THE WREN'S NEST. Tt was a wee bit house, But shaped with deftest Of twisted twigs, a feather or two, A scrap of cloth of doubtful hue, And a bit of tangled hair, And the merry little artist, Who twittered overhead, Viewed her work with happy pride— Fluttering about from side to side Around the pretty bed-— Which held a tender promise Of something fair to be; . And she poured & song, The whole day long, Over the pale eggs, three. oH : fear of the morrow Clo er hope 80 3 Never a doubt in the Jette brown breast, As ghe trimmed "the dainty nest, With such things as she had, On! y little warbler, In thy blithe note is blent A song of trust from day to day, And I learn of thee, as | go my Way, A lesson of sweet content, eo CHRINTINE. It was the 28d of December, a still, beautiful night, not a breath of air stirring the trees, with a light, powder- ing of snow that sparkled and shone in the weird moo t So still, so bright, was it, that a spider's web spun in delicate intricate fashion from one frost bitten roseleaf to another, stood out from its dark back. ground as if outlined in diamonds; and far-off ohureh bells sent their strokes so solemnly and distinotly through the room that before the eleventh hour had sounded, even Robert Lovell's absorbed attention was aroused, and, putting aside his book he rose, crossed the roomy, and flinging open the unshuttered window, looked forih into the quiet winter mght, Looked slowly from its glistening diamonds, up to where shone its numberiess stars, A year ago he stood by the same win dow, at the same hour, thinking how, if all had gone well, it would have been the evening of his wedding dsy; and aimost unconsgiously hie began compar. ing his sensations of to-day with those of that bygone time, tearing down the dividing curtain that twelve months had drawn between the past and pres- ent, “Though there is not much to re- wind me of it,” he thought, “this quiet goe.e and that other December might, with the wind roaring through the trees, and the rata falling in torrents, and au acho of its own fury in my own bieast. “I said then I would never forgive her, I wonder, do 1 forgive her now? No,’ I do not think I forgive,” f his arms, “but perhaps I understan her Letter, “She was so weak and timid, and they persuaded her to say ‘Yes.’ Ah, why did she? If she had only told ms the truth; but,” sighing, *‘she had not the courage and I—I1 never guessed it, And so—jyes, I suppose the sequel was opataral,” And his mind for a minute lingered over the sequel. The timid, gentle girl struggling to put aside the love that had been forbidden her, and be kind to the suitor who had found favor in ber parents’ eyes, Then the old story :—a chance meeting with him who had won her heart before wealthy Rob- ert Lovell came a wooing; a few words from him tel of the wherefore of his departure in silence—a soft reply from her, which told how the silence had brokea her heart; them one day a letiex signed “Johu Fane,” addrested to old Mr. Davidson, informing bim that his daughter had prefgrred poverty, shared with the writer, to that other future to which he had essayed to bend her un- willing feet, And by the same post an envelope containing one small sheet of paper was put into Robert Lovells nands, a small shoot all blotted with many ‘ears, and on it only two words written: “Forgive me,” and a signature which, for the moment, Lim “0, Fane,” But that mote than a year ago. It was an old story pow, quite thrust out of his life, and the woman who had been his love was the wife of John Fane, living far away in India, No tidings of her ever reached him; he did not wish for any. she had cut herseif adrift from him —from the love and the wealth that would have stood between her and the pered man with a narrow m- ‘That is about it.” mus - and cl ai : go sure of winuing. And as he watched his thoughts grew harder towards her, though he had fancied sometimes in these late months they had been softening, or perhaps | they had only usurped a less prominent place in his life, thrust aside by the endless work with which he had strove to replace that other, happier life that was to have been his, “I must not let my mind dwell on it —it changes me, hardens me.” But for the moment he did not check the current; rather allowed himself to contemplate, with a kind of defiant satisfaction, the idea that she was learn- ing in her Indian exile that there were worse things in life than remaing true to the man who loved her, “Come in" The knock, gentle, hesitating as it was, made itself Jistinetly heard h all the turmoil of his brain, “Come in,” he repeated, as there was a moment's g still; then very noiselessly the door was pushed open, and aslender woman's figure entered the room, Long before she stood beside him, almost before his eyes ad done more than take in the ulim outlines in the shrouding cloak, Robert Lovell knew who she was. And seeing her, he felt no surprise, no wonder that she should be there, that no dividing ocean siretohed be- tween them; on the contrary, she seemed to him for the moment merely the embodiment of his thoughts—that was all, Even her unannounced arrival failed to startle him; the open conservatory door seemed to explain it. But seeing her thus standing before him —silent, for she spoke no word of greeting—it was strange how his thoughts changed. The point of view had shifted at once. This was the gri he remembered who had striven to please him and her father, and hal failed. Not boldly declini the task she found too hard, but slipping out of it, leaving others to bear the burdens she had shrunk from. Yes, the weakness that had faltered before her share in the battle of life was plainly visible in the pleading eyes, the trembling lips. Bat then, it was for all these things he had loved her—before he knew. And, for the moment, it was of his love aloue that he thought. “Christine!” he oried, and for the moment only the past was present to him, *‘what ain you to me to-night?” And then as she lifted her eyes, and jooked at him he realized the change the year had brought to her. So white her cheeks, so large and sad her eyes, he felt that it might have been possible even for him to have met and not have known her, “How changed you are,” he said then, and his voice almost invoinntarily softened. ‘‘Have twelve months done so much?” “Life 1s too hard for me;” she said, and there was a suggestion of tears in her voice, which had the soft emphasis of her eyes. “I made you suffer; 1 know it well Ab” coming a step nearer, “how many gray hairs you have that you had not when I saw you last! Is that »ll my doing?’ “Yes,” he answered, slowly, ‘‘that is all your doing. And you,” lifting his eyes and looking at her again. “Are you happy? But no, I see you are not, Ten minutes ago 1 hoped you were not —] hoped your life was as bare and wretched as mine is, Now that I have seen you-' : «Weli?*’ she questioned, as he hesi- tated, «Now I wish that you were happier, Bat I knew it,” almost exultantly a moment later repeating his own words of so short & time ago. *'A bad temp- ered man with a small income, what chances were there of rr “Bat did you " she eried, kneel. ing down by his sod Is hand om his, a on which gleamed her wedding ring, “did you wish ii? Are you glad to know that he is tired of me, unkind to me, that I find life to nard to bem? is this all your love was worth? Could such a flower indeed yield such a pomson?” His own words! Just that which he bad t t himself, but letling the idea hall vaguely, half fearfully surge through his mind, was different from hearmg it put in plain words, with those sad, heart broken eyes looking into his. No,” he said, sitting more upright, and taking the small trembling hands in hus, “No, you are right, that would be a poor sort of love; mine was of bet- ter worth than that, “Do not ery, poor chuld, : ef ”» * I At £38 it 5 £ i 2 i £ i i i i £ =E¢ hesitating, ahd locking toward him onoe Ee — % " “Come here,” he aid, gently, stretch- mg out hi: hand and ¢ hers. “Come here and look again into my eyos. Do you not see written there, as plainly as you bor my words, Ohtistine, that all 1 have to forgive is forgiven, and I wish that wifh my life I could buy back your happiness?” “Yes,” she answered, softly; “I see it all there.” And having so spoken, she sank down on the ground at his feet. He felt the tears rising to his eyes as noted her, aud then: *'I trust you may be happy yet,” he said. ‘ - “Forgiven,” he heard ber say, very softly, *‘yes, I am happier,” There werg a fow seconds’ silence, whilst he watched ths slender outlines of her figure in the firelight; seconds in which he was what he should say next, Then the door of his study was suddenly flung open, and looking up, he say standing on the threshold a lovely, dark-eyed woman, s glad vision of waite satin and dia monds, “Cecile,” he exclaimed, risitig hastily to his feet, and moving toward her with the vague idea of standing between her and the timid, shrinking figure in the fire-glow, But something in his sister's face changed the current of his thoughts, Something was wrong, but that some- thing must surely have to do with the other, and he glanced unconsciously back; but no shrouded figure met his hasty glance. “Where is she?” he cried. “Robert!” his sister's hand was on his arm, her lovely eyes, misty with unshed tears, were looking into his, “Robert, I have come straight to you; I was at the Davenants’, where I heard the saddest thing; and I was so afraid,” her voice trembling and a tear falling, “that you might hear it first trom some one else.” “What is it?’ he questioned. An awed feeling stole over him, due in part to the shadow of the past, in to the shadow of the future, “She is dead—" “Who!” he faltered, but there was no need to ask, He knew, thongh no name answered his question, *Yes, she is dead, her baby was born —and they both died, Oh, Bobert, is it not too sad?” He was sitting down now, not in the chair drawn close up to the dying em- bers of the fire, but in the big arm chair from which he had rised to look at the beauties of the ouiside world, And Cecile had her arm about bis neck; he could feel the tears falling fast, “You must never agsin feel hard about her.” she said. *‘Of course you had a well, sud was so fond of her- and she was never brave,” “Ro,” he said, gently, ‘‘no.” And shen, “Poor child, No, Cactle, Ido not feel hard at all, If," hesitatingly, “1 ever have been ro, such is no Jonger the ease. I have quite forgiven her,” “Ah, yes, now,” began his sister, “No, not now, Cecile, I forgave her before 1 knew of this, Good night” he said a moment later; it was kind of you to come, but 1 should like best to be alone,” His sister stooped and kissed him, and noted, as she did so, that the dark hair was growing sadly gray, but that on the kmdly face was an expression of tender pathos that had been absent from it, she bad noted, with a sigh, of fate, Bhe said nothing, only turned away in silence and had reached the door before his voice calling “Cecile” had arrested her alten Bhe turned reund to find that he had fol- jowed her, “Tell me,” he said, in a slow, con. strained voice, “You have often heard “Sarely,” he replied. *‘Oh, Cecile, it cannot be that you"—he psused abruptly ~* $,” ho said again, , watched ber until she disappeared, then slowly back to the on the hearth rug, and stood there where whence Fed bEaREd H thicts hal 0 iy : g ¥ ¥ i A Priot's perils. “A man don't pilot vessels up and down. the Delaware river for fosty yest: without seeing some rich adventures,” said one of the Oldest in the serv. ice to a reporter, as drew his chair closer to the fire and filled lis short pipe. “I've been knocked about like s football by the elements in my time, and on many occasions have felt the force- of circumstances 50 keenly that their ‘memories will never fade while [ live. 1 know what it 18 to stand Op A vessel® deck for seventy-two hours’ straight spell wn the worst westher and heaviest seas, ' without auy sleep save little catnaps that 1 took while walkicg the planks. [I've slept many a tme while walking up and down the quarters deck or bridge, with the wind bowling as though sll the demons of "the sea were seeking my destruction, and the about like a chip. Ah! them’s tmes as tries a pilot's soul. I know what it to sitempt to board a ship in a storm, to have my skiff dashed to pieces against her mdes, and mysell plunged nto the icy ses, with the nearest land a mile or so beneath me, and every chance of reachmg it ina few minutes.” “It's the responmbility thst keeps ship pilots awake, Suppose you sre si sea in bad weather, four hundred or five hundred miles from shore, with the weather thiek enough to cut with a cheese~kmfe, and the yards touching the waves al every roll of the vessel. Then add to thet several hundred thousand dollars’ worth of prop- erty and a hundred lives in your hands, which makes a grand total of terrible res- ponsibility. Are you going io sleep then! Not much. 1’ve been knocked about on the river and sea fof so many years that the brine has kind of got into my system, and Idon’t feel at home only when I'm on a vessel's deck with several fathoms of waler under her keel. The grealest ad- venture and most juck that ever happened to me was getting carried off to foreign countries on outgoing vesteles. That's to metwice. Once L was carried to Antwerp, and another time to Murs goane, Hayu. “it was one day m December, shout twenty-five years ago, thas I took an old Dutch bark, bound for Antwerp, down the river. ‘There had been a hitle weather for a day or two, snd the wind still hu- gered eastward. 1 hurned the Dutchman down the river in double quick time, snd when we got to the ¢apes he wanted to put right out to sea, for he was in a cast-iron perspiration to get over to Limberger land. I didn’t fancy the idea much, but I run ber out tosea on & lively jog, without saying a word against it. The night was coming on when I got her well off to lea, and I looked for the pulot-bost which usu- ally cruises around there to take us off outward-bounders. As the westher was getting thick [ couldn't see far enough to make her out. I cracked the sail onto galliot and headed her off to the sou east, and all that mught [ paced the deck looking for the well-known lights of “As the might wore away the truth be- gen to dawn on me that 1 stood a preity fair chance of being carried off to sea The westher grew mighty bad as the hours passed by, and we had 10 reel what little canvas we showed down preity tight When day dawned I was still pacing the deck, looking for the All that day I looked for her, but without avail. 1 made up my ound thet I was i fori, and that the best thing T could do would be to face the muse and trust to meeting some inward bound vessel which would take me off. It wasn't romantic 0 have a possitality of knocking around at sea for forty or sixty days and then windiog up at Actwerp, which meant out of work and away for three months from my preity wile snd two as bright little boys as ever wanted to be smlors and be wrecked and kill pirates at sca. Bless their souls, they thought as how their pappy was dead long before he came back. “Day sfier day I watched anxiously for a ship, but the Jong wished-for sail did not appear on the horizon. To shorten my story, we arrived st Antwerp just forty- nine days after we left the capes of the Delaware. 1 stayed in Aster) just long catch the plus, but could find none. got a vessel bound for Philadelpha 1 would, probably, get the job of taking her up the river, which would partly pay me for my Jost lime, 1t was just my lock, , 10 have to take a New York E ui ih HELE din i * © fe a i 7] i a some queer s stronom’'cal and astrological observaticns. In it we me told thst the moon 18 15,760 miles from the earth, and junétion with the mooa cawed unlucky days, Bus the moon with Jupiter fortunate ones. Venus gave luck to woo and marry, snd make pleasant pastimes, and, s‘rangely enough, “blord-letting” 18 lnciuded swosg the latter. Mercury was good 10 buy and sell nuder avd to tend children to echool. When the Frenoh revolution came Moore was more terrific in his snd more awfn! m his bieroglyphies than ever. The people wondered and trembled, and the syle of this 1esched a point withoat parallel in the annals of 1mposture, But the continent «f Europe had a rival even to Moore in the famous almanac of Liege. A tradit on ascribes it firstto 8 canon who lived in 1680. [is early nutnbers are pub- Bahed “with the permussion of the superior powers: the laiter ones s'¢ content with political predictions. ln 1700 a French almanac ealled the “‘Almsnsci Royal” started 8 new idea—ihe ome which bas since made the “‘Almansch de Gotha” #0 famous. It gave the names and birthdays of all the and mm Europe, lists of clergy, bar, ermy acd diplomatic evps The Istter aimansc has been brought to a high pitch of perfect oa, und oontaing » vast amount of valuable and well assorted information Bhortly after these French almanacs the *‘Poor Richard” of Dr. Frapklia. He did nct care to ‘put his name uroa the title page, and therefore it was duly cred. ited t> Richard Bsuzders. Jt way pub lished from 1788 to 1767, and wes a great finarcial success, It is now a rare book. A correspondent in Notes and Queries mentions one sold 1n Phlsdeliphoa tor $62. In 1828 the Fotety for the Diffusion of Utetul Knowledge wok the almanac in hand. ‘Then the Biationer’s Company, Pekcelving that the day of Ignorance was dying that decency would pay. wsued a really excellent one called *“The English- Yet superstition dies hard. Only #'xty yesrs ago the popular feeling was tested by lesviog out of Moore's almanae that mysterious column showing the flu. ence of the moon on the different parts of the body, But the editors, being prudent men, only issued 100,000 copies of this emendstion, sad the result showed their wisdom. The omission was at onoe de- tected apd resented; nearly the whole iesue wae rezmrcd to the publishers, and they were compsiled to repnnt the column mn order to retain their populsrity. Pecullarly AfMicted. “] have been gove—gone asleep,” re marked & very singular looking individ. ual as he raed lus head from a table at the Astor House snd rubbed his eyes pasiment. The person thus ex- pressing himself was nome other, as the register mdicated, than ‘‘Professor Ass T. Green, the great lecturer on natural science, astronomy snd other like sub jects.” Sioce the sudden and untimely departure of Professor Monroe Bashuell, who was recently given four hours 10 jeave town, the new arrival iz the greatest phe. nomenon that has struck this city since the fibod. He amived yesterday morning from Cincinnati, and whiled away the tame until daylight on a pile of tranks al the Ohio and Mississippi depot. He is, mdeed, a most mogular man, snd # peculiarly efflicted. In stature be is sbout five feet six inches in beight, with shaggy brown hair and a mustache of the strenuous efforts to get down his throat. seem starting 3 FE j Fit jis gEl : 8 8 : : a fii jit i i & i 3 g g ya EES I i ] Hi | i" i i ii SE time in his bangup establishment, Boores of customers go there to be “heautified,” and the sutoerst has his heaxt, hesd i hands fuil of pr 4 His hoad...ana ha mirrors, jadgmen stoves and patiauee Th sre fo ron demand, and his sesistant flies from: one head bo another as fast as steam-beat, and a dexterous use of time, scissors and skill- ful hands will permit, It 1s a comical seene, Women of all ages, » zon, reli- glons, temperament; colors, charms and variety are perched in sows and pinion. ed in barber's aprons, with each parti culur hair numbered, parted acd stand ing straight up in safts, as if the entire crowd had been toushed off by an elec tric battery. In a twinkliw these tufts are steamcd into small round rolls, Fach woman's head appears to be oov- ered with small but very symmetrical oaterpillars, which in their tarn are combed out into flully clouds, aud eon- verted into a red, beown, black, grey or golden uimbus, seeording to the color of the hair, How different ib is from s man’s bar. ber shop, where the victims, partly cov- ered with lather, sit in a= silence, with their beads thrown back at the mercy of men who might suddbaly be- come demented or seized with revenge, and out the thvoats - situated 60 con. veriently for that purpose, It always makes 8 woman shiver to pass a bar- ber’s shop, although she fluds it impos. sible to remove her frigntzned but fas- cipated gaze from those ghastiy chins and proceedings displayed so confiding. ly but mysteriously to the public through plste-glass windows. in the woman's barber shop there are no murderous suggestions, It is all fun and animation and the ladies rival she sparrows outside by their in. cessant shatter. To women their is nothing like bangs to level all distinet- jons snd formalities, They bind friends sequaintiances, strangers and polite ene- mies by one tise of common interest, Even the pretty country giris have dis- covered this place. And when they come to town “with little morocco shop- ping bags, baskets of macreme lace, a grandmother and a beau, and tied their horses to every tree, fence, lamp-post, barber's pole snd hitching-place on Pratt street, and bought {heir bonus, Rhine stones and bangles, and finished their lunch and errands, they arrive m a flock to be banged for Sunday, The jocks fall to the floor on all sides, A slight smell of burning, sp- prehensive , giggles, shrieks and 8 buzzing chorus of criticism, cemments compsrisons, adjectives, exclamations and “perfect lovely's” fill the air and the professor's brain with confusion and bewildering ideas on the ever-interest- of “women, lovely women.” However, he is gradualip becoming ao- castomed to them, and we fell sure he has more insight into feminine nstare than Shakspesre or Ba'zw ever did, A Bad Misce tor Chinamen., Strange to say, there has been a Chi- naman mn Leadville for some time, and nobody hus objected to his presence. He has the intentaon of es- tablishing a novelty store, which will doubtiess have for an adjunct the open- ing of an opium den. For the purpose of purchasing the mecessary equipment and wares he will depart for San Fran- cisen. It is reasonable to expect; how- ever, that his entire outfit will be con- fiscated when he returns, Chinamen have hever been tolerated here, aad his escape from formal notice te quit the country can be explained by the fact that only a few confirmed opium fiends knew he was in the city. There is a grim tradition connected with the early history of the camp, which tells of the midnight murder of a Celestial, who refused to leaw when inf d of his danger, and the jonesome bniial of his remaius on a ig hntwech Californias gulch Ar river. In 1878 two, i and the olians came in on one of M : s o a \ REE els BE § fisgict spreitgie E CakrRe BM ad ; BE ANE in
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