-- + ~____-

BY HOGENSTIEN.
O come with me, dear Mary,
And@ my simple fortunes share-+
What eer they be, my fairy,
If we're happy we don’t care.
We've been friends since early childhood,
And our friendship, geutle dove,
Without either of us knowing
Changed unconsciously to love,

What a cold and cheerless solitude
All gatherings seemed to be
If among the joyful faces
Your sweet smile I could not eee!
The strains of merry music
Grated harshly on my ear
If your voice in swelling cadence
At the ball I failed to hear.

Then, when far from you my duty
Ever chanced to make me stray,

I felt the timeso lonely
That I spent from you away.

And whea home again returning,
Oh, how fast my heart would beat,

When I knew my long-missed darting
And companion I would meet.

But now from boyish fancies
I have changed to be a man,

And I think the time is come at last
To wed my Mary Anne.

Then happier days than ours will be
To mortals are not given,

They'll seem a foretaste of the joya
The blessed find in Heaven.

A WOMAN'S REVENGE;

R,
HILDEGARDE RUSSELL’S LOVE STORY.
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

“Dear me!’? quoth Grandmamma Villars, “is that the
new governess? I had expected quile a different sort of
person—some one, you know, my dear, of age and experi-
ence.”

She was a blooming, silver-haired old lady, dressed in
bluck satin, with a snowy tulle chemisette, a cap like a
white rose, and little, blue-veined hands; and as she stood
leaning against one of the wistaria-wreathed colamus of
the piazza, she could see through the cool perspective of
the parlors into a litle library beyond, where a young
girl's figure knelt on the floor, a wealth of jet-black hair
streaming back over her shoulders aud her face hidden
in the cushions of the sofa.

“She is seventeen, grandmamma,” said her son, a
stout, buki-lieaded member of society; “and how much
experience do you suppose one requires to teach two little
rebels of six and eight years old their catechisin and mul-
tiplication table? i dare say she'll do very well.’?

“But, at all events,’’ said Mrs. Villars, with a true-leart-
ed woman’s quick sympathy, ‘she’s miserable about
something—homesick, perhaps, poor child—and I must
go rigut away and comfort her.”

And the first that Hildegarde Russell knew, old Mrs,
Villars’ velvet-soft hand was on her forehead,

“Child, child!’ cooed the old lady, “don’t lie sobbing
here, but get up, aud let me brush out this long, beauti-
ful hair of yours. Are you really seventeen ?’’ as that
pale, statue-like face was turned toward her. ‘‘You don’t
hook as old. as that.”

“T was seventeen last month,’’ said Hildegarde, mourn-
fully, ‘‘and I am so, so wretched!"

“Pooh! pooh!’? suid Grandmamma Villars, cheerily, “as
ifa girl’ of your age had any business to be wretched!
We'll chirk you up here, or we’ll Know the reason why.
Now, tell me, true and honest, what you were crying
about ?”?

But Hildegarde, although she smiled faintly up through
a chiaro oscuro of tears into Mrs. Villars’ face, and cov-
ered her pretty old hands with penitential kisses, would
confess no single word. She went about her duties as
governess that sume afiernoon, however,

“Now that I have had my cry over, I feel better,’’ said
she, softly.

She told Mrs, Villars that she was an orphan—that her
father had been a rich Southern planter, who had never
dreamed that his sole child and. heiress would be obliged
to avail herself of the accomplishments in which he had
@elighted, to earn her bread. Nor would it have been so,
she simply added, if Uncle Geoffrey had not invested her
money ii a bubbie concern, foudly hoping for quadrupled
returns, and thea bettered matters by blowing his own
brains out.

But when Estelle, Mrs. Villars’ youngest daughter came
home. from a visit to New York, Hildegarde opened her
@iiy heart farther still to the rosy, sweet-voiced, sympa-
thetic girl: :

“I thought he loved me for myself aione,” Hildegarde
whispered to her new friend; ‘‘but wheu the news got
abroad of Uncle Geoffrey’s suicide and my utter beggary
—oh, Estelle, he went away without a word or a note!
He left ny heart to break by incthes!’? in

“Phen he was a: villain! said Estelle Villars, nodding
her pretty little head.

“But I loved him, Bstellet’?

“Po you love him still???

Hildegarde's eyes feli before the clear azure ray of Es-
telle’s glance.

“No—yes—I hardly know whether Ido er not. Some-
times I think I Rate him!’

“Tear him from the very outer vestibule of your heart,
Hildegarde!’’ counseled Estelle, taking both the cold
hands in herown. “He is not worthy of a dream—a
thought—a solitary fancy! Believe me, dearest, you have
had a fortunate escape from being his wife!’

“Ah, Estelle, it is plain to see that you never had your
heart wrecked!”

“No, and I never mean to. Dear Hildegarde, cheer up
—all men are not like this Southern lover of yours. You
are a child yet, with a whole life-time ef happiness before

ou.”

And.in the magic of Estelle Villars’ presence, Hilde-
garde Russell grew less grave and sad—her dark eyes
shone, now and then, with a light other than that of sor-
row, and her bird-sweet voice sounded occasionally in a
merry laugh.

“She is very pretty,’ said the grandmamma to Estelle.
“J wonder now if Ciarley Hartell were to come hereon a
Visit if she mightn’t fancy him? I know he'd fall in love
with her the first thing—he always was wild after that
Lallah Rookh style of beauty—and Charley has a fine pro-
perty, and would make an excellent husband for any girl.”

“Oh, not yet, mammal” cried Estelle, holding up both
hands deprecatingly. ‘*We must wait a whole year yet—
you haven’t an idea how sore her poor little heart still is,
after that cruel wound!’’

“Nonsense!”? said grandmamma, energetically, polish-
ing her spectacie glasses. ‘When J was a girl——”’

“When you were a gitl, darling,’ interrupted Estelle,
“you had a splendid lover, aud a splendid husband, all to
yourself, and so you can’t judge in the least of poor,
blighted Hildegardel Please let me manage, mamma, if
you piease!’’

Estelle and Hildegarde had a “conference”? together on
the jessamine-scented back piazza that very evening by
moonlight.

“And he’s really coming down here to see you?’ said
Bildegarde.

“Yes, he’s really coming,” said Estelie, demurely.

“And do you love him?”’

“No, certainly notl? dissented the young lady, with
some energy. “Do you suppose I carry my heart on my
sieeve for every good-looking masculine claw to peck at?”

‘ds he handsome?” pursued Hildegarde.

“Yes, very.”

“Dark or fair?’

Saar ee very large blue eyes—a reguiar Apollo of a
man

“But do you think he cares for you, Estelle? Come, be
frank with me, and tell me tiat at least. I have told you
everything.”?

“Well, yes—to tell you the honest truth, Ido think he’s
rather smitten with me,” said Estelle, with a light laugh,
; es you can laugh?’ murmured Hildegarde, reproach-

ully.

“Why shouldn't I, chila? Would you have me cry about
it??? vivaciously demanded Estelle. ‘1 cau tell youl
think it js very good fun to be a pretty girl with plenty of
beuus! Time enough to sit down and shed tears over the
ee of the world whealam a forsaken old
maid!’

“And that you will never be!’ said Hildegarde, with an
affectionate little squeeze of her friend’s rose-leaf hand.
(Estelle was like her pretty silver-haired imamma in more
respects than onel)

“Nor you either. cara mia, if I can help itt’?

“I! AnD? sighed Hiidegarde, “Jam quite\a different
personage!”

“We shall both be married on the same day, now see if
we aren’s!” merrily went on Esteile, “ouly your inamo-
rata shall be fair and mine dark. You shall weathpink
roses in your hair, and I will wear white, aud if anyone
presuines to say that you make @ better looking brite
than IT do——"

“Dear Estelle, don’t!’ pleaded Hildegarde. ‘Hush!
there is some one coming up the walk!’

And like a Startied fawn Hildegarde Russell disappeared
bt own room belure Estelie could lift a hand to de-

ain her.

Colonel Saybrooke courteously lifted his hat as he came
up the broad graveled path in the moonlight.

“A day before you were expected!’ said Estelle, care-
lessily—he would have given much to see the crimson
flush of pleased Consciousness which was not there—“but
none tlie less Welcome to Jessamine Hill t”’

lie bowed low. .
art I have not driven away your sister, Miss Vil-

“She is not my sister, and she has the option ef coming
back again at any moment that she pleases, Shall we go
in? The dew is, perhaps, a little chilly out of doors!’

So ended Colonel Saybrooke’s hopes of a moonlight tete-
a-tete with the pretty young heiress! Yet he was not al-
tegether discouraged as he walked back to the hotel after
midnight, Girls are naturally capricious, and an experi-
enced fisherman values his success tha more highly in
proportion as the pursuit is difficult!

 

Hildegarde Russell opened the door of her room as _Es-
telle passed, siuging along Lie corridor with a nigtt-lamp
in her hand.

“Estellel’? she whispered.

“Are you not asleep yet, Hiidegarde ?”

“No. Come in for a minute!”

The hand with which she drew drew Estelle Villars in
was chill and damp—ther face was sitangely pailid in the
fliekering spire of light.

‘*Rstelle, it is hel"

“Who?

*Colonel Saybrooke!”’ i

“Of course it is Colonel Saybrooke,’’ said Estelle, sit-
ting down on the sofa beside her frieud. “I told you 80
before, didn’t 1?”

“You never told me his name, Estelle, it was Leslie
Saybrooke, who loved and wooed and deserted me!”

Estelle Villars sat silently looking into Hildegarde’s
white, agituted face.

“Oun this be possible!’ she exclaimed, half-aloud.

“Dear Estelle,’’ pleaded Hildegarde, ‘do not listen to
his love! Oh, if I could tell you the strange feelings that
came ever me ns I sat here listening lo the honey-sweet
tones of his cruel voice! He is false and wicked and
treacherous—the man who has wilfully broken one girl’s
heart can never make 4 good husband to another! Estelle,
Estelle! promise me that you will never be his wife!’

“I promise you,” said Estelle, quietly; “and now go to
bed, and seek the repose that you need 80 sadly, you poor
Startled child!”

“But | need not see him to-morrow!’

“Not unless you choose ?”’

Colonel Leslie Saybrooke spent the beautiful month of
Ju.y, scorching his moth-like wings around the flame. of
Estelle Villars’ beauty; and when the August moou hung
its slender crescent of gold in the violet west he asked
her to be his wife!

“My dear Colonel Saybrooke,” said Estelle,
“did you never hear the charming old ballad:

“ ‘It's well to be merry and wise,
It’s well to be honest and true,

It’s well to be off with the old love
Before you are on with the new!’*

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Villars,’’ said the
colonel, openiug his handsome biue eyes somewhat wider
than usual.

“Don’t you,’’ said Estelle. “Perhaps you may under-
stand me beter, then, when IL remind you of @ certain old
engagement of yours to Miss Hildegarde Russell, of
Charleston, South Carolina,”

The colonel turued mahogany color, but he recovered
his presence of mind rather sooner than could have been
expected. j

“Oh, that affair!’ he said, smootiily.
two straws for the giri.’?

“Then let me tell you,” said Estelle, with rising color
and sparkling eyes, ‘‘that you are a villain, Colonel Leslie
Saybrooke, and there are two reasons why I do not marry
you! One is that I would never give my hand to any man
ou the escutcheon of whose honor lay a blight like your
base desertion of poor Hildegarde Russell; the other is
that ‘Il never cared two straws for you! ??

And she made him a low courtesy, and glided out of the
room. .

“Crimes which the law cannot punish, ei?’ she said
to herself. ‘Tnen there is all. the more reason that we
women shonld not allow them to gu unavenged.”’

In the years which followed, Estelle’s playful prophecy
was fulfilled. She and Hildegarde were married on the
same day, with red and white roses in their hair—imar-
ried to good and leal husbands; aud Leslie Saybrooke is
now a broken-down gamester, huuuting tue various
Southern cities, each in its turn,

A ROBBER FOILED!

A strange circumstance lately occurred in the west end
of London, in Park Crescent, one which chalienges our ad-
miration for the coolness evinced by a lady under most
trying Circumstances, and which at the same time stimu-
lates conjecture tothe iast degree. The master of the
house where the event took piace had been very ill for
many days, struggling witha maliguant disease, which
how approached that crisis in its stage on which his very
life seemed to depend. Complete rest was the only pana-
cea for the sick man. Sleep—uninterrupted sleep, might
possibly iusure his recovery. It was the critical hour,
and the critical moment of the disease, life trembied in
the balance like a fading candle. A breath might extin-
guish it!

His anxious, loving wife, scarcely daring to breathe,
was sitting watctifully by his bedside. She was quite
alone, for her servants, exhausted by long and constant
watching, had left ber to seek a brief rest for their weary
framés. It was past midnight, the door of the chamber
was open for air. She heard in the awful stillness of the
night a window cautiously opened below stairs, but sie
dared not move lest she should awake her husbaud from
that life-saving sleep. Still shedlistened, but without tak-
ing her eyes from the precious form of the invalid. Hark!
She hears cautiously-approaching footsteps over the stairs
—they draw nearer and nearer, still she moves uot; in-
deed she scarcely breathed, so intense was her auxiety.
There, was a pause of a moment in which no sound .was
heard, then a man with his face disguised stole quietly
into the room and confronted the patient watcher at the
bedside!

She saw her husband’s danger—that was all she thought
of. This man wasa burglar, Anticipating the desigu of
the daring intruder, she pointed to her husband, and
pressing her finger upon her lipsto implore silence, held
out to the robber her purse and her keys. The man, with
a pistol cocked in his hand, gazed upon her in siience.
To her great amazement he took neither purse nor keys,
but placing his weapon in his pocket, went noiselessty out
of the room! :

Whether he was terrified or charmed by the courage
displayed by the devoted wife cannot be known. He leit
her, even more silently than he had come, departing with-
out robbing a house sanctified by such strength of affec-
tion!

demurely,

“J never cared

rs
THINGS GENERALLY.
BY MAX ADELER.

UP A TREE.

— One day last fall Peter Lamb was walking by Key-
ser’s orchard, and the apples looked so tempting that he
concluded to get over the fence and go up a tree after
some. He was just fairly up the tree when Keyser came
along with his dog, and as he had had a great many ap-
ples stolen, he was pretty mad at finding Lamb in the act
of taking some without leave. So after expressing his
sentiments in very Vigorous language, he told Peter that
as he was so very fond of apples he might stay up there
all night enjoying them... Then he called the attention of
the dog to Peter, told the animal to watch him, and
walked up to the house. As the brute lay down beneath
the tree, Peter thought he had never seen such an awiul-
looking dog, and he called to Keyser to take it away, and
to let him pay for the fruit. But Keyser pretended not to
hear him. Then Peter tried to scare the dog off by pelt-
ing him with apples; but every time he hit the animal he
seemed to become more ferociously. determined to eat.a
piece of Mr. Lamb before it abandoned him, Peter then
tried coaxing the dog, but the more biandishments he of-
ered, the hungrier the dog seemed to get. Then Peter
waited till the dog became calmer and lay down, and then
he tried to steal down the other side of the tree; but before
he reached the ground the dog was on the alert, and ready
to nip Mr. Lamb’s calf. :

At last Peter determined to resort to strategy. He went
up as high as possible im the tree, and took off his. boots,
his coat, his trousers and his hat, and fixing them to-
gether by the aid of pins and his suspenders, so that they
would resemble the figure of a man, he stuffed them with
leaves. Then he carried the effigy down and set it astride
one of the lower branches, propping it up so that it would
be within plain view of the dog. Then he stepped softly
away from it, and waited his chance to slide down the
trunk. He made two or three feints, and was delighted
to see that when the dog heard the noise it merely glanced
at the figure, seemed reassured, and went to sleep again.
At last he got clear down tothe ground, and when he was
afew yards from the tree he ran as fast as his legs would
carry him.-

It was then late in the afternoon, and hesucceeded in get-
ting over to Deacon Jones’s without being observed. He
found the deacon sitting on the fence, aud explained his
appearance in a simple shirt aud pair of drawers, by say-
ing that he had been swimming #m the creek and that
somebody had stolen his clothes.

The deacon lent him some raiment, ané@ Mr. Lamb
went home bent upon revenge. Re-dressing himself, he
got aciub, called his own dog—a_ bigger animal than
Keyser’s—and started jor the orcliard. When he reached
it, his old enemy Jay beneath the tree watching the effigy.
Then Mr. Lamb confidently climbed over the fence and
set his dog at Keyser’s.. A fierce combat ensued, and
While it was in progress Peter crept up and Knocked Key-
ser’s dog on the head, killing itoutright, It was then
aboutdusk, and Peter ordered his dogto lie under the
tree alld “watch” the effigy, while he hid behind a neigh-
boring tree. After a little while Keyser came out for the
purpose of letting Peter go if he felt peniteut. He came
up to the tree without recognizing the change of dogs,
and addressed the effigy:

“Well, how doyou feel by this time?”

No answer.

“Want to come down’?

No reply.

“If you’ promise never to steal my apples aby more
Dll let you off.’

Stillno answer.

“O, you’re too mad to talk, are you? Well, you just
come down anyhow.??

Siience from the effigy.

“Look here, I don’t want any more nonsense from you.
Come down, or Dll pull you down!"

Then Keyser jumped into the tree and grasped Mr.

 

Lamb’s stuffed coat by the arm. He was just about to

ase ts

 

 

 

utter an exclamation of surprise, When Peter came out,
and said:

“Well, now, you just pull away. That's my dog under
that tree; your dog's dead; and my dog’ll eat you up
quicker'n a wink if you get off of that limb betore I tell
you. Thought you had me, did you? If the jury knows
itself, you'll roost among that foliage until morning. Sick
him, Bull! sick himl!?

Then Mr. Lamb knocked an apple off another tree, and
sat down to eat it. Keyser first began to study up a plan
for murdering him; then he thought he would swear;
then he had a notion to ery for help. Butat last he con-
cluded to accept the situation gracefully; and after some
conversation, Peter agreed to let him go if he would swear
to send him around four bushels of apples in the morning.
He registered a soleinn oath to that effect, and Mr. Lamb
held the dog while, Keyser came down, Then Keyser
went as near to Peter as he dared, and, shaking his fist at
him, he said, with bitterness:

“You low-lived, mutton-headed, bow-legged thief! If
that dog wasn’t here Pd knock you down and set on you
till I squashed the breath out of you, you wall-eyed scoun-
drel, you!’

Then he went up tothe house. Peter chuckled and
shouldered his clothes, and started for home, Tliose ap-
ples have not yet arrived, but. Mr. Lamb has not yet been
out to inquire for them,

AN EXCITING CONTEST.

— Last winter two of my neighbors, Mr. Miller and Mr.
Grant, lost their wives upon the same day, and both of
the funerals took place three days afterward, the inter-
ments being made at the cemetery abont the same hour.
As the two funeral parties were coming out of the burying
ground, Miller met Grant, and clasping each other’s hand
they indulged in a sympathetic squeeze, and the following
conversation ensued:

Hiller.—“1'm sorry for you.
isn’t it?”

Grant.—“‘Awiful !
lived.”

Miller.—“She was indeed.
was a good wife to me.”

Grant.—‘I was referring to my wife. There couldn’t be
two best, you know.”

Miller.—-Yes, know. Iknow well enough that your
wife couldn’t hold a candle to mine.”

Grant.—“‘She couldn't, hey? Couldn’t hold a candle.
Why she coukl dance all round Mrs. Miller every day in
the week, including Sundays, and not halftry! She was
an unmitigated angel take her anyway you would.”

Miller.—“Oh, she was, was she? Well I don’t want to
be personal, but if | owned a cross-eyed angel with red
hair and no teeth, and as bony as an omnibus horse, Pd
kill her if she didn’t die of her own accord. Dance? How
could a woman dance that had feet like candle boxes, and
lame at that ?”? ,

Grant.—“Better be cross-eyed than wear the kindof a
red nose that your wife flourished around this communi-
ty. I bet tv’ll burn a hole through the coffin lid. And you
pretend you’re sorry she’s stepped out! But you can’t
impose on me! I know you're so glad you can hardly
hold in. She was the chuckle-headedest woman that ever
disgraced a grave-yard; that’s what she was.”

: Uden r—*EE you ubuse my wife, Pil kKuock the head off
of you.’

Grant.—‘‘1))d like to see you try it.’

Then the two disconsviate widowers engaged in a hana-
to-land combat, and after tussling awhile in the snow
the mourners pulled them apart just as Mr. Miller was
about to insist upon his wife’s virtues by biting off Mr.
Grant’s nose.

When they got home Mr. Grant tied crape upon all his
wiudow shutters tu show how deeply he mourned, and
as Miller Knew that his grief for Mrs. Miller was «deeper,
he nut only decorated his shutters but tle fixed five yards
of black bombazine on the bell-pull and dressed his whole
family in mourning. Theu Grant determined ‘that his
duty to the dear departed was not to let himself be beaten
by aman who couldu’t feel any genuine sorrow, 80 he
sewed a black flag on his lightning-rod and festuoned the
front of his house with black alpaca,

‘nen Miller becume excited and he expressed his sense
of bereavement by painting his dwelling black, and by
putting up a monument to Mrs. Miller in his front yard.
Grant thereupon stamed his yellow horse with lamp-
black, tied crape on his cow’s horn, daubed- his dog with
iuk, and begau to blow his nose on a black handkerchief.
As soon as Miller saw these proceedings he spread a layer
of charcoal all over his front yard, he assumed a black
shirt, ie corked the faces of tus family when they went to
church, and he hired a colored man to stand on his steps
and cry for twelve hours every day. Just as Graut was
about to see thisand go it one better, ie encountered
Mrs. Lang, a young widow from the city, and in @ couple
ol weeks they were envaged. ‘Then he began to take in
the evidences of his grief, and this made Miller so mad
that he, went around and proposed to Miss Jones, an old
maid, who never hud an offer before... She accepted him
on the spot, and they were married the day before Grant's
wedding, which so disgusted him that he would have
given. up the widow if she hastn’t threatened him with a
suit for breach of promise. There is peace between the
two families now, but when Mrs. Miller gets om the ram-
— sometimes Mr, Miller mourus for his first wife more

luau ever.

WHY HE DipwT GET UP.

— Widow Taunalhill’s boy was very hard upon his
trowsers last winter. He would stide down hills on shin-
gies and play see-saw upon uuplaned boards. And so his
mother, at last, in desperation placed a sheet-iron patch
npon the seat of his pantaioons, and informed him: that
when that was worn out he might go bare-legged.' A few
dauys‘ago the boy was hanging around the foundry just
outside the town, and afier while he took @ seat. upon a
pile of pig-iron so that he could watch the men running
the molten metal inte the moids, It happened to be iron
that had veen made out of magnetic ore, and the conse-
quence was that when young Mr. Tanuahill tried to rise,
tur the purpose of going home, he found that the affec-
tion of the patch for the pig-iron held him fast. He
couldn't imagine what was the matter and he felt scared
about it, but after several ineffectual struggles he aban-
doned hope, and began to cry. Just them the foreman
came out, and seeing the boy, he said:

“What's the matter, sonny ?”?

“Nothin’.”?

“Anything ail you?*

‘Never you mind,’?

“Why don’t you hush up and go home ?

“Cause I want tosit here. 1 want to sit here and
think about sumfin.”

“Well, now you just git down off of them pigs, and
leave. Come, now, skip!’

“Nol won’t nuther.”’

“Hurry up now, or-Vil lick you like thunder.”

“I bet you woun’t.’?

“You get down off of that pile or Pll boost you down
quicker’n lightnin’.”’

“I'd like to see you do it.*?

Then the foreman, ina rage, dashed at Tannahill and
tried to haul him off; but he was amazed to find that the
boy was too heavy for him. He was a little scared, but
he called one of the workmen, and after a struggle they
stood Tannanhill on the ground. Then they observed that
he had two pigs of iron permanentiy attached crosswise
to his trowsers, so that as soon as they let gu of him he
suddenly had to sit down,

Finally they gave him a terrific wrench and got him
loose, but the sheet-iron paich stuck to the iron, and
Mr. Tannahill’s shirt fluttered through an opening big
enough to set a bay-window in, Then tie boy went home,
and now the Widow Tannahil! has brought suit against the
foreman for the value of the wrecked Lrowsers. The case
excites much interest, for the question is was the sheet-
iron patch to blame, or the magnetisin in the pig-iron, or,
the foreinan for trying to keep the boy from going through
the world with two hundred pounds of pig on his rear?
Blackstone’s Couimmentaries dvesn’t say u word about such
cases, and the lawyers are Wild because they cau’t find
any authorities.

JUDGE HOBBS’S CAMPAIGN.

— A year or two ago, when Judge Hobbs was running
for Lieutenant-Governor of our State on the Democratic
ticket, he happened to bein town one day when a great
camp-meeting was tn progress about twe miles down the
river In the wouds. Some of his Republican acquaint-
auces deluded the judge with the idea that it was a Ger-
man picnic, and they left it to’ him to decide whether it
wouldn’t be a good idea for him to run down there and
be a little suciabie with the folks, so as to miake certain of
the German vote. Tne judge said the suggestion struck
him favorably; he had always felt the deepest interest in
the German race, and he would like very much to watch
them indulging in their sportive games, drinking their
beer and making themselves happy. The judge thought
it would perhaps be prudent to make a bit of a splurge as
he introduced himself at the picnic, and so he loaded up a
wagon with kegs of lager-beer, engaged a couple of men
with a bass drum and a bugle to go along with him, and
then he borrowed an American flag, the party Mounted
the wagon, and the procession moved off.

As the wagon reached the edge of the grounds a clergy-
man was preaching to a very lurge Congregation; but the
judge, although he noticed that there wus a meeting of
some kind, thought of course that the Germans were lis-
tening to some talk from the President of the Turner’s
Society. So he started his musicians on “The Star-
Spangled Banner,” instructed the driver to whip up the
horses, and then, standing up and waving the flag, he
went sailing into the midst of the camp-groand, shouting
and firing salutes with his revolver. The first thing he
did wher he halted was to propose three cheers for the
party and to fire another salute, and then to order the
driver to unload the kegs. Then he dismounted and went
up on the speaker’s stand.

The clergymen considered his method of arrival rather
odd, but they thought maybe-it was attributable to exces-
sive enthusiasm in the cause, and so one of them asked
him if he would like to make a few remarks, He said he
would. Accordingly he rose, and launctred out into a
furious tirade against his pohtical adversaries. Every-
body was amazed, and after a bit one of the brethren said
to him:

“Really, this Kind of talk is very inappropriate just
here.”

“Never vou mind,’’ said the judge, imagining that the
man was an: envious Republican; “1 kKnuw what Dm
about. You let me alone.”

“But ivs scandalous for you to discuss such subjects
here,’ replied the brother,

“Oh, it is, is it? You don’t like ’em, Treckon? Fellow
citizens,” said the judge, scornfully, turning to the au-
dience, “this chap thinks 1 oughtn’t to discuss such sub-
jects here! The trouble with hiin is he ts afraid to have
‘ein discussed.”

“We can permit this no longer,’ said the brother. “You

It’s an unspeakabie loss,
She was the best woman that ever
I never met her equal. She

 

 

must sit down.’’

“I must, hey? Sitdown? Not till I get through ex-
plaining to my German fellow citizens the issues tn this
campaign. I appeal to you,’ saidhe, facing the audience;
‘‘ghall 1 offer these great truths to you or shall I not ??

“There are no Germans here, sir,” said the clergyman,
“and we Care nothing for political issues; you must de-
sist.’

“No Germans!’ exclaimed the judge. ‘No Germans!
What in thunder do you mean? Are not these Germans,
children of the land of song?” said the jadge, waving his
hand toward the congregation. ‘‘Are they not proud of
their lineage? Base isthe man who would dare to deny
the fact.”

“Oertainly they are not,” said the brother.

“What! Not Germanst Is not this a German Turner’s
picnic?” asked the judge.

“Of course not; this isa Methodist camp-meeting, and
you are disturbing its religious services infamously. If
you don’t quit we'll remove you by force.”

The judge seemed ready to curl up and die. When he
recovered his composure he Jeft the siaud, had the kegs
pat on the wagon, paid off the band, furted the flag of hia
country, and retired. He was defeated in \he campaign,
the whole Methodist denomination voted against him,

THE GRASS WIDOW.

BY MARGARET BLOUNT.

It was a pleasant-looking old kitchen, that of the red
farm-house on the hill—the house just stiaded by the en-
circling arms of four great maple trees.

A pleasant kitchen, clean, and orderly, and neat, as &
kitchen should always be, in the house where « mistress,
and not a servant-maid, isthe presiding genius of the
scene. The floor waspainted yellow, and was clean
enough to “‘eat off of,” as the country people say. The
walls were papered with a pretty pattern, crimson roses
on a deep buff ground, that gave a homelike, cosy look to
the room, a warm look, moreover, that was decidedly
agreeable now that the cold nights of November were just
about drawing in.

A great cooking stove stood in one corner of the room,
opposite a cupboard, whose glass doors displayed a goodly
store of celf and china, one set of which appeared to be
very valuabie, for it was evidently of foreign manufacture.
It was a curiosity in its way. Ree rosebuds, on a trans-
lucently white ground, with the initials “‘T. & M.”’ four-
ished ail over each cup, and plate, and saucer, in twining
tendrils of a true-lover’s knot. It had been the gift of the
handsome young sailor, Tom Parke, to his wife Mary on
their wedding day; and he had brought it over from Can-
ton, where it was made, through many an ocean storm,
to place it on the tea-table of their farm-house home upon
that wedding-night. Each piece of porcelain had its
owp particular story to tell, its own peculiar remeni-
brance to evoke. And, therefore, Mrs. Parke never
used it now, and turned her eyes toward the giass
cupboard that held it as seldom. as she conukl. The
pleasant kitchen was her own favorite sitting-room, and
she would have moved the Cunton china out of that
cupboard into another in the “square room,’ ifshe had
only dured. But some strange feeting, of which she was
more than half ashamed, seemed to Stay her hand. It
was Tom who had first placed the cups and saucers there;
Tom who had spent an hour or more on the morning after
their wedding in deciding where each. particular dish
should stand. They had been taken Gown and used now
and then, and washed, and wiped, and put carefully back
in the same places duriug the ten years of her married
life. For five years she had been what her neighbors
called .a ‘“‘grass. widow,” and the cups and, saucers stood
there yet. If ever she thought seriously of moving them,
a handsome, grave face seemed to rise up suddenly before
her, and a@ pair of deep blue eyes jiooked inio her very
soul—the eyes, the face of Tom Parke as her lover-hus-
band twenty years ago! Wasit any wonder that the Can-
ton china remained there still untouched?

On the night of which I write, Mrs. Parke sat alone in
her kitchen, listening to the sighing and ‘“‘soughing’’ of
the rising wind among the mapie-trees and the orchard
on the garden side. There was no fire jn ihe great cook-
ing stove, but on, the broad brick hearth a bright blaze
suapped and crackled, much to the content and pleasure
of the old tabby cat curied up ina heap before it, with
her kitten for a pillow, The firelight danced and flickered
in every nook aud corner of the rou, showing the china
behind the gings doors of the cup-bourd; the six Windsor
Chairs and the oaken dining-iable, with its cloth and tray
neatly folded on the top; 1) sparkled on the open work-
box that stood on the little sewing-stand by the widow's
side, and gilded the red peppers hauging iu strings above
the chimmey-piece.

More than all, it shone fairly and broadly on the
widow herself, as sine sat loeking thoughtfully into
the blaze, and showed a woman of thirty-five, fair, bux-
om, and comely, with deep gray eyes and soft brown hair,
a beaming good-tempercd look, and yet a mouth that
closed somewhat firmly in spite of the ripe lips and their
fresh color, Not a bad-looking dame, by any means, was
Mrs. Purke; and when you remember that the farm of
seventy acres was all her own, together with the coimfort-
able honge and a!) its plenishine. vou will not be surprised
to tear thatif ‘Tom Parke had but been taken to the spirit
world suitors without end would thave appiled to take the
land and all things else of value “at the haives,’’. provi-
ded the good-luoking mistress of the house was inciuded
iu the bargain.

Every one said and thought,that it was a great pity
Tom Parke could not “step out” and give his wile a
chance to try her luck again. Did Mrs. Parke think so
too? Noone knew. No one had ever heard her say.

. Tom Parke had been a handsome, careless sailor when
he married her, and he grew haudsomer and more care-
less as the days and years went by. Whose fault it was
none but the married pair could really say, but the new
home was not long a happy one, and as no children came
to bind them nearer together, husband aud wile fell far-
ther and farther apart, and at last separated by free and
mutual consent. Tom Parke went toseu once more, aud
cruised here, there, aud every Where, a8 his fancy Jed bitin.
Mrs, Parke stayed quietly on at the farm, and with the
help of her uncle, who lived in the house with her, man-
aged things so admirably that she grew quite rich. And
five years went by. without a word or line from Tom. No
one knew Certainiy that he was alive. No one could
swear that he was dead. Two more years and his wile,
or widow, might legally suppose him gone to “Davy
Jones’s locker,’’ and marry again if she chose to do so.

Would this be her choice? Even her old uncke could
not tell. Her husbaud’s bame was never mentioned by
her. No allusion to him was ever made in any way in
that house, which had once been his happy home,

And yet, on this night, as the widow sat alone, her face
was grave andsad, and her soft, gray eyes had an abseut,
far-away look in them as they gazed. into the depths of
the fire. ‘tom Parke bad never liked to sil. beside a Cook-
ing stove, and to please him, the fire-bourds had always
been taken down in the fall of the year, and the fire light-
ed on the hearthin the good old-fashioned way. Aud
this had been done again to-night, for the first time that
year. Where was he while (he blaze flashed so cheerily ?
Tossing high on Lhe angry waves as his good ship rolied
aud staggered round Cape Horn? or down, far down,
beneath those waves, silent and still forever ?,

“Poor dear Tem! said Mrs. Parke with @ quivering
sigh. Aud Lears began to fill ihe soft gray eyes at the
thought.

A Knock came at the outer door.

Her uncle was up stairs asicep in his own bed. It was
nearly ten o’clock—a late hour for any neighbor to be
dropping in, to borrew tue Lewspaper, or hold a friendly
Chiat over the blazing fire. But Mrs. Parke was not one
of those silly women who are afraid of a shadow, and so
she went at once und opened the door, i

A tall, stalwart man stood there in a sailor’s dress.

Her heart gaveagreat bound, but grew quiet again
when she heard the tones of the rough, coarse voice.

“Does Mrs, Parke live here?!

“She dves.’’

“Gan Lsee her?

“I aut Mrs. Parke.”

“Then | havea message togive to you, ma'am—from
my captain.’?

“Captain who?

“Captain Parke, ma’am—him as was your husband,”
was the gruff reply.

Was |

She asked him in as civilly as she could, and gave him
a chair before the blazing fire. His face was nearly cov-
ered by a forest of red hair and whiskers, butia her agita-
tion she scarcely looked at him.

“Was, did you say ?”? she gusped.
pened? is—is.my busband—”

“Now, domt you take on like that, ma'am,’ said the
gruff vuice, with a touch of Kindness in its toue. “I can’t
a-bear to see a Woman cry.> It just about Kilis me.”

‘ig hedeud? Tell me that!’ sue cried.

“No.’!

She drew a long, deep breath and sank back into her
chair, the color coming back into her lips aud cheeks by
faint degrees.

“Dashed if I can make it out, anyway,” said the sailor,
with a wondering look. “The captain he says to me:
‘You go and find her out, Jack, ad tell her so and so
from me. But if you hear as how she’s married, or likely
to be, along of my not heaving in sight through all these
years, why then just keep your tongue in your head, and
sheer off as fast as you Cun before you make any mischiel
for her” Them was the captain’s very words, ma’am,
and i more.than half expected to have tv go back and
leave iy errand as it was. But you look as if you liked
the captain yet—upon my soul you do!’’

“Like him!” said Mrs. Parke, with an indignant glance.
“Why shouldn’t I! What doyou mean? isn’t he my own
husband? Who has a better right to like him, as yuu call
it; than 19"? :

“Right you are, ma'am” said the salior, exultantly.
“And glad enough am 1 fo have such good news to lake
back to the captain, You see, ma’am, he Knew just
how handsome and pretty you are, and he was afraid that
you might have a grudge against him, on accoant of your
quarreiling, when you were beth too young to kuow any
better. Aud so fie says to me, ‘Juck,’ says he, ‘if you find
she has a kind look or word for me still, tell her | behaved
like a brute to her in the old days, but. if she'll only for-
give me fort, and take me back again, Pil make itallupto
her, on my soul I will,’ and 1 do believe he will, mu’am, |
really do believe he will! For he would just give his. eyes
to see you as | am seeing you now, wouki the captain—l
know he would! What am I to tet! him?’?

“Tell him! Why did he send you at all? Why didn’t he
come himself?’ cried Mrs, Parke, springing to: her. feet.
“How can L tell you? No one ought to hear what I have
to say, except him, and no one shull! Whereis he? Take
me to innm.”?

“Will you go with me, ma’am! Wiil you really,’* said

“Has anything hap-

 

the sailor, Springing to his feet in his tara,

*‘Of course I will.”

“When ??

*‘Now.”

‘It is late, Ma'am, you Know, ana {’m a stranger.”

“I don’t care if it is midnight. And he is your captaint
a net airaid to go with you. Let me ret my bonnet and
shawl.

“Wait one moment, ma’am,” said the Man, hesitating.
“THe toki me to tell you all.’

“Tell it, then.’’

“He has been very sick. His health is poor, aud he has
lost all his strength.”’

**He shall be well cared for here, Let us go.”

“And—an—an accident, Ma’am, on board ship—he Jost
his arm——’!

“Oh, my poor Tom!’

“Aud a leg, ma’am.”

The soft, gray eyes were full of tears,

“And—aud—an eye; and he hag-to wear a black patch
ali over the side of his face, where the gunpowder biew
him up,”? the man went on,

“Tom! Tom! Oh, how you have suffered, poor dear!’
she was crying. :

“And he said I was to teil you all, ma’am, before you
came anigh him. The ship is ost; he hasn’t a penny in
the work], and he isn’t strong enough to work now.”

‘On, why do you keep me waiting here?’ she cried.
“Let me go to him! Poor, sick, blind, maimed—and I
not te knew! Poor Tom! Dear Tom! Take me to lim at
once, if you haye any mercy in your heart! Come, I am
ready now?f’’

She ran into the other room, and came out again wear-
ing her bonnet and shawl.

Where was the sailor?

A ted wig and whiskers lay on the floor, in company
with a slouched hat and an old pea jacket. And on the
hearth stood a haudsome, stalwart..man, in a naval ani-
form, lis limbs sound, his face clear and fair, his blue
eyes bright and beautiful as ever:

‘Mary! cried the old musical volee that she remem-
bered so well. “Forgive me for trying you so—forgive
me all! Ol,my darling wife, the future shall atone for
the past, if love and truth can make you happy!’

“Tom—dear Tym!’ was all her answer. And then he
had her in his arms, and their lips met in a kiss that
seaied the pardon of both! |

Mrs. Parke’s uncle was somewhat astonished when he
got up the pext morning and saw the new inmate of the
household, And three old bachelors and four widowers
could look forward hopefully no longer to the ‘seven
years,’’ for Mra. Parke wasu “grass widow’’ no longer,
and most provokingly weil satisfied to find these
things “‘thas,” as poor Arleinus Ward used to say.

OS

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS.

In to queries of our correspondents whv send no

ada we give the prices at which the following articles may

be procured through the New YORK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency :

“How to Make Candy,” 50cents; talse mustache, 75cents; “Lov-

- fivide,? 10.cents; Punauia hats, $5 1050; “My Maryiand,’’
cen

Sa. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS: —

R, J. £.—the fare to San Francisco, by steamer, is $125 and
$135, cabin passage, and’$60 steerage. This includes al! necessa-
ries, The passengers are carried from Aspinwall te Panama by
rail, and re-embark on the steamer at the latter port.

G. W. H.—Get your petition signed by some iutinential potiti-
cians, and then present it to the Bourd of Police Commissioners.
The pay of the river police is the same as that of other members
of the force.

&. F. S.—We do not recollect of ever having read the m: It
does not strike us as being peculiarly brilliant, if you have quoted
the stanza correctly.

M. L. E.—We couscide with the opinions of your friends in the
matter referred to.

L. X. Ander.—The man makes $20 over and above the first
transaction, or when he sold the horse for $$0, or $l0each on the
buying and the second sake.

Big Bonanza.—The gentieman referred to in your letter is Mr.
George Clarke, now supporting Clara Morris, at Booth’s Theater.

Livingston —The cases of exploded cartridges are useless.

a.—Ist. Webster’s Dictionary is generally used as author-
ity im the United States. Some prefer Worcester, but they are
exceptional cases. 2d, The person speaking was the father of
the one spoken of.

R. Graves,—We have no time to visit Philadelphia, to ascertain
whether there is a bakery at tie location designated. That is
about the only way we know of to get such facts as you may de-
sire in relation to it.

W. ¥. Brown.—tist. Your subscription expired with No. 20. 2d
The papers will cost 66 cents. 3d. See ‘“Kuowledge Box,”
J. Page.—The aduress of the party is 599 Broadway.
_ Poor Widow,—ist. If your husband died of wounds received or
Sisease contracted whiie in the'service, you are undvabtedly en-
titled to a penston. Write to the Commussioner of Pensions,
Washington, D. C., stating the facts in the case, and you will re-
ceive instructiuns as to how to proceed in orderto obtain it. 2d.
Under the amended Homestead law you can enter public Jand
tor settlement, and have the term of service of your busband
deducted from the five years necessary to secure a pertect title.
Sbould your son enter the land as your agent he could not after-
ward claim it.as hi;sown. 3d. In regard to the bounty, write to
the Second Auditor, Treasury Department, Washington, D. C.
‘awamget.—ist.. From the jorimation of the word we judge it
to be a proper name in one of the Indian dialects. 2d. We Lave
no list of the narrow cange railwavs of the United States. 3d.
The Northern Pacific Railway is completed from Dulutb, Minn.,
to Bismarck. Dakota Territory, a distance of 448 miles. The
Pacific dis ision 18 completed irom Kalama to Lacoma, 105 miles,

Snyder.—lst. We know nothing of the work. 2d. The gentle-
ma ig a regular practitioner, but 1s devoted to cerrain “hob-
bies,” ee of which are generally considered impracticable
we ~ urs.

Hope.—You are needlessly terrified in consequence of allowing
your minc te dwell too much en thesubject of hydrophobia. You
inay overcome it by a simple determination to resist.

Paiwd.—We_do not Know the address.

Marjorie Daw.—ist. Kettle-drum receptions, which differ from
others only in name, are said to have origmated trom the cus-
tom in India, at the British garrison towns, of sounding a ketile-
drum after evening pursade, to signify that the officers are off
duty, when itis customary.to give entertainments at-that time,
which take their name from the dram. 2d. We do not know
whether tne poems have ever been set to music. 3d. “Charlie
He’s my Darling” is an old Jacobite ballad, sung by the follow-
ers of ‘‘Bonnie Prinee Charlie.” The author is unknown “He
frothed his bumpers to the brim” is anonymous. 4.b. We do not
know the names of the com posers.

Spero Seire—You may be able to find the apparatuses de-
aemate in the scientific department of one of. our leading col-

eges.

Curious, but True.—ist. Write to Wilkes’ Spirit of the Timea.
ws yr no horse records. 2d. We have never heardof the

ek.

“A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the wisest men,”
is from Bulwer’s ‘Hudibras.”’

Boonton.—January 10 of the present year was the coldest .
according to the report of the Signal Service Corps in New Yor!
we have had for anumber of years. The thermometer at that
date marked six degrees below zero.

Achates.—We are not at liberty to give the address of the first
named, and that of the other we do not know.

Ink.—We have no recollection of the poem.

J. H. Welles.—One of the works named wili soon be issued.
are unable te say whether the other will be issued or not.

H. D. F.—The gentieman may be addressed at this office.

Reader.—ist. A standard authority on cattle says that the
best breed of cattle for market as beef are the short-horns or
Durhams, which is the favorite breed in the West, and have not
deteriorated by importation. What are known as native cattle
are simply an intermingling of the different varieties, crossed b
interbreeding. 2d. The French Normandy horses and -~what (A
known as the London dray-horse are both very large and heavily
built. The latter are raised in the midiand counties of Engiand.
The largest raised in this country are those called the Vermont
cart-horse and the Conestoga (Penn.) draught-horse, both re-

We

4 sembling in a certain degree the Norman horses. 3d. We have

no statistics by whici to make the comparison, but have no hesi-
tation in saying that the climate of the United States is as
healthy as that of Europe.

The fohowing MSs. have been accepted for the Mammoth Month-
ty Reader: ‘Conflicting Emotions,” “The Little Un,” ‘‘A_Solilo-
quy,” Charity Thinketh no E vil,” “A Night Adventure,” The fol-
lowing are respectfully dechned: “Cousin Winnie,” “Long Years
Ago,” “Hetabel Snow,” “Siege of Berlin,” “Evening Prayer,”
“To the American Flag,” ‘‘Alice Wain,” “Was it a Dream,”
“Cem pensation,” “Sonnet,” “‘Love’s Memory,” “A Bad Mistake,”
“A Ghost Story,” “The Robber Chiet,” ‘‘Mistakes Wiil Happen,”
“Unchanged,” “Captain Meredith,” “My Darling Wite,” “The
Captiin’s Powder,” “‘Lostin the Pines,” “Loneliness,” “My Moth-
er,” “Spring,’”’ “Under the Liiac,’’* “Maude’s Trials,” “A Ro-
mance iu Real Lilie,’ ‘Miss Buker’s Duty,” ‘ Rondout Letter,”
“Seeing a Ghost,” “Night and Morning,” “The Doom o: the Sla-
ver,” “Beachwood,” “An Acrostic,” ‘‘Mike Mulroy’s Trick,” “Si-

ood’s Story,” “Young Mun, Pause Not,” ‘“‘What I Love,”
Miss Jemima Wilkins,” “The Returned Runaways.”

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.

Slocum.—Ist. It is impertinent to bow or speak to a lady with
whom you are unacquainted. 2d. A young jady cannot be too
chary of allowing geutlemen to kiss ber. This is a privilege
which should only be accorded to her lever.

, D.—Reinember the old saying, “Better be off with
the old love petore 208 are on with the new,” and. state the case
plainly to your .affianced, asking her to release you from your
engagement. We shoulc be glad to hear, however, that your
new charmer had giver you the “cold shoulder.” It would serve

ou mght.
: H. PF R.—See reply to “Lute,” in No. 28 Do not in any way
allew your affection to become too evident to the gentleman, or
it may repel mistead of atiracting him more strongly toward
ou.
* Kate ana Zucy.—lst. No young lady possessed of a proper de.
gree of seli-respect will carry on a handkerchief flirtation with
an acquaintance—ceriainly pot with astranger. 2d. If the gen-
theman is an intimate friend, you may accept a present of a
rivg from him. No meaning can be attached to it unless accept-
ed with an understanding.

Modest Inquirer.—lst. It you are likely to have trouble from dif-
ferences of religious beliet while you are yet single, it -would be
advisuble never to get married, but cancel the engagement at
ouce. 2d. As far as the ceremony is concerned, it is customary
to allow the bride her choice in the selection of the officiating
clergyman. 3d. We cannot give a form of expression. 4th. No
more appropriate present could be selected than a sewi ma-
chine or some article of silver or plated ware which will be use-
ful as well as ornamental.

Port Monmouth.—ist. Wait a few years before you decide so
important a question as the selection of a wife. Young men in
their teens are apt to mistake a temporary infatuation for the
deeper and more enduring affection. If you feel the same to-
ward the kidy when your circumstances will permit you to
marry it will be soon euough to become formally engaged,

A. D. H.—A very good accordion may be purchased jor $8.

Lillie.—Your lover is evidently of avery jealous disposition,
beside being tickle-minded.

James S.—The lady is iv duty bonnd to tell you the nature of
the charges, and how they originated, that you may have the op-
portunity of disproving them or of delending yourself.

@. H. &—Ist. In opening a correspondence, it is the duty of the
gentleman to write first. In the case stated, if the correspon-
dence was agreed upon, but the lady was not able to give her
new address in full, she should send itto him. 2d. If your first
letter was not answered, write again. - The letter may have mis-
carried. It the lady received 1t, and does not wish to correspond
with you, she shouid write you to that effect, it she has changed
her mind.

C. H. A—list. If alady thanks agentieman for escorting her
to a theater or other ae of amusement, he may respond by
stating that he isunder obligation to her for the pleasure her
society afforded him, etc. 2d. Itis proper fora lady to ask a
gentleman to call—in fact. he has..no right to call, uniess inti-
mately acquainted, without an invitation.

Vida.G.—Ist. It you do not wisttthe gentlemam’s company,
mike it convenient to be out or engaged when he Calls. 2d. See
“Knowledxeé-Box.” _ wok

.—We tailto see in what way you were remiss in your
conduct to the young man. It was not necessary that you should
ive him a special invitation to call, when he had already been
nvited to do so by other members of the family, If he cares
anythdng more for yon than for the others he will manirest itin

 

time. The most bashful men find a way of giving expression to
their feelings.