we found the great loaves of
rye bread all hot from the oven. In ap¬
pearance rye bread is like a dull ginger¬
bread, but in taste it has an acidity "not
pleasingto Russians all the unaccustomed it when large palate.’ Tha
eat at and the
prison bread is quite as good as that you
get in private houses. I asked about
the dietary scale. I was assured by Mr.
Saloman and the Governor that no re¬
striction is placed upon the amount of
food prisoners may consume. They had
as much bread as they cared to eat at
breakfast, at dinner and at supper. As
a rule the daily consumption of bread
did not extend two pounds per man.
There was no skilly, t, uass, a kind of
thin beer, was supplied them, and thi*
again without limit as to the quantity.
Of the soup each man could have as
much as he pleased;also buekweat. The
only article which was weighed out was
meat. Every man received a quarter of
a weigh pound their of meat prisoners a day. They do not
in Russia on enter¬
ing and which on leaving jail. That is a prac¬
tise they might introduce with
advan age. Theie is no argument so
crushing prison to the assailants of the cruelty
of treatment as the evidence of
avoirdupois—the weight which has statistic of ed increase the of
accompan al¬
leged do privation weigh and torture. And as
they not their prisoners neither
do they photograph them: neilher do
they take impressions of their thumbs,
as is done in some French prisons.
Fishes Mounting Skyward.
A peculiar phenomenon has occurred
at Lake Clietek, Wis. It was a water¬
spout in Chetek Lake. The column of
water was from twelve to fifteen feet in
diameter. The water could be plainly
seen ascending clouds in a spiral column to a
mass of about fifty rods
above the lake. With the aid of a glas3
small fish could bo seeu winding their
way upward. hour After column a little over a
quarter of an the broke in
two in the middle, and the lower half
swept across Menomonie Point in the
form of a whirlwind, taking up all the
lighter matter in it3 course, while the
upper portion seemed to follow in the
same course, having the exact appear¬
ance of an inverted fur nel forty to fifty
rods lowed long, After breaking with it was fol¬
by a great rain, soma
thunder and lightning. St. Paul Globe*