MOOSE’S BUBAL WEW-YORKER. 
HAIL TO THE HORSE! 
BY GEO. W. BI NOAY. 
Are there not hundreds and thousands of gentle¬ 
men who like a good horse, and who count it no 
Inhumanity to test their Hpced, who still refuse to 
bet, or put their runts into a formal public race, where 
the whole business is organized on the recognition of 
betting'/ Hrv. li. If. Dcichcr. 
IIA M, to the horse, he bears lug master. 
In peace or war, with Hying feet, 
Into the tight, or from disaster, 
Through quiet lanes, or leaden sleet. 
O give him the sweetest of grasses, 
Cull the choice strands of hay for him, 
Swire him not with whips as he passes, 
With his waving inane and dainty limb. 
His arching neck Is "clothed with thunder,” 
And his nostrils are open wide. 
He paws the yielding ground asunder, 
In his unounijuOreO strength and pride, 
lie chumps 111 * hit, and he prances 
Impatiently when the trumpet sounds, 
lie leaps at the sight, of the lances, 
And off to the front he bounds. 
He hearetb the sound of the battle, 
And his trained ear knoweth well 
The startling ring and the rattle 
Of Hie cannon shot and the shell. 
He seems half brute and Half human, 
So light let his race and burden be, 
A merciful man is a true man 
To his horse so licet and so free. 
Now risk no money In belting 
On the speed of the courser gay, 
There’s always a curse In the getting 
Of something for nothing that way. 
Hail to the horse that is fleetest. 
Spare him the curse of the lip, 
(five him the grass that is sweetest— 
Spare him the spur and the whip. 
THE MASON’S CHILD, 
CHAPTER I. 
Faster and faster spread the Haines, and now 
the ship was enveloped in a llory sheet. Mon 
and women rushed madly over the side to meet 
a quicker blit less painful death. Tlio boats, 
with one exception, bad been overladen and cap¬ 
sized. There were busty prayers, and honrl-rend- 
ing eric*of misery and distress. Dwitli hovered, 
vulture like, over his victims; some clung des¬ 
perately to the vessel’s side, some supported 
themselves in I,he water by articles snalehed 
hastily from the burning ship, and with which 
they had leaped wildly into the sea. The cap¬ 
tain wmg through his trumpet“Take heart, 
ami sustain yourselves as long as possible. A 
ship is coming to our relief." 
.lames DumnI stood upon the almost deserted 
(Jpck willi ids only child, but four years of age, 
folded closely in his arms, lie discovered it at 
last, but it was at lefts! four miles off. before 
the ship eould arrive they must be burned to 
death : or if he sprang, as others had, down Into 
the water, both he and I lie eh lid would be drown¬ 
ed, for he was no swimmer. 
'Hie little arms were 1 wined about his neck, 
the pale check rested confidingly against his own, 
but the brave, child did not tremble. 
“O my God, is there no help?" cried (he de¬ 
spairing father, ns I he flames swept nearer, and 
he felt that his present position eould be held 
but lit tle longer. 
“ Here, give Hie child to me, and I will save 
her,” and turning quickly Mr. Durant stood face 
to face with a stranger who laid a life-preserver 
in his hand, 
"Quick ! there is no time to be lost! The child 
can have my 11 fe-preserver, and it will float her 
easily. Yonder is another ship; 1 have been 
watching it for the last five minutes. It will 
reach us in half an hour at the most. There, 
that is fastened securely. Now, little girl. I am 
going to throw you into the water. You are not 
afraid?" 
“ No, no, but father?" 
The fat her caught her frantically in his arms, 
"My darling Eva, you may never see your 
father again; but do not fear God will guard 
you, and somebody will find you and take care 
of you. If you never see papa again, remember 
he Is in heaven with mamma,” 
" Has she no relatives?” asked the stranger. 
"None in this country; I am from England, 
and traveling for her health.” 
"Take that pin from your bosom and fasten it 
to her clothing." 
" Heaven help you for the thought,” said the 
father; and in a moment the square and com¬ 
pass was glistening on tile bosom of the child; 
and the stranger took her from her father’s 
a rms, saying ; “ 1 a tti si rongor than you, and she 
must bo east beyond the reach of these poor 
drowning w retches, or they will rob her of her 
life preserver.” 
The white drapery IIuttered through the air, 
and sank'below the waves; then rising, flouted 
lightly on the water. 
James turned to the stranger with tearful eyes. 
“ May God bless you and preserve you, noblest 
of men. But you, as well as myself, must bo 
lost.” 
“No, I am a good swimmer, and here isa piece 
of board with which you can sustain yourself 
until relief arrives." 
The l a I tier cast another glance at the white 
speck floating rapidly away, and with an inward 
" God preserve her," sprang intothesea, follow¬ 
ed by the stranger; but the two floated in differ¬ 
ent directions, and they saw each other no more. 
Two hours later, JamesDurantawoke,as from 
the sleep of death, and found himself in the 
cabin of u strange ship, with kind and sympa¬ 
thizing faces all around him. In a moment he 
realized all that had passed, and said eagerly, 
though feebly, “ My child, little Eva, Is she safe ?” 
There was no response, and a low moan escaped 
the father’s lips. 
“Courage, sir,” said a lady with tearful eyes 
“some of the passengers were saved by another 
Ship." 
The father's countenance lighted. “ God grant 
that she may bo safe." 
Mr. Durant recovered his usual strength in a 
few hours, and sought among the saved for the 
stranger who hud proved himself so (rue a Ma¬ 
sonic brother, but lie was not to be found. 
“ Ho must be In the other ship,” said Mr, Du¬ 
rant, "mid lie will cure for Eva.” 
Both ships were at port on the following day, 
butaUhoogh Mr. Durant found the stranger who 
bad befriended him, and who proved t o be a Mr. 
Wadsworth, from a southern city, Eva was seen 
by no one and given up as lost. 
CHAPTER II. 
“ Here, wife, is a child that has just been wash¬ 
ed upon the beach. She Is cold and stiff, but I 
think she is not dead. Lotus have some warm 
flannels immediately, and toll Thomas to run for 
Dr. Hunt." 
It was long before (he quivering lushes on<l 
feeble fluttering of the heart gave token that 
success would crown the efforts of Eva’s rescu¬ 
ers; but by and by the lids parted and revealed 
two large, liquid, sky blue eyes, that wandered 
from face to face in a bewildered way, and then 
closed wearily. 
" I fear.she will not.recover very rapidly,” said 
the doctor. “ 8he hasadclieatc constit ution and 
will require the best of care." 
“ Boor child !"Kaid Mrs Turner, “ 1 do not won¬ 
der she Is nearly dead; but who can she be? 
Some terrible accident, must have occurred at 
sea.” 
"Y'ou lmd better examine her clothing," said 
the doctor. “Perhaps you may And some clue 
to her relations." 
Mrs. Tumor lifted the gossamer iwhlte dress 
and turned it. over and over. The square and 
eompr.ss placed them by Mr. Durant flashed 
upon tile eyes of all at once. The doctor and 
Mr. Turner looked al each other, but neither 
spoke, end Mrs. Turner did not notice the tear 
that glistened In her husband’s eyes. 
The doctor’s fears that Eva would not recov¬ 
er rapidly proved to be well founded; days ami 
weeks of fever succeeded in awakening her to 
life, during which she talked Incoherently of 
“pupa," and "poor mnnuntt," andof the bunt¬ 
ing ship, and of hunger. She finally awoke to 
consciousness, and asked many questions as to 
where she was and how she came in the dark 
room, and who were those who attended her, 
but Dr. Until forbade her being questioned till 
she was stronger. 
How Interested were nil in the little convales¬ 
cent whom the elements had cast into the little 
seaboard town. The ladles declared that never 
before did a child possess such lovely eyes or 
such beautiful curls, while the gentleman seem¬ 
ed no loss interested, and brought her gifts of 
everything that might please hoc childish fancy. 
“My dear little girl," said Dr. Hunt when Eva 
was at length able to ride out, “ will you toll me 
your name?" 
“Eva,” said the child. “I thought you knew 
it.” 
" Yes, I know your name is Eva, but I want to 
know the rest of your name—your father’s 
name.” 
“ Eva Durant. Mr. Durant is my papa.” 
" Yes, but T want you to tell me all you can re¬ 
member about your father and mother." 
Eva’s eyes tilled with tears. “Oh, sir, my 
mamma died and went to live with the angels. 
And I do not. know where papa is. Me said iT I 
never saw him again I must know he had gone 
to mamma.” 
“ Where were you when he told you this?" 
“On the ship; and oh, the lire burned me so; 
and papa held mein his arms until a strange man 
took me and tied something under my arms and 
threw me into the water, and I have not seen 
papa since. Oh, sir, eau you tell me where he 
is ?” 
"No, dear child; but perhaps we may yet find 
him.” 
And this was all that Eva’s new friend eould 
discover. It was plain she had come from the 
ship which had beeu burned a few weeks before; 
that she had boon cast upon the sea, and floated 
t& shore; but where was her father ? Had ho 
been saved, and was he searching for his child? 
Every possible effort was now made to find him. 
The circumstances of the case, with the state¬ 
ment of the child, were published fully in the 
newspapers of Hu* neighboring cities, bui the 
grief-stricken father, believing his child to be 
lost, bad sailed a week before for Europe, and it 
Soon beeu me settled in the minds of Eva’s pro¬ 
tectors that he had perished. But the little one 
still prattled about her "papa-” 1 and said he 
would come by and by. These who believed dif¬ 
ferently would not. pain her by cont radiction. 
The square and compass that had been found 
upon her clothing was rognrJed as a powerful 
appeal from a Mason to his brethren to cave for 
his child. So it came to pass that Eva became, 
as it were, the special charge of Hiram Lodge 
No. 03. Mr. Turner would gladly have taken t he 
entire euro Of the little waif, ttnd the wealthy 
Senator tv-requested (oho allowed toudopt 
her as hla daughter, but the bret hren in lodge 
assembled, declared by a vote that Eva should 
be reared, educated and protected by the lodge, 
and that as Providence had placed hcrin Broth¬ 
er Turner’s house that should be her home. 
And so years went by, and Eva became a 
healthy, joyous child, flitting here and there, and 
everywhere meeting the warmest of welcomes. 
The Masonic Hall was but a few rods from Mr. 
Turner’s residence, and Eva often wont with 
him as far ns the door, and then returned alone 
always bidding the Tiler “take good care of Pa 
Turner, and send him home curly.” 
CHAPTER III. 
The six years that followed the death of his 
wife and the loss of his child passed wearily to 
James Durant. He visited nearly every country 
in the Old World, seeking among scenes of na¬ 
tural beauty und grandeur tia well as of historic 
Interest, for the mental rest which could never 
be found. Once more he turned his steps to¬ 
ward America, and sought his Masonic friend 
Wadsworth. Finding that gentleman about set¬ 
ting out with bis family on a journey to the At¬ 
lantic coast, Mr. Durant accepted the invitation 
to accompany them to Saratoga and Niagara, 
then to New York whore leaving the ladies, Mr. 
Wadsworth and Mr. Durant wandered from 
town to town along the coast, enjoying the beau¬ 
ty of the scenery and tho quiet hospitality that 
greet ed them more t han the crowded hotels and 
the fashionable style of the popular watering 
places. Fancy and the kind hand of Providence 
al length led them to the little town of 15-, 
and the second evening aflcr their arrival they 
visited the Masonic Lodge. A warm welcome 
was extended to these brethren from such dis¬ 
tant homes, and both were invited to address 
the Lodge. Mr. Durant said: 
“ Brethren, I have t raveled much and long. I 
have found Masonic sympathy in every part of 
the globe, and everywhere is Masonry substan¬ 
tially the siimu. I cun hardly tell where I reside. 
The world seems to bo my home, as I remain 
but a short, time in any town or country, but 
my English brethren, for they llrst brought mo 
from “ darkness to light,” and 1 love English 
soil, for with it sleeps the wife of my youth. 
But I love Aiuei ieiui soil, also, for here I have 
found the warmest of welcomes, (lie kindest of 
brethren. And here, too, my own child is sleep¬ 
ing in American waters, even beneath the very 
waves that wash the shores of your beautiful 
village. 
” Six years have passed since this dear friend 
and brother robbed himself of his life preserver 
that my little Eva might perhaps escape, and we 
hoped tluil the elements might be kind,and that 
heaven would send her relief, but she was never 
heard of more.” 
The voice of Mr. Durant was quivering with 
emotion, and unable to speak further, he seated 
himself and covered his face with Ins hands. 
1 Glances of surprise and pleasure were east 
from one to another among the brothers of 
Iliram Lodge. No one spoke, however, but all 
eye; turned upon the Master, Mr. Turner. For 
a moment he seemed reflecting, then taking a 
slip of paper from the Secretary, he wrote: 
" Mrs. Turner Do not allow Eva to retire 
until I return home; lei! her 1 mu going to 
bring a strange gentleman who wishes to sec 
her." And calling the Junion Deacon, Mr. 
Turner gave him the note, saying In a low voice, 
“Take this note to Mrs. Turner, Immediately,” 
“ Why, Eva,” said Mrs. Turner, when alio had 
read the message, "yon are going to have com¬ 
pany. A strange gentleman is at the lodge who 
wishes to see you." 
“ Who can It be? ” 
Eva looked perplexed and thoughtful. Sud¬ 
denly her cheek flushed, her eyes lighted, and 
clapping her little hands, she sprang to her feet 
and exclaimed 1 “Oh, it, must be papa! no one 
else would w ish to see mo, no one in the world," 
and before Mrs. Turner comprehended the 
child’s interpretation, she had passed the thresh¬ 
old and was flitting through the moonlight to¬ 
ward the lodge room. The Tiler looked amazed 
when Eva burst into the ante-room, her cheeks 
burning and her eyes flashing with joy and ex¬ 
citement," 
“Do not stop me; I am going in!" she ex¬ 
claimed. But the inner door was fastened, and 
the iinpftt.ieut Eva nearly cried with vexation. 
" Walt a moment," said the Tiler, who having 
heard nothing of what had transpired within, 
xvas at n loss to account for the strange conduct 
Of the child ; " wait n moment, and I will send 
your request to Mr. Turner. He will come out 
and see you.” 
“ I shall not wait. I do not want to see Mr. 
Turner; 1 want to see my papa.” 
“The child is crazy, that is evident,” said the 
perplexed Tiler to himself; bur calling out the 
Deacon, he hade him say that Eva wa3 there and 
had determined to get into the lodge room. 
The Deacon went to the East, and delivered bis 
message in a low tone, and in a moment after¬ 
ward moved "that the craft be called from 
labor to refreshment," 
"Now,” said Mr. Turner, “tell the Tiler to 
lot. her come in." 
And Kvn did conic, or rather bounded into the 
hall, more beautiful in her excitement than 
ever before, She advanced to the center ol’ the 
room and stood by the altar; half poised upon 
the tiny foot, she scanned rapidly the faces of 
all. Her eager eyes soon detected the strangers, 
who were seated behind the rest, and fora mo¬ 
ment she seemed irresolute; then darting for¬ 
ward with a glad cry, she throw her arms about 
the nock of Mr. Durant, crying, “ Oh, papa, rny 
dear papa, you have come home at last! You 
wer e not burned in the ship?" 
Wo will not attempt to paint the scene further, 
but will I nave our readers to imagine the joy of 
the fond father, and also leave thorn to decido 
whether the tears Dial wet the cheeks of the 
I tret lieion of Hiram Lodge were caused bvsvm- 
pallty with the happiness of their lit tic charge, 
or grief that they should Jose ope whom they 
all lovod. 
THE STATELINESS OE TRUTH. 
Too stately 1* the form of truth 
For walls of earth to hold ! 
Howe’er the master plan and smooth, 
Howe’er the, mason mold. 
No temple of high honored creeds 
Coniines t hat creed most high ; 
Which issues, matching human needs. 
From God’s free treasury. 
But friends conjoined in Jesus’ name. 
By high example led, 
The worship of the heart may claim 
For their illustrious head, 
And, should they in a, prison meet, 
Their place shall nolilabe, 
And if a palace is their seat, 
They meet in modesty. 
Blest be the faith that thus transcends 
Our common measure small. 
That grandeur to the meanest lends 
Humility to all. 
This highest glory may our hearts 
And these fair wnlls enshrine; 
The crown of doctrines and of arts, 
Man’s human—God’s divine. 
-- 
RELIGIOUS ITEMS. 
It is no disgrace not to be able to do every¬ 
thing; but in undertake, or pretend to do what 
you are not made for, is not only shameful, but 
extremely troublesome and vexatious. — Plu¬ 
tarch. 
It is the grandeur of all I ruth which can occu¬ 
py a very high place in human interest that it is 
never absolutely novel to Hie meanest, of minds; 
it exists eternally by way of germ or latent prin¬ 
ciple in the lowest as well as the highest, need¬ 
ing to be developed, hot never to be planted.— 
He Quinn'.a. 
1 think that to have known one good old man 
—one man who, through the chances and mis¬ 
chances of u long life, has carried his heart in his 
hand, like a palm branch, waving all discords 
into peace—helps our faith in God, in ourselves, 
and In each other more than many sermons.— 
G. IF. Cnrlie. 
Wk hear much of martyrs and confessors—of 
those who were slain by the sword or consumed 
in the fire ; but we know little of that still larger 
number who, by the mere threat of persecution, 
have been driven into an outward abandonment 
of their real opinions, and who, thus forced into 
an apostasy the heart abhors, have passed there- 
mainder of their lives in the practice of a con¬ 
stant and humiliating hypocrisy. It is this which 
is the real curse of religious persecution.— 
Buckle. 
The heart of Grip lies about our lives as close¬ 
ly as the air. There is no smallest act or thought 
that does not oclio itself iu Him, and this divine 
presence is intensely sympathetic. It Is not the 
mere oversight of a judge, registering praise 
and blame. It is the companionship of one who 
rejoices in all our joy, and suffers In all our pain. 
There is no glad heartbeat in the world "that the 
Almighty heart does not beat with gladness in 
response. There Is no littlo child's cry of sor¬ 
row over its broken toy that a more than moth¬ 
er’s love does not cuteh. Christian Union. 
Jrsis declares; “Ho that will lose his life 
shall save it;" and tells his Father: “Nowcome 
I to Thee.” Friends, taken from flood or lire, 
are found locked in each other’s arms. Was 
that quenched or burnt which prompted the 
last embrace? The scholar’s manuscripts lie 
like white thunder round him—a concentric bat¬ 
tery against old forts of error and sin. Shall the 
moral cannoneer purish? The spotless boy 
could remember nothing to repent of, but that 
he had once whistled on the stairs when, his 
grandmother was sick. Is that tender con¬ 
science extinct ? The hetirt will bleed. As we 
say ot a flesh wound, let It bleed, and so not 
foster 1 But its love abides.—C. A. Bartol , 
I rbmkmrer watching, last summer, spiders 
that, burrowed in the crevices of a trellis, where 
the wind had borne much dust. I noticed that 
the hole where they lay lurking looked datkand 
ugly. 1 also noticed, as I sat one day watching, 
a vagrant spider take a morning glory In full 
blossom, and spin his web over the mouth of it. 
And there never was a prettier nest in the world 
—a nest more richly gemmed with beauty—than 
his was. But after all It was the same spider, 
whether he lay in the dark hole at the Corner of 
the trellis, or in the blossom of that exquisite 
flower. Now, selfishness may weave its web in 
the dusky places, or in the hideous-looking re¬ 
cesses of a man’s disposition, or about the 
mouths of graces and sweet affections; but it is 
the same selfishness after all. The jdace is 
changed, and the appearance of the surround¬ 
ings is changed, but the spider is not changed.— 
H. IB. Beecher. 
Shortly after her arrival in Ireland, where 
Mrs. Hemans died, she was extremely unwell. 
When among the mountain scenery of the fine 
County of Wicklow during a storm, she was 
struck by one effect in the hills. It was pro¬ 
duced by a rainbow diving down into a gloomy 
mountain pass, which it seemed really to flood 
with its colored glory. “ I could not help think¬ 
ing," she remarked, “that; it was like our re¬ 
ligion, piercing and carrying brightness into the 
depths of sorrow and the tomb.” All the rest 
of the scene around that one illuminated spot 
was wrapt ip the profoaudesf darkness. 
i 
