California Agriculturist and Live Stock Journal. 



[For the CiLiFonNiA Aoriculturist.] 



A TALE FOR THE 

 NEW YEAR. 



BY NELL VAN. 



" Hftppy New Year, little one," said 

 mamma, as Amy opened her blue eyes 

 on the first day of the year 18 — . "Oh, 

 dear; is it really, truly, New Year's day 

 at last?" euijuired the child, springing 

 out of bed and hurrying on her clothes. 

 "Yes, my dear; New Year's day has come 

 at last, and how will this little girl spend 

 the day to make it a hapjiy one to be re- 

 membered?" " Oh, I always love New 

 Year's day better than any other day in 

 the whole year, I do believe. AVe are 

 going to have such fun. Cousiu Minnie 

 and Emma are coming, you know ; and 

 you will have callers all day, with a big 

 table set out in the back parlor with lots 

 of goodies. I saw cook fix the big turkey 

 yesterday and stick cloves all over the 

 boiled ham before she set it in the oven 

 to brown. And then the pickled oysters 

 and cefi'ee always smell so nice; crullers 

 and mince-pie, besides nuts and candies, 

 cake and wine, and everything nice. 

 Mayn't we have a little table of our own 

 set out in the basement, and have Ralph 

 and Johnny and the other little boys 

 come in to call? And Mayn't I wear my 

 blue dress and sash all day long without 

 any apron to hide it? and twist Vip my 

 hair with a comb so as to look exactly 

 like a big lady?" "One question at a 

 time, Amy. You know I will be busy in 

 the parlor all day with company. I shall 

 therefore dress you this morning in your 

 blue dress and sash, but you must wear 

 a big apron till your cousins come, when 

 the house will be thoroughly warm. You 

 cannot wear your hair in a comb; it will 

 spoil your curls, which are becoming to 

 a child of your age. Not crying! Fie, 

 Amy! for shame! To begin the year 

 with tears! Looking up through her 

 tear-dimmed eyes the little lady said, 

 poutingly, " When 1 am a big lady and 

 you are my little girl, I'll never make 

 you wear big aprons; you see if I do." 

 "Why, Amy child, do you suppose lean 

 grow into a little girl again? Do you 

 forget that I was once your grandma's 

 little child, just as j'ou are mine?" 

 "But, mamma," persisted the child, " I 

 heard the miuister say once something 

 about folks being born again and be- 

 coming like Utile children before they 

 could die and go to the good place. Of 

 course you'll be my own little girl then 

 when you get born again. Who else 

 could I love as well as you my dear, 

 dear mamma?" 



The door suddenly opened and Amy's 

 father entered with a laugh, saying: 

 "That's so. Amy darling, who else could 

 you love as well as dear, dear mamma? 

 You are both my little girls now, so I'll 

 toss one upon my back and tuck the 

 other under my arm, and away we'll go 

 down stairs to see grandma and the pussy 



Mr. Burchard was a successful New 

 York merchant. His h'ome was located 

 in an aristocratic quarter near Gram- 

 mercy Park, and he was one of the very 

 few whom prosperity did not spoil. Amy 

 was an only child, tenderly reared yet 

 well governed. She seldom rebelled, 

 though exceedingly active, and usually 

 strove to please her kind parents and 

 grandmother. New Year's day in New 

 York City is given up to the good old 

 Knickerbocker custom of giving and re- 

 ceiving calls. From morning till night 

 "entlemen may be seen paying their re- 

 spects to lady friends, who honor the 

 occasion by appearing in holiday attire 

 and offering the compliments of the sea- 

 son in a glass of good wine. Mrs. Bur- 



chard was young and lively. Her hus- 

 band being foruJ of society they enter- 

 tained a deal of company, and were 

 capable of exerting an influence of which 

 they seemed wholly unaware. The mod- 

 erate use of the social glass among friends 

 was by them considered unobjectionable, 

 they holding that temperance truly 

 meant keeping the ai)petite at all times 

 within bounds. Judging only by their 

 own standpoint, they little knew the 

 false reasoning this wfts to one with per- 

 verted tastes. 



But two return to my story. The two 

 cousins had come, and Amy was in an 

 ecstacy of dehght. New books were 

 added to her store of presents, and her 

 indulgent mamnia had given h<r permis- 

 sion to keep open house on her own ac- 

 count in the basement dining-room. 

 Ralph and Johnny had been notified, 

 and they were to tell the rest of the lads 

 in the row to call on Amy and Minnie 

 without fail. 



Just before noon a small group of 

 young men entered Mrs. Burchard's 

 iieautiful home, among them Charles 

 Mallory, a fine-looking youth, who knew 

 well his one great failing, and had times 

 of manfully struggling against it. It was 

 an inordinate love for liquor. The smell 

 of wine was delicious to him, and he had 

 that morning inwardly resolved not to 

 taste one drop of anything stimulating. 

 He even denied himself the pleasure of 

 accompanying Jack Burton and a couple 

 of congenial friends in a carriage because 

 he feared the result. And here at the 

 outset he was met on the steps by Foster 

 and two young Southern bloods. They 

 entered together, were introduced to Mr. 

 Burchard's pretty neice, .and he found 

 there was no resisting the urgent solici- 

 tations of his kind hostess, who said en- 

 treatiugly: "You surely will not refuse 

 to drink Miss Emma's health in this 

 harmless glass of sherry?" The same 

 old story, thought Mallory. He said 

 aloud: "Pray excuse me, madam, the 

 day is scarcely begun, and I have many 

 calls to make. A first glass often paves 

 the way for more, and I begin the year 

 with good resolutions, which you should 

 help me to keep." Don't preach tem- 

 perance on New Y'ear's day, Mallory," 

 cried Foster, flippantly; "you'll be put- 

 ting ;. way the egg-nog at Mrs. L.'sby- 

 and-bye without a qualm of conscience; 

 see if you don't; eh, Charley?" "New 

 Y'ear's comes but once a year," said an- 

 other, bowing, while another looked in- 

 dignant at this breach of etiquette in thus 

 openly declining the hospitalities of the 

 fair hostess. " No, wecan't excuse you, 

 Charley," said Foster; "you are always 

 in the dumps till you get a glass of 

 wine," he whispered. "Comeou." Thus 

 importuned, was it any wonder that good 

 resolutions were cast to the winds? The 

 whole party clicked glasses and drank to 

 the health "of the ladies. 



There was silence for a few moments 

 after they had left, and Emma remarked 

 upon Mr. Mallory 's reluctance to take 

 wine: "Y'es, poor youth! he bids fair to 

 follow in his father's footsteps. Ik al- 

 ways took wine with his dinner, and 

 several glasses a day besides, and died a 

 victim to delirium tremens. His son in- 

 herits the same taste for drink, and 

 though he tries hard to break up the 

 habit he invariably fails, as you saw him 

 just now. Why, aunt, don't you help 

 save him, instead of urging him to drink? 

 And to nty health, too! I could have 

 cried with vexation." "But, my dear," 

 said the worldly aunt, " what am I to do 

 when society demands that hospitality 

 consists in offering cake and wine to our 

 guests on certain occasions?" 



More visitors were announced, and the 

 incident of the morning was soon for- 



gotten. The smell of burnt clothing 

 came up from below. The cry of "Fire!" 

 was heard ; the rush and hurry of many 

 feet, and loud voices of men. k carriage 

 conveyed the ladies and children to the 

 nearest hotel. It was impossible to im- 

 agine where Mr. Burchard could be 

 found, so little .\my could only content 

 herself by sitting at one of the long win- 

 dows of the hotel watching for him to 

 pass that way. Fancying she saw him, 

 she begged leave to go with her cousin 

 to the door; but it was not he. A 

 neighbor's boy passed on the other side 

 of the street, and beckoned Amy to come 

 over. " I'll be back in a little minute, 

 Minnie," she said, skipping away. The 

 boy promised to find her papa for her if 

 she would go with him; but stopping at 

 a fruit store to buy some peanuts. Amy 

 wandered on alone, saying to herself, "I 

 know I can find my papa alone. I know 

 him better than any one." The boy, 

 supposing she had gone back to the 

 hotel, took no notice of her absence; but 

 Minnie strained her eyes to catch a 

 glimpse of the little blue dress of her 

 cousin, but in vain. She returned to tlie 

 parlor to tell the tale of Amy's new ex- 

 ])loit. "Gone to find her father! Im- 

 possible!" exclaimed the terrified mother 

 starting to her feet. "Go, somebody, 

 and bring back the child." "She is safe 

 with Willie Jones; he will let nothing 

 harm her, and she was well wrapped up, 

 you know," said Emma, tenderly. As 

 the day wore on and Amy did not return, 

 more than one anxious heart throbbed 

 with impatient suspense. 



In the meantime, how fared the young 

 wanderer? Worn out with fatigue, she 

 sank crying upon the steps of a dwelling. 

 " Poor little dear," said a kindly voice, 

 and looking up she saw bending over 

 her an old gentlemen with glasses, who 

 enquired her name and where she lived. 

 "I'm Amy Bunch, sir, that's what they 

 call me; and I live on — oh, I don't live 

 anywhere, 'cause our house was afire 

 and we went away, and I can't find my 

 papa to tell him about it." "Who is 

 your papa, child?" enquired the stran- 

 ger. "He is only papa, and mamma calls 

 him "idea." "But what is his name? 

 and does he keep an office or a store?" 

 "Oh, I don't know, sir; be only goes 

 down town, and to-day went out to make 

 calls. Oh, dmr, what iri(( become of me? 

 I want my mamma and papa so bad." 

 "Come with me," said the stranger, 

 kindly, leading her to the nearest station, 

 and begging the officials to see that the 

 lost child was restored to her parents 

 went his way. As night came on, the 

 unclaimed children, of which there are 

 always a number, were sent to the 



and their hopefulness colors the future 

 with rainbow tints. Mary was glad to 

 leave the Home after the good-byes had 

 been said, for the big world outside the 

 walls of the playground seemed inviting. 

 Her early life was shrouded in mystery. 

 She had a faint remembrance of a life 

 amid luxury; downy beds and soft 

 cushions; dainty carpets and fine pic- 

 tures; books, toys, and of being petted 

 and caressed by kind, loving parent. 

 She could remember a day when all this 

 ceased, and then a blank. Poor child! 

 She was now riding with her new mis- 

 tress in the capacity of child's nurse, and 

 was to be taught to make her way in the 

 world like many another of gentle birth. 

 It has been said " There is n skeleton 

 in cverj' home," and the time came when 

 Mary was to discover the one in the 

 Mallory household. Intemperance, like 

 a grim spectre, haunts the earth, delu- 

 ding its victims and blighting innocence 

 with its foul and loathsome breath. The 

 youth who strove to resist the tempting 

 glass in Mrs. Burchard's parlor that 

 eventful New Y'ear's day, from that hour 

 lost comnmnd of his appetite. He mar- 

 ried a simple-hearted girl of inferior po- 

 sition, and her invariable excuse for his 

 one great faiUng was: " He is only like 

 other men, and there is always a some- 

 thing." They sat one evening, her mis- 

 tress and Mary, watching beside the crib 

 of the sick child, when loud noises were 

 heard at the hall door and an angry voice 

 demanded admittance. "You sit here, 

 Mary, and I'll go," said Mrs. Mallory. 

 Poor Mary, trembling with fear, said 

 within her heart, "What dreadful beings 

 men are! I'm almost glad I never knew 

 my father, for fear he was like the rest." 

 Hurried steps were beard approaching, 

 and the loud voice said: " Where is the 

 brat ? It has stood between yon and I 

 long enough, and this will end it now 

 and here." Ho rushed into the room 

 brandishing over his head a long knife. 

 With sudden presence of mind Mary 

 sprang to the crib, and lifting the child 

 in her arms with its blankets about it 

 she rushed through the open door out 

 into the night air, and ran she know not 

 where, till overcome with fatigue she fell 

 and struck her head against the curb- 

 stone. A crowd collected, and the girl 

 and her sleeping burden were carried into 

 a house, where a physician was sent for. 

 Stunned by the fall, it was some lime be- 

 fore she recovered herself. When she 

 opened her eyes they met those of a lady 

 who sat watching beside the lounge. Her 

 soft white hair was banded back from her 

 brow, and her countenance expressed 

 sympathy. There had been a trinket, 

 which Mary had always worn on a gold 



Foundling's Home till they should be I chain around her throat ever since leav- 

 fouud by "their friends. Among a crowd j ing the Home, when the Matron clasped 



of little oius Amy was placed under the 

 kind guardianship of Mother Bond, who 

 enquired their names, gave them some 

 supper and clean beds to sleep in; but 

 Amy could not eat, and wept herself to 

 sleep. 



We must now pass over a period of six 

 years, during which time the sad-hearted 

 parents had exhausted every means for 

 discovering the whereabouts of their 

 darling, except that of visiting the Found- 

 ling's Homo. From time to time chil- 

 dren were apprenticed out from the 

 Home till they should become of age. 



When good Mrs. Mallory sought there 

 a nurse girl to mind her baby boy, she 

 selected .\my from the rest, and as the 

 child's early answer to the question, 

 " What's your name?" was invariably, 

 "I'm Amy Bunch, ma'am," her name 

 was put down on the Iwoks as "Mamie 

 Bunch," and as she grew out of child- 

 hood she was called "Mary." 



Any change is grateful to the yonng, 



it there and told her it was the only link 

 between her and her mother. This had 

 snapped and fallen to the floor as they 

 brought her in, and her first impulse 

 upon returning to conscienses was to pnt 

 her baud to her throat. " Here it is," 

 said the lady, tenderly; " how came yoo 

 by this?" "Oh, ma'am, " sobbed Mary, 

 "I had a mother once, and this is all I 

 have left. Where's baby? Did it get 

 hurt, too? Oh, but my poor mistress 

 will be wondering where I am." " 'Tis 

 Amy! Oh, come, father, see! Our lost 

 child bos come back to us! The old 

 childish look is in her eyes! Poor dove! 

 She has flown from the persecutions of 

 the drunkard I in my blindness helped 

 to make, straight into the old home 

 nest!" 



W. D. F. RicHiEDs of Ventura coun- 

 ty, realized $G,500 on '200 acres of flax, 

 or $32 00 per acre. 



