Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 2, Number 30, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 January 1872 — Page 6

[Prom the Home Journal-] W

B* MBS. MAKY K. HBALT.

Tbt liut word* of Ueorec D. Prentice men,

"I want to mow the question •martst being finished.] Why most we go with our thoughts unut-

And our ltu«t wlab unanswered? Why, ah, why lout every Ijopt which In the sool dm nut*

Sink in the ocean, struggle, fafnt and ditT

Why are we launched upon a sea of trouble To live aud love, to sorrow aitd detpair? #o oiisse lulr Hope and gra*p an empty bubble-

To clasp dear Love and flud a form of alrT Why are we ever striving, ever reaching To soar away and gain some liigner height, When every living thing arouud Utniclung

-r vl'imi

eartuly WIIIKV luunl droop und cease their flight?

•C saw a maiden rich in youth and beauty, tthtsJdlug her sweenies* o'er her place of buth 2heerfully aking up each daily duty

And banishing nadnesa with her voice of „mlrlh.

1 1

And he who came io gaze on brow and trww», Who treasured every glance of her dark eye, Who won her woman heart—a crown that blKMSeS •The noblest life—be knew sot she must diet

And yet she faded like a fronted blossom. Kaied Tiom joy and h"pe and 11.e and love The cold nrtti folded her within It* bo«otn

Aud i:uw we seek Uer'inid Uiehlarsabove!

Ah, whv Is this, and why Is all such sorrow? We slowly rill the cup nl Joy to-day. We (a»t5 its houKd bWeeinexs, and tomorrow

Like a bright dream it vanishes away. •im "I int to know"—O 'ell me, ancient sages!

Open some voiiiuieof your iiuiiieii lore, And an^wrr me ml* question of tliti ages Way lumt we wee, io»- whai is gone be-

Ion?

The grave /Ives nothing back, No sound returning Co mm to nur spirits from the far-off clime And liu:*an heails go questioning and yearning

Forever downward through the paths ol lime.

And be who leit tills que tion half unutlured Soared .o tlie clouds and sang amid the stars, 1%eaiuiik wuh bleeding wing, and vainly fluttered ,To earili again, beneath Ills prison bars.

Unanswerlng and unanswered, blind yet HtJt'illg: Hoarlng unl swooping toward Infinity, A strange, liioo.iiprelien.nve, double being,

Half iiumaii weakness, hif diviuityl

49oarcbing for—what? aud asking "why" he entered, Unknowing where, the dark and siieni laud Without one heart on which bin own is centred

To go with lilin and lead him by the hand. And never, never, till we change our being, Till death and time and sorrow all shall die. Will tbee long blinded eyes, their pathway

Hoelng.

JOulde us aright without the question "Why?7* IHtuT 1 [Pro Hie li l.eu Age.]

..Miss Waring's Lover.

BY MARY A. HUMPHREY.

It was not an attractive school-room The biirei walls were guiltless of whitewash, and the kni'e-mtrks on desks and tenches—like those strange exturned bird-tracks of theOld Red Sand •tone—showed wbero the first rude outlines had been traced of many a life fcidden, long ago, under the debris ol years.

Across the lower ilf of every window a square of faded, green baixe had -v" been tacked closely to the casement, lest some pair of child-eyes, heavy wMi revluwlnz the endless lines marshalled 4n tedious uniformity on book or slate, should rest awhile upon the blessed

Oontrast of green fields und gurgling waters. Miss Warlng's eyes darkened with quiet indignation. As if a school room I were a prison As if one lesson from springing grass, und spreading tree— reaching up to the life-giving sunshine —one element of moaust beauty in meadow-lilly and wild rnse-bul, ol im ihappy trust In tender bird, provident .squirrel, or care-free buttuiny, could 3 bo sp irud from the place where young 411 ilids should leuru how to expand and •fe? grow, young hearts to aspire and yet 0 «»e hu nble, youn* llv.is to assume the

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divinely appointed relations of faitb and work. But tne school room, like many oth«r things of suftiuleiuly uiiproiiiisin^

exterior with rl«m possibilities. Miss Waring »de an invontory of such intangible weillh, and ii'i-ided to herseir wj ^fr:tn «r little oh dr of state upou the platform.

The otf indlng balsn, its ftided ugli ess veiled by short curtains of cheap 4 fvhite muslin, might tn in id«» to do ^ood service higher up the wi dows, lu softening the glare ol the mid-day suu shine. Thebroid window-uiohes gave ample room for pots of Ivy, wandering

Jew, aud idoira vine, needing only iiino an 1 care to imrrovise festoons and draperies more graceful than the mxit elaborate designs olthe old tapesiries.

Then, in her portfolio—for tho little school mistress thought with her eye and hand—she remembered some illuttilnated texts, bright as the pages of su old ruiasal sketches, too, in pencil and colors, simple bits, which the children oould get at the heart of—waiting

only wiilo

il -Mfe

8ollday.

Soor,

Framed with the cones and

ow-witches they would be only too

lad to gather fbr her on the first halfTheir own bauds should help

(o weave and bind they should have a voice in the hanging and general arrangetuem for mis lioiiie-ui ik ng she thought like the rest of tho world's irork, must be uo*operative, if it were «*ally to be worth auy-thing.

The sound of unistepa and voices fcroke In upon her morning dream, an I the pleas ml vis on of the renovated room Atded In the light of the day's du4ie*.

The scholar* came by twos and threes

phering in and aliout the half open with shy, curious glances at the •ew teacher.

Children are the moit unerring physiognomists, since no other* are so helplessly dep-udeut upon tho varying moods, which leave unlading imprint On tho face. A ft»w holder v, uture»l Inside, In advance of h-r pleasant inviutWon to all. Two or thnw offered liule Imnches of wild flowers dewy und •weet making her rheek f1u*h with pleasure. Ever since she could mine nicer flowers had been her friends she knew them by heart, and had a fancy *oiore clearly defined than she would ^l»ave been quite willing to oonfem, vHbat they, in iheir turn,uuierst4Hd her, hen hum«n sympathy tailed. The

rmans ealt 'their frjgr-thoe the

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freshness and bMttty entered into heart and kept it strong. You'll be apt to have some trouble with Hal Thorn. the deacon's boy," widow Mnfca, her hostess, had aaid to her that morning over the breakfast coffee. '.-K

He is a bad boy then Yes—cart* for not bin* and nobody. His father can't keep bim in school half the time. A unart lad, too, and quick with his books, when be chooses. How well I remember the Sunday his mother first led hiiu into meeting. He was scarcely more than a baby, and so bright and* pretty—the people turned in their seals to net a second look at his laughing face. Little slie thought, jjoor

i»r woman of how be woold be growing up!"

Mrs. Thorn is not living, I think I beard said Miss Waring. "O no! She died—let me think—it will be ten years noine Christmas. Hal must be fo'ur'een—bow the years ti.v The deacon never married again,'*went on the good worn in. fairly launched upon the tide of gos*ip. "Mary—she he old«wt—keeps house. Busan married a falconer—her boy will be in your ABO class. Steve helps his father on the f.irni be's the de-icon ruht over, a real cbipol the old block. Hal is the youngest."

Would it have been the same with il, if his mother had lived, do you think

Perhaps not. She was a quiet woman, is Mrs. Thorn, but it always tteeined to me as if her 'Don't!' went farther with the children tnan a thnshing from their father. The deacon holds s'iff rein. Why il got into a tussle with butcher* irum's Pete one day and between them, somehow, a stone crashed through Reuben Brown's pla*eifl tss window. Hal did declare thai he didn't throw the stone, but Pete's two little brothers swore thev saw him. The deacon said that if Hal would fight lie wouldn't help him out of trou irie. mil he let him go to jail.

Hi I is quick as gun-powder, and lie isn't afraid of anybody when bis teui per's up. He wasi beech-nuiting in the wood lot. the ty Squire irlow's catile broke into his twenty-acre whehtti.^ld. They did a round hundred dollirs' dimige. I'd been over to the deacon's of an errand, aud was list coming down the front walk, when the Squire came tearing over, accusinu II il of letting down the fence. I wih vou could have seen that boy, Miss Wring! He stood up, pale as death, and his eyes like two Ores. 'I didn't let down your fence.Squire Mirlow.' says he, right before his i.itli er and Steve, 'but I wouldn't have eared if 1 had. and the best wish I can make you is that your cattle have oaten up five times the worth of Biddy irrv's cow th it you took for rent'last winter, and little'Patsy dying!'

Il you'll believe it Miss Waring, the Squire turned as red as a cock's cotuh, aud rode off without another word. I believe the deacon wasn't over sorry himself, but he thrashed Hal all the same, to take the impertinence out of him,he said." "But his sistei—has she no influence over him."

Well, try has all she can do, and I guess the most she usks of Hal is to keep out of her way. You've no id^a, Miss Waring, of the amount of work a .rui of that size brings into the house. Let me fill your cup. No? What! go ing to school HO early Well,.a pleasant day to yon

So it happened that Miss Waring looked with something more than usual interest along the line of largear boys, who took their places on the back row ol benches at the opening of the school. She saw the various types oi boyish faces, already so familiar to her. Homo bright and earnest, others dull or sullen, still others well-meaning, but marked, as yet, by no strong individuility—not one which at all embodied her ideal of il Thorn. Oue by one the name9 were eurolled—be was not ill-re. But a half hour later the door suddenly opened with a creak of decision, and a tall boy walked with swing nig defiant step along the narrow aisle, casting a keen glance at the teacher as he went. She nodded pleasantly, her npid practiced eye taking him in, from (he heavy boots, so tplashed with wet sand its to suggest the cause of his tardiness to have been a morning visit to the creek, to the brown shapely thro it revealed by the turn down collar of his coane gray jacket, the proud head covered with orlsp, auburn curls, the dark eyes full of dangerous tire, the reckless uiitrustful expression, over-writing like the characters of palimpsest the first noble plan of his young fa-*.

No wonder, she thought, that the people had "turned their seats" when the dove-eved mother brought in her young eagiet. She could fancy liiin in his glorious babyhood, radian' unsullied—heaven his fatherland, earth his inheritance.

The teacher paused until the room was quiet again, then she resumed what she had been saving. "As I was telling you, children, rules are troublesome, and only good lor people who do not wish to keep them, it is so much nicer to do the things we ought because we like to. Now we are here, first and always to learn. I shall give you just one rule, 'Do right!' Thvery smallest oue of you will under stand that. And 1 shall trust you every one." .She looked up and caught Hal's eyes fixed oti ber with an intensity that uie her start. Oddly enough, something far back in ber childhood seemed to confront her in his face. She groped for a moment in the labyrinth of memory, and caught the clue.

Her father had Men a Oarrisonian abolitionist, his house a station on the underground railway. One night a poor bondman came, hard pressed by he officers. There was just time to hide him In the granary, under a heap of eiuptv bags, in a corner full of dust and cobwebs. His pursuers, warrant in hand, came up in hot haste, searching the house fnun garret to oell«r, ranging barns and outhouses, thrusting pitchforks ruthlessly into fragrtnt •y-iuows, groping at 1 ist in that very heap of sinking, whose heart wis one unit of agony In the unsolved problem of tue world's sorrow. At the in«tant wh- alt hope ui ded, tht-y turned »#iy. bjffl.*!, and as the riug Ol their horseV b«*»f* died upon the distant highway, the fugitive uame forth.

The little girl, clinging to ber father's coat—there were no secrets in that household—had kept, through ail her years ti^e memory of that sable ooauienance.

One chance more," it said, "for life, liberty, home! One chance ioore!'' "One ch inee more," »*id, the boy's face »t once so young, and so sadly old, "for fdtb, sympathy, love! One chance 1"

Days passed. Miss Warirwr's single rule was working. The children were not perfect—«*gravatingly human

ipathy tailed. The sometimes—yet the best In each nature

swmed

peeoh of flower*." Miss Wsritig sunshine, checked by sterile »oil, turnIplaeed her own eloquent treasures in a I ed aside by stones,half-choked by rank 6r*oked tumbler, which a little girl weeds, yet struggling and aspiring till, jfound fbr her in the ante-room, and So he worked and and wait*& wators than once, amid the oarea and I Hal Thorn developed powers ol atanxieties of that "first day," their tent ion, application which astonished I

lifting Itoelf, like a plant, to the

ber. His oondnct had Men thns Air irreprosrhable, but he seemed to shield himself quietly behind an impenetrable barrier. She felt herself on trial, with judgment reserved.

At last, it was one noon, a sound of angry voices smote her ear. 8he stepped to the door. The bays were gather* ed in a crowd, aud the first glance showed her Hal Thorn, hia eyes biasing, and his race pale with passloil. "Take that baclc, bijl Jenkins, or by 1 I'll ." His clenched fist wits raised high, the veins on bis bold forehead knotted, his white teeth set. The boys parted suddenly but he did not see.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He turned fiercely, wavered for an instant, then a steady, defiant gleain flashed to meet the teacher's sad, firm eyes. ''Tuere's no use! The chance is lost it seemed to say.

Harold, he is smaller than vou!" That was all she Slid no sharpness of personal reproot, not one word about the wickedness of fighting, the guilt of anger and profanity.

A swift flush dyed his cheek—his band dropped to bis side. For a moment all was still in the play ground. Miss Waring held her hand. The boy it impulsively, then as sudd«*uly letting it fall, he turned, vaulted over the high fence, and running swiftly across the meadow, toward the creek, disappeared behind a cluuip of willows.

No kumau eye saw him there lying upou the grass, his face in bis hnids, bis bands, his young breast swept with stormy sobs. If he pr-yed he ilid not know it. I doubt if be thought of Uou at all. Apart from some vague memory of''now I lay me," said at his dead mother's knee, his ideas of devotion were of the cold, rigid uniformity of hi* stern father's morning petitions, or the st\tely, untranslated formulas of the minister's long prayer. But perhaps He who saw the boy's soul gropiug blindly aftei some good it did not know, feeling weakly for some strength not its own, yearning from its bitter unrest toward some uncouiprehendpeace, was less jealous of forms and names, than sotne of us, His followers.

Hal catne back at a little past thv hour for afternoon session, silent and pale, but Miss Waring kuew instinctively that it was no suiienness which prevented a resj»onse to her smile ol welcome. It was well, she thought, that bis heart were too sore for rapid healing. Meanwhile she must give biui, as best she could, the safe tonic ol helpful service.

So she asked hlin to stay after school -ind help her carve a pair of brackets with which she meant to surprise the children, each one to hold a simple vase, si'ice the dailv floral offerings were sadly crowded by the globe aud bosks upon her little desk.

I am so awkward with a jack-knife, Hal," she said, laughingly, "aud last night I cut my finger, and was quite discouraged. Theu who should come iu but Urandpa Spinney, with that wouderful cane-head of bis, aud when I asked him who cut it, be told me quite proudly that it was you. So I knew idiiueaiately where to go for help."

The bojr blushed, halt-ashamed ol having'been detected iu the little kindnes—common opinion having given him over to unalloyed evil, he unconsciously shared with the rest of*hum inity, the tendency to preserve a consistent reputation. However, he oouseuted eagerly to her request. She took care to let few silent moments pass in which the memory of the recent outbreak might settle dowu in chill constraint between 'h m, and drew hiiu ou to speak of thiugs he understood habits of bird or beast, secrets of wood aud water-course, gained as she rightly couj ctured, through many a day oi truautsliip, and atoned for, might by night, with pitiless stripes.

She praised again his skill with the knife, and he told her of old Auton, the Swiss wood-carvcr, who had ouce .sojourned in the village, with bis quaint costume and brokeu speech, and his thrilling stories of life among mouu tains and gluciers. "O, Miss Wariug!" he cried out at last, quite carried out of himself by en

Uiuai.ism, "1 should like io go there! somewhere, any where—to be free!" Miss Waring laid her gentle hand upou bis he id.

My boy she said, "even here, at home, you may be more than free—a king!"

His eager eyrs were on her face. Her solemn, tender voice went on "*He that ruletli hi« owu spirit is better thau he that taketh a city.' A harder couquest, Harold—prouder vie lory

Tue boy breathed heavily, and his eyes sank, dim with a film of tiushed tears. They worked a while iu si lence, theu the teacher took out ber watob—

Il is tea time," she said. "I am goiug your way to-night. Shall we walk together?"

Deacon Thorn, from his work in the garden, bowed to Miss Waring as they drew near.

I must beg your pardon, Mr. Thorn," sue said, for having kept Har old so late. I wanted his Uelp about a bit of work I was doing." "I'm very glad, miss, if you can make hiin of any uae. It's more thun anynody else caii."

Harold is doing very finely in his arithmetic, Mr. Thorn. I atu quite proud of him."

Well, the trm's but just begun. A new brooin, you know, miss!" She saw the old, hard look darken over the boy's face.

Ood give me pitienoe with this man's blindness!" her soul cried out, as she turned to pass on her way. She would have bidden Harold good night, but he still walked at her side, bis heavv brows knit and lowering.

You see how it is!" he burst out at last. "There's no use!" Harold," she answ*Td. "make your lather trust you! This is a part of the battle. You are not a coward to fly at the first onslaught

A coward! no!" His face flamed. "But it seems to me oowardiy to bear tilings. I'm sick of meekness and patic nee, the right cheek, »nd left cheek, aud all tbtil There's thit Wriuley— you know him. Miss Wariiu? He came to me when 1 was iu ." He stopped abort with a hot flush, and his listener felt instinctively that the word ill" hail a.most passed hia lips.

He came to me once, and told ine how awfully wicked 1 was, and talked aliout meekness and forgiving one'a enemies—lie!—when I had seen him t! »g his oxen in the furrow. Miss Wariug, till the skin lay all in bloody welts, brciuse bis plough!hare broke againat a rock. 1 hate sbaui» "Harold what makes the sham? Isn't It the raai iiebind it? If there were no sliver dollars, would thev make pewter ones, do you think? If there were no truth, would there be anv lies?**

The b«y was silent moment, then be said impetuously. You know that chapter you read this morning? Why didn't he ask for the twelve legions of cngela? Those Jews had no right to take bis life 1" "They did not take it, Harold I It

MMC: JANTOlt^^ im.

waa his—all heaven and earth wars his! He wss free, at the judgment seat—on the eioas—in the grave! It waa tho victory of love I 'Greater love hath no man th this, that a inau lay down his life for his friend.* Aud they were not even that I"

A great wave of emotion swept over is boy's frame, snd left bim suit. At last, "bis life for his frl nds!" he repeated softly. Then Hftlng his head, ne said in a voice strangely altered, "I think it might be done I'*

She looked into Ms face, and knew that she had won his heart. Do you wonder that she trembled? It is a fearful thing for one soul, clinging fast beneath seething seas of doubt, to know itself the only anchor of another near to wrecking! God be thanked for that human leve which teaches the Divine! For the power which shapes the little acts and words of common lite into an angel's ladder, whose top is lost in cloudless heights!

Miss Wariug walked on now alone. At be turn of the ioad, she tused and looked back. It was a quiet scene— the winding street bordered by double rows of elms, a century old the white church-spire gleaui ng through the clustering green. On the right, visible from her slight eminence, stretched the meadows, green and undulating, embroidered by the silver thread of the babbling creek on the lell, rose the pine-clad hills, full ol tbe wierd lights and shadows of sunset. The chestnuts were in full bloom, their long, pendani assels bright against tbe. vivid green oi th ir luxuriant foliage. The near hill s|o|es were flushed with drifts of laublossoms—s me ltughing children were heaping them in their bands like r« sv snow.

Th" boy stood still where she had lefi him, looking towards her, with tbe red light, Midas like, touching his hair to vivid gold. Through all the years oi her life she would carry his image a* he was that nigbl!

She entered a cottage wither her errand had been to offer her services as uight-watelier with one of her ltitlscholars, who lay sick. A neighlmr having been already engaged, Miss Waring begged to stay, at least until she should couie. It was late in the evening when she walked home, and Mrs. Moss, not expecting her, had re lired an hour before. She let herseit iu with a duplicate key which she carried, aud went noislessly up-stair, where she lay, for a long time sleepless, but, at about midnight, sauk into a deep, dreamless slumlier.

Out side, the cool wind blew fitfully, and dewy pearls strung themselves upon the giass*blades. Night, with her mysterious processes of rest and growth, folded her dark wings over all.

But wiibin the old houte there was a b-eath, a subtle stir, a creeping, but not of mice, in the wainscoting—a ticking, between the measured beats of the ancient clock upou the wall.

A I ale foot-passenger upon the highway, started to see two windows glaring redly ou him through the darkness, like demou's eyes. Breathlessly he hastened forward, and a great shout lore the still air. ••Fire! Fire!"

Mrs. Mots leaped from ber bed in terror, at the thunderous beating on her door, to see one half the wall of her room a lurid, smouldering mass, wldcu, even as ahe rushed past it toward the outer door, burst into live fl iiiie behind her.

The street was already toll of halfdressed people. Miss Waring 1" cried half a soore of voices. Where is she?"

Not here, she did not come home last night,"came from the widow's pale lips.

Thank God for that!" And through it all—the tumult, the shouting, the hurrying steps, the rush of the destroying fire—she lay in that strange, unbroken trauce ol sleep. N oue could reach ber uow the whole lower story of the old bouse was one shell of fire, which burst through melting panes und smoking clap-boarding. Mvu, women, and children ran aimless ly to uud fro, or stood, as it fascinated, wi'h their useless pails aud buckets iu their bauds.

Suddenly, a cry Shrill, sbarp, freexing the very heurt's blood of those who heard!

She stood in the little gable window, tbe black masses of ber hair sweeping down her white robe, he bauds outstretched in an agony of fear and entreaty. A deep groau of despair went up froin the crowd below, seeming to her quickened senses lo fall back from the leaden sky with dull, hopeless rebound. She understood hII now. On tbrill of dreadful auguish from tbe strained chords that biud every human heart to life, and Margaret Waring was calm. in tbut supreme moment, she seemed to have out-lived the patriarchs. Lite with all its hopes and fears so real last night, seemed now loug past and dreamy. She fell ihe breath of eternity on her brow. Yel, with mysterious double-sense, she was couscious of ail the small details of tbe scene. She saw the strange lights and shadows playing over the honor-stricken laces below, the vivid outlines of tbe nearer trees against ihe inky sky beyond, even the fliuf.'ring of f'righteniug birds amid their brancbes.

Souieol the old Huguenot bloothburned in the veins of this girl her slender limbs were moulded or tbe pure stuff out of which martyrs were made. An old hyuiu of her chiidbtajd sprang to ber lips wild and sweet the quaintmelody rang out upon the air:

Tne Lord is coming. coining, tn a cliar.qt of Are I a p|y

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soul, to meet Him,

un tbe wings of by desire I' There is a sudden movement in the crowd, a focal gtiheriug of all eyest What do they see?

A yf*b ti^uer, appearing, no one knows how or wbence, climbing toilsomely up the steep roof-slope, clinging with bare feet and bauds to tlie smoking sbinvN, sliding,slipping, yet advsncing still! He has reached the top, he runs along tbe dixsy ridge, h« throws bunself at full leugtb along the angle above the gable window, be is fastening something lo tbe cornioespire.

Something falling between her and tbe »ky strikes Margtret's hand. It is tlm end ol a rope, rudely knotted, and above sbe sees the face of Harold Thorn. All lb** sweetnea* of ilfeswooue bauk upou ber with a dixxyiug wish.

Come!"'

Slie steps upon tbe window-sill, and gr .sps the rope. Sbe does not once look down—ihe boy holds her wiib bis magnetic eyes. Sbe feels the strength of giants tingle along bi-r slender wri-is. Her old. childish play with ber brdber, at sea-faring, with iniuiiu rigging fastened to tbe great beams of tbe barn, will serve her uow, climbing for her life.

Up! up! the raps strains, but holds. Dpi up! she feels his bands. Half cUmbering, half drawn, sbe lis* tainting on the roof. The crowd cheers, but only faintly yet, for tbe lUnaes are bursting through the roof now, snd the danger Is only begun.

Holding fast to each other, they work their way down. Great clouds of

smoke biirat up, and snatch their braath. They stand upon the shelving eaves, they leap together upon the lower ipof of the wing—bruised, .choking, but unfalterinir. Courage! yonder a hundred wailing arms! ~r

Now 1" cries Harold, "tump!" Margaret springs through the suffocating smoko—she lee la herself oaughl up aud boi ne—sitestruggles for a sight oi Hal. There is a crash, a rumbling like an avalanche great calumnsrise of mingled smoke and flame. "Hal! Hal {"she shrieks, but there is no answer.

The people fell back as Deacon Thorn's strong arms took up his boy, struck to death in bis brave breast by a tile from the fallen chimney. He breathed, but his eves were clos»,d.

The old doctor came near, and shook bis head. A quiver of pain distorted the boy's face.

Lay uie down, father!" he gasped. "Where is she?" She dropped upon her knees beside bim—she, who uld have drawn the blood from ber owu heart to teed his life one hour—and took his beud upou ber breast.

O my son my son groaned the stern, strong man. -"Look at me—at me. O uiy cnild

The boy turned his eyes toward him, smiliug feebly, but, in a moment, lii~ uncertain gazs wandered back to Margaret's face.

Greater love he whispered "say it!'' 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for nis friends!' she answered.

Aglow, not of the fire-light. sb»ne updi his face, then faded slowly, slowly—uud she closed his eyes.

riJUE OF LIFE FOR INTEL LEO ,, ,, TUAL LABOIL Some curious studies iu rearard to the time of life iu which the best intellectual lalior is accomplished, have be« made by Dr. Beard. He takes for tlie oasis of his inquiry aud representative of humanity iu its best estate, eight hundred lives of the foremost men,an«l eighteen hundred dates connected with these lives. Blot out from history what these 1,800 dates represent, ami vou will blot out nearly all that is •vorth anything in the civilization oi the past two thousand-years. From HI an dvsis and averaging of dates th conclusiou is readied that tbe golden decade of life is between the ages oi thirty and forty the silver decide between forty and fifty. The golden de cade represents nearly one-third of tin work of the world. Seventy per ceii'. ot the world's work Is done before forty five, and eighty per cent. befor» fifty. Tbe writer asserts that historx does not sustain the common theorv that the brains mature later than lh« muscular and osseous systems. As for the difference between the youthful and old mind, be urges that enthusi asm is tbe great quality of youth, and ih experience of old age. and in tb matter of judgment, youth is tbo bes judge of that which is past. Age alone can shine in conversatiou and iu biography, and in the management of estates of their preservation. Youth excels in the increase of money. Beyond certain point tbe learning c.nuot go for the brain beg ns to lose more than it takes in, snd for every new iuipres sion an old one must be erased. It has lieen calculated that bh» brain can hold 3.122,760,000 thoughts but manifestly be value of such circulations is not great. But there are limitations to the work of the brain, when men can no longer be expected to do what the. once could only tbey can hardly persuaded of it. The golden moment of life is when enthusiasm is at its maximum, and when experience is sulticieul for its guidance. Exceptions ire to be na ned to tbe usual rule. Such men as Franklin, Lord Brougb am, Titian, Michael Angelo, Haydn, and F.irragut were still doiug great work in advance years.

THE MARKET VALUE OF SONQ. Webave received the following letter: To the Editors of the Evening Post:

In your paper of Thursday I find tbe following paragraph: Mr. Carl Kosa publishes tbe follow ing note: 'I see it is said that the great est pay ever received by a singer was 122.000, paid to Nilsson for twenty nights of opera In New York. I h«ve paid Wachtel $30,000 lor the same period in a New Yoik engagement.'

I respectfully refer tie managers ot tbe above singers to tbe history of my life, published by tbe American News Company, wherein seventy five pages are devoted to the Jenny Lind enterprise in America. It is there shown that I paid tbe Swedish Nigbtiliga $208,675 for ninety-five concerts, which gives an average of $2,100 per concert, or $43,U20 for twenty nights. 1 also paid all the expei.se* of Miss Lind. her companion, and servants Iroui England, and all their hotel and trave ing expenses up to the last concert, besides furnishing ber alwavs with a private coach aim horses. Truly yours,

iisi

P. T. Barnum.

438 Fifth avenue, December 29 1871 We may add that Mr. Barnum received, lor the ninety-five concerts given by J-nny Lind, $712,101 24, an average of $7,4Uti 48 for each ••obcert. The largest receip tor ten nights were respectively. $17 864. $16,479. $16,028, $14 266, $14,2Uti. $12,599. $12385, $12619, $12 174. aud $11,848 total lor teuev*uiiigs. $140,365. This occurred iu 1851, wheu oue thousand dollars were certainly a larger part of tbe wealth of tbe cominuul ty, or of a concert audience, than twice that amount would be now.—[Evening Post.

THE OFFWE-SEEKER. Of *11 the professions that men choose to follow, none so profoundly impress tbe beholder as the actions ot the otttoe hunter. He arises early iu tbe morn hnt that he may digest it. Rural courtli'ius'» and city buildings are tbe dens where he doth hide, and from winch be sallies forth iu quest of booty. His face usually wears a smile as pensive as that of Ah Sin while to sb ike hands with bim is to place your paw between the relentless jaws of a blacksmith's vice. Your wt-lfare is always uppermost in his thoughts, and your children the largest mid smartest be has ever bebeld—for their ages—while your own knowledge of the sffdrs of (State is as much superior to bis as day is to niglit. The ouly office whose duties he understands better than yourself is the very one be is trying to get. He is laborious in his efforts, and would leave a cmp of potatoes to tbe iu*-rcy of tbe b«.g« in order to serve hia struggling country iu tbe eapaoily of a bailiff or constable. He would leave a private business paying bim a competence lu order to strive for the public weal and suck tbe public tsat at starvation prices.

Ou, such devotion to oountry. such abjuration of self, causes the efforts of Gearge Washington to pals snd grow less bright, and to look selfish. For the pink or perfection commend us to tbe genuine offloe-buntsr.—[Literary JournaL

The Heathen Chinee mo New Character— Murtler Mont FuuL Not tar from San Jose, says a California exchange, lives an old ladv whose frugality' has verged so eloteiy upou parsimony that she has actually the reputation of being miserly. She has a son, whose wild habits, dissolute ways and propensity for playing practical jokes will some day lead to the gidlows or to editings paper in San Jose Ntxt, but by no means least In the trio whose ntnies will be passed down to history hrough this recital, is a worth representative of the Flowery Kingdor named Ah SSkoot—the Utter very foil experimenting. Now to the facts. Not long since a party consisting ol baker's doaen of Ban Joss ladies visited the ranch wber* the old ladv, by raising chickens, keeps the wolf from tb~ door, and drops an occasional five-cen piece into the deacon's hat. Tbe ladie belonged to tbe *'sewing circle," an ihe old lady determined in the fullness of her heart to decapitate a chicken, ii|Kn which these thirteen hungry Christians were to dine. Ah Skoot ceived bis orders to that effect, an uimedialely repaired io the poultt yard to carry them inlo execution (t lit orders, not the poultry). How to cat c*" chicken iu the daytime whs now th difficult problem which exercised th (•rain of the Chinee. About lhi9 time Jim, tbe old ladv's son, bove in sight, and to Ah Skoot'a interrogator^ mswered in this wise: "Now, loo here, Skoot, you jest get some corn, »n I'll tell you what to do tl en. 1 lis necessary articles were duly procured.

Tbe hopeful James had'loided the gun plum lull up to the muzzle.: nA telling Skool to throw down some com, bout two hundred cliick ns put in appearance. Now the China man, as bciore stated, was qui ton I of experiments, and reaching tor the gun he took aim at a noble rooster, who, lowering above the others in tbe pride ol his youth and roosterhood, was entire unsuspicious of the coming storm, is perhaps needless to stale thai Jan immediately ensconced himselt behin large tree,out of harm way. Alsu this time a report, which would Imv done credit to a twentv-four pounder, aroused the folks in the house, who. en masse raslied out to be scene of It slaughter. At first nothing wns visible except smoke uud dust, next about t« s.sire of chickens were rising mid fall ing, flopping and squeaking. The ground was strtwu wiib the mangle remains of about forty more, while th remainder of this once interesting Hoc were making lor neigblioring ranches, to avoid another earthquake.

But what of Ah Skoot? Did th IIIIIHS of torn and disheveled rags re semhle the ouce festive youth, who* delight had once been to experiment It was he. The kind ladies approache hiiu, and tenderly, oh 1 so tenderl raising his bead, essayed to adminisu spiritual consolation tmui an old bluu !ottle, which tlie old lady produced Ity nd bv the distorted leaturessbowK1 -igns of animation, seeing which tl »ld lady said: Speak to me Skoot Oh. speak to ine? John raised bis he nd gave vent to the followinu 'Speakee! Wassy matter sprnky More blandy, more blandy G—dd—n too much shooty? It is perhaps u" necessary to add that John is now quest of a situation.

AN ARABIAN TALE.il

Tn the tribe ot Neggden, there wns horse whose fume was spread far mi neitr, and a Bedouin of another tril by name Dalier, desired extremely possess it. Having offered iu vain it Ids camels and his whole wealth, I it I t»t bit upon a dlvice, by which ho|ied to gain the ohfect of his desir He resolved to stain bis face with tl juice of a herb,to clothe himself in rag 10 tie his legs and neck together, so to appear like a I nine bagar. Th quipped, he went to wait tor Naba 'be owuer of the horse, who be kne was lo pass that way. When be s.' Nabar approaching on his beautii steed, he cried out in a week voice, am a poor stranger for three days have been unable to move froin tb spot to seek for food. I am ing, liel me, and Heaven will reward you."

The Bedouin kindly offered to tak him up on his hone and carry hii home. But the rogue replied, "I not rise I have no strength left."

Nabar, touched with pity, disinoun ed, led his horse to the spot, and, wit tcrcat difficulty, set the seeming egg* 011 bis back. But no sooner did Dah feel himself in the saddle tlixn hen spurs io tbe hrse and galloped calling out as he did so, "It is I 1) 'he I have got tbe borse, and I am ot!° wit It."

Nabar called alter him, to stop an listen. Certain of not being pursiin be turned, and halted at a short dis tauce from Nabar. "Yon have taken my horse," sd the latter. "Since Henven has wilf it, I wish you joy of it but I do ci jure you never to tell any one bow obtained it." "And why not ashed Daher. "Because," said tbe noble Arab, "an other man might be really ill, and me would fear to uelp him. You would I the cause of many refusing to do charitable act. for fear of belug dupe us I have been."

Struck with shame at these word Daher was silent lor a moment, the springing from the borse, returned to bis owner, emdracing him. Nab made hiin accompany biui to his tei where they spent a few days togelbe and became last friends for life.

WILD ^WR&ESl

Numerous striking instances hav been publlsh'Hl of the vigor, sp ed.an power of endurance of the horse of th desert. On a sudden emergency, lb favorite mare is ready to scour tbe sert, guided only by a baiter, and wi strain every muscle at tbe encouragii voioeof her daring master. For li miles st a single stretch, without halt, will the fiery animal sweep ait with tbe power in every st. Ide, wit II shing eyes and expanded nostrils glorying in her might. Nay, we heard that, with little respite and l«" •H»d, a hundred aud twenty miles hive been performed, and that, 6e it rent' ir bered, by an animal gentle as th« lam in her master's tent, and afTectiou.it as the attached dog.

Colonel uniltou Smith states lha there was, a few years since, un acoouut given in tbe newspapers of a l»«t sgiinst lime won by one of these ad mi r.tble creaturs st Bunglapore, in ih presidency ot Madras, ruuniiig four hundred miles in four cousecuuve diys. This exploit occurred in July, 1819, It was not without reason tn the Jocky Club, of E a declined to iucur the responsibility of accepting a sliallence, by the Pacha of Egypt, to pit bis bor»ea against tbe best KugUnd oould produoe in a race over the desert sand.

IT wss #ooinmon superstition in old" sn times that a turquoise would hea* enmity between uian snd wife, aud that an emerald always grew pale when danger threatened its wearer.