ft 
things of individuality. We cannot say “ this 
man is a knave; that man is great,” YY'e 
cannot ? We can; but in our saying we 
err greatly. Our weak human judgment 
fails us oftener than we think. Only a few 
men hold the card of their real nature out 
for common reading. These are either the 
grandly good or the basely had ; beside t hese 
there are thousands, quiet, unmarked, aver¬ 
age souls, whose motives are beyond our 
every-day divining, the hidden springs of 
whose characters we rarely if ever touch. 
Among the few whom T shall make known 
to you sooner or later, 1 am not certain that 
there arc any of those marked, striking na¬ 
tures which tell at once their grand noble¬ 
ness. Nor would i like to assert that even 
one of them is so basely had as at the outset 
to make me plead guilty for him. They are 
all average mortals, and very human. They 
have human ways, and human weaknesses; 
and it is the weakness of one at least that 
most draws me to him. 
True sympathy is ever for the weak. We 
may pity even the strong, capable souls 
whom some combination of untoward cir¬ 
cumstances presses sorely; we may feel a 
certain degree of sorrow for them, indeed; 
hut our true, genuine sympathy goes out 
toward those natures which in their weak¬ 
ness are daily creating their own troubles. 
It is a sympathy born of kinship. We, too, 
are weak. Their weakness cries out to ours, 
and is answered- 
A mau falling repeatedly into sin, not so 
much because sin is sweet to him, as because 
he lacks native force to avoid it, excites deep 
compassion. They who walk in evil paths 
hom sheer love of sinning, in comparison 
touch ns but lightly. It is as t hough we saw 
two swimmers—the one buffeting the waves 
conscious of danger, and eager to reach the 
shore and safely; the other sporting about 
at his ease, and in apparent enjoyment. We 
throw a line to the one, because, though his 
lips utter no cry, wo feel that he wants it; 
we have small desire to offer help to the other, 
knowing it will he scornfully refused. 
Independence is a proud thing, and to be 
admired. Ah, yes! But there is a dally 
sacrifice of independent lives,—lives which 
are sufficient unto themselves, and go out 
prematurely on the altar of self-sufficiency. 
Prematurely? Hitman judgment says so, 
and wc like to believe that it says truth. It 
is pleasant to think that live, vital forces 
which were suddenly rendered powerless 
had not expended themselves, — that there 
was still in them some influence to he felt 
and regarded. And yet in the light of that 
Divine Economy which takes account of 
every sparrow, even, it, were almost pre¬ 
sumptuous to say that there is aught prema¬ 
ture. It is the very height of egotism to 
claim that our time is ever the best time,— 
that all purposes and deeds which ripen in 
another are out of season,—that, plans we do 
not see perfec ted forever fail of perfection,— 
that- 
“Hello, Joe ! Gobi’ down t.’ The Corners?” 
road, stands the house he lias just left. The 
country folk for miles around know it as 
" the ’Squire’s house;” and since it has shel¬ 
tered three ’Squires successively the name 
has a peculiar fitness. One 'Squire Lang- 
well built it, and died soon after. The 
second ’Squire lived in it his appointed time; 
and the third was carried out only a month 
ago and will never come back. Only Joseph 
Lang well is left, and the people round 
about are fearful the line of ’Squires Lang- 
well is at an end, for they speak of Joe 
doubtingly. “ A clever fellow,” they say, 
“hut there ain’t any nf the old ’Squire’sstuff 
in him;” and they shake their heads as if in 
think. When poverty couples with dissipa¬ 
tion and shiftlessness, in a country village, 
the fruit of such union, once iu a score, is 
characterized by keen sensibility, acuteness 
and good-humored impudence. When Nat 
Graver married Olive East, Bon Graver 
was born, and through the transforming in¬ 
fluences of a drunkard’s home he has grown 
to what you see—a sharp-eyed, shrewd hoy, 
quick of wit, large of mind and small of 
body for his dozen years, ready-handed, 
capable, thinking some wise thoughts, and 
knowing slight reverence for superior ago or 
wisdom. Bub had another name once; in 
the worn family Bible, after the only record 
of “Married,” there stands a single entry 
under “Born,” and it reads—“ Nathaniel 
East GRAtT.it.” But though Mrs. Graver 
often reads her Bible, she seldom refers to 
the brief family record therein contained, 
and the name by which her ho 3 r was 
christened seems almost to have faded from 
her memory. To her he was “ Bunny " as a 
toddler; to the neighbors and herself he has 
been “ Bun ’ ever since. She never calls 
him Nat, because, as she would tell you 
should you ask her, one Nat in a family is 
sufficient, though he lias lived these two 
years but in sad legacies and painful recol¬ 
lections ; and she so rarely addresses him as 
Nathaniel that when the name escapes 
her the boy wonders over it long afterwards. 
And the questioned ? Over yonder to our 
right, perhaps twenty rods hack from the 
regret. 
The old ’Squire —it doesn’t matter much 
which of the three we allude to—had manly 
stuff in his character, and diffused the influ¬ 
ence of a sturdy manliness all about him. 
Among liis simple neighbors he was an auto¬ 
crat. lie dispensed Justice for the whole 
community; and though rigorous iu his re¬ 
quirements of others lie was as rigorously 
correct himself, anil so possessed the respect 
of all who knew him. Joe, — I do not like 
to say it,—lias not followed wholly in the 
footsteps of liis lathers, .He is a clever fel¬ 
low—everybody says it, and what everybody 
says must he true; but cleverness is some¬ 
times the worst of curses. I am tempted to 
believe such i9 the case with Joe. He can 
tell a good story, sing a good song, and the 
old invitation—“ Let us eat, drink and lie mer¬ 
ry,” seldom meets his persistent declining. 
“ I say, Joe ! Gobi’ to The Corners?” 
Buu is getting impatient that his question 
is not answered, and liis sharp treble rings 
out sharper than ever as he seats himself on 
a large rock by the wayside. 
“ What’s that to you, youngster ?” 
The words are not unpleasantly spoken; 
the voice has a touch of music in it, and the 
good-natured face looks into that uf the boy 
with a smile that we like. 
“0, nothin’ much. I only thought as 
how mebbe you was, you go there so of’n.” 
“ And why shouldn’t I ? Have to go, for 
the mail, you know.” 
“ O, do ye ?” and Buu laughs amusedly as 
he asks the question. “That’s a sort of in¬ 
fernal mail that ye git at Ktllum’s, ain’t it ? 
Dad used to git it there, too. It killed him 
finally.” 
Joe laughs, and leans up against the stone 
wall, as if interested in the lad’s talk. 
“ It’ll kill you too, Joe Lang well,— mam’ 
says ’twill; and she says you’re a pesky fool 
to go near Bon Kileum’s any way. Goin’ 
there to-night ? 
“ What an impudent youngster you are, 
Bun. No. I’m only going to the post- 
ofliee. Come, let’s move along.” 
Joe seems a little touched by the last re¬ 
mark, and his answer is a trifle less good- 
humored in tone. The fact that others think 
us “a pesky fool is rarely a pleasant one 
to submit for our consideration. 
I suppose I ought to beg the reader’s par 
don for this flagrant interruption, inasmuch 
as the youngster who made it will doubtless 
never do so. liis manners I cannot com¬ 
mend,—Ids personal manners, I was going 
to say, but are not all manners personal ? 
There are some good points in his character, 
however: and he has helped me out of my 
quandary by helping himself into our notice 
through a question wc could not avoid hear¬ 
ing, seeing that wc are on the highway to 
“ The Corners,” and questioner and ques¬ 
tioned have just entered it a little distance 
ahead, coming from opposite ways. 
Jlic questioner? There are such speci- 
nooulhriv’""^!' T“" d r"? “J I wiUl «0 the co,„mon appei: 
peculiarly the offspring of hamlet life, I ' ' - - 
CHAPTER II. 
It is three-fourths of a mile from the 
’Squire’s house down to The Corners, and 
nearly all the way lies through an avenue of 
grand old maples which the first ’Squire’s 
hand planted. The old mansion, square and 
massive, stands on a sight ly eminence, and 
from its four broad piazzas yon can look 
north, south, east and west, and take in a 
lovely reach of country. The first ’Squire 
had a comprehensive mind, and liked a broad 
outlook 
At the foot of the long and easy slope lo 
Ihe southward lies The Corners. A hamlet 
ol a dozen or twenty houses, in the first 
’Squire’s time, dignified as a post station. 
lalive, and having one church, and a store 
where the post-office was kept, it has devcl 
oped another dozen of houses, straggling up 
and down its two streets, and boashTanotlier 
church and a tavern, flic latter kept by Rob¬ 
ert Kii.lum, and familiarly, perhaps appro¬ 
priately, known as “ K ileum's.” 
The tavern stands on one of the four points 
where the two streets intersect at right an¬ 
gles, and nearest to it on the north is a small, 
one-story structure, within a grove of ever¬ 
greens, and flanked by the most pretentious 
dwelling in the neighborhood. The snug 
building has the air of an office, and a sign 
not too obtrusive stamps its character un¬ 
mistakably with the lettering— 
P. PILLSBURY, M. D. 
Within this ofiiee last night there was a 
consultation which might bo called “ a coun¬ 
cil of doctors, inasmuch as there were 
present a doctor of laws, literally speaking, 
and a doctor of physic. The consultation 
interests us, because it had a bearing on the 
general welfare of young L angwell. It was 
opened by the doctor of laws, in the person 
of Makepeace Lawmore, “ Attorney, Ac.,” 
pettifogger in general for the community at 
large, who, after a half hour’s desultory talk 
with the doctor of physic, made this in¬ 
quiry— 
“Have yon considered the statements 1 
made to you last week. Doctor?” 
As Doctor Pillsbury had been some mo¬ 
ments anticipating this question, it is fair to 
suppose he understood its meaning, but the 
look of surprise on his face was cleverly 
done, and the wonderment that came and 
passed away before he answered seemed real. 
“ O, about the ’Squire’s boy ? Yes.” 
There followed a pause. Then, as he 
looked cautiously out from under his specta¬ 
cles at the sly, cunning face opposite,— 
“They are true, I suppose? Well, and 
what then ? If if, he true that ’Squire Lang- 
well, during his tarry at the South in his 
young days, married and had a child born 
to him; that wife and child were both lost 
in a steamboat disaster, and that Joseph 
Langwelj, was not the offspring of the 
’Squire’s second union, but a gift cldld, never 
legally adopted, what does it signify?” 
“Not much, perhaps, except it may be 
proven that the bona fide offspring still ex¬ 
ists; that while the mother perished, as was 
supposed, the child was saved; and that we 
can bring forward Ihe real heir to all the 
Lamiweli, properly, in the absence of spe¬ 
cial testamentary provisions.” 
The pettifogger's “ not much” was meekly 
said; hut the latter part of his remark de¬ 
veloped earnestness and a meaning. The 
doctor did not seem greatly startled, how¬ 
ever. He gave one low ejaculation; but the 
tone of that betraj r ed comprehension rather 
than astonishment,— 
“Alii” 
Soon after which he queried,— 
“And can these facts be made to appear ?” 
“If facts, yes. It’s our business to prove 
all things and hold fast that which is good,” 
said Mr. Makepeace Lawmore, quoting 
Scripture as lie was somewhat inclined to 
do, and laughing at liis own aptness. 
And generally speaking, you believe 
money lobe that ‘ which is good,’and which 
you are to hold fast, do you not?” and flic 
doctor laughed heartily at his own conceit. 
“ Come, come now, Doctor; no joking t he 
profession, you know. If money is the root 
of all evil,” sadly perverting Solomon’s 
words, “we all may he said to love evil’s 
root, and to dig for it. The root of this heir 
business is money," 
“Of course; of course. Just so. And 
3 r ou can prove this?” 
“ I think so. If you could testify that 
the Squire has on more than one occasion 
expressed to you a belief that liis real child 
still lives, and if you, as the family physi¬ 
cian, could give in your evidence that his 
second wife was never fruitful, it would be 
easy enough. .1 .m id find the true heir.” 
“ And file rcsn/Twould be—what?" 
“That you and T would obtain a com¬ 
fortable fortune apiece, that’s all;” and the 
lawyer’s small, deep eyes seemed burning 
into the questioner’s flushed face. 
“Just so, just so. Yes, I see,” answered 
Doctor Pillsbury, working liis hands un¬ 
easily, as if the palms itched. “ Not a bat 
idea ; it really does credit to your keenness. 
But it might bo dangerous.” 
“Not at all. How? 1 can wind Joe 
Lang well around my fingers like a shaving. 
Who else is there to fear?” 
“ Yes, Joe’s a fool. But— 
“ There are no 1 huts,’ I tell you. If you 
could only testify as I intimated, the game 
would be ours beyond a peradventure.” 
“ 1 think I could.” 
“ Would you?” 
Mr. Makepeace Lawmore leaned back 
in his chair as lie asked Ihe question, threw 
one foot upon the doctor’s table and re¬ 
garded him v illi a quiet, koen*scruliny. 
Doctor Phlebotomy Pillsbury removed 
liis spectacles leisurely, wiped them with his 
silk pocket handkerchief, run liis hand 
through his thin gray hair, and answered, 
looking liis interlocutor square in the face,— 
“ Having your promise lo deal fair, yes.” 
“Why, my dear Doctor, of course I should 
deal fair with you," emphasizing the pro- . 
noun, as if to acknowledge that fair dealing 1 
was not an established habit with him. “ I 
give you my word of honor.” 
“Put it in writing, Mr. Lawmore, if 
you’ve no objections.” 
“Certainly not—none at all;” but the 
man winced as lie drew bis slight person up 
to the table, seized a pen and paper and be¬ 
gan to write : 
“I* Makepeace Lawmore, attorney ami 
counselor-at - law, in consideration of profes¬ 
sional service rendered, hereby agree to share 
equally with Phlebotomy Pillsbury, M. D., 
all profits accruing from prosecution of claim 
ol heirship against the estate of Silas Lang- 
well, recently deceased. 
“Makepeace Lawmore.” 
“Is that satisfactory?” he asked, with a 
slightly perceptible cull of his thin lips, as 
lie passed the slip of paper over. 
“ yes. yes; perfectly. Very well worded, 
too,” said the doctor, as he glanced over it. 
“ * In consideration of professional services,’ 
not badly put, as I live. When will you 
begin to prosecute the claim?” 
“As soon as my client arrives,” replied 
the lawyer, with a very significant smile. “I j 
must find him first, you know.” 
“\es, just so;’’ in the tone in which he 
would have made answer to a patient’s 
statement of ailment. 
They separated soon after. When the 
lawyer had departed, Doctor Pillsbury 
seated himself in an abstract ^manner, and, 
as was not uncommon with him, fell to solilo¬ 
quizing: 
“Just so. A very pretty scheme, indeed. 
Lawmore is deep—in spots, liis planning 
has its weak points, because he don’t look to 
the bottom of all the hearings. He don’t, 
consider, for instance, that the supposed lost 
child may really turn up alive, and embar¬ 
rass the Identity of the one he is to find; be 
don’t believe for a moment that the old 
’Squire ever did talk with me about Ihe 
probability of the child’s existence, as he often 
did, in confidence; nor does he stop to think 
that the old gentleman may have left a will 
which may yet turn up, touching the matter, 
and spoil everything. No, no, Lawmore, 
you are deep, but not quite deep enough. 
Of course I’ll swear — what’s the harm? 
Swearing to the truth won’t hurt any one; 
and if Lawmore thinks I’m testifying to a 
lie, what’s the matter ? Lawyers are not very 
sharp, any way.” 
Ten minutes later Makepeace Lawmore, 
scaled in his little office, drew a legal looking 
document from some secret place in his desk, 
anil with a triumphant smile of self-satisfac¬ 
tion lighting his sharp face, read: 
“ t, .Silas Lang well, bcinjf of sound mind, 
hereby give and bequeath to my adopted son. 
Joseph LaNuwgll, all my real and personal 
property as hereinafter specified, one undivided 
half of which is to accrue m him and fils lielrs 
and asaiKUs forever, and ihe other undivided 
halt of which ts to be held Intrust by him. for 
twenty years, to be made over, with sill monies 
aeeruhiK theivfrum, to the nirsprlng of my first 
wife. Lydia Fkkjuh Langwta.l, if such shall be 
clearly proven to exist, und their identity une¬ 
quivocally established ; but if at the end of the 
t wenty years specified no claimant shall appear, 
then this undivided half held in trust bv my 
adopted son, Joseph Langwell, shall revert to 
him, his liefrs or assigns forever." 
Mr. Makepeace Lawmore laid down the 
document at ibis point, not caring to read 
the many specifications, the signing and the 
witnessing. Doubtless those were familiar 
to him. He laid the paper down, and then 
he smote liis list down upon it with a truly 
sledge hammer eloquence of feeling. Aud 
he, too, soliloquized: 
“ It’s a deep game, but it wins, one way or 
the other. Let Em be the heir. If 1 suc¬ 
ceed in proving her such,—why, I’ll marry 
her, and old Pillsbury may whistle for liis 
profits on the score of professional services 
'which lie thought, so well put iu. If Em 
plays ihe high hand, os she may, when the 
I lung is pushed through, t hen I can make 
something out of that fool Joe Langwelj. 
by unearthing this will for him; for it 
wouldn’t look well for me to attempt to 
prove Em a fraud after I’ve once identified 
her. But if 1 can’t properly identify her, I 
can still operate on Joe by means of this 
little document which 1 was very shrewd in 
keeping." 
And so felicitating himself on his shrewd¬ 
ness the scheming pettifogger carefully dis¬ 
posed of the paper he set much store by, 
Closed liis office, and betook himself to bis 
lodgings.—[To be continued. 
LISTENING. 
To listen well is a most rare accomplish¬ 
ment. Indeed, it, is a thing beyond an ac¬ 
complishment. It takes a great man to make 
a good listener. The ordinary hindrances to 
good listening are very considerable, such as 
the desire to talk one’s self, the prononcss to 
interrupt, the inaccuracy,—if one nifty use 
such an expression, — of most men iu 
listening. 
But. there is something Avhieh prevents 
good listening iu a much more subtle way, 
and to a much more dangerous extent, than 
any of the above-named hindrances. It is 
this:—Assoon as you begin lo give utterance 
to some sentiment or opinion, narrate some 
story, declare some fact, you will find that 
your hearer, in nine eases out of ten, strikes 
at once a mental altitude in reference to what 
you say. He receives it as a friend, or as a 
foe, or as a critic, or as ail advocate, or as a 
judge. Now, all these characters may after¬ 
wards be fairly taken up ; but the first thing 
is to listen, if it may be so expressed, out of 
character,—to be a bona fide listener, and 
nothing more. This requires some of the 
simplicity of greatness. It indicates the 
existence, too, of that respect which really 
great men have for other men, and for truth. 
-- 
PERSONALITY. 
met jtlisttllitnin 
-r 
STIMULANTS. 
George D. Prentice, who, according to 
all accounts, ought to be pretty familiar with 
"hat men usually term stimulants, writes 
thus truly and beautifully: 
I here is a time when the pulse lies low 
in the bosom and beats low in the veins, when 
the spirit sleeps which, apparently, knows 
no waking, sleeps in its house of clay, and 
the windows are shut, the doors hung in the 
in\ isible crape of melancholy; when we wish 
the golden sunshine pitchy darkness, aud 
wish to fancy clouds where no clouds be. 
This is a state ol sickness when physic may 
be thrown to the clogs, for we wish none of 
What shall raise the spirit ? What shall 
make the heart beat music again, and the 
pulses through all the myriad thronged halls 
in the house of life? What shall make the 
sun kiss the eastern hills again for us with 
all his old awakening gladness, and the night 
overflow with moonlight, love and flowers? 
Love itself is the greatest stimulant, the most 
intoxicating of all, and performs all these 
miracles, and is a miracle itself, and is uot at 
the drug store, whatever they say. The 
counterfeit, is in the market, but the winged 
God is not a money changer, we assure you. 
“ Men have tried many things, but still they 
ask for stimulant. 
“ Men try to bury the floating dead of their 
own souls in the wine cup, but the corpse 
rises. We see their faces in the bubbles. The 
intoxication of drink sets the world whirling 
again, and the pulses to playing music and 
the thoughts galloping, but the clock only 
runs down sooner, and an unnat ural stimu¬ 
lant only leaves the house it filled with the 
wildest revelry, more silent, more sad, more 
deserted. 
“ There is only one stimulant that never 
intoxicates—duty. Duty puts a clear sky 
over every man into which the skylark— 
happiness, always goes singing.” 
■--- 
We find the following in Alcott’s Tab¬ 
lets:—Persist in being yourself, and against 
fate and yourself. Faith and persistency are 
life’s architects, while doubt and despair 
bury all under the ruins of every endeavor. 
Yon may pull all your paradises about your 
cars save your earliest; that is to be yours 
sometime. Strive and have; still striving 
till striving is having. We mount to heaven 
mostly on the ruins of our cherished schemes, 
finding our failures were successes. Nor 
need we turn sour if wc fail to draw the 
prizes in life’s lottery. Jt were the speck in 
the fruit, the falling of our manliness into 
decay. These blanks were all prizes had we 
the equanimity to take them without whim¬ 
pering or discontent. The calamities we 
suffer arise not from circumstances chiefly, 
but from ourselves. If the dose is nauseous 
or bitter, ’tis because we are, else it were not 
drank off with the disgust we manifest. 
Sweet, bitter or sour,—wc taste one thing in 
everything tasted, and that is ourselves. 
Could each one be clean delivered of him¬ 
self, how salutary were all things and suf¬ 
ficing. “ ’Tis in morals as in dietetics—one 
cannot see liis fault till he has got rid ol it.” 
-- 
VARIETIES OF BAD TEMPER. 
Bad temper is oftener the result of unhap¬ 
py circumstances than of an unhappy organ¬ 
ization. It frequently, however, lias a 
physical cause, and a peevish child often 
needs dfaling more than correcting. A child 
of active temperament, sensitive feeling, and 
eager purpose, is more likely to meet with 
constant jars and rubs than a dull, pensive 
child ; and, if he is an open nature, his in¬ 
ward irritation is shown in bursts of passion; 
If you repress these ebullitions by scolding 
and punishment, you only increase the evil 
by changing passion into sulkiness. A 
cheerful, good-tempered tone of your own, 
a sympathy when his trouble has arisen from 
no ill conduct on his part, are the best anti¬ 
dotes. Never fear spoiling children by mak¬ 
ing them too happy. Happiness is the 
atmosphere in which all good affections grow 
-«-*•>- 
INDIA MOONSHINE. 
Always manage so as to have some path 
open to return to kindly sentiments. 
Mr. Coffin, in his recent book, “ Our New 
Way Round the World,” thus writes of its 
effects on a man within the tropics:—“ The 
moon is at its full, pouring its rays from the 
zenith straight down upon us, with a power 
that is indeed almost as unbearable as that 
ol ihe sun at mid-day. There is no heat in 
Its rays, hut they have great effect upon the 
brain. The blood rushes to the head, and 
thereisasense offullnessancl pressure which, 
although not attended by acute pain, is ex¬ 
ceedingly unpleasant. We find it necessary 
to keep our umbrellas spread at midnight as 
well as at mid-day. It is dangerous to sleep 
in the moonlight in the tropics. In this 
country we can see new beauty in those words 
of the Psalmist, expressive of God’s care for 
those who love Him:—‘The sun shall not 
smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.’” 
- 4 ~*~*- 
THE INSPIR ATIO N OF WORK. 
Associate with your trade or profession 
the ideas of duty, beauty, social welfare, the 
service of God. as well as the idea of utility, 
and your toil will be no longer stale and re¬ 
pulsive, but will become inspiring, and re¬ 
main fresh. Some element of recreating in¬ 
spiration and delight mixed with ihe busi¬ 
ness of every hour is the desideratum, not 
days of dissipation thrust into months of 
drudgery. No one excess balanced by an 
opposite excess, but a healthy harmony, is 
what we want. Recreation and amusement 
outside of the regular line of life may be 
needful; but they are not half so important 
as enjoyment, freedom and progress inside 
of it. 
