288 
SV)00BE 5 S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
APRIL 2? 
“What fuu!” cried Cissy. “I should so 
like to go; I Will go! The fortune-teller's 
caravan is not actually in the fair, you say; 
and that there will not be many people 
about if wc start early.” 
“Lor, miss! what will your pa and ma 
say?” 
“1 don't know; T’ll do it first, and ask 
them afterward, for fear they might object. 
We will go to-morrow morning, directly 
after breakfast, mind.” 
Mr. Thorne was a steward; T do not mean 
an official attached to a steam-packet, in 
charge, i f .i china shop full of white basins, 
but a manager of large estates in the coun¬ 
try; a well-to-do-man, who had a small 
property of his own, which he farmed in the 
most intelligent and neatest style, on the 
outskirts of t he market town of Mitteluu, 
Mrs. Thorne was plump, good-natured, and 
lazy, yet somewhat proud and sensitive; 
sin- fancied the county fumilics were pat¬ 
ronizing, and she would not be patronized. 
Cissy was their only child, and they 
thought much of her, honestly believing 
that there never was such another baby — 
child—maiden. Of course the paragon was 
never sent to school, and her governesses 
selected principally with reference to their 
power of appreciating tier merits. 
Nevertheless she was very charming, and 
had two lovers- I do not mean mere ad¬ 
mirers, but two men who were ready to 
marry her, if she would but choose one of 
them. But she could not quite make up 
her mind which of the brace to select. 
“ If this gipsy would only show me which 
I am to take, it would save me a world of 
trouble,” she said, to herself, with a smile; 
“ but of course that is all noiiseusc. Yet if 
she. did, 1 vow l would be guided by it.” 
One aspirant was Pendil Frogmorc, a 
lauded proprietor in the neighborhood, very 
poor; (for though his rent-roll was a fair 
one, Ids debts were enormous;) but very 
handsome, and well set up. Indeed, he had 
been in the Blues 1 don’t mean in bad 
spirits, but a man in armor, commanding 
men in armor, and his wife would be un¬ 
doubtedly co intly. 
Charles Wilson was the name of tlioother; 
he was a young London solicitor, who had 
just been taken into a good linn, and was 
now on a visit to bis mother, an Indian 
colonel’s widow, who resided at Mittolun. 
Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Thorn were good 
friends, so all was smooth there. Mrs. Wil¬ 
son had murmured indeed, when she first 
saw her son’s inclination : 
“ Would she be n tH companion for you, 
Charles? —would she be able to take an in¬ 
terest. in the same things you did? ” 
“No, mother; and that is just what I 
want. 1 should hate a wife who was as 
clever as myself. But how can you fail to 
see her merits? She is such a very nice 
little party! ” 
“ Par Me. Charley, par tic; how dreadfully 
bad your French accent is! ] grant that 
she would r.ot be a bad match for you from 
a worldly point of view.” 
Frogmoro was the more handsome, Wil¬ 
son the more pleasant. Really, if fate 
would settle the matter for her, it would 
save Cissy Thorue a world of trouble. 
So the pret ty bone of content ion thought , 
as she started w 1 til her maid, Emma, for 
Mitteluu Hurst at nine A. M.; for Mr. 
Thorne breakfasted early, and his daughter 
pi-esided, Mrs. Thorne being a sluggard. 
Not a drum was heard, not a paudean note, 
as they stepped briskly along; the ginger¬ 
bread husbands were covered up from the 
dust; the merry-go-rounds were still; the 
clown was darning his rlress; the donkeys 
breakfasted frugally on each other's manes; 
the tire-eater was trying a diet of bacon, 
bread and garlic, for a change. Business 
never commenced in the fair before the af¬ 
ternoon. But Miss Thorne’s visit was not 
to the fair; to the right, some live hundred 
yards from the common, there was a clump 
of sparse trees, and sheltered beneath them 
stood one of those yellow huts on wheels 
which act so vividly upon the imagination 
of village children. This was the abode of 
the sibyl, and the adventuresses turned 
aside towards it. 
Kninm went first up the steps, and tapped 
with llie light brass knocker; the door 
opened immediately, and a woman of the 
nij stic race appeared—young, handsome as 
a Spaniard, though her splendid black hair 
was rather coarse, if you came to examine 
it too closely. Emma drew back, to let her 
mistress enter first. 
“Walk in, my pretty lady,” said the 
gypsy; “don’t be afraid; I am quite alone 
here.” 
Although the fan of the fair did not com¬ 
mence till late in the day, it was evident 
that custom came betimes to the sibyl, for 
all traces of night disorder had disappeared 
from the miniature interior, which was 
spick and span, neat and clean; obviously 
prepared for visitors. The small apart¬ 
ment was still farther reduced by a curtain, 
which ran on brass rings along a rod, en¬ 
closing a portion of the space. 
The gypsy examined Cissy’s band, and 
began making shots—centers though, most ; 
bull's-eyes, some. 
“ You are an only child, and your father 
and mother would give you gold to eat if 
.you wanted it; you had a bad illness four 
or five years ago; when a child you were ip 
great peril from a dog.” A lot more to the 
same effect, coached in vague language, but 
very correct, Cissy began to be sorry that 
she hud come. “There’s two gentlemen as 
is very sweet upon you, my pretty lady,” 
continued the unpoetie sibyl; “ if you mar¬ 
ry one you will be unhappy all your life, but 
if you take the other you will be lucky, and 
live to be eighty, and ride in your carriage 
and pair all the time.” 
The idea of this very protracted drive 
rather amused Cissy, and that revived her 
courage. After all, the woman might have 
made inquiries about her on the chance of 
her coming. 
“And how am I to know which of these 
gentlemen to choose?” she asked in a ban¬ 
tering tone. 
“Ah, that I cannot tell, my lady; but you 
can look in the Magic Glass for yourself, 
and see if it shows you right.” 
“ Let me see it, then,” said Cissy, brave¬ 
ly, though the feeling of uneasiness began 
to return. 
The gipsy said that Emma should leave 
the caravan; but Cissy would not have that, 
so a compromise was effected; the maid 
was blind-folded. The gipsy drew slides 
across the little windows on either side, 
producing deep twilight. Then t he curtain 
at t lie farther end slowly parted, revealing a 
Avail of black cloth, tightly stretched, in the 
center of which was fixed a circular mirror, 
about tivo feet in diameter, and this gradu¬ 
ally became luminous. Cissy’s nervousness 
returned Avith an increased force, and she 
grasped the hand of her blind-folded maid. 
A table separated the girls from the mir¬ 
ror; and whether it Avas OAVlug to the mag¬ 
ical quality of the glass, or the angle at 
which it was placed, it did not reflect the 
figures standing opposite it. Indeed, it was 
more, like ground-glass than an ordinary 
mirror—ground-glass Avith a feeble light, be¬ 
hind it. Presently the surface became coa*- 
ered Avith ill-defined shadows, Avhloli ’^filt¬ 
ered no us to obscure the whole of it;'and 
then it gradually cleared, and a head and 
shoulders grew upon it; it cleared a little 
more, and revealed—the undoubted face of 
Charles Wilson. Cissy stood aghast in awe¬ 
struck terror before this supernatural inti¬ 
mation ; Avhen suddenly, as she gazed, this 
face before her became couvub-ed with an 
expression of terrible agony. She uttered a 
little scream, and fainted. 
Fresh air and cold water soon brought her 
to; she fee’d the gipsy, and started home- 
Avard, 
“You see’d him, miss?” inquired Emma. 
“Yes; and I'll never marry any one else, 
if I die an old maid. But. oh! Avhnt can that 
dreadful expression on his face foretell? I 
fear that some awful calamity will happen 
some day." 
A not improbable dread. There Avas one 
consolation; fate and Cissy’s secret wishes 
had hit it off nicely. Girls are queer things, 
and she had hardly known she preferred 
Charley Wilson as much as she did. 
In due time, he offered, and was accepted; 
and they Avere married, and Avent for their 
honeymoon to the Luke of Como. 
One evening, Charles Wilson roAved his 
bride out in a clumsy tub. 
“ How serious you are, Cissus,” he said, 
finding her less chatty than usual. “ Did 
that brave-looking beggar frighten you? 
Because his frowzy bead shall be punched 
if he did!” 
"Oh, no; oh, don’t offend turn!” cried the 
young Avifo. “I am sure he has got what 
the Italian call an Evil Eye! ” 
“Has he? Well, never mind; the Ameri¬ 
cans have invented a potion which counter¬ 
acts the effect.” 
“Really?” 
“ Ves; Avhen Ave return I will get that 
gentleman from Ncav York, stopping at the 
hotel, to concoct us an eye-opener; that 
Avill make it ;.11 right.” 
“Oh, do I" cried Mrs. Wilson; and her 
husband paddled on. 
“1 say, Cissums,” he said, presently, 
resting on his oars, “ don't think that I am 
finding fault because you haA*e not got any 
faults, so that Avould be absurd; but are 
you not rather superstitious?” 
“And if I am, I have a right to be,” said 
sin 
“Ah! any particular experience?” And 
he wormed out of her the whole story. 
“ I am sorry I told you,” she cried, when 
he burst out laughing; “you don’t believe 
it ! You had better call me a story teller at 
once.” 
“Believe it, my dear! I am ready to 
swear to it. Ton did not see my ghost, 
though; you were looking at me. I was In 
a dreadfully confined position, and that 
rogue of a gipsy Avas so long about her pre¬ 
liminaries, that I got a liorrid cramp in my 
right calf, and made a face which 1 thought 
Avould betray me." 
The bride burst out crying. 
“And you bribed my maid; and laid a 
plot with a common gipsy to deceive me; 
and nearly frightened me to death; and 
Averc laughing at me all the time—oh,” she 
sobbed. 
“All's fair in love," said Wilson, sheep¬ 
ishly. 
“It Avas unworthy of you?” she con¬ 
tinued; you liHA'e married me oil false pre¬ 
tences. I shall never feel the same tOAvards 
you; I will never forgive you—never! ” 
“ But she did. 
- 
“HIGHLAND MARY’S” GRAVE. 
Rev. .1. W. Toon, writing of his travels 
in Scotland, t hus describes Greenock-on-the 
Clyde, where lie buried the remains of Jean 
Adams, a poet, and Mary Campbell, avIio 
inspired a poet: 
Time and space admit not of n sketch of 
Greenock’s rise and progress or present 
state and trade; but among its memories 
and glories are two names that the world 
will not let die—Jean Adams, who had oft en 
seen sad departures for the Avild ocean, and 
warm welcomes of mariners to their homes, 
and whose genius wove into song the thrill¬ 
ing and true-snuled affection which she wit¬ 
nessed, if she did not herself experience it, 
Avhen she sang “ Nae luck aboot the boose, 
when our guid man’s awa:” 
“ Is this a time to think o’ wnrk, 
When Collin’s at the door? 
Itax (reach) me my cloak, I'll to the quay, 
And see him come ashore.” 
A song of Avliich Burns says:—“This is 
one of the most beautiful in the Scots, or 
any other language.” Yet, little more than 
a century since, this child of .poetry ended 
a life of poverty in the Glasgow poor-house. 
Vastly different Avas the fate of James 
Watt, avIio also sprung from the same spot, 
wove hard material into engine power, and 
eAolved from water and fire a force that, 
next to God’s own Word, is mighty in 
“turning the world upside down.” 
The one of t hese Greenoek bairns pursued 
“the profitless art of poeui-making”— the 
other that of invention, Avliicli lifted him to 
Avealth, and gave him Avorld-wide fame. 
But the seeue of their birth is still more sa¬ 
cred, made so by the remains of one who 
entered it to die and be interred there. 
The body of Highland Mary—the early 
and lingering light of Burns' heart—mould¬ 
ers in the corner of Greenock churchyard ; 
and Avhatever shadows gather around his 
memory and stain his “fair name.” ber’s is 
without spot, and the delicious joys Avhich 
she enkindled in his soul seem to have been 
of the purest and loftiest order—lingering 
there like the reflection of a glorious sunset 
when the darkness has set in and closed him 
round about . For it Avas far off in the days 
of his brief life that he tuned his lyre and 
sang;— 
” Wi* mony a vow and locked embrace, 
Our parting was fsT tender, 
And pledging aft to meet again, 
We tore ourselves asunder; 
But O, fell death's untimely frost 
That nipt my flower so early! 
Now green's the sod and canid's the clay 
That Avraps my Highland Mary.” 
The path to her grave is trodden into 
hardness by' the feet of pilgrims from all 
lands; and on the slab that covers her nar¬ 
row bed is inscribed the unadorned name, 
Mart, AAdtH these lines from the poet’s peu: 
" O Mar)?, dear, departed shade, 
Where is thy place of blissful rest? ” 
All this is less imposing than the Watt 
memorial, of the purest marble, and Avith 
its chaste sentence, coined by the genius of 
Lord Jeffrey; but it is more touching, sug¬ 
gestive, stirring. The one has the mark of 
art upon it, the other is full of nature. 
-- <-++- - 
The Strength of a Nation is in the intelli¬ 
gence and purity of its people, and that in¬ 
telligence and purity are best secured by 
the circulation among them of the elements 
Avliich contribute to the health of body and 
mind; and this circulation is brought about 
by their protection in the enjoyment of per¬ 
sonal security, the advantages of education, 
and wages adequate to their proper main¬ 
tenance. 
jfebbath Reading, 
DOUBTING. 
The very saddest thought of all. 
Is that my heart is full of sin. 
That when I strive to climb, I fall. 
And all grows dark and blind within: 
Tlie good I irnnld, T never do, 
Tlie sin 1 nhun. I’m doing oft, 
A loving work. I mom t so true. 
Is oftoner heartless, and is lost. 
I try to trust my Father’s care. 
And pray that lie will lead me right. 
My faith is dim, the world's a snare, 
That lends me further from the light. 
AThere shall I turn, oh whither flee ! 
I'm weary, tossed and desolate, 
To an where can I go. but unto Thee t 
Thou wilt receive and ne’er forsake. 
I go, dear SAVlorn, straight to Thee. 
I give thee all, yes alJ my heart. 
Accept it, though so mean J lie, 
And let me from Thee ne’er depart. g. 
--- 
THE BIBLE GROWS WITH ONE. 
Spurgeon* says:—If you come to the Holy 
Scripture Avith groAvth in grace and Avith 
aspirations for yet higher attainments, the 
book grows Avith you. It is ever beyond you, 
and cheerily cries, “Higher yet; Excel¬ 
sior!" Many books in my library are now 
behind and beneath me; I read them years 
ago with considerable pleasure; I have read 
them since with disappointment; 1 shall 
never read them again, for they are of no 
service to me. They were good in their 
way once, and so ware the clothes 1 wore 
when I was ten years old; but 1 have out¬ 
grown them—I know more than t hese books 
lcnoAv, and 1 know wherein they are faulty. 
Nobody ever outgrows Scripture; the book 
Avidens and deepens with our years. It is 
true, it can not really grow, for it is perfect; 
but it does so to our apprehension. The 
deeper you dig into Scripture, the more you 
find that it is a great abyss of truth. The 
beginner learns four or live points of ortho¬ 
doxy, and says, “ 1 understand the Gospel, 
1 have grasped all of the Bible.” Wait a 
bit, and Avhen his soul grows and knoAvs 
more of Christ, he will confess: Thy com¬ 
mandment is exceedingly broad—I haA*e 
only begun to understand it. 
-+*.+-- 
A CURIOUS FACT. 
It is singular that t he name of God should 
be spelled Avith four letters iu almost every 
known language. It is in Latin, Deus; in 
Greek, Zeus; Hebrew, Aden; Syrian, Adad; 
Arabian, Alla; Persian, Syrn; Tartarian, 
Igda; Egyptian, Aumn or Zeul; East In¬ 
dian, Esgi or Zeul; Japanese, Zaiu; Turk¬ 
ish, Addi;Scandinavian, Odin; Wallachian, 
Zone; Croatian, Doga; Dalmatian, Rogt; 
Tyrrhenian, Elier; Etrurian, Ohur; Mar- 
garlau, Oese; Swedish, Codd; Irish, Dich; 
German, Gott; French, Dieu; Spanish, 
Dios, and Peruvian, Linn. The name of 
God in the Anglo-Saxon language means 
good, and the signification affords singular 
testimony of the Anglo-Saxon conception 
of the essence of the Divine Being. He is 
goodness itself, and the Author of all good¬ 
ness. Yet the idea of denoting the Deity 
by a term equivalent to abstract and abso¬ 
lute perfection, striking as it may appear, 
is perhaps less remarkable than the fact 
that the word man, used to designate a hu¬ 
man being, formerly signified Avickedness. 
--*-«"♦- 
Costta* Church Music.—Mr. Spurgeon 
and Bishop Littlejohn think alike about the 
extravagant sums paid by Protestant 
churches for music. The bishop stated re¬ 
cently that one church in his diocese paid 
more money for music last year than all the 
churches combined paid for missions. And 
Spurgeon, in the course of a recent sermon, 
“came down” on those fashionable congre¬ 
gations Avbo leave the praiso of God to four 
or five high-priced professional vocalists. 
--- 
The heart is ready enough at feigning 
excuses for all that it does or imagines of 
wrong; but ask it to give a reason for auy 
of its beautiful and divine emotions, and it 
can only look upward and be dumb. When 
avo are iu the right we can never reason, but 
only assert.—J. 11. Lowell. 
--t ♦ c 
By friendship you mean the greatest 
love, the greatest usefulness, and the most 
open communication, and the noblest suffer¬ 
ings, and the severest truth, and the hearti¬ 
est counsel, and the greatest union of minds, 
of which bravo men and women are capable. 
—Jcrany Taylor. 
-- 
Truth is immortal: tlie sword cannot 
pierce it, lire cannot consume it, prisons 
cannot incarcerate it, and famine cannot 
starve it. 
