0 
down came the muslin curtains and up went the 
heavy red ones. 
“ You needn't bo afraid to use them just for 
one evening," continued this energetic spoke In 
the social wheel. “ See how rich-looking they 
are. Yes, they cost nigh a hundred dollars a 
window!" 
*' And is this Miss Marston, who has come to 
take the school?” said Mrs. Fustic, turning 
round to the bright-eyed girl when her work 
was completed. 
“Oh. yea," said Mrs. James, “ I forgot to in¬ 
troduce her.” 
" I suppose you begin the school right away; 
and where did you say, now, you wore going to 
board ? " 
“ 1 am going to board at Widow Wilder'S.' 
“At Widow WiUEUSft'S! Oh, no, it won't do 
for you to board there. She can’t accommodate 
but two boarders, and the new minister has 
gone there. You seo every one would say you 
wore after him If you went there. Let me sec; 
there's Miss Gould: 1 should think she might 
take you. Of eon rue she can; she lives all alone 
in the house by herself. I’ll stop and speak to 
her as 1 go along.” 
An Instinctive sense of politeness checked the 
quick reply that rose to Hattie Marston’s 
lips, and the opportunity to speak at all was 
lost, for Mas. Fustic had sundry directions to 
give Mrs. James; and then there were other 
folks in the village whose attain; it was neces¬ 
sary she should meddle with, so in a hurry she 
hustled herself off. 
“ Oh, dear!" said Mrs. James, scarcely daring 
to speak till the wagon was fairly out of sight, 
“ 1 really do like the white curtains best.” 
“ i think I should have said something if I had 
been you,” said Hattie. “Let's pull those old 
horrid things right, down now and put the 
others back." 
“Oh my goodness! I never should dare," 
said Mrs. James. “ 1 never should dare in the 
world; why, Mrs, Fustic would be awful 
angry." 
" Well, supposing she was, I just longed to 
speak my mind right out; what business wasit 
of hers?” 
“ Well, it wouldn’t do to offend Mrs. Fustic, 
I really shouldn't dare.” 
New Hattie was a distant, cousin of Mrs. 
James, and was staying with hor for a few 
days, till after the party, and she should find a 
place to board. Well, three hours after the 
Deacon’s wile had taken her departure hack 
came Peter. Hattie, had gone out on several 
little errands the parly required. 
“Mrs. FusimC has sent me, ma'am," said old 
Peter, “for the young lady's trunk: she told 
me to tell you that she hud got a place for her 
along of Miss Gourd, and she thought, ns you 
had no wagon, mebboit would accommodate if 
I took the trunk over." 
“ Miss Haitib is not here," said Mrs. James. 
» Well, mum, Mrs. Fustic has made all the 
’rangements." 
“Oh dear me!” said Mrs. James to herself; 
“ Mrs. Fustic will lie awful offended if 1 don’t 
send the trunk; what shall I do?" 
Indignant, to be sure, was Hattie, on her re¬ 
turn, 1 o llnd herself transported all but bodily. 
“That Mrs. Fustic’S a horrid, meddlesome old 
Mattie, and I shall Just lei her know! i shall 
Just give her n piece of my mind." 
“ Oh, Hattie ! pray don’t say a word; it will 
Blir up the awfullest muss that ever was; do 
try and keep quiet; you can go, you know, to 
Miss Gould’S, If you only stop there throe 
days.” 
“ What was that she had to say about the 
minister boarding at Mrs. Wilders?” 
Oh, yes, that's it; the new minister; he’s 
young and real handsome, and she’s afraid, you 
see, you’ll be llirting with him." 
“ I've a great mind to, jast to plague her, the 
old goose, only 1 can’t bear ministers; not 
young ones, they are such conceited fools. 
Anyway, Mrs. Fustic needn't worry herself 
about me, I can tell her." 
“ Well, Hattie, do promise me you’ll keep 
quiet; if you say a word there’s no knowing 
wliat mischief it. will make." 
Luckily the party was at hand to divert the 
wrath that was gathering in Hattie Marston’s 
heart, and as merry a party it proved to be as 
oonld be desired. Hattie found herself the 
belle or'the eventng, and, though one or two 
old batclielors pronounced her a flirt, every¬ 
body else, the young ladies and the minister 
included, said she was “ real nice." 
A week after this Mias Hattie commenced 
her school, uud Just, about this same time there 
came to the village, to spend the summer, a 
Mr. Pemberton and his daughter. 
“A fine looking man,’’ thought Mrs. Deacon 
Fustic, when she saw the Pembertons in 
church the Sunday after their arrival, “ and a 
very sweet looking girl is the daughter." It ap¬ 
peared these new comers bad a previous ac¬ 
quaintance with Edward Lee, the minister, 
and now,.when the congregation were depart¬ 
ing. they stopped fora moment's conversation 
with him. And what a sense of propriety and 
fitness filled the iniml of the Deacon's wife as 
she saw her pet, the minister, standing by the 
side of the tashionahly-dressed Ida Pkmuer- 
ton. She herself waited to bo introduced to 
the straugers, and Juwardly resolved that as 
speedily as possible she should make a tea-party 
for them. Indeed, this active Christian quite 
cast, into the future, and felt that she saw be¬ 
fore her exactly the one heaven designed for 
Edward T,ke. And so, in a happy state of 
heavenly mindedness and earthly complacency 
she pursued hor way homeward. But oh! un¬ 
happily for her heavenly mindedness, what 
should she see hut Hattie Marston walking 
with Wilt, Rennet, the wildest young fellow 
in the village. Here, now, was work to be at¬ 
tended to, and before the next day was far ad¬ 
vanced the wagon ami Peter and the Deacon’s 
wife appeared before the door of the school 
house. 
“Now Miss Marston," she said, when the 
teacher was called out, “ you see how I’ve come 
just, to say one word; yon know, now, you are 
young, and you need some one to keep an eye 
on you; you see it won't do for you to he keep¬ 
ing company with young men; fo.lcs will talk 
about you if you do; I don't say that there'll 
be objection to your having society; there 
won't lie none: perhaps I’ll come myself some¬ 
time, and take yon to the Dorcas meeting; but 
you see ii won't do for you to lie walking and 
riding here and there with young men." 
“Mrs. Fustic," said Hattie, her face grow¬ 
ing red with anger, and her whole frame quiv¬ 
ering with excitement, “ what do you mean, 
coming here and speaking In this way to me? 
What do you mean ? You urea u meddlesome 
old thing! What do you mean? I should like 
to know.” Stronger and more fluent came 
Hattie’s words, and long and dreadful was the 
talk, but at last the enemy was beaten off the 
field, and Hattie, flushed and irritated, re¬ 
turned to her school. 
A great commotion this affair mado for a 
while, but time passed along, and Mrs. Fustic 
went, about in her wagon, and still the pretty 
little school mistress taught her scholars. 
The tea party hud been at t he. Deacon'S house, 
and on the occasion the Deacon's wife had been 
delighted beyond measure ut seeing Edward 
Lee all devotion to Ida Pemberton. Indeed, 
they conversed together nearly the whole even¬ 
ing in a low tone, and in a sort of confidential 
way that was truly beautiful to see. Mrs. Fus¬ 
tic felt she had done such an excellent thing in 
bringing them together, for, shesniJ to bcrscll, 
“ they are Just made for one another." 
But. again, a disquietness ol'soul was in store 
for tills actively benevolent woman. She 
chanced to peep out of her front parlor window 
one evening, as the Summer was drawing ton 
close, and there was that huzzy of u school 
mistress walking with the Pem burtons, and 
the minister along with them. 
“I never, now,” she said aloud; “I do be¬ 
lieve that sassy gal Is trying to get old Mr. 
Pemberton. Well I do declare!" ami for the 
remainder of the evening Mrs. Fustic did noth¬ 
ing but declare atul shako hor head. 
Itut now it was rumored, indeed it was “ ccr- 
tainly true" that Edward Lee and Ida Pem¬ 
berton' were engaged to be married. 
"And they do say, Mrs. Fustic, its coining 
off very soon," said little Mrs. Brunt; “ Miss 
Pemberton’s having an awful lot ol sewing 
done, and next week she’s going to (1m city to 
buy things, and then after ihut she's engm-xd 
three dress makers. Hut 1 must Bay as Air. Lee 
isn’t a courtin' very hard, leastways lie don't 
come ex ery night; Miss Mason as they board 
with ought to know, and .'he says lie never 
comes but twice a week ; but he looks us tickled 
as a peacock with new feathers.,’ 
Mrs. Fustic had been considering for some 
time what would be a suitable present for her 
to send the minister’s bride, so soon to be; and 
that very day she sent to her nephew in the 
city, desiring him to purchase and send by ex¬ 
press the handsomest cake basket lie could find. 
Duly, by express, came a box containing the 
elegant bnskoL Beautiful it was, and the Dea¬ 
eon and Mrs. Fused , together with Hannah 
and Peter, quite exhausted the language in 
expressing their admiration. But at lust Mrs. 
Fustic wrapped it up, and partly to see bow 
the some would look written, and portly be¬ 
cause, as she said, she might herself die, “ life 
was so uncertain,’ she wrote “Mrs. Howard 
Lee” on the outside. 
And truly, as Mrs. Fustic said, life is uncer¬ 
tain ; in three days from that time she was laid 
on a sick bed. A slow, wasting fever was con¬ 
suming her life. Martha, her niece, came to 
take earo or her. for the woman lately so 
strong and stirring, was growing daily worse 
and worse, till she lay unconscious at the very 
door of death, so low that life seemed lust 
passing away. But breath remained, and tho 
crisis was passed, and blessed sleep brought a 
littlo refreshment. Still, for days, low and 
weak, but docile and grateful, lay the woman 
by nature so self willed. 
At last, one day, she opened her eyes wearily. 
“Martha,” she said, “how long I have been 
sick ; it seems so very long; has any thing hap¬ 
pened in the village; what’s become of the 
Pembertons?” 
“Oh, yes. Auntie," Mautiia replied, “a 
great deal has happeuod, Miss Pemberton is 
married, and Mr. Lee.” 
“Married! Oh, well, 1 couldn’t really expect 
(hem to wait because I was sick." 
“Tomorrow, Auntie, I will tell you about 
everything, lnit you are too weak to-day." 
“Martha," said the sick woman, after a 
pause, “ there's n package in my lower drawer 
for the minister’s wife, and I feel impat ient , to 
have it go; please. dear, send it." ~ 
TU© cake basket went, to MRS. Howard Lee, 
and the next day a smiling little bride begged 
to soe poor dear Mrs. Fustic, just a moment, 
and the Deaoon’s wife entreated Martha in the 
tone of a little child that she might see her 
sweet pet, if it was only for a minute. 
And in came Hattie, bright-eyed as ever. 
“I thought— I thought," said Mrs. Fustic, 
looking frightened, “ it was the bride, the min¬ 
ister’s wife, who was coming." 
“ Yes, dear Mrs. Fustic, you know we were 
married two weeks ago.” 
“1 did not understa nd,” said the Sick woman. 
“I have made a mistake, I mean—I mean—I 
don’t mean you know I am sorry.” 
“And you did not know I was going to he 
married? Ah, but you have been sick so 
long ;” and the tears came in Hattie’s eyes, as 
she knelt by the bedside, and took one of the 
polo thin hands in her own. 
“And they told me Miss Pemberton was 
married!" 
“Ob, yes; she was married the day before I 
was. You know she has been engaged so long 
to Frank Ashley. He was a classmate of Ho¬ 
ward's, and when she came here, and found 
that Edward and Frank were friends, she was 
so deli«htod. And wo are so glad, dear Mrs. 
Fustic, that you are getting better," and Hat- 
ti e pressed the weak bund, and kissed the pale 
cheek. “But I must not stay and tire you to¬ 
day ; I shall come again, soon, you know.” 
“Will you—will you?” Mrs. Fustic could 
scarcely speak with emotion, but faintly she 
said, “ God bless you, my dear child." 
-- 
HE KNEW HIM LIKE A BOOK. 
This story comes from Bangor, Me.: — Near 
Bangor, in a little village, there dwelt, many 
years gone l»y, a lay member, who kept week 
days a country store, and on Sundays he would 
preach or exhort around among the neighbor¬ 
ing towns, where he could find a vacant pulpit. 
He was a man of limber tongue, and could sell 
Yankee notions and preach the Gospel very 
handy. 
It was his way to load up a wagon and peddle 
all through Die country, leaving his store in the 
charge of his wife during his absence. 
Finding himself, late in the week, upon a cer¬ 
tain time, too far from homo to got back, and 
having sold out his loud, which at that tiinecon- 
sisted of drtod apples, which, by the way, were 
a littlo wormy, lie gave notice that ho would 
preach the next day, which was Sunday, to the 
people. 
Many gathered to hear him. Ills text was; 
“ And by their fruits ye shall know them.” He 
handled this subject in bis usual gallant man¬ 
ner, and, closing up his sermon with a glittering 
paragraph, lie repeated the text. “ Yes, my 
friends, and by their fruits ycshallknow them.” 
Just at this point up Jumped a retail grocer In 
the place, who had dealt with the exhorter the 
night before, mid said, loud euough to lie heard 
if the ehurb had been twice as large:—“ Yes, 
friend, and hu the worms In their dried appte «, 
ton.” 
-♦» »- 
BADLY MIXED. 
“ Wiiat’s the mailer, Bob?” 
“Sam, who am I?" 
“ Why, you are yourself, Bob Harrison, ain’t 
you ?" 
“ No. far from it." 
“Why, what’s the matter?” 
“ Well, sir, I’m so mixed up, I don't know who 
I am." 
“ Don't take it so hard to heart." 
"1 ain't; I'm taking it in my hand kerchief.” 
“ Well, sir, what's the matter ?” 
“Why, I am married." 
“Married? ha ! ha! ha! why, sir, you should 
he happy." 
“ Yes, but I ain't." 
“Why, all married men are supposed to be 
happy.” 
“ Yes, but how many are so?” 
“Well, sir, as I paid before, don't take it so 
hard—tell us all about it.” 
“ Well, Sam, I'll tell you how it is. You see I 
married awidder, and thiswidder had a daugh¬ 
ter." 
"Ohyea! I see how it is. You have been 
making iove to this daughter." 
“No! worse than that. You see my father 
was a widower, and he married this daughter, 
so that makes my father my son-in-law, don’t 
it? Well, don't you see how I am mixed up?” 
“ Well, sir, is that ail ?” 
“No, T only wish it wus. Don’t you see my 
stepdaughter is my stepmother, ain't she? 
Well, then, hor mother is my grandmother, 
ain’t she? Well, I am married to her, ain't!? 
So tliut makes tue my own grandfather, doesn’t 
it?" 
-♦♦♦- 
SOCIAL SPLINTERS. 
A few Sundays since a teacher in a Sunday 
school in Chicago said to one of her pupils, 
“ James, what good tiling—what great pleasure 
are you willing to give up as a sacrifice during 
Lenten season ?” Jimmy meditated about ten 
seconds and responded, “ I think I’ll give up go¬ 
ing to Sunday school." 
How often we feel and act as if our mood 
were the atmosphere of the world! It may be 
a cold frosl within us while our friend is in a 
glow of summer's sunset, and we call him un¬ 
sympathetic and unfeeling. 
It is no disgrace not to be able to do every- 
tiling, but to undertake or pretend to do what 
you are not made for, is not only shameful, hut 
extremely troublesome and vexatious. 
THERE are some people who seo in so mentally 
and spiritually sluggish that one is reminded of 
the Irishman’s remark, upon watching the 
squirmings of a turtle that he had decapita- 
ted “ Av course he's dead, but the poor cray- 
thur is not sensible ul' it." 
A Wisconsin man has at last discovered some 
use for the peacock. The omamontal ornithol¬ 
ogical idiot will actually cat potato bugs. 
THE PEACHES. 
When Summer flowers begin to fade, 
And Summer leaves begin to fall, 
One here, one there: in juicy strength, 
The peaches iedden on the wall. 
And so. indeed, hot youth being pa3t, 
Our lives should show their fruit full fast. 
The peaches redden on the wall. 
Hiding In hollow cells of green. 
Where plaited leave* hang thick about, 
And scarce permit them to be seen. 
And so, in truth, good deeds should be 
Concealed hi sweat humility. 
The peaches redden on the wall. 
Close sot upon low brandling trees ; 
And any hand may easy touch 
■’J'ite gifts the eye so easy sees. 
And-eo with ns, 'tls wellfor each 
To keep within the other’s reach. 
The peaches redden on the wall: 
They take tho kisses of the sun, 
'The joy tours of the flying cloud. 
The darkness when the day is done. 
And thus, well used, the changing hour 
Will help us to a larger power. 
The peaches redden on the wall, 
To drop when chilly winds shall blow ; 
But careful bands are swift to stay 
Their migrant live* from ending so. • 
And sorely thus a Hand will save 
The good from fulling in the grave. 
The peaches redden on the wall— 
Hut look up higher overhead, 
Where all the vaslness of the sky 
With faintest, calmest.blue is spread. 
And what Is that from where we stand 
But blue mist hiding Fatherland i 
Tho peaches redden on the wall. 
Though night's dark curtain drips with dew ; 
The white stars show them selves, and shine 
Through mounded cloud and hovering blue. 
And oh, to feel “ past fruit and tree. 
The Lights of Home shine forth for ino !” 
-- 
AMBITION TO DO GOOD RIGHTLY 
DIRECTED. 
Ambition is one of tho pervading and absorb¬ 
ing elements of the human heart. It governs 
the actions and deeds of men—sometimes for 
good, oftencr for evil. To the intelligent ob¬ 
server the rise and fall of nations illustrates it. 
While carefully perusing the pages of history, 
wit h its bewildering ami fasdnuting details—so 
truthfully and itupartially presented—the read¬ 
er is made aware that ambition, unrestrained, 
has been the principal aim of the heroes of tho 
past. Little did they heed Dm sufferings they 
occasioned—lit tle did they care for the destruc¬ 
tion of life or the desolated homes—if only they 
grasped the long coveted prize and stamped 
their names among tho great of the earth. 
History occasionally presents noble and com¬ 
manding characters whose example and lives 
would be well to Imitate, as it sheds a bright 
light through the darkness and gloom of ages, 
serving as a thread to lead some troubled The¬ 
seus out of the tangled labyrinth of error and 
wrong, but often tho contrary. The heart is 
fraught with many coutlieling emotiuus; it is 
deceitful ubove. all things; most imagine it far 
greater in taking a city than subduing and gov¬ 
erning tho desires and inspirat ions of an impure 
heart. 
What else but ambition actuated Alexander 
when he marshaled tils armies, invading Persia, 
Egypt, India and other countries, becoming 
muster? What else but ambition controlled 
him when lie rounded u city us a monument to 
this greatness ? His was u brilliant mind, yet 
selfishness was plainly evinced when his teach¬ 
er, Aristotle, published his works. 
What but the glory of renown plunged Peter 
the Great into years of war—squandering the 
great wealth his father had accumulated—lead¬ 
ing u life of hardship encompassed with many 
dangers and misfortunes. 
Ambition, unless governed by religion or re¬ 
ligious principles, brings sorrow, suffering and 
misery to many. Let it bo out ambition to seek 
that peace and joy which a pure life affords. 
Although obscure and unknown, yet it is possi¬ 
ble to attain greater happiness in doing what¬ 
soever our hand flndeth to do—than they who 
aspire after tho perishing honors of this world. 
Let us crown our brows with the laurels of 
good deeds, kind actions, cheerful, contented 
hearts, remembering that, “ Godliness with con¬ 
tentment is great gain.” A. h. it. 
-- 
DRESS PLAINLY. 
Some one has given the following reasons why 
people should dress planly on Sunday. These 
reasons are as valid any other day in the week. 
Here they are: 
1. It would lessen the burden of many who 
now find it hard to maintain their places in 
society. 
2. It would lessen theforce of the temptations 
which often lead men to barter honor and hon¬ 
esty t or display. 
8. if there was less strife in dress at church, 
people in moderate circumstances would he 
more inclined to attend. 
4. Universal moderation in dress at church 
would improve the worship by the removal of 
many wandering thoughts. 
5. it would enable all classes of people to at¬ 
tend church In unfavorable weather. 
8. It would lessen, on the part of the rich, the 
temptation to vanity. 
7. It would lessen, on the part of the poor, the 
temptation to be envious and malicious. 
8. it would save valuable timeon thoSabbath. 
9. It would relieve our means from a 6crious 
pressure, and thus enable us to do more lor 
good enterprises. 
r~i 
Ui 
