‘Tis ever thus. ‘tis ever thus, when hope hath built a bower 3 Like that of Eden, wreathed around with every thornless flower, To dwell therein securely—so the fond heart would trust, A. whirlwind from the desert comes, and allis in the dust. "Tis ever thus, ‘tis ever thus, that when the poor heart clings . With all its finest tendrils, with all its ble rings, The lovely thing it cleaveth to so fondly and so fast 1s struck to earth by lightning or shattered by the blast. "Tis ever thus, 'tis ever thus, with sounds too sweet for earth, . Seraphic tones that float away, borne heavenward in their birth ; The golden shell is broken, the silver chord is mute. The sweet bells are all silent, and hushed the lonely lute. "Tis ever thus, 'tis ever thus with all that's best below ; The dearest, noblest, lovliest are always first to go, : The bird that sang the swectest, the vine that crowned the rock, The glory of the garden, the flower of the flock. "Tis ever thus, 'tis ever thus with beams of earthly bliss That look too bright and beautiful for such a world as this; ; One moment round about us their angel glories play, Then down the veil of darkness droops,and all has passed away. flex- et AA The Lost Bridegroom. In a rugged and mountainous district of Wales is situated a mining village, noted for this little story which the miners tell to their children. Years ago in the little village of— there was an humble but neatly Kept cottage, where an old miner dwelt with his wife and only child—a son. And Alick was but a young boy when he de- scended into the mines with his father, One evening, as the old miner was returning home from a neighboring vil- lage his attention was attracted by a little girl. She was weeping bitterly. A few broken, almost inarticulate words told that she had been deserted by her mother. The child, weary and hungry, had ‘cried itself to sleep, and while she was sleeping, the unnatural parent had forsaken her. The old man was touched by the in- cident. Raising her tenderly arms, he wendpd his way homeward. Entering the cottage he placed the light burden in his wife's lap, saying : “God in His wisdom has seen fit to choose our home from all the other homes in the village to shelter this de- serted child, Knowing vour kind heart, wife, 1 did not fear to bring the little one to you." The dame pressed the good man’s hand affectionately in reply, and Amy— for so the child was called—was soon seated before a simple repast. Alick, on his return from the parish school, welcomed the little girl with every expression of pleasure, Y ears passed away, and Amy's child- hood days were spent. Without great claims to beauty, there was. nevertheless, a charm about her which all recognized. The miner and his wife were not sur- prised when Alick one day asked them for their consent to make Amy his wife, and to this request they accorded their heartfelt blessing. The day for the rustic nuptials was named. and was looked forward to as an occasion of general rejoicing. The happy day arrived, work was suspended that all might join in the merry-making. Taking the hand of the trembling girl within his own, Alick, according to the long-established custom of the village, led the way to the little vine covered church, where the parish priest blessed their love. Children strewed flowers by the way-side and sang gay songs. Each guest had made a modest offering, but to no one would Alick con- fide the nature of his gift, wishing, as he did, to excite an agreeable surprise, When they had returned to the cot- tage Alick kissed his wife, telling her he would leave her but for a short season. He left the house, and, with one last, lingering look at the doorway where Amy stood waving a merry adieu, he hurried off in the direction of the old mines, and a curve in the road soon hid him from view. Ashis lithe figure disappeared Amy uttered a faint sigh, suggestive of a dull foreboding evil or the fullness of her wmirthful joy. Days passed, and search had been made everywhere, Weeks followed ; thes months, But the bridegroom did not return. Nor could his absence and strange disappearance be accounted for. No clew was gained by those who searched untiringly. At length hope was abandoned. The widowed bride clung tenaciously to one idea, which seemed almost like a folly, in life or death, she would see herhusband again before she was ealled away from earth, This belief afforded her comfort, and the neighbors, while they did not share the oomviction, humored her in the thought, and spoke regretfully of the sad changes that sorrow had wrought in her fresh young face. Forty years were gone, and but for the sad wistful face of old Amy, and the whispered stories of the PesaY, unaccountable the disappearance Alick would have been forgotten. But the ale told in an under breath by in his many a hearth was, that, Alick had been carried off by an evil spirit, with whom he had held compact. Many even went so far as to say that his soul haunted the old cottage, and had been seen during stormy nights in the moun- tains. . Amy indeed asserted that she often heard his voice calling her, and the light that burned always from nightfall until dawn in her casement told that her heart ever kept vigil over his fate, : The old cottage continued to be thought haunted by ghostly visitors, and because of this superstition none would occupy it. It gradually fell into decay. The women of the village rarely passed the dead miner's house without offering a prayer for the restless soul. The old mines having been worked, it was at length determined that new excavations should be opened. Amid the operations a subterraneous murmur was heard mingling with the sound of the pike. Suddenly a wailing cry rent the air, and the earth seemed to trem- ble. Those above rushed in terror to the mouth of the pit, and the most fearless were about to descend, when Every rope was at once put in use, while the trembling the call-bell was rung violently. miners were white and with intense fear. To every inquiry they accorded the most disconnected replies, such as demon,” ‘“‘a miracle!” At length from one old man they gar- nered that they had worked steadily to open communications between the new ‘2 man.” “a and the old mine, but finding only a small obstruction at last a sturdy blow had dividing wall «+ that when the cloud of dust was made, and the given way had passed from before their astonished young man ; that he was lying upon a rocky bed ; he seemed cheeks looked lips were eves they saw a to be sleeping ; that his fresh and fair, and that his still red. Instead of approaching him they had fled in fright, filled with the belief that it was an evil spirit hu- man guise that they beheld. The owner of the mine listened atten- tively. ed forward exclaiming : To the Known. ers issued forth, bearing between them the of the With a feeling of irrepressible horror they laid His clothes were old, and indicated a style worm in As the old man ceased he rush- “To the mine 7 the truth Ere many minutes three min- mine |? Soon WAR body young man, him down upon the green sward, vears and vears ago; all were, however, in a perfect state of preserva- He seemed dressed as though for held a box. It contained a gold cross, chain and me- Time had blackened little pledges which the stranger had doubtless intended for village a fete. In his hand he dallion., these HOHE maiden, They and bear 10 it away for burial, when old were about raise the body Amy was seen approaching. They near at hand were struck by the singu- lar expression of her face. Her eyes sparkled with new life, and her steps usually so feeble, seemed almost to have gained the elasticity of youth. Waving them aside with an imposing dignity, she advanced directly toward the dead man. Kneeling, she parted the dark hair on his brow and murmured, in a tone of inexpressible love and tender- “Alick I At once all was clear. In an instant the old people present recognized the companion of their youth, Again she spoke ; “Alick. friend of my childhood, my husband, 1 knew that we would meet again on earth.” Ax she ceased speaking, her head drooped lower and lower, until it wank upon his breast, as if in prayer. At length the young men advanced to remove the body. Gently the women raised the figure of the forlorn woman. Seeing that she made no resistance, they bent over her, and found that she, too, was dead. Her long, loving vigil was at an end. The same grave holds them both, and many a sweet flower is laid upon it in remembrance of their fate, while the legend of their love is often recounted in the humble homes of the poor. made way for her, and those ness, his name Froripa Grare Frorr, — This fruit is refreshing and wholesome, es- pecially for a bilious temperament. Its flavor is sub-acid, but its juicy pulp is inclosed in a tough white membrane of intensely bitter taste ; when this mem. brane is removed the fruit is delicious, It has become the fashion to use it as salad. The fruit is placed on the table whole (one is enough for a party of four or six), cut in quarters and serve au nal- ural. When not used as a salad, cut arate the sections as you would those of an orange, and, holding each one by the ends, break it open from the centre, disclosing the pulp ; tear this out of the bitter white membrane which covers the sections, carefully removing every part of it ; keep the pulp as unbroken as possible and put it into a deep dish with a plentiful sprinkling of fine white sugar. Let it stand three or four hours, or over night, and then use the fruit, Ceorge's Love Test. “How she must have loved him,” As Myrtle Redingote spoke these words softly to George W. Simpson a blush of maiden modesty flamed for an instant across her pure young face and disappeared silently behind the tiny pink ears that stood like pigmy sentinels on a battlement of rose tinted flesh, soft and warm, and with beautiful curves whose dimpled outlines would have made even an anchorite resign. George had been telling her that beautiful story of the princess of olden times, who when her lover was stricken down by a poisoned arrow, knelt by his side, and with her own ruby lips drew from the wound the fatal element. When he had finished the girl gave utterance to the words with which this opens. And then, for an instant, silence fell between them. George was the first to speak, “If I were wounded by a poisoned arrow, darling, would you emulate the example of the princess ?"’ The girl's form shook with a sudden tremor, and her head fell upon his shirt front. “1 could through her tears, “Why not 2° asked George. “Do not press me for an answer,’’ re- plied the girl, “But I must know,” he said in low, not do it.” she sobbed agonized tones, “Then,” she murmured, pressing him still more closely to her, ‘you are Kentucky, and 1 do not care to the delirium tremens,” -- The Rattlesnake Saved His Life. We our Game there break men Upon our luls, WHS nome, not camp now with 10 desperate journey across the San Juan of the Devil's Pass, mained for some one attempt the range, by Way Failing of that, time would find our eabin cuing party. COses, We drew lots among ourselves, there. fore. we well men te decide who should undertake this perilous trip, and risk fell upon me. It was best, perhaps, that it should have been so, for of all the party I best knew the trail, myself for the journey, and, thoroughly armed, early one morning, before the pale moon had fallen behind the western mountains, I bade good-by to my com- my back upon the camp, 1 settled my course by brisk rades and started. Taming a star, and at a pace steered southward trail, ever with a watchful eye for for 1 believed our old in the vicinity—but at last, weary as the chill shadows began dian signs mies still all day and io creep across the great white plain be- unmolested, and worn, hind me, I saw looming up in front the San Juan range, gashed with a narrow gorge—the Devil's Pass, that for it ©] horrible grave was little comparatively hopefully. As darkness came fairly down, 1 found myself just at the mouth of the canvon which led up to the pass, and easy. My spirits of dead limbs beneath an overhanging rock where the snow had not vet come, built a roaring fire, which warmed and cheered me, and prepared for the night, I felt little fear, for the narrow, frown ing canyon walls would hide the light of my fire from all the plain country. The only disturbance which 1 might look for would be the howling of the wolves, who threatened, but dared not attack me ; and I cared not for them. With these comforting reflections, therefore, I ate a hearty supper, drank a little melted snow water, lit my pipe and rolling myself in my blanket, crowded close to the rock wall behind me, now well warmed by my fire. And, so, in the flickering light, protected apon all sides, I gave myself unhes- itatingly up to slumber, How long Islept I cannot say. It was deep in the night when [ woke with a sudden chill. It was as if some one had touched me with a cold and clammy hand, but even before I was well awake my frontiersman’s caution returned, and I opened my eyes slowly, and didn't move, The fire was all but out, and the ghastly light from its dying embers touched the snow and rocks and trees about with a strange color like thick blood. The air was growing chill and still. too, except for the cry of a coyote far up the canyon wall opposite, who whined and barked incessantly. There was something almost oppres- sive about the silence to me, when sud- denly, from just beyond my smouldering fire the sound of a step started me, and before 1 had time even to move there was bending over me a hideous, painted he face of a savage. And in his Be aroty creeping toward my heart, was his heavy scalping-knife ! To describe my sensations is impossi- ble. Soine terrible spell seemed to bind me, Not only was I facing a danger which meant instant death, but I wus unable to move, even in the attempt to save myself. It wasas if I were cinated. I tried to reason with myself, This was but a «ingle enemy—if T should spring upon him I might kill him and s0 be free ; but although the reasoning was all right, the action 1 was unable to bring about, and all the time the terrible knife drew nearer. The redskin knew that I was awake, and that I saw him, but he gloated over my helpless- ness and delayed his fatai blow, At last, however, 1 saw the gleam of his eve, the tightening of his muscles, and knew that in an instant more all would be over, when a sudden harsh, metallic ratile sounded, as if it my very bosom, from my side fas- in I felt something glide a long, scaly, snaky body shot out to meet the dusky on-coming arm, There was a blow, then a ery horror, and, as the knife fell ringing to the earth, a rattlesnake crawled were of slowly away, and the Uncompahgre, with now nerveless hand the blood dripping from his parted fingers, withga long, wild death his outstretched and slowly shriek turned and disappeared in the The ratler which my fire had drawn from his winter quarters had saved darkness, my life and the lives of my com- panions, A week later, with a party of thirty star- and the Indians: and it is be- me in live to- day.— Tb- Early Marriage. Early marriages are nowhere so com. g Bovs and girls not out of their teens, but e ir feeling « i of life of society, wk at a ranks nor when, Lire they have SCHOO begun to think of calling. is a favorite day for 1 the Can a with a minimum of loss ceremony w got th a thing town is paraded for a few hours in iit finery of glaring colors, the watering- perhaps one of 2 morning by the stroke of 6 the newlyv-married couple may be found at their looms, in defiance of all Pro 1 real Marriage makes no alteration is concerned ; she puts in her ten In- she has incomparably the worst of home, get the supper ready and do se sweet When the the to be born the mother expectant fromm the for a few weeks, and when she is well enough to resume her place at the loom the baby is placed in the care of some old crone, who is past work herself and makes sufficient to live on by taking care of five or six of these luckiess babies for the consideration of a shilling or two a week, according to the age. time comes for withdraws mill > The Real Profit Overlooked. A Baltimore man who bought him a farm two or three years ago was re- cently approached by a friend who had some money to invest, and who asked : “Can I buy a pretty fair farm for £15.000 9 “Yes, about that figure,” “And I'll want to lay out about 810,- 000 in improvements, 1 presume ?"' “Yen, fully that,” “And I can invest another $10,000 in blooded steck °° “1 think you ean.” “And $5000 more in grading, filling up, creating fish ponds, and so forth ?" “Well, you may get through with that sum." “That's $40,000 ; and now let's figure the income,” “Oh, you don’t need pencil or paper,” said the victim, as a shade of sorrow darkened his face, “The income will be about $3 for turnips, $2 for potatoes, 8 or $86 for corn, and a bull calf or two at $3 a head. To save time, call it $25. I'll see you again in a day or two. Maybe 1've for- gotten something which will add a dol. lar more, Good morning to you.” “Do not put articles which have held milk into hot water,” says a domestic receipt. Is this an admonition not to drop thie baby jnto the wish oiler ¥ Tenure of Land in Syria. i During my residence in Damascus 1 tried one or two villages in the neigh- borhood as a summer retreat, and at length fixed upon a village called Mar- aba, as being at a convenient distance from the eity to ride there in the morn- ing and return at night, Finding, however, that the mative houses were scarcely habitable I determined to have a small house built close not overlooking, the village. To carry out my plan 1 had first of all to apply to the Vali for permission to do so, His High- ness, with an outburst of Oriental liber- ality, declared his readiness to give me not only a piece of ground but a garden as well, This I declined with thanks, knowing the value of such an offer, but showed him on paper the I had chosen, consisting of a barren rock, and asked to the place to to, vet spot him to send a competent the value it and at the same time the plan that of would overlook my neighbors, person examine site and see from none windows In the received a no- ny course of a few days | tice that a commission of six officials would meet me on the spot and settle I provided a lun- cheon al fresco, to which the sheikh of the matter at once. the village was invited to negotiate on the part of the villagers, preamble, setting forth land in general and of this spot in par- fter a | the value of ticular, he offered at length to sell the site for S000 plastres (a piastre is equal to 21.) “Fifty piastres,’”’ wrote *By the life of your little : aown father Hseventy- the scribe, it 18 too say S000," five,”’ said the scribe. Allah it great, “Say but 106K by is worth Allah is One hundred plastres was the sum agree 1 upon, and I had permission to begin bu When order i: ¥ Ming at once, the house was half finished an CAINEe stop, on the ground that it was built and $ 3 | NOL relish the tomb of a Moslem he departed spirit might | Tt i : 1 Ltt “9% a imity of Christians and avenge i $4 3 . 5 3 : himself by doing us some bodily harin for which the Vali would not be respon- After a great deal of trouble and Highness was « Oh~ stich a tomb ught * } i” z 0 Dulid I was in realit NE a convent in Lis midst of a Moham- medan population. 1 had a hard * lio strug- Foire nr » 4 vs 44 iil Li Protestants hh institisti institutions. these charges had ben rumped up by the officials in the hope usual bribe, which 1 was determined not to give, having made up my mind to carry the business through honestly and legally. One more effort was made to annoy me, or rather to force me to give the customary That the was built over a road leading from the “backsheesh.’’ viz, : hi use village to the stream, to the great in- convenience of the villagers, “he Con- sul had at length to interfere ; the Gov- ernment Engineer was sent to investi- report effect no vestige of road or foot-path in the or gs matter and ie the which was to the upon i that there was After this I was left in peaceful possession so far that no of the not having the title<desds, 1 vicinity of the house, #'y one could turn me out house, ocd : but, could scarcely expect to find a purchaser in case | wished to sell it. My next effort to the necessary papers, Month after month 1 applied in vain for them. The Governor pretended to be shocked to hear that his orders had not been carried out. He sent for the scribe and threatened him with fiercest displeasure if such an act of negligence should ever again be reported against him. The scribe pleaded a sprained wrist as an excuse for the delay, but by the life of the Prophet he would write the document at once. I took a hasty leave of the Vali and rashed off after the scribe, determined not to lose sight of him again. He had, however, disap- peared, as if the earth had swallowed him up. These scenes were repeated over and over again, till at the end of twelve months, having to leave Damas. cus, I had to sell the house at a great loss, not having the title<deeds, The purchaser, the American Vice Consul, trusting to his official position, hoped to be able to succeed where 1 had failed, I have no doubt but that by following the usual Oriental custom of back- sheesh, and dividing £10 or £20 among the officials, every obstacle would have been removed to my obtaining the title-deeds of a property for which 1 paid the stm of 16s. 8&d.—Rer W, Wright in Contemporary Review. was Mure his yon ——— Home Economies. "nur Propixe,~ Three pints of milk, eight Boston crackers split and buttered, (six eggs beaten light, two cups of sugar, one teaspoonful of salt, quarter of a nutmeg grated, half a tea spoonful of cinnamon, one pound of stoned raisins, quarter of a pound of currants, Boil the milk, and then add sugar, eggs and flavoring, Butter a deep pudding dish, put in a layer of erackers and moisten with a little of the custard. Then add a layer of fruit, “and do this till all is in the dish, Pour over the rest of the custard and bake in a slow oven. Brown ai the last, and eat hot with or without sauce. Trire Corny. Boil two pounds of tripe and cut it into strips; peel two large onions and cut them into square pieces, and put the onions into a stew pan with three tablespoonful of butter, Let it stew till brown, stirring well and mixing a tablespoonful of curry pow- der, Now add one pint of milk and the cut-up tripe. Let all hour, well, stew for an Merve In a deep dish with boiled rice also to eat with it. skimming it An East India curry powder is made thus: Pound fine in a six ounces of coriander seed, three-fourths of very mortar an ounce of cayenne, one and one-half ounces of foenugresk seed, one ounce cumminm seed and three These articles be brought at a druggist’s, ounces of tumeric, can Pound fine ; spread on a dish and dry before the fire for three Keep this a orl a glass stopper. sift through fine muslin ; hours, stirring in a bottle with Our BeCivE KravT.—The made ourselves for many years, and for FOR MAKING SAUER- best we ever ate we a considerable time with our own hands, It the and always from Savoy cabbage In holding was manufactured in this wise | first place let your “‘stand,’ from a rom a thor- the tub Take half barrel to a barrel, be oughly scalded out ; the cutter, and the stamper also well scalded off all the outer leaves of the cabbage, halve them, remove the heart and pro- ceed with the cutting. Lay some clean 1 leaves at the bottom of the stand. sprinkle with a handful of salt, fill in half a bushel of cut cabbage, stamp gently until the juice just makes its ap- pearance, then add another handful of and so on git { n until the stand 13 ful Lhd. Cover over with cabbage leaves, place on top a clean board fitting the space { pretty well. ¢ i } top of that a stone fifteen pounds or Stand away place, and when hard freezing the from bhage should The le, aut it is remove io Se I Rix weeks, tolerably cut SAVOY Onis hal as the 1 productive drum- head and flat Dutch. — One Sort of Michigander. A certain in dodg ng Michigander, who had long succeeded a certain creditor ago cornered in the- nd the credi was a few weeks office of a mutual friend. a tor begun : “Kir. you me $25 fora vear past and now I want to have OW know what vou are going to do mm “Well, I'll think it “There will be no friend, If sue you,’ “Youwill ? I will, sir.” “Then ment. about it aver nking g my You ua vou'll be certain | el a Juag- The party which brings the suit 3 ¥ alw avs ged Vi rdict iw fore 3 STI, Knowing this, von will take advantage of me ?"’ “1 will.’ Now vou a dollar. *’ “You do 7’ ' i do. Sir. want 1o borrow £25 of me for a week here it “Very well, I owe but Case YOu 18, “1 don’t « ing lending money,’ are whether vou call it pay- get my and he and took the of %0 long as 1 replied the creditor, made out a receipt in full money, he was asked laughed at the request. Suil was it, the mutual friend used as a witness, and the plaintiff re- ceived judgment in his favor and had a clean receipt to show for the debt At the end of the week to return the loan, but of the begun to recover absurdity a—— —— Marriage. Marriage is, of all earthly unions, almost the only one permitting of no change but that of death. [1 ix that engagement in which man exeris his most awful and solemn power--the power of responsibility which belongs to him aus one that shall give account the power of almegating the right to change, the power of parting with his freedom, the power of doing that which in this world can never be reversed. And vet it is perhaps that relationship which is spoken of most frivolously and entered into most carelessly and wontonly, It is wot a union merely between two creatures, it is a union between twe spirits, and the intention of" that bond is to perfect the nature of both, by sup» plementing their character with the foroe of contrast, giving to each sex those ex- cellencies in which it is naturally de- ficient ; to the one strength of character and firmness of moral will, to the other sympathy, meekness, tenderness, And; just so solemn, and just so glorious as these énds are for which the anion was contemplated and intended, just so ters rible are the consequences if it be per verted and abused ; for there is no earthly relationship which has so much power to ennoble and to exalt. — Iv, Rorlérteon, £ ade Be
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