THE LILAC TREE. In the songful days of June, When the birds are all a-tune, And the honey-feast is coming for the hum- ming bird and bee, Of all the trees that grow, And with blossoms that do blow, The sweetest and the saddest is the lilac tree, For, though purple is the bloom, That its crisping buds assume, Like the tint on far-off mountains beyond the pleasant sea, Yet the freshness but deceives, And amid the shadowy leaves There is ever a dead blossom in the lilac tree, And so it is with all, That in things both great and small Of our life adistant gleaming in our dream- ing we may see; For when the heart is gladdest, Oh! there's something in its saddest, Like the blossom and the blight uvon the iilao tree, A TIMELY RESCUE. It was a beautiful day in July, and M. Pontoise, prefet of the little Norman town of Virentan. Jounged back in his arbor, the very picture of content. A cup of black coffe the table before him, and he had just lizhted an unimpeachable cigar. But mere bodily comforts had not rendered the worthy prefet so radiant; | he had received very agreeable news that morning. M. le Comte de la Cro- serie, one of the most distinguished | residents in the had | isked the hand of Mademoiselle Me- laine Pontoise in marriage. The event was so flattering, so unexpected, that | the happy parents could scarcely con- tain themselves for joy, and were eager to tell their daughter the honor that | awaited her. | Madame Pontoise soon appeared, fol- | lowed by a pretty fair-haired girl, who | put her hand caressingly on Ler father’s Arm. “Now, then, petit pere, you have to tell me? | thing mice. Another England, perhaps?”’ A slight beau - ing countenance of Madame Pontoise, as she answered for her husband, “No; | you have been too muc! already. Your foolish little ideas.” “Well, never mind,’ said tempered prefet, flicking some ashes off the sphericul surface white waistcoat; *‘th do with England. 1s something to keep you ¢ Was on neighborhood, what is it see il 13 some- + invitation 10 shade passed over the . . a in England last visit filled your head 4 with aii sores the rq » ¢ Is of has nothing to ie On the contrary, it How | is here, should you like to be a countess?”’ “Not at all, papa. 1 with you, Pontoise.’ “You've been that long ugh, put in her mother; "it is high time to change. M. le Comte de la Croiserie has written to ask for your hand riage, and your father is deeply sensi wouid rather “ stay plain Mademoiselle | ’ g enough Har- ble of the honor.” Melanie papa is a titlel” “Nonsence, child!” “what do you know about politics!” But it was true nevertheless, and M, | Pontoise could not deny it. Still, it was all very well to laugh titles when you hadn't any yourself, but her Republican! opened eyes, He “Why, ; laughs at said M. Pontoise; al M. Pontoise very naturally felt it would be quite a different matter if he had | a Count for a son-in-law. So he an- | swered his only child rather testily, telling her that she knew nothing about | politics, and had much better tum her attention to her toilette for the ning. Madame Pontoise took the hint at once, and led the way back to the house Melanie following slowly and silently. | When they were safe in seclusion of the girl’s bedroom. Madame Pontoise be- gan to reason with her daughter. What is the matter, mafille? What objection have you to M. de la Croi- | serie? That he is a widower? Bah! that is nothing. That he is a widower? Bah! that is nothing. That he is older than you? Ah! my child, you will know some day how well it is to have a husband of that age, possessed of the most admirable qualities. Why, he is everywhere sought after; you will be the envy of the neighborhood.” That was undoubtedly true; Melanie did not look convinced, “Bat I don’t know him, mamma. have only seen him twice,” “What more would you have? Who expects you to know him? We have not yet adopted the English habit of allowing young girls to form intimacies with men; but you have heard of him, Every one is acquainted with his good heart—his—"’ “Oh! yes, mamma,” interrupted Melanie impatiently; “I have heard | his praises sung till I am tired. Solo, | duet, or chorus, the refrain is always the same. He is so good! he is such a kind fatherl” *You surely don’t object to the chil dren, Melanie? Three darlings, and only girls. Remember, you have al- ready vexed your father twice by re- fusing two very eligible offers, Do not disappoint him again by rejecting M. de 1a Crolserie, the most eligible of all, He is coming to a little dinner en famille so that you may judge of one another. And now 1 leave you to choose your dress; and Madame Pontoise hurried AWAY. Melanie sthod by the window, gazing eve | still drearily out upon the view. felow in blinding sunshine was the stiff, trim little garden in which her father’s soul delighted; a few orchards intervened between that and the niver Vivre, and grounds of Chateau de la Croiserie. nie could see a small turret window, which she knew was the Count’s dres- sing-room. Her heart sank within her. The Count was a fine match from a wordly point of view. It was very flattering that he should wish to make her his wife, but she felt it would be impossible to love him. He was so cold, so stiff. Her mother said the best kind of love for a woman came after marriage, but Melanie shuddered at the risk. Could it be that she had really imbibed foolish ideas duri.g her visits to England? there of something very different. Was marriage one of the things they better in France? Well, it home were of blinding future lotted out mist tears. Suddenly there came a loud peal at the door. Who could be violently? by a was grotesque; besides, would never do anything so incorrect. card in her hand. “‘Here is young Mr. Paget come to How provoking! : 1 just down and see him. You to go.” Melanie stood transfixed. Theevent a3 the mr English she miracle to father’s home thi mother seemed a Mr. Paget was her partner; it was at his at His Alice was her school-feliow and friend; his son Tom friend too. Ing Whew aaugnler Pontoise disapproved. was—well, he was her should to-day—dropped from the clouds, as appear were! Recovering herself, she ran quickly down stairs, sunburnt young man was standing in the middie of the toward the “Ob. Monsieur Tom!" il-possible?”’ “Why not?" he said smull so altered? Dut, 1 say, talk French, you Know. derstand a word of that, Mel recently anie laughed, bul repressed were very surface. "' see vou," accent. Mr. Tom looked mod erately thie assu naven't forgotten your stay with us We had great fun, if you remember, Do vou recollect our ride on the tricyele the «+1 shall never forget them!" and our picnics on river?" she an. ine | There was a repressed in- er which did not Both young people were tones escape Tom. silent a few seconds Just then the | room. She had been peeping behind the Venetian shutters see Mr, Paget's departure, and now came to her mother entered to She was | But she | | He was in such a state of effusive | Madame Pontrise was immensely dis- gusted. | “How stupid men are! That tire | some young Euglishman will make the | Count look ten years older.” | However, it could not be helped, and household cares to give much thought to the matter, Punctual to the moment M. de lal Croiserie arrived, & well-preserved man | over fifty, carefully dressed, with gray hair, which looked long by the side of | Tom's ‘regulation cut” and M. Pon. | toise’s bristles, He was tormally in- | troduced to Melanie, and made a pro- found and elaborate bow, clicking his heels together as he did so, “A galvanized mummy?’ thought Tom as he watched the performance, but his opinion was not very valuable, He had learned the state of affairs from M. Pontoise, and had at once conceived a strung prejudice against the Count, The dinner passed off very well, M, de la Croiserie addressed Melanie with marked difference once or twice, and she replied in monosyllables. Madame Pontoise was quite zostatic—this was exactly as it should be, Tom began to wish he had not come, It did not require a conjurer to see that Melanie did not care for the Count, and the young Englishman’s soul was over- flowing with chivalrous pity. To saeri- fice that warm-hearted Melanie to such an jeeberg; what a shame! He had not expected to burst into such an exciting 1 i | here, what coulda he do? He had | pale as death, came third. | always liked his sister’s pretty French | high-heeled shoes, fit only for a polished friend, but he had no definite plan or | floor, failed her on the sloping plank. scheme in coming to see her. Now | She slipped, and fell into the water. The that he found her again, no longer a | river was deep. Nobody could swim, | schoolgirl, but a beautiful woman, | The Count stood on the bank, paraly- whose life-nappiness was trembling in | zed—staring. the balance, his feelings were stirred and : go!” screamed Madame He watched her every | toise, ‘‘tell them to stop the mill | movement; he took note of every chan- | will be carried over it!’”’ But he seemed ging expression which flitted across her | petrified with terror, | face; he fancied he detected traces of M. Pontoise had thrown off his coat, tears, and his heart went out to her. | and was struggling in the water, en- Nobody but the two young people saw | dangering his own life without saving any pathos in the situation. The pa- his daughter’s, Mahame Pontaise did rents answered their daughter’s wist- | nothing but shriek, but it was the best { ful glances with exultant smiles, and thing she could do. It brought rescue. { the Count made a good dinner, serenely | Tom Paget had not gone to Paris; be | certain of success. was hovering about, undecided, uneasy; he heard her screams, and rushed up in | room, Tom hoped to exchange a few | moment, He saw at once what had words with Melanie unobserved, but | bappened, and running a few yards | he reckoned without Madame Pon- | down the stream, plunged in. He had | toise’s watchful eyes, Fortune favored | calculated well, Melanie to the | him, however. The mother surface close to the spot, and it denly called away, and the Counc and | but the work of a few strong strokes M. le Prefet had gone into the garden | 8nd she was safe again in the boat, { todiscuss matters by the light of a The next thing was to rescue M. Pon- | post-prandial ¢ seized his | tose His exhausted | opportunity. him and driven the air from his lungs; “Your father has told his clothes, heavy with thing,’ he said in a low voice. pulled him down; and | you will be happy.” | dragged lnm out of the **Ah! Monsieur Tom,’ she | quite insensible, | with a pretty appealing gesture of her | hands and an earnest look out of her great dark eyes, ““what can I do?” “Go, Pon- | deepened, When they went into the drawing: rose vas sud- Was igar. Tom struggles had the when walter Fortunately, he was me walter, _- I'om he was every» “I hope sighed, near home, Restoratives were procured and soon he and Melanie were in each other’s their safety. Tom had no reason to complain that Madame Pontoise glared at him hke a The poor lady had no terms to express her gratitude. There wis no more question of his continuing arms rejoicing in still will ‘If you don’t like him there is | time. When you | be too late.” Before Melanie had | Madame are married it dragon now. time to answer, Pontoise returned, and the young people separated. “Will you not it Now, his journey to Paris; the grateful rents would not let hum they retired for the night he opportunity of learning Melanie's give us , : : wishes, and found they coincided en- tirely with his own. With Tom by her side, Melanie feels equal t di pa- go. Before the gentlem Paget?’ shu “My daughter will Ti " J Jill hi Monsieur said, had an meaningly. i a song; but you ean hear very ) rejecting a zen counts; and it is not likely the prefet and his wife will the m hild { $ 2 worthy refuse thei: Life un who saved her he Was Uneasy wu can | How tn RB she really wants! What sent me here to trouble that po Mr. girl's life? What grand, won ul | fax county, Va., is visiting his widow- eves she has i Mrs, Ann An- A separation of 31 is, Md., after a Homance In Heal Life. David Gentle, a farmer ~with ed mother, a Gentle, at naff some dumbanimal in 11 + h he had lost The meetin Years, GQuUring wii ai arm r between mothe Each year agos ! David Te ilwWo Years, : Was 1 EArs Would ant nt Hi oat Petersburg, afte: Marrying in 1866, he settled down fo farn in Fairfax | livelihood, and r would meet again, rate army § sgrT 14 1 sTII % aire : pt. ceremonion sunca Was | oem 1 mttle of + wave his hand & sla a gave hi hand to Mela- | which he Lischarged., nie and le ir into the old-fashioned carder arden. "BB BIY BY vii raned garden. county and acquired Nhe felt hea courage iife had make a the crisis of d has been living there Oh, for ever since, Mr. Gentle had believed his mother dead, but his wife, he said. stone | had often remarked that he would find yh] > { her some time. He never expected to L op o t nk i Mademoi- | do so, however, and probably never sell we sald gravely, ‘‘for accepting 3 : sell,” he said gravely, —10r ACCEPUDR | would have known of her existence but my suit. Iam older than you: many | ¢ . the intervention of a lady think me austere, but I assure you that Te : a. ? i wo ved RoD 3 § y ' L ; you shall never regret the decision you | Iwo) ohrs uge tus 1ady, who kuew : : od dd 4 YOU | his mother, in traveling through Vir- wave made,’ 4 . Inve mal ginia heard the name of Gentle men- Melanie turmed away ber bead, | tioned in a railroad ca: Aly 0 Those measured tones seemed to freeze | ome . § ak PPro ing the party addressed she questioned | him about his parents, and becoming her. Yet Tom bad said, “Think be- fore you decide, Whey you are married satisfied that she had discovered the it will be too late. : So, summoning |, son, told him where he would like- hot COuTAAS, she faltered. | ly find his mother. Sbe said a Mrs, “You think too highly of me, Mon- | Gentle who had a son David lived in I am deeply sensible | Washington a few years previous, and | promised to make inquiries about her and let her son hear from her when she returned, The lady went to Europe and remained a year, and retnming to Washington learned that Mrs, Gentle had moved to Annapolis, and so n- formed the son when next she met him. David had recognized her on the street on his second visit, and go- ing up to her asked if she had ascer- tained the definite whereabouts of his parent. On learning that she was liv- ing at Annapolis, without a moment’s delay the son wrote to her, propound- ing certain questions to establish the relationship which he knew only his mother could answer satisfactorily. In a few days the welcome answer came from the mother, containing endear- ing messages of love, and requesting him to come to her, which he did at the first opportunity. Mrs, Gentle is sixty-five years old and her son forty- four. The mothers has been invited to spend the balance of her days on a pleasant little farm in old Virginia, and share the Bospitalities of the place with a daughter-in-law and an only grandehild, and she will probably ac- accept. come, 0 stand. M. de la Croiserie led her bench. and sat down bes'de her, to a you, not equal to the position.” The Count listened benignly. He thought it all very proper and diffident, but he attached no weight to it what- | ever. “When you are my wife,” he said, bowing low, ‘‘you will have me always at your side to guide snd direct.”’ Melanie gave him a frightened look, then turned away again, Yes, it was true; that man would be always at her side, What an appalling ideal “It is impossible for me to under. take? “Allow me to assure you, Mademoi- selle, that I consider nobody as worthy as yourself to fulfil the duties of a mother towards my little girls, Your discretion, yonr amialnlity, gave me a thousand guarantees for the future, But your parents will think I abuse my privileges,’ he continued, with a win- try smile, as he assisted hor to rise from the bench. Then he conducted her to Monsieur Madame Pontoise, ex- pectant and anxious in the drawing- room. “Monsieur le Prefet,” sald the Count, ‘1 commend my fudure wife to your care." Melanie said nothing, but her parents were voluble enough to make amends for her silence, The Count led them through the grounds to theriver, where he had ordered a boat to be in readiness to pull them across. M. Pontoise rsa I AI A Good and quickly seldom meet, A good beginning is half the work. Gold is no halm to a wounded spirit. Every little frog is great in his own bog. When fish are rare, even a crab is a chapter of the family history; and once went first, his wife followed, Melanie, | fish, The Spake’'s Vengesn.e, “On the night of Feb, 17. 1847, It was raining hard,” began the trarop, as he settled himself in Gilligan’s back room and sipped his gin last night, “We was camped at San Juan Dullo, in Mexico, where the big battle took place, and it was there that I first be. came a believer in snakes. Talking about wreaking vengeance, why, gents, wen in the world, “What'd he do?’’ asked the crowd. “Who?” “Why, the snake,” “Oh, yes; at San Juan. Well, boys, as I was a saying, it was raining hard, and old Scotty was mad’ern blazes, caz he did'nt know the country, and the rain threatened to wash us out, About 10 o'clock that night our sentry caught a greaser lurking around the outposts and brought him into camp. The greas- er was a handsome feller, and a lieuten- ant in the Mexican cavalry. He had a small box under his arm, and when this was opened a small rattlesnake sprang out and showed fight, Ie buried his fangs into the arm of one of the men and the bite killed him, The man seem- ed to be very fond of the snake, but that would have got away if it wasn't for the creat- ure. thought ¥ 3} AR 3 3 somenow ne nt ne Then he cussed it in Spanish, and just as they were leading him away the snake sprang for him, its little eyes blaz- and body quivering. It reach the man, and was put back in the Somehow it ng did not DOX, was taken to Gen, Neott’s tent for safekeeping, and a conference was held about caplive, was decided him and see if any information could bx got from hix “The ral the young and it to hold stopped about 1 y'clock.’ continued the tramp, draining his glass, “and the moon came out, I futy in front of dut just d Fei lig that wa: tent with something I gave chase, bu in fact forgot all about i “When woke up at the captain atl p OVC - A Blushing Chinese Bride here x write? y vast Saat WAS gTeatl Cominouo tue Oregon, heart of Chinatown, Portland, A wedding i ¢ ana i in high life was on the tapis, erowd of 400 or wa 4 ! hinamen surrounded the home of the bride in an endeavor to catch a glimse of the lady the man. rl started down the narrow as she went to meet happy When the g stairs. in charge of an old woman. the curious heathens made a rush for the doorway. and when she appeared upon the sidewalk, with her blushing face hid behind a fan, the excitement became so intense that the services of the pelice- men were necessary to clear a way to the carriage. Every face in the surging crowd was adorned with a generous grin, and a chorus of **Ahs” greeted the rate and radiant maiden who was about to launch upon the uncertain sea of matrimony. The bride’s dress was of pale blue hi-long trimmed with rare old toyah, while the pantaloons were of six full lengths of yellow sigee. Her hair was dressed a la Hong Kong, their be- ing no bangs of any description. H 1 charming little feet were half hidden in a bewitching par fsiik :lipper« with tw tels kuck d off This vision of loveliness was carefully placed in a clos. ed carriage and d iven to the ap rt- ments «f the bridegroom, who was wondering what sort of a companion his relatives and friends bad selected for him. Thee the scenes enacted on Mor- rison street were repeated as the bride was hurried up another flight of narrow stairs and disappeared from view, amid showers of rice and papers. i i — poston Working Garis. The average weekly income of work « ing girls in Boston, including earnings, assistance and income from extra work, is $56.17. The average yearly expense for all needs is $261.80, This leav.s $7.77 for amusements, reading and so on. There are a large number of gris, according to the figures of the repogt, who earn less than $3 50 a week, and out of the 1,082 there were only twen- ty-eight who pay less than $2 a week for board and lodging. Two hundred and twenty-four pay between $2 and $4 a week tor board and lodging. It is hard to ses how they can live at all de: cently on their salaries. PAA FOOD FOR THOUGHT. Hatred is blind as well ag love, He who blackens others whiten blmself, Life becomes useless and insipid when we have no longer friends or enemies, We had better appear what we are than affect to appear what we are not, does not The cup of pleasure sometimes dregs that one must drink loug after. wards, Those sentiments of love which flow from the heart cannot be frosea by ad- versity, A little praise is good for a shy lem- per. It teaches it to rely on the Kind ness of others, t is more difficult to dissimulate the sentiments we have, than te those we have not. sininiate Good taste rejects excessive nicety it treats Little things as littke €hings and is not hurt by them. The duty of doing, not great t! but what we can, is the very (oj sum of human obligation, {os slg and In giving, a man receives more ti ie gives, and the more in propor s worth of the thiog given. ali i Silence never shows itself Lo 80 great an advantage as when it is mads reply to calumny and defamation, New actions are the only apologie and explanations of old ones which the ie can bear to offer or to receive, Li y ally 4 4 generally true that we judge bitterly and harshly the faults of every office which we do vot ourselves hold. v 45 When a stroug brain is weighed witl a true heart, it seems to be dikes balanc- ing a bubble against a wedge of gold, intellectua worthless re 1rd «1 spt Public discussions is an where the sialping In 8 crushed and the pu quariz is free. dealings wit not ef hua divine all one al er i18 a matler, convenience, but of 213} Mi, LESS In our ay TELE t penny-wise; riches have wing sometimes “of t ] 4 LileINse yes stimnes they m 10 fly away ol in more, where LRoOwWieage goodness dares open) We ought 1 to deriv use u ors and for the n happine Onsiaersd s someth may bec voy ida ing us je disease eligi § i the aana, the done on gives part present offers us the can give Whatever our piace Providence, that for us God estimates not n, but by the way in wiicl Pan t hha auty. Uy Le tion we we fill are There 18 a thread in our there iS a puise in our feeh can hold the one } and he who can move how to feel. A cottage will the furniture and sumpluous accommoda tions of a mansion; but if God be here, a collage will hold as much hap- piness as would stock a palace. Joy is heightened by exu tant strain: of music, but grief is eased ody by iow ones, ‘A sweel, sad, measur balm of a wounded spirit, lightens toll. The sailor pulls cheerfully for his song. Generosity is not the vutue ol the multit de, and for this reason: selfish- ness is often the consequence of igno- rance, aud it requires a cultivated mind to discern where the rights of others interfere with our own wishes, There is nothing iv life which exer- ecises a more blessed influence on death, than the prominence of a holy, loving fear in our intercourse with God. ast fear is the smoothest pillow on which the head of the dying can rest, Prudence and religion are above ac- cidents, and draw good out of every- thing. Afliction makes a wise man patient, strong and enduring. Provi- dence, like a wise father, brings us up to labor, toil, and danger; whereas the indulgence of a tond molber makes us weak and spiritiess, The great secret of giving advice successfully is to mix with it something which implies a real consciousness of the adviser's own defects; and as much as possible of an acknowiedgement of the other party's merits. Most advisers sink both; and hence the failure which they meet with and deserve, Money is a right good thing, and no sensible man will turn up Lis nose al it. 1t brings comfort and teisare, and Solomon says that in leisure there 1s wisdom. Money promotes domestic tranquility, and that is the biggest and best thing I know of. But it ougnt to be hand to get, 20 that its real value may be appreciated it has to be earned to be prized, No money is safe, except that made by honest men, thougi He who think, s KIOWS NEs- HOWE HOW the other to ¥ ® 3 not hold HRS ' is the Musi Hore ’
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