Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 4, Number 34, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 21 February 1874 — Page 6

[From tbe Cincinnati Commercial] THE LITTLE WIFE. BY HETTY A. MORRISON

A.

X0MISOK.

The little wife 1aid her sewing down, And looked at the cook and said: "It is time that I put the kettle on,

And the cloth on the table spread.

For theeioek i»OMr UifrMrOM of «rtx. And I've hardly time Hp see That the kettle boils ana the toast is made,

When John will be bom* to tea."

The table abe drew to the contest nook, And rise laid the plate* lor two,

Tbagr Wens bat pisla deit, there was sil7er none, And tbedb*bee th»y were lew,

Bat batter and bread sad aome cake and

fran,

All 'daintvastltey can be: And the cloth lit white," said the little wife, That is tint

John Ukeft

to

ae«

The little wife took oat a dressing-gown And spread on a eaxhioned chair. And before it

a

pair of ajtpper* placed,

Far too lance tor her to wear And she patted the gown and softly mid: Lie there that you warm way be For the night is cold, for John U» ptt! on,

When be shall come home to tea." The little wife* smoothed and braided ber hair,

And pot on a prettier dress. A bit 01 sua lace and a knot of gay silk, To flnlih It at the breast. Then site kx»ked in the glass, and blushed and *inlled.

And she was a picture fatr to see! And excused heiaeJf—"John will be so pleased

With th* drees when be comes home to tea."

But it most be late, the kettle has boiled, And tho toast is getting dry It i» growing dark, ana the street lamps shine.

But the footstep* all pass by. Th« little wife peep* oat tha flront halt door Tbvn mas to the garden gate

Then she tries to read, bat whether or

no

Tbe tale is gloomy or gar, Rhe could not ha/e told, for her restless thoughts.

With her heart, are far away. Again and again to the front hill 06or Hhegoe* to look np the street, Each rar away footstep making ber heart

With a hope to faster beat.

Why, it must be hoars," said the little

wife,

With a pciat and ngly frown, "I'd like to know what at this time of night,

Jobn can be doing down town 1 It he cured for me he would surely come,

Hut I've often beard it said—

And

I halt believe it now—that a man Love* only till he's wed.

Bat be shall not know If it breaks my heart, I will have my tea—*0 there!" Her cheek* are so red and her eyes are so bright

Bhe looks at the vacant chair, And her knife falls down, and "Ob, dear,' sbe Kays,

And then she begins to cry, 1 wonder was ever a six muAths' Wife 80 miserable as 11"

John nover would stay, If he was alive.' Tne little wife aobblnglv said, •'And so all this time I've been blaming him

It may be that John is dead." Why, hies* me what'u thief'* says a manly voice, Trader as teuder can be, And the clock la Just pointing to half-patt six I

And John ha* eome home to tea.

[From the Globe.]

Ruth's Theories.

Didn't I tell you so! them's the very words I used when I saw them at the spellin' school togother the first time. Mi-** Melinda Smith threw a snappish

What on earth ean he see In that pale-faced, lily-fingered cbit to make a Wife of, I don see

Melvina Brown smiled vacantly aoro*s tbe smoking contents of her eighth cup and chirruped an echo.

I never liked him either,'continued

as women always are. Melinda Smith hadn't cared a snap 'for John Rnsb, their nearest neighbor, »im»—let me see --about the time Ruth Baker came to teach la the litt.'e school-house amonp tbe trees at the head of Clear

•And Melvina had'bated the sight of blu»* since he commenced logo acro»« tbelr meadow to talk about the 'Granger movement' with 'that gatf-about Linda Smith's father.' 1 trust, dear reader, 1 «m not telling secrets when I say they drank on an average eight cups if tea each,and went home fully Impnwsed with its wonderfully beneficial effects on their sex. During these delightful hours of gussle and gossip other scenes and experiences were being enacted in the bunch of b*lf-*tripped ftoreet trees, whetre stood thfe school-house, stained and atraaked here and there where the away-backed trough leaked its liquid •contonta, mingled with the fallen leaves.

internal organism, making cosy hid» ing places lor oar treasure* The gay pictures and wonderful almanacs, pl««*d,we fondly imagined, to be found and cammented on bv future senera* HOft* Poor oM bowse It creaking and groaning of age and de» billty.

The windows p*aele*s and ragged from a thousand dings from maliciAus boyhood, and In a ^-asure patched bearing won* poi hoo«s, and

with pieces of nopy*ho dertui hyatrogivphies, great dropaioat looking great dropaioal looking capital*. 8om« elongated as though the** were no end to tbe height* of the yoatbful wrlur's ambition, *n4 othora, frearv in their efforts, et« lngahOnt af the first story ofatwo^ let tar. fills e»r board offtetas* tn m*mm Instance*, the windows near the teacher's desk h*?i«g been ignoattnonaly boarded 0^ As we mtb interested in Miss Baker w* peepacroas tbe Utresbhold to see her and ber sarrounding*. Invisibly suspended. ta* and stoking mm other In gloe, we •eean *nuy of p*#ercm»oi sof white thread are tiet) lb o»jM,theoUi«r] end barter large ahwd wads dri*d! ttjxxttfc* la* Wb Mtsmiiy look

ed to the parentage of the ludicrous spectacle. There thej were, what we 1 b»d bees so long ago we had forgotten.

Carroty-beaded youth in youths' dress, one snspender made st home, a pair of psnts that needed repairs, and hickory shirt not bid from view by the buttonless jacket. Ho was giving expression to bis future profession, cutting deep letters with a dog knife in the soft white pine—a work Miss Baker pretended not to see, for that knife with its Lough spinal column, and unbendable tail, bad worn a hole in the pocket of every dress she owneJ.

The yoatbful gormandizer, wbo now and then nipped a huge bite from a very rosy-cheeked apple, that grew under the desk.

The tattler, who sowed fatal seeds to childhood's happiness, behind a Webster's spelling-book. 1 be worker, with contracted brow and swelling heart, toiliug, ready to weep 'Ver the knotty questions before him.

The pencil-sharpener, slyly at work as-he supposes, rasping the nerves of those who have any, for we heard him plainly.

Neighbor's boy,' wbo has no mother to draw a neat patch across the rent his shame tries to bide as he stands up to spell. We saw these fathers of the swaying figures. We see Another, too —one of the grown-up boys—for when the crowd trooped out, and echoes came to us without nnmber, growing fainter until they fell in the lake and were drowned, not having strength to cross it.

John Rush' was the name of the grown-up one, and he was seen by the trim little figure at the desk, for it was closed quickly, the brown bead encir-

sacrifices to tbe love she bore ber moth er the taunts and flings from outraged ignorance, bad each worked upon bis heart, and finally made bim ber admirer and champion.

Ruth Baker was an educated, accom plisbed woman. The only support of a mother left in wa»t through tbe mistaken warmth of heart that led to in-

fn aw M/l knakxM#) Vt* II aai* t, I

from ber lips, swoke the birds. 'Why, I never heard such nonsense from your lips. I shall have to ask you to write one or two chapters In my new book,' as she laughed merrily.

Sbe saw the shade that swept over the Awe and hastened to correct her self. 'I do not mean nonsense exactly. Yow know 1 mean that yon are—that is —yon know what I mean.* Her eyes sought the hickory not* lying in tbe leaves, tbelr clumsy hull nibbed by tiny teeth of squirrels. They walked along silently. The great boots marked a path through fallen leaves, and their eyes wandered with their hearts.

By mutual consent they stopped on the polut. No word was spoken. The glory of an sntumn son o'er natures beauties lonnd silent worshipers. Tbe lake spread broad and clear at their feet. The dimly intaraeetlnf, tanglss of woods were lighted with floods o! sunshine.

The wide-spread aerse b«yond,teoted with the gathered harvest the comfortable, cosy ntrm-hottses, tbe basy film, God's veil over the foot of nature. He looked st her, she at htm.

Miss Ruth*' be spoko low and earnestly, 'how beaotifnt is this world we live in lessons of truth grow at oar fttet, aro 00 wrerj hand, speaking with nb bat eloquent Hp* of O^ri'a goodsand power hat, Rutb, the world with its beauty, tbe otd bome— iv re wb«re blue smoke earls cheerfully, spying in my heart heretofore the apace yon now fill, would beeoM,

1 A

ithe

tr

}lti»w4d*

Ptifirf

6 -HAUTB SATUiibAY EVENING MAIL. FEBRUARY 21. 1874.

dropped it, holding her hand in both of his his head bent forward as he paused to listen to her answer. He frit a tremor, slight, indeed, but that affected him strangely.

There was a silence between them for a time. The brown bead bent low. What was the matter? What th doubts? Could it be possible be bad

Yet no word. As the man stood before heir, hope died within him—a sickening heart, sadness, oppressed him. 'There, Ruth, speak!' be muttered, in deep tones.

Bat he doe* not come, and "O dear," she cled tbe sweet, blushing face of Ruth torn of his honest heart, dropped on her you We wondered too. "'j?18' .. .. .. Baker, as she came to greet the great, bosom and remained like a gem. But Vina Smith knowed it all tbe 'lis a tiresome thing to wait I strong man at the door. He was gone, the leavw swished, I time.'

Ah! it's no wonder, John Rush, yon swished, as his rapid steps carried bim came from the old farm in its solitude. from ber.

Ripples of brown hair, soft and full of dimples. Yes dimples of the cutest kind.

Loving brown eyes,where slept truth, clear with the purity of the soul within

Jobn Rush admired, aye, loved with all the strength of his manly nature tbe embodied bit of perfection before biib

She would not have beeh a true woman and restrained ber tears. No sucb man as Jobn Rush had ever crossed her path before.

What were her feelings for him She

full, plump oheeks that gave an ex- thought with fear she loved, with fear pression of health and happiness dainty figure. The 'cbit' Melinda Smith spoke of at the same hour at Mrs. Wilson's quilting.

because it was contrary to ber pet theories and notions. These sbe had in tended to explain, but be was gone.

Had sbe not loved before in youth and could a true womau love twice Sbe did not think of tbe numerous second marriages within the range of her own acquaintance, that so far as the world

She knew that he loved her she I knew were happy ones. Sbe thought I that it savored of'sulphurous odors knew that she loved him she thrilled of the first love that comes with bud-1 not that tbe roaring of its apparent when be came dear her with a strange] ding youth and womanhood. Tiiat 1 patron saint were ever heard echoing magnetio shock of happy love, and he fierce, undying love that has raged in amang the canyons that encompassed responded to her unspoken affection I tbo breast of every youth and maiden I it but for sinfulness, and wickedness, with full, deep tone of perfect barmo- in tbe land to. a stronger or less degree, and riotous debauchery, it was peerless ny yet no word of love had been Look back, dear reader, at the sweet- among all the mining-camps I had spoken. Jobn Rush sought and found heart of long ago. Do you remember ever visited in California. in tbe noble woman before bim what soft blue eyes and hair you thought so I was sent there in tbe Summer of he bad looked for in vain before. HerJ lovely in plain braids, with the bit of 11853 by a San Francisco firm, to closo ribbon at theirends? Doyouremem- out a business that was drifting into ber bow you thought of separation bankruptcy, and a long, dusty ride

{oved

iy triumphant glance across the gaudy quilt to accompany her remark, bold-1 a home where we shall live in comfort. I the argument in some6 way or other pearance was certainly slightly clerical ing the teacup half between the little Their parting we cover from the grows stronger—opposing forces meet I True, I had a perfect right to differ in stand near and her lips. world's eye. y°u I '-^ke entrance upon ber new duties 'But! declare! who would a thought I made a stir in Hometsville. But tbe HI I soon rumored 'doins' between Ruth

soon rumored 'doins' between Ruth and John Rush sent their hornets singing in each other's ears. Strange stories of walks, talks,and 'not to be mentloned' facts.

During it all, Hoaest Jobn Rush rubbed bis hands in glee, glanced over broad acres, rummaged old chests, and

No, sir,' abe answered flarrledly.t 'That's queer—be was to have made a speech at the Grange Convention. His tenant said he came home 'bout nine o'clock—fu^sad around, packing and fixing things, and left on the train without leavinra word.' 'Could yon not have spared ber. Farmer Hotchkisa? but you did not know.'

Sbe left the table quickly, and when sbe came to, was lying on the floor In her own little room. Sbe saw her heart now ever since he left her. Experience after experience had told her one story —'You love him, Rutb, yon love him.' Bat uow 'twas too late to tell him he was gone! In vain she tried ber arts to discover his whereabouts. Occasionally a letter, postmarked in aome out-of-the-way place came, to be followed by another In other lands. Tbe autumn and winter passed the spring-

Melvina Health had nc -ed from tbe first the great change in Ruth, and had baslly passed b«-r suppositions for facta. This was almost as hard to bear a* fe*

•mpty, vntd of all pleasure, Ufa woald ing John Roab, but she bore it all withpilgrimage wttboat yoa.* I out a word, quietly iraslitvg to the it»John Rash did not kwMri at bw SSset,) fciact of ber heart* whispering. He for wa« slightly damp be spoke not] will eome again he loved too deeply with one hand upon heart, and tbe to fttttg*.* rr^sr desrrtSJng circles In the air bat, Tbe summer name, and with It the

.« nobleman be w*4, stood doaiug days of the school year,

ire#! »AUly before her with his bat la 1 The anxiety of good Farmer Botch-

Mm

oonvetfMtfconbeikkMfor biabonUn,hadoaosod blotto

And now you smile softly and think ot found me there early in June of that her, tbe mother of some good man's year. A view of the camp

children, and wonder 'how on earth mountain had not impressed me favor-

rou could have been so green as to have that woman.' Rather sadly Ruth went to the old farm-bouse—-very quietly. With an

dorsements, ruin and death, for the occasional choke, sbe drank a strong worse,' with but slight hope, however,

father and husband. Full of courage I cup of tea and went up stairs to waft and ability,sbe 'came out strong under for to-morrow evening alter school. Of adversity.' coarse be would come, and sbe ooul/1 'Mother,' she said, 'I W'll go to tbe explain she was a poor young thing, place you remember I loved to visit so I and perhaps he could enlighten her. much in brighter duys,aud get aschool. It might be she was too censorious of I ain't wanted better git!' I am sure they will give it to ine you self, too fond of bertbeories. However,! This was my greeting. I had just can remain at the home that is left ns, she would ask bim to-morrow. When alighted from 1) yaiule, tired and out and I will support you. There, mother the chapter was read and tbe prayer of humor, and foit half-inclined to renotaword. My work I will not neg-1 offered, Ruth felt sure she would rest, sent tbe brusqe, unmannerly salutation iect. It's a grand place for dreaming, but tbon it's so hard to sleep and argue but did not. .It was not a consciousness and I am sure will aid fancy to procure a question that is bearing on our mind of the truth that quieted me. for my ap-

to drive sleep away—and Ruth arose I opinion with th? Speaker, for of a verlsatisfied that sbe wonld see John Rush ty this was just tbe place where preachand fix matters—not that she intended era were wanted, andjnst the place they to yield at all, but simply to talk the should stay: but, making no profess matter over with bim be seemed to ions or godliness, I held my tongue, understand ber she had found herseif looked up a brawny and powerful figasking bis advice about a great many ure confronted me, and I prudently things it was so comforting to have such a friend.

Tbe day passed as usual the routine duties about over, sbe found herself

Miss Melinda. 'He has 'pearod sorter quaint rooms dusty with cobwebs of I consulting her old-fashioned watch,and I Soon the Bar was agog with curiosity, stuuk up sinoe he came back from passing years—he would not allow to bel peeping through a hole in ibe window and a crowd gathered. And such a school In ®od if there's anything dta I touched—all the time anew song in bis I that some one bad made so fortunate, I crowd! Great broad-shouldered fellows, earth, Vina, I detest, its stuck-upptsb- heart—a new light in his eyes. I too—for it was the window that looked dirty and unshaved, deeply marked 2?^t.0li I1CC0«?L losrtiin' I always Hometsville buzse* as he 'slicked I toward the old farm where he lived. with chronic dissipation, whose every disliked it. What goou a person tor up' and went across to the wooldawn,to I An expression of concern crept across second word was an* oath striplings. It, after all tbev go tnopln' round, I the place we saw him. the usually serene face the glances whose tongues were volubly impudent as though It was one of those afternoons when grew more and more nervous, the foce land early trained to blasphemy in im-

re«din' books and dresmln'. __ there wnmi't anything else in the world I the leaves make sad music as they echo I sadder and sadder. Sbe had forgotten to do. II I was a man and wanted a their solt drooping in tbe almost silent the school. 'Miss Ruth, are you sick good wife, I wouldn't go far for one, I woods, broken only by the sound of It was one of her favorites who spoke can tell you.' Whether sho glanoed at falling nuts, or the red-headed wood- to her. 'No, dear, school is dismissed.' the patch on her own shoe or Melvina's pecker as he works at tbo old dead Sbe bad kept them in ten minutes. dr«w binding it would be difficult to I beech near the school-house. When) She hardly kn'sw whether sbe cared tell, but it certainly carried in its ex- the sumac loaves were in the glorious I much or not, 'but then, you know, he pres«ion that whatever person rested hectio ot their lives, and poke-berries might have come. Sbe did not believe In ber mind's eye would be a good wife I offered their rich cluster to tbe would he was round the ooi uei1 biding from In her humble estimation. Another I be Indian of thescholaatio tribe, whose her, intending to slip out and surprise •chofro'tt the teetotaler across thequiit I faoo always gave Indication that he bad her—be was too diguifivd lor that,— and Melvina Brown blew ber nose en- played too long, to perform a perfect] but 'she had not been round the corner er*etie*lly, making a remark about ablution. What it was in tbe atraos- for such a long time.' Klder Sprlgglns* wife's bonnet, that led phere that made Jobn Rush's cheeks Sbe remembered that onoe or twice to Its being torn to pieces by the two. so red and Ruth Baker's glow and he hat? waited for her at the 'poiht'— They were honest in their expressions flush, we cannot tell, unless tbe exer- and his form,as it appeared to her eyes, else or John's walk, or the reflection in then came before ber mind's eye now, tbe face he bent over Miss Ruth, he I and she eagerly .lked that waysaid 'You are as fair as a sun-kissed nearer and nearer—ho was not thereapple in its frame of autumn leaves as then there camc a lonely, desolate feel the sweetest face of happy childhood I ing, and woman-like, a tear. before a care has indelibly traced its I Miss Ruth,have you seen John Rush line as sunlight on ibe waves thai Hp- to-day 1" Fanner B»tchkiss glanced pie on the lake as the lily that stoops over his horn specta lea as theugh be to kiss the waters, moist lips as—' expected an explanation of something 'Why, Mr. Rush t' tbe laugh came he had beard.

write to Ruth's mother, but the pouredout grief on mother's bosom gave but temporary relief.

Many noted the declining health of the teacher. It's too bad, so it is. A eweet.gentle creature—my children loved her so much. I fear we ain't going to have ber with us nest year.' Mrs. Guppins

misinterpreted the love be thought he I wiped her eyes and shook her bead disread in those honest brown eyes A squirrel dropped a hickory-not near them, and skurried to its nest in the hollow tree,

The music of the autumn woods, in full harmony,swept by them,down the dimning aisles.

mally Twas on the last day of school. The examination and general jubilee of the day was over. She stood alone in the old school-house her brown hair trimmed with roses, and ber white muslin dress, ornamented with two buds peeping ont from a mesh of ruffles about the throat, set-off her beauty to advantage.

She was wandering about without any apparent object in view, pausing

•Speak! I am, in a measure, prepared. I here and there before some monument The ominous silence of your lips baa of boyhood miscbievouaness. What deadened my heart. You need not I was that A manly shadow that had fear! If it must be so, God help me to come into ber dream-life. How it sent bear it.' a crimson flash to ber cheek and throat

Her lips moved, he-bent lower. 'Mr. 11 thought, but how foolish he will Rush, you will forgive me, I know you not come again. Tbe color faded as sbe will forgive me. I meant no wrong I scarce dreamed this, and yet I see now, clearer than before, I do not dislike yon. Oh, no! John Rush these have been the happiest hours of my life— these spent with you I do not deny it, and yet you speak of love! and what follows love Marriage Can I marry you No! then 'tis better we part

arose to get the stin-bonnet from the peg near at hand, tbe shadow again at her very feet, then delicious darkness, and sbe wandered off in the un known land.

What baud was that? Where was sbe? A languor and peaceful rest came over her the first comfort in— oh, so long a time. She did not care to

Yet I would not leave you without rea-1 open her eyes to disturb the fancy that son.' He stooped forward, and with his great, kind band, pushed back tbe struggling curls, and kissed her forebead a tear, round and large, oneso clear it mast have come from the bot-

assessed her. Tbe touch was so much ike a friend she knew, and the couch such an one as bis arms would make. She would open ber eyes slowly.

What! John, dear John! you have come back to me? Ab, how oould

[Overland Monthly.]

Daisy's Mission.

Hell-Roaring Bar was neither a pretty nor euphouious name,nor a reverential one: but considering tbe character of its dwellers. It was an exceedingly fitting one for the locality that bore it. A six months' residence there convinced me so thoroughly of this fact that I could uot consciously have changed a single letter of the name,even bad I possessed the power to do so. Not

from

tbe

a ly with it, and a nearer acquaintance only confirmed the first impression but, like a half-reluctant bride-groom, 11 h»d resolved to take it for 'better or

I L. .. 1 1» ... 1 .1 1 44 it..

that it would prove any better than looked. 'Hello, deacon! What do you want in Hell-Roarln'? Preachers don't stand much show in these diggin's. You

held my temper. I replied blandly tbiitl expected to remain there awhile, and suggested with all meekness that appearances were sometimes deceitful.

itation ot' their elders, gathered round, While I unsaddled my mule in so awkward a manner as to excite derision. These people weighed every tning, like their gold-duht, iu their own scales, and measured by their standard. I was regarded as a worthless impostor, I bad 'store clothes'on, and this fact alone was too mnch for tbe fixed conventialism of the Bar. Buckskin and gray flannel assumed a dignity in early times among tbe 'honest miners' more unyielding, more exacting, than purple and flue linen. My 'boiled shirt' was considered an infraction, and therefore tbe Bar was affronted. 'Deacon' was echoed from month to month* Bets wire offered ana freely takeu that I was a psalm-singer a gambler, with a 'dead thing,' or "waxed keerde a law ver, a doctor, anything but a horsejockey or a gentleman. Although net tied wttb the uncoarteous reception, I could notaflord to fall ont with my new neighbors. Beating my dusty bat against my kneo with a well-assumed swagger, I turned quistly snd asked if tbe Bar was dry. And tbe Bar wag dry.

With a whoop tbe crowd adjourned to the saloon—a rickety clap board institution, furnished with few stools and rough tables—and the Bar drank— first with myself then with Joe Miles, proprietor then with the bine Individual wbo bad first accosted me. Pressing through the crowd, he held ont bis big, rough hand and taking mine,he le& ate forward wUb soweUng of a triumphant aic 'Buys,' he said, 'I take It all Irack. This is my old skipper: oame oat with a*« in '48. He aia'fc no preacher—be spends big money like a m*n, and don't whine. Any one that don't like him can nation Bill Thorp. That's me, hoys! Let'e take sntbinT

Finding things had taken an usexto rn, I immediately took advantage of the new situation. Thorp otocd apoo

time oame, with fresh, sweet miurrae- nor for me. and* bis emphatic assurance Hon of winter's buriaia—bnt no revival, of my unpreacberlike character snd In ber dead heart. Her types and hap.! prvper disregard of tbe value of money pines* were effectually concealed un- (put the B*r good humorr so I ex (HNMN der chilling disappointment she ex­1 isted, plodding from day to day the path once so pleasant. 8i»e often'wondered that she bad not noticed the distance before tbo ragged little hill tried her patience, and the glens, eo much admired in tbo past, inspired ber heart wi&ti toar.

pbtfned my business, and hoped to de6«rve well of tbe boy*. And won the friendship of these people—not by pandering to tbeirtastes or fading into their practices, but by minding my own business. While abstaining from rubbing against their prejudices, and stropaoenly avoiding alt interf rence with their pleasures, I sympathized with them in all their tittio troubles, and they respected DM. Tbe Btr, by day, did no* seem to be a very bad or *NMst#roe« plw to working hoars indulged Inn kind of feverish rest. Bat it was by night that it atoone in me fall glory of it« appropriate name. Then it was that the vampires tbat sucked tbe blood or honest labor earns forth. Short-canl men, poker sharps, monte dealers, faro dealers and others of the fraternity sneaked oat to prey on

the earnings of the day and the Bar ran riot. It saa then that great strong fellows, wbo were wearlug out their lives in the daily conflict with nature —tearing upon the mountains and wrestling with the streams, that others might wear the gold they won—wonld gather round the gambling-tables to try their lnck, And this thing ealled 'look' in tbe early days was a strange thing. Existing on the superstition that is fonnd in the composition of every man, in a greater or less degree, it was a phantom that haunted all classes and entered into tbe human calculations. Luck shamed reason and set at naught all mathematical certainties, and, forgetting that a man's lack was much of his own making, it was followed with a persistent faculty that led tbe feet of too many into bail and dangerous places. It was tbe scapegoat for all sins and shortcomings. It was the rock upon which were built the golden castles of tbe hopeful future: the shifting sand that carried away witb it tbe unfruitful and disastrous past the harvest whose sheaves of promise often yeilded only bitterness and disappointment. In these tilts with fortune the Bar drank deeply. It was drybydav,it was unquenvhable by night. If luck was with the boys they drank and dallied witb it if against them they drank still deeper, and cursed it.

Altogether tbe Bar was a wild and abandoned plaoe but attrition with these people taught me that there are solvents for even crystalixed wickedness—that there is no oloud so dark as to be without a single streak of silver, no nature so rugged as to be impenetrable, or beyond tbe reach of humanizing influences.

I bad been domesticated in my new home about a month, when a circumstance took plaoe wblch seemed to change entirely the whole routine of Hell-Roaring Bar. There was an arrival one morning, and tbe Bar throbbed with anew sensation, a quiet, unassuming lady—a Mrs. Hampton—and ber little daughter, who sought rest and health in the mountaius. Mrs, Hampton was widowed, but no one inquired into her history. She was welcomed as anew strange element among so uiueh wild, reckless life, that brought back memories of mother, or sister, or sweetheart far away, and tbe Bar was pleased. Tbe Bar christened tbe little daughter'Daisy, and she was well named. From this day a marked change took place. Every one desired to be well thought of by the newcomers, dress became an object of solicitude, drunken yells rendea the quiet night less frequently, spirits of evil seemed to be quelled ana the Bar was on its good behavior.

Little Daisy was everywhere as a ministering angel. If there was a sickbed in the catnp Daisy was beside it with the little luxuries that the hand of woman only knows how to prepare. If a poor fellow was about to 'pan out' his few last sands of life Daisy was there, to wet the parched lips, to fill the poor, neglected heart witb hope, or to write the last message to loved ones over and beyond tbe Plains. Quietly and uuobtrusively Daisy moved about In her ministrations. As she passed tbe saloon on ber errands of mercy— ber brown hair neatly folded over her

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forehead, ber little basket of'goodou her arui, and a word and smile I or everyone—oaths half-uttered would be choked back, and rough and brutal jests shrunk unspoken, as if ashamed in ber presence. Even Oregon

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I visited the Bar ctiQG again. Dotrn tbe wiki sierra, by tbe same tortnoos and ragged trail that I had traversed nearly two years before winding among tbe same lordly pines,, rich in rug ranee, ami standing like sentinels in the mountain-passes through tbe name groves of laurel ami manszanito. glistening llko waves of emerald and silver in tbe noon-day sun, fail-blos-somed and wondrous in their beauty, 1 approached tbe Bar. The plaoe seemed changed. A fewlittle white cottages peeped ont from among the rich foliage, spots ot ground were under cultivation, and the hand of industry had been busy. The clapboarded saloon stood in the same old plaoe. Just as I had first seen it, bnt Ita dilapidated condition showed that it was poorly patronised A crowd gathered near—not such a crowd as in the olden time, but a sober qnlet one. Everyone looked snxlons

to tell me something, bat no obe spoke till I fonnd mv friend Tborp. Taxing my hand kindly, he led me qside, and for a moment was silent. 'Well, Cap,* be said earnestly, things is roagb on tbe Bar they alnt Iike tbey wan when you Left. She's gone—that's Daisy— and things sin't gonexight for some o' the boys ever since, .Yes, Cap, ft to mighty ronght

I asked where Dalsv bad removed to. *Ob. no, Cap, you don't understand. The old woman she went back to Sac-ramento—broken-heart* d, they said but Saisy, she's gone called for, taken np among tbe stars where sbe belonged* We miss Daisy, Cap. She got round some o* tbe boys, and made them promise to knock off their grog, I hain't touched it since, and I saved a little. If she'd only said ibis thing wouldn't 'a' happened. Yon wee. Cap, he continued 'bores'* how it was: One o* the boys got badly hart in hi* drift across the creek, and'one mornin' Daisy started over to take him eotbin', and it was arenain' bank-fall, nod the log was slippery, snd well, we found Daisy a mile below, with her brown hsir all tangled among tbe willows, and ber bine eysa kind o* pleadln' for help: and brought hot back—poor thing! There wa'n't a single drink taken on the Bar that day, Cap it s«*in«d to go ag'ln' the boys. Aod Oregon Sis—ber that we all thought bad—abeeombfd out tbe tangled bair^and abe knelt and kissed Daisy, and wont two miles afoot op the snoadosrs and got flowers and pat them in ber Mule blue hands, and there's where we laid h*r Cap—up there where you see them wfette picket*.*

For some time the poor feBosr could aatwith hW/ace buried in his hands. •And Joe?' I asked.' 1 P°in«ngt© the sathere his sand's about panned down-shot, night before last in a row. Joe's a-passin' in his checks,' sure! You see, Joe went to the bad He sat by the old foot-log, melancholylike, and wandered up and down the creek and|no one coald^doany thina with him, and he took to drink again and the oassed temper oame bsck, and he got to quarrelin' with everybody Night afore last he got in a row with Portegee John in a poker game they both drawed, bnt John was to quick for bim and Joe's bad hart. The doctor says he ain't got no livin' show. May be you'd like to see him, Cap?'

We went together into the room where the wonnded man lay. The broken windows were darkened with blankets, and on a pallet we fonnd the poor fellow, breathing heavily, and two of the boys fanning him as tenderly as a mother. The ashy face, and the heavy drops of sweat that gathered on the forehead, told the unspeakable agony of the sufferer, and showed sure enough that Joe's sand was nearly run out, andhe beyond all hnman leechcraft. We had not meant to disturb bim, but bis ear, quickened by pain oaugbt our stealthy footsteps, and turnl ing round, herecognized-me. 'O Cap,' he said, *you have oome at last. I knew she would send some one to talk to me, as she used to—to tell me about that blessed land where Christ lives—Him that she just made ns understand a little, when she left us. And pray for me. Cap, and ask D.ilnv to

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give me for letting the devil oome sack, and forgetting all that sbe taught me. She tola me !r I would onlv believe all she said that I would go to a glorious land that was away beyond the stars. She's gone there, C«p, and I believe every word of it how. Oh. can you pravl She taught me, bnt I most forgot how.'

If ever I felt like praying, it was then. If ever I felt able to ask forgiveness for a poor, wayward, shattered soul, trembling on the bank of the Unknown, about to bo weighed in the balance of the Eternal, it waa at that moment' Soon there was silence unbroken, save by a few smothered sobs among the bystander* but a quiet, jeaceful light rested on poor Joe'a face. Come close,' he said In a low tone:" *1 feel better now, I know that I am goisg to where she is, and somohew 1 don't feel so much patn. Tell tbe bovs to lay mo beaid" her there's room enough, and then I can Hud the way to where sbe is. And Cap,' bo whispered, as he reached his band under bis pillow and drew out two pictures, 'put these on my heart, for they belong there poor old mother and her^-tho only two that knew bow to find it. Write to mother bow It was, and that If I did forgot her I nover will again. When I'm gone whisper to Daisy that I believed It all, every word of II! that I found the road at last, and am coming. Yes, Cap, I'm going to Da

Poor Joe! the blessed seeds of light sown by the little D-tlsy had taken root at last, and an unruly and turbulent spirit was at rest forever and lorevermore.

A FRENCH BEDROOM, [From French Home Life.] Now go to the bedroom,and from th» door abaorb it with your eyos, for uever have yon seen a picture moro complete. Tbe walls, the hangings, and the seats are all in pale bine satin (sholsfbir,) edged sparingly with velvet of the same shade, and embroidered daintily with moss-rose buds, swathed instill paler yellow leaves. But this description though oxact. gives no idea of tho effect produced by that wondrons tissue, of the incredible effect of dolioacy and thorough feminine elegance which it sheds around- The room is filled with vagne, floating graw: its very detail is combined to aid and sustain tbe almost fairy as poet it presents.- Tho bed is shrouded In thickly wadded satin curtains. inside which bang others made of mnslln so vaporously filmy that fts folds seem almost mist, tho ooverl«t, which hides the lace-trimmed sheets and pillows, is in blue satin, lined with elder down, and covered with tbe same veil of floating white, hanging down in a deep flounce over tbe woodwork of the bed. Tbe toilettable is the aame—a nestling mam of transparency and lace* with blue beneath, and knots and streamer* of mingled satin and velvet round. On the chimney-pieoe stand a clnekand candlesticks of Sevrescbtaa, The piano is in pale bok roso{uot rosewood, which Is a very different substance). Inlaid with plates of pointed Sevres to match. At night light comes from above, where hangs a lamp of Sevres again. In our day, with our active ideas and actual wants, such rooms as these are typical they repreaent tbe highest form of realization ot modern taste without its faults, or rather with as little of them as is consistent with theexpemiitare of *0 much money, and so mtrcb tbongbt. In these rare vases, vanity seeks for another satisfaction than that of glare, but vanity is at tbe bottom all the same tbe only difference is that it is accompanied by a trae cense of art.

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whom a blush a stranger, wonld hang her head silently when Daisy was near, and her eyes would swell—perhaps, poor thing! with looking back to the Old days among tbe apple-blos-Botns, when she, too, was pure and inuocent—at least I thought so* Somebow the Bar was not so dry as formerly, and Joe Miles, its ruling spirit, neglected bis business and said be was tired of whisky-selling. He laid aside a six-shooter, that, reports said, had served bim only too well on moro than one occasion, with the remark that 'tbe Bar was quiet now it wa'n't no use to carry it.' Joe was very particular uow as to bis personal appearance, dressing in the once desptsed 'store clothes,' and took to solitary rambling about the neigborbood. It was noticed that if Daisy had occasion to pasSalong the dangerous trail through the canon Joe wits there with his strong band to guide ber. If sbe crossed tbe foot-log over tbe turbulent stream a steady arm was generally there to support her, and more than otice Joe #as found In earnest conversation with her, or reading tbe books with which she supplied bim. Joe finally mid out the saloon and in* vested in a tnining*claim, which be was industriously working when I closed out my business and left the neighborhood.

JP&O UDHON-ON DOLLS, jj Proudhon was a fierce enemy of all that was not strictly utiliumn. A friend one day bringing a doll as a present to his two little girls, Proudboo absolutely refused to let tbem have it, declaring that dolls taught children laziness and coquetry, gave them a ta#le for luxury sod languor, adding, "If yoa wish to make my daughters« present, giro them something wtefot, a thimble, a pair of scissors, or a peek of needles, that tbey may be always remlndod that they are the children of misery aud philosophy and mast ancoadngly devote their livesto work/'

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