ON THE IVER.
Come lot us take a row upon the rivery
The sun is up, the morn is cool and clear—
Along the stream our light canoe we'll steer
While far and near the wavering shadows
shiver,
Upon the water's breast
ever,
The music
From shady shallows, as
neat
While overhead
quiver.
Then come, shove
ounce more,
With steady
Siroaim-—
Look !—in our
gleam,
As we glide anwanrd.
And now beneath the shadows of the shore
We drift along in silence, like a dream.
: and murmuring
of the ripples we thall hear
our boat draws
the sunbeams danee and
off! Our bark’s afloat
stroke we shoot into the
wake the waters brightly
A HITS SETA WR
CRUSADER,
A snowy March day. Outside the
|
i
i
i
vously near him—a bejeweled hand as |
white and shapely as a woman’s—and |
kisses it raptuously.
“Little fool!” says Roy, snatching it |
from him angrily.
“Fools speak the truth sometimes,
Mr. Denzil; listen to me. The devil |
and the angel are battl ng within you.
let the angel have the mastery?”
“That depends,” is all the answer he
The clock above the mantle rings out |
four hasty peals. Outside the snow
comes dashing against the pane and pile
It will
Little tormentors into the raging wind,
which hurls them maliciously against
the faces of a little group of women,
who walk quickly along through the
furious storm. Inside, warmth and
comfort in the houses of tbe rich; the
sparkle of ruddy coal fires in the grate;
goft-cuskioned chairs, brilliant
glowing silk, and woolen tidies; foot-
stools of handiwork, indolent
wolnen in warm cozy corners deep in
the latest novel, and indolent men,
cards in hand, with a
them, which grows lighter and emptier
as the moments fly.
dainty
1
bottle
chiil cutting winds, the snow, ankle
deep in the slush of the city’s thorough-
and noble, pass on their way, intent on
a holy crusade against vice and evil.
Inside, the card-playing goes on. The
bottle is empty at last, and by the flush
ed, heated face opposite him, Roy Den
zil knows that it is not alone the loss by
gambling that is drawing the purple
veins into strong relief upon bis com-
panion’s forehead; that it 18 not the mis-
erable run of luck that clinches the fists
i
silky, blonde mustache as he pronoun-
ces the bottle empty.
young man opposite holding aloft a net-
ted purse, the work of fair, loving
fingers, finished but a month ago. As
he says it, he looks at the shining silken
mesh, and his fevered thoughts rove
back to a third-story lodging in the
heart of a distant where lives his
sister and mother,
dreaming dreams
city,
who are
of a bright future
Meanwhile
“How is it my friend?’ comes timid- |
“The devil has won,” he answered, |
sneer. “Wrong is so much |
stronger than right, now-a-days, Good-
and he leaves him to |
out into the darkening streels,
Along a grand avenue walks Roy
Denzel, full of bitter thoughts and piti-
fancies, Al, what might have
been!
Along avenue, out oa the coun-
try roak he walks, through the deep
snow, keeping in the little path unwit- |
tingly: walking on and ongthough a pair
of {ine horses are champing and stamp- |
ing impatlently in their stables at home
for a dash these same country
roads with their master’s hand upon the
ribbons. On and on; and at last after
crossing a crazy old bridge thrown over
a narrow rocky chasm of sixty feet or
more, he gains a crossroad, Ie does |
not comprehend that he has turned
the right and found a bridle path near
he fence: ‘but he does and at last,
after another quarter of an hour, he
stands before a brilliantly lit mansion,
“Great Heaven! What have 1
here for? Has the devil won after all?”
Tap, tap. tap.
“Good evenin’ Massa Roy! Gracious,
but I'se glad to see yah! Come in,
in.
the
aver
to
SO
*
come
cole
Misses am 1n de pahlah, and Missy
Marjorie am in de libraree,”
Roy’s nurse when
he needed one: but uow promoted to be
his mother’s haif servant,
“Thank you Uncle Ned: I'll go to
y library. Miss Marjorie is there you
943
ays the
Done
AY
‘Iss, massa.
COInt
the garrulot
bring to them; this same money that is
emptied npon the little card-table in
the club-honse, and which 18 quietly
swept into Roy Denzil’s pocket after he
has lit a costly Havana.
“God help me!” moans the lad, who
has lost his first money upon cards.
“So bad as that?” indo-
lently.
“‘Bad as that,” Can anything be
worse?” comes in hoarse echo from the
youth of twenly years,
“Surely,’”’ says
tra rer
ASKS It ’Y,
ing at him
gray
miss these
Roy, look
une
“surely you will not
windreds; you, with your Eastern
87 You told me, did you not, that
you were worth ten thousand a year?"
“1 told you a lie!” he dashes his
fist upon the little green le
table in savage emph :
a shameful liel The mone
mother’s and] sister’s, and I,
fool, was intrusted with their ba
ten earnings to find them a littl
out in the West, ** Oh, heaven, }
me, help me, help mel”
“My lad.” and Roy's voice lowered
itself insensibly, “‘listen to me. There
is your money! Irelurnit toyouo
conditions, and they are—promis
that you will never taste spirits :
and that you will never stake a
on anything.”
“God bless you, I promise! Iswear!’
to Roy. But Roy pretended not t
it, and busies himself with refillin
purse. “Mr. Denz 1
bold, tell me why
and drink as you l
“For pastime, d
that.”
“And you can {ind amusement in it
you whose soul is far above—-"?
‘Bah! what twaddle have you
learning?”
;
g the
, if I may be so
ronl--gambile
6 done to-night!
YOu
ar fellow: simply
zil
3
av
1
been
Roy passes tl gh t
carpeted hall, where he used to run rio
in the days of early boyhood, but whi
of late vears knows him n re;
reaching at last a certain dodr he pus
es it and enters th .
The flames
La s § wh aa tha
RErs about as Loe
rou he long, richly-
y TH
soltly open
:
unlighted room.
ight 1
&Qn
ju
of the
door
and closes, disclosing the face of :
no irnfully in
want: +} oma vo
Wee Le Dal
fnre-
opans
Pai
to the fiery chasms bet
“Marjorie!” and a tenderness ti
in the voice that calls her name.
She rises with a quick cry, an
may I not,” looking eagerlyinto Denzil’s
gy
quit, too?
“How am [ so indebted to you
$8.44
“id
cigar. “You're too enthusiastic,
dear boy!’ Then, with a little laugh.
“Even the ladies can’t move mo,
them!”
“Then how can it
whether or no I drink?”
“You? Well, you are young; you cax
turn aside as you will
you are, and I would keep you away
intercst you
oning and stumbled so far into ils
depth that I cannot turn about, They
say thero is a better path than this, I
would set your feet that way before
all.”
Theie is an unusal stir among the
wel-bred club members, A cold air
blows in upon and scatters the fumes of
the Turkish tobacco in little hazy
mer-like mist there comes eight chosen
ones—the mortal angels of tho present
century.
Some of the men shrink perceptibly
Others bravo it out under the eight
pairs of gentle, loving eyes, while one
man, Rov Denzil, lifts his hat, with
inborn knightliness and listens with a
listless air to the services going on
aout him,
But the boy at his side kneels down,
and leaning above a chair cushion, he
presses the little purse to his lips and
weeps great tears of remorse. And
when he lifts Lis head again the womeu
have gone away, and Denzil stands, his
eyos fixed upon vacancy, his cigar out,
and a little of something long buried
warming his heart with a different
warmth from that of wine, The youth
catches at Roy’s band which hangs nar
“Good-evening,
jorie 1 expected,
“Stay,
0 ™ 14
WON Al
okey ¢
p her!
onle one
he heard of vou
hiame i
er,’ passed
$3
une blaine
ing, DiaZing
iid AN.
“Oh, Royal, my darling son!"
“You are well, mother 7"
“* As well as I can be without the sun-
of your sence,” letting her |
handsome chestnut-
silken hair to the
in, whose dimples ir
where her pride. They
talked joyously for full an hour, until
e dried without her |
Lie is ready to turn his
18
¢
i
smooth ct
Woy’s clothes ar
knowledge, and
“Not going back to-night, Roy ?V
“I am, indeed, lady mother,” pul-
ling his tawny mustache uneasily,
“Well, then, if you must leave me,
Bring up a bottle of that oldest vin- |
tage, Uncle Ned,” says the lady, as |
And, when the |
wine is brought, a little figure glides in
behind the stately old servant,
“Come, Marjorie, darling, drink with
ine to Royal's health.”
““Is he sick?'’ she asks, gazing up at
him in half mock, half serious gra-
The mother laughs a merry, innocent |
laugh, as she pours the wins into a
large) glass until it is brimming full
For herself and Marjorie she sets out
two dainty little glasses holding half-a-
Royal tosses the burning liquid down
his throat at one swallow, and refills
his glass. No doubt had the great
brown eyes remained in the twilight of
the library, and not come to search his
very soul as they are doing now, the
wine would have been untasted. But,
as it is, standing under the sunset glow
of those limpid brown orbs, he feels an
unconguerable desire to quarrel with
her. And so he drinks until the bottle
is all but empty, and his mother still
sips at her brimming glass,
The eves and wine together prove too
much for his brain, and he feels the
potent spirit of the long lnprisoned
wine taking fast and furious possession
of him. She sees it, tog, this little Ma.
jorie, who loves him wiih her whole
neart and soul, and whosorrows, as the
angels sorrow, for a creature gone
astray,
“Come to me, Royal, after yon have
sald good-night,”’
In a moment he is beside her as she
enters the library,
“loyal Denzil, I implore you not to
go away from Lere to-night! I feel a
horrible presentiment—what 1t is I can-
not tell! Oh, Roy, stay! You are not
fit to ride to town to-night! Stay with
toy!”
But the wine is his master, and he
knows not what he does save that there
opposing her wishes. Finding that he
runs out through the yard, which is
black as ink, to the stable, where the
groom’s lantern, swaying about like a
snow, makes the surroundings more
**What beast are you getting out for
Mr, Denzil?”
“Prince, Miss Marjorie,”” looking
round-eyed at her bare head and dainty
figure abroad in the storm.
“Prince is well enough when Mr.
Denzil is sober: but to-night saddle my
own horse, Regan, and bring her
around, Mr. Denzil is too drunk to
see a difference: which unvarnished
truth she leaves to astonish the groom
as it may, as she whisks back with icy-
powdered curls and limp little silk
wrapper into the front hall,
Aud Roy is ready
mile, with which th
A dreamy
spirit lit up
{0 go.
a glance
maiden
him off!
“Good-nigh
kiss me once before I go?”
Her lips touched obediently the fever-
bent low for her « for a
presentment of coming danger
strong. He gets inte his saddle an
away. Down the long rutl)
the cross-road. sharp
lof as J
yOu
ed brow Ares,
jerk
t bridal-rein
highroad,
g she gall
old bridge that
Tw
and
CAI'TY
0 Let vim Roy cann
int hie
t rein, b
* Fret hs the
lets her
ih~
SHOW; over ruils
up! You
irunken fur
Ianks unt
afunated san,
firm as a rock 8 the tortu-
nal, Only a low whine, almost hue.
comes from her as the cruel lash
its hes ssy brown, but now
i and lacera side
works himself into a
4 ¥ i
slana
ouce
tod
beastly
gay human
his ill-feel
Yor
PE
L were
face he
when he
wis the cruel hand
areal
fall Froud P. |
: Ay
i
i
tear
1 wi
the tears onc:
re hey
bondage, eome storming
Every better emotion
play from hisnearnes
ii
have beer §
from
13 brought
to death, an
waning from th
life of a moment ago |
And here on the lonely brink of a
chasm, with the snowflakes falling
about him, and the bitter wind entling
for the great coat has
# big
of the night, his soul's angels of good
and bad fight a terrible battie between
gel wins!
Jack through the long dreary road,
horse and man find their way, and stop
at length in Denzil’s stables,
“The bridge was down, John.
a lantern: Prince is in need of
gan"
“Yes, sir! She would have it so—Miss
Bring
Ree
He is gone; like the wind, he flies to
“Marjorie, God bless you, darling,
come with me-—quick!” The gray eyes
sober; so she lays a wee rose petal of a
hand in his hand and lets him lead her
away. “The bridge was down, Mar-
how hard a penalty she bore for daring
to save my neck! Poor Regan-—your
mistress will hate me now!”
“I hate you, Royal? Think you I
would not undergo sufferings even such
as this to save you, Oh, Royal, put not
the love of a mere animal above my
own?"
“Do you mean it little Prim? Thank
God! Bat, my sweet"
John, the groom, having heard this
much of their conversation, thinks it a
proper moment to go for the bottle of
liniment,. When he returns, Marjorie’s
arms are about the neck of her beauti-
ful chestnut mare, and she says softly:
“What angel inspired you, darling
Regan, to be so faithful and brave? Ah,
Roy, how often these dumb creatures
ut us to shame! Bat you are Regan no
onger; I nme you ‘Crusader,’ ’’ Then,
turning to Roy: “How came your deci-
sion to be so suddenly made?”
“Suddenly? It seems Jous. Your
Crusader took me to the heights and I
«climbed them.”
“What is the matter?’ calls a breath-
less mother's voice,
“1 wm come home for good, mother
«that is alll”
And hand in hand, like old-fashion-
ed lovers, they go in from our sight,
on
A
Custom often overroles reason.
irs i
A Distinguished Hero, |
In New York Major general Han- |
cock and his son, Russell, called to pay |
their respects to General Harney, and
General Hancock laughingly reminded |
him of an meident in which his son and |
General Harney figured. A few years
agro General Hancock and his little boy
called upen General Harney in a west.
ern town, and while there an Indian |
came to pay hisrespects. General Har- |
ney while talking with him was toying |
with a plece of string, and litile Russell
Hancock, having read of his penchant
“Please don’t hang him, General; but
then, if vou do,” he added, a smile of
expectancy lighting up his boyish face,
“irive me his bow and arrows, won't
you?"
A reporter had a long and pleasant
chat with the general, who when he
rose, towered considerably above his
visitor, his height being six feet three
inches, and his figure still erect and
soldierly, He injured his leg a few
weeks ago, and is a little lame, but
treats the matter lightly. He spoke
with modesty about his exploits. ‘You
are not a graduate of West Point, gen-
eral?”
“No. I was
near Nashville,
boy:
ai up
fellows, When
to Baton Ru
and met General .
First inf:
aysborough,
Doven there the
sports, and as
strapping
man J
my bro-
then col-
f=
i stern §
indulge i
ie grow pretty
Was 4 young
went
ther,
OL i
s OL
wards
he
the aft
} I. Oneday
“Young man, how
would you like to have a commission in
the army?" 1 said:
ral,” and thought no more aboutit, A
short time afterward ou came a commis.
me a lieutenant in the regular
thats how I happened t
GAR $ vate RTE
First rate, gen
sion for
army, and Wo be
a soldier,
“How nanny wal
general?’
“$h, 1 know.” laughed
general, **I don’t care to talk about
own .3
{ HAVE You servea in,
: * 4
aon t tl
HYICES,
me see,” said Mrs, SL Cyr.
“The general was in the Seminole wal
in Florida, in the Black Hawk war, in
the Sioux. in which he
a bloody battle at Ash
lue Water, in th
the late civil war.
you know, was the hero «
war, and hanged thirteen
chiefs, which ended it. i
o say: “If Harney calc
: if me catch him,
who captured
bat }
iL ae
i
he die,’
never bo
ral Harney
, and told how
g an Indian agent for
“They all know me,”’
adding with pride,
to day there outbreak
ong the Sioux 1
lone and stop it,
There's no trouble getting alon
Indians if they are treale
3 It's a shame i
swindled as they f
I had the punishment of t
4
’
laudable
Was an
ould go to them
? iat
fn * ¥en +31 ! " 4
LOT Lhey Woulag iisien wo
+
wie
ee
}
and tear came
Nero's d $4
Hamme
WAS «
by Presid
1 3 a
y AMY tal
in 1818, and
Lalitte’s piratical vessels
served on the staff of General Jackson
who, when President in 1833, made |
paymaster of the army. In Au
15 ade lieutenant
He fought gal
Mexican war, but early
incurred the enmity of General Scott,
who endeavored to deprive him of his
command, but was frustrated by Wil.
liam L. Marcy, secretary of state. He
disobeyed an order wid achieved a
his impetunosi-
Toe y captur
#4 §
two ol
“i, he was n col
‘ %
» 2nd dragoons, g
PE n
tiarough the
iantiy
once
victory in view of which
ty was overlooked,
Prior to and long after the Mexican
war he was actively engaged in fighting
hostile Indians, in which he won extra-
ordinary distinction. Iie had command
of the expedition against Brigham
r
ny
wl
Young in 1858, but learning that Har-
ey intended to hang Young and
twelve apostles, he was relieved by the
secretary of war, ard General Johnston
succeeded him. He was captured by
the confederates at Harper's
iis
mond, where he was implored by old
friends to espouse the ‘lost cause,”
which he stoutly refused to do. His
skill and gallantry secured him steady
promotion from the time he entered the
army, and he was retired in May, 1861,
with the full rank of major-general,
The general who has two daughters
and a son, will remain in the city only
a few days, when he will return to SL.
Louis, Both of his daughters are mar-
ried and living in France, One of them
The son
Louis, Mrs,
ry, a French gentleman,
the general lives in St.
zie Cromwell, Her husband 4 French-
man, died about Gfteen years ago, since
which time she has been attached to the
general's family.
EAA
A Ride With a Maniac,
Grace Allison was a graceful and co-
quetish little blonde, whose golden hair
men of Lie. On the morning of which
1 write Grace was seated in her cozy
little boudoir, plunged in a dreamy
reverie,
“Howard Sinclair! Yes; I love him
truly and devotedly | Leonard Tubare
says that Howard cares only for my
money. But, pshaw | what a goose 1
am! Asif Howard could be 80 merce-
nary!"
So saying, Grace rose and left the
room, to dress for her ride with Mr,
Tubare,
Meanwhile let us glance at Leonard
Tubare as he drove up in his elegant
carriage, ready to escort Miss Allison
to the park.
Many would have pronounced him a
handsome man, ‘only this, and nothing
more I'' But could Grace Allison have
black eyes, she would have deferred her
Gay and smiling, Grace stepped into
the carriage, and they were soon dash -
ing along the smooth road, drawn by
the proud-stepping bays, On their way
they passed Howard Sinclair, whose
anger a8 he beheld the Italian’s evil
face, bending over Grace, with a look
of conscious triumph.
trace suddenly perceived that Tu-
bare was driving toward an unfrequent-
ed part of the woods, and, seizing the
reins she cried;
“Mr, Tubare, what does this mean?
This i
Turn back, sir,
| Where are you taking me? 8 not
the road to the Park!
[ command youl”
A wild, mocking laug
answer; and obeyl
| master, the beautiful
{| ward with light:
Turning to the terrified girl, wi
speechless by his side, 1.eop;
through his clenched §
“AL ha! I have
Think
led to the alt:
ay
forer 4 al
ing speed.
vou I
avd rel
ard Sinci
in the wall,
wil to view a
ing to a flight of ste
iickiy descer
stone
ched a
SEIN a sirange «
quainted with the
has fast 3
ul my motive w
t the dark-eved man by
apd lunatic from Lh
. Ralston,
aay
passe 7
Fogey
itt
ve OPY FRET
aroused her, and, springing to
Grace confronted Tubare with a calm,
fixed gaze, which caused him t
and writhe, as if unde we influes
r power. For
3 %
win Bs
Tubare
her feet,
SON an
uddenly recover-
darted forward
they stood
d cried
“Fair Isalx
own forever!’
“Never!” shrieked Grace, “Howard
Sinclair | Howard! help ! help! help¥
As her agonized cry ran through the
vaulted chamber and out into the cor-
ridor beyond, a scufling sound, as of
men hurrying down the stone steps, was
heard and a voice eried:
“Courage, Gracie | succor is at band!
With a yell of defiance, as of a wild
beast brought to bay, Tubare rushed
upon Grace, a Spanish dagger gleamed
in his uplifted hand. Ope instant be
paused, and then—Howard Sinclair
sprang into the cell, in time to catch
the fainting Grace, while Dr. Ralston
and the officers succeeded, after a des.
perate struggle,in securing the maniac.
For weeks and months Grace's life
{ hung by a thread; but when once more
{ the light of reason returned to the
| sweet blue eyes, Grace Allison’s beau-
| tiful golden hair was as white as the
driven snow.
Howard Sinclair petitioned an early
day for their marriage, and one sunny
morning in June beheld Grace Sinclair
start on her bridal tour,
Leonard Tubare soon after died, in
| strong convulsions, and thus freed
Grace from the terrible feeling of inse-
curity which had clung to her while
Tubare was alive,
Grace is now the happy mother of
three bouncing boys; but never will she
| forget that day of terror when she rode
| with Leonard Tubare |
wh————- a
Securities and Bonds,
lla! Ha! wife |
*
my my
There are, it seems, $20,000,000
in securities and money in the treasury
of the United States that no one claims,
In times gone by sundry persons have
bought government securities which
they have lost, or which have been de-
stroyed; hence the twenty millions of
unclaimed bonds In the treasury. There
are savings banks in New York which
have in their vaults large sums that will
never be claimed, They belong to poor
people who died, or that have moved
away, or have forgotten they had ever
any money in the bank, There is sup-
to ve some $80,000,000 of un-
claimed money in banks and trost coms
panies throughout the country which is
lost to the heirs forever,
It a man has got any reaglon worth
having he will do ms duty and not
geen that strange glittering in his jot.
make a fuss about it.
L WROERIN VERSA,
FOOD FOR THOUGI]
y % . 4
i Wars
Poverty of the soul is
of fortune,
Willows
other wood.
Wise
cannot bh
A foolish friend does more i
a wise enemy.
Have not thy cloak to
begins to rain.
Take care
sub off your
are weak,
en care not
ive,
not Lo care
He hi
neitner
x i 4
Wall Wo
vrvaa trae it hie Fas
INAXES IV GOV i
GAngerous
vine-leaves of
3 wer 11 ve
({DOWS Lhelr vaiu
world teils
| ever inlercem
A virtuous name 18
(queens
the preci
good and
wives must contest logeiner.
Peas
ne ac
and in
Jessedness consists in ¢
{ 1 ge
} oe . a
Hitoent ol our GesiIx
uly regular de
’
NIT OF
VIilig «
We have a thousand reasons
with to condemn our neighbor,
one wherewith to excuse him,
I have seldom known
deserted truth in trifles
trusted in matlers of
After the sting of
men wise they find it
that can be a
have been,
Fine feelings, without vigor of rea
son, are in the situation of the extreu
feathers of a peacock’s tail—dragging
in the mud.
Good nature 18 the very air of
mind, the sign of a large and prosper:
ous soul, and the peculiar soil in whicl
virtue prospers.
Human nature is pliable, and perhaps
the pleasantest surprises of life are
found in discovering the things we can
do when forced.
Never be sorry that you gave; it was
right for you to give, even if you were
imposed upon. You cannot afford to
keep on the safe side by being mean.
Every man has bis chain and his
clog, only it is looser and lighter to one
man than another, and he is more at
ease who takes it up than he who drags
it.
Troubles spring from idleness, and
grievous toils from needless ease:
many, without labor, would live by
their wits only, but they break for want
of stock.
Conversation should be pleasant
without scurrility, witty without af-
ectation, free without indeceney, learned
without conceitedness; novel without
falsehood,
Beware how you allow words to pass
for more than they are worth, and bear
in mind what alteration is sometimes
produced in their current value by the
course of time.
If you are willing to bo as pleasant
and as anxious to please in your own
home as you are in the company of
your neighbors, you will have the hap.
piest home in the world,
Friendship without bemefaction de.
generates into nu weak and worthless
sentiment; benefaction without ‘he
spirit of friendship becomes a mechan.
ical and lifeless routine
anyone
that coul
importance
folly has ade
hard fo «
foolish
ive
others as they
a good