Crawfordsville Review, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 29 July 1871 — Page 1

Poetry.

OLD MADELINE.

*T IITT L4RCOW.

Om I crumpled paper in her band OM Madeline *ept. Dimly the candlc flic! ere«l on the rtand Up the dark chimney flared a smonlaenng orana

The whole bor.fe ilept.

And

Madeline'* care had made that deeping tweet For all daj Ion? ....

She

pattered to and fro with light, quick feet And while her broom made nook and corner neat She hummed a tong

A broken ringing, thin and pitiful, And yet In tune. With all that make* great lyrics magical. It I topped the children, hurrying out of school,

At night or noon.

Now a quaint hymn now "Jamie on the ioa An anthem snatch Tiat aung In f*r th*nk?(rlTinin! nfed to be, la tarage dayx before the land was tree

A glee or catch

If matter what—the children gathered near For all and each. Pi tho* of moaning wind through tranche# (ere. Mirth aaof wave* that break in auneet ci.ar

On some lone beach.

To-night ahe ait In silence. Every night For year and year. Dare hadnb« cower-d by the late candlelight Orer the worn-out print, and blurred bcr tight

Heading through tears

To ono name, Wrltton on the lie* of Dead,'-' Oer tired eye# grew. Falling in the march, pursuing foe» that fled, Homewhero betide the road he lay, th*y enld

Ilia grave none knetv.

Iha tattered newtpaper «pread ont to her A picture wide. Among va*t alien Iiilis the battle's etlr. A deaut-bed whore none camc to mlnlater

To him who died.

apot of green beside a mountain road, By warm winds kicted. Where strange large roses opened hearts that glowed. And over Mm their blood-red petals strewed

Whom love had missed.

Jfot sweet maid Madeline had never gncsed Ralph cured for her Save as a friend while vainly he sought rest, Bnro that no tender feeling In her breast

For him would stir.

And still his Image burled she within, Benenth her thought. Wondering what happier girl his heart would win. Bh« drowned her vexing dreams in work-day dm

The war he sought.

And alter he bod fallen, a comrade came, And told her how Upon Utr battle-eve he breathed her name. Thoa Madeline said: "Xone else my hand shall claim."

And kept her vow. A?

With her n» lightest wooing ever sped. No man mii ht press A soothing hand upon h-sr weary head, Or wlilapor comfort to the heart that Wed

With loneliness.

For Madeline slid: "Ralphsnrcly waits for mo Heyoii.-! Death's gate And I might miss lilm through eternity Byjoining flues witli one leas loved tlinn he. 1 too can wait.

I could not bear another lover's klcs, llccaiiHO 1 feel That sonviwhoro froai the tiolghU of hoavenly

IIIIhh

His spirit tilthor yearns, an mine to hi?, Forever leal."

This to her silent heart nlonc she said, Iliixtiltijr

I'H

moim

Tliat yet Into !i~r merrleft fllnpine strayed Whilo all declared, A cheerfuler old maid Wiw never known."

Nor over was there. AH her poor pong worth And witchory stole From muflleil minors, in them had lis birth, Out of crushed Joy sprung kindllnesa and mirth

Uer life was whole.

Wholo, thoush It ceeincd a fragment, rent apart From Its trno ond. Di inward from deathless clinging reached her in-art Readier to comfort for Unhidden smart

To all a friend.

None saw hor tears save God and her lost love, Surely tlial dew Kept memory blossoming frc-h in tlelds above Against death's bars he must have fed the dove

That fluttering flew.

So lived she faithful, an unwedded bride. Ills hand of snow Ago laid in blessing on her head. She died. Do Halph and Madeline now walk eide by side?

The angels know. —.V.

Y. fnrlfpendent.

Miscellany.

Cnrions Sleepers.

SLKEI- is nearly as great

puzzle as ever

it was. Much lias boon discovered concerning tho bodily peculiarities manifested during this portion of our existence but all whose opinions are best worth listening to admit that they tire only on the threshold of the. sulijict yet. Why, for instance, can some men maintain their bodily and lnenliil vigor with so small an amount of slec ps as falls to their share? Lord Brougham, and many other great statesman and lawyers, arc known to have been content wi! a marvelously small quantity of sleep. Fn derick the Great is stud to have allowed himself only five hours .lohn Hunter, five hours General Elliot, the hero of Gibraltar, four hours while Wellington, during the Peninsular War, hud still less.

How,on theotherhand, to account for the cormorant sleepers Ds Moivre, the tnathe maticiau, could (though it is to be hoped he did not) sleep twenty hours out of the twenty-four. Qnin, the actor, sometimes slept for Lwunty-four hours at a stretch. Dr. Held, tho metaphysician, could so ruauago that one potent nun!, followed by one long and sound sleep, would last him for two days. Old Parr slept away his latter days almost entirely. In the middle of the last century a young French woman, at Toulouse, had, for half a year, fits of lengthened sleep, varying from three to thirteen days cuo.h. About the same time, a girl, at Ni.we-tstlc on-Tync, slept fourteen weeks without wak'ng ai.d the waking process occupied three days to complete. Doctor ttlanchet, of Paris, mentions the case of a lady who slept for twenty days together when she was about eighteen years of age, fitly when she was aliout twenty, and had nearly a whole year's sleep trom Easter Sunday, 1SG~, till March, I8ii3 during this long bleep (which phVfieiiins call hysteric coma) she was fed with milk and soup one ol her frout teeth being extracted to obuin an opening into hor mouth. .Stow,in his Chronicle,' tells us that "'The'37th of April, lolG, being Tuesdsie iu E ieter weeke, W. Fox ley, potmaker lor the Mint in the Tower of London, tell asleep, and so continued sleeping, and could not be waked with pricking, cramping, or otherwise, till the tir.it day of the next term, which was full fourteeu oa\ es and fifteen nights. The caues of his thus bleeping could not be knowne llio' the same were diligentlie Srene 1 f-r bv the kind's physicians and 1

Other learntd men yea, the king himselfe

examined ye said \V. Foxley, who was in all points found at his waking to be as if he h.id slept, but one night"

trils, and bleeding to the extent of four-

lean ounces. Ho woke, asked for bread

strange relapses. There are instances of sleep so imtensely deep as to deprive the sleeper of all sense of pain. Tho records of the Bristol Infirmary present an extraordinary illustration of this. One cold night a tramp lay down near the warmth of a limekiln, and went to sleep. One foot must have been close to the fire hole of the kiln for during the night the foot and ankle was so completely burned away as to leave nothing but black cinder ana calcined ash. He did not wake till the kiln man roused him next morning, nor did he know what had occurred unul he looked down at his charted stump. He died itf the infirmary a fortnight afterwards.—Scintijic American.

—Can a ship with two owners be oalled ptrtowr-Bhip?

VOL. XXII.

1 WISE LITTLE WOIAX.

OUB morning studies with Scot were over, and I, Charles Brett, was lying down for my hour's rest before luncheon. Pennie was leaning with folded arms on the back of my sola, provoking Scot as industriously as she could, while he slowly closed and put away the books she had left in confusion on the table. This room in which we studied was no regular schoolroom, but tbe pretty morning-room, which Pennie—sole mistreat and sole daughter in the house—insisted on my- appropriating and opposite where I lay the wall was mirrored between the two low windows. In this mirror I could see just then a sunny, bright reflection of us all and the contrast in our three faces struck me almost as it had never struck me before.

Pennie's came first (one could hardly help noticing Pennie first, in whatever group one saw her) a small, brilliant, piquant face, with merry, mischievous lips, and laughing, dark-blue eyes, that seemed to know no sorrow and no pain. It et, though no one else in all the house had seen the gay eyes melt to infinite tenderness, or the arch-curved lips quiver with sympathy, I had, many and many time, as my little only sister knelt beside me in my pain. Before this radiant little face lay my own, upon the bright blue cushions, thin and languid, but a little flushed just now—not from my studies, as Pennie said, but from the many wide thoughts of which she was the center. Then, last of all, before my couch stood Scot Cowen, my tutor, yet scarcely older than I, with his pale, grave, thoughtful face, and slight, nervous figure. He was looking across me into Pennie's eyes, and telling her, in the clear, earnest voice which I had learned so utterly to love and lean upon, that if she wanted her translation to be corrected she must re-write it legibly for him.

I shall have to write it out legibly after you have corrected it," she said. Surely that is enough labor to bestow on the tamest bit of all the book."

I cannot read it as it is," began Scot, but corrected h.mself, at least, I will not. To-morrow, Hiss Brett, you will, I think, have, prepared a readable copy for me."

Her eyes flashed upon him as he went quietly on with his work. "Is Charlie's written carefully?" she asked.

Yes. He gives me very little trouble that way, you know." I know," she replied, touching my hand softly, and I give you a good deal. Hut let me assure you that you give me infinitely more, Scot. If it were not that you are oddly gifted with the power of bringing dead and buried facts (chiefly fictions) into the modern sunshine, for my small brain t.. grasp, I would not come and try to learn from you at all. So stiff you are, and stern and exacting.

Scot's lips, at that moment, were stern indeed. Then don't come in any more, Pennie," said I, laughing a little, though I spoke with anxious earnestness.

I must, because I must know all you know, Charlie," she answered, stooping impetuously to kiss me- -a little act others which always thrilled me with pain when she did it in this room, while Scot was with us.

If you had been anxious for instruction, you would have stayed at school, I should think, Pennie," I laughed.

Oh, ladies cannot teach," she said, in her pretty and thoroughly laughable little assumption of dictatorship, no lady ever taught me anything."

Scot laughed quietly. "No one can teach," he said, unless the pupil will respect their teaching. I cannot teach you for that reason."

Why, Scot," said Pennie, raising her eyebrows, and pursing up her small, red lips, I respect you intensely. I always feel a kind of awe overshadowing me when you are near me. I would hardly dare to veuture into your presence, only I must be as cl' Ver as Charlie, so I must be taught by Charlie's tutor."

Charlie's tutor is always at your service," returned Scot, gravely but while I teach you, you must obey me. While I teach you that is all I ask. When lessons are over, I claim no further authority."

Of course not," laughed Pennie, and your claim is small. From ten to one you require authority unlimited, and I think it is ten to one you will have it." "Then I shall decline to give you another lesson at all," rejoined Scot, quite is earnest, though he laughed a little. "All right, Scot, only you see I have learned (among smatterings of dead languages) to know that you always say that, and always don't enforce it. You should enforce your laws, my tutor."

Looking at Scot, and waiting for his answer, I saw his face change. While his hands were still busy, a patient, far-off look stole into his dark, grave eyes, and I knew without turning who bad opened the door behind me. Walter Cowen, his half-brother came up and leaned beside Pennie, looking never once at me, giving me no handshake, no thought, until he had feasted his eyes upon the little winning face, which had brightened so wonderfully at his coining. Before I turned I glanced a moment into the mirror again, and somehow I could not help fancying that the whole picture was changed. Walter's handsome debonnaire face, and lazy, lounging figure had brought some new clement into the scene—a quick, throbbing happiness, an idle, careless unrest.

Breaking in upon my sudden, silent thought., Scot's few quiet words had an odd effect.

How is my mother to-day, Walter?" Complaining a little, as usual, old fel

an(1!**

«sua1'

very

Another very notable instance was that of Samuel Chilton,.of Timsbury, recorded in one ot die volumes of the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society." In the year ItWl he slept for a month, and no one could wake him. Later in the same year he had a four mouths' sleep, from April the Oth to August the 7th he woke, dressed, went out into the fields (where he worked as a laltorcr), and found his companions reaping the corn which ho had helped to sow the day before his long nap it was not till that- moment that ie(j Pennie irresistibly. hQ knew of his sleep having exceeded the g^e -whispered good-bye to me, and usual duration ol a lew hours, lie went weut o3f together through the low, to sleep again the 1 th of August, and pen inj0w their happy voices coming did not wake 'ill the 10th of November,, ,0

unwilling for me

to leave her." Did she send me a message?" "Not a bit of it. Her only parting prayer to me was not to ride Satanella."

And I suppose you mounted her immediately I asked, beginning to feel a little tired, and wishing they would go.

No, for I was in the saddle when she spoke. You will ride with me this afternoon, won't you, Pennie

And Pennie, who loved these rides with Walter more than anything else through all her .'.ay, blushed gladly as she nodded her Yes.

Come now for a stroll in the garden. I came early on purpose for that," said Walter in the loving tone of approbation

Kg 0~ l|iC

notwithstanding the pungent applications aftc day Scot and I watched them of hellebore and fe*! annuo mac to his noa-

seemed summer breath,

fkln„iofcther: yet though they filled

our vo

W(J

never spoke of them when

^wo

were

]eft behind.

and checee, but went off to sleep again be- shall leave you now, Charlie, for fore it could be brought to him, taking

regt

another spell of sleep, which lasted till 1 .. \**rliere are you going I asked, for the end ot January. Alter this it is not gcotgenerally sat with me reading through recorded that ho had any more, of these thU ... & a

this hour. Not far, dear fellow," he answered, setting cy pillows comfortably for me. "I shall be reauy to drive you at our usual time."

Left to myself, I tried very hard to think of nothing and, of couise, thought of many, many things. trying to put them straight and pleasant for us all, but failed in the effort, as I had failed often and often before. Then I tried to let a quiet trust creep into my heart and still the restless anxiety which was now its constant guest

Tears ago, when Scot was only a boy— head boy sX tho Easterwood Grammer School, and taking all the prizes, I guessed —no hardly guesaed, I knew—that he loved my sister better than anyone else in the world. True, he had no very near relatione of hie own to love but if he

had had I fancy it would have been just the same. I was a young fourth-form boy in those days, at home on sick leave threequarters of the time and Pennie a wayward, mischievous little girl, attempting all my lessons, but never taking the smallest heed of her own yet we never fancied Scot at all superior to us, because he was himself so thoroughly unconscious of superiority. He did not come to our house very much, he worked too hard for this but his half brother, Walter-—a popular boy, who was a proverb of idleness, and who did not work his way into the shell until he wa3 leaving—came so perpetually, that he grew to seem a very part of our home life. Ho was such a pleasant, winning lad that his very vanity seemed excusable his very selfishness, amusing and his love of pleasure natural and irresistible. Pennie noticed nofie of these qualities in Walter. She saw him from the first a handsome, daring protector and patron a boy-lover, who took it for granted that she loved him, and won her heart for doing so. And now that Walter was a tall, handsome fellow of three and twenty, and Pennie, with her gleam of childishness, and fitful, authoritative humors, was nearly eighteen, bis love is just the love it had been from the first—unharassed by any doubt undisturbed by any quarrel untouched by any passion iresh and gay, and glad, despite tbe deep and troubled shadow which it cast upon the lonely path that it forever crosscd.

Walter's widowed mother lived about two miles from us, at Easter Hill, and had a very comfortable property of her own, which, of course, Walter would inherit. Poor Scot, her step-son,.had £50 a year of his own but he had wealth enouB\L}111 deep, clear head and there was as nine*, truth in Mrs. Cowen's indifferent opinion, "Oh, Scot is sure to get on, penniless as he is," as she was in the proud addition,

Dear Walter would never have done to be poor." I don't think Mrs. Cowen disliked Scot, at all, she was only utterly indifft rent about him, and neglectful of him. Her heart was so entirely filled by Walter, that she really had no room for any one else not even for Pennie, though I do believe she tried to love her because Walter loved her.

When Scot lett Oxford, where, with his talents, and £50 a year, he had won himself glorious honors, he became my tutor for a time, and lived with us entirely. All my life I shall be glad and grateful for this, for he has taught me as no one else could have done making my studies healthful and pleasant to me, and_ rousing me cheerily from the languid, idle life, which, in my weakness and inactivity, I might so easily have led. But, during all Scot's lessons, I had one sore heart-ache, and this was through Pennie's determination to have lessons with me to learn all I learnt, and for Scot to teach it to her. And she would not guess what I knew so well. Would not understand with what a dangerous mixture of pain and pleasure, and joy and augui3h, she troubled all his days. Poor Scot! It would have been difficult work to teach her (with her puzz'ing questions and frequent inattention) if he had not loved her, but, loving her as he did, and knowing what he knew, I did not wonder at the old, still look which was creeping into his young face my own watching eyes grew dim as I read its unwhispered struggle. And still, in defiance of all my entreaties, Pennie would insist on being taught with me mastering quickly and brilliantly what my lower nature could not grasp entering into Scot's opinions, and reading rapidly his own halfformed thoughts. Turning round and laughing at his pedantry flashing scornful, provoking words and glances at him then daintily and proudly, in his very presence, parading the happy, trusting love she gave his brother.

All these things I was thinking over, as I had thought them over many and many a lonely time before, when the luncheon bell rang, and Pennie danced in, that Walter might give me an arm.

I knew Scot was cut, because I saw him plodding up Easter Hill," she said. What has he gone home for?"

I told her I did not know, and she looked across at Walter rather puzzled. Then she laughed. "I know, Walter. He is afraid your mother mtiy be frightened about Satanella, and he has gone to reassure her."

J. hope he may succeed," replied Walter, a little sneeringly. I hope he has ridden Satanella himself," I said. Not walked all that dusty up hill road."

No he was walking," answered Pennie. You may depend that was the reason as I say. It is just the sort of thing poor Scot would be likely to do." "Poor Scot, indeed!" echoed Walter. And I slipped my hand from his arm, and went alone into the dining room.

Scot did not appear through the meal, but just as Pennie had declared her determination to drive me instead of riding, he cams up to us his face was very white, as it always was when he was tired or hot.

I am glad to see you back to-day, Scot," said Walter, with a-heavy emphasis, as he ordered Pennie's horse "for we were nearlv missing our ride. Come, Pennie, it will be doubly valuable to us now."

Charlie," whispered Pennie, an old wist.ulness in her big, bright eyes, "you look as if you didn't want me to go. Shall I drive with you instead

I laughed a negative and yet I did feel strangely unwilling for her to go, guessing that this ride would bring them nearer than they had ever been before. We watched them off. Then Scot took the reins and we followed them through the open gates turning the opposite way. We spoke very little to each other—we were real friends enough to be silent together when we would, and I remember feeling oddly relieved when Scot drew the pony up again before the door, and I saw Walter lounging there with his cigar. "Charlie,"Charlie," whispered Pennie, coming iu to me as I rested, and putting her arms round my neck and her eyes close to mine some day I am going to —marry Walter. Are you glad! My dt.ar, detr brother, are you glad for me, and glad for Walter, and glad for yourself?"

What could I tell her but that I was glad? How could I but be glad for her, with the dancing, love-filled eyes so near to mine How could I but be glad for Walter, knowing what her love made my own home But how—well, there was enough to prevent the words being false when I told her I was glad. "Really, Charlie?"

I kissed the quivering lips, and told her Walter would be a happy fellow, and I should miss her sorely. The tears gathered in her loving eyes, and I think we must both have behaved very childlessly for a few minutes, there alone, in the tender evening sunshine.

I begged Walter to leave early that night, for fiar his mother should be nervous about the young, scarce-broken horse he brought but he declined. He was so happy, and gay, and pleasant, that his refusal did not sound in the least harsh or unkind and no one thought it so. He and Pennie were so entirely engrossed by each other that—my father being out, and Scot having left the dining-room early, and not appeared since, I slipped away into his study. Here Scot was sitting with his book. He looked up and smiled, but I lay down without a word, and he read on. The light failed.. Scot closed his book without ringing for lights, ana still sat leaning back in his low chair. I heard ivatanella'n footsteps as she was being led down from the yard, and soon after Pennio opened the door soft)? and came up to me.

Are you sc tired, Charlie that you

CRAWFORDSYILLE, MONTGOMERY COUNTY, INDIANA," JULY 29, 1871.

could not stay with us she asked, bending over mine a face on which still lingered the parting smile which had been given and received a few minutes before.

You did not want me, dear," I said, half sadly, half jestingly. "Indeed, indeed we did," she answered, earnestly, fancying, perhaps, that her own loving feelings must be shared by Walter, too. We always shall. Am I not your own and only sister, .Charlie, and is not Walter going to be your own and only brother?"

Even in the dying light I couid see Scot raise a sharp, questioning face and, reading its agony, 1 Involuntarily laid my hand on Pennie's lips. Then I laughed nervously at her astonishment. "Scot"is waiting to hear your secret from your own lips, I said, wishing with all my heart I had told him myself while we sat alone there in the twilight.

Oh, Scot," she began, with shy hesitation, I did not see you, else I would have told you. At least I think so if—if Walter hasn't."

You have kept Walter so entirely to yourself, little lady," I put in, hurriedly, that he cannot have told anyone."

He—and I," said Pennie, in slow, happy tones, but with timid, shrinking eyes, as she looked at him, are—engaged, Scot."

Yes," said Scot, quietly. She paused a minute, waiting for him to say more, then tossed back her bright little head, and looked down comically at

me-

I saw that she was speaking at random, and that her cheeks had flushed and her eyes filled with tears as she read what was so ^ly familiar to me in the grave, kind

*a?.e

.. —ed no congratulations, I think you i»«-- -ou have enough dear, I said vaguely in your own heart.'

Her little fingers closed tightly on yet she had recourse to her old petulant defiance immediately.

Scot is hard, and stern, and cold tome, as usual," she stammered hotly. "Just because I made a few mistakes in a paltry translation."

Scot was standing against the table close to us then his slight figure leaning a little his face white and proud.

If I can be hard and stern and cold to you, child, then let me be so, child, in pity for under it all my heart burns with a wild, strong love, which I cannot always govern. Let me bnrn it out if I can, whatever comes to take its place."

There was a long, motionless pause among us then with a startled movement, as if something was made clear to her, Pennie left my side and stood close to Scot. She laid her two little hands on his and spoke with glistening eyes.

Some day, Scot, when you have taught Charlie and me all that we shall be able to learn (it isn't much, you know), you will go out into the great world and find a happiness like mine, only deeper, and when you tell me of it—as you will do, because we shall be always friends—I shall say, bat you are saying to me now, with your kind eyes: God bless you in your happiness

Scot took the little earnest hands and held them closely for a minute but if he spoke at all, I did not hear what he said. Then he went away, and Pennie sat down beside me, very still and silent while the pitying darknes3 crept in and hid her face. 11. "Isn't that a true verse, ChaTlie— 'Their's is the sorrow who are left behind

Pennie was driving me home from the station. We had been to see Walter off to.London on his way to the continent, where he was to spend six months with a party of old college friends. The reins were unnecessarily tight in Pennie hand, the little rounded cheeks were very pale in the fickle March sunshine,- and the young voice was bright only by a great effort!

Which, I suppose, is a very soothing reflection for you," I said, smiling. As YOU love Walter so much better than yourself."

Yes but I was thinking of some one else, too. May we drive on to see Mrs. Cowen? She said this parting would break her heart."

Never mind to-day, Pennie. Scot is_ there. He is best to be with her nowbest to be with her always, if she did but know it."

Not better than Walter, Charlie," she replied, her eyes all aflame in their sorrow not better than such a dear, dear, pleasant fellow. Scot is not the very idol of his mother's heart—like Walter."

No in consequence of his mother heart being set against him." But I stopped with a laugh, for I would not vex Pennie to day with this old argument of ours.

Now Charlie," she said, her face so happy in its love, so wistful and tender in its iii st pain of parting, "in spite of all you choose to say of Scot's goodness and of Walter's thoughtlessness, you know very well that everybody likes Walter hest. They can't help it. No more can I."

She seemed to miss Walter very much,

and she

was just her own willful self all

the time—always waiting on me, teasing Scot, and acting the pleasant, demure little mistress of the house when our father came home at night. Often I felt very angry with her and at last one day when Scot had one of his old hard struggling, mornings, I followed her out and told her I .could not stand by and see his brave, patient pain.

You ought never to come in to study with us," 1 said, hotly. You should learn nothing all your life rather than learn from him now." "But there is no one else to learn from, she pouted. So I must."

Then I wish to heaven he would care less for my good, and go away for his own good."

That would be very unkind though I dare say that he will do so soon," said Pennie.

You, of all the world, should judge Scot most tenderly and kindly, Pennie," I cried.

And so I do, dear Charlie," she answered, with quick earnestness. Then leave him to himself. I shall miss you woefully, as you know but I would rather you never came until our work is over, and we will meet on equal ground."

Charlie," she said, in a voice of utter solitariness, "I am always lonely and restless and mischievous away from you but I will not come in again."

And then of course I was miserable, though I had gained what I wished. Atter that, Pennie's behavior to Scot changed. Day alter day she forgot to join our studies forgot it in the most easy and natural manner imaginable, offering no forced reasons, showing no conscious embarrassment, and day after day she grew quieter and quieter to Scot not kinder exactly, or more conceding, but more thoughtful. She went alone very often to see Mrs. Cowen, but theae visits never cheered hex. The mother blind and devoted idolization of her son, contrasted with the son's easy carelessness of the mother, fretted Pennie's tender heart sorely. I saw how her thoughts rwi upon it after her visits,, and at these times ». never spoke a word against Walter. Yet eojne: times, when Pennie told me how he said he had not time to write home, and so she must go and tell his mother about him, my impatient word would esoape and I said thSt a man who could not take a few ijjinutes' trouble to pleese a mother who loved

Yes."

Ought not Scot to say he is glad, or something of that kind, Charlie Isn it considered right

sMrtiStSK. WJk-AX. Mf •-Vt

him so dearly, was"not worthy to win any othirlove. ICaltcr had been away about three motShs, when one day Scot was sent for home in haste, Mri Cowen being ill. He was away all night, but at ten in the morning, when Pennie and I strolled into the study, there he was, waiting for us.

Why, Scot," I exclaimed, meeting him gladly. "I didn't expect you back certainly not to work. Have you breakfasted yet How is Mrs. Cowen "A little better, thank you," he said, turning slowly from me to take Pennie's offered hand. I have breakfasted long ago." "Have you sent for Walter?" asked Penile, her eyes fixed upon his face,

And then he sat down calmly his place, and we read together, while Pennie stood silent, leaning against the window frame? I did not know whether she was glad that she should see Walter so soon, or sorry f?)r his pleasant excursion to be interrui&d.

Each day now, as soon as our studies were over, Scot went home, and in the afternoon Pennie drove me to Easter Hill, and leaving me in the carriage at the gate, went up to the house on foot to see Walter's mother. She never stopped very long, though I am sure that if Mrs. Cowen had liked to have had her she would have taken up her abode there to watch and nurse by night and day. But the sick mother cared for no one only counting the hours before her son should come, and fretting that Scot had not made him hasten. The day when Walter might have arrived had passed, and only then I could see how unquestionably Pennie had depended on his coming. She seemed bewildered, unable to believe he was not in the train, and she stood on the platform as it rolled away, her yearning eyes following it piteously.

There were so many hindrances possible," I told her "so many unforseen things might have occurred to delay him." -t, she never answered me a word and whole week went by and still when inn. ker ience

grew m0

The old lady was so fidgety. Walter wrote, that it would be ridiculous to suppose that she really meant him to come !iome from such a distance, and have the bore and expense of going back when her little attack of fear had subsided. She wanted him with her. In the meantime he had written to her and it would be all right.

I read no more. I folded the letter, and passed it back to Pennie, asking her if she did not think it would be better for Scot to have a holiday for a time, that he might not feel his duties pulling him two different ways.

No, Charlie," she said, at once. "Papa and I both think (as you would if you had been to see Mrs. Cowen) that it is better for Scot to have his old work. If he were constantly with her, fretting as she always is for Walter, it would harass and weary him more than this change does. She never expresses a wish to have him always there yet lie is a tender, cheerful nurse, Charlie." 7 7

I did not answer, for just then Scot came in, greeting us both with his gentle smile. He had been to the station a fruitless errand now, and Pennie had never been since that first hopeful day—and I could see by her glance at his solitary figure, as he came up, that the old hope had been with her this morning. I had thought it would be so, because by this time Walter might have arrived, in answer to the letter she herself had sent urging him to come.

I think my letter must have miscarried, Scot?" she asked, with a quiet wistfulness don't you

Oh, he would be sure to come, Scot said, looking quickly away from her face. There was 110 placing dependence on foreign posts." "Supposeyou were to write again? proposed Pennie, deferentially.

That was exactly what he had been thinking. There must have been some mistake in the last address.

W01 ldn't it have come back in that case I -uggested. We sertainly ought not to expect it back so soon," he decided. But he would not wait for it he would write again, at once. ,, .,

And after he had left us, I could not help telling Pennie what I had heard at the post-office—that every night a letter went from Scot to his brother with a large

Immediate on the envelope. Pennie turned away from me in angry beat. Tin

What does he write, then Why does he not write what will bring Walter home, and not fret and worry him, yet keep him there while his mother is—dying Then her wrath and courage broke down, and she leaned her tired little head against me, and sobbed out the fear, and love, and disappointment which she had hidden so

After that she was very petulant with Scot more petulant even than in old times. And when the subject which I knew to be always uppermost in her thoughts was mentioned, she would say impatiently that we all made a ridiculous fuss, that Mrs. Cowen was not really very ill, only fancying it that Waiter, of course, would cwne as soon as he could and that she was tired to death of the worry there was in the house just through the stupidity of Scot letters. „, ...

Saying nothing of her own letter, which had been equally unavailing, I would try to tempt her to read to me, or play, or drive but she would only refuse me with a quick "No" and leave me suddenly, coming back presently to throw her arms around me and sob that she was a wretched, uneratelul girl, and did not deserve to be loved by me or—Walter. And as this wearying time went on, she went about the house with small, tight lips, and restless hands, and grew always harder and more contradictory to Scot whenever she spoke to him at all.

Four weeks had gone by since Pennies last letter had been sent to Walter, when early on one sunny August morning, Scot sent a messenger to tell us that his mother was dead. I had to tell Pennie myself, and when I had done so In a few sad words, she broke from me and ran up stairs. Through that long, lonely day" she never came near me, and I began to realize what it would be to live without either Pennie

°risent a telegram off to Walter at once announcing his mothers death though 1 felt sure Scot had done so. And at last my father came in, and Pennie crept into her place among us.

Not once did she mention Walters name to me and on the night before the funeral, when—following the arrival of the London express—a cab drew up to the door, I heard her tell the servant she was engaged to every one." He, knowing he did not misunderstand her quiet, firmlyspoken order, told Walter so, and let him drive away in the darkness to the home that was so doubly darkened now, in.

It was the morning after Mrs. Cowen funeral, and I was sitting in our pleasant study, basking as invalids love to do, in the morning sunshine. Leaning at the window, in her old attitude, stood Pennie looking out upon her cherished flowers, but kPeing little of their beauty. Scot was fdttinz his table, his heed upon his handL Wb^her it was the long, vain watching for v^ter, or the sleepl** nightl and hard days' work, or the 5ld

hidden grief, I did not know, but certainly his face was white and haggard as I never seen it before. Suddenly he looked across at me with his own brave smile.

Come, Charlie, we have been idle too long, dear fellow." 1 had risen and was sauntering toward him, when the door was open«i and a familiar face looked in upon us."

Pennie, Pennie, darling! Fancy never coming to meet me!" Walter cried, throwing down his hat ana coming forward, grand and handsome in the glowing eunshine. "Pennie, darling, here I am." And he was cl«ae beside her, his arms open to receive her.

She gave one look into his face, so swift that she only seemed to have moved her eyes from the garden into the room.

Where areyou going, Scot?" she said: "Please don't go away. This is your room, not ours. I am going myself when I have spoken to you and Walter."

Pennie, aro you angry, darling whispered Walter. No, not at all," she answered, moving from him and standing beside the table at which Scot had sat down again. I cannot now make myself feel even angry with you, Walter." "Thank you. Thank you, dear," he said, joyfully. Come out with me. I want to tell you how it was." "Tell me here," she answered very quietly. "That's hardly fair," he complained (with reason, I th ught), but, of course, my darling, I never fane :ed my mother was really so ill." 1 told you," replied Pennie, still more buietly. "Yes, you did say so," replied Walter, looking for the first time a little nervous and anxious but I knew she was always fanciful, and I thought this was one of her false alarms. You ought to be sorry for me, Pennie. I thought you would feel for me in this grief."

She did not look into the face, where was a shade of real grief and he went on passionately in her silence.

Pennie, I want to speak to you. Come away. Why do you stay here Because," she said, moving a little, and laying her hand on the back of Scot's chair, because I would rather speak here. -"-t will listen to me and teach me once o#*oi"n ""h me what to do." t-.""

he did not conif, passionate grief or distressing to me than

anger. On the last day the post brought letters. One for Pennie, which she read with cold, tight lips, then threw across to me and one for Scot, which he had taken away with him unopened.

few moments. Walter, *w

upon her in astonishment, Scot, if I have learned that I hate Z!acl9 a great, great mistake in thinking that 1 loved your brother more than—any one else, isn't it best and kindest to tell him so now, before it is too late

Scot did not answer her, and she repeated the question, her beautiful eyes childlike in their pleading.

Would it be right to tell bim so, Scot, or go on in -the falsehood Right to tell him so," answered Scot, in tones low and quiet. "Then Walter," she said, raising her face to him as it flushed and paled rapidly, "I will tell you of my mistake now, before your brother and my own. There were once two gifts of love within my reach and the one which my eager, ignorant hand grasped, because it seemed most bright and winning to my dazzled eye, was not the one which could satisfy my heart. I did not understand either then I was as powerless to feel the deep self-forgetful-ness of the one as the shallow selfishness of the other but now that I know my own heart, Walter, I cannot hide its disappointment. Some day I myself shall be old and suffering, perhaps—fanciful, too, I dare say those who give much love, to win but little in return, often are—and I should not like to feel that when I summonedjou to my dying bed you would not he'^.he summons. I should not like all through my life to pour out a wealth of love on one who could laugh at me for the exacting intensity of the gift. And so I am very, very grateful I have read this in my heart before it was too late." "This is nonsense, Pennie," interrupted Walter, with a forced smile. Come and let me explain to you."

You have done so," Pennie said, still with her hand on Scot's chair, and still with her eyes clear and undrooping. "You have explained it all to me during the last few weeks. Now it is my turn, and I am trying to do so only it seems as if I could not say much even now of what is in my own heart.

Your

careful

mother had a faithful,

nurse, Walter, in all her illness

and by him no duty was neglected, no pleasure sought. Charlie, did Scot seek his own pleasure? did he fail in any of his duties, through all the time that Walter was securing his own pleasure ceaselessly, and failing in this one chief duty?"

Not one," she repeated, the little hand tight on his chair, but her face never turned to Scot. Not one. Did any remembrance of this pain weaken his hand, or chill his heart? Did it, Charlie "Never," I snid again, looking for a moment into Walter's vexed and moody face.

Never," she repeated. Diu any one thought of himself make him shrink from his duty to you, Charlie, because I made it bitter to him? or from his duty to his mother, because she blamed him always that her own idolized son had left her to die alone

Not one Walter, the love of such a heart is a prize to be grateful for through all years and through all years I will .be grateful that once this prize was mine. Scot, dear Scot, you have taught me all the little that I know teach me what to do now that my heart is hungering wearily for such a love as that fiom which I turned away not long ago."

Not a word did Scot answer, while his face was hidden in his hands. I am waiting for your answer, Scot.

The hand that had been on his chair loosened its hold the little standing figure

slipped

down

arul

kneeled upon the

floor beside him and both hands were laid upon the tremulous white fingers pressed so tightly in his hair. "Look, Scot, how I am waiting for your answer," she breathed. I have never been obedient to you before, much as you have taught me but I am waiting to obey you now."

What a face it was that her gentle touch uncovered! I could hardly bear to look upon it in its wondering, bewildered joy for it told so plainly of the anguish that had been lived through. Pennie's low cry burst involuntarily from her shaking lips when she saw it.

O, Scot, forgive me for it all! With the angry scarlet burning in his face, Walter left the room. I have not seen him since. He writes to me occasionally—short, gay, selfish letters but month after month he delays his coming home, and the house at Easter Hill remains without its master. For some time Scot lived there alone, settling Walters affairs for him, and still coming to me for old morning studies, but Scot has won his home now. Yesterday he was chosen for the new headmaster of the Easterwood Grammar School and it is the youngest headmaster who had been elected for a century, they say. To-night we are expecting him back from Cambridge, and Pennie is standing at the window watching for him, the evening sunshine lingering on her bright head, and another rest-" ful, happy sunshine in her eyes. Earnesuy do I know that the restive little pupil who used to give him so much pain has given him now a deeper and more gladdening love than mine.

There is a house in Tolland County, Conn., on the walls of which still reinatas jpper which has been there since 1787, when the houe was built.

NO. 48.

THE MILLERS OF LABORTOWN.

BT REV. T. KttLD.

TFBRX lived thre« millers In Lfibortown, Each owning tig stone mill On a stream where the waters tumbled down

From the rapids beneath the bill. With a roar beneath the hill.

First, Simon Coon was -an easy soul. And nothing disturbed old Coon And often he watched the big wheel roll,

And he smoolted bis pipe till noon And that was his work Ull noon. At noon he complained It was so hot,

Ana half dozed the hours away Then at night was sad to think of what llemlght have done that day—

Each beautiful summer's day.

For a grist of gold that day, That be meant to grind that day.

Great thing3 he was just about to do. When the mill WUB wrecked on his hands, And his life-grist only amounted to

A sackful of worthless plans. Though gold was in all liis plans. .*

Then Jacob Spry was a thrifty man. And a bright life had old Spry He planned his work, and he worked each plan,

And had irom a very boy, For a man was in tho boy.

His days went on like tho water-wheel, 80 busy, and steady, and true. And never a day was allowed to steal

Away without something to do,

Anu that he would always do.

Who knows the millers of LabortownT Who do you think they conld be? Just lend ua an ear and sit right down,

And we'll tell of all tho three, ». Until yon know all the three.

The boy who will waste life's golden day. Its morning and then its noon, Who, when h« should study or work, will pl»yt

Is a little old Simon Coon— A thriltless and worthless Coon.

The boy who's always going to do Some wonderful things each day, Tet finds each night his plans fall through,

Why, he is old Moses Jay— A simple, chattering Jay.

But he who is up with tbe rising sun. And, before the day goes by, Has his grist of etndy or work well done,

Is a thrifty old Jacob Spry— A steady and true old spry.

The world has no use for an idle Coon, Nor yet for a Jay of a boy, But In its heart there are warmth and room

For every industrious Spry, And its blessing will fall on Spry. —Children's Umir.

Let Well Enough Alone*

Is tuCe

young man or woman in the

country who Is impatient to have a comfortable home, kind and true friends, or means of gaining a livelihood—to travel to the city in quest of grander ppportuntties—some place where their love^ 01 play and excitement can be gratified, instead of plodding along iu the seclusion of the country

We would say to him or her, do not come with too sanguine hopes of success. Good situations do not go a begging, and coming without money or friends in^seaich of work is oft attended with sufferings in mind and body.

In the great, bustling city nobody cares what becomes of one stranger, and you might walk from morning till night and scarcely receive a kind word of encouragement. People are intent upon their own pursuits, and have so many applications for work and help for tho needy, that the addition of one more to the number of suffering ones is not felt by anybody. Not that everybody in town is selfish and uncharitable.

Many a kind-hearted man or woman would give you money for a night's lodging, or to buy something to eat but you are no begger—you ask for work and are too proud to receive charity. They have no work for you, and perhaps you may go hungry many a day before you find a place, and then, in desperation, accept a situation you would be too proud to take in the coufitry.

Working on a farm is much easier than the life of a city clerk, who must work twelve, fourteen, often sixteen hours a day, in close, dark rooms, year in and year out, always the same drudging life.

You long to see life! Slay where you are, even if you imagine yourself very miserable. Such misery is joy compared to the struggles, privations, desperations aud crimes which wear and weigh upon the darkened spirits of the multitudes who have come before you.

You might succeed, be very happy, and make a great fortune but, dependent upon your own efforts, all alone, unaided by the counsel of kind parents and the companionship of friends, the chances are decidedly against you.—ElmOrbu.

Girls, Don't Talk Slang.

Girls, don't talk slang! If it is necessary that any one in the family should do that, let it bo your big brother, though I would advise him not to adopt pigeon English" when there is an elegant, systematized language that he am just as well use. But don't you do it. You have no idea how it sounds to cars unused or averse to it, to hear a young lady, when she i3 asked if she will go with you to some place, answer, "not much!'or, if requested to do something she does not wish, to hear her say, can't see it!"

Not long ago I heard a young miss, who is educated and accomplished, in speaking of a young man, say that she intended to go for him!" and when her sister asked her assistance at some work, she answered, "Not for Joe!"

Now, young ladies of unexceptionable character and really good education, fall into this habit, thinking it shows smartness, to answer back in slang phrases and they soon slip flippantly from their tongue3 with a saucy pertness that is neither ladylike nor becoming. I bet" or "you bet" may be well enough among men who nro trading horses or land but the contrast is startling and positively shocking when a young man is holding the hand of his lady-love to hear thoBe words issue from her lips. They seem at once to surround her with the rougher associations of his daily life, and bring her down from the pedestal of her purity, whereon he had placed her, to his own coarse level.

I know the bricht-eyed girl who reads this, will think "the matter over, and do what is right, and discard slang and unladylike phrases.—Ezc/uinge.

Keep Away from the Wheels*

Little Charles Williams lived near a manufactory, and he was very fond of going among the workmen and the young people who were at work there. The foreman would say to him Keep away from the wheels, Charlie." Charlie did not mind, and would often say: "I can take care of myself." Often he would go near, and the wind of the wheels would almost suck him in, and two or three times he grew so dizzy that he scarcely knew which way to go. At length, one day he staggered while amid the wheels, and fell the wrong way the band caught his little coat and drew him in, and he was dreadfully mangled.

So it is, boys, when you go in the way of temptation: you may think you can take care of yourselves, and keep clear of the wheels but oh! you may find yourselves dreadfully mistaken. Before you are aware of it, you may be caught and destroyed. Keep away from the wheels.

Young Reaper.

THB distribution of carbolic acid throughout the air of the room in which patients are treated, so as to create what is known as a carbolized atmosphere, has bee& found to be productive of great benefit, in India and Egypt, in the treatment of •uch diseases as opthalmia and variola.

The GraadaCther.

GRASDXAXKA is so old, she has wrinkles and her hair is quite white her eyew shine like two stars. Yea, thev are much more beautiftil they are so mifu. so blessed to look into. And she can tell the most delightful stories, and she has a dress of thick eilk that rustles discovered with large flowers

Grandmamma knows so much, for she lived long before papa and mamma, that is certain. Grandmamma has a psalmbook, with thick silver clasps, and the reads in it often in it there lies a rose it is quite pressed and dry it is not so fine as the ropes she hfl5 in the vase, and yet she always smiles most kindly at it there even comes tears in her eyes. How can it be that grandmamma looks alw^s sotoM" ly upon the withered rose in tbeow book? Do you know? Each time that gi20«mama's tears fall upon the flower, its color revives, it freshens again, and the whole room is filled with the scent of it the walls disappear as though they were only fog, and all around is the green, beautiful wood, with the sun shining through the leaves, and grandmamma—yes, she is Quite young! She is a beautiftil girl with golden locks and blooming cheeks, engaging and lovely no rose is more fresh yet the eyes, the mild, blessed eyes, they 'are still grandmamma's. By her side is seated a youth—so young, handsome and strong! He offers her the rose, and she smiles—but not thus smiles grandmamma! Yes I—the smile comes, lie is gone many thoughts and many forms pass by the handsome youth is gone, the rose lies in the psalm book, and grandmamma—yes, there she sits again, as an old lady gazing at the withered rose that lies in the book.

Now grandmamma is dead. She sat the easy chair, and told a long, lon^, delightful ston'. And now it is over, she said, "and I am quite weary let me sleep a little." 1 hen she lay back, drew a heavy sigh, and slept but it becamc more and more still, and her face was so full of peace and joy, it was as if the sun shone upon it then they said she was dead.

She was laid in a black coffin, enshrouded in pure white linen she looked so beautitul, and yet her eyes were closed. But all the wrinkles were gone a sweet smile played on her mouth her hair was so silver while, so honorable, 110 one could be afraid to look at her it was still tho same kind, benign grandmamma. And the psalm-book was laid under her head, as she herself had desired, and the rose liy iu the old book and so they buried her.

On her grave, close under the church wall, they planted a rose-tree and it stood full of blossoms the nightingale sang over it, and fr.mi within the church the organ played the most beaut if ul psalms in the book that lay under head. And the moon shone right down upon the grave but the dead one was not there every child could fearlessly go there at night and pluck a rose, there by tho church yard wall.

One that is dead knows more than aH we living know the dead know the dread we should feel at anything so strange as that they should come to us the dead are better t,li«i we all, and so they do not come. There is -earth over the coflln, there is earth in it. The psalm-book with its leaves is dust, the rose with all its associations has crumbled into dust but above, fredt roses bloom—above the nightingale sings, and the organ plays one thinks of old grand mother, with the mild eyes, ever young.

Eyes ciu never die! Ours shall one day see her, yotmg and beautiful as when, for the first time, the kissed the fresh red roue that lieth now dust in the grave.— llant Christian Andersen.

Ink Lings by .Josh UiillnffS.

The most valauble thing in this world Time, and yet pet-pie waste it as they do water, moat of them kuing it run lull head, and even the most prudent let it dri/zie.

The devil himself, with all lus genius, allways travels under an alias —this shows the power of truth and molality.

If a dog falls in love with you at first sight, it will do to trust him—not so with a man.

One of the hardest things to do is to bo a good listner. Thoze who are stono deaf succeed the beat.

Thare are men who seem to be born on purpose to step into everything they kant set a common rat trap without getting ketched in it,.

A selcrct is like an aching tooth, it keeps us ineasy until it iz out. I hav lani't .vne thing, hi grate expertonce, and that i'/, waiit az much watching

mi nabors do.

The only way to learn sum men how to do ennything, iz to do youiseif. I tion't

reckokckt

order

now ev hearing

two dogs fighting, unless thar was a or man or two around. A wise man is never so much aionc as when he is in a crowd, ami never so much in a crowd az when In'iz alone.

I am satisfic.isthat there is more weakncss among men than malice. Thare iz no man in the world so easy to cheat az ourselfs.

I don't know ov ennything that will kill a man so quick as praize that he don deserve. liepentanse should be the elleektov love —not fear.

The soul has more diseases tnan the body haz. Things that

kant do

wru.un

be ov

onnv use to us, if we could do them. Amongst animals, the most ignorant are the most stubborn, and wunder it this ain't so amungst men. phool seems to be a person who na7, more will than judgment, and more vanity than either.

In repenting ov sins, men are apt tew repent ov thoze they hain't got, and overlook thoze they hav.

A dandy never yet fell in love—only with himself. Revenge sumtimcs sleeps, but vanity always keeps one eye open.

Thoze folks who expeckt to lail in an enterprise, most generally do.

A Chinese Death Bed.

TUB Chinese have mai.y customs peculiar to their nation, which ttrike the outside barbarian" as bring unnatural and strange. Their Hgi'.us traditions are so

deep

rooted ar.d so .-wrongly foster

ed by superstition as to give li.tle encourageiiu nt to missionary laborers. Thu most striking of thene supeibutions are those pertaini! to the disposition ul theirf ding and dead relatives. \ery often the dead"bodies of Chinese men and women are found in untenanted buildit-gs in ihe Chinese quarter of this cit ., and those unacquainted 'with their fup rstitions are prone to set the deseriuns ofdv.ng friends down as acts of selfishness. 1 his, however, is not so, as the Chinese believe that if persons die iu a house that '.Ley lived in before ath, their spirits will ba,nt the place ever after, and give unpleasant vidence of their presence to all who inmn. In

to prevent the inai.itestations ot.

the restless rpirit, as soon as the doctor gives it as his opinion that a patient cannot survive he is taken to another p.ace and left alone to die. Yesterday a case of this kind was reported to the Coroeer. A young Chinawoman, who had bet-n given' up by her

attending

physician,

spread

and

was

carried

by her relatives to an untenanted house in Ellis Place, off Pacific, above D'-ip^mt. They then dressed her in her best clothing

anew m&ttiDg on the floor,

laid her on iL They brought

pre

serves, meat3, fruits, candits, boiled rice, etc., lighted some punks and retired, ltav-i ing licr alone

await the coining of the

common destroyer. During the day she, died, and was found last night. Coroner. Litterman removed the body, and it

now at the Morgue awaiting the further action of the relatives, who vill probably leave her to be disposed of oy the city,

is generally their practice in all such .a-es. Many Chinamen—those of the wealthy classes—do not desert their dead friends,: and for the furtherance of this desire there are several hospitals fitted up, iu order that those about to die may be removed there until hey have paid the debt of nature, after which they are buried with? all the ceremonies of the disciples of Confucius.—Sir. Francisco Bulletin.

A HAJITTORD horse seizes rata !n his mouth when they come to his manger to steal his oats, shakes them like a terra untU satisfied they are "dead, and then threes them out of the bin.