r. 
253 
MOOBE’S BUBAL NEW-YQBKEB, 
AUTUMN. 
BY ROSETTE A. ROSE. 
THE Summer, with Its golden crown 
Of beauty, rich, and bright, and rare. 
Has passed away, and left behind 
A charm that it could never wear; 
A charm that, Alls our wondering sonls 
frith some mysterious, dreamy spell, 
Thai seems to mingle earth with ho iven. 
And bring us near where angels dwell. 
O! that the rouse* would bo kind. 
And give me power to express 
The glory of t he Autumn-tlrao. 
And all lt« tender loveliness; 
The azure haze that veils the shy. 
And wanders through the golden atr. 
Seems like a dream from Heaven sent 
To win our wandering spirits there. 
O! may the future of my days 
Bring me an Autumn as divine. 
When through the mist, of age's cares 
The golden light of Heaven shall shine ; 
When, looking hark on deeds well done. 
And looking up for hliss to come. 
I'll dream away the Autumn days 
Until my Master calls me home. 
<©ur ^lovn-iTpller. 
HOW MARION WON. 
“Of all the things this is the worst! If I 
ever in all my life expected to hear such news! 
Why, our George has gone ami got married! Do 
you hear?” 
Good Mrs. Clements pushed her steel-bowed 
spectacles off her bright eyes, and dropped her 
letter in her lap, as she turned round to her 
husband, the stout, clever old farmer, who was 
contentedly stroking the old white cat. 
“Deacon, d’ye hear? ’ 
This time, when she asked (he question, there 
was u touch of sharpness in her voice. 
“Yes; what if he is married? I'm sure it's 
natural enough. It kind o’ runs in the family, 
'pears to me.” 
But Mrs. Clements would take no notice of 
the little pleasantry. 
“Well, if you like it, I can tell you I don't, 
no needn't think he'seoming here, with bis fine 
city-bred lady, all airs nml graces, and flounces 
and ruffles. There's plfcnfy of good girls here¬ 
about that wanted him. Right in the middle of 
work, too! to talk of bringing a lady here jn 
hog-killin’ time! I do declare I think George Is 
a fool. 
* * * * ***** 
A graceful, dainty little lady, in a garnet pop¬ 
lin aud ruffled apron, with a small, proudly- 
poised bead, covered with short, dusky curls, 
aud a pair of dark blue eyes, so wistful and 
tender, a tiny rosebud of a mouth, and a dimple 
in one pink cheek. 
That was Mrs. Marlon Clements. Was it any 
wonder that George had fallen in love with her? 
Phe sat in the bright little parlor, close beside 
the lace-curtained wiudow, watching for the 
loved husband'* return; and then, when she 
heard the click of the latch-key in the ball, flew 
for the welcome kiss. 
“ Haven't you got t he letter this time, George! 
I've felt sure of it all day. Indeed, I’ve quite 
decided what dresses to take with me.” 
He smiled and shook his head. 
A cloud passed over her pretty face. 
“ O, George, Isn’t it. too bnd? And I do be¬ 
lieve—oh ! I do believe t hey won't write because 
they are sorry you married me." 
He put his arm around her neck. 
“And supposing such l>e the case, do you 
think it would make any difference to me?" 
“ Oli! no! uol only it would grieve me so If I 
had alienatc-d your pa rents from you.” 
“ And a one-sided alienation it would be too! 
They have never seen > ou! And when they 
know you they can't help loving you." 
“ O, George 1” 
Aud the exclamation was caused by the kiss 
accompanying his loving flat tery. 
“That's true us preaching. By-lhe-by, my 
dear, what would you say if the tirm scut mo 
off on a traveling tour of six weeks?” 
A little dismayed cry answered him. 
“You won't stay bere alone, eh? Blit,Marion, 
it would he five hundred dollars clear gain to 
us." 
“What need wo care for money? I'd rather 
have you." 
A mischievous smile ployed on the young 
man’s lips; bo was more matter-of-fact than 
this romantic, lender little wife of his. 
“I think the addition to our balance at the 
banker’s would be very consoling for the ab¬ 
sence. But never mind, little pet. Bet's go 
down to dinner. I hope we'll get a letter from 
home 6oon.” 
And soon it was; for Marlon snatched it from 
his coat-pocket, the very next night. But her 
husband’s face looked very grave and stern, 
and his eyes looked angry when she looked 
gleefully over the envelope. 
“M.v dear, you must remember I care very 
little for what the letter contains.* Remember, 
1 did not write it; that you are dearer to me 
than ever before. Kiss me, first, while I watch 
you." 
A little pang of misdoubt troubled her when 
she glanced over the note; then tears stole 
from under her lashes, and George saw her 
uiouih quiver and tremble; then, when she had 
finished it, she laid her head on bis shoulder and 
cried. 
“It was cruel to let you see it, my wounded 
birdie. Bet, me burn it. And don’t forget, dar¬ 
ling, what the Bible says, that a man shall leave 
father and mother and cleave to his wife. You 
are my precious wife, Marion, and te you I turn 
for all the happiness my life will ever hold.” 
He dried tier tears, and then they talked it 
over. 
“ Just because lam city-bred, she thinks I am 
lazy, and haughty, and dainty, and-” 
“Nevermind, Marion. She willflnd outseme 
day. My Bit her-" 
“ Yes, bless the dear old man ! Ho has added: 
‘ My love to my daughter Marion.’ Oh. I know 
1 should love him, and your mother, too, if she 
would let me." 
“We will invito them down, when I come 
home. By the way, Marion, T will stop at the 
farm on my way home, and invite them down, 
and bring them home with me." 
“George, dear, I have been thinking about 
that trip West, I think you had better go, and 
leave me at. home. It won't, be so very loDg.” 
Marion was eat ing her egg while she spoke ae- 
crotss t he cozy little tete-a-tete breakfast table. 
“Spoken like my true little Marion, and when 
I come back I'll lirlng you a present. VYhat 
shall It bo?" 
“ Your mother and father from the farm. It 
shall be that hope that will bear me company 
when you are gone." 
A fortnight after that Marion Clements ale 
her breakfast alone, (lm t races of a tear or so 
on her pink check : then she dashed i hem away 
with a merry. Joyous little laugh. 
“ This will never do, ami now that George has 
gone for six weeks, to prepare for his return. 
And I pray heaven )i shall be such a coming as 
shall delight his very soul.” 
♦ * 4 4 4*4 *4 
“I’m sure I don't know what to say. The land 
knows 1 need help bad enough, but 'pears to mo 
such a slender little midget as you couldn’t earn 
your salt. What did you say your name was?" 
“Mary Smith. And indeed if you willtry me 
fora week, I am sure you’ll keep me till the 
soasrjn's over." 
Mrs. Clements looked out of the window at 
the great clouds that were piling gloomily up; 
and then (he wind gave a great walling shriek 
around the corners of the house. 
“ You can cook, can you? or shake up feather 
beds good big ones, Forty pounders.” 
A gleeful little laugh came from Mary's lips. 
“Indeed I cun. I may not ooolc to suit you, 
but loan I earn.” 
Mrs. Clements walked out to the huge open 
fireplace in the kitchen where the deacon was 
shelling corn. 
“ What d'ye say, deacon; keep her or not? I 
kind o' like her looks, and the dear knows it 'ud 
be a good lift while we’re killin', if she couldn't 
do more'll set the table or make mush for the 
bread," 
“ Take her of course, Hannah. You nro hard 
driv’ i know. Let her stop a week or so any¬ 
how." 
So Mrs. Clements came slowly back and sat 
down again. 
“ You can't get away to-night, anyhow; there’s 
a snow-storm been brewin’ these three days, 
audit is on us now, sure enough. See them 'mi- 
flakes, tine and thick. You may ns well take 
your things up stairs to tho west garret, and 
then come down and help me get supper." 
Then followed directions to (be west garret; 
and when she was gone, Mrs. Clements turned 
to the deacon“ I never saw a girl before I'd 
trust up stairs alone. But such as her don't 
steal; I can tell you that if nothing else.” 
Directly she canoe down in a purple print 
dress and white apron; her hair brushed off 
from her face into a net: a narrow linen collar, 
fastened with a sailor's loop of narrow black 
ribbon. It seemed as if she had life, too, so 
handily she flitted in and out of the big pantry 
aud then down the cellar. Then after the meal, 
she gathered the dishes in a neat, silent way, 
that was perfect bliss to Mrs. Clement's car. 
“ tube's determined to earn her bread anyhow; 
and I lllce her turn too,” 
And the deacon had “taken a shine" to Mary 
Smith, Oin by one the days wore on ; tho hog 
killing was over and done ; long airings of sau¬ 
sages hung in fantastic rings, arranged by 
Mary's deft fingers; sweet hams and shoulders 
were piled away iu true housewifely manner, 
aud now Mary and Mrs. Clements were sitting- 
in tho sunny dinning-jootu, darning, patching 
and mending. 
“ I don't know what I am going to do without, 
you, Mary; I droad to see you pack up your 
clothes." 
A blush of pleasure overspread Mary's face. 
“I am so glad you have been suited with my 
work. Indeed, 1 have tried." 
“It ain’t the work altogether, though good¬ 
ness knows, you're the smartest gal I've seen 
this many a day. As I say, it ain't the work— 
It's you, Mary. I've got to thinking a heap of 
you—me and die deacon." 
Mary’s voice trembled at the kindness of the 
old lady's tone, but she sewed rapidly on. 
“It is so uncommon lonesome since the boy 
left the farm; but it's worse since he got mar¬ 
ried. It seems like deserting us altogether.” 
“Have you a son? You never mentioned 
him." 
“ No; George has gone his way, and we must 
go ours. Yes—ho married oue of those orack- 
hcaded boarding-school people, who can't tell 
the difference bet ween a rolling-pin and a milk- 
pun.” 
But despite her scoru, Mrs. Clements dashed 
off the tears with her browu fist. 
“Is his wife pretty? I suppose you love her 
dearly.” 
“I don’t know anything about her, and never 
want to know. He’s left us for her, and us old 
folks will leave him for her too. Mary, just turn 
them cakes around; seems as if they're burn¬ 
ing." 
When Mary had turned the oakes Mrs. Clem¬ 
ents was leaning on the arm of her chair. 
“ Mary, supposin' you stop on with us another 
month yet, anyhow. Then deacon will make it 
all right." 
“ It isn't the money I care for, Mrs. Clements; 
I only wish I might stay always. You don't 
know how much I love you.” 
“ Box e ns! do you ? Bless your heart. If poor 
George had only picked you out, what a com¬ 
fort it would he to us all! But it can't be helped 
noxv." 
She sighed Wearily, then glanced out of the 
window, looked a moment, and then threw 
down her work. 
“Bless my soul, if there ain't our son George 
coming up the lane! Deacon! deacon! George 
is coming!” 
Aud all her mother-love rushing to her heart, 
she hurried out to meet him. Oh, the welcom¬ 
ing, (liereproaches, tho caresses, the determin¬ 
ation to lox-e him still, despite poor innocent 
tittle Marion ! Then when the tabic had been 
set in the next room by Mary's daft fingers, and 
■she had returned to her “west garret,”Mrs. 
Clements opened her heart. 
“There’s no use talkin’, George: this fine, 
fancy lady o' yours 'll never suit me. Give me 
il Smart girl like Mary Bmilh, and I'll ask no 
more. Come in to supper now. Mary, Mary." 
She raised her voice to call the girl, when a 
low voice near surprised her. 
“Oh, you dressed up In honor */ my boy. 
Well, I must confess I never kn< wyou had such 
a handsome dress, and you look like a picture 
xvith your net off, and them short, bohbin’ 
curls! Goorge, this is Mary Smith, ray-" 
George came through the door, and glunced 
carelessly at the corner where the young woman 
stood. Then, with a cry, sprang with out¬ 
stretched arms to meet the little figure that 
sprang Into them. The deacon and Mr*. Clem¬ 
ents stood in speechless amazement. Then 
Marion, all blushes and tearful smiles, went 
over to the old pair and took their hands. 
“lam George's xvife. I was so afraid you 
would never love me, bo T came determined to 
win you if I could. Mother, father, may I be 
your daughter ?" 
And a happier family, when they had ex¬ 
hausted their powers of surprise, amazement 
audpridoin tho beautiful Morion, never give 
thanks over a supper table. 
-»-*-♦- 
ADVICE FOE A DINNER. 
At the restaurant of a wealthy aud jolly old 
caterer in Hamburg, a gourmand who had not 
ft shilling in his pocket, feasted sumptuously on 
all tlu- delicacies the bill of fare afforded. When 
ho bad finished hia repast and also drank his bot¬ 
tle of Rudeshcimer, he quietly said to the land¬ 
lord “ I have no money to pay your bill, iny 
friend; butif you will let mo do so, I will give 
you a piece of advice that is worth more than 
the money." The landlord, though taken aback 
at the cool effrontery of his impecunious guest, 
laughed and paid to him, “ Well, sir. if you have 
no money to pay for what you hav e eaten and 
drunk, let us have your valuable advice." “ All 
right," replied the stranger, “Now listen:—If 
ever you should be sent to the penitentiary, 
and have there to walkou the treadmill, always 
be sure to choose tho left side. You will find it 
much easier." 
-***- 
SOCIAL SPLINTERS. 
A touching incident is reported from Chat¬ 
tanooga. Au utter stranger called on a respect¬ 
able farmer, recently, aud asked him if his 
house bau not been robbed during the war. The 
farmer replied that It had. “ I," said the stran¬ 
ger, 1 ’ was one of tho marauding parly that did it. 
L look a little locket,” “That locket," .-aid the 
famer, bursting into tears, “had been worn by 
my dear, dear child." “Here it is," rep-Ii l the 
stranger, visibly affected; “I am rich; Jet me 
make restitution. Here is £2u for your little 
son." He gave the farmer a f50 bill, and re¬ 
ceived $30 In charge. He then wrung 1 lie fann¬ 
er's hand warmly and left. The fai mer hassim-e 
dried his tears and loaded his shot-gun. 1‘ne 
$50 bill was bud. 
An aged and rather rural deacon of Danbury 
somewhat astonished his family, on returning 
from a recent visit io Bridgeport, liy disclosing 
in the recesses of bis capacious valise two valu¬ 
able volumes iu blue und gold, a prize package 
containing gold coin, a cuke ol fig paste, two 
pictorial papers, aud a package of ice cream 
candy. He said a boy on the cars gave bitn these 
things. Ho Confessed that tho hoy wus an en¬ 
tire stranger, but fervently hoped “Heaven 
would paint him a sky blue if bo ever forgot 
the kindness." 
“ Tnis is George the Fourth," said an exhibit¬ 
or of wax woi-k for the million, pointing to a 
very slim figure with a theatrical crown on his 
head. “I thought he xvas a very stout man,” 
observed a spectator. “ Very likely," replied 
the man, shortly, not approving of the comment 
of his visitor, “ but if you’d 'a been here without 
victuals half so long as he has, you'd 'a been 
twice as thin." 
Ak enraged mau tears his hair, but au enraged 
woman tears her husband’s. 
THERE IS NO DEATH. 
Thebe ts no death ! The stars go down 
To rise upon some fairer shore: 
And bvlght in Heaven's jexveled crown 
They shine forevermore. 
There ts no death! The dust we tread 
Shall change beneath the Summer showers 
To golden grnln or meiloxv fruit, 
Oi ratuboxv. tinted flowers. 
The granite rocks disorganize 
To feed the hungry moss they bear; 
The fairest leaves drink daily life 
From uut the viewless air. 
There is no death! The leaves may fall. 
The flowers muy fade and pass uxx ay— 
They only watt through Wintry hours 
The coming of the May. 
There 18 no death ! An an go I form 
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread; 
He bears our best loved things away, 
And then xvo call them “ deud.” 
He leaves our hearts all desolate— 
He plucks our fairest, sweetest dowers; 
Transplanted into bliss, they noxv 
Adorn Immortal bowers. 
'1 he blrd-lticc voice, whoso joyous tones 
Made glad this scene of sin and strife. 
Sings now In evorl listing Song 
Amid the tree Of life. 
And when he sees a smile too bright, 
Or heart too pure for taint or vice, 
no bears it to that xvorld of light. 
To dwell in Paradise. 
Bom unto that undying life. 
They leave us but to come again ; 
With joy we welcome them—tho same. 
Except In stn and pain. 
And over near us, though unseen. 
The dear immot tal spirits tread ; 
For all the boundless universe 
Is life—there are no dead. 
TOTAL DEPRAVITY. 
Men do not like the term trial depravity. But 
you might as well expect to find n man horn a 
hundred years old, ns io expect to find a man 
horn wItliont a depraved nature. When you shall 
find u child knowing all arithmetio at one year 
old, expert in all music at ono year old. a uni¬ 
versal historian at one year old, an athlete at 
ono year old, full or ail temporal wisdom at ono 
year old, then, and not before, xvill you find 
another child that is born Into this xvorld ex¬ 
pert, in all virtue, In all truth, In all moral pu¬ 
rity, iu all upward tendencies. The fact is, men 
are boru at tho lowest point of the scale, and 
work their way up through cycles of inexperi¬ 
ence and mistakes and transgressions to the 
highest point. And it is not a slander to say 
tlmt men are depraved, unless it lie a slander to 
say that, this is the method of t he divine crea¬ 
tion, or that this is the xvuy that the world is 
organized. 
-»»♦ 
Gone out Forever.— Like dropping, dying 
stars, our dearly loved ones go axvay from our 
sight—the stars of our hopes, our ambitions, 
our prayers, whoso light ever shines before us, 
their place is left empty, cold and dark. A moth¬ 
er’s steady, soft and earnest light, that beamed 
through wants and sorrow ; n father’s strong, 
quick light, that kept our feet from stumbling 
iu the dark and rrcacberous ways; a sister’s 
light, so mild, so pure, si) constant and so firm, 
shining upon us, from gentle, loving eyes, and 
persuading us to grace anti goodness; u brother’s 
light, forever sleeping in our souls, and illumi¬ 
nating our goings aud comings; a friend’s light, 
trueand trusty—gone forever? Noltbo ligbtlias 
not gone out. It is shining above the Btars, 
where there Is no night aud no darkness forever 
aud over. 
-- 
JEWISH PROVERBS. 
Tns birds in the air, even, despise the miser. 
When tho righteous dio, it is tho oarth that 
loses. 
Bet the honor of thy neighborhood bo to thee 
like thine own. 
The house that docs not open to the poor 
shall open to Hie physician. 
Rather be thrown Into a fiery furnaoe than 
bring any one to public shame. 
There are threer -.Towns of 1 he law, the priest¬ 
hood, the kingship; but the crown of a good 
name is greater than them all. 
The dying benediction of a rage to his disoi- 
plcs was, “ I pray for you, that the fear of 
heaven may bo as strong upon you as tho fear 
of man." 
“ If your God hates idolatry, why does He not 
destroy it?" a heal hen asked. And they an- 
swered him, “ Behold, they worship the sun, the 
moon, tho Slavs; would you huvo Him destroy 
this beautiful world for tho sake of the fool¬ 
ish ? " 
IIe who has more learning than goodxvorks is 
like a tree with many branches but few roots, 
xvhich the first xvind throws on its face; whilst 
ho whose works are greater than his knowledge, 
is like a tree with many roots und fewer 
branches, but xvhich all the winds of hoaven 
cannot uproot. 
