THE BOY AND THE BROOK. 
LONGFELLOW'S NEW POEM. 
Down from yon distant mountain bight 
Tlio brooklet Hows through the village street; 
A boy comes forth to wash his hands, 
Waslilng, yes, washing, there he stands. 
In the water cool and sweet. 
•• Brook, from what mountain dost thou come? 
O. my brooklet cool and sweet!” 
“ I come from yon mountain high and cold. 
Where lietli the new snow on the old, 
And molts in the summer heat.” 
" Brook, to wliut river dost thou go? 
O, my brooklet cool and sweet!” 
“ I go to the river there below. 
Where in bunches the violets grow. 
And sun and shudow meet.” 
” Brook, to what ffurden dost thou go ? 
O, my brookleteool and sweet!” 
” I go to that garden In the vale 
Where all night long Hie nightingale 
Her love-song doth repeat.” 
“ Brook, to wluit fountain dost thou go ? 
f), my brooklet cool and sweet!” 
*‘i go to the fountain, ut whose brink 
Tlio maid who loves then comes to drink, 
And that, whenever she looks therein, 
1 rise to meet her, and kiss her chin, 
And my joy is then complete.” 
iltoms for Ifuntlists. 
SYLVAN LAKE 
OR, LIFE AXD LOVE IX THE WEST. 
BY MARIE 8. LADD. 
Mu. Washburne Intel never been a suc¬ 
cessful man. He was born rich, but not 
lucky. But if unlucky he was seldom sad, 
ami ill luck destroyed neither his reason nor 
his good nature. His lust enterprise was by 
far the most discouraging, yet he meant to 
struggle out. of it. In it he had embarked a 
fair little fortune belonging to his orphaned 
niece. She had consented because of the 
wonderful profits which were to accrue, but 
be failed as usual. She lost everything, but 
at last took upon herself the role of comfort¬ 
er, for her uncle was at first cast down as lie 
had never been before. “I would not care, 
Bessy, if you were not mined.” 
“I ruined, uncle—young, lovely and ac¬ 
complished,” she replied, laughing. “Iwill 
tell you, uncle, there is one thing you never 
tried. You never tried farming. Go out 
West, take up land under the homestead 
law, build you a castle,—?. t>.,a cabin,—and 
when the wilds are somewhat subdued, in¬ 
vite me, and I will bury myself with j'ou 
among the solitudes." 
Elizabeth Enfield had thrown out this 
lure to her uncle half in jest, yet he was not 
slow in being caught. Bui he would not 
pre-empt, not lie. 80 , alter a little delay, he 
gathered enough from the wreck of his for¬ 
tune to buy a ” quarter section ” by the side 
of the loveliest little lake iu Minnesota, lie 
wrote his niece. A comfortable, house, cheer¬ 
ful wife and happy daughters made it quite 
a paradise, and Bessy must come forthwith. 
Bessy went, at last, not with any fanciful 
ideas of what this Western Paradise was to 
he; hut she sought it as a refuge, for she was 
homeless. So she was neither disheartened 
nor elated on arriving. It was about, wind 
she bad thought it. Her friends were very 
comfortably placed, with many ot life’s con¬ 
veniences. Uncle IJauky called his farm 
Eureka, and really seemed, at last, to have 
found a settled happiness, The water seeinec 
the chief attraction to Elizabeth. Sylvan 
Lake was a little basin of water of about a 
mile in diameter—in the middle of a forest of 
huge oaks and more slender maples, gath 
cred to the very water’s edge, A lovely lit tle 
lake it was, indeed. Looking at it IhrOugl 
a vista of trees and hushes, it seemed to Bes¬ 
sy a good representation of fairy land. 
The morning alter her arrival, Bessy saw 
a little boat, starting out from a cove oppo¬ 
site her uncle’s dwelling. ‘‘The trapper is 
coming for his loaves, wife,” said Mr. WasH- 
lukne ; and Bessy expected to see a com¬ 
mon fellow, lint instead she was introduced 
to a stately, reserved man. When lie had 
taken his leave, Bessy asked her uncle if he 
had called that man a trapper. 
“ We call him a trapper,” said Mr. Wash 
burne, “and that is about all we know of 
him. He traps for furs, and occasionally 
brings home a deer, sharing Ids venison with 
his neighbors, llis little cabin is filled with 
books, and every post brings afresh supply 
of reading mailer. He is quite a character. 
Your cousin Alice, here, considers him a 
prince in disguise, and Inis vainly set her cap 
for him. Do not you, Bessy, lose your heart 
to him, for 1 really believe he has none." 
Bessy’s lip curled; she, reared in a land 
of civilization, to bring herself down to a 
level with a mere trapper. That was what 
her face expressed. Her uncle saw and 
smiled. “ You will see tilings difierently af¬ 
ter awhile, child,” he said, and the subject 
was dropped. 
Bessy had made up her mind to teach, but 
she spent several weeks at Sylvan Lake be¬ 
fore such an opportunity offered as she would 
accept. Dull weeks they might have been, 
but for the books and papers which were 
often left at her uncle’s by the trapper. She 
read them often on the bank of the little 
lake, where she sometimes speculated instead 
of reading. Charles Spencjerk was traced 
on the fly leaf of each volume. Tills game 
Charles Spencjerk came and went almost 
daily to and from Mr. Washburne’s, some¬ 
times tarrying to talk to the master or mis¬ 
tress of the house, but, except a civil bow on 
entering or leaving, he ignored the existence 
of Bessy and her cousin. By odd scraps of 
conversation Bessy gathered that tills man, 
who spent his time in what she considered 
so ignoble a calling, was one lilted to lead in 
any society. Very proud was Elizabeth 
Enfield, and it angered her to see one to 
whom so much was possible, hiding his life 
in these interminable woods. 
One day Bessy sal Avitli her cousin by the 
side of the lake, near where the boat of Mr. 
Spencieue was moored. It was a lovely 
afternoon, and she longed to be out on the 
water. She signified her desire to her rosy- 
cheeked cousin, who replied that, except the 
little bark near by, there was no boat on the 
water. “None; then we must renounce our 
little pleasure,” said Bessy, with a sigh. 
Just then the trapper passed near them, 
stepped into the boat and poised the oar; 
then, as if a sudden thought, occurred, 
stepped back to the shore, raised his cap, 
and asked if they would ride on (he lake. 
They accepted the politeness with thanks, 
and were helped to seals in the boat; Bessy, 
be it known, receiving aid from him with an 
ill grace. 
11 is strokes were those of an athlete, and 
Ihc little boat at first shivered on the water; 
then he gave gentler dips of the oar, and 
sent the shallop to search out lovely nooks 
or a glittering beach of sand and shell. The 
ride was, for the most part, a silent one, for, 
somehow, when near him, Bessy was always 
vexed at the contradiction his life seemed to 
be. After awhile they neared a curious 
mound, standing up amidst the wild rice a 
few rods out from shore. It had been 
formed by Ihc muskrat in a short period of 
time, Mr. Spencieue explained, and he 
stopped near it to adjust a trap. As he 
turned from it his glance fell on Bessy, It 
contained something inexplicable to her— 
not humiliation, certainly. 
“ Mr. Spencieue, I have often wondered 
that I he capabilities of your mind were not 
employed in some higher work,” ventured 
Alice. 
“Undoubtedly you refer to my calling, 
Miss Wasiibuune,” he coolly replied. “ We 
exercise freedom of speech in these woods, 
and I like it. I like, too, these solitudes 
and this water; they give me spiritual 
growth and rest. You ladies are younger 
than I; take from me a little wisdom that I 
have learned by experience. Do not judge 
people by their employment, if it be honest, 
but respect in all that higher self, which is 
allied to God.” 
They had reached the shore, and they left 
the boat feeling a little rebuked. Next day 
when they saw the trapper they found that 
they had neither made advancement in his 
acquaintance nor lost Ids respect. The im- 
perturuble being was to them the same. 
In a few days after Bessy left Sylvan Lake 
to enter upon her new duties; not with any 
dread, but a lit Liu inward rejoicing Mint she 
had somewhat to do in the world. The un¬ 
spent energies of youth will find exercise in 
some direction. Yet Bessy, perhaps, was 
not a model guide to lead the young, for I 
have already told you that meekness was 
not her virtue. She found in the little com¬ 
munity about her many intelligent and ex¬ 
cellent people, but she fell scorn enough in 
her heart for the underbred, officious folk 
whose wealth gave them a position above 
these others. Yet the children of them all 
were tractable and capable, and, on the 
whole, she liked school teaching. And so 
there was a pleasant season spent, and a lit¬ 
tle discipline gained by Bessy. She looked 
forward a little doubtfully to her return to 
Sylvan Lake. 
At first she would be rejoiced to meet her 
friends; and glad at the cordial welcome she 
would receive. There would be the log cabin 
quilts, finished by this time; the new finery, 
a year behind the fashion ; a few autumn 
leaves and shells to make up into beautiful 
ornaments, and ihen, the intolerable dreary 
days. There was Mr. Spencieue, who held 
in his fine personality the power to make 
Sylvan Lake a paradise to her, but she knew 
he never had, and believed lie would not. 
Bessy, like other girls, had considered this 
subject and lmd concluded that a mateless 
life was an imperfect one. And yet she was 
not too susceptible. She was even a little 
willful, if not strong minded, and had sagely 
concluded that she could live an undevel¬ 
oped life, as others had. I doubt if she would 
have acknowledged, even menially, that 
Chaiu.es Spencieue could he anything to 
her, were it not that certain seeming incon¬ 
gruities in his character had been elucidated 
since she had left Sylvan Lake; for Bessy 
bad formed some opinions from plain and ex¬ 
cellent premises—therefore, like the laws of 
the Medea and Persians, unchangable, she 
thought. She was enlightened in this wise, 
concerning Mr. Spencieke’s calling. She 
had made a friend, dining her school term, 
of a lady who had been a school fellow of 
Mr. Spencieue. This Mrs. Jaynes was 
expecting a visit from him, and in mention¬ 
ing it to Bessy she also touched upon the 
peculiarities of the man. “He has suffered 
much through friends,” she had said. “While 
in the army, an only and very dear sister 
married an intimate friend, whom he had 
trusted entirely, but after marriage this 
friend’s deportment was such that it had at 
first taken the health, and then the life of 
Charles Spencieiie’s sister. He had sought 
the woods after her death. She did not 
know what alleviation he had gained there. 
“ He has become a trapper,” said Bessy, 
a little scornliilly. 
Mrs. Jaynes smiled a quiet smile. “ Ciias. 
Spencieue could never he misanthropist 
enough, let what would arrive, to cause him 
to withhold a helping hand to the needj'. 
There is an old man located on the Canon, 
not many miles from Sylvan Lake—a most 
worthy man, but to such Providence, for 
some wise reason, no doubt, does not always 
dispense its ample stores. He is poor, and 
with his wile depends entirely upon his 
traps and almost unerring rifle. He is quite 
a character, Miss Enfield. The West 
abounds ill original, strong men ; you will 
know this better when your prejudices are a 
little worn, and your knowledge of it be¬ 
comes less limited. T see you do not like 
his employment, or you think it adapted to 
those of a certain grade, in whose ranks I 
have not placed him. Well, circumstances 
arc often our masters. This old man is not 
ignoble, though ho traps for furs and for 
life’s necessities. Though lie has for 
Charles a genuine friendship, yet he will 
not receive from him pecuniary aid. Spen- 
cieke resorts to strategy. He tells his old 
friend of the dreariness of the days, spent, 
without pursuit; that if he had something 
to do—something to call him from his books 
into the woods and upon the water—that; a 
favor would be conferred on him, and his 
gratitude would follow. And so lie looks 
well to the old man’s traps, saving him much 
fatigue, and increasing his stock. He will 
lie here to-morrow,” Mrs. Jaynes had said. 
Mr. Spencieue did not leave without call¬ 
ing on Bessy. Grave he was, as usual, lint 
unusually kind, asking for and taking mes¬ 
sages to Sylvan Lake. 
At length the day arrived in which Bessy 
was to set out for her uncle’s. She had to 
be taken home; there were no public con¬ 
veyances yet passing in that direction. It 
was but tweet.,-‘miles through the woods, 
but there had been heavy fall rains, render¬ 
ing the roads in uiuny places almost impas¬ 
sible, and they started early, knowing that 
the line span of hays must move on at a 
snail’s pace. The driver had passed over 
llie road several times,—hut when a road 
wears out iu the woods, and a neW one is 
made, there must be new directions taken to 
avoid the havoc of the freshet, and all the 
changes taken together, among many roads 
interlacing, he became puzzled about the 
route. Once they came in sight of a house, 
but the inhabitant, a German, could neither 
understand them, nor, in spile of violent 
gesticulation, make himself understood; and 
so they passed on. It was hardly two hours 
from sundown, and they had not given a 
murmur, for these Western people have a 
way of looking difficulties in the face; they 
do not turn their backs on them. And Bes¬ 
sy, be it known, bad licr strong points, as 
well as her weak ones; and a disappoint¬ 
ment did not cloud her temper, and jolting 
over corduroy or otherwise rough roads 
failed to make Her nervous. But now they 
saw a cabin with a genial smoke. They 
stopped before the open door. The driver 
entered it and risked the intelligent-looking 
man, who sat among his children while his 
wife prepared supper, if he could tell him 
where he was. “ Well, stranger,” the man 
replied, “ to the best of my calculations you 
are standing in my cnbin kitchen. That, is 
three miles from Sylvan Lake, five from 
Cordovan, and eight from Wnlernook.” 
Gelling the direction they started on, glad 
of their nearness to the haven, yet a little 
doubtful of the gathering clouds. 
But darkness came on before its time, and 
the spot did not look familiar to Bessy. To 
pass a rainy night, without shelter, in the 
woods, was not an agreeable prospect, and 
when she saw a man coming near with a 
rifle on his shoulder, she exclaimed for joy— 
and when she discovered it to be Sir. Spen- 
Ciebe she was in a moment at His side, and 
iu a few hurried words made him acquaint¬ 
ed with their dilemma. 
They were hut a few rods from his cabin, 
into which he hurried them, for the rain 
was beginning to pour. There was no help 
for it; the storm was heavy, and they must 
slay the night. So he gave them bread and 
dried venison for refreshment, and cold 
water from a spring; and then he made an 
easy resting place for Bessy in His rustic 
chair, and spent the night reading to her or 
iu conversation. lit the character of host 
Charles Spencieue was hardly to he im¬ 
proved ; and Bessy, too, was by nature 
genial and pleasant. After this night he 
seemed to have dropped bis reserve with 
Her, and even to seek her society at times. 
And Sylvan Lake assumed new beauties in 
the eyes of Bessy. The days no longer 
dragged drearily, but she thought Lite huge 
trees of the great woods magnificent, and 
the birds (more numerous and of greater va¬ 
riety than she had ever seen before) seemed 
like wise and happy worshippers of these 
temples. 
One day Bessy met Mr. Spencieue at one 
of these concerts of the birds. He asked her 
to sit. by him on a mossy log, promising to 
watch for rattlesnakes, but 1 fear be forgot 
bis promise, lie became so earnest, in what 
lie was saying, a moment alter. He told Her 
that since she had given a new atmosphere 
to liis little cabin—he had somehow become 
discontented with his secluded life. And 
then he made known to her, after the man¬ 
ner of lovers, that, she was the very woman 
who was all the world to him. I do not 
think Bessy fainted. It would not have 
been in keeping with the strong oaks, or the 
grandeur of tliesolitude around, nor her own 
earnest and firm nature. 
Bessy was deeply happy. Having no 
wedding trousseau to look after, left her time 
for real enjoyment. She was married in 
simple white. A clear eye and intelligent 
brow made her in one sense a beautiful bride 
— “ the loveliest, bride groom ever bad,” Mr. 
Bpkncierk asserted, and Bessy smiled hap¬ 
pily, not because she believed it to lie true, 
but because she knew that the feeling that 
prompted the declaration was genuine. And 
so these young people, who might never 
have known each other intimately had they 
met in society, under the influence of solitary 
nature had seen each other as they were,— 
and loved, 
They made their residence at some dis 
lance from Sylvan Lake, not so far, however, 
as to preclude the possibility of frequent 
visits to its shores. 
-- 
WHAT FIVE DOLLARS PAID. 
Mr. IIeiiriot was silting in bis office one 
day when a lad entered and handed Him a 
small slip of paper. It was a bill of $5, due 
to his shoemaker, a poor man, who lived in 
the next square. 
“ Tell Mr. Grant that I will settle this 
soon. It isn’t convenient to-day.” 
The hoy retired. 
Now, Mr. Herriot had n five-dollar bill in 
liis pocket, but lie felt us if lie couldn’t part 
with it. lie didn’t like to be entirely out of 
money. So, acting from this impulse, lie lmd 
sent the boy away. Very still sat Mr. Iler- 
riot for llic next live minutes. Yet his 
thoughts were busy. He avus not altogether 
satisfied Avilli liimself. The shoemaker was 
a poor man, and needed his money as soon 
as earned lie was not unadvised of the fact. 
“ I almost Avish 1 had sent the $5,” said 
Mr, Herriot at length, half audibly. “lie 
Avants it worse than I do.” 
He mused still farther. 
" The fact is,” lie at length exclaimed, 
starting up, “it’s Grant’s money, and not 
mine; and Avlnit is more, he shall have it.” 
So saying, Herriot took up his hat and 
left I lie office. 
“ Did you get the money, Charles ?” said 
Grant, as tHe hoy entered the shop. There 
was a good deal of earnestness in the shoe¬ 
maker’s tones. 
“ No. sir,” replied the lad. 
“ Didn’t get the money ?” 
“ No, sir.” 
“ Wasn’t Mr. Herriot in?” 
“Yes, sir; lnit he said it was not con¬ 
venient to-day.” 
“ Oh, dear, I’m sorry, came from the shoe¬ 
maker, in a depressed voice. 
A woman avss sittiug in Grant’s shop Avhen 
the boy came in; she lmd now arisen, and 
av«s leaning on tHe counter ; a look of dis¬ 
appointment Avas in her face. 
“ It can’t be helped, Mrs. Lee,” said 
Grant. “I was sure of getting the money 
from him. lie never disappointed me before. 
Call in to-morrow and I’ll try and have it 
for you.” 
The Avoman looked troubled as well as 
disappointed. Slowly she turned away and 
left the shop. A few minutes after her de¬ 
parture Herriot came in, and after some 
words of apology paid tHe bill. 
“ Run and get this bill changed,” said the 
shoemaker to Jiis hoy, the moment his cus¬ 
tomer had departed. 
“ Now, said he, as soon as the change Avas 
placed in his hands, “ lake two dollars to 
Mrs. Lee and three to Mr. Weaver across 
the street. Tell Mr. Weaver that I am 
obliged to him for having loaned it to me 
this morning, and sorry that I hadn’t as 
much in the house Avbeu lie sent for it an 
hour ago.” 
“ I Avish I had it, Mrs. Edeleh, but I assure 
you I have not," said Mr. Weaver, the tailor. 
“I paid out the last dollar just before you 
came in. But call in to-morrow, and you 
shall have the money to a certainly.” 
“But what am I to do to-day? I have 
not a cent to bless myself with, and I oavc so 
much at the grocer’s Avhere I deal that he 
won’t trust me for anything more.” 
The tailor looked troubled, and the woman 
lingered. Just at this moment the shoemak¬ 
er’s boy entered. 
“ Here are three dollars Mr. Grant bor- 
roAved of you this morning,” said the lad 
“ lie says lie’s sorry lie hadn’t the money 
when you sent for it a Avhile ago.” 
How tlie faces of both tlie tailor and the 
needlewoman brightened instantly, as if t 
gleam of sunshine had penetrated the room 
“ Here is just tlie money I owe you,” said 
the former, in a cheerful voice, and lie hand¬ 
ed the woman the three dollars he had re¬ 
received. A moment after lie was alone,lmt 
Avilh the glad face of the poor woman avIiosc 
need he had been able to supply distinct be¬ 
fore him. 
Of the three dollars received by the needle¬ 
woman, two went to the grocer on account 
of her debt to him ; half avus paid to an old 
needy colored Avoman who had earned it by 
scrubbing, and avIjo was Availing for Mrs. 
Wcaver’s return from the tailor’s to get her 
dues, and thus be able to provide an even¬ 
ing’s and morning’s meal for herself and chil¬ 
dren. The other half dollar was paid to the 
linker when he called toward evening t 0 
leave llie accustomed loaf. Thus the poor 
needlewoman lmd been able to discharge 
four debts, and at the same lime re-establish 
her credit AvilIt the grocer and linker, from 
whom came the largest portion of food con¬ 
sumed in her litlhr family. 
And now let us follow Mrs. Lee. On her 
arrival at home, empty-handed, from the 
shoemaker, who owed her two dollars for 
work, she found aj'onng girl, in aa hose pale 
face were marks of suffering and care, 
awaiting her return. 
The girl’s countenance brightened as she 
came in, but there was no answering bright¬ 
ness in the countenance of Mrs. Lee, who 
immediately said, “ I am sorry, Harriet, hut 
Mr. Grant pul me off until to-morrow. He 
said lie hadn’t a dollar in the house.” 
The girl's disappointment Avas very great, 
for the smile she had forced into life instant¬ 
ly faded, nnd was succeeded by a look of 
deep distress. 
“Do you want the money very badly?” 
asked Mrs. Lee, in a low, Imlf-choked voice, 
for the sudden change in the girl’s manner 
had affected her. 
“Oh ! yes, ma’am, very badly. I left Mary 
wrapped up in my thick shawl, and a blan¬ 
ket wound all around her feet to keep them 
warm; but she was coughing dreadful from 
the cold of the room. 
“ Haven’t you a fire? ” asked Mrs. Lee, in 
n quick, surprised tone. 
“ We have no coal. It was to buy coal 1 
wanted the money.” 
Mrs. Lee struck her hands together and an 
expression of pain Avas about passing her 
lips, when the shoemaker’s hoy ciune in. 
“ Here are two dollars. Mr. Grant sent 
them.” 
“God bless Mr. Grant!” This exclama¬ 
tion from Mrs. Lee Avas involuntary. 
On the part of Harriet, to whom $1 was 
due, a gush of silent tears market the effect 
this timely supply of money produced. She 
received her portion, nnd without trusting 
her voice Avitli words, hurried away to sup¬ 
ply the pressing wants of home. 
A few doors from the residence of Mis. 
Lee lived a man who some months before 
had become involved in trouble Avith an evil- 
disposed person, and had been forced to de¬ 
fend himself by means of the law. 
He had employed Mr. Herriot to do Avliat 
was requisite in the case, for which service 
tHe charge Avas $o. The bill had been ren¬ 
dered a few days before, and the man, avIio 
Avas poor, felt veiy anxious to pay it. He 
had the money all made up to wiLhiu a dol¬ 
lar. That dollar Mrs. Lee owed him, and 
she had promised to give it to him during 
tliis day. For hours lie had waited, expect¬ 
ing her to come in ; lmt now had nearly 
given her up. There Avas another little bill 
of $3 which had been sent in to him, and he 
had just concluded to go and pay that Avlien 
Mrs. Lee called with the balance of the 
money—$1—Avhich she had received from 
tlie shoemaker, Mr. Grant. 
Half an hour later and the pocket-book of 
Mr. Herriot Avns no longer empty. His 
client had called and paid ids bill. The $5 
had come hack to him. 
.--- 
DROPS OF WISDOM. 
A mind full of knowledge is a mind that 
never fails. 
The most positive men are the most 
credulous. 
Fools, Avitli bookish knowledge, are chil¬ 
dren with edged weapons. 
You may glean knowledge by reading, 
but you must separate the wheat from tlie 
chaff by thinking. 
Learn that happiness is not outside, hut 
inside. A good heart and a clear conscience 
bring happiness, which no riches and no 
circumstances alone ever do. 
If you would always be discreet. 
Five things observe with care— 
Of whom you speak, to whom you speak, 
And how, and when, uud where. 
