2 
SEED-TIME AND H&BWEST. 
Xlie Fate of a Fast Young Man. 
[Written in the Illinois State Prison.] 
It’s curious, isn’t it, Billy, 
The changes that twelve months may bring? 
Last year I was at Saratoga, 
As happy and rich as a king— 
I was raking in pools on the races, 
And feeing the waiters with “ten,” 
And sipping mint juleps by twilight; 
And to-day I am here in the ‘ ‘Pen. ” 
*‘Wha,t led me to do it?” What always 
Leads men to destruction and crime? 
The Prodigal Son, whom you’ve read of, 
Has altered somewhat in his time. 
He spends his substance as freely 
As the biblical fellow of old; 
But when it is gone he fancies 
The husks will turn into gold. 
Champagne, a box at the opera, 
High steps while fortune is flush, 
The passionate kisses of women 
Whose cheeks have forgotten to blush— 
The old, old story, Billy, 
Of pleasures that end in tears— 
The froth that foams for an hour, 
The dregs that are tasted for years. 
Last night, as I sat here and pondered 
On the end of my evil ways, 
There arose like a phantom before me 
The vision of boyhood days. 
I thought of my old home, Billy, 
Of the schoolhouse that stood on the hill, 
Of the brook that flowed through the meadow— 
I can e’en here its music still. 
Again I thought of my mother, 
Of the mother who taught me to pray, 
Whose love was a precious treasure 
That I heedlessly cast away. 
I saw again in my visions 
The fresh-lipped, careless boy 
To whom the future was boundless, 
And the past but a mighty toy. 
I thought of all this as I sat here— 
Of my ruined and wasted life— 
And the pangs of remorse were bitter— 
They pierced my heart like a knife. 
It takes some courage, Billy, 
To laugh in the face of fate, 
When the yearning ambitions of manhood 
Are blasted at twenty-eight, 
—Bay View Herald. 
ERIC’S FATAL MISTAKE. 
It was on a cold winter’s night towards 
the middle of the last century, that a gentle 
knock was heard at the door of a hut sit¬ 
uated among the mountains of Christiania, 
l n Norway. The summons was answered 
by the master of the hovel, and a traveler 
asked shelter for the night. Hospitality is 
willingly exercised in those wild regions; 
the stranger was welcomed to a seat on the 
bundle of chamois skins that lay before the 
hearth where a few embers still smouldered, 
and to a share of the supper prepared for 
the family. 
The only inmates of the hut were a 
peasant named Eric and his daughter; the 
latter was remarkable for her beauty, 
and for a natural grace far superior to what 
might have been looked for in that wild 
region. The traveler, after gazing at her 
for some moments, inquired of his host if 
the fair maiden were his daughter. 
“She is,” replied the old man. “She and 
my rifle are my only treasures; and one of 
them I should not have kept so long if 
Margaret would have listened to any of the 
suitors who would fain have robbed me of 
her; but though she is now four-and-twenty. 
she prefers staying with her father, to 
whom her whole heart is devoted.” 
The traveler, drawing his cloak around 
him, complained of cold, and, at her father’s 
command, Margaret threw some additional 
logs on the Are. As she fanned it, a bright 
blaze filled the little apartment, and threw 
its light on the person of the stranger. He 
appeared to be young and handsome, and as, 
under the kindly influence of the warmth, 
he loosened his cloak, and laid aside his 
slouched hat, Eric perceived that he was 
richly dressed. His surprise that a person 
of such apparent rank and opulence should 
be wandering alone in that inclement sea¬ 
son, prevented him from noticing the strong 
emotion evinced by his daughter as she 
caught sight of his features. With clasped 
hands, and her eyes fixed on his face, she 
seemed uncertain whether to address him. 
The new-comer made a sign to her as if to 
enjoin caution. Whatever its import, she 
understood it, and, with tears rolling down 
her cheeks, seemed to be addressing a silent 
prayer to heaven. The supper, consisting 
of a platter of boiled potatoes and a jug of 
cold water, was now placed on the table. 
“My honored guest, ’’said Eric, “it is use¬ 
less to apologize for our humble fare; 
throughout these mountains you will find 
little better.” 
