ifiteiiiit
A Sunset.
Beside a dusty way cottage stands,
Brown from the touoh of man; changeful
years.
. Winter and summer both have laid their hand s
Upon its clapboards and above it rears
A towering oak, whose branohes o'ershade
Its roof-tree with a sort of guardian look.
Behind its rooky crags, through which a glade
Of somber green half hides a running brook.
The fence before is gray with clinging moss,
And here and there a picket, fallen down,
Lies in the graes. The eveuing breezes toss
The tiger-lily, with its gorgeous crown,
Ont at the hedge, where everything is bright
With hollyhocks and flowors like the sun;
With purple panBies and with daisies white,
While np the wall the bright nasturtions run.
With drowsy eyes and semi-wakeful sleep
A shaggy house dog stretches at the gate;
While in the road a score or two of sheep
And mild-eyed cattle for the master wait
The day is waning, and the parting gleams
Of the red sun gild hill-top, rook and tree;
And in the west the clouds, touched by his
beams,
With lips of fire kiss the pulsing sea.
The song of birds grows clearer as the night,
By deepening shadows heralds her return.
A tint of brotze creeps o'er the goldeu light,
That but an hour ago appeared to born.
The breeze dies down. A twilight quiet lies
Over the landscape in a sweet repose.
80, with a blessing over earth and skies,
- TJnto his rest the day serenely goes.
Thns, with his years well spent, peacefnl and
calm,
A good man passes to his final sleep.
Pore in his deeds, his life has been a psalm.
The seed is sown, he only waits to reap.
The tears that fall should be aa'gentle dew,
That is distilled above the slumbaring eaith.
His feet have gone the gates of glory through,
To be refreshed in Heaven's immortal birth.
LIFTING UP.
When Susan Robinson was left a wid
ow with three small .children, life seem
ed hardly worth striving for. But as
time wore on, her stanch womanhood
came to her aid, and she determined to
do her utmost to make home pleasant for
her lost Harry's children, and undertook
such work as she could get to provide
them food and clothes. She rented most
of her little mortgaged honse, and lived
in two rooms, having hard times and
spending many anxious nights over the
difficulty of paying the small bills neces
sary for their maintenance.
When Philip Powers, a well-to-do
clerk, touched by her motherliness and
destitution, proposed marriage, she put
back her natural repugnance and accept
ed him in orrJer to better the condition
of her fatherless little ones, trusting life
would flow more smoothly.
No two persons could begin life to
gether with less realization of what each
was to bear and forbear. The husband,
now past forty, had been a bachelor,
waited on as a person of consideration
in the house where he had boarded for
fifteen years. Susan's first husband had
treated her with tenderness and consid
eration, much as if she were a child.
Now these two had come together, one
because a sweet face, made interesting
by its black surroundings, had charmed
him; the other because she wanted pro
vision for her children. When the hard
places came, they were the harder that
neither had any Btook of experience to
draw from. Mr. Powers had no thought
of reconstructing his habits to suit a
bouse with three young children in it.
Susan had no intention of keeping her
children from noisy play, or of sending
them to bed early, to suit his whims.
If he had always spoken, and it was
done, then a little change would be well
for him. He thought a little discipline,
in the way of suppression, would be
good for the young ones.
In half a year there was open warfare.
Mr. Powers had learned to dislike, al
most to hate, his step-children; they to
dread and dislike him; the mother to
compare her life with what it might have
been, had she struggled on alone, or,
more dangerous still, with what it would
have been, had Henry lived. And one
day, in the course of some dispute, she
said the bitter things that she had
thought From that day they lived
over a smoldering volcano; jealous
sense of wrong on one side; self-assertion,
in spite of shame and humiliation, on
the other. Susan affected to be fighting
her children's battles, when she opposed
what she considered tyranny; her hus
band felt that all he had tried to do
went for nothing, and that the children,
whose bread he earned, were taught to
despise him. This was not the truth;
for Susan, though she was unjust, never
said a word against her husband, save
to him, or before his face; there was left
this little spark of truth and honor yet.
There were occasional truces and at
tempts at peace, until the little girl was
born; then the worst of this divided
houBe appeared. The father was con
stantly on the watch, and the thousand
little nameless ways in which own pa
rentage ehows itself, awakened Susan's
jealousy for her fatherless ones. And
once, when Mr. Powers struck Harry
Because me baby was Hurt in their play,
the mother's anger flamed out 'What.
is she better than my boy? I wish that
she had never been born.' And never,
in her father's sight, would she bestow
a caress upon his child; when he was out
of the way, she made up for alL
At fifteen months old the child fell ill;
it was a bad summer for babies, and she
was teething; it was only a week's sick
ness, and she died. As they were put
ting her into the little casket, her father
turned to his wife, and said, 'This is as
good as what you wished.' Snsau dared
not ask if the grave were to be made in
her lot, but she hoped, till the very mo
ment when the carriage turned to the
opposite path, and the whole breadth of
the cemetery lay tetween.
'I will never go there when he can
know,' said Susan to herself. And in
this frame of mind, filled with anguish
for her loss, with remorse for what she
had allowed herself to say and feel while
the child lived, and with anger toward
her husband, she went to church, on the
Sunday after the funeral, more for the
sake of getting away alone than for the
nope that any word could help her there.
She had never been in the same place
before.
It was Friday morning, and the Rev.
Mr. Stanfield sat in his study, attempt
ins: to write a sermon of consolation.
Two of his parishioners had died that
wees, one old, the other in the prime of
life; he must say something of comfort,
something of heaven, to the mourners.
He had the text written out: 'Ye believe
in God, believe also in Me. In My
Father's house are many mansions.'
But that was as far as he could go; the
words that he wanted would not come.
He walked out, to try and work himself
into the mood, when instead of it there
fell upon him such a sense of the worth
of man as man,suoh a vision of his capac
ities, such wonders at his possibilities,
there came upon him such a realization
of the bouI, apart from conditions, that
he felt it must be written. What a waste
of time, with the work which must be
done yet on his hands! Bat he put at
the top of his paper, 'Ye are of more
value than many sparrows,' and 'For
we are also His offspring.' Writing was
no labor then, and before he thought of
it, there was a sermon. 'I must pick
out au old one for Sunday,' ho thought;
but or. Saturday night he determined to
preach that. 'It's the word of the Lord
to me for this hour, and I will say it.'
Susan Powers heard that sermon; and
it was the word of deliverance and
peace to her soul. She sat like one
in a dream, till the service ended; then
rose and went out of the house, just
casting one backward glance at the man
who had spoken, to see if he were not
indeed an angel; then with a fixed pur
pose in her heart, turned toward her
homo. 'I will try and keep my sight,'
she said; 'I will not become blind again.'
For she was like one who had just re
ceived his sight. How all her life, to
this hour, she herself had been the cen
ter around which the universe revolved!
her rights, her comfort, had been the
important matters, and people were
good or bad according to their treatment
of herl And yet life, her life, had seem
ed only poor and mean.
No word of upbraiding or of warning
or threatening could have touohed her
as this thought of the value of man had
done.
'But how can I let him know of this
new light that has come to me?' she ask
ed herself. 'If I were to begin talking
kindly, he would think there was some
purpose in it, and dospise me. If I tell
him that I have been wrong, he will not
listen, or will say some cutting thing.
What shall I do?' She thought of the
children; but since the baby's death, he
had never spoken, not even to scold
them. He went in and out just as
though they were not in the world. At
the table, their mother gave them food
whioh his money had purohased, know
ing that he hated them, and feeling an if
each morsel they ate was choking her.
Then the thought came of the little
grave, and how he would go there alone
at sunset: would she dure oiler to go
with him? No, her oourage was not
equal to that. But there was something
she could do. She found that her hus
band was busy writing in his own room:
and quickly gathering her best, loveliest
autumn flowers, she went to the ceme
tery; tenderly, with tears that fell not
merely for her loss, she laid the offering
on the new grave. That little mound
was an altar, and this was an offering of
love and peace, and of hope too.
That night, when Mr. Powers came
home, his wife scarcely dared raise her
eyes to his face; though she longed to
know if her repentance were acoepted.
tie said nothing, but she fanoied that
his movements were gentler than usual,
and he actually picked up one of tho
children's toys, and put it away; he was
not used to touoh anything of theirs.
All through the week Susan watched to
do Kind things, without being obtrusive;
and whea Sunday night came, as he was
leaving the house, her bonnet and shawl
were all ready; she said, tremblingly,
'I should like to go with you, Philip,'
and, as he did not forbid, she walked on
by his side. Neither spoke; but after a
little, Susan timidly put her hand on her
husband's arm; this he permitted also,
and she felt that her offers of peace were
not despised.
Day by day Bhe sought and made little
opportunities to show good will; not re
ceiving direct encouragement, but not
repelled, she persevered, feeling con
stantly that a little ground was gained.
The great wonder was that her own
sense of wrong had vanished; she found
herself beginning to think first of his
comfort and convenience; to consider
his interests, and to feel real pain when
the children incommoded him in any
way.
Early in the autumn Harry was taken
ill, of what soon proved pneumonia. On
the second day, before Susan had real
ized that it was anything very serious,
their doctor came in, saying. 'Your hus
band came round; he thinks I had better
see the little lad.' There was a choking
sensation in the mother s throat; it came
to her, like a flash, that she had not
wanted a doctor for the baby at first;
she had not thought her sick enough.
Harry's symptoms grew more and more
alarming, and as his mother wondered
to herself if she could stay with him
alone, good Mrs. Marshall walked
in. Mr. Powers had found her out and
sent her. Susan understood why he
held back from any part in the nursing,
and felt that she shonld do the same in
his place. But that very night he said
to Mrs. Marshall, 'You must go to bed;
I will sit up with my wife; she will need
yon in the day-time.' And these words
once spoken, he took his part of watch
ing and care while the child lived. 'We
must be all dreaming,' the mother
thought, as she saw the boy carried in
her husband's arms, soothed and tended,
just as his baby had been: 'what should
I have done, if he had left me alone!'
The last distinct words that Harry
spoke were: 'Take me up, papa.' It
was the first time either child had called
him so, and a sob came from the strong
man's breast
A few weeks later Mr. Powers asked
his wife to go with him and see some
little stones that he had looked at, to
mark the children's graves. Before
they came to the marble works he said
suddenly, as though anxious to have it
off his mind, 'I have had the baby taken
up and buried by Harry, and I have
been looking at a stone for his father:
you would like to have one.' And there
was a fine, large piece of marble set
aside for Susan's judgment, and the two
little blocks were of the same fine, pure
vein. In a whisper, as they waited to
Lgive the final order, her husband said,
ITthe baby had no name, but I would
like to have 'Susan,' on the stone.' And
thus it was.
The next year a little boy was born.
and his mother named him 'Philip,' but
his father added 'Henry.' as his part in
the naming of their only son.
Whom we bless, we love.'
A Preacher's Best Sermon Spoiled.
The Richmond (Va.) Eeliaious Her
ald says: Brother Cuthbert Roach,
brother of the Eav. Elijah Roach, many
years ago moved ffW Chtlotte county,
Va., to Trigg county, Ky. He told me
when he went to the Little River associ
ation, Kentucky, he heard a leading
minister in that association, and a very
good man, preach from the following
text: Acts 11, 4U: "Have yourselves
from thiB untoward generation.' The
old gentleman pronounced the word
'untoward' as if it was untowered. and
went on to tell the audience that in the
days of the apostles the people lived in
walled cities, with towers and battle
ments for their defense; that the apostle
used the word figuratively here, to show
how defenoeless was that wicked gener
ation, without towers of strength, in
wmcn tney could enter and defend them
selves from the wrath of God. Thus it
is at the present day, said he; the sinner
is exposed and has no tower in which to
defend himself. And with many other
words did he testify and exhort, saying,
save yourselves from this untoward gen
eration. As they returned from church
Brother Roach said to the preacher:
'Did you not give a wrong interpreta
tion to the word untoward in your text
to-day by pronouncing it incorrectly ?'
He replied, 'Oh, no, Brother Roach. I
know I am correct, for I have preached
that sermon at least twenty times at dif
ferent places, and the brethren have
told me it is the best sermon they ever
heard me preach.' 'Well, well,' says
Brother Roach, 'we will see what the
dictionary says as to the meaning of the
word and its pronunciation when we get
to the house After they looked at the
dictionary the good brother, with evi
dent mortification and regret, exclaimed :
'Brother Roarti, this is too badl Yon
have spoiled one of my best sermons! I
shall never be able to preach it again.'
'To die and have everybody read vour
age on the coffin plate I cried a young
lady who had been dangerously ill for
some days, 'it's too much!' and she in
continently had a good cry, She began
to improve from that moment, 1
An Editor's Valedictory.
The editor of a New York State jour
nal on laying down his professional la
bors, embraces the occasion to give ut
terance 10 some sentiments wnion are
applicable the world over among
newspaper readers:
Having for nearly seven years been a
weekly visitor at your homes, kindly
sharing the hospitality, and, we hope,
contributing somewhat to the comfort
of the same,- it only remains to shake
hands all around, take an affectionate
and heart-breaking farewell, and come
no more, probably, forever.
Good- bye. It has been spoken over
the dead lying in their coffins. It has
been Bpoken when an ocean was to roll
in between parting hearts, but it never
is spo&en witn snoh pathos and unotion
as when a country editor, withithe mem
ory of his hard grubbings and his soant
comforts pressing upon him, hands his
valedictory over to the compositor, puts
the stuo end of his worn out pencil into
his breeches pocket, and shuffles his
rheumatio legs down stairs, to go no
more back forever.
We part upon the square.' We pro
claim general amnesty all round. We
expire forgiving our enemies, and shall
haunt those who obstinately refuse to
forgive us. We are boutid to be for
given. Farmers, good bye. Yon are the dor
sal column of the country editor's sub
scription list It could not stand erect
without your help. May the time soon
come when no mortgage, like a great
morass in the center of a pleasant mea
dow, shall obstruct ycur prosperity.
Have you ever given us wood of scrimp
pattern and highly perforated cordage ?
The act is forgiven. Have you ever
given us butter of most unhallowed
flavor ? We hope, after a little, to for
give even this.
There is a particular class of patrons
whom every departing country editor
remembers with special gratitude. It in
the substantial, thoroughly steadfast,
patrons the men who are never blown
out of favor with him by the light gusts
of ill wind. They are the men who cash
their bills with thoroughly professional
honor, and promptness. We remember
all such"" men in Groton with down
right and uncompromising gratitude.
We count their names with thankful
ness. They are like the brick walla which
hold this office above the dust that
vexes the street below.
Support the new management A
country newspaper needs friends, and
cannot afford to have enemies. Don't
get mad if something fails to suit, and
stop your patronage. Don't prattle all
over the village about the short com
ings of the editor co-operate with and
encourage him. Help him to get news,
and see that he has his share of vour
money to do business with. Don't loaf
around his ofhoe and steal his time.
Don't give him too muoh good advice.
He knows more about his business,
probably, than you do. Help, but don't
hinder. Again, good-bye.
A Miner's Good Fortune.
There is an Italian in Nevada Citv
who owes a fortune to a drink of water.
As the Transcript relates the incident,
he arrived at the Golden Gate in quest
of a fortune and found his way to the
Sierra Butte mine, where he failed to
get employment. After receiving nu
merous rebuffs he started to return to
the lower country again. He became
so weary, footsore and disheartened that
he began to wish himself in sunny Italy
once more, among the vines and olives.
He grew feverish thinking of his trials
and tribulations, and stopped at a spring
to moisten his parched throat Cattle
had been that way a short time before,
and with their feet stirred up' the lim
pid water until it became thick with
mud. The Italian scooped out the
basin and waited until the sand should
settle to the bottom, that he might
slake his thirst and bathe his brow. By
and by the water became clear as crys
tal, and he stooped to drink. An aston
ishing Bight met his eyes. The bottom
of the spring was strewn with bright
yellow particles that glittered in their
watery bed. With all his ienorance of
mining he knew he had found gold. He
rushed exoitedly to a camp where lived
some 01 his countrymen, and told the
story of his discovery, but they were in
credulous, saying that some miner had
stopped at the spring to drink and lost
what was found from his purse. One of
them, however, volunteered to help
prospect the claim, although he had no
confidence in developing a permanent or
profitable one. The first day panned
out $100. Since then they have worked
it constantly and on an extensive scale.
It has paid handsomely from the first.
Last year they took out $-10,000, and
sold one-quarter interest for $20,000
more,
'It may be an eminently Droner thins
for a man carrying a cane to suddenly
give it a tiemendous flourish, but the
man who has just come up behind the
cane bearer can never be induoed to
look upon the proceeding as anything
but an outrage,
FACTS AND FANCIES.
Penitence is God's own medicine.
Town Talk, a penny London paper,
has reached 120,000 circulation.
Listening to the 'voices of nature,'
we note that green corn is a little
husky.
No, young man, Lisle-thread gloves are
not legal tender for a lost bet with a
pretty girl.
The friendships of youth are founded
on sentiment; the dissentions of age re
sult from opinion.
A Syracuse man thinks his wife is a
righteous woman because she is never
forsaken by her mother.
Garden parties are muoh in vogue.
They are held at night in the melon
patch, and consist of the gardener, a
shotgun and a cross dog.
The Albany Argus says that the same
man who finds the weather too warm for
churoh sits under the blazing canvas of
a circus without a murmur.
It's warm enough in this latitude, but
in Cuba they have to tie the thermome
ter down to the floor to keep it from
jumping up and knocking the roof off.
Affections, like spring flowers, break
through the frozen ground at last, and
the heart whioh seeks but for another
heart to make it happy, will never seek
in vain.
Half-way up the Hill. Grandpapa
'By George, 1 must stop and blow a bit
Tommy." Tommy 'All right, grand
papa. I've got a stone to put under
your heel.'
It was a Chicago lady that invented
the paper pail that grocers find so con
venient, and now a San Francisco lady
nas invented a baby carriage, the patent
of which sold for $14,000.
A negro at Dallas, Texas, believing
that God demanded the sacrifice of his
family, gave poison to bis wife and
three children, but en irreligious phy sician
interfered and saved their lives.
The weary husband, as he proceeds to
take down the clothes line, uncon
sciously trips over a croquet arch, and
from the bottom of his feet wishes he
was 'where the wicket cease from trou
bling.' The sextons of Trinity parish, New
York, including not only Trinity church
but the five chapels, are now uniformed
in black gowns. The gowns are of blaok
Eoplin, reaching below the knee, with
road collars of velvet.
There are very few feminine criminals
in India. The average prison popula
tion in .Bombay is one to l.Blo of the
total population, bnt that of the female
prisoners is only one to 23,500. This is
attributed to the subjection of women
and the absence of drink.
Prominent arrivals at summer hotels
The man with heavy tread who is oall-
ed at 0 a. m. The adhesive ny, who
comes without calling at the same hour.
The small boy who is learning to whistle
'Pinafore,' in the halls. The young lady
who thinks 'It's quite too awfully jolly,
don't you know ? Old gentleman in the
next room who snores. Young man
overhead who practices the song and
dance business at 11.30 p. m.
Prince Victor, son of the head of the
Bonppartes, is described as 'seventeen
ye&ca of age, tall, handsome, and
stvaight as a dart, with dark hair and
Jarge dark eyes, full lips, and the Na
poleonic nose, xiib lectures are regular,
and his hair trained over his forehead
and cropped, but somewhat too short to
be quite in the prevailing boyish style.
He is very high spirited and rash to the
point that gives his friends much anxie
ty on his account.'
Russia has manv and varied troubles.
It is estimated that the cattle plague will
inflict a loss of $21,000,000 upon the
empire this year, and millions of bushels
of wheat are being destroyed annually
by a small beetle, for whose destructive
ness no sufficient check has yet been
found. As an inducement to the people
to destroy the it seat, a reward was of
fered for every quart of them that were
brought in, dead or alive: but $8,000.-
000 has been expended in this way with
out effect.
A Glasgow minister was reoentlv call
ed in to see a man who was very ill.
After finishing his visit, as he was leav
ing the house, he said to the man's wife:
'My good woman, do you not go to any
churoh at all ?' 'Oh, yes, sir, we gang
to the Barony kirk.' 'Then, why in the
world did you send for me ? Why didn't
you send for Dr. Macleod ?' Na, na,
deed na; we wadna risk him. Do ye ken
it's a dangerous case of typhus I' .
Two years ago a swarm of bees settled
on one of the large columns on the front
veranda of the Presbyterian church of
Cuthbert, Ga., and entered the column
and boxing through small knot holes.
Recently several persons met and raised
the boxing sufficiently to take ont the
column, whioh was full of nice rich
honey, estimated at about 150 pounds.
The boxing cannot be removed easily,
consequently the honey in that part of
the building remains to 'waste its sweet
ness on the desert air,'