Newspaper Page Text
"LET US HAVE PEACE."
* ALEXANDRIA, PARISH OF RAPIDES, LA. --- - -- -~- - - ---~----;-------L- ----- -- - -;-~-- Miscellaneous Selections. JOHN REED'S THOUGHTS. There's a mist on the meadow below; the her ring-fre, chirp and cry; It's chill when the sun is town, and the sod is not yet dry; The world isa lonely place, itseems, and I don't know why. I see, as I lean on the fence, how wearily trudges Dan With the feel of the Spring in his bones, like a weak and elderly ruan; I've had it many a time, but we must work when we can But day after day to toil, and evtr from sun to sun. Though up toithe season's front and nothing be left undone, Is ending at twelve like a clock, and beginning again at one. The frogs make a sorrowJul noise, and yet it's the time they mate; There's something comes with the Spring, a lightness or else a weight: There's something comes with the Spring, and it seems to me it's fate. It's the hankering after a life that you never have learned to know; It's the discontent with a life that is always thus and so It's the wondering what wes are, and where we are going to go. My life is lucky enough, I fancy, to most men's eyes, For the more a family grows, the oftener some one dies, And now it's run on so long, it couldn't be other wise. And sister Jane and myself, we have learned to claim and yield; She rules in the house at will, and I in the barn and field; So, nigh upon thirty years!-as if written and signed and sealed. I couldn't change it I would; I've Jost the how and the when; one day my time will be up, and Jane will be the mistress then, For single women are tough, and live down the single men. She kept me so to herself, she was always the stronger hand, And my lot showed well enough, when I looked around in the land; But Im tired and sore at heart, and I don't quite understand. I wonder how it had been if I'd taken what othrs need, The plague, they say, of a wife, the care of a younger breed ? If Edith Pleasnton now were near me ass Eoith Ieed? Suppose that a son well-grown were there in the place of Dan, And I felt myself in him, as I was when my work began? I should feel no older, sure, and certainly more a man! A daughter, besides, In the house; nay, let there be two or threel We never can overdo the luck that can never be, And what has come to the most might also have come to me. I've thought, when a neighbor's wife or his child was carrlied away, That to have no lose was a gain, but now-I can hardly say; He seems to possess them still, under the ridges of 'lay. And share and share in a life is, somehow, a dif ferent thing Fron property held by deed, and the riches that oft take wing; I feel so close in the breast!-I think it must be the Spring. I'm drying up like a brook when the woods have been cleared around; You're sure it must always run, you are used to the sight and sound, But it shrinks until there's onlylef a stony nirut in the ground. There's nothing to do but to take the days as they come and go And not worry with thoughts that nobody likes to show, For people so seldom talk of the things they want to know. There's times when the way is plain, and ever)- thing nearly right, And then of a sudden you stand like a man with aclouded sight; A bush seems often a beast, in the dusk of a fall ing night. I must move; my joints are stiff; the weather is breeding rain, And Dan is hurrying on, with his plow-team tip to the lane. I'll go to the village store; I'd rather not talk with Jane. -Bayard Taylor in Atlantic for March. MADAME DUFOUR. "I WONDER who she is !" said Walter Drummond, looking back as he left the churchyard. "Who?" asked Kate Hyslop with a dis plea ed air. "That lady in the blue and gold shawl, who sat opposite to us in church," he an swered. "Oh! that red-headed woman ?"' ndif ferently. "Why she was a stranger, of course; what else should she be ?' "But I wonder who she is, and where she comes from," repeated Walter with Insistence. "Really, W'alter, you are very odd! What concern can it be of yours, and why should you wonder about her at all ?" re turned Kate with ielot manner; and her betrothed, taking the hint, let the matter Jd nton, where they all lived, was just a dull English village without a history. and Walter's curiosty was only naturald, under the circumstances. Soon the whole place was asti with the news that a Madame Dufour, the pretty woman who had sat on Sunday in the chancel Just opposite the vicarage pew, had taken Elm Cottage where old Miss Donne had lved; indthat she was busy fhrcishing it in a manner so costly as to be next door to wicked. The stranger came regularly to church, which counted for something in her favor; and she was reported kind to the poor, and charitable beyond the common run of even generous folks. Not that Bin ton quite endorsed this last trait. It had its own ideas about excesses of say kind; and excess of virtue fared no better at its hands than if it had been a vice. Lit tle by little, however, her pleasant smile and genial manner brake down some of the tifler predjudices which her stranger hood and unlikenee to Binton laws of life had created; and after a suflfclent time a elaped to forbid the appearance of mIjudcious haste, the Vlear and his wife called on her-rather solemnly, it maust be confessed, but with a good mean ing at bottom. The next step was to ask her to tea Kate Hyslop was by no means well pleased when she heard of this arange ment: and in general, Kate Hyslop's wishes ruled the vicarage. But Mr. DIrummond had certain notions on priest ly duties which nt even his heiress-ward could touch and this was one of them. So now Madame Dufour was marked with the right brand, and the whole parish gathered round her and bleated her a welcome to their pastures. From having been a kind of exile among them, she be came the most popular plaything of the day; Kate Hysiop alone refusing to bleat with the rest, or to burn incense at her shrine. From the first there was a distinct an tagonism between these two women; and from the first Kate hated Madame Dutour, and Madame Dufour feared Kate. "She fatigues me with her vivacity; she sickens me with her theatrical senti ment, and her affectation of grace is too transparent for anything but contempt." Kate said scornfully, when asked if Mad ame Dufour was not charming. While she on her side said, with a pret ty action she had with her hanls, "Miss Kate Hyslop? She is the lce-maiden bound in chains! the makes me shudder as if she was a ghost." "Or a detective." said Kate with em phasis; when some good-natured friend reorted to her what the new-comer had The word struck. It was bitter and cruel; but then bitter things and cruel always do strike; aind Miss Ilyslop's sharp surmise made the round of the par ish underhand, folks whispering among themselves, "She is not so far out, isn't our Vicar's young lady: and maybe the detective will light on our fine Madame some day, at last." But no one said this to herself, and the pretty stranger still lived in the sunshine and nourished herself on incense. Walter Drummond's habits were chang ing. From a docile, steady, methodical young man, in to time, prover bially good nat, red if not very.bright, and as inno cently candid as a child, he was fast be coming irregular. uncertain, and reticent. He was always out, and no one knew where: nor would he explain when he came home, silent and depressed as no one had ever seen him before. Neither his mother's business nor his fiancee's pleasures touch ed him. Kate looked on at this change, and said nothing. She had evidently her own mind on the matter; and Mrs. Drummond who knew her, was quite aware of the future preparing for her boy. But she wisely left them to fight it out between them, knowing that the struggle had to c me, if not about one thing then about another; and Kate had to be crowned queen when all was over. " Walter, I want you to ride with me to-day," said Kate one morning. " I am very sorry," he answered hur rledly; "I cannot to-day." "No! Why?" "I have the boat to look to," he said. She fixed her cold eyes on him steadily, and her look brought the blood into his face. "Are you going to visit Madame Du four again?" she said scornfully. " You need not speak, Walter. your looks are an swer enough," she added. " Pray don't add falsehood to the list of your lately acquired accomp!lshments. It is what I have long su'pected; what, knowing you, and how weak you are, I foresaw from the first." "And what is it you suspected and fore saw from the first, may I ask ?" said Wal ter angrily. " Why should I say it? You know as well as I; and I don't care to di; in pl )w ed ground," she answered slowly. "I will not allow your insinuations !" said Walter with vehemence. 'Will you not? But if I choose to make them ?" "Then I will not listen to them," he said. " Your friend shall, Walter," said Kate deliberately. " Kate, you are trying me too far !" he cried. "What folly is this you have taken S"No folly at all Walter--on my side. I will forbear to characterize what you have taken up, on yours. I only know the facr, that all these long absences of yours-these mysterious affairs which occupy you from morning to night--mea t simply that you are spending the time you deny to us with this Madame Dufour. I say no more, and insinuate no more-no more at least," she added wi-h a slight sneer, "than your own conscience ech oes." " And if I do see Madame Dufour at times, am I not master of my own ac tions?" said Walter. " I also of my own thoughts," she re plied. "You are free to be your own mistress for all time, and in all ways, so far as I am concerned," said Walter indignantly, a great hope irradiating his face as he spoke. "Thanks," she answered, her monoto nous voice as calm as ever. " You meant that for magnanimity) I daresay; but I shall not accept it. I always have been, and always mean to be my own mistress under all circumst snees; you know that, Walter. But we have wandered from our point-wil you ride with me to-da ?"' " I told you before, I cannot, said Walter sullenly. "Very well,"' sheanswered; but neith er shallMadame Dufour." She rose on this and walked steadily and quietly out of the room, leaving Wal ter wlth the sensa'ion that a thunderbolt had mllen at his feet. Kate had seen clearly and spoken truly. WalUter had carried to the beautiful stran ger the inner wealth ofa nature which, until now, had been given to no one. He had engaged himse&t to Kate Hyslop two years ago, it is true; but it was a thing that had been done for him, more than one which he had voluntarily chosen for himself. His parents wished it; Kate's h'her had wlsied it; and Kate herself wished It-which clenched the matter. At the best, however, Kate was only to him like a sister; not always so nice, and not always so dear. When Madame Dutfour came, the chained fountain leaped into life and melo dy. To say that he loved her is to say little. It was adoration more than com mon love. He loved her as he had never loved before, as he had no prevision he could hare ever loved at all. And she well! she first played, and then she learnt. He was "her boy." she used to say with those sweet lips of hers that looked as if they had not been in existence more than twenty years at most-Kate Hyslop ald ways said she was long past thirty, and "made up;" and the youth- just two vears older than she looked-longed to tell her that. if he was a boy to her in the humility of his devotion, the nothingness of his personality, he was a man to him ,elf in the passion and power of his love. But, now, what was'he to do? Brought face to face with Kate's not unfounded suspicion and not unrighteous wrath, he felt that he must take a step as decided as it would be final. He must choose which to do; abandon Madame Dufour, or break with his betrothed; cease to visit the one he loved better than his life-and if so, what reason to give her, she who was so far above him he dared not even hint at his love ?-or he must disappoint his pa rents, break his plighted word, and dis tress one whose only fault was her love for him and her claim to be loved in return. At luncheon-time he rushed off to Elm Cottage, thinking only that, come what would, he should see her once again. Was he expected? Half lying, half sit ting on the sofa, was Madame Dufour, dressed, as she always did dress, in the most exquisite, the most seductive man ner; indeed, she did not dress, she draped. On a small table, covered with ruby-col ored velvet, stood wine, fruit, and flowers, and a large bowl of old Venetian glass, full of Ice. It was ethereal food for lun cheon; but Madame Dufour was ethereal in her food, and often spo e with laugh ing scorn of the materialistic English miss who ate and drank like a man. Kite Hyslop had what is called a wholesome appetite, and liked cheese and beer. " Ah, my boy !" she said with her ca ressing accent and young-motherly man ner, and holding out both her hands to him as he came in, but not rising to re ceive him. "Toujours le bienvenu !" " How kind you are to let me come," stammered Walter flinging himself on a footstool by her side. He was pale and agitated, but his eyes told the old story as eloquently as they had always told it. "How can I ever thank you for all your kindness to me?" "By not assuming that I have been kind at all," she said; "or," lightly touching his shoulder with her fan, "by putting it the other way, Mr. Walter, and counting me grateful to you." The ) oung man flung back his head; Madame Dufour's fair face flushed, and her eyes drooped at the love that was in his. He took her hand and carried it to his lips. "Better than the wealth of the world!" he murmured in a low voice; but she, playfully pulling one of his brown curls, said in a pretended anger that was more bewitching than even her kindness, "That is what you deserve, naughty boy ! You presume too much, mon ami." Just then a ring came to the front door. 'Tiens! who can th it be?" she cried, with surprised eyebrows. Walter first crimsoned like a schoolboy caught, and then turned pale like a man before whom is a struggle unto death. lie knew who it was, clearly enough; and Madame Dufour read his knowledge in his face. So, the battle hal come, had it? Bien ! She was ready. She never raised herself from her loung ing attitude, but even curled hers lf round into softer lines. The tender man ner grew more tender, the -weet, low voice more caressing, the creeping touch of her long white hand more velvety, as it firstpushed back the golden fringe that shadowed her forhead, then rested on Wal ter's chestnut head ; the tremulous face no longer dimpled with smiles or quiver ed with sympathy, but took on it elf a mask half mo:king, hall impassive, and wholly irritating to an antagonist; and then Miss Hyslop was ushered into the room, to find the siren in her most dan gerous mood, surrounded by her pnoa: bewitching accessories, with her own lover, who was also her rival's, sit ing at her fee', worshipping. "Miss Hyslop ! how very kind !" said Madame Dufour, in a pret y, languid voice. "A rare pleasure but none the less welcome," she aided, offering her hand. "I came for Mr. Drummond, Madame Dufour; not to pay you a visit," said Kate, in her stoniest manner. "Walter. you are wanted at home." "Poor Walter ! I hope he is not to be scolded very severely at home," said Madame Dufour, wi'h a mocking accent. " Who wants me?" asked Walter indif ferently. ' I," said Kate. "Your pleasure?" was Walter's reply, not looking up. " I prefer not to discuss my affairs in public," said Ka'e. "I want you; tha is enough; so, if you please, Wal er, come; and at once." "I am engaged," said Walter; " I can not." " Madame Dufour, I must ask your as sistance," then said Kate, turning to her rival." Will you kindly command Mr. Drummond to obey me ?" " What an extraordinary proposition I" laughed the siren. "What do you take me for, Miss Hyslop 1' "What do I take you for?' repea'ed Kate, very slowly, and eyeing her keenly. "Well, I might take you for many things -for an actress, say; or an adventuress;M for a runaway; perhaps for a woman who ought to be-where shall I say --.n Mill bank for forgery, like that Clara Bell the papers were so full of Just before you came here; or I might take you for an hones woman, lintending no evil to any one, and careful to avoid scandal. You see, Madame Dnfour, a stranger as you are may be anything. Who knows '?" During Kate's speech Madame Du four's face had not changed a muscle, save the faintest quiverlng of her upper lip, and the sudden startin of big drops both on it and on her brow. "Yon have a fertile fny, Miss Hyalop," she drawled out with a little laugh." Really your roll-call of possibil ites is so crowded, I cannot remember half my probable characters." "Have you taken leave of yonr senses, Kateo"' demanded Walter sternly. "No; but you have," she replied, as sternly. "Again I ask, Walter, will you leave Madame Dufour and come with me ?" "And again Ianswer, I will not." said Waiter ting the long white hand in his. "You have made it necmay, Kate, that some one should protect Madame from ipn salt' and I will be the one to do so." " Poor dsimpleton !" said Kate with dis dain. "You anre a greater fool, Walter, than I took you for; and I never thought you very wise. However, your wisdom or your folly is no busineMs of mine. I have done my duty; and you must act as you choose.' Without another word she turned round, and went out; and as she shut the street-door after her Madame Dufour sank into Waiter's arms in a violent fit of sob It bing and weeping; and Walter, holding d her to his heart, kissed away her tears, to and told her that he loved her better than as life itself, and that he would devote his h life to her service, now and for ever. k "Dear boy !" she said, at length, smil Ie ing through the disorder of her passion. . " It was worth the anguish of enduring o her insolence to know that I have such a it ,reux chevalier-that I have such a gal l- lant soul from so ungenial a fate !" s- And While this scene was taking r place Kate was walking homeward . through the lane, muttering, half aloud, n" I wonder if that shaft struck true! I it could not read her face. I wonder if it is she, after all! That foolish fellow ! But t- I will not let him go, all the same. He r, suits me; and he will s&on forget that e wicked woman when he finds out what she is, if she is as I believe her to be. If she I. is not-" I~ But this thought displeased her, and i, she put it from her to indulge the dream s, that she was what a certain letter-re lt ceived that morning from London in an 1 swer to one of Inquiry from her touching a suspicion she had enterte ined from the s first-gave great cause to suppose. e Kate was so far wise in her generation e that she could hold her peace. Having shot her bolt, she could afford to wait the result. Accordingly, when Walter re - turned home late in the evening, she re Sceived him with the quiet stolidity com mon to her; and neither by word or look made the faintest reference to the stormy scene that had taken place at Elm Cottage a that morning. She prevented, too, the re 1 proaches with which his father and mo r ther were charged; and gained golden opinions for her own part for the gener r rous affection they said she displayed to wards one so unsatisfactory. S"Oh! I know him. He will come back y to his better self as soon as this horrid y creature has gone ; and go she shall," she I said, smiling, while Mrs. Drummond kissed her tearfully, and Vicar called her " blessed among women." 1 "Madame," he said to Mrs. Drummond two or three dlays after this, during which they had scueaely seen Walter; nor had s she noticed a certain letter of his giving her back her freedom, and braking onf the proposed marriage; "I want you to ask Madame Dufour to dinner to-mor r row." "My love !" said the Vicar's wife in a tone of astonishment; "why have that odi ous woman here ?" "D)o not ask me, pray," she answered. "I wish it." "Well, my dear of course you know we all study your wishes In everything," said Mrs. Drummond humbly. "I am sure, if you like it, I have no objection; and I sup pose papa will have none." "Thanks. A gentleman is coming from London," then said Kate indifferenty. "What is the meaning of this, my boy?' asked pretty Madame Dufour, when the servant brought in a note from the Vicar f age, requesting the pleasure of her comi pany at dinner to-morrow at half past six o'clock. Walter was startled, too. What did it mean? Had his father and mother taken t to heart how things stood with him; and were they prepared to receive her he loved as their own? :"Shall I go ?" then asked Madame. ' "Oh, yes! yes!" exclaimed Walter. I "You wish it, my boy ' I "Wis it ! Do I wish t, live in heaven !" he cried. "Don't you know itis heaven to me where you are ?" "But this terrible Miss Kate; will she i like to see me?" t "Oh ! don't you know that my mother would not have asked you else?" answered I Walter innocently. "Kate is the mistress I of the Vicarage, not my mother." e "And she wllm not Insult me again? She r will not punish me, Waiter, for wh .t I cannot help-your love for me ; and"--n ea lower voice, a shy sweet, tremulous I voice-"mine for your' On his knees before her,his fresh, young, fervid face tamed upward to hers as she e bent so gracefully, so tenderly toward I him, his glad eyes dark and moist with the passionate love which at last had found its home, Walter poured forth his thanks, his adoration, his protestations there was nothing to fear, and his assurance of de fense, in a breath; and Madame Dufour, smiling, radiant, lovely, turned to her n writing-table and wrote her acceptance of the invitation on pink scented paper with a golden monogram and coronet on the toy. - 'You see," she said, with a pretty laugh, pointing it out to Walter. "I am really a countess ; but this is the only sign of my r state in which I indulge myself. A coun tees with a couple of maids hl a remote English village!" The gentleman fom London came, true e to his time; and Kate took it on herself to show him the one local lien, namely, the church, with its old monuments, its ine Norman aeb, ie quaint M rving as nd " the like. Their talk wu intesling Smesawhile; bat it was not on the thn they went so see and a listener mtght have heard, "Mauame Duform," "Clara SBell,""rg ," "actre," "clever ers u ape," "known bad character," uttered n morethanonce. But it came at last toa Sconclusion, the gentleman saying warmly, a "But after all, miss, you have been the Scleverer of the two," as tasy turned up the lane to the Viarage, to dressm for din ner--sad Madma Duibur. r Exactly at thehalf-hour she came; more Sentlelang than ever, thought Walter, as he ew into themhall to realve hr. He * bouht her int the room. easing o his r rfoolsh heart boundii g with Spride anJoy. Kate and his as yet un Sannulled engagement with her were alike forgotten, as he led his qwueen, his , saint, hisidol, toi mother; ad itwas with dificulty that he prevented himseli a from saying out belbre them all, "Moth Ser, take her to your heart; she is your is dauehter !" He did, however, hold hise pace, and Sonly Kate read him early, ua~ hru ,, her shoulders over the words. t OGracefl and soft were the fw a- astenesm said, In her slow, half lisping vote, by the fair faced - stranr to DrMm. ond who r, received them awkwardly, half-timidly itas i conscdous of thestorm that was n brewling. Aud then she trned to tdi I Vicar and made the old man's eyes Ssparkle with the caressing bcarm sin threw into such an ordnry salutation as d that of a guest to her h on enterinog e To Kate abhe bowed with a pretty little all k of triumph, and glancd hulW at!t: - back of the gentleman from icuon Lg standing slightly apart and in the -, shadow. n ' I think there is some one here who is knows you." then said Kate Hyslop, slowly. "Mr. Plumstead, you know this I- lady, I think ?" a. The gentleman from London turned g quickly round. a "An unexpected meeting Miss Clara 1- Bell," he said with a cruel laugh, and tapped her expressively on her shoulder. g One eting spasm of fear and agony Stransfigured her loveliness to horror as I, he spoke, and then the candid blue eyes I looked up straight into his, the swe et, is small mouth quivered into Its usual half it shy, half-plaintive smile, the graceful e body swept a long, low courtesy, and the it silvery voice said smoothly, "You are te under some mistake, sir. M11 name la te Madame Dufour-Carollne Du our-and I have not the honor to know you." d " Game to thle last, I see !" laughed Mr. n Plumstead coarsely. "But the day of - reckoning Is come, my lady, and your t- fine airs go for nothing. You have been g wanted for some time, you kn ow, for that e little mistake you made about young Charlie Lawson's name to that check you n presented. By the look of things, I'm g afraid we shan't get much out of the fire e there," he added, in a kind of aside; " and now I've found- you I don't mean to let you go again, I promise you. You have i- no right to complain; you have had a pretty long innings, ll things con y sidercd." S" Walter! kill him !" shrieked Madame Dufour, turnini wildly to her young lover. She had no need to urge him. n Already h.s hands were twisted in the t- neckcloth of the detective, when, quick as , thought, Mr. Plumstead drew a trun cheon from his pocket, and gave the boy k a blow that rendered further interference d from him impossible. e " My boy I my boy! You have killed d him " cried the miserable woman, fling r ing herself on her knees beside him. "Walter ! look up! speak to me! Brave, d good, innocent boy, speak to me once Sagan !" she kept on repeating, while sobs d without tears-those terrible sobs of fear mingled with anguish-shook her whole frame, as she crouched close to th*, pale o face. kilsing it wildly. " Insolent ! abandoned !" said Kate, in deep tones, striking her hands from Wal a ter's face. "Your place is not there." - " Ah! but I loved him!" pleaded Madame Dufour,with unconscious pathos. 1. "Whatever I may be, I loved him ! "Take her away," said Kate, sternly. e "She has stood between us long enough." d "They shall not take me!" she if screamed; but Mr. Plumstead bent over º- her quickly; and, before she we!l knew that he had taken her hands in his, he n had slipped on a pair of handcuff,, and had her at his mercy. " Loosen his cravat, throw water in his face, and keep him quiet when he re overs; e and don't fret, madam," to the poor moth er who waA weeping violently on the other side, said the detective, as he pre Sopared to pass ont, leaving them with the boy lying as if dead on the floor wi h no t more apparent concern than if he had a knocked over a rabbit. It was all in the I way of his profession-merely a unit in Ih s averaires-and he knew he had not killed him. " Now, then, my beauty," he laughed, turning to the poor wretch alternately cowering and raving in his grasp, "to your house, if you please; and then we o will get our little business setried." So he passed out through the village. e so fr consenting to appearances as to cover with a shawl the golden head that r had so lately borne Itself in triumph, and I which was now so bitterly abssed, and to s conceal the mruel handeufis that shone among the bracelets on her wrists. She a was a prize worth taking, and he was I pleased with his day's work. s Years passed, and Kate Hyslop, for all her money and unrelaxing determination to marry Walter, was Kate Hyslop still, e and Walter Drummond, a sad, grave man, prematurely old, and always bear ing that heartbreak of his about with d him, was living In London, in an Isolated miserable fashlon enough, seeming to a have little to do wih life any way, and to have parted fbrever with happiness and hope. His father and mother were dead, r and he had made no new frlends. The ,f only interest he took In anything was in prisons and refbrmatories. These he vis ted ouns'antly; constntly, too, wander ed about the lower haunts of poverty and vice; or, suddenly changing his method, he would roam about lbs park and the fashionable squares, always searching, always hoping, and ever pursuing what he never overtook. His search be came a kind of monomania with him; but he never saw again the woman he somgbt, though day by day he maid to -himslf-now the moment had surely come, he would fnd her t-day; and when he had foand her, he would take her tohis heart lovingly, reYerently, as eofld, sad inhis love he would leanse her Sof her stains. .He never thought how t me would habve traeted er. i loked a 1the goden har, the dr Sower-ase, tse swt, shy smile of thaserly days; Sand ono, when be gave a grmy-baled, I 'd, twob~o be¶nw-rwomn imor why sbe t d !his bhrtso m dlJ, P or wiy sshe'woke a chord that vlbrated i Sremembrance, but that had no echo in e refts, one btter wlater's niht,be a died. had wandered rstleslyallthe e day, feelIago mar sad yersofar o s1 Sher airm was walking with bhi ide bo h sde. step for step, bepaed te l I streets br hours; bat he 3nld notmee b e famce, nor toneh her , nor bear be Is voee. When the anight lIl he erpt bac a to his mserable home, once mor dise I onted and his missionanalllld. - rt brokeat last; sad whten -a-a- r to rouse him in tm orri , hewa dead. d As they laid the poor worn bcd strit and fair for Iti last rest t eand suspended rmd his aeek a l w I wh ekh was a las trs o(fo hair Sa date, a momge, ad " For ever," no d derneath. Ad whe a wratehd beggar to woman died of drink and prlia~fn n , poae-ll, that ram wlter, they founM as her, too, wrapped l a woran Mtof pa te per that had once been pink and stampen es in gold, a short, ersp, be-tnt arl, ant "Walter," with the same date as bhi as written within; while a tremblig gband Sof evidently later days, had scrwrled ur uendsay chszeters rosm, "My mcn! e real love. God bless him "-Lor ss B" n, city for February, e The " Three-BDttle. Times. o IN those days Scotland would have , been a rich field for Father Mathew's la s bore. Habits of drunkenness Were com mon alike to rich and poor. They were I aisoclated with goodfellowship, and were tenderly dealt with, even b the church. a The orgies of Osbaldistooe all, graphi I cally described in Rob Boy, found their counterpart in many a Scottish manor. SThe old bacchanalian rhyme, a "He who goes to bed, goes to bed sober, a Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October; But be that goes to bed, goes to bed mellow. SLives a long Jolly life, and dies an honest fil was quoted, half in earnest, as apology e for the excesses which wealthy and re e speitable hosts, under the gulse of hospi " tlly, literally forced upon their guests. I whn the clot was drawn and the ladles had abandoned the dimer-table to their I riotous lords and masters. S I have heard my father, more than once, r relate what happened onsnch an oceasion, ° when he was one of the actors. He had been dining, with a pwa o eight or ten r gentlemen an - a few ldli at the luxu ° rious country-seat of a bnd who had shown him much kindness. When the e ladles withdrew, the host, having caused t the butler to set out on the table two doz en bottles of port, sherry, and claret, e locked the door, put thekey in his pocket, e and said to his guests, " Gentlemen. no shirking to-nightl Notr man leaves this room till these bottles ar em ptied." e No remark was made In reply, and the I wine passed round. My ather drank three glasses-the utmost limit to which I e have ever known him to go, though he hab itually took a glass or two of sherry after dinner. At the fourth round he passed P the bottles without filling. His host re e monstrated, at firat in jest, then in a half angry tone, when the remusant persiattd. Thereupon my father, approaching a front window which opened on the lawn. * only a few feet below It, threw up the ' sash, and leaped out, followed by three or a four other guests. 5 This enraged their host. As the fugi r fives looked ba&k, they mw him upset the B dinner-table with a violent kick, smashing a bottles and -glasses, and declaring, with an oath, that, if they didn't choose to I drink that wine, nobody else should. The deserters joned the ladies in the drawing-room, but the host did not reap pear; and my father, as leading conspira tor, lost. and never regained, his friend ship.-Robert Dale Owes in Atlantic for March. Cottawed Sgapr. r -. ' Every one in the East by this time e knows that a sugir is obtained from the sugar maple. This tree abounds in the Eastern States. As soon as the sap bo gins to move, in the spring, holes are bored into the trees, wooden spglots in serted, and the sap flows out into the tk tie buckets provided for the purpose. This sap is then subjected to evaporation, and the sediment becomes maple sugar. In the West, the common silver maple of our Eastern cities has been experin mented with and f.und to yield a tolera bly good article. Another maple, the box elder, or negundo, as it is called, also yields considerable. As these two maples grow very rapidly, they are often planted as much for sugar-making purposes as for the timber they yield or the shelter from the keen prairie winds which they afford. It has been found, however, that sugar produitng trees are not confined to the t maples. he poplar yield an article lit I e Inferior to the true sgar maple of the East; and the annual product made by the settlers In the cotton-wood districts of the West is by no means Inconsidera ble. The cotton wood poplar Is one of the best friends to the ar Western settler. In 1 many districts there is no timber except I along the river banks and water codures, and it is then often coaneed solely to the cotton-wood. It fqrms his firewood, his fence-posts, and his esttl.eerrals' and now it appears, as well as boilling his cof fee, it frirlshes the sweetolng to make It paletab.l Althongh found natur.lly in amp places It seems to pow as natu i rally on dry lwd; and it is used for shel ter belts on farms and treet trees fbr the towns. It agrows with mmenme raldity. The writeruas seen branem wb h have made ten et n length in asingle season; while eem stomps f trees cut down i have indicated by r eannual rings a di ameter of two feet In twenty years. The timber is smt and not very enduring; but, take It all in all, the cotton-wood, to t the Westernman is byn means ade spied bemssg.-- a Pes. A allway Iulsasee. I The Englsh Rilway system has itleast a one advantae over ours-the traveler Is s not pmtes, every ive inmae during r h Joura, by vmdr of mJa wares. r There, In En statnthne handsome and uportu to himrn lfw h the I lr or hepa amy dsmrs; and 1: them, uoes in t w ay-wayrage, a Ihe sseuredaomin l . Buthere t the railway cmpeale the s , of the ars to dmer, and d -ly u subte asng to 5 sysymatimsd an e mar. Boareely hts teain left the sta e tion, erea boy umm with aurmiftal of y itrairn, qul tSmu whe wgh g Ito pnrchse M e ae ty to do so; but t he'~ut l s m m iatoev bedy's lap, r and them legedisely to larber k them up. No mooaer the ear eavasmed for the new.apers, the. the vend r re 1 8ppear with a of ca1 nyI-pCels, e ana tbhse Mre Idmbreed upe every s oue's atteLa; the. eomme Sthe amai boy weisrY of a battr emaue, r- and the tax sues the tal jl5108 a and endarane s ded m ntor - d able.-App,-l S. a id T uu ni oostwaredsl gupeessem id whleh hes tot deep moal sisnm. Mfr Is edueation truhes bot tm e dlad te , ressen. Behavior is a mirror t whrh in every ne skows his own Image. There ly lea poltemees ci the heartslt a to love, - from which sprngs the easst politeatess of outwad beaviror.