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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1887-8-25, Page 6By the Anther of "Kan gieneler'S Viensienetnini" " Beeenneezhi Ametneines" " PO4 LOVA OA, lcIAPAA1;tr " A GOLOAA Duneen" Steo CHAPTER II. Although it wen yet eaely morning, a group ef people Wan asseinbled alecett a tall papier that grew betweeu the angle of a bey -window and en ivy clad wall, On the door -step beyond, a tall, elegant woman was loaning spinet a broken pillar, enelea. vowing vamly tee keep a tern and dirty moreingiwrepper closed abouther throat, and watohing an eldeely gentleman who, attired in an extremely ragged dressinggown was persisting three bandsome mit-at-elbow lads to get a large leite out of the topmost bough, of the poplar. A young girl of about six- teen years of age, whose exquisite faee and shining yellow hair almost succeeded ire hiding the fact that her gown, was far from clean and her beautiful abundant locks were uncombed and unbrushed, sat on a broken gardeu-seat near laughing as only youth and health can at the efforts of her father and brothers. "Give the line a jerk ! There—it's coming. No; it's stuck faster than ever !" said Mr. Verschoyle, standing on his toes and making a vain attempt to catch the tail ot the kite it swum, hither and thither in tbe air, his heels desceuding from his carpet slippers as he did so and exposing the fact that his white cotton stockings sadly needed with. ing and mending. "It won't budge; it'll stay there for ever and ever just to aggravate us. I do believe it knows we are on our honour not to climb the poplar," muttered a lad about fourteen, shading a pair of beautiful blue -gray eyes from the sun with a sleeve so ragged that his arm could be seen through it in several ,plaees "P11 climb up and get it in two minutes if you'll let me—do let me, Peter !" cried •a younger boy pulling his father by the arm, and jumping up and down until the old gentleman staggered. "Von will not, Pat. Peter, don't let him," called out the lady standing on the door -step. "He'll fall and break his bank if he does." "The kite won't come down unlees some one goes up after it, replied her husband undecidedly; "and it would be such a pleasure to the lad." "Let the kite stay then, and send one of the lads in to get breakfast. I've lighted the fire as you may see," she said, holding out a pair of plump and well -shaped diedy bands for her husband's inspection. "I'll go, mum!' exclaimed the girl who had been sitting on the broken seat, jump- ing to her feet and running up the door- steps. "Have we anything besides breve:l- and-butter and coffee? Trout—game?" "There's a bit of cold roast hare some- where—I ought to have jugged it, of coarse, but"—with a sigh --"I didn't—and I think I saw a trout in Cha's basket," replied the Indy, twisting up a long strand of leak that had oncebeen golden and was now of a sick- ly orange color. "Yes," said the tallest of thelads, a sunny. haired, classical -faced young fellow of about seventeen; "I put it under the table in the parlour. Do fry it, Lil; I'm awfully hungry." " Why, here's our lady I" announced the girl, catching sight of Hyacinth, her brother and cousin on either side of her, walking slowly towards the house. "I dare say they picked up Glynn some- where and he'll stay to breakfast. Be never minds what he eats when he has our lady to look at," said Charlie. 'Well, she is worth looking at !" cried the girl, with sisterly pride. `She is like a tall white lily compared to us; we are all boors and pug uglies beside her. The hand- some Verschoyles indeed V' Withthisepeech the girl entered the house, and, after avoid- ing some gaps in the broken oak flooring of the hall with a dexterity acquired by long practice, suddenly disappeared down some steps. Mr. Verschoyle—old Peter as he was somewhat contemptuously called by his neighbors—as soon as he saw the three fig- ures approaching him, handed over the kite - string to the two elder boys, and with the younger still clinging to his arm, went to tneet the new -comers, dragging his feet along the grass as he walked, to prevent his ragged. slippers from dropping off. There was a rapid exchange of glances be- tween him and the curate as he drew near, that of the father seeming to ask, "Is all right?" and that of the son appearing to answer, "All is right;" and then the old gentleman drew a bright -red envelope from his pocket and handed it to his nephew v, ith a flourish, saying— "Good morning, Glynn; that's for you. Cha went to your lodgings to ask you to go fishing, but founti you -were out, early as it was. This was on your table so he pocket- ed it, thinking you would be here, hunting him up, by the time he got back. I hope it is not bed news; poople generally send a telegram only when they have something very awful to tell." The youngman took the envelope, paused a moment, and then opened it. "It's from Ireland," he saidwithout look- ing up. Then, as he went on reading, his bronzed face turned pale. "My uncle has had an unexpected &eine for the worse; he is sinking and extremely anxious to Ewe me." • He crushed the telegram in his hand thought for a moment while his hearers stood silently about him, and then continu- ed— "I must go at one. If I catch the next train to Liverpool, I shall be in Holyhead by five and in Dublin by ten; and he turn- ed his head so as to look at, his wife. She was standing close behind him and did not move or speak a word, but her pale calm nice became as radiantly beautiful as her ()anger sister's; the ciear witnees of her cheeks chauged to vivid ecarlet, the balf seornful, half. demure lips opened slight- ly and trembled with emotion, acid her eyes shone brightly. But the outward signs of what ever emo- tion it was that had etirrecl her remained on her face only long enough to give her husbencl a puzzling glimpee of the real character of the woman hotted married; the next blatant the scarlet faded from her cheeks and the fire from her eyes. She answered hie passionate look evilh a glanee of Warning, seying— " Your uncle ? OH, you retistgo, of course" "Of emirse," echoed Mr. Verechoyle. "Von eke the heir ttove—a elates child. Well, well I" " It in not my fault, dr," Bala Glynn earnestly; (4 that pieee ot injustice ivaa done before I was born-," "Oh, I'm ntit blaming you, my �y;hand, after all, I would not change wife and child, ten for the wealth he lied atid schemed to get Ot what rise le it to bine now, dying With strangers and servIdtte &bout him? I hope ,Glynn yore won't prosecute MO for downing that that row of mike and liviegoi them, aa he thenetemed to do—the usurping old skin -flint 1" Huide, father— you ought not to talk so now !" said Hyacineh gravely. " Oh, Pm not a womaue-4 cian't pretend to be sorry whoa I'm not 1 I've been treated infamouely—ray younger brother put in my place—this wretched, handful of property left me, which I can't ring a hundred a year out of, and have to pay a heavy rent for and keep in repair, and not toach the tretie; and all— all" —becoming extremely red in the face and giving e fantastic litele wisk to the raggen skirt of his dreseneg-hown— " because I fell in love and inerried the very identical girl he wanted ! Well, as I said before, I have wife and children, and he has money—Verschoyle and, Shaugannon —and of what use are they to him now ?" I "What are you talking about so earnest- ly? What is the news, Glynn ? May I know? called out the lady who was leaning against the door -post. "My uncle is very ill—had a relapse'I must start for Ireland at once. I want to be in Dublin by ten to -night," answered the young man. Mrs. Versohoyle came down the steps and sauntered tovrards him. Indeed. ! Poor Mark 1" she said. "Well I don't think he wee very happy, after all. But you mustn't go without your breakfast you know; I'll hurry Lil ;" and she folded her arms upon her broad bosom, sighed faintly, and gazed at the ifair Beene before her—the woods, the meadow, the fields or green wheat, and, beyond, the shining blue of the river—in placid contentment. 1 Mrs. Verschoyle had never been guilty of hurrying herself or those about her, and never tinould be ; and in this, far raore than in their straitened means, lay the secret of the &sorrier and disoomfort that reigned in her domaiu. Glynn, disturbed though he was by the necessity for his immediate departure, could not help smiling as he declined her offer. "No, dear aunt," he said—" I must be off this instant; but not for long—no matter how it goes, not for long" —turning his eyes upon his bride. " Good-bye ! Good-bye, uncle Peter -1 shall telegraph as soon as I arrive at Verschoyle," " Who telegraphed to you? I was under the impression that yoa would be cut off with a shilling, Glynn, if you were known to live in the same parish as your disinherited cousins !" said Hyacinth. "Garret Croft ; he knows I am here. We are very old friends—school-fellows, you see. Good-bye, everyone! Good-bye Cha and Pat ! Where's Lil? Oh !"—as the 1>eauti ful young creature appeared at the door. "Come and, give me a kiea—I'm going away." "Going away! Now—at once? Oh, where ?" exclamed the girl, tossing her golden hair back from her forehead and running down the steps. "To Ireland—to Verschoyle. My uncle is very ill ; I must go at once " he replied, stroking her sunny bead, andlooking with brotherly admiration into her large blue brown -lashed eyes, so full of innocence, purity, and gentleness. "Oh, I'm so sorry 1" she said looking up at him. "And I'm sorry for our uncle too, poor fellow I" "1 dont see why you should be,' mutter- ed her father; he has treated me brutally all his life. Out of his fifteen thousand a year he has never offered me a ten -pound note—me with a large family to bring up and educate ! Why, when Bob was at St Bees—" "Indeed I must go 1" interrupted Glynn, as the old gentlemen began to raise his voice and whisk his dressing -gown from side to side. "Good-bye, aunt Mary; Good-bye Bob !" "Nevertheless lam sorry for uncle Mark," confessed Lily, in her gentle way. "It must be so dreadful to lie on a bed of sick- ness, perhaps of death, and know that there are things you ought to have done—and have not." Her voice faltered, and she stopped in some confusion, as if afraid that her very pity would condemn this man whom she and her brothers and sister had been brought up to regard as her father's most deadly enemy—a monster of wicked- ness and. successful villainy. "What a good little thing you are, Lil 1" exclaimed Glynn, shaking hands with every one. Then, turning to Hyacinth—"Will you come as far as the stile with me, and let your breakfast wait, or am I unreason- able ?"—and ,he looked what he dared not utter. "Yes," said the girl, with her slow sweet smile—"and to the station." "Heaven bless you, Glynn; I don't envy you the old place -1 ion't indeed," said Mr. Verschoyle, his weak mouth trembling. "Heaven bless you also, uncle Peter, and every one here, where I have been so happy. Now, Hyacinth." He turned and went away, the girl he had just married walking at his side; and in a few minutes the thick neglected woad hid them from view. CRAFTER III. Hyactuth haclgone to the pos -6 eel!). tho village, hoping for a letter, on the evening after her busband's departure. A brief tel- egram informed her of her uncle's death; and, panting for more definite news, she • felt her heart leap as a bulky envelope was given to her. But she would not read it until she was alone—alone with her great good fortune I Up to her father's little wood she went with headlong speed. The wood was a gloomy solitude, although the leaves were yet reddened by the glowing sun sinking down in the west. She went in among the trees, and, seating heinelf at the foot of a, young oak, took her letter from her pocket and tore it open. e It contained an inclosure, directed in a handwriting very much like her father's and addressed to "My Nephew and Heir," which was dated a few days back. She laid it upon the grass be- side her, paused a moment, and opened the note accompanying it—written she dould see by boy basband and dated the previous evening. ilMy darling and. beloved Wife -1 am fending you this letter of my uncle'at onee—first bectitiee 1 have the most perfect feith and confidenee in you ; and, secondly, because I would have you know 6,t once that as soon as I read it I thanked Heaven With all my heart that it came to late too part Ma You are Mitre hove—mine. I have you and own you foe bettee for worse—and that is all the World to me. Better wounl be Vereohoyle and Shangantion, plus fifteen thou. sand a year; but worse le net so bad after ' all. 1 have --as you know—a very smell property* whinhi when realmed,wJl gwn na SOnle three thnneand runds 0 begin We on ' (lnite enough with. yOuth and liealth to hack tjnAuStralia Or Canada, And, wealth :4 04 aet,o Y%441; SiTe4 ;r eafg talln° /Aire that Yen de trot regret the Weelth yen have lost for mine. We aee yonng Nye each other. I would, 0 I had ltnown of it, have forfeited with my eyes open what I forfeited blindly, 80 eign myeelf as I do uow, ;itrour husband, "Geernee NieVerne," Her pale fene had elowly limonite deadly white and rigid as she read, ber eyes dark, ening and the pupils dilating; but she laitl the ietter down Trite steadily, drew one loug deep breath,'Meng leer hat eff her head as if eee weight oppressed her, and toolthe other /otter from where she had, placed it, The; settling herself a little deeper among the ivy and fera-lea,veti about the foot cif the tree, she read page after page without a sign of emotiou. Bitt when she had finished she dropped the menuseript frotn a hand grown euddeuly nerveless, and. moaned as she rocked hereelf ta aud fro ; then she fell on one side, and lay white and still and almost beeethlese, enduring an agcmy of heart and brain that she ware to remember ever afterwards. The letter that had so crushed her—that had almost driven the life from her slender frame —ran as follows— "My Nephew and my Heir—As I lie here with Death threatening me and yet stand- ing at a distance, and with the thought ever before me that when he does strike it will be but one blow, and that you may not be near—not have come in time to hear certain explanations respecting what you may well think a cruel and capricious disposalace of property—I have determined to place my reasons on paper, so that if what I fear happens, you shall know why I left my es- tate and wealth as I have. 'Such has been my resolu Hon for some time past; and nave been dallying with it, putting off the task from day to day; as I believe sick people often do. But to -night I realize inore vividly than ever, as I sit by my chamber window and look down upon the dark and rushing waters of the Nore, that this body, now tended and cared for, will soon be a piece of lifeless clay, and the lin- mortal part of me is urging the feeble hand, the flagging brain, to say to you on paper what I believe my soul would come back to earth and say, if f did not explain to you fully and clearly. I am only fulfiling an meth that I swore at my dying father's bed- side. as well as carrying out the °edict]. of the will that made me Verschoyle of Vers- choyle and disinherited myelder brother. "You never saw your grandfather, Glynn, but 1 dare say you have often heard—both from your mother and from me—of his tyrannical and overbearing demeanour to- wards all who were dependent on him, al- most the least considered of whom were his own three children. Judge then by what you have alreadyheard of his temper and disposition, of the state of abject slave- ry in which we lived, Judge, I say, of how Peter was treated when he latly refused to pay his aclresses to the lady chosen for him by our father, declaring that his choice was already made. This choice—a beauti- ful young slattern of ancient but decayed house—he refusedto relinquish. Be ultimate ly married with the full knowledge that he was selling his birthright for love of a pretty woman. Our father then solemnly disinherited him, gave him an old manor - house and some few fields that belfinged to us in Cheshire, and put me in his place. The little estate was just enough for your uncle Peter to live on, and carried with it the gift of a small living. Oar father, before executing a, will so phanging the position of his sons, required from rne an oath that in life I would not assist my brother or restore Verschoyle and Shangannon to his sons, or help or aid them in any way. This oath I took willingly and gladly—not for the sake of the wealth and position that I was offered, but froin a motive that it does not concern you to know—from a 'nobly° that I have atoned for, if ever sin was atoned for, by suffering. I satisfied my conscience then with plausible sophisms; but now, with eternity whispering to my soul and claiming it from my decaying body, with a ' long life behind instead of before me, I p know that my sophism willavail me nothing 1 when I stand to be judged for revengefully working on the passions of a violent, over- bearing, headstrong old man. "The memory of this"sinlies h heart now; it brings meback every thought, every word of that time ; they come to me in the wind among the trees, in the cawing of the rooks, in the murmur of the river below my window. "Glynn, the will I have left, which with- out this letter might seem strange and capricious, will, read by the light of what you know, be recognized as only an effort— an imperfect one at best—to keep the oath I swore, and in some measure make restitu- tion. "I know—badeecl I took the pains to find out—where you have been for the last three months. It must have been some evil spirib that sent you into Cheshire, that prompted you to find the banished family. Glynn, you havefound them—you have been staying in a little sequestered village for three months now, with nothing attractiveabout it except your cousins, or ratheryour cousin Hyacinth a fair woman, I suppose, as all our race are. Now I know—by instinct, if you will—that this same evil influence will urge you to wedher. If you do, ray will, by whieh I leave you Verschoyle and Shaeigannon; will disinherit you, and take from her the gift that I have been accumulating for her— as I cannot benefit the boys—for many years • Therefore resist the temptation, if ,it indeed has entered into your heart, and judge my will, leaving you all my landed property and my brother's eldest daughter ninety thousand pounds, by this letter, arid tell yourself th t it is effort t k d for a great wrong. "And, Glenn, one last word—not that I love you—I can truly say that I have loved no human being for thirty years—but that I would nut have the heart of a man who has always respected me, who ha,s never fawned upon rae with mock affection, ao wrung by remorse, eo withered by a sense of what might have been, as mine is now. "Yon are a young man and so far as knowtan honorable, moral, . good young man pest and upright in all your waye. Be so all your life—be a good men to the end; do not stiffer the body to soil the soul—set will, virtue, and pride tie guard it And if you are tempted—and few of us escape ; temptation—remember the man who writes ; this to whom wealth has given no pleasure ' to yhunit love—the simple home -joys, affec- tionate wife and smiling child—is but a name, v ho now, because he mice suceumbed to the temptatiot of worldly, advantage and revenge, can imareely lift up his voice in prayet to that God before whom he must I answer for the deeds done in the body, intlettet Vintecuonne." Hytteihth did not read the last page sib merely glanced at it, Turning &gam to the paragraph concerning the axed disposal of the Money, the altopped the letter and Wink doven ire an agony of bitter regret, self, ,rePreacli and: rernoren, whlch”-denied lts ntra1gut1e otwo—almogib a0ppe4 the bfintt!g of her Wart. The trees -their trua sieleek, theinleeneetraneparentagainst a red stermy sink*, seerrmi to swim in blood, before net eyes, something loud and torturing rape/ in her ears, and, although she did not lose 00004310UalleaS) she lay as ono dead. A hare came out from Wong 80109 dry ferns,,and set up and looked at her with dewy 4.1DOCeiit eYett; a bird, eweeping low through the weed, oire soddenly with re startled cry at the sight of her;. a squirrel sprang upon a bough of the dead beet, above her, and peered at her between the ivy - leaves, /3ut none of these wild creatures of the ^wood ventured near; they feared the Went znatienless being, altheugh she lay as quiet as the ground beneath her, (To BE 00$73/i1JED) The Extinct Anstralian Lion, It has long been a disputed 'mint, and indeed a vexed question, as to whether the so-called great Australian lion ever existed, Scene interesting diecoveriee, however, have been recently made in, the Wellington Caves, New South Wales, of undoubted remains of this animel. The bones are at present de- posited in the Mince Department Museum, Sydney, and consist of several very com. plete jawbones, containing the teeth in an excellent state of preservation. Prior to being publicly exhibited they were sub. mitted to the inspection of Prof, Sir Richard Owen, of the British Museum, and his opinion is that the animal was a marsupial or pouch -bearing lion, fully equal in size to the existing Afneau species. Discoveries of leonine remains have at various times been made in New South Wales, and also in Victoria, and the speoimens in question are well preserved. They have been ex- cavated from post-pleiceiene deposits, and in connection with them were the remains of what are known as the Tasmanian tiger and the Tasmanian devil. An equally in- teresting fact is that prof. Owen when re- ferring many years ago to the herbivorous characteristics of the "Australian Diproto- doe expressed his conviction that some large carnivorous animal must have been coexistent with him, to keep the race cheek, and that probably lious then inhab- ited Austraeia, a hypotheais which has been fully verified. These facts are interesting, a,s helping to establish the fact of the ex- istence in former ages ot the lion in Aus- tralia. What a Boy Costs. "My father never did, anything for me, recently remarked a, young man who a"few weeks ago finished his school life and is now seeking a good business opening Judging by the words and the complaining tone in which they were uttered, the member of the firm who heard them is prone to believe that the young man's idea of "doing something," is an outright gift of a thousand dollars in a lump, or the purchase of a partnership in an established concern. The writer while the complaiuing remark was still ringing in his ears, had the curiosity to make a con- servative compilation of what it costs to raise an ordinary boy for the first twenty years of his life, and here it is :— Ono per year for the first 5 years g 500 150 " " second 5 " 750 200 " " third 5 " 1,000 500 " " next 3 " 900 500 " " next 2 " 1,000 $4,150 Yea: this is a moderate estimate of the financial balance against the boy who com- plains that his father has never done any- thing for hint An Estate of Over a Million Acres. Thursday last, at the Mart, Tokenhouse Yard, Messrs. Wells and Read offered to public a tion the freehold domains of an enormosfs estate situated in the Province of Vefsen, in Norway, and about 200 miles north of Trondhjera, lying between 650 and 66 0 north latitude; no portion of it reached beyond the temperate zone. It was describ- ed as occupying a fiftieth part of the whole country, the area being 1,200,000 acres, or 2,000 square miles, and the number of farms was 168. It was also stated to be rich in timber and mineral productions, which were capable of very great development. In one respect, as the auctioneer said, it was unique, being the largest estate that was ever offered for sale, and presented an exception to the custom of the country, where the farmer is generally the owner of his occupation. With- in its boundaries was situated the Lake Ros Vaud, one of the largest inland waters of Norway. Tho sporting rights, over 200 miles of river and lake were reserved, affording some of the finest wild shooting and fishing in the North of Europe. The estate was easy of access, so much as as the Highlands formerly were, and the climate in the sum- mer months was exceedingly pleasant. There was no serious offer for it, for the small sum of £6,500 that was named, cr about Id. per acre, could scarcely be so considered, and the property was withdrawn. Kerosene Lamps. A thorough stady of the subject of pe- troleum laraps has been lately made by Sir Frederic Abel. He suggests that the rese- voir of a kerosene lamp should always be of metal, the more strongly to resist any ex- plosive tendency of the oil or vapor within and that there should be no other opening than that for the wick, unless so small a one that flame could hardly enter it. He further says the wick should be soft and dry whon put in, and should compbetely fill its space but without forcing; that it should be scarcely longer than to touch the bottom of the reservoir and there the oil should never be suffered tobeless than two- thirds of the depth, while the lamp should always be filledpartly before lighting. The wick should never be turned down suddenly, and the lamer should not be suddenly cooled or allowed to meet a draught ; and when the flame is extinguished it should first be lowered as far as possible, and teen a sharp strong puff should be blown across, but uot down, the chimney. A Prince Who Can Make Jokes. Prince George of Wines keeps up hie re- ! putation as a merry jester. While relating ' his visit to the 'Wild West, at the Marlbo- rough House dinner -table, he insisted on ealling Col. Codyn nags Bronchitises, and when his father, who doesnstlike hia sone to make blunders, clinched the point, as he fondly thought, by saying that Bronchi) wes the right designation for tbe little horses at the Wild West, Prime George replied, Well, bronchitis means a little hoarse don't it 1" We must add that this episode is net one that cerne through our usual soutees of Royal Tudor/nation, but as it was sent in by a, person who professes to bo .fifth bousit three times removed to the par - ton who washes up the plates tie Marlborough Itorise, we present it for what it is worth, The leading flower of fashion in London at present is the daffodil, • TOTINCt 'FQ14 , t . OQA4B)) BX A BLAM sroolt, 1 imp vneannr.i.0,844,4440,nvoit a litaufters uo• tlittreclou'szttiw,t0Pilt r,'kehla,ttt tal i oreftiltwl:gf thrilling episode in his life, which °courted, while be was stopping in Van Wert, oho. : "It was on a heautiful,moonlight evening in ,Trine, an. the atmosphere was just about attihsVC: dull;trlYsoeuanstt it:hub: 1:e4 ell bf 14e sI41 tr weana:syVQ !NV*xg‘t , during lY0 u sahroostielatprot,41bautiomrytitie night, n dinsistedaerayth:vtayI al* in blW eorePanY of some relatives wile the eh' Wilehire road, At a late hour 1 worild be very loneemue. It was suggested that some ghoot might appear to no at the ceinetery or some individual might rob me. Thie was a beautiful country burying ground and was situated about midway on lloy route. I was quite unused at their artful method of pereuaseon and laughed, vocifer- ) onsIy. It was very ricliculoue to lie in- cleed, that there should be a rattling f dry bones or the apparition of a spirit in Mod- ern cemetery. The people of today had ;nada too much telvancernent, as I thought, for such idle fancies as that, "Thus I proceeded on my way with no thought of danger—indifferent to the warn- ingi that had just been given me. As I drew near to the cemetery, however, and began to see the tall, white thefts of marble looming up among the evergreens my im- agination was tensioned to its utrnost ca. peaty, and, I confess, I was a fit subject for terror. It seemed as if all the spook stories to which I had listened in my child- hood chased each other in quick succession through my brain and the very chirrup of the crickets or die incessant song of the whippoorwill intensified the loneliness of this little nook of earth. The long line of dark trees that threw such strange shadows across the fields mad the mellow light that fell from the moon upon every grotesque stump or stately monument only served to intensify my loneliness. " I arrived at last at the corner of the cemetery, and oh, horrors right in the very centre of this field of dead men's bones, and. from the shadow of a broad new tombetone, I ealv a tall, black creature rise and stand erect. The apparition seemed in the dis- tance like a huge cadaver clothed in a robe of sackcloth. The dreary eyes were sunken deep in their sockets, and the few irregular snags that served for teeth were pressed like fangs against the thin and wrinkled lips. This monster gazed a moment in all direc- tions, then, with a steady, measured. move- ment, it made directly for nae. I stopped and gazed upon the creature, and started back bewildered, but at once regaining rely senses I concluded to proceed, and, if pos- sible, to put on the appearance of uncon- cern. As I proceeded the spectre proceed- ed also, and, as certainly as I live in the present moment it seemed as if we would both meet at the same point in the road. After going a short distance I slackened my pace in order to let the mysterious sorae- thing have all the room in front of me it might desire, and in a few moments I con- gratulated myself on being about twenty feet in the rear. "Contrary to my anticipatinggi there was no conversation opened between xis, but in a strange, ghost-like manner, the long withered form moved ahead of me until it reached it little old, abanclored burying ground at the right of the road. This spot was far more desolate than the new ceme- tery, for it had become entirely neglected, and at the late hour of the night appeared as an interminable thicket, so completely were the weeds, bushes, briars and trees tangled and matted together. Into this un- canny.place my ghostly terxifier passed and disappeared. I leave never underptood the nature of this apparition up to til give msenyt time, and I am perfectly willin iv name to any one who would be lined to doubt the occurrence. 'AO Btmi fp, gird, Noo there Was a happy little mockin, hird, that need be eit iri WI nine tree sack Ong. all night ,when tile moon shone down the river and made a peth of silver that Seemed to reach quite to the sky. Its clear, happy smug floated through the air to a little room in the lamp -lit city, Where a crippled child lay awake nearly all night with 13aiu awe fever, But when she heard the bird's song she forgot her pain and seemed to see the fresh green grass, the river ripplineover He stony bed, and ootad, almost feel the cool breeee touch her hot oheelt as it blew over the Sold of wild flowers or whispered through the pine trees; so she lay and dreamed with wide-open eyes until the moon set and the bird went to sleep4n the pine tree. When the dark nights came the little bird was puzzled and for a little while could not sing, but when it looked up in the sky and saw a beentifel bright Aar shining there, it began again ; first very. softly, thou louder till a child moaning and tossing on a bed of pain heard it, anti fell peacefully asleep. • Eery night the bird sang, to the star, and at last began to love it, and though it told its love in song, the star made no answer, but shone clear and beantiful all night. Bye -and -bye the bird loved the star so it grew sad, and saug no more, but just sat and looked at the ster, loving it more and more every day. The crippled child missed ita song, end the pain grew herder to bear, while the fever slowly burned her life away, and her cry was: Where is my bird? Tell my bird to sing I" "Why don't you sing?" asked the dowers; "the brook sings alone now," 8,nd the bird that had forgotten its song cried out : "1 love you, oh Star, but you are so far away I cannot reach you; come to me." But to the pitiful pleading the star was silent, and shone down on the hot, dusty city and the little bird that loved it alike. it was too far off for the bird's love to reach it. One night he sat and gazed at the star, his little heart throbbing with love and pain, till he could stand it no longer. So he flew and flew—it was so far off, that beautiful star—would he never reach her? He kept on flying up—up—till his weary little wings lost their strength and he fell down —down --right over the little stream singing alone in the starlight. He saw the reflec- tion of the star in the water, and thought he was getting nearer to her. "1 arn coming my beautiful, cold star, coming—com—' A soft splash—a silence—and then a little dead bird, whose song was hushed for- ever, floated on the water, and the star shone calmly down. Away in the lamplit city, the child cried for the bird to sing her into forgetfulness, as the pain grew worse, and the fever burn- ed hotter in her veins. Foolish bird, why did it not love one of its kind, something nearer. The star was too far off, his song could not reach her. "Poor little fellow, how he loved her; good.bye, little bird," said the flowers sadly —and a little mocking bird who had no mate twittered: "11 you had only loved me, I was so near." Then she folded her wings over her little wounded heart and kept still. "The flowers mustn't know," ah, no. The wind whispered through the pine trees, the child moaned for the bird and the stream rippled on, bearing on its bog= the little dead bird and over all the beautiful star shone calmly. The Plan They Tried. Two such woe-begone, draggled little figures 1 They came backto the house, one behind the other, as slowly as if they were going to their great grandmother's funeral, and indeed they looked like chief mourners. The nurse had caught them playing in the brook, an amusement strictly forbidden at this time of the year, and a whipping was inevitable. The whippings didn't come very often in this family, but for direct disobedience they were as sure as fate. "Letty," said the older of the two little sisters, "I'll tell you what let's do." They had on dry clothes, and had been Elated on two stools, one on each side of the sittingroom fire place, while mamma went to get the switch. "Well, what let's do ?" asked Letty in a depressed tone. 'Why, the first lick mamma gives, let holler like we were bein' killed," whispered Sue, d then she won't whip much." This naughty plan seemed to work well. Both little girls yelled so loud that mamma was scared. "My switch must be too keen," she said, and left off. "It didn't hardly hurt me a bit," said one little girl gleefully, when mamma was out of hearing. "Me neither;" said the other. Just then they heard a rustle of news- papers in the library, and, peeping through the half -opened door, they saw papa. After that the children went abont like culprits with a rope round their necks, expecting another whipping. But mamma was try - a new plan. , "Mamma, please take this splinter out of my hand," said Letty; "it hurts me." "Oh, no I' said mamma, quietly. " ou are hollering before you are hurt," and the poor little finger festered and got sore. "Please give me a drink of water," said Sue, "I'm so thirsty." " 1 reckon not," said mamma. "Von al- ways holler before you are hurt, you know," and Sue had to go to the kitchen for water. Every petition was treated in the same way, until they could stand it no longer. " We most haven't got any mamma," . Then they took courage and made a clean breast of their misery: "Is it 'cause papa told you what we did 'bout beire whipped 1' asked Letty. "Vee," said mamma gravely, "that's the reason I treat you as it you never told the truth." "Oh mamma," they both cried, "we'd rather be whipped 1" But this is God's plan with hie big chin dren," answered mamma. "Ananias and, Sapphire were punished quick and sherp like a whipping, but mostly God leaves tiers to get their punishment by degrees. And it always comes; as fleOn as people find out that you have told a lie they quit believing anything you say, and I've lust been show- ing you how uncomfortable that is." " But mamma," dried Letty, "11 We say we are Sorry and won't do so no mere, w00% you believe us then ?" "Yes," said inamme, with her brightest " Thet's Godes way, too ; as soon as anybody is sorry arid Wants to do better, He say e He is slow to anger and elenteous in Mercy," j never knew Lefty or Stift to act another lie. A lady is a humeri being of .ferniehie gen- der who is not afraid to he called it wOrtittm HIS SUMMER VACATION. City Ma a's Zxperienee in the Country. As soon as the summer vacation was come, and the weather was torridly warm, away from the city's confusion and hum he fled, to the rest of the farm. The scent of the clover with joy he inhales, he leaps o'er the fence and he shrieks as on slivery rails he his person impales, and fractures the dome of his breeks. The sound of the sup- per bell makes his heart glad, for his hun- ger is wolfish and keen, but the milk has been skimmed and the bread it is sad, and the berries are not to be seen. He sleeps in a bed that is inhabited, and the mattress is lined with old hay; so, forgetting his prayers, he grumbles and swears, and lights till the dawn of the clay. He is called to arise with the lark, and he hies to bathe in the trough at the well; when 12 hired men are through with it, then the towel is his for a, spell. His ablutions are done, le goes for a run through the meadows so verdant and trim, when the bull come e along, with his baritone song, and that settles the mea- dows for him. With pleasure he sees the industrious bees, and finds them quite harm- less to be; but he finds it is warm when he happens to swarm some hornets that fere in a tree. He goes every place till he poisons his face with the leaves of thus toxicoden- dron, and he looks like a man who is under the ban, for having been out on a big bender on. He helps te make hay, but he gets in the way, and gets plowed down the back with a rake; then he goes to the brook for pond lilies to look, and bites himself twice with a snake. In sorrow he cries, with tears in his eyes, "I'm the wretchedest man among men; if my lifetcau hold on till this summer is gone, Pll never leave Toron- to again." An African Prince in a German Works. An Altana newspaper publishes the inter- esting intelligence that a son of King Bell, of Cameroon—Alfred Bell—has been ap. prenticed to a carpenter of that town along with three other duelcy Africans. The youth is sixteen years old eend is said to be very intelligent, reading and writing fairly well and speaking English and German. The Altona carpenter had sent out an artisan to Cameroon to superintend the ereetiOn of the Government building and prison which he had built in wood for the colony,and thus it was that King tell got the desire to Mad a carpenter out of hie son, who is bound for four years. It is noticeable how many foreigners go to Germany nowadaye for the purpose of learning trades, Japanese espe, orally are engaged in large numbers in Berlin and they have the character of beitig ex- oeedingly intelligent, industrious and quick of comprehension. 1 t‘ Dinney," said an Irish 'matron to her husband,, "yes do be worrtilein' too hartud ter yer health. Ve'd better stop it or ye'll be down in bed,. so yo wilt'. -" Well, be , gob; if Oi 46 it won't be sneh a throuble,,,, replied Bennis, "for sthand in great need 6' the rest,"