WILLOUGHBY HALL; 
OR, AFTER MANY DAYS. 
[Continued from page 3H0. this oumber.1 
At mid-afternoon he toot leave ot her upon the 
Montreal steamer. He and his guardian went down 
to see the little party of three off, themselves not 
having to start uutil evening. When they parted 
Judge Grayson gave a hope that they might meet , 
again ere long. 
"It is quite possible that we may go South to 
spend the winter,” he said. “ Should we conclude 
to go to New Orleans, we will let you know.” 
And with this little ray of promise, they parted. 
Both Alfred and Harry Brief were glad to 1 
leave the wailed city, when the evening train for 
Portland bore them away. The place that was en¬ 
joyable enough the day before, seemed strangely 
lonesome now. Yet they saw the sun go down In 
golden glory beyond the Plains of Abraham, some¬ 
what regretfully, as the train wound slowly up the 
steep ascent past CUaudiere. The days had been 
very bright ones; would there be any more such? 
Eighteen hours’ journeying, a short tarry at the 
mountains, and they were domiciled at Glendale, 
made thrice welcome by their genial host. Then 
came days of quiet rest after travel, varied only by 
country drives with no object but to breathe the 
bracing air, and frequent visits to Willoughby Hall. 
Mabel greeted Alfred with a shy pleasure. 
Enderby had announced the young man's expected 
return, and day after day she had looked for his 
coming. She had not comprehended the full mean¬ 
ing of her sorrow over his going away, or the pleased 
expectancy of his return. She knew, of the one, 
that the new joy which had come to her had some¬ 
how gone by; of the other, that the joy was again 
to come within her reach. 
Yet in their first meetings the joy was not as full 
and complete as it had been,—as she had fondly fan¬ 
cied it would be. There seemed some weight upon 
it He did not tell her of the pleaaureful days just 
passed. iDstioctively he shrank from speaking of 
the one who had unconsciously been her rival. She 
spoke to him of his mother’s death; but her shy 
sympathy for a time failed to lessen the invisible 
something between them. 
Was it then the ghost of a joy come back to her ? 
At the first it did appear so, and she grieved over it. 
Then, thinking the loss of his mother, or some 
other grief to her unknown, was the cause of her 
friend’s changed manner, her warm woman nature 
became to him more tender than ever, and more 
powerful in its influence than she knew. He began 
to be more tender in return; to think less of the 
immediate past and more of the early summer’s de¬ 
lights; aud finally to regard his fancied affection for 
Berdena Range as a momentary passion, that had 
speedily burned itself out. That wild, intense long¬ 
ing for possession, which he had once felt, seemed 
now an unnatural, unworthy desire, merely, and as 
naught beside this deep, fervent heart - possessing 
affection that at last removed the bairlei between 
them, and brought them close together in the holy 
communion of unbreathed love. 
Was he weak and fickle V Not more so than are 
hundreds of others like him. The heart warms 
manya passion-spark into a seeming flame, but they 
all die out, and their ashes vanish, while the steady 
burning, milder light of true love glows on unceas¬ 
ing and forever. 
This life of idleness was a new thing to Harry 
Brief, yet he enjoyed it. For a time he wus con¬ 
tented to be the lazy loiterer. He and Enderbt 
were aliko, in some points of character, and differed 
just enough in others to give companionship a zest. 
And while they aud Dr. Willoughby discussed pol¬ 
itics, ami smoked their cigars together, after dinners 
they had at Glendale and the Hall, Mabel and Al¬ 
fred lingered by the piano, or under the whispering 
trees, realizing love’s young dream. 
So the last summer days passed away. Alfred’s 
guardian began to wonder if he had not erred a little 
in judgment, while with their St. Lawrence friends. 
Astute enough la legal affairs, he noted Alfred’s 
increasing tenderness towards Mabel Willoughby 
and inly confessed that phases of the heart were 
more intricate and uncertain than those of law. 
Had he been an older man himself,—grown further 
away from his youth,—he would probably have 
taken the young man to task for apparent trifling, 
and have read him a stem lecture, appending sun¬ 
dry words of caution. But he knew his term of 
guardianship was almost at an end,—that his ward’s 
minority was well nigh passed; and he was not pre¬ 
pared to accuse him of either fickleness or wrong¬ 
doing. 
The leavee began to rustle coolly in the first Sep¬ 
tember breezes; the season of recreation was nearing 
its finale. “ it is time birds of passage were medi¬ 
tating flight,” the lawyer said to himseli, at the 
close of a delightful day. They had dined at the 
Hall; had just returned to Gleudale; and Brief and 
Alfred had retired to their owu apartments. “ Let 
me see,” the former continued to soliloquize, “here 
we are, actually, into September. Bless me! why, 
to-day is the sixth 1 ” 
Alfred looked in just theu. 
“ See here, my boy,” said Brief, “.isn't it time for 
ua to think of moving Southward? Do you realize 
that we have got a whole week away from summer?” 
“ I haven’t realized it until this very moment,” 
was the answer. “ Now I do, because I am reminded 
that to-morrow will be my birth-day. ” 
“ Ah, will it, though ? — l had forgotten the pre¬ 
cise date.” 
“Yes, to-morrow your legal responsibility on 
my account will cease. Doubtless you will feel 
relieved.” 
“ Perhaps. But you know I shall be responsible 
for you until I get you safely back in New Orleans, 
and in full possession of your property. By the 
way, I have with me certain papers that your mother 
said were to be delivered to you without tail ou the 
day you should become of age. I brought them 
along thinking it possible we might remain until 
then. It is midnight; your birth-day has begun. 
Will you take them now, or wait until to-morrow?” 
“Now, if you please.” 
Mr. Brief took from his valise a little packet, 
securely tied aud sealed, and addressed, in a tine 
feminine hand, “ Alfred Cohdezco Henderson,” 
and marked upon one corner “ Private.” 
“ There they are,” he said, as he handed them to 
their owner. 
Alfred took the packet, a peculiar thrill running 
over him as he did so. Of what nature could a 
posthumous communication from his mother be? 
Something of 60 lemn import, he felt; aud without a 
wordhe withdrewto his owuroom, there in the lone 
a night hours to peruse a revelation which fairly par- 
alyzed him with astonishment. — [To be continued. 
9 he Itavder. 
If the secret of alL regenerate hearts could be 
laid open, we should doubtless view wirh a mixture 
of astonishment and gratitude the quantity of ben¬ 
efit which has been, and is affected iu the world by 
the familiar converse, and even by the silent looks 
of truly good men.— Bishop Judd. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LETTEES EEOM AND ABOUT GERMANY. 
NUMBER ONE.* 
Introductory — Towns and VWages — Giessen — Scenery — 
Old Castles. CUmaU—Forests— Customs and Ha>>- 
its of the People, ttc.. etc. 
It ls the custom of travelers through Europe to 
write about the things which they see. They seem 
to think it is their duty to write whether they say 
anything or not. This universal custom is not 
always justified by that which is written. A re¬ 
membrance of this fact naturally deters one from 
attempting any description of those things even 
which have real interest. The true life «f any coun¬ 
try is to be found in its small, towns and villages,— 
not in the large cities, auch as Frankfort or New 
York, where existence is but commotion aud confu¬ 
sion. Not only is this true, but further, one sees 
the past in the present throughout the smaller towns 
of Germany. This thought must be my excuse for 
slighting such points as are supposed to have the 
chief claim upon our attention, aud for speaking of 
those every-day occurrences which are* usually 
deemed unworthy of notice. 
About fifty miles from Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
and one hundred from the beautiful Rhine, a trav¬ 
eler may find the chief town of the province of 
Upper Hesse. This is a neat, comfortable village, 
containing some 12,000 inhabitants, and bearing the 
name of Giessen. Upon every hand the scenery is 
very beautiful. The village itself lies in a valley, 
and is divided by the Lahn, a small river that finds 
its source some twenty miles Southward at Mar- 
borough. Upon the right side of the Lahn, aud 
about two miles from the village, stands the remains 
of an old castle called Gleibnrg, bnilt by a Count of 
that name, six or seven hundred years ago. From 
this castle you have a fine view of Giessen and the 
surrounding hills, and also of the little villages, or 
“ Dorfs ” as they are called, at the foot of every 
hjll , About a mile beyond these ruins are those of 
another old castle called Folsbnrg, probably built 
100 years before Gleiburg. This castle was first 
owned by the Count of Felsbnrg, and afterwards by 
a band ot robbers, who held it against several kings 
for some years, continually robbing and plundering 
the surrounding villages. Both the castles are now 
in the possession of the King of Prussia. 
Directly betweeu these two castles, and some 
seven miles from Giessen, stands Dienstburgh, 2,000 
feet above the sea, 1,500 above Giessen. This moun¬ 
tain is noted for a certain species of stone which is 
very abundant, and is found at only one other place 
in the world. On this side of the Lahu, and direct¬ 
ly opposite these castles, and at about the same dis¬ 
tance from Giessen, is an old convent, bnilt over a 
thousand years ago, aud called Bhiffenburgh. This 
is a very interesting place to visit, both because it 
presents from its lofty eminence a picture of natura[ 
beauty that, is seldom excelled, and because it con¬ 
tains on the floors of its church the tombs of for¬ 
mer Princes aud Knights. 
Besides the surroundings of Giessen, it in itself 
contains many places of interest, among others the 
Botanical Gardens, which occupy about a square 
mile near the centre of the town, and embrace many 
rare plants, shrubB, &c There is also here a Club 
and Library which contains many interesting and 
valnable works. Besides the places I have men¬ 
tioned, there arc several other castles, convents, 
&o., in eight from Giessen, but a little removed. In 
fact, a traveler through Germany will notice that on 
every hill or eminence stand the rains either of an 
old castle or convent. 
In the climate of Germany I cannot see much dif¬ 
ference from that, of New York State, but it may be 
a trifle milder. Although this country is much 
older in its civilization than ours, aad though the 
land has been cultivated much longer, it is still very 
productive. The reason of this is that throughout 
the entire territory immense forests are planted and 
in charge of men appointed by the Government, 
and a heavy fine is imposed upon a person that cuts 
a single tree. This keeps the land rich and makes 
it very productive. 
Permit a few remarks, before concluding, con¬ 
cerning the people, their customs, habits, general 
modes of life, &c. It is a reputed fact in our coun¬ 
try that a German is much slower than an American, 
and many things seem to justify this reputation. 
The people live with an easy indifference which is 
surprising, if not charming. They go about the 
streets to business as though to a funeral. Much is 
said about the sociability of German life: the. Ger¬ 
mans themselves speak much of this, and claim 
that no where iu the world can such genuine, hearty 
life be found. At first sight this might seem to be 
true. A beautiful day never arrives without show¬ 
ing hundreds of people, in small parties, traveling 
the country in all directions. The Germans have a 
lovely land, aud they enjoy it. Their attachment to 
Fatherland is made doubly strong by rare natural 
beauty and by a history rich in noble deeds. 
Though this be true, still a closer view makes one 
afiinu that the true, free enjoyment of social life 
is a thing entirely unkuowu to these gentlemen of 
the pipe and glass, Society is just as much divided 
into separate clans and governments as the country 
itself. When the Germans move, they invariably 
move in parties of three or four. Shake them up 
as much as you please, they will always turn out 
with the same regular associates. The running iu and 
Out which is so prominent a feature in America, is 
absolutely impossible among the Germans. Again, 
their households are guarded with a rigor which is 
complete safety, because complete seclusion. No 
youug man cau visit a young lady without first ob¬ 
taining permission from her parents, and when this 
is at last secured he will always find papa and 
mamma in the room. If he still continues to come 
in the lace of the obstacle, lie will soon be told, 
“Das !/eh.t vlehx; Sie darf nicht weder kommen." 
In dress the Germans do not begin to compare 
with our customs. The common dress of the work¬ 
ing classes is, for the men, large, coarse boots aud 
pants, and a loose, blue sack or bag, which buttons 
tight to the neck and haugs down over the hips. 
This is made from coarse “ overhauling.” This at¬ 
tire is not complete without a pipe, which is gener¬ 
ally from four to six feet long. As to the women, 
tuey wear their hair tl done up ” on top of their 
• heads, and two ribbons (generally of black) hanging 
from it over the shoulders—nothing more. For a 
1 dress they wear a coarse woolen fabric, generally of 
; a drab color, reaching only to the knees, with 
coarse, woolen stockings and heavy kip shoes. 
Among the richer class of people the dress is bet¬ 
ter, and much similar to the American fhshions, 
■ although far behind. In Frankfort and the large 
.Jmt. 
DONOGHMORE ABBEY, SLIGO, IRELAND. 
Many romantic memories of Irish history cluster 
around the old ruins shown above. Jt is said that 
about the year 427 St. Patrick built, or ordered to 
be built, a small church upon the precise spot these 
rums now occupy; and upon the ruins of that, some 
eight centuries liter, it is supposed, the abbey was 
erected, itself long since gone to decay. The round 
tower, so conspicuous and so well preserved, is one 
of many similar ones in Ireland, contiguous to 
Churches or their ruins, which greatly puzzle anti¬ 
quarians. The date of their erection, aud their 
original purpose, have formed a subject for discus 
sion among the savants of the country throughout 
several generations. The peasants style them 
“ cloig-teaeh,” or bell-house, and for what other 
use than as belfries they could have been con¬ 
structed it is difficult to imagine. No other as 
satisfactory solution of the puzzle has been given. 
SCENERY 
THE STIKEEN RIVER, ALASKA. 
* This letter is from a son of the Editor of the Rural, 
now studyins; In Giessen, Rhenish Prussia, Germany’ 
We believe it is the first he has ever written for publica¬ 
tion,—bat as he is yet in Ills teens, there is tune and 
room for improvement, which will no doubt be attempted 
should this epistle prove acceptable to oar readers. 
The Stikeen, the second largest river in the Alas¬ 
kan Territory, winds its circuitous way to the Pacific 
through a deep gorge of the Cascade mountain 
range. It is bordered by scenery wild aud pictur- 
towus, however, there is much style, and a great 
deal of very tasty and rich dressing. 
In their tabic the Germans differ somewhat from 
our customs. For breakfast they have nothing but 
coflee and eggs, which are always brought to their 
rooms as soon as they rise. Their dinner is much 
similar to ours, but consists of more mixtures of 
vegetables. For supper they generally have meat 
of some kind for the men, but the women seldom 
eat meat at ail. As to religion I find that the Ger- 
maus are far behind us. They very seldom, if ever, 
read the Bible, aud think it is not necessary to go to 
church more than once a month at the most. Sun¬ 
day is their day for pleasure, aud if anything of 
especial interest is to occur, the Sabbath is the 
chosen day for its exhibition. 
It is very seldom that you find a family occupying 
a whole house. Generally they live or one floor, 
which contains a kitchen, three to five bedrooms, 
and sometimes also a parlor—all small rooms and 
much lower than ours. Through all the German 
towns and cities that I have been I have especially 
uoticed that all contain gardens, park6 and prome¬ 
nades, which add very much to their beauty. A so¬ 
journer, however, in this laud is like an ant that has 
climbed upon a skaggy nut. He may walk over the 
hills and dales; may tumble about among the harsh, 
jagged peakB, and finally fall off into France, hav¬ 
ing failed to attain any true conception of the rich 
meat which lies within. Let him remain long enough 
to find some crevice by which to enter, aud he will 
enjoy a truth, character and fidelity to principle 
which is the dignity of humanity. h. d. t. m. 
CURE FOR DRUNKENNESS. 
Some time since the Rural received a request to 
aid in saving a gifted, noble man from the destroy¬ 
ing influence of intemperance. We knew of no 
cure for the intemperate except total abstinence, 
andsostated. While we remembered having some¬ 
where seen a prescription to take the place of alco¬ 
holic drink, we had little faith that it was of any 
value, believing it to be simply a catch-penny nos¬ 
trum, aud, beside, knew not where to find it again. 
More recently, however, we have seen the fol¬ 
lowing given as a mixture which it Ls said, will 
absolutely remove the longing for intoxicating 
beverages:—Sulphate of iron, five grains; pepper¬ 
mint water, eleven drachms; spirits of nutmeg, 
oue drachm. This preparation taken twice a day, 
ir quantities equal to an ordinary dram, acts as a 
tonic and stimulant, aud 60 partially supplies the 
place of the accustomed liquor, and prevents the 
absolute physical and moral prostration that fol¬ 
lows a sudden breaking off from the use of stimu¬ 
lating drinks. 
As proof that such a preparation as this is 
efficacious, we have the narrative of John Vine 
esqne, more nearly resembling that of the Sague¬ 
nay, in Cmada, than any other with which travelers 
in this part of the world are familiar. Near its source 
remunerative gold diggings have been discovered. 
Hall, given by bis son, the distinguished English 
divine, Newman Hall, in a small pamphlet kindly 
sent to os by a friend. Mr. Hall in his early yfear3 
was addicted to dissipation, and became at length a 
slave to liquor. His repeated efforts to reform 
were of no avail, and he despaired of being other 
than a drunkard. Fiaally, however, a physician 
gave the above prescription, with the sole addition 
of ten grains of magnesia, and after being faitb 
fully used about seven months it worked a perfect 
care. Over three hundred vials of the medicine 
were used, and it saved to manhood one who was 
eminently useful for many years after. 
So simple a remedy is surely worth trying. If 
the poor victims of self-destroying appetite can but 
be prevailed upon to co-operate with loving friends 
in making the trial, many may be saved to them¬ 
selves, their homes, society, and God, who will 
else wreck all, — home, happiness, hope, — and die, 
finally, as the brute dieth. 
CUTTING 
HAIR. 
There is a common but a false notion that fre¬ 
quent cutting of the hair is favorable to its growth. 
Mothers thus often despoil their infanta of their 
first silken locks, with the idea that the second hair 
will be much more rich and abuudaut. “ This is an 
error. The most beautiful aud abounding heads of 
hair I ever saw,” says Dr. Cazeuave, “were those 
which the scissors had never touched. Mothers, 
not satisfied with trimming the hair of their child¬ 
ren, often have it shaved or cut it close to the scalp, 
when they flud it losing 6ome of its brilliancy or 
falling out. Except in rare cases of disease, the to¬ 
tal sacrifice of the bair is unnecessary, and the 
second growth is never equal to the first. Getting 
the hair trimmed from time to time may be allowed 
as a matter of convenience, but it does not produce 
the benefit generally attributed to it.” 
Princely Enjoyment.— The most singular con¬ 
certs now-a-days are probably those which take 
place twice a week at the palace of the King of Ba¬ 
varia. The orchestra which plays at these concerts 
consists of seventy performers, among whom are 
frequently some of the most celebrated musicians; 
and frequently eantatrices of world-wide reputation 
sing opera airs on these occasions. The whole audi¬ 
ence consists of the King and his aid-de-camp, who, 
like his sovereign, is a passionate lover of Waguer's 
music. Even the king’s mother and the royal prin¬ 
ces and princesses are not allowed to be present at 
these concerts, for the King says that he never en¬ 
joys them so well as when be iB alone. 
-■♦—« ♦ » . ♦ ■- 
The Shoshone Falls. —These falls in Idaho are 
said to be four hundred yards wide. The rapids 
form a series of cascades ranging from twenty to 
sixty feet in height. The fails proper leap two 
hundred and ten feet in oue unbroken mass. The 
contour of the falls Is not unlike that of a regular 
horse-shoe. From this it will be seen that they al¬ 
most equal Niagara Falls iu sublimity aud grandeur. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
LITTLE MILLY. 
BY SUSIE V. STORMS. 
Mii.Ly sat down uuder the old apple tree and 
watched the white, fleecy clouds go gliding slowly 
along the blue line of the horizon. Overhead there 
was nothing but the blue sky, full of a soft, warm 
sunshine that made it very lovely, The winds went 
and came lazily enough, aud the birds sang softly and 
dreamily In the branches of the apple tree. Milly 
wondered if they enjoyed the warm, quiet, beautiful 
day as much as she did just then. 
Milly was an orphan, Her father and mother 
died when .-ho w is only three years old. Since their 
death she had lived with her auut. I am sorry to 
tell yon that, her life was not a happy one. I do not 
think her aunt meant to be unkind ; but very often 
-he used h. r»h words when kind ones would have 
V> n far better. Milly was a delicate child, and 
ri'e aeavy tasks her aunt compelled her to perform 
were too much for her strength, so that sometimes 
-lie had to give up. Then her aunt scolded her, and 
call-id. her u iazy girl, when the truth was she was 
tired out. How m uch she longed for words of kind- 
and tor the caresses she could just remember 
from her mother's tcuder hands! Often she laid 
awake to think of the fair, loving face that had bent 
over her little bed in the twilight, when her prayer 
was said, and kissed her good night. Now no one 
ever kissed her, or heard her say her simple prayer, 
and no tender hands smoothed the tangles out of 
her brown hair; no voice ever touched her heart 
wirh the sweet thrill her mother’s had done, and no 
arms held her close in a tender, motherly way. it 
was very sad, and poor, motherless Milly* s heart 
yearned for the love she had once known with a 
yearning never to be gratified on earth. 
“ Milly' t Milly !” called the sharp voice of her 
aunt. 
“Ob, dear!” Milly got up slowly, in a tired 
sort ot way, and went up toward the house. 
“You lazy good-for-nothing!” cried her aunt. 
“ Here I’ve been wanting you ever so long, and you 
was down there idling away your time! What do 
you think’ll become of you if you waste the minutes 
in this way? I’m sure I’ve done enough for you to 
deserve your gratitude, and you’re as ungrateful a 
girl as I ever saw.” 
“Oh. Aunt, Mart, I didn’t know you wanted me, 
and I was so lired,” MrLLT said, with her eyes full of 
tears, for the sharp, unkind words of her aunt went 
like a knife to her heart. 
“ Oh, no l Of course not,” answered her aunt, in 
a sneering way; “ and didn’t want to cither, though 
you might have known there was enough to do, If 
you’d only have taken the trouble to think about it. 
I’m sure I can’t give you a home and support you 
in idleness.” 
“I’m willing to work,” answered Milly, in a 
choking voice; “ I dou’t want to live without doing 
anything. What is there for me to do now ?” 
“ Take the pail and bring up water from the brook 
for I’ve got to wash to-morrow,” replied her aunt,’ 
not thinking that a child so young and delicate was 
unfitted for such a task. “You can put the water 
in that barrel,” and the thoughtless woman entered 
the house, while Milly took the pail and started for 
the brook. 
She carried the pail filled with water up from the 
brook ancl emptied it Into the barrel. Theu she 
went back again after another. A sharp pain kept 
shooting through her heart as she toiled np the 
steep ascent to the house, with the pail hanging 
like a louden weight in her hand; and whea it was 
emptied, she sat down very faint and dizzy, feeling 
, too unwell to go again. 
. Her aunt came to the door and saw her sitting 
there with her hand clasped over her heart, and 
something in the poor, pale face touched her strange¬ 
ly,—it was so sad, so full of keenest pain! 
“Arc you not well, Milly?” she asked, in a 
kinder tone than usnal. 
“ No, I don’t feel well, Aunt Mary,” Milly an- 
1 swored, her eyes filling with tears as the sound of 
1 kind words fell upon her cars. 
“ You may go up stair? and lay dowu till supper 
1 is ready," her aunt said, and the quick look of 
1 tkanlcs that Milly gave her made her resolve to be 
^ more like the child’s own mother in future. 
3 Milly went up to her little room and laid down 
3 on her bed. All the while the pain kept shooting 
through her heart, and sometimes she had to cry 
^ out, it was so sharp. After a while It grew duller, 
t and a heavy, throbbing ache took the place of the 
3 quick, keen thrills. Then this died away, and 
. Milly thought she would go to sleep. And when 
1 her eyes closed she thought she saw her mother 
corniDg toward her through the air. It seemed very 
real, and Milly’8 heart gave a great leap, and she 
cried out in a glad, touching sort of way, “ Mamma, 
oh, mamma!” And she stretched out her hands 
with a mute yearning to the bright vision, for she 
• longed to lay her head on mamma's breast again, 
• and feel mamma’s arm around her, and listen to the 
r dearest of all voices as in the years gone by. 
Milly thought that the form came nearer and 
• nearer, while the walls of the room seemed to ex¬ 
pand, and all the air grow full of golden sunshine, 
L and birds sang till the breezes thatj.were full of 
’’ clover-smells aud scents of new-mown hay were all 
‘ astir with a beautiful melody. And sweeter than 
’’ any other sound was the voice that whispered, 
1 “ Mother’s darlingand dearer than all other sights 
was the face so full ol tender love-light; and Milly 
e thought that she uever wauted to wake again, if that 
’ was dreaming, for mamma’s arms held her close^ 
1 and just as of old she felt mamma’s kiB8 upon her 
6 brow. “ Ob, mamma," Milly cried, clinging to 
the neck of her angel mother, “don’t leave me auy 
more, for Urn so lonesome without you! Take me 
’ back to Heaven with you, for I don’t want to live if 
B you can’t be with me, I miss you so much, and no 
l * oue kisses or loves me as you do t" And Milly 
6 thought her mother kissed her agaiu, and said that 
u she would never leave her darling any more. 
“Milly! Milly!” called her aunt, when sup¬ 
per was ready. But Milly did not come, or 
answer to the calL Another call, but all was still, 
and the woman svent up to thej room where Milly 
slept. There was a cold, whitejiform upon the bed 
with a look of deep, touching, quiet peace on 
still face; but Milly was not there. She had go-e 
home with mother! 
-<«.♦♦«« ^ 
A teacher was explaining to a little gir’fbe 
meaning of the word cuticle. “ What; is tbt all 
over my face and hands?” “It’s freckles sir,” 
answered the little cherub. 
- - »-»♦ »• » - 
We are not worthy of loving the^truth, *ben we 
■ can love anything more than the truth. 
