Mrs. Faunce could scarcely believe the evi-
dence of her senses. -
“My Gil!” she gasped, at last. “Is it pos
sible that Gerald A=hrrton is the wre'cli who
treated you so shamefully! To think that E lna
should have marriei him, too, and neither of
you to ki.0w. It is dreadful!“
She might have done something rash in her
horror aui indignation had not Neria Boothed
and restrained her.
“I entieat you to he careful," pleaded the
wretched girl. “For Edna’s sake there must
be no scandal. it is not necessar that toe
facts should ever come to light. be world
will knew that my sister and her husband have
parted, but it need not he told the reason.”
“Elna's husoandl" repeated the blunt old
woman. " Wh . he is yours, 0 lilul—vou have.
the Only legal chum-he married you first.”

Neria’s p1“! face. flushed a little.

“ What a terrible state of afliirs! It is al-
most beyond belief. Haw Gerald v ould have re-
mained ignorantsolong of the relationship exist-
ing between you and Edna pares my comprehen-
sion. Why, even a wOl'd. or a careless refer-
ence. would have been sufficient to enlighten
him."

" The explanation seems easy enough,” Nerla
gravely replied. “I had taken the name of

ranger when Gerald first met me, out he
never knew it did not rightfully belong to me.
My past life was a subject we never discussed,
Ed-ia seems to have been equally reticent
though from a very different motive. Pride
kept her silent. it was no pleasant task to
speak to her husband of a sister who had left
home clandestiner to take a menial position
among strangers.”

“I wish I had the wretch by the neck! ’I
could stra le him with right good will,” ejacu‘
latedllrs. ounce.

She felt the force of Neria's reasoning, how-
ever. Yes. the secret must be kept—it was due

to alL

assed. After that first sleep,
Edna never nosed her eyes. She lay qiiie
still. a low moan escapin her lips now and
then. She grew perceptihly weaker as the
boars wore on. It frightoned Neria to look at
her. A few lagging moments had done the
wart of weeks.

Some time during the following day she
looked up suddenly, and said in a tremulous
veice:

" Have you seen him—Gerald—sinoe we came
away!”

” No," Neria replied.

She sighed heavily.

“ I thought he would at least come to inquire
after me.’

"He has sent messengers every hour. He
would scarcely dare to come himself."

A pleased light broke eyer Edna's beautiful,

le face. “He is not indif! rent to mv suf-
erings," she murmured. “ It is a relief to
know that.”

(To be'contiaued—eommenced in No. 640.)

 

 

BIVERVIEW.

IY W. T. H.

 

 

There's a city in the valley—silent city-

With weeping WI“ iws growing o‘er each mound,
A a reamlet sin 1? ever thro‘ the meadow

Where the w‘ d owers brighten all the ground.
0ft I wander there at even, in the twdigh

When the night draws her curtain o‘er t 0 scene
And the songs of the mystics like a wind-harp

Chime where the angels come at e‘en.

I have been lo many cities by the sea-shore
Where the hum of bus toil is always heard;
hf name has oft been c 2 led by loving v0ices
I‘hat yet echo like the song of southern bird,
But no place is so rair on summer eve
When the wind thro’ the willow gently blows,
As this quiet, silent city in the valley,
And a grave where the singing streamlet flows.

 

 

Tales From fliakespeare.

BY CHALLES LAID.

ROMEO AND JULIET.
(CONTINUED).

Romeo, after the fray. had taken refute in
friar Laurence’a cell. where he was first in de ac-
quainted with the prince's sentence. To him it
appeared there was no world out of V9 ona’s
walls, no living out of the sight of Juliet.
Heaven was there where Juliet lived. and all
beyond was purgatory and torture. The friar
would have applied the consolation of philoso-
phy to his griefe, but he would hear of none,
and like a madman he tore his hair, and threw
himself on the ground, as he said, to take the
measure of his grave. From this state he was
roused by a message from his lady, which a
little revived him, and teen the trier took the
advantage to expostulate with him on the un
manly weakness which be had sh0wn. He had
slain Tybalt, but would he also slay himself,
slay his dear lady who lived but in his life?
The noble form of man, he said, was but a shape
of wax when it wanted the courage which
shoqu keep it firm. The law had been lenient
to him, when instead of death, which he had
incurred, he was only banished. Juliet was
alive. and had become his dear wife, and all
these blessings be ignored. and the friar bade
him beware, for such as despaired (he said) died
miserable. Then when Romeo was a little
calmed, he counseled him that he should go that
night and secretly take leave of Juliet, and
thence roceed straightway to Mantua, at
which p ace he should sojourn till a fit occa—
sion to Eublisb his marriage should occur, which
might e a joyful means of reconciling their
families; and then he did not doubt but the
prince would be moved to pardon him, and he
would return with joy. Romeo was con-
vinced by these wise counsels, and went to seek
his lady, purpo initat day break to pursue his
journey alone to antua; to which place the
fziar promised to send hiui letters from time to
time, acquaintmg him with the state of affairs
at home.

Romeo gained admission to his wife from the
orchard in which he had heard her confession
of love. The lovers spent the time happily till
the time came for parting. The unwelcome
daybreak seemed to come too soon, and when
Juliet heard the morning song of the lark, she
would fain have persuaded herself that it was
the nightingale, which sings by night, but it
was too truly the lark’s song, and discordant it
seemed to her. and the streaks of day in the
east too certainly pointed out that it was time
for them to part. Romeo took his leave 0:, his
dear Wife with a heavy heart, promising to
write her from Mantua every hour of the day,
and when he had descended from her chamber
window, as he stood below her on theground,
in that sad foreboding state of mind in which
she was, he a peared to her eyes as one dead in
the tomb. H‘is mind misgave him in like man-
ner: but he was forced hastily to depart, for it
was death for him to be found within the walls
of Verona after daybreak.

This was but the beginning of the tragedy of
this pair of ill-starre lovers. Romeo had not
been gone many days before the old Lord Capuo
let proposed a marriage for Juliet. The bus-
band he had chosen for her, not dreaming that
she Was married already, was Count Paris, a
gallant, young and noble gentleman, no unwor-
thv suitor to the young Juliet.

The terrified Juliet was in sad perplexity at
this. She pleaded her outh. the recent death
of Tybalt, and how in ecorous it would be for
the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a
nuptial feast when his funeral solemnities were
hardly over; she pleaded every reason against
the match, but the true one, namely, that she
was married already. But Lord Capulet was
deaf to all her excuses, and in a peremptory
manner ordered her to get ready, for by the
following Thursday she should be married to
Paris; and having found her a husband rich,
young and noble. such as the proudest maid in

good for one.

In this extremity Juliet applied to the friend-
ly friar, always her c luriselor in distress, and
he asklil£ her If she had resolution to u-..dertake
a dam erate remedy. and she answering that she
wollld go into the gr me alive rather than
marrv Plris, her 0wu dear husband living, be
directed her to go home and appear merry, an l
giVe her consent to marry Piris. and on the
u-xt night, whlcn was the night oefore the mar-
riage, she was to drink off the contents of a
phial w-iich he gave her. the eflact or which
wolild be, that for two-and-tort hours alter
drinking it she should appear col and lifeless;
that when the bridegroom came to fetch her in
the morning, he would find her in appearance
dead; that then she would be borne unc lvered
on a bier, to be buried in tre family Vault; that
if she could put off wom wish tear and consent
to this trial, in forty-two hours after swallow-
ing the liqnil (-uch was its certain operation)
she would be sure to awake, as from a dream;
and before she could awake, he would let h r
husband know all, uni he sh-ruld come in t 9
night, and hear her thence to Mantua. Love,
and the dread of marrying Pdl'ls gave Juliet
strength to undertake this horrible adventure,
and she took the phial of the friar, promising
to observe his directions.

Going’froni the monastery. she met the young
Count aria, and, mo lestlv dissembling, prom
ised to become his bride. This was 'oylul news
to the Lord Capulet and his wife. t seemed to
gut youth into the old man, and Juliet, who

ad disp'eased him by her refusal of the count,
was his darling again.

On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the
potion. Sue had misgivmgs lest the friar. to
avoid the blame which might be imputed to
him for marrying her to Romeo, had giv n her
poison; she was terrified lest she should awake
before the time Romeo was to come for her, and
thought the horror of the lace, a vault full or
dead Cspulets’ bones, an where Tybalt, all
blooiy. lay festering in his shroud, might drive
her distractd; again she thought of all the sto~
ries she had heard of spirits haunting the
places where their bodies were bestowed. But
then her love for Romeo, and her avarsion for
Paris, returned. and she desperame swallowed
the draught, and became insensible.

When young Paris came early in the morn-
ing to awake his bride, instead of aliving Juliet,
her chamber presented the spectacle of a life-
less corpse. What death to his hepe<l What
confusion then reigned throughout the who‘e
house! Paris lamenting his bride, whom death
had beguiled him of. had divulrced from him
even before their hands were joined. But still
more lpiteous it was to hear the mournings of
the 0d Lord and Lady Capulet, who having
but this ore loving child to rejoice in. cruel
.leath had snatched her from theirsight just as
they were on the point of seeing her advanced
(as they thought by a promising and advan-
tageous match. nstead of the joyfulness of a
marriage. a funeral was at hand. The wedding
cheer served for a sad burial feast, the bridal
hymns were changed to sullen dirges. the
sprightly instruments to melancholy bells, and
the flewers that should have been strewed in
the bride’s path now served but to adorn her
corpse. Now instead of a priest to marry her.
a priest was needed to bury her, and she was
'-orne to church, not to augment the hopes of
the living, but toswell the numbers of the dead.
Bad news, which always travels faster than
good, brought the dismal story of J uliet’s death
to Romeo at Mantua, before the. messenger
could arrive who was sent irom friar Laurence
toapprlse him that these were mock funerals
only, and but the shadow and representation of
death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb
but for a short while, expecting Romeo to come
a -d release her. Just bef0ie. R -meo had been
unusually jo in] and light-hearted. He had
dreamed in t e night that he was dead and that
his lady came and found him dead, and
breathed such life with kisses on his lips, that
he revived, and was an emperor! And now
that a messenger came from Verona, be thought
surely it was to confirm some good news which
his dreams had presaged. But when the com
trary to this flattering vision appeared, and he
heard that his lady was dead, he ordered horses
to 02 got ready, for he determian that night to
visit Verona, and to see her in her tomb. And
as mischief is swift to enter into the thoughts
of desperate men, he called to mind a or
apotherary, whose shop in Mantua he had ate-
ly passed, and from the becgarly appearance
of the man, who seemed famished, and the
wretched show in his shop of empty boxes
ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of
extreme wretc ednees, he had -aid at the
time (perhaps having some misgivings that his
own disastrous life might hap y meet with a
conclusion so (let rate), “If a man were to
need poison, whic by the law of Mantua it
were death to sell, here lives a poor wretch
who would sell it him.” These words of his
now came into his mind, and he sought out the
anothecary. who, after some pretended scruples,
(Romeo ofiering him gold which his poverty
could not resist,) sold him a poison, which, if he
swa1l0wed, he told him, if he had the strength
of twenty men, would quickly dispatch him.
With this poison he set out for Verona. to see
his dear Juliet in her tomb, meaning, when he
had satisfied his sight, to swallow the poison,
and be buried by her side. He reached Verona
at midnight. and found the churchyard, in the
midst of which was situated the ancient tomb
of the Capulets. He had provided a light, and
a spade. and wrenching iron, and was proceed—
ing to break open the monument, when he was
interrupted by a Voice, which, by the name of
“ vile Montague,” bade him desist from his un-
lawful business. It was the young Count Paris,
who had come to the tomb of Juliet at that un-
seasonahle time of night, to strew flowers, and
to weep over the grave of her that should have
been his bride. He knew not what interest
Romeo had in the dead, but kilo“ ing him to be
a Montague, and (as he supposed) a sworn foe to
all the Capulets, be judged that he was come by
night todosome villainous shame to the dead
bodies; therefore in an angry tone he bade him
desist. Romeour ed Paris to leave him, and
warned him by t e fate of Tylvalt, who lay
buried there. not to provoke his anger, or draw
dole-n another sin upon his head, by forcing him
to kill him. But Paris in scorn refused his
wurnin , and laid hands on him as a felon.
which Romeo resisting, they foug ht, and Paris
fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light, saw
that it was Paris he had slain, who (he learned
in his way from Mantus) should have married
Juliet. he took the dead youth by the hand. as
one whom misfortune had made a companion,
and said that he would bury him in a triumphal
grave, meaning Juliet’s graye, which he now
opened; and there she lay as one whom death
had no power upon to change a feature or com-
plexion in her matchless beauty. or as if Death
were amorous, and the lean-abhorred monster
kept her there for his delight: for she lay yet
fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to sleep
when she swallowed the benumbing potion : and
near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom
Romeo seeing, be ged pardon of his lifeless
corpse, and for Jii let's sake called him “cou-
sin,” and said that he was about to do him a
favor by putting his enemy to death. Then
Romeo took his last leave of her he had loved
S'J frantically, and kissing her, swallowed the,
clean which the apothecary had sold him.
The effect of the potion which Juliet bad swal—
lowed was now nearly expirin .

Soon the hour arrived at which the trier had
romlsed that she should awake. and be having
earned that his letters which he had sent to
Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the mes-
senger, had never reached Romeo, came him-
self, provided with a pickax and lantern, to de‘
liver the lady from her confinement, but he was
surprised to find a light already burning in the
Capulet's monument, and to see swords and
blood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying
breathless by the monument.

Before he could conjecture how these fatal
accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of
her trance, and seein the friar near her, re-

 

Verona might joyfully accept, he could not

bear that she should oppose obstacles to her

casion of her being there, and asked for Romeo;
but the trier, hearing a noise, bade her some
out of that place of death and of unnatural
seep. for a greater pewei' than theirs had
thwarted their intents: and being frightened
hv the noise of people coming, he fled Wnen
Juliet saw the (‘up closed in her true love’s
hands, slie guessed thn po Son had b en the
cause of his cod, and she would have swallowed
the dregs if any had been lelt, and kissed his
still warm lips iotiy if any poison yet did bang
upon them; then healing a nearer noise of peo-
ple coming, she unalieaihec a dagger, and stab
ing lieiSelt'. died by R im- 0's s-de.

Toe watt-h by this time had come up to the
place. A page belonging to Paris, who had
Wibllt-‘S‘e’l the fight betWeen his master and
Roi-leo, had given the alarm, wh-ch had spread
amOng the citizens, who went up and NOW” the
sire ts of Verona confusedly till the uprier
brought L )I‘d Montague- and Lord Capulet on
of their beds. with the prior», to inquire into
the cause of the distui- lance. T16 lriar had
been apprehended by some of the watch, com-
ing from the churchyard. Aer at multitu lo
being amembled at thetlapulets‘ monu-nent, the
friar was comman-led by the prince to say what
he knew 0: these strange accidents.

And there, in the presence or the old Lords
Montague and Capolet, lie hithfully related the
story of their c ildren's fatal lov», the part he
took in pr lmoting their marriage, In the hou-
by that union to end the long quarrels betWeen
their families: how Romeo, there dead, was
liu~banai to Juliet. and Juliet was Romeo‘s
faithful wife: hour before he could find a fit
oppoi-tunity to divulge their marriage. another
match was projected for Juliet, who to avoid
the crime of a second marria swallowed the
sleeping draught (as headviseo), and all thought
her dean: how mean'ime he wrote to Romeo. to
come and take her thence when the for-e of the
potion should cease, and by what unfortunate
misv-arriave of the messenger the letters never
reached Romeo: further than this the friar
could not follow the story, nor knew more than
that, coming himself todeliver Juliet from that
Race of death he fouui the Count Pals and

omeo slain. The remainder of the matt-rwas
supplied by the narration of the page, who had
seen Paris and R -meo fig it, and by the set vanr
who came with Romeo. to whom he had given
letters to be deliwred to his father in the event
of his death. which made good the friar‘s words,
confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring
the foreivmess of his parents, acknowledging
the buying of the poison of the poor apothecary,
and his intent in coming to the monument, to
die. and lie with Juliet. All these circum~
stances agreed to relieve the friar of any sus-
pi ion of guilt in the sad tragedy.

Tie princa, turning to Lords Montague and
Cipulet, retuked them for their irrational en-
mi-J‘es, and Sh0wed them what a scourge Hen
ven had laid upon such offenses, that it rad
found means even through the love of their
children to punilh their unnatural hate. And
these old rivals. no l0nger enemies, agreed to
bury their long strife in their children‘s graves;
and Lord Capulet requested Lord Montague to
g-ve him his hand, calling him by the name of
brother as if in air-knoiwledgment of the union
of heir families by the marriage of the young
Capulet and Montague, saying that Lord Mon-
tague's hand (in token of reconcilemenl) was all
he demanded for his daughter‘s jointure; but
Lord Month ue said he would give him more,
for be Woul raise to her memory a statue of
pure gold, that while Verona kept its name
should be esteemed for its workmanship as a
model of the true ani faithful Juliet. And
Lord Capulet, in return ~aid that he would
raise an t' or s sale to Romeo. So did these
pOor old lords, wnen it was too la'e, strive to
outdo each other in mutual courtesies.

 

 

Charc’s ’Sperience.

A HUMORUUS SliE’l‘CI—I.

 

BY PAUL PASTNOR.

 

“YAs,” said Charo (“ Charo” was a Yankee
expedient lor Charcoal), “dis chil’ amawalkin’
ghost cyclopcoie.”

At this incongruous statement there was a
general laugh among the audience. which, how-
ever, seemed in no wise to disconcert the “ cy-
clopedie,” for he rolled his little black eyeballs
in their wilderness of white. disclosed two rows
of beautiful White teeth, fished from the depths
of his tattered nether garments a handkerchief
—which had once been “ b‘iled "—to assuage his
mirth withal. and, in fact, appeared anxious to
suppo t his proposition by the combined evi-
dence of everyt ing in his personal economy
which was, or had been, white.

"Wal, gemlen,” continued the thesaurus. “if
(in house will please rap to order, we will re-
-ume de bu~ihess ob de convenshun, which was,
I b’lieve, dat Ole Charo should gib the gemlen a
few fac’s from his numerous ’sperience wid de
’paritions an’ hosts.

“ Wal, gem en, as you am prob’ly aware, de
norator on dis yer occashun am, by profeshun,
an extricator ob graves :—w hich, gemlen, am
one ob de mo-’ healthy, hon'rable, and lubrica

tive ob businesses on record. Dis nigger was de
nes’ chil' for out posishun in all de kinlry roun’
about, an’ could shob’l de mortal coils into de
grave fas‘r dan Azr'el Could fotch ’em along.

“ Dat reri-ln’s Charo ob one stormy night,
when he sot hisself comf’tahly to kiver up dat
fizzle o’ brimstone. 01’ S uar Bumsted—de gem-
len remember Squar un-sted? Noll Sakesl
what good am devpapers in ’seminatin’informa-
shun, anyhOwi a , de Squar, he ’ reesed de
poor, anlsfole de church fun’s, an’ ki t his Wife
by inch°s, sn’ tried to cheat de Lord, an’ in fac’
sold hlSielf wholesale to de debil; an’ when he
(lied, folks wouldn’t ’tend de funeral, lut dey
put him in a grand coflin, what he bought for
hisself, ’fore he had to go, an’ shoved him into
a splendid grave, what dis chil’ had jest dug fer
de championship. on wager. sn’ says to me:
‘ Kiver him up, Charo. before he ’tic-e de ghosts
in, an’ pick der pocketsl’ So I jest got some
young nigger fr'en’s, an‘ we moved him to noder
hole; fer, as I said. de one wbsr dey put him
was on exhibishun against some white trash
dig in’ in do next parish. Den de boys left me,
an’fi lit my pipe. an’ buttoned my coat to de
misty rain, an’ sot in to smover dem bad smell-
ing ashes.

“ Wal, I flung down a big broken turf which
was no worf:—an’ when it struck do box, do
games on it stood straight up as my ha'r. Fo’
de Lordl de 01’ uar gob a kick dat shivered
de fine boards uh ernea f, an’ made (is nails start
in de big pine ’cophagUs outside! An’ dat ole
sinner be an to smoke! Yas, gemlen, de smoke
pour out n little streaks from de edges oh de
box, an’ riz up, dodging about in de raindro a
like rabbits when do boys frow stones. T’inks
I—Run, Charo, an’ save yo’ black soul. De
debil am commencin’ operashuns in do boxl

“ So I fling down my spade to git, when dess
legs was stiffened right up by NODEB great kick
in de coffin; and dis time up come he Squar’s
ole number ’leven moccasin tro’ de splinters, an’
flourish about in de fumes ob de brimstone like
a ram‘s head, when he knock down two or fre ‘
niggers in de dust. Sakes, how I screaml an’
how do smoke come cl’ar up from de bottom-
less it an’ smover mel Lord, how dat smoke
smrl I I cotched do flavor ob roast cannibal,
an' l in‘ tongue soup, an’ roost-robber ketchup,
au’ ried hypocrite, an’ (is sin eing ob young
scapegraces, an’ all do horrib e messes in do
debil’s oven; an’ above all I smell de sizzlin’ ob
dat fresh sinner meat in de box. I was ’mazed:
I was sick to de stomach; I ’sperienced my wool
gettin’ white—but, gemlen, I couldn’t stir a
. I was like an ole scarecrow, wid my stifl
an j’intless limbs chucked info de mud; only I
was de scart party, on dis yer mem’able occa~
shun.

“Wal, gemlen, dat energetic dust an’ ashes
kick ag’in—KICK AG‘IN, gemlenl An’ dis time
bof foots come up, an’ bof knees, an’ dey hu’st
dat ’cophagus like a chestnut bur, an’ out come

I stvaight in dis nigger’s face, an' riz up an’ struck
’im in de breast: an’, gemleu, Ulw Conic keeled
O'icl‘ back’ards like ue Circus-board in de dea-
con’s fence ('Orm'l'!”

-IIEle the na.iator's voice reached a perora-
tive (-limnx, and, With intuitive rhetorical
taste, he paused for a moment, that his audi-
ence might gather up their energies for the (id-
nouement. Every eye was fastened on the
aged epef‘kf‘l‘; every ear itched for the first
syllable of the sequel. Charo sat in delicwus
triumph for about half a minute, holding us all
under the spell or his twinkling black eyes, and
then rammed, as to lows:

“ Whiis‘l lay our beneaf de smoke ob dat
horri le pit, I ‘mrigined l hecrd titters in de
bushes. Den [ gibs u are at distortion, an‘ man-
aged to il’i'ecc my or s t’wai-d do whence ol)
dose noises—an’ « ehol'l l see’il de whites ob fu’
niggers’ ttef an’ eyes sliinin’ in de blackness.

:ys l to myself—'Cnarc, vo‘ol’ goose, what
an: yo’ lyiu’ around hyar for? Don’t yo' see no
boys bdb got off some game on yo’! Git up,
tn’ t'nce de mu~ic like a niaii!’

“ lmniejutly l riz, an' ra-ded dose bushes like
Gidyun’s band, an’ torched a (‘Ouipass wid my
arms on fo’ di~rep‘tahle vi’laters lb de sanctity
ob de grew—black debils. all oh ’eui, an’ do
very boys dat helped me change de Sq'var’s
realm-place, ’bout half an houah hero’l Gem-
len I embraced dose youfs till de truf ran out
ob ‘em ’long wid de greaSe. De tru' was dia:

“Dem boys loosed de screws ob dat pine
’cwpiiagus, while dey pretended to adjus’ it in
no ho|e; and day recommen’ me to go in de
shed an’ git de small space, for dar was a bump
what‘structed de collin. De small 8 ade was
bid, an’ I spent ’mos' ten minutes lookin’ for it;
an‘ den I comfort myself wid a bottle dat I
foun’ cn de beam. De c ntents was really
quite ’spectatle, en’ I spent some fo’ minutes
linger a suckin’ de cork; an’ den back I went
to de boys.

“ In do mean while dose rasmls had loaded
two big empty ca'tridges aid pourder, an’ put
de x. in de bottom ob de ’co..liagus, an’ under
neaf de s len’id coffin dey chucked de flask it-
self, an’ itcth a long slow fuse to (is free
magazines. leaviu’ de louse end outside. Drn
dey half screwed on do cohor, au’ set de fuse on
fire. Wal, gemlen, yo’ know what bap. ened.
l leave yo‘ to depicter my remarks to de perpe~
t‘aters ob dat scandal.

“ De co‘pse was what y'i’ might call a ‘blark-
leg,’ in de double case He sot in 69 hole, jes’
what I ’pos'ted him, when he ’deavored to as-
sail" a free cit’zen ob dese States. I made de
boys straighten him cut, a:-’ put him in de ton
less box (de coffin was all splintered to piece )
sn’ we ’provis-‘d a. coher from de plank walk.
Den de boys, somehow, found dat small spade,
an‘ two or free others. We shubbeled widour
a word, an’ in fifteen minutes dar was one mo’
mound in de grabeyard. Den I let de young
’peninences go: but when I ot up de nex’
mornin’. all de nigsers in town war in de se—
cret. So I packed up. took my old ’ooman. en’
movod into ale nex’ Slate. An’ so de—world—
rolls—roun’.”

 

 

Personals.

Bmosnma GENERAL W. B. HAZEN—“Old
Probabilities”—is an erect. soldierly man, with
a well-developed figure, His prominent "059‘
his mustache and imperial give him a resem-
blance '0 Napoleon Ill.

GENERAL 0. O. HOWARD, despite his austere
ropiitali. n. heartily enjoys dancing, and im~
prov.-d his opportunities during he recel t gay-
eties at West Point. An officer who was with
him in the Indian country says that he has seen
General Howard in an lndisn village join in a
dance with the squaws with all the zest of a
young man.

CARDINAL NEWMAN, in his earlier years, was
a performer of markeo ability upon the violin.
and l ow, at the age of eighty-one, he still takes
deli ht in drawing Sweet strains of mu-ic from
the instrument that has been his companion f- r
more than three-score years. He also still re-
tains his habit of rising early, and still preachpg
with what may best be described in Words he
has applied to S . Philip. " deep simplicity."
He regards as the end of his long life work the
revision, on which he is still engaged, of his
translation of 8'. Athananius.

A LITERARY society in the Union public
school at Waterville, N. . is named after
Juhn G. Whittier, and for its annual paper.
published at the close of the school year, the
poet has written an autograph letter. “I re-
joice,” he says, "in the great educational privi—
leges of the present time, remembering my Own
privations in that respect. Our little district.
school. often kept by incompetent teachers, was
only about ten or twelve weeks in a year, and
in the midwintpr. We had few books. and a
smell weekly newspaper was our only outlook
upon the world.”

SINCE the moment when she was told of the
awful tragedyin Phoenix Park. Miss Burke, sis-
ter of the ill—fated Under Secretary. has suf-
fered from shattt red heall h and an almost over-
thrown mind. Her thOUghts are constantly
fixed upon her brother. whom she will not be-
Iieve to be dead; and for whose return she is
.ver watching and waiting. In the sound of
every carriage, and of every footstep. she imag-
ines him coming. During all the long agony
she has never shed a tear, and the fierce and
frequent paroxysms of her grief have at last
threatened her life.

It is Well known that for several years before
his death Emerson’s memory was very untrust-
worthy. But it was with a fine sen<e of humor
that be appreciated the “die difficul' ies caused
lim by this weakness One day his daughter
saw him diligently searching for something, and
would have sir‘ed him. but he could not tell
what he wanled. His treacherous memory had
let slip the name of the article. At last he
turned to her with merry inspiration twink-
ling in his eyes, and said: “It is the thing that
people take away.” She at once brought him
his umbrella, and all was right.

DERVISCH PACHA, the representative of the
Sultan in Egypt, owes his elevation to a lucky
accident A few years ago. during the Bosnian
insurrection against the Form. Do-i'visch. then a
young captain, was sent to secure a ferryboat
which was on the other side of a river and
gu rded bv a large force of Bomian sharp-
shooters. He plunged into the river alone, swam
boldly across, cut the boat from its mOorings
and swam back with it, while the insurgents’
bullets were whining about his ears. This dar-
ing deed attracted the attention of Omar Pacha,
his superior emcer, and secured his rapid pro-
motion.

Wme General Sheridan was in Kansas, not
long ago, he treated the landlord of a hotel to a
drink from a bottle of extra choice Bourbon
whisky, which he carried for use in case of sick-
ness. Said the landlord, ignorant of the other‘s
identity: °‘ That’s bully whisky. stranger. Say,
what might your name he!” “ Sheridan,” was
the re ' . “An relation to General Sherl-
danl" “ Well. I on’t mind telling you that I
am General Sheridan.” “ You be hanged,"
cried the incredulous landlord; “a little duck
like you? I’ve got General Sheridan’s picture
hanging in my sitting-room, and he’s over six
feet high."

THE Boston Travrller describes Mrs. Don
Cameron as a young beauty of the most delicate
type, neither blon e nor brunette. but nicely
combining the charms of both. “This young
lady of twenty ” continues the correspondent,
“has married a gentleman “hose daughters
are older than she is, but her sweet and gentle
dignity charms every one. She appears in the
street with a Gainsborough hat and nodding
plumes. like the beautiful Duchess of Devon
shire. But in the evening she appears with a
simple dress, low necked and short-sleeVed,
looking very young and Wearing no 'ewels.
Admirable prudence! Jewels will do or her
twenty years hence. Altogether she is one of

 

 

Garnered Gems.

“<0»———

EBB AND FLOW.

The tide flows in with murmuiing sound,
How peaceful looks the bayl
The sunshine falls on old gray rocks
. And "lllldl‘en at their play—
On happy folk. who softly tell
The sweet old story known so well.

The ebbinv tide has rolled far out—
How different the Scene!
The shore a stretch of jagged rOcks,

Black pools and slim

green;

No childish laughs, no over’s vow.
No rippling waves to vail it now.

Bfi‘pntienf, heart, there is no ebb

itllout its tidal twm;

Tho spark ing wavelets on the shore

Wil soon be rolling in

And rosy dawn in beauty trace
Another day of tender grace.
~Elzrich'e Quarfrrly.

 

:0:

 

IN SICK HESS.

BY HELEN CAMPBELL.

 

All the long day I seem to float away

Through the gray mists that hide
I hear the plash 0t waves,
And still my boat is drir’t

Love cannot reach me,
Are With me, and wit

both can and sun,
I feel their spray,
ing further on.

death and night alone I
h ever deepening shade

Curtain me round. till darkness thick hangrown

And helpless hands are 3

God has forgotten, only pain has life,

And weakness steali
God has forgotten, an

trctched in vain for aid.

ng soul and sense awa
d amid the strife "

I hear the unknown sea and feel its spray.

Faint through the darknes
Soft falls a mine I cum:
“ Through waters deep 1
Full soon shall know thy Lord w

s shines a tender light;
at help buth‘ean—
hon passed, yet thy sight

as always near."

Diift as thou wit my boat, if, as the tide I

More swil‘tlv ebbs and b.
That love unchanging may

:ars thee out to
with me abide“

That v0ice still sound, that sight still leali to Thee.
Gas

9.
o-

a

 

 

 

membered the place w ere she was, and the oc-

ole Squar Bumsted like de chestnut. He grin

the most charming figures about Washington.

 

20:

 

WBECKED.
Two ships sailed out past the harbor bar,

One beautiful autumn da -

than.

. 5'
More precious than all eartn‘k jewels are

Was the freight they bore away.

There wei e fond farewells and
And meeting 01 loving lips;

anxious sighs,

There We re earnest prayers. as from longing eyes

Sailed the two lOVe-freighted ships

The sky was clear, and the sun shone bright,
When they left the harbor town;

But the storm-king rode on the deep at night,
And one of the ships went down.

Two human ships set sail one day

- On a calm an sunlit sea:

From the port of home they sailed away.

And one was lost!

Ah! me

i
i

There were hidden reefs of crime and sin
091‘ which his lift- was tossed;
There were merciless eddies to draw him in;

And he to hfe Was lost.

When ships go down in the trackleas deep,
We weep. and the church-bells toll;

But heaven mourns, and the angels weep,
When is wrecked the human soul.

 

10:

 

DEfiER’I‘E D.

 

BY SARAH DOUDNEY.

Bright sea, far flooding all the pebbled land.
Flinging thy foamy pearls from stone to stone;
Thy lullaby low-murmured to the strand,
Sounds like a lover‘s lone;
And yet I know, elsewhere,
Some other shore, as fair,
Thy waves have kissed, and left it dry and Iona

Bright sunshine, gleaming on my cottage wall,
Tracing the shadow of an ivy-6pm ,

On Common thin

Yet, beneath 0t er skies
Some lani benighted lies,
Deserted by thy glory, cold and gray.

Blithe bird, loud warbling underneath the navel
Au eager love song passionate and shrill,
My heart is trembling amid summer leaves

With sweet responsive thrill;

Yet far away, dear guest,
There is an empty nest
Which thou hast left forsaken, void and still.

Fair see, b ' ht sunshine, bird of song divine,
I too may use the tide the light, the lay;
Others may win the kisses that were mine,

M night may be their day;

rt, though the soul may sigh

For precious things gone by,
I shall have had my rapture, come what mayl
—-Good Words.

 

:03

 

 

all

How tenderly thy golden touches f
[0 day!

" HOW MUCH I LOVE THEIi’”

How much I love thee?" Sweet,

So much I ne'er can tell
From morn till dewy eve—
I love thee, dear, so well.

G ) count the trilling notes in yonder grove,
Then come to me—l may compute my love.

How much I love thee?"
Go ask the queenly rose
To tell thee of each leaf,

Dear,

And each warm flush disclose;
Go count the myriad stars above—-
Then may I know my hight of love!

How much I love thee?”
Afar the diamond fields;
Compass the mighty (1. ep—

Seek

Count o‘er the pearls it yields;
When thou caust tell the wealth of land and sea,
Then may I know my wealth of love for thee!

How much I love thee?"
Go ask the deep blue sea

Bride,

To count each wave and tide—

Then, lau hing, come to me;

When than last learned he secrets (f the sea,
Then may I measure all thou art to me!

How much I love thee?"
Than 1111 the countless stars

Can number; or the shore,
Of sand: or sea of wars.

More

I love thee! Precious one, let that suffice;
In love that‘s reckoned, beggary lies l"
— Cb cago Tribune.

 

202

 

THROUGH A ND TH ROUGH.

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

 

A little thought and a little care,
A little tenderness now and then,
A gracious speech and a courtly air
May give one rank among gentlemen;

But he who merits the highest place

i

Though clad in homespun cloth. ‘tis true,

Is one who carries it heart of grace

And is really a nobleman through

Ahl not to a leaflet here and there
Is the lovely scent of the rose conveyed;
Nor is there a corner within it, where
The fragrance lurks. and the treasure‘s laid;
But every petll is truly filled—

Plnk or crim on, or saffi'On hue—

und through.

With odors rich, by the chB distilled;
And the rose is a sweet rose through and

through .
And

onder billow with foaming crest,

So right and sparkling, so glad and free;
May seem of a lighter mare than the rest

0f the mighty sweep of the so'emn see;
But there‘s not a drop in the crucible,

Never a drop since be world was new,

That wouldn‘t the s» f-same slor

tell,

That. the sea is a salt sca throng and through.

The tree is stunted, the vine is spoiled,

There’s neither blossom nor leaf nor fruit,
When the sap in its Upward reach is foiled

And fettered close in the tangled root.
And there’s nothing sound, and there‘s nothing

trong,

There‘s nothing good, and there‘s nothing true,

That- is not honestly—right

along—

Sweet and savory through and through.

Faithfully faithful to every trust;
Honesty honest in every deed;
Righteously righteous, and ju: tly just.
This is the whole of the georl man‘s creed.
—H/ngham Journal.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 
 

 

 

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