St, Valentine’s Day. Though the bird flies far, And the fair flower goes, The sweel o' the year Is wet in the snows The mid o' the winter, It breaks into bloom, And suddenly songs Are sung in the gloom. And winging hearts oross And whisper together; And a night and a day 1t is perfect weather. we Wide What Then? We wreathe our brows with fairest flowers, We qual the cup of pleasure We dance through hours of giddy mirth To music's gavest measure; The garlands fade-the cup is drained, The restless feet are weary, The eves are Jim with mists of tears And hearts are sad and dreary; What then ? We build ns monuments of fame, Wa twine us wreaths of glory, Qur names through deeds of honest worth Are told in song and story; But hand and brain grow weak at last By pain and age o'ertaken; We watoh the busy world go by Forgotten and forsaken; What then ? Ab, then we sigh for blossoms fadeless, sweots Which ones we might have pourished in our breast; We long to fill onr cup from crystal riils And turn our footsteps to the vales of rest; We learn the worth of temples built above, Of names engraven in the book of life, Of hearts made purer by the furpace fires Unbardened hip the years of toil aud strife, Oh, thoughiess one, turn not from wisdom’ WAYS, Norati the higher aims of life forget, Else memory will mock your misary, And fll the after yoars with vain regrel. —~Mre 8 LL Howell MISS TILT'S NIECE. —_ “1 wish very much I could do any- thing,” said Ted Murchisen, “1 will go up to London on purpose, if you Like, and call at your house. Butdon't they write to yeu?’ “ They think it better not. They wonld let we know if there were any- thing fresh to tell, I bave to console myself with the proverb, ‘No news is good news.” Cecile Redding spoke with a ring of sadness in her voice, and for a minute | her gray eves looked misty as she tarned them away. Directly after she glanced back at her companion and | langhad merrily, “What is the matter?’ asked the! young msk, somewhat taken by sur prise, and looking quickly first on one side and then the other, with the ex peetation of finding some cause for her | amusement, There was nothing to be | seen but the smooth lawn with its neat flower beds, the high laurel hedge, and the brown gate, half open, as though in | readiness for his departure. : His astonishment only increased the | girl's merriment, so that WAS some minutes before she conld answer, While they were standing thus in the porch a dogeart was driven by, its occupants being the village doctor and his groom, The former lcoked hard at the little | group in the doorway, balf raising his | hand to his hat, but refraining on see- ing that he was unobserved. “1 beg your pardon,” said Cecile, re- covering her gravit but von dolook so fapuy. Your coat 13 covered with green from the wordwork, and you were | ie 1% rw: a4 = ® s aware that to have a few! €8 made * 1 wasn’ patches of green on one's cloth one so irresistibly Indicrouns, It would be much more practical and sensible to | offer {0 give me a brushing before I go.” Bi: iil-psed air cansed Cecile’s mouth | to curl again as she shook ber head. “I daresay it would; but you ought to have learnt by this time not to ex-| pect anything practical or sensible from | me.” * | expected nothing, Miss Redding. | Candidly, I never knew what to expect from yon. When I am inclined to | sympathize with your tronbles yon shut | me vp by laughing in my face, and if 1 venture on & joke you look as solemn as if 1 were preaching rou a sermon. “ Your jokes are very, very bad,” she said, naively; “I think I should prefer | the rermon.” i “ Yon're always down on me,” said | Muorekison, in a mock despondent tone, | “It is fortunate your aunt is more mer- | cifal.” i “ Wen't yon come in again?” said | Cecile, ignoring this speech. * You! must be quite tired of standing,” * an “nn er go ¥ to do,” she answered, langhing again, | A novel to read, I suppose ?” “ Perhaps,” said Cecile, calmly. “Then good-bye for the present. I] shall look in again this afternoon, as 1 | rather want to see Miss Tit. You think | she is sure to be in ?’ { “Oh, yes; auntie never goes out | twice in one day.” | They shook bands, the young man | holding bers rather longer than polite- | ness required, and then the gate swung | after bum, while Miss Redding re entered the house with a heightened color, She went into the preity little dining- room aud sat down to write a letter, | which took a long time through her | stopping every few minutes with the | end of the pen pressed against her soft nuder-lip, lost in thought, and the writing forgotten. More than once she there was no one to see or note how well she looked with that flash in her fair cheek. Cecile was one of those girls whom a severe critic would set down as decid- edly not pretty, though under favoring ecirenmstances she often seemed so. Her complexion was very fair, with a pluish, peachlike bloom upon it; her eyebrows by no meane well marked but geanty; her month a little too wide and her teeth large and irregular. Her chief beanty was her brown, wavy hair, that had never been marred by scissors, but grew all over her head to its natural ‘engih, the shortest part being about her temples, where it curled and waved unassisted by art or curi-papers, gleam- ing with touches of gold shaded into the darker hue of the rest. Envious friends admired this becoming growth, and endeavored to imitate it, with un- varying ill-success. Even her aunt, Miss Alethea Tilt, had tried her hand at it, but her straight tresses absolutely refused to be tortured into anything resembling a curl, Before the letter was finished Miss Tilt eame in, accompanied by her friend and companion, Miss Pelham—a large lady, with very round, protruding eyes, and a good-natured smile, “How nice and cool you look, Ce- cile,” said Miss Tilt, sinking into a chair and fanning herself with a Japan- ese hand-screen. “I was so afraid we should meet some one—and my face I know is flaming !" ¢t Mr, Murchison has been here,” said Cecile, adding a few words by way of postseript, and looking absorbed in her writing, so that she did not see the conscious way in which her aunt dropped her eyes on to the grotesque ves on the screen. “What did he want?” Miss Pelham inquired, as she unfastened the strings of her bonnet. * Qecile carefully folded her letter in half, und answered, demurely: “To see aunt.” ¢ Dear me. How very strange!” said VOLUME XV. Editor and FProorie CENTRE wor. HALL, CENTRE CO., PA., THURS DAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1882. NUMBER 7. as I told him you would most likely be in then" “ Whatever can he wish to see me ifor? I can't imagine,” Her aunt's tone was so odd that at last Cecile raised her eves, { “Poor aunt! She thinks he is in love with her!” was the thought that flashed into her mind, and her cheek | became as rosy as her lips, “How can { she, when he is twenty-four and she six-and thirty “Now, if it had been the dootor,” said Miss Pelham, with a ponderous at- tempt at looking arch, **1 should have said he was coming to ask you a very important question.” For shame !" said Miss Tilt. phis, how can you ¥ What a shame to put such ideas into one's head,” “* Ho certainly is very fond of coming { here,” said Cecile, thoughtfully. * And be is about your age, auntie, and a very nice, kind man.” a Aly dear girl! He is yoars older {than I am. He must be at least thirty- eight X Her niece did not smile when Miss Tilt made this announcement, but she had hard work to keep her rebellious That afternoon Cecile went by herself to eall on a friend who lived some two miles away. As she was returning she met Murchison. “You should not walk alone, y in ke Soe now 1," he said, severely. must let me see yon home.” As she wade no opposition he walked | by her side, stealing many aside glance “* You + Promise me,” he continued, after a minute, “that yon will not go out nutil they are gone. | don’t like to think of it. They are an awfully rengh lot” “They won't interfere with me. am not afraid,” she said, laughing. “But I am. Pray don't think me in. I " protected girl in these 1 mely lanes, Cecile was silent and half embar- rassed for a few minutes, but soon re- { hey were both surprised when they found themselves at the gate; the time “Qh, here we are at home!” said | Cecile, blushing directly after for the | dismayed tone of her words. ing his hand. ! ful walk to me at least. May it soon be i He held her small gloved fingers lingeringly, and when her shy look met that made her hastily withdraw and run fused with color. She went straight upstairs and bad | with her handkerchief to her eyes. “ What is if, anntie?”’ and Ceciln hastened to her sides in some apprehen- | “ Oh, not—not —bad news irom | # Oh, dear, no!” Miss Tilt hurriedly ** Nothing bad has hap- Iam only a little agitated. “ Oh, aunt, I am very glad, and not I thought it would be | I came.” “Did you, dear?’ Her aunt bestowed on her a surprised posite, “There is nothing the matter perfectly well,” she protested, adding, as though the words were forced from her by his searching eyes. 1 am only a little surprised at some news l have had.” “Nothing bad, I hope?” ““No—-oh, no. It is only that my annt is engaged to be married to Mr, Murchison." Cecile had no sooner said this than an uneasy conviction came aoross her that she ought not to have spoken out $0 frankly. She had ree ved no per mission to make the affair public. ** Perhaps I ought not to have men tioned it,” said, hastily. * You won't say anything about it just yet, she Looking at him fully for the first time, she was startled to see that he “Oh! I am so sorry!” she exclaimed, struck with dismay, as she remembered his frequent visits to her aunt's house, “It was very thoughtless of me to tell | you that I” “Why? what do yon looked down with an amused smile at her troubled face, reading it with the greatest ease, * Don't get it into your head that this piece of mformation af another, 1f any thing, it is rather welcome." “ I'hen you are ill ¥ “No, Miss Redding, The truth is 1 nearly ran over you just now, which made me feel aw fully queer, an ineide mean ¥' He fects we one way or ponghn 3 nt ns “ Doctors 12 ought to have stronger Cecile remarked, lightly. “Pout!” he said, quickly. “It like you, Cecile! 1t is the greatest \ nm home 0 if i! Don't g 4% not fatally, injare: r heaven's saka! “1 will say good-afternoon now, as I to Su ality! Cecile ex and 1 . y ANXIOUS to gel away her hand me should mak hemselves visible; He took her hand, but not in farewell her £8 to be ont of a pas