84 



"HE AMERICAN BEE KEEPER. 



March 



THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION. 



We never meet, yet we meet day by day 

 Upon those hills of life, dim and immense; 

 The pood we love, and sleep— our innocence. 



Oh. hills of life, high hills! And higher than 

 they 



Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. 



Beyond pain, joy and hope and long sus- 

 pense, 



Above the summits of our souls, far hence 

 An angel mats an angel on the way. 



Beyond all good I ever believed of thee. 



Or thou of me, these always love and live. 

 And though I fail of thy ideal of me 



Jly angel falls not short. They greet each 



other. 

 Who knows? They may exchange the kiss we 



give, 

 Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother. 



—Alice Meynell in New York Tribune. 



THE VILLAGE PRIDE. 



Mrs. Silvester Dean Leveeu was pol- 

 ishing her brass knocker. Her long, thin 

 hands rubbed and rubbed till the little 

 "white curls on her forehead danced like 

 street children. Yet the labor had nc 

 perceptible effect. The metal shone like 

 light, but so it did when she began tc 

 clean it. It had shone like that yester- 

 day and the day before, and indeed 

 eveiy day for 60 years. There was a 

 smooth circle all around the knock- 

 er where her delicate hands had 

 worn into the hard, black weed of the 

 door. Nevertheless the old lady rubbed 

 a.way just as she had done every morn- 

 ing since the spring of 1833, when she 

 was brought, a bride, into that house. 

 She was the pride of Greenwich village 

 then, and she meant to be still. 



On this particulai; frcsty morning 

 Mrs. Leveeu tarried longer than usual 

 at her task. After the lion's head was 

 satisfactory even to her sharp eyes she 

 worked on. But it was evident in the 

 glances she shot across Bank street that 

 her attention was not given wholly to 

 the work of her hands. Neither was it 

 ■diverted to her customary inspection of 

 the neighbors' knockers. Theirs glisten- 

 ed like hers, and, besides, every time 

 she looked up her ej-es turned to but 

 one door, that of the house in front of 

 which stood two sturdy horses and a 

 truck. 



Pretty scon the door opened and a 



young man in a carter's blouse came 

 out. He saw the old lady across the 

 street, though he pretended not to. He 

 busied himself ostentatiously about the 

 horses' heads for a moment and then 

 turned back to the truck. Mrs. Leveen 

 had seen him. She bent herself earnest- 

 ly to the knocker and in a few strokes 

 finished it off. The she faced toward 

 the street and fixed the truckman with 

 her eyes till he had to look up. 



"Good morning. Aunt Martha," he 

 said as he doffed his cap. 



She beckoned to him to come to her. 



"Good morning, Percy," she answer- 

 ed pleasantly as he approached her, cap 

 in hand. ' ' Come in a moment. I wish 

 to speak with you. " 



The interview he had dreaded for 

 weeks was upon him now. He knew 

 from the first it was inevitable, but day 

 after day he had put it off, omitting his 

 usual calls on Ins aunt and avoiding 

 her sight and summons. Now that she 

 had caught him he was glad. As he fol- 

 lowed the old lady into her prim, com- 

 fortable sitting room he made a pitiful 

 figure of humility, but in the meekness 

 of his soul there was the cheerfulness 

 of finality. 



"Sit down, Percy, " she said in ^e 

 sweet toned voice he loved. 



He took the chair she indicated azid 

 she seated herself in her old rocker. 



"Percy, dear, " she began, "is this 

 true that I hear — you mean to marry 

 this girl?" 



"Yes, Aunt Martha. I was going to 

 tell you, but knowing as you were ag'in 

 it — knowing that you would not like to 

 have me do so — I was afraid to come to 

 you about it. " 



"Dcm't twirl your cap, my dear. 

 Gentlemen don't do that, you know." 



He stuck his cap between his knees. 



"I am sorry, Percy, you felt that 

 way. It is my intention always to be 

 kind and sympathetic. You should have 

 been quite .sure I would have heard your 

 story througli v. ith understanding. Now 

 tell me everything. She is the daugh- 

 ter, I am told, of a German in Hudson 

 street. ' ' 



"That's right, aunt. Her father has 

 the biggc st corner grocery over there, 

 and he has made his pile — I mean h 

 made money since he's been there." 



"How long has he been here?" 



"Going on 25 year. Oh, he's almost 



