Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 March 1880 — MARK AND MART. [ARTICLE]

MARK AND MART.

CHAPrER L \ the old cabbies. Hurrah for the men that work, And the labor that full# them best! Hurrah for the nix days labor, And the one of blwaed reatl Hurrah for the open heart I Hutrali for the nob'e atm! Hurrah for a quiet home I Hurrah for an honort name! Tliecairiers if the olden time have almost all left the road and given place to advancing railrokds. The large, awkward, lumbering wagon*, with the r teams of four hoivy horses, which, fifty years ago, ciuld be seen any day on either of the many highways converging in metropolis, died a peaceful death immediately on the appearance of the iron horse, and since then the local carrier’s carts hsvo become few and far between, as. by degroes, the motal track has grasped district after district in its greedy claws. Still, to-day there are to be found villagee, fat m houses, and even towns, ten and fifteen m’les from a railway station; and so situatod was the little village of Wellbury-on-the-Wolds, in Yorkshire. The consequence was that Wellbury-on-the-Wolds supported a realoldstvle chi rier in the person of Hezekiah Bogg. Old Hez, as he was familiarly called by his acquaintances, was a hale and wiry little man, and, although at the time out story commences he was past man’s allotted three soore years and ton, he strutted about with a back as atiff and upright as an ash plant Hez, with the help of his son Johnny, ran two cotivTSvances. One, the voritable o!d wagon with whien he had started in business (excep that it had, at various times, had new wheels, new shalts, new b :dv, and, I was going to say, new springs, but springs never foi nied a part of i‘), aud which he "meaut to drive as long as lie con'd hold a team. Tho other vehicle was built when Johnny had became man enough to help his father in the business, and was an investment made purely with the purpose of putting Johnny on a level with his' father. It was a cross" between a light wagon, a coach, and an omnibus. It had springs, however, and cushioned seats, and was covered, and had a door behind, and was painted a bright yellow, picked out wiih crimson, and a strolling writer had painted along each side in magnificent blue letters, shaded with green, the word '• Wellbury,” which served a •> an intimation to the public that, whatever direction the coach (as it was termed by courtesy) might, for the timo being, bo pursuing, its ultimate destination was Wellbury-ontjje-Wolds. These two important vehicles performed every week two journeys, with an additional one each alternate week. Every Seturdsy to Bt. Olivos; Thursdays to Bpaboro-super-Maie, and every alternite Tuesday to Milton, the nearest market town. Johuny Bogg did not much resemble his father. He was “fat aud forty,” with a great red fare which reminded one of the sun in a fog. Johnny was a widower, and, on the death of his wife, went, with his one child —a girl—to live with his old father and mother. The Bogg family had been Methodists from the timo that John Wesley founded that society, and ever since he had felt the Sunday walk to Milton and back beyond the strength of himself and wife, now some twenty years since, he had thrown open the doors of his cottage for Sabbath worship, and there now appeared on the plan of the Milton circuit the name of Weilbury as a preaching statiou. Ou two or three important occasions of ea h year, Buch as M'ssiouary Sunday, Mil on Anniversary, etc., Hez still managed to do the long trudge to Milton; but for tho rest of the year he contented himself with the homely service in his BDacious kitchen. hez could never be induced to harness his horses on tho Sabbath on any aoeount whatever, though most of the Weilbury Methodist farmers drove with tlieir families to Milton Chapel every Sunday morning. Yet these could not manage the journey twice, and so it came to pass that tho old kitchen was usually pretty well crowded with Weilbury folk on Sunday evenings to hear Hez (he was a local preacher), or once in a while a minister, expound the scriptures.

CHAPTER 11. SUNDAY. Dear ia Ihe hallowed morn to me, When village bells awake the day; And, by their aacred mlnatrelay, Call me from eartuly cares away. And dear t > me the loud amen, Which echoes through the blest abode, Which swells and Blnks, and swells again, Di s on the walls, but lives to God. Hez used to have his very best times on Sunday morning, along with tho ohildren and old At!) o'clock there was Sunday school—in th’e summer timo held in a loft fitted up for tho purpose, and, in the winter, in the warmer kitchen. For au hour each Sabbath, the old man and h s granddaughter, Mary, would instruct tho Juveuilo rustics from the Good Old Book, and, though no doubt carried on in a manner which would horrify certain precise Superintendents and Secretaries, a vast amount of good was done among tho little ones in Hezekiah B >gg’s Sunday school. One day when Hi z came home with his wagon from St. Olavee, ho proceeded to deposit at his own house a cumbersome piece of goods, labeled for Miss Mary Bogg. When brought i ito the light, it proved to be a harmonium, which the old mau had purchased with a d mblo purjwse in view—to amuse his granddaughter and to assist iu teaching the Sunday-school children some new songs So now they had rare' times at school, and, although Hez had some difficulty in picking up the new airs, he sat there in his arm-chair, his eyes glistening and his feet beating time, as he watched the ohiltren and listened to their siDging, led by Mary’s voice and the harmonium. But, if the eld man couid not join in very well with the sprightly and chierful songs of the children, he could pray tor them and talk to the Lord about and for them, and it was In beautiful, though simple, language that he every Sunday ] loaded for the little ones. A - ter school, Hez held a prayer meeting, which was usually attended by the aged cottagers of the villages, and it was at this meeting hat he was seen to advantage. It was always a most Informal gathering, and usually cim prised less than a dozen worshipers. Hez had to d) nearly all the singing himself, and to give more scope t > hit voice and feelings, and that he might indulge in his idea of a *Vood song,’’ he, would not have the harmonium introduced Into the prayer meeting. He invariably commenced the proceedings by singing lustily, marking time the while with his feet, the verse—onward, press onward, The prize is In Yi-w! A crown of bright glory Is wsiti-lng so-or yo-ou. And taking up the refrain— IS waiting for you, Is waiting for you would give an extra-loud stamp, pointing with ~ >*"£ forefinger to one or the other of the old folke assembled every time he came to the word yon After that he would break rorth something after this style: “Well, old fr’en’s we a gotten another week on t’road. J’s med my Jonrnies vance agen to Sent Ol’ves, an’ Bpab co, an’ Milton, and, bless t’Lord, He’s t* en care on me, an’ here 1 is to meet ye all «nair. Au’ noo I trurt we’s gaen to get a good" lift on t’journey oopwards.. Bless t’good Ijo,< L * e “ Rotten * better place to travel to nor Hent Oi’ves, an’ wheo weh> landed ihere we sant have to coom back. That’s oor yam! Bless His nsme!” And his rising feelings would find vent in shouting: I believe I shall be there, I believe I shall be there, In yon bright world of light! And, leaving his chair, he would grasp the hand of each in turn, saying as he did so, Toon’ll be there, mither? and thou, o’d blither?” while to his wife he would say, “I kuow thou’U be there, old ’ooman!” And then ih»y wou d altogether finish the fine old revival hymn, HezckiaVs voice sounding above them all: “ Thou*ands a-e already ther \ Ringing throng l ! those regions fair; Robes of righteousne « tin y wear In yon b 1/at world of light I

“Surer Hez would cry. ns a hint howto word the chorus, and they would dog: I aa sure I shall be there, 1 am sure I shall be there, And walk with Him in whltet “Oh, praise YLord! what a time we’o harin’!” Hez could never refrain from remarking: “Now, brothers and tiiters, wefa all gaen to pray: tell t’deer Lord all your wants;.dean’t leave ought unsaid.” Ano, then, for half an hour, an omlooker might hare Been a sight to do him good. Just a few simple cottagers pouring forth their prayers and praises in the quaint but interesting Yorkshire dialect Sorely there would be joy among the angels at such a sight! And scholarly critics, who would scorn to call this Christian worship, think von that God is like yourselves to despise such Homely bat genuine devotion? The time may come when you shall discover that not always in grand cathedrals or richly-furnished chapels and churches, with their cushioned seats and pulpits lined with crimson velvet; and not in athems set to classic music and sung to the rolling notes of the organ—but more often in cottage gatherings similar to ihese at Hezekiah Bogg’s, and in rough melodies, sneg from the heart, is God worshiped in spirit and in truth. After all those who wished to do eo had opened their hearts in prayer, Hez usually read a chapter from the Scriptures, interspersing the verses with his quaint explanations ana comments, and then, in accordance with the custom of many years, before parting, these aged pilgrims, a ith 'remulons voices, bat ham>y and confident withal, sang together, the sisters first: Say, yon brother*, will yon meet us Ou Canssu's peaceful shore? To which the brothers would reply: By the grace of God we’ll meet you Where partings are no more! And then the same verse, si gtafly altered, would be repeated by the brothers, the sisters singing the reply; and, for the finale, all together sang: Glory, glory, hallelujah! Forever—evermore! Hez bringing down his flat with tremendous force on the “ glories. ” “ Hey, mon!” the old fellow would say when speaking of the prayer meetings, “ but they be glorious times—l wadn’t miss ’em on no account. I’d as soon think to miss ttking t’ wagon to Sent Ol’ves! Why, I s’ould lose my rock’nin’ o’ t’week after, aud s’ouldn’t remember what to be singing whoa l’s all alone driving my team over t’ wolds. Glory! tbey’s lartle heavens brought doon t’Wellb’ry' they is!” Ou Sunday afternoons Hez regularly attended the parish church, for, notwithstanding that he was a staunch Methodist, and could hold h s own in an argument with the church parson, he loved the little whitewashed church, and he respectod the venerable gray-baired rector, whom he rememb-. red coming to the parish, fifty years since, a smart young fellow, fresh from college Hez had strong affections and memories ta ined around the tiny old church. He was married there long years ago—his boys and girl*, when they grew up, ha 1 bean wedded there; one of them lay slumbering in the quiet graveyard, and in the same “God’s acre” lay his father and mother, and his brothers and sisters—indeed, there was hardly a name engraved on a headstone bu Hez had known its owner. And so wnat wonder that tie loved the church of his fathers, and considered himself still one of the rector’s flock ? Tho aged pastor himself would have been surprised, and woulc[ have felt grieved, had he see i Hezekiihßogg’s seat va ant, though he knew him to be an out-and-out Methodist, and, according to the literal laws of the church, a herciic So Hez always put in a good Sunday—always made the most ot i ; for as soon as his supper was ended he had to prepare for the cottage service. And surely such a house, so thoroughly dedicated to the service of the Lord, was worthy the diviue blessing, and little wonder tha’, with each week so well begun, Hez jkiah Bogg went through his daily task t with cbeeifulness and vigor. Hez was not the man to put on religion .with his Sunday clothes. . His was a religion that accompanied him the week through, and, find him when you would, ho was ever in the same happy frame of mind, humming snatches of his favorite tunes when alone (as he was daily for hours together), and never at a loss for a smile and pleasant word or kiud action for all with whom he came in contact. Hez was not exactly a poor man. All his life he had done a good carrying business, and, bring simple and lrugal in his style of living, he was enabled to be liooral in directions where men with larger incomes were compelled to withhold their hands. He always had a spare sovereign for every cause that needed assistance, and, although he Beldom participated i i the service at Milton, he was a regular contributor to every fuud in connection with the society there.

CHAPTER 111. MARY AND MARK. At last the final hym was sung, And all tne prayers were ended, When one from the doorwaj’ crowd among Her l.omeward steps attended. They left at last the village street, And sprung the low wail over, 1 o pass through Capt. Penslee’s wheat Aud Deacon hascomhe's clover. The moon seemed shining overhead To flood tu*ir path with g ory; They whispere low, but what they said Was —only the same old story! Hez was extremely fond of his son Johnny’s daughter Mary, and ho had spared no expense to put her to a good school, for, the old man said, “I don’t believe in t’ lads wasting their time at schools and colleges and sich like Sleets; butgols is different, aud I s’ould like our lary to grow up a better scholard nor her feyther or grandfeyther.” So, at tho time our story commences, Mary was a blight and well-educated girl of 17, and the delight aud hope of her grandfather and father. Johnny Bogg, as we have before remarked, was unlike his father, being stout and awkward and slow of speech. There were only throe objeots which could excite in him the least degree of talkativeness, and ihey were his father, his “little girl” (as he called Miry) and his coach. The household at Wellbury was a happy odo, and a pleasant sight it wsb to see the membeis thereof, after the horses were groomed aud bpdded, all sittting at the kitchen fireside—Hez and Johnny facing each other in large arm chairs, each pulling away at a long clay pipe— Hez chatting in his lively style to one and another of them, and Johnny eilently puffing and nodding—the old lady busy with htr knitting, and Mary plying her needle or playing or ringing for her grandfather. When 10 o’clock came pipes and sewing were laid aside, and the old llible would be set before Hez, the old man selecting a chapter for M ry to read; after which they would all kueel down, while the aged father offered up the evening sacrifice of prayer. Such was the Bogg family, and so from day to day, and from year to year, the even tenor of their way was pursued, unil events transpired to disturb this quiet household.

Among the Wellbury farmers was one Andrew Lovel. a Methodist, and particular friend of iiezeki ißip g. He was fil l ten years our old friend's junior, but Hez was so lithe and active that a casual observer might almost have thought quite the reverse. They were s'auuch friends—had been so for forty years—and when Mary fiad been home from school little more than a year it was pretty well understood that the tieß of friendship were to ba strengthened by the formation of a family connection. Andrew Lovel had au only son, Muk —a steady, industrious young fellow of about 28 years. He was a very ordinary young man, but sound in head and heart—a man who thoroughly understood his business, and who .promised to make as good a husband as he was a farmer. He had courted Mary ever since he first saw her, after her three yeais’ absence at schocl in the West Biding He know her when she was a baby and himself a little echool-lad; he had played with Ler, when all the boys and girls of the village mixed together: but it was when she came homo from school, a polished and interesting young woman, that he first became aware that in Miry was to be gained a wife .worthy of any man. Mark had spent all his time at Wellbury, the only changes he knew from his monotonous round of agricultural pursuits being an occasional visit to Walton, or a still more rare trip to St. Olaves, and his knowledge of pretty girls was very limited; so that when Mary, who though not handsome was possessed of pretty features T»nd winsome manners, came back to her old home, he thought she was a very angel. At first he was rather shy to her, but as time wore on his shyness passed away, and in less than a year he round himself telling her, in his blunt stylo, of his great love. Ana Mary, who had been possessed of little bf the oornmoa school-girl sentimentality when at school) and who, now that she was at home, saw no more of the world than did Mark, grew to be fond of this plain, honest yeoman; and when the time came that he took her hand in hi i and asked if he might seenre Burydale Farm for next Michaelmas, and get the house ready for her, she at once said “ Yes. ” The old men talked the matter over, and’ willingly gave their consent, only making the stipulation that they should “ wait a bit”— the “ bit” being ultimately defined as a couple of years. But the engagement gave Mark Lovel the right to consider Mary his own especial care and charge; and very nappy it made him to be allawedto drive her on*, or to walk with her; otj in the winter evenings, to join the family- circle now and again at Hezekiah’s cottag* Alas, that clouds should arise to darken such bright scenee as these; that angry storms should sweep over quiet landscapes, changing calm beauty into will tumult. CHAPTER IV. THE-WRONG STEP. To what gulfs A single deviation from the path l f human duties leads. It was very seldom indeod that the p os' man had letters to deliver in the village of Wellbury. The correspondence of the entire parish was small, tho clergyman, who receiv- d perhaps an average of two letters per week, conducting half of it One thing was cert.iiu, a 1-sHei bearing (he Queen’s head had only troubled

Hez ikiah Bogg three times in all his life, and they were from Mary at school. All ins relations, friends and acquaintance resided within the bounds of his weekly tripe, and he made and received all his own c >mmuiucataoo* verbatim, del vering all Mary’s letters with his own band; for she knew hardly any one who did not reside somewhere between Wellbury aud Olaves. Bat one day in the spring, only a few months before Mark Lovel wss to make Manr his wife, the postman lifted the latch of the garden Sate and delivered at the cottage door a letter »r Mies Mary Bogg. It proved to be from an old sohool friend of Mary’s—a girl whp had recovered from a long illness through Mary’s gentle care and tender nursing. They had been great friends at sohool, and had promised each other that, whichever of tho two was married first, the other was to bo one of the bridesmaids; and, as Nellie Hazel’s marriage was to take place in J one, the fulfillment of Mary’s promise was now claimed. Nellie was a ciiy girl, living in Manchester, and old Hez had serious miigiviugs as to whether he ought to let Mary go so far and to Bach a great, busy place, ail alone. He and Johnny had some long oonsul aiions in the stable on the matter, bu it was finally decided that ehe should go. “Tlass wants a change, Johnny, boy, and mebbe it’ll de her a warld o’ good. a >on she’s te marry Mark, and then she’ll ha’ te settle doon te housexeepiu’ an’ hard w&rk. Let her go, lad, let her go. It wean’t cost eic a deal, an 5 1 can spare V brass. ” So Mary wrote to Nellie, telling her that on each a Saturday she would be at the Portland Stree . station by such a traiD, and that she meant to be there three or four weeks previous to the wedding that she might heip in the preparations. Aud one bright Saturday morning in May, Mary waa a passenger to St. Olaves by her father’s coach. At the railway sta ion her grandfather and father saw her safely into the train; and, just as i was about to move, the old min took her hand to give it a parting squeez >, leaving in it a crisp ten-ponnu note. At the last moment he bad been afraid that one such piece of paper might not be sufficient. He had au idea that money sipped away pretty fast in large cities, and he would never have it said that he stinted his “little gin”—hence this generoeity at partmg. When the train was out of sight, the two men turned away to their everyday work, and when they went home they missed the girlish form at the supper-table. The next day Hez and the.children missed her from the Sunday school, and she was mistei all through tbe day; aud, when the Sabbath evening came, and the two men smoked their pipes, with Mark Lovel sitting by for company, Hez said: “It ijn’t like Wel.b’ry, boys, wi’ont her—hey, Mark, my lad—but tuou’xl gain somethin’ aud we’ll lose everythin’ when >hou tak’s oor lartle gel away!” Mary was made welcome by Nellie and Mrs. Hazel, and the two friends were soon as deep in each other’s confidence as ever. Nellie was engaged to, a Mr. James Rochester, who had quite latsly inherited a considerable fortune on tho dt atn of his father. Nellie almost worshiped him, and the glowing descriptions wliica she gave from time to time of her future husband make Mary stand forth boldly on Mark’s behalf, and the two men were the exclusive topics of conversation between them.

When Maty had beea at Manchester a few days, Mr. Rochester himself joined them. .He was very young—only 23—but he looked as though he livid afar from quiet life. He was reputed wealthy, and apparently a man with no fixed purpoies; he was excessively handsome, having a good figure and finely-chiseled features, with penetrating eyes and dark curly hair aud mustache. Mary oou'd not Help tbiukiug for a moment that ho was indeed better looking than Mark. “But then,” she added, “he cannot be hilf so good.” Of course, Nellie took possession of Mr. Rochester, and planned how his time was to be spenF while at Manchester. Rochester took all this in good part, but to Mary it appeared as though he treated Nellie rather as a tore than as his future bride. Any one who ebese to take the trouble might have observed, after a wbi.o, that, when Mary and he were together, Rochester constantly kept those fasciuating eyes of his upon Mary. James Rochester was one of those men to whom girls unwillingly, and sometimes unwillingly, seem irreristanly drawn. He could talk well ou auy aud every subject; he had read much and traveled considerably; he could draw, play and sing well, and was, when he chose, the beau ideal of a “ladies’ man ” Before they had been together two week », Mary was completely enslaved in her admirat.on of this young fellow. He, too, found in Mary a brigtr, fresh, pure girl—such a one as ho was cot accustomi d to meet in city society —and he folt that, if he consulted his own future hippiness, Miry should be his wife instead of Nellie. He knew that, in less than a fortnight, the day fixed for his wedding would be around. He knew that'Nellie loved him dearly, and that it wou'd almost break her heart to lose him. He knew of Mary’s engagement, but, in bis selfish love, he thou'nt- not of others. And Mary knew all this, too: yet, when James Roch; ster one evening sat beside her in tbe conservatory, and poured into her ear, in passionate language, his love for her, and asked her to become his wife and make him happy, because it was her he loved, and not Netlie.sheforgotthe manly, loving formof Mark Lovel, and she never thought of her old school frieud, who would bo heart-brokeD, but accepted th s man’s advances and consented to become h s wife. Rochester told her that he wou’d m ike arrangements for them to proceed to Scotland, where they would get married, and then break the news to all their friends. He advised her that it, was the best way—that It would save & lot of “scenes,” and so she consented. Thov eloped to Glasgow the next evening, and the day afler were made man and wife. Then Rochester left her for iwo days 1 1 go to London, and when lie came back he b ought bad news. It was hard for him to tell Mary, but he had to; so he took her hands in his (a habit he bad), and said: “Mary, dear, I foolishly invested my all (not so much as people though ) in a mad speculation, which would hive trebled my money if successful. But it has turned out a cnmplete failure—a bubble —a fraud, and I am almost pennies*. My darliDg, I could kill mveelf for bringing you to this! ” Alas! ho should have counted all the cost before lie took eo rash a step; it was too late to go back now. The poor fclmw kuew not what to do. He hadn’t more than £SO now; he had never been brought up to help himself or earn his living, and he was too proud, and too thoroughly ashamed of Lis behavior' to Nellie, to ask for assistance from his friends. Mary could not help him. She began to realize how foolish she had been—Bhe did not real y love this man with that combined feeling of esteem and true afftet on which ehe had felt toward Msrk. They wer6 alone and adrift on the wide world; away from friends whom they had wronged, aud to whom, they both felt, they had behaved, to say the least, shabbily. So when Rochester proposed that they should cross the Atlantic and try to settle down in the. New World, Maiy at ones agreed, and the next vessel of trie Anchor Line that left Glasgow took this foolish young couple away from the OU Country—away from Manchester, and away from dear old Wellbury-on-the-Wolds.

CHAPTER V. MISERY AND DEATH. Judge not too harshly, ob, my frieud, Of him your fellow-man; But draw the veil of charity Around him if v u can. I'rhaps he was ones a noble man Be ore temptation veied— He stepped from out the narrow way— It may ba your turn next! When James Rochester and his wife landed at New York, they proceeded to a quiet board-ing-house, and iu the strange and bustling city Mai y ceased for a time to think so much of those whom, she knew, were sorrowing lor her. But, a! ter a while, when R ich ster had to set to work seriously to find employment, and left her during the greater part of each day while he went forth on his search for work, she had t me for reflection, and litile by little the truth dawned upon her that her love for Rochester was a mere fancy and a delusion—that she shll loved the man whom she had wroDged. And her heart yearned to be back at the old cottage, and to be once again tho object of Mark Level’s tender, almost womanly, care. She thought of the old home at all times; in the morniDg she remembered how the old mau would be starting off with his exm singing one of his favori e hymns, and then she tnought that maybe he couldn’t perform his daily task aschetrdy now; and at night h r re.ollect oo pictured tho family party-her father, grandfaiher and the old grandmother seated in the lew-roofed kitchen. And then she must needs think of Mark—dear, kiod, thoughtful Mark—who often made one in that circle. P rhaps she should never again see her graqdfat ler in this world; he was an old man now And, perchance, if she should ev.r again behold her father, be would be an o d white-haired man, and he would have to go through his li'e without wife or d&ngh er to cim’ort him. And Mark? She could hardly bear the thought. He would miss her, suie enough; but his sorrow would die with time, and then some other woman would win his love and become bis wife. Aod, if she ahoud ever again tee Mai k, he would perhaps be on the sbaiy side of life, with Loys aid girls of his own growing up around him. But, as weeks and days passed away, sentiment had to give place to stem reality. James Rochester found every do>r of employment closed against him; and, although he made a thorough canvass of every mercantile house in New York and the surrounding towns, his efforts proved unsuccessful. He could give nd business references, and without them no one would engage him. Two months had passe 1 since they arrived in America, and Rochester’s small stock of ca h was almost exhausted. Another week’s board would require the last ce t The poor fellow began bi terly to bewail his foolishness, and his bnr ten was harder to bear in that he had mad* a pure and helplets womtn the sharer of his misery. He really loved Miry; that is to say, he felt more genuine affection for her than he hid ever experienced toward any other woman, and he was deeply sorry for his now apparent eelfishnoss. One morning he atar'ed «ff as usual, and, while out, was overtaken by a heavy ranstorm, which soaked coxp’etely through Li < cio h-s. ln-tead of returning home at once to change bis clothes, he wandered on, set, col', and mi erable, uu.il evening. The

next morning he wss tossing reetiesaly ou his bed. overcome by a violent fever. Mary fetched a doctor, who at once saw that Rochester was last st tbs commencement of s serious sod long illness. He told Mary So, at which the poor girl burst into tears; and, by degrees, told the doctor how they were situated, and asked him If he could put her into £be way of earning something. He promised to do his best, and in a few days introduced her to the notice of a wealthy lady who required a considerable quantity of fancy work done. Mary was particularly clever with her needle, and at crocheting, eta, and. by dint of incessant labdr she contrived to keep the wolf from tbe door. The poor girl had httle rest, what with her work and nursing her sick husband. For the time she forgoteverything but the man lyiog there so near to death: and when, after several weeks of weary watching, Rochester began to mend, she fell on her knees sad thanked Heaven for sparing his life. At tbe same time she wofidered at herself for so doing. At times she harbored dread! ul thoughts, and it d.d seem as though the death of her busband would be the onlv means of freeing her from life bonds which she sorely regretted naviog qver made. But Mary was not quite so bad 'as to Irish such a course to oome about. She had taken ope false step, but she resolved to do her best under the circumstances, and act well her part aa a wife toward the man whose name she now bore. Aud if James Rochester had not been sincere up to the present; if be had hastily married a git 1 for whom he merely entertained a passing fancy, he would have been less than human to watch the self-donying, noble devotion of his wife unmoved. He eften took the little hand, which was working so industriously for him, in his own wt.ire and oony fingers, and pressed it gently to his lips, while Ma y would bend down and kiss bin forehead; and then turn away to breathe a prayer that God would help her to make her married life happy. In the coarse of years she might have grown to love no other man than Rochester, and Mark would probab’y have gradually died away into a memory of tho past. Bat the chance was never hers. Rochester grew better of the fever, and in the lovely autumn weather would sit in the open doorway gazing oat on the busy river, and inhaling the fresh air as it blew m from the sea or adown the hills. But his constitution, never strong, had been completely shattered by the fever, and when an unusually severe winter eame on it proved too much for him, and he was obliged once more to take to his bed. Mary nursed him with undying devotion, bnt on the last day of the year he drew near his end. He knew he was dying, and, taking both Mary’s hands in his own, he bado her “goodby.” “I was selfish, Mary,” he said, “in bringing you away to this country so far from your friends. Perhaps I did wrong to marry you at all But I thought I loved you and believed you loved me. I love you dearly now; you have been a good aud noble wife. I have never done you auy goo I—never cared for you as a husband should, though I would have done had I been able. God bless you, Mary, and take eaie of you. If you ever see Nellie ask her to forgive the dead man. And now, if you forgive me, and love me ever so iitile, kiss me, and say ‘good-by.’” And so, with his hands in Mary’s, James Rochester breathed his last.

CHAPTER YL HOME AGAIN. An exile from home pleasures dazzle in vain; OU, inve me my low ly thatches cottage again— The bird* singing gayly tuat came at my ca 1— Give me these, and the i eace of mi id dearer than all. Home, sweet homo I Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home! And how about the folk at Wellbury all this time? A letter from Mrs. Hazel first made the Boggs aware of what had occurred. The old man could not believe it at first, and would not tell Mark until he was perfectly ceitaiu of the truth. So he actually traveled to Manchester, aud, having with some difficulty found the Hazels’ house, he learned tho whole story, and then, with a heavy heart, returned by the very i ext train to bear the bad news to tne folks at homo. He looked all his age now. He had loved Mary, as few old men love; he had thought so much of her, and had often thought how hard it would be even to let Mark Level have her and take her a couple if miles away. But for a stranger to take her—he knew not where—the idea was too dreadful, and the (Id fellow grieved sorely. They had missed her terribly during the past few weeks, when they were reckoning on her speedy return; and now she had left them, perhaps, forever! But Hez remembered that Mark had the heaviest disappointment to boar, and bo set to work to briak the news as kindly ai possible. He arranged with Johnny and the “missis” to leave (hem together in the kitoheD, if Mark came ia, and, when the latter appeared, Hez tried to look cheerful, as though nothing had occu red. But Mark detecie i the old man’s constraint; he knew that something was wrong before a word was spoken, aud at once caught tbe infec.ien, and sat there very solemn aud aad. “Mark, boy,” said Hez, “does th’ love Mary sio a great deal?” Mark nodded his head silently. .“Could th’ bear te lose her, lad?” Mark, with a great lump rising in his throat, now spoke. “Don’t,” he said, “talk like that. Tell me what you have to say, right away. I can bear it so bet er than this round about talk.” “Well,” replied the old man, “God help thee, lad; our Mary’s married, and never told us a word on it afore, nor sin’.” Mark sat motionless for awhile, as though trying to comprehend it all, aud Hez heard him choke back a great sob. Then be said in a low tone: “ It’s hard, old friend, on me—on all of us; but—bnt—God bless her,” and, taking up h.s hat, he left the cottage. Oh, how lonely the place seemed now. How the good old carrier missed his “lartle gel.” Sunday didn’t seem now to be “ lartle h avens i’ Wellb’ry.” The neighbors missed the cheery smile from Hez’s face, and the joyous whistle from his Ups, and, as he rode along day by day on his wagou, he hang his head low, forgetting altogether to hum the snatches of tnues, as was his wont in days gone by. As weeks aud months fled by, and no word came from the Wanderer, the old man fretted and fretted, until his form grew bent, and bis locks turned white, and people wondered at the great chauge which had come over old Hez Bogg. Johnny never showed his grief except that he was. if possible, more silent than ever, and puffed harder at hie pipe. Mark Lovel was a restless man now, and, when the spring came round, he announced his intention of settling on the Western prairies of America. He wouid leave the old heme, which now only served to keepalive within him sorrowful memo: iea, aud at hard work try to rid him of his grief. So he left Weilbury, and added another blank to the jife of Ilezekiah Bogg, who had grown to regard Mirk as another ton.

After her husband’s death Mary continued her needle work, and easily earned sufficient to meet her small expenses. But oh, how she longed for some strong arm, like Mark’s, to protect her, and how she yearned for a sight of those old faces at the cottage at Welibury-ou-the-Wolds. She had an object, on which to bestow care and affec ion, when poor Rochester was yet .alive; bat uov she felt utterly alone, neither caiiag nor cared for. Yet she could not make up her min 1 to writs home, and each day that she delayed made it harder to accomplish, and so when the winter passed away, ana spring sunshiue once again cheered and brightened God’s earth, Mary was as far away iu the cold as ever. One beautiful May evening Mary was taking a quiet stroll along Broadway, a ter her day’s work, when she felt her hand drawn through a man’s arm, and, turning hastily aronnd, she beheld Mark Lovel! Hor first impulse was to run away and hide herself, but sue found herself held a secure prisone -. “Mary, honey,” Mark said, “don’t mind telling me —your old frten I—Mark Do you need any help or assistance at all? I have been following you all along this busy street, but did not iutend speaking, or making myself known, until I noticed this,” and he touched the crape trimmings on her jacket Pcor Mary could not Bpeak. The tears forced their way to her eyes, and Mark thoughtfully called a cab, that the rude stare of the passers by might not rest upon her. They drove to the park where they alighted, wheD, little by little, Mark learned all the sad story irjm this widowed girl (bar,ly 20 vet!), and Mark loved her all the more for her devotion t > Rochester in his fatal illness, apd he then and there re solved to make Mary his wife yet; so, iustead of pushing on to the West as he Lad intended, he prolonged his stay in New York, and every evening found him calling for Mary to take her for a walk or a drive. By-aud-Ly Mary’s shyness wore away and she felt the old love and trust returning stronger than ever. On one of their evening excursions she said to Mark, “ We should not be rambling around like this together every evening. Wha 1 : will folks think ? And you ought to be going West if you mean to do any good this year.” To which Mark made answer, “ Never mind what people say, dea-y; gvj me again the right to care for you, and, ins tea 1 of me going West all alone, let us together go E tst as soon as Dossible.” And so, in busy New York, thousands of m lea from quiet Wellbury, Mary once more piomised to be Mark’s wi:e. But Mark did not trust her long tbiß time, for in three days they were married at a little Methodist chnich, in a quiet quarter of the city; and the next Cunird steamer from New York included in its list of cabin passengers the names of Mr, and Mrs. Mark LoveL • Hez Bogg had left Bt. Olaves with his wagon a couple of hours, when Johnny, who was just telling the hostler of the “White Horse” to hitch his team, was startled by the sound of a voice which he knew well enough, but which he believed at that moment to be some 5,000 miles away. “ Bay, coachman, can you wait a few minutes while I fetch my wife along? I want to get to Wel.bnry to-night” “ What, Mark!” crie» the astonished Johnny, “ an’ married ? an’ back agen a’ready ? Well, I never— Has th’seen my lartle gel, Mark, “ Yes, old f iend, I’m back again already, and I’ve brought a wife Irom over tie sea, aod I’ve

beard of Mary and seen her; bat m tell you all about everything aa we drive along.” Then Mark fetched Mary to tan, and put her inside the cosch. She was the only inside passenger, and as they woe about to start Mark introduced her to Johnny, "My wife— Mr. Johnny Bogg,” and, pushing the corpulent Johnny into too coach, alamming toe door on him, he jumped onto the box, and, taking the re’ns from tne astonished hostler, sent the horses at a rattling pace over the stony streets of Ht Olaves, when they reached tns end of toe first stage, Johnny rolled out of toe coach, and, seizing Mark, who was laughing heartily, by toe hand, exclaimed: “ Why,'it’s her, Mark —it’s my lartie gel! God bless thee, whatever will V old man say f’ We cannot describe the old man’s* joy, nor write down what he did say. He was wonderfully happy, and in bis gladness forgot all toe sorrow of toe past year. How he did sing and pray at the next Sabbath meetings. How he stamped bis feet, and shouted, "Glory! ” until toe rafters rug again with the echoes of the shoots of praise Andrew Lovel insisted on observing wedding festivities, as though the marriage bad been celebrated at home, and toe entire village participated in toe rejoicings. Mark and Mary went to live at Borydale Farm, bat every Sabbath sees them at the old cottage at Weilbury-on-toe-Wolds. Old Hez and Johnny still smoke their pipes every evening, and continue to make their weekly journeys with toe wagon and coach, though the old man says he’ll make toe entire business over to Johnny shortly. Johnny is grandfatner now, and very proud he is of his little 2-year-old grandson, who is called John Andrew Rochester Lovel—the two first names in honor of his two grandfathers, and the third in memory of Mary’s young and handsome first husband, who lies far away in a grassy grave on the other side of toe rolling AUan tic. —Chicago Ledger.