P tmfJfiTfT'rfi ' ' ' ' " ' ' " - " > - • " '
j ll V , . ;
. .
E nHi * * -
H AN OLD LETTER.
H Only a letter ,
H Yellow ami dint with nc ,
Hl , W trully { 'uzlnjr.
H I bold tbu torn old papc.
H Onlj a tolccn
"
H From one who loved rnc well ;
B The faded writing
H Scarce the fond words telL
B Only a letter.
B Yet dearer fur to me
H Than all elec beside ,
Hj B Minding me , love , of ttica
HH | Only a letter ,
B PJ Yellow and old and torn ;
H at On my heart it lies
H ; H Now I am old and worn.
H | sj Only a message ,
flj flj Tender and true and sweet
V B The writer long dead
HJ S Never a aln wc meet.
H w Only a letter ,
K m Hid In an oaken chest ;
B X Close , close to my heart ,
H m "When I am laid at ' rest.
HJ a C7i < imler& ' Journal.
1 * " " "
It Baby's Golden Curl.
K IE
H John Cbailoner was feeling utterly
B K miserable. He was a brown-bearded ,
H sturdy-looking man , with every out-
H X ward appearance of health and pros-
B m perity ; but as he sat there in the corner
B V of the railway carriage , with his hands
H M thrust deeply into the capacious pock1
B M pts ol his fur-lined coat , and with his
B X traveling cap pulled low over his eyes ,
II I doubt if there were so wretched a
B M mm m tuu whole of that London exs
B II prcs .
M There was a terrible storm on , for it
B m was tMe Christmas eve of ' 78 , and des-
B * lined to be a memorable night in the an-
B & Dais of the weather almanacs ; but as
B 1 lio sat there watching the snow being
B 1 hurled in compact masses against the
B wmdows , John Challoner felt a certain
B j § grim satisfaction that nature should be
B m in accordance with his own tempestu-
B M oiii thoughts. He was not very sure of
B m their present whereabouts , but as far
| | as he could judge , the train was already
m fcomc hours late , and was progressing
X at : i VcrJov \ rate indeed. Well , what
BB did it matter , after all , whether or nod
BJP * l > e was home in time for the Christmas
H Day ? The big dreary house , that a
BJ girl's young presence had seemed to
Hjj Hood with sunshine , would appear even
Hj biger and drearier , now that that girl
BwJ had l * ft it forever. There would be
IB Sarah , of course , the silent elder sister ,
I m "who had watched over John's mother-
M less boyhood , and who loved him with
9 so jealous a devotion ; but then Sarah
Bj wasn't Madge , and it was Madge he
* | wanted. Not that he would have ads
M mitted as much for a moment ; that -
M would have been too rediculous ; when
H it was only hist night , after a somewhat
K prolonged vis.t to the Scottish metro- :
M polis that he had been talking to a
ag lawyer in Edinburgh , and giving him
m instructions about the drawing up of
w the paper which was to separate the
jSJ husband ami wife. John was to go his
SB "way , and Madge was to go hers. And c
g thi > was the end of those four years of
married life which had opened so brightl
1 ly and well ; th s was the end of that
i iirst tiny quarrel , when Challoner had s
M forgotten the promise to take his g.rl-
§ B wite to an opi-eial dance , and had spent
S the evening amongst the books which u
jjj had been the sole companions of his
-If hitherto solitary life. Whose actual lr
§ 1 fault wis it that things had come to this
w pass ? In what had the trouble consist- "
j H ed , that there liad been such jarring in D
1 M the home that they had ultimately de- * '
I IE cidid to live theirlives apart ? h'
[ W The train went slower and slower ;
m the freshU * fallen snow lay in high banks }
M on either side ; but John Challoner's - *
.M thoughts never wandered trom the old
* sore subject. One by one he recalled
f the various landmarks of those four j1
f years. How bitterly Sarah had resenth
j | d the advent of the young bride ; how "
1 impossible he had found it to live a ai
1 society l.fe with Madge and yet get 1 }
1 through the necessary literary work
which meant his livelihood ; how eager-
| ly his younir cousin , Charles Thome , w
had volunteered to take her to dances Jr
I and so on in his stead. Then he re- e
f- I called their little daughter's birth , and m
the glad hopes that had sprung into 3'
{ life as he took his tiny Christmas rose ly
in his stalwart arms and tried to trace
the mother-look in the baby features.
But the baby had only lived to see her w
second birthdav , and with her death w
"tlie rift wiuthin the lute" had slowly w
Tv.dcned , and the faint music which
stiil had echoed in their daily lives was g
turned into jangling discord. "Madge til
was fonder ofoung Thorne than of to
Jolm himself. " Sarah had averted ; and ry
the poor fellow had been forced to fo
acijuiesee. when barely hail the dead
chdd been laid to rest , before her mothHi
er liad hiken up the old whirl of dissipaly
tiott. with Charl.e Thorne in constant gi
attendance. oi
There was nothing. I think , which w
John Challoner felt so bitterly as this oi
same apparent hard heartedness. Ic hi
is not often that men care for very a
I \ cung children , but this curly-headed tli
little daughter had been simply worbl
sluped by her fatiier. The fact that he li
was a poet both by nature and profeshi
sioa may perhaps have helped him in ai
his love and comprehension of what hi
Tiuodore Watts so beautifully calls d
* * the music of human speech the be
loved babble of children ; " but certain tr
it as that he had 5et high hopes upon pi
this little one. The highest of all was tl
that she would b.nd his beautiful wife m
closer to him ; but the baby had died n
and was under the snow , and the dead fc
hopes were buried in the scrap of lawhi
ver's parchment which another week w
would see signed and attested. ai
How bitterly cold it was. to be sure ! ni
the hot water cans had been useless to
long ago ; and the windows were coata
ed with frozen snow ; but yet he never tc
i regretted having taken the journey.
\ Affcett they were English folk , Madge's tl
home and belongings were in Edino'
bur" , and Challoner had preferred he
leavnj : the quest on of settlements n
• with those who would be careful for e :
Madge's interests , rather in less friendtl
lv hncilsOf course there had been ol
no actual obligation to go north in
" •
' 1 V UN I Y
. .
M 'jll I 'I ' I I M w iwi- I I i i ii
] person , but Challoner , jealous for hii
wife's reputation , had dreaded th (
mattor being discussed by unnecessarj
tongues. Tlie separation was purely s
personal affair , and was boing settled
by the family solicitors without anj
further appeal to the law. *
There were only two other passen
gers in his compartment , and to arouse
himself from his gloomy abstraction ,
ho began listening to their conversa
tion. They were both young , rathei
sporting-looking ' men , and one had
evidently been describing to the othei
the personal appearance of some un
known ' lady.
"She is a thorough little beauty , 1
tell ! you. and I flatter myself I'm a gooc
judge. " was his enthusiastic conclusioa
"Shouldn't mind traveling up to towr
with her myself. "
"Why don't you , then ? " came ir
answer.
The iirst speaker laughed. "I daren' t
my boy. She has a gorgon of a maic
with her , who is even more freezing
than 1 this beastly weather. Tell yoi
what ; , though ; at the next station I'l
try to get her some tea or something
and that'll pave the way to a chat. "
Challoner frowned involuntarily
Such talk was peculiarly distasteful tc
J him ; and for the lirst time it strucl
him that for the future his Madgt
would be open to an3' and every chance
insult j which men such as his fellow-
travelers might choose to put upon
her. 1 The very thought of it made hi *
blood * boil. Madge was so prett } ' , sc
young ] , and in many waj-s so thought
less , that even more than another , she
might be made to feel her unprotectcc
state ; and whatever might happen he
himself 1 would be powerless to shield
her. He became so absorbed in this
new thought that he hardly noliccc
when the creeping " train came to j
'
stand-still ; and it was only when
sudden blast of cold air made it appar-
cut that his companions had thrown
down the window and were leaning
out that he roused himself to inquire
the cause. He was putting his heau
out of the window to look about him ,
when the guard came along the foot-
board , feeling his way laboriously it
the blinding snow , and shouting at the
toj ) of his voice that all passengers
were to descend.
%
Instantlv ail was in confusion.Cries
of Why ? " "What's the matter ? ' "
"Are we in danger ? " and "Guard' '
guard ! " resounded on all sides. Im-
mediately ) ' the younger of his compan-
ions ! unfastened the door and ojacula-
ting , " 2Jow for that pretty girl ! " jump.
ed out ; while the other more slowly col-
lected ] ( his wraps , and observed that
he "supposed the snow hail been toe
much for the engine. "
This , indeed , proved to be the case :
and after some pardonable grumbling , }
Challoner got out of the train and fol-
lowed ( in the track of those who were
picking their way towards a roadside
station at some fort } ' yards distance.
As he did so , he caught the rough , per
suasive , tones of his late companion :
"Really , now. you had better take my
arm ; we shall get on lirst-rate. "
The door of a lirst-class carriage was
swinging open , and standing before it
so directly in his path that Challoner
almost tell over him was the young
gentleman who had vaunted his appre "
ciation of feminine beauty. Naturally ,
Challoner's glance followed his ; and
although he could not distinguish the
lady's , he was becoming dimly con-
scions < that the brown velvet coat was
strangely familiar , when she spoke a
few words in a tone which sent the
blood coursing through his veins :
"Thank you , I will not trouble you :
my maid is with me. "
Madge's voice ! Challoner dropped
his : rugs , scrambled up on to the foot-
board < , and held out his arms. "Come
down < at once ! " he cried , authoritative-
ly. "It may not be safe for you to stay
there. Jump , and I'll catch you. May
trouble you to get out of the way , sir ? (
This lady is my wife. " (
Madge flung herself instantly into
the outstretched arms , and burst into
hysterical sobbing. "O John , John ! I
have ; been so cold and so frightened.
And the light in our carriage went out ,
and I thought something might hap-
pen < to the train and hurt you. " I
"Why. Madge ! "
Never before had Challoner seen his
wife so thoroughly unhinged and
frightened , and his heart gave a great
leap as he echoed her last words : "Hurt
me ? Of course not. But how came ,
you { to be traveling to town ? Why
didn't you stay in Edinburgh ? Do you
think you have taken cold ? " He asked
the questions all in one breath ; but
when she began explaining that she
wanted to spend Christmas in town a
with her aunt , he hastily cut her short.
"There is no time to talk ; we must t
get < on to the station. Parker ( this to
the maid ) , "follow me closely , and try
walk in my footsteps. I shall car- *
your mistress ; the snow is too deep
for her. "
j
While speaking he took the tremb-
ling g rl in his arms , and began slow-
plodding along in the direction the |
guard had indicated. Of course it was
only a chance meeting , and Challoner
was too free from superstition to look |
it as anything else ; but even while |
was reminding himself that it was j.
terrible pity they had met that ti
their tempers were wholly incompati- |
ble and that it would be misery to ' 0
live again through the last few months ,
was still holding the girl very close [
and tenderly , and wishing in spite of v
himself that the distance could be |
doubled.
When they reached the little conn- v
try station , they found it to be better ,
provided with shelter than is usually
the case ; and though there was only one j
man in charge , he was a sensible , good- t
natured : individual , who did his best
e
for the poor travelers thus thrown upon u
his hands. Either the sight of Mage's
white child-like face , or the pleas- g
ant assurance that the gentleman would
v
make it worth his while , induced him j
open adittlo box of a room which j
appeared : to be his special property and ,
motion to Challoner to enter. j
• • Your lady will be more comfortable
v
there , sir , than inthe big room along .
' the third-class passengers and all , " J
suggested ; and as neither husband
nor < wife could think of a sufficient J ,
excuse for preferring the company of c
their fellow-travelers. thev were j
obliged to follow the man lead. „
" 1 will not intrude upon your r
. . . . . .
J3fcri- * i&tfc-
• * - * • > • - - * > * ' v & - - '
'
ii i i h i r .ii. . . i n n imnmfiniW'i'Wr-1 if
wr.w. , ' . . : ' v. . ; . " ' " . ? - , , -rr-r- . . . " ' " " . ?
privacy , " said Cualloii.-i * > i ill. . . - soon
as the station-keep r liad left them
alone. "You and Parker will bi * quile
comfortable here , and wiu 'il soon get
warm by the lire. "
Madge watched his broad form dis
appear ' through the doorway with a
Sinking heart. "He hates to be with
me even for these few minutes. " ran
herthoiighs ; "and yet , " with a piteous
little quiver on her lips , "oh how deli
cious it was to be held in his anno. If
he had held me like thai , oftener , we
shouldn't be hating each other to-day !
If he had but kissed me in the snowi"
The dismal train of thoughts was
suddenly broken by the discovery that
one of her trinkets were missing , and
- Mrs. Challoner was instantly on her
knees. "Come and help me look for it ,
Parker , she cried. "I have lost my
locket. "
The excitement both of mistress and
maid seemed considerably more than
the occasion warranted ; but only Madge
herself and the faithful woman who
had nursed her as a.child knew of the
serious ' trouble such a loss would entail.
"Could you have dropped it outside ,
ma'am ? "
"Not possible. The chain couldn't
catch ' on anything , when I had my cloak
fastened. . No ; it must be on the floor.
Do look for it , Parker. "
And look for it they did , but without
success ! ; and when the long fruitless
search ! was over , the expression on the
girls's face was very woe-begone in-
deed. '
"The mistress has lost her gold
locket , " whispered Parker when John
Challoner ' came again to the door. "It's
j my belief , sir , that she dropped it on
the iloor of the earr age. Can't you
send some bodv after it , sir ? "
"What locket ? "
"The gold one she always wears
around her neck , " exclaimed the maid ,
regardless ] of the urgent "Parker ! Yon
are not to trouble Mr. Challoner , "
which came from behind her. "She is
]
fonder ' of it than anv thing else , sir ; it
seems a pity it should be lost. "
• • Parker ! " again broke in the pretty
girlish voice , "I desire that you do not
trouble ' Mr. Challoner. "
, The man's lips tw tched involuntary.i
It seemed to him that his young wife
was only playing a dignity when she
preferred { addressing her remarks to
him through tlie medium of a servant
"Don't be foolish , " he said peremp-
torily. ' "Of course I'll go after your
locket. ' I only came back to tell you
that I am afraid you will have to spend
several hours here. The snow has
broken * down the telegraph Wires , so
the men can't send on a message to the
next place for assistance. They must
wait until this storm is over , and then
get help from the village to dig out
the train and clear the lines. But of
course it will be the work of a good
manv hours. " "
-Thank you , " said Maelge meekly.
"What is tlie time ? ' '
"Nearly ten. " He was turning away ,
when something in his wife's voice
struck h.m , and he re-entered the room.
"You are still cold ? Wear this , " ho
said , shortly , rapidly unbuttoning his
fur-lined coat ; and in spite of her re-
monstrances , he wrapped it round her ,
and ! then went hastily out into the
j bitter night-air.
Left alone , Madge leaned back in her
corner and sat for a long time crying
softly to herself. Being thoroughly
unstrung by terror and fatigue , she
was in just the impressionable mood
wh eh made her husband's little act of
.
kindness very precious in her eyas , and
she nestled into the thick warm fur as
though ( . cheating herself into the belief
that it was John himself who was holdt
ing her. Sha remembered a t.me it
was during the happy weeks which
followed the wedding day when she
and John seemed to be all in all to
each other but when s
" ; they were finally
settled in the staid London house , over
which Miss Sarah's chilly influence
hung ) like a pall , it had all been altered
then. i John had gone back to his be
loved books , in apparent forgctfulness
of the solitary l.ttlo wife in the big
drawing-room up stairs ; and if she pro-
posed invading his precincts , it was
only to be met with Miss Sarah's re
proachful stare , and the words : "My |
brother never allows even me to elisu
lurb him. " "And then bab\'s birth , e
and baby's death ! In nervous terror "
of her , the a
own great grief poor young
mother had Hung herself into every u
kind of dissipation , for the dead child
seemed ( hardly farther from her than
the silent man who was buried in his p
books , and to face her sorrow alone T
was more than she could do. O dear ! li
the life that henceforth would be lived g
apart , might have been so happy ! o
and the tears flowed on. w
Meanwhile , Challoner had started for h
the ; railway carriage. The blinding i
snow , the liickeriug lantern , and the °
.lilliculty j of picking his wa. , made the 1'
short journey a long one , but his busy 1 ,
wonderments made the time pass quickt
lv. , For the lirst time in his life , John u
Uhallenor was feeling curious. What tl
made his wife so fond of that particut
lar locket ? What did it contain ? Ho h
was still pondering on the mistery cl
when he reached the carriage. Parker o.
had been right ; the little engraved hi
locket lav upon the lloor ; but beside it i
lay something , at the sight of which bi
the man's heart gave a great throb. A ti
.little j curly head , a pair of sweet blue n
e\es , a soft uncertain voce trying to w
stammer the word • • mania ! ' ' They all ft
rose vividh' before him as he stood there d
with the tiny ring of .silky brown hair al
lying on his open palm. And it was g
Madge who hadcherished the curl , s
whichhis own lips had seemed to press i'
so much oftener than had hers ! Madge , cl
who , had thought to keep the token that w
he ( had lorgotten , and since had regret- tl
ted ( so vainly. Well , before they partu
ed , he must ask her to halve her treash
ure with him. er
There were very tender memories tl
stirring within him as he plodded his I'
way slowly back to the station ; when of
he , at last reached the littie room , his d
face was very gentle , albeit very grave , k
"Yes , I have it , Parker. Thank you. tl
If you will go into the larger room. I r'
will sit with your mistress. " he said in tl
answer to the maid's anxious greeting ;
anil when he and Madge were alone , lie
pulled his chair close to hers and began
gravely : "Here is your locket. " ai
"Thank you , " she said coldly. "I n
hope it was not a difficult matter to p
get the carriage ? " . u
. , . . . . . , , . . . , .
i'.ni i i M WkW > w y Min ; .i' A-muu.tf. n'imrMW iVi.W i. fU'g '
' il'"i' ' ' i. Miinmmmtmmmt
mm tfmm m *
* - , -I i
' ' '
-
- * - ' '
Cmiliouer bit his I p. Do you think
I minded the difficult } ? " lie retorted
pn.viiou.ito ! } . "Don't you know I'd
have risked my life for the sake ol
rescuing th-s ! ' He laid the locKet on
the table ; but as he spoke , ho opened
his clenched hand , and the soft curl
glistened , brightly in the lirelighL
Matlge started violently. "You
opened ' it ? ' '
"No ; it had opened itself by falling
; on the iloor. " He leaned forward and
looked J at her curiously.
"And you cared to keep it , Madge ? " '
"Did I care ? " •
Only three words , but the tone went
straight J to the husband's heart. So
sho had cared after all , and yet
"You went out again so soon , " he said
doubtfullv. '
"And could I help that ? " The girl
clasped ; her hands , and looked steadily
at him with great sorrowful eyes.c
"You were always with your books :
and ' ' could I bear to live alone in these
rooms j where every chair that her hands
had J touched , every picture that her
eyes ' had seen , spoke to me of my lost
darling J ? No ; I would go to dances ,
theaters ' , anywhere where she had nev-
er ' been , and therefore could not haunt
me. ] "
"You might have come to me. "
"To you ? " The dreary little laugh
which she echoed his words were not
good I to hear. "You had your work.
You : had never asked me to go to the
libraryou ; had always left mo alone. "
Challoner's face had grown very
white. "Madge , " he said solemnly ,
"God is my witness that if I have
wronged you , it was through a mistaken
love j , and not through carelessness.
When we marr.ed ( the loving stress
he ' laid upon the word was not lost up-
on the girl , although her face wai
turned ' upon him ) , Sarah impressed up-
on me that if I pursued a plan 1 had
already suggested to her , and asked
you to ask as my secretary , I should bo
dealing unfairly in letting you expend
your youth and spirits on me and my
work , instead of on the amusements
and society life which was natural to
your age. "
His very anxiety was making him
speak in a stiff , unusual fashion ; but
j the little clasped hands moved restless-
ly at his words. 4I should have loved
the work. "
The murmur was too soft for the oth-
er to catch , and he went on slowly :
"Right or wrong , I believed her. I
said to myself : "You are a poor man ,
and must work haul ; but however
great the strain may be. it must never
touch } j'our wife. If you can not take
her : out yourself , let your cousin do sc
in vour stead. Let ' "
"Don't talk like that don't talk like
that ! " Madge had risen to her feet ,
and the words came with an irrepressi3
ble sob. She waited a full m.nute and
;
then added : "It makes one wish that
things had been different almost. "
When Challoner spoke again , it wa ?
after a long pause. "When did you
cut this curl ? "
"On your birthday , " said Madge with
an effort to speak easilv. "I brought
her into your room , and she was dress-
ed all in white
"I thought it was blue. ' '
. "No , John ; all in white , with coral
beads. "
"Ah ! 3'es , to be sure. I remember.
,
The _ j'oung rogue broke the string , and
you were so proud of her strength that
you would not have it mended ; " and
Challoner aolually laughed at the re-
membrance of the scene.
"You took her in your arms. " went
on Madge bravely , "and kissed this
very curl , and then you gave her back
to ( me and said "
She broke off suddenly ; but though
Challoner's face was flaming as hotly
as her own , he went on steadilv : " 1 *
said. 'God bless my wife and child , and
spare them to me for many , many
years. "
"But babv " died in the autumn , and
' >
In the intense stillness of the little
room ' , John Challoner finished her
sentence. "And you are leaving me , "
he said hoarsely. "Ah , Madge , for ba-
by's sake , give me half that curl. "
Jler gloves were off"and as she silentv
ly leaned forward to loosen the silk that
held the pretty hair , their hands toucha
ed. She drew back for a moment , look- '
ing at him piteously , and the next , with
long sobbing cry , she fell forward into
his out stretched arms. t
* * * * *
It was a long trying night for many
people at that f ttle snow-bound station , j
The men worked hard to clear the r
lines ; but it was only when the lirst
gray glimmer of light was stealing
over the darkened skies , that they
:
were able to pronounce progress possi- j
ble. The passengers in the waitingv
room < had kept up a perpetual chorus „
of grumblings and abuse ; but in the B.
little ' room where the station keeper I'
had : placed his two most favored guests ,
there ! was nothing but deep thankful-
ness for the enforced wait Dur ng
the long night hours , with only a L.
tender memory to share their vigil ,
husband and wife had grown very „
close to each other. The long series j
of'jars and m ' sunderstandings which #
had grown up from their two several ' .
mistakes from Challoner's erroneous
v
belief that they could follow two dis- H
tinct and separate courses and yet re- '
main united ; and from Madge's half- j
wounded , half-defiant pride , which g
forbade her to take the initiative in r.
drawing nearer to each other one and
all they had been discussed discussed
gravely and penitently , as became two , .
souls in whom fresh hopes were springr. r.
ing , and who , but for an apparently ' v
chauce meeting , woultl have broken j
with each other forever. But when r
the sad reviewing of their past fail- r
ures was at an end , and w th full
hearts they dared to speak of a bright-
aud more trustful tutu re , the tears
that rose to their eyes were tears of t
happiness. "It shall be the talisman
: our love , " Challoner had said as he
divided the tinv ring of hair ; and the j
kiss that followed was fraught with all j
the solemnity of a renewrl of mar
riage ' vows. It is needless to add that J
the services of the Edinburgh lawyer
were not required.
q
m '
a
As under the new law only railway employes ' 0
are entitled to passes , it is possible that the f
rush for positions in the service of the trans
portation companies will relieve the pressure c
upon politics. Chicago Herald. i s
m
- , " ' ' ! B f
-.t \i \ f'fl' fnFmvtmm i ml
•
ROME IN 1870.
A ChKtino VlHtt to theJternnl City
Kcciilled Victor Kmmanuoi mid
Plus IX. nt tlio Point or Ucatli
Stlrrlm * TIiuuh for Italy.
There are some people who seem to
owe j every important event in their
lives ' to chance. With others these
loading I features aro always traceable
as the result of some definite organized
plan. Their lives are mapped out be
fore J them , cither by themselves or by
those ' around them. It has always
been I a question in 1113' mind whether
this t fact is the result of the individual's
nature , or whether it is chargable to the
destiny that presides over our human
affairs. There are advantages in both
of these sort of existences which one
might divide into the expected aud the
unexpected lives. Those people who
lead j the former undoubtedly accom
} plish a great deal more. Every hour
in J he twenty-four is weighed , every
minute in the hour has its task or
pleasures ! allotted to it. Duties and
diversions are dovetailed into each
other , making a most delightfully
smooth and even mosaic pattern , along
the life path , that leads no man knows
whither. On the other hand , to your
nnexpeet.ng . person life is full of sur
prises , joyous sometimes , and again full
of pain. It is to be doubted if those
born under the influence of that oddest
of olenienls which we call chance ever
accomplished ! as much as the more
nielhodie.illv ' born class. On the other
hand ' , it may be urged thathey .feel
more L'imprevu the unforeseen is the
veiled deity which governs their deity.
Their jo\'s come unattended and sur
prise 1 them gloriously ; their griefs come
upon l them unawares , unlooked for ,
and crush them to the very earth. If
such a one lo3e his nearest friend you
will find that ho has never faced the
possibility ! of such a loss. If a fortune
is ' suddenly left him be sure he will
have ' no preconceived ideas of how he
will spend it , and most likely he will
lose ' a great deal of lime and possibly
a good portion of the inheritance in
learning ' how it may best be cmpolycd.
But of all the fond and foolish pursuits
which human be ngs indulge 111 the
most futile is the attempt to change
Due 's nature from the expected to the
unexpected , and vice versa. I have
often seen persons born to bloom with
the symmetry and perfection of the dah
lia wearing themselves out with the
yam effort to grow in the graceful but
uncertain lines of the passion liower vine
Nothing is more pathetic than this waste
Df effort , unless it be the not less infre
quent spectacle of a sweet-smelling ,
fragrant * ' honeysuckle setting up to
; rrow with the splendid dignity of a
'
Marecha 'l Neil rose. Not that one is
aot bound to train and prune one's na
ture into the best possible shape. If a
ihild is born a rose it is the obvious du
;
ty of its parents or guardians to make
. ns good a rose of it as they can , and it
is | ; the child's duty to supplement their
effort ; but. in the name of truth , let not
either parent or gtrradian attempt to
train , nor rose try to grow , into a grape
vine.
It is to that vague and mysterious
chance that I owj most of the import
ant j ? events and relationships of my life.
It was bv' an odd series of chances that
I ' found myself in Rome in the early
spring of the year 1879. the most
eventful year for the Eternal city since
that season when Victor Emmanuel
and his court cane to take up their
abode in the place of the Cassars.
What a time of excitement it was ! II
Re ? Gallant Uomo lay dying at the
Quirinal. < At the Vatican his old ene
my. Pius IX. , was stricken , too , by a
mortal disease. The king , always a
good Catholic , it was said , had hent to
ask the holy father for hs : blessingand
all Rome held its breath and waited ,
Would the head of the fallen power for-
give his victorious enemy , now that
both were so soon to yield to the uni
versal conqueror ? Would the great
soldier and the good and gentle priest
who had waged such bitter war , die at
peace with one another ? Messenger
after messenger wis dispatched from
the ' chamber of death on Quirinal lull
to the sick room of the prisoner of the
Vatican. They all came back silent ,
till ] at last one humble monk , who had
prayed long beside the dying king , was
sent , and came back bringing with him
a promise of peace. It was not the
king , Victor Emmanuel , who asked
forgiveness , for his heroic life , for his
glorious action the freeing of Italy
but it was the man , human and faulty ,
asking absolution at the hands of the
high , priest of his religion. All this
may be history , it may be fable ; I can
not vouch for it ; but it was what was
said , , wh speretl rather , at every
street corner in Rome. The city was
shaken to its foundation ; tlie heart of
the people was stirred to its inmost
depth. Even the indifferent foreign
colonies of expatriated English and
Americans were swayed by the tremend-
ous passion of the moment. The king's
hour came. The great captain passed
awav. and the city sat ami mourned in
fiai-Acloth , and ashes. A great wail
went up from the party of the whites ,
anil even the blacks were magnanimous
nnd silent. They , too , were soon to
lose ( the good man who had so long
stood at their head. Italy mourned her
fallen hero ; but , when the time had
come to lay away what was mortal of
the beloved son , she arose and clad her1
self ( in garments of of somber splendor.
rnd made of him a funeral the like of
whieh the world has not often seen ,
t was rumored that his old lieutenant.
Garibaldi , was coming up from the
rocky Caprcra to take part in the
obsequies. The estrangraent between
the two of late years it had never been
of the heart , but of the head was ut1
terly ( forgotten , will be forgotten in
history , and Garibaldi , who had set the
crown of Italy upon the head of Victor
Emmanuel , was coming to look once s
more upon the face of his old comj
panion in arms. This was whispered .
on the Corso. but few people gave
credence to the rumor. It is said that 1
Garibaldi would never walk or stand 1
aga-n. He , tro. was laid low by grevii i
oiis illness , a' .id his death could not be
far ; off. <
It was by a very singular scries of <
chances that I happened to go on that 1
soft afternoon , when the air was full of <
_ 3J riim 'iTintwiiifii ! iiigagjflM IjW
* _ _ _ if
tho whispers of the spring , up to the f
great railroad station somewhere in the 1
new part of tho city. Some friends I
were gomg to moot a young lady who |
was about to arrivo on an incoming \
train. As wo drew near the depot we J >
found it surrounded by a dense mass oi , \
humanity. Policemen aud soldiers m
were on every side to maintain an order w
which no one seemed in the least in- jttt
clined to disturb. It was a very quiet , . iji
serious-faced crowd , and no one laugh- | < <
cd or jested. For more than . a week in • i
all that great city I never heard a j
laiwh. We asked an officer of tho Ber- II
celieri , who stood near us , what the
people were all waiting for. "Some • M
people say , " he answered , "that Gan- 3 #
balili is to arrive on the train which is ) | ?
now due. but who cau tell ? They have It ,
been waiting for him for two days past. |
and looking ' for him on every tram. | J ;
We decided to wait until the train v ? , J
should arrive , and a place was made
for me on a step inside some railings , |
where I stood a better chance of keep- ]
ing a little breath in my body. Those
who were nearest caught the roar of the i
incoming locomotive , and the tidings
sped that the train had arrived. A
shiver of excitement shook tho crowd ,
which stirred and swayed and then /
sto " od silent again and waited. All eyes
were lixed on the impassive front of
the great stono station. A man , who 1 .
must have been a sailor , had clamber- a
ed high up to a place from which ho f
could command a view of the station. I fM
He it was he who had announced the f
coming of the train. It was ho who , I
from his high place , could overlook tho W
heads of the people , and who cried M
aloud , in a hoarso whisper : "He has , 9
come ! " fl
The news was felt , rather than I
heard , and , when the gens d'amies and 1 / < 9
the military guard of honor appeared , ' i | H
and the order was given to make room , , I
the crowd shrank sileuty back on eith- f 'fl
er side of the roadway , leaving a path I jfl
wide enough for the line of horseman , i1
four deep , to'pass. These went on una- 1 , {
luted , though there were officers among f jM
them who were the heroes of the peo- | ' 9
pie , but. when the carriage appeared , \ , ;
the crowd pressed forward and a mur- { 9
iimr was heard which sounded like a Ifl
great sigh. A few men shouted out the } /H {
patriots name , but for the most part M
there was a grieved silence , broken on- f * JH
ly by sighs and exclamations of pity. | ' M
Men and women wept as the largo car- | M
riage made its way slowly past them. 1 } , H
I was standing on some steps a little -v I itH |
higher than the mass of the people , \ M
and a young woman who was standing i j M
below me with a child upon her shoul- 1 H
dcr asked me to lift the little fellow up j M
that he might look upon - the face of i H
Garibaldi. Tho officer who had be- • - M
friended us lifted the child , who was j ' M
too much awed to cry , over the railings i H
and into my arms. I remember the . M
mother stretched her hand through the ' l |
grate and patted the fat little leg re- f * ' |
assurmgly. The carriage was almost > r l
on ( a line of our vision , aud in a 1110- J , .1 |
ment more had crossed it. Lying upon | jj
a pillowed litter , with closed eyes and f , H
clasped ( hands , I saw for the iirst and | tH
only ( time Garibaldi. He wore the old , .J ( > H
red shirt and the wide , soft gray felt / f |
hat , and there was a sash abouthis f I H
wast , just as I had seen it in a thous- jT l
H
and pictures , but the ] beauty of the a H
face I had never seen suggested and \ H
was all unprepared for. The features , a I H
relined by suffering , were faultlessly | _ | |
and delicately molded , the hair and V i | |
beard were of the color of silver , and \ > |
the wh te and rose complexion was as " J l
delicate ( as a child. The expression * ? tfj l
was very wonderful and moved me ' T '
strangely. The mother turned and
w \ Bi
lost j sight of that face en which every W H
eye was fixed , in order to make sure § * t H
that ( her child was seeing. f H
"Look , " she said , with an awed face , 1 f H
"look on Garibaldi ; look , and never , * f'- |
,
never , never forget that you have seen l
him. j " When she turned to the street JUf > | H
again the carriage had gone by , and m ' { H
j Hie people who had stood bareheaded 1 1
and silent where the hero passed , put ; 'li l
on their hats again , and the great crowd f y H
melted away. [ , rBk
We followed in our own minds the V , H
J progress of the sad cortege through the V ' H
thronged , hushed streets to the place , 1 , 'j H
to the chapel , where the conqueror lay , t jjHfl
as we had seen him a few hours before / I H
with his ermine robe about him , his iH
crown and scepter at his head , his good i f H
sword at his side. The chapel was 2 lj |
lighted J by a blaze of waxen tapers , and I | |
in each of the four corners kneeled a j i H
cowled monk , praying for the newly ( > H
fledged j soul. This was what the pa- ' * H
triot saw ; but of what he felt one can % - i |
but j imagine. - & |
. All the wonderful ceremonies that |
followed in quick succession the fu- H
neral of the king , the death of the pope , - |
and his lying in state at St. Peter's , the * M
crowning of the new k ng , the advent t H
of the new pope I saw with these eves. H
. But as I look back upon these acts of H
the great drama of Italy , what I see , | |
most clearly is that wonderful white * H
face of Ganbaldwith the heroic past ' H
stamned upon its features , as it lay J , | |
among \ the cushions of the litter. Bos- A . f |
ton Transcript. 1 1
3Irs. Cleveland's Good Heart. , M
During the past week Mrs. Cleve- fl
land I has seen a large number of jier- |
sons by special appointment , strangers f |
in ; the city for whom their friends im- J M
portuned 1 this honor. Few persons in |
mak.ng J this request realize the almost * 1 |
incessent i demands of the same nature H
which come to Mrs. Cleveland day • H
after , and to all of
: day wh'ch she ac- H
cedes if possible. When asked by a ; H
friend i which plan she found most j |
agreeable that of receiving on two > tH
mornings of each week , as was her f l
custom during the season , of or of hav- + 1 1
ing no reception day , as at present ' t H
she replied without a moment's hesita- 1
tion 1 in favor of the former. As it now 1 1
is , rarely an honr passes without some l
i
one tapping at Mrs. Cleveland's dooi j V l
bearing a card or urgent request that t f |
she grant an interview to a partv of t 1 1
strangers just on the eve of departure. ; * * 'j |
And it rarely happens that the apnea " | H
is in vain , for , however interested slit „ t |
may be in a book or occupation of ain H
sort , she at once lays it aside , sacrific- j H
ing her own pleasure without a demur. J H
This ready acquiescence in the wishes . 1 1
of others and forgctfulness of self havt 1 J * |
done more to endear Mrs. Cleveland tc 1 1
the hearts of the people than any thine ' |
else. Washington Litter. c ff l