MQ OBI’S BUBAL NEW-YORK 
3AW, 4 
OLD AND NEW TEAKS’ MEETING. 
’TwAS the night before New Year's,—and every¬ 
where round 
There was darkness and silence - no motion, no 
sound. 
•' Farewell to the Old Year!” each person had said 
Before ho had tucked himself snugly in bed, 
Expecting that ere he should rise the next morn. 
The merry New Year would be happily born. 
Meanwhile, wife and 1 laid u* down to our rest: 
Each with conscience untroubled, the soft pillow 
press'd. 
Scarce had Morph cue his magical spell o’er us laid 
Than strange voices arose In tho regions o’erhead. 
Weird music and cries made the welkin resound, 
And quickly we started from bed with abound. 
Though dark clouds obscured the moon’s placid face, 
A luster more radiant Illumined the place. 
Which seemed as it were, from above to come down. 
And this wonderful sight our vision did crown. 
The Old Year was standing low bent on his cane. 
Like a mend loan tusking, yet asking fa vain; 
Forsaken by all whom Ids bounty had fed, 
Disheveled his garments, uncovered his head, 
Far streamed his white hair in the cold piercing 
wind, 
Long Icicles hung from his board, while behind 
Time, closely Ills footsteps pursued with a scythe, 
Quito ready and waiting to finish his life. 
Poor, wretched and old, he was greeted by none; 
For his wealth was all squandered, his power quite 
gone. 
All this wife and 1 took in at a glance— 
W» almost believed ourselves lost In a trance : 
For straightway, most, marvelous things came to 
view. 
Wo sa w, meeting the Old Year, the lusty young New, 
A soft mantle of e rmine close wrapp’d him around ; 
1 tight royal the Jewels with which ho was crowned. 
He was seated at ease In his regal array 
On a throne formed of crystal more brilliant than 
day; 
For the glow of Hie torches his followers bore, 
Prom each point was reflected n thousand timos o’er, 
’Twaa upborne by four heroes of mythical fame, 
Boreas, Kurus and A lister and Zephyr by name. 
Twelve ministers gra ve did his pleasure await, 
To purvey for his palate, provide- for Ills state ; 
The young and tho gay close surrounded his chair, 
And those wishing favors, by thousands were there. 
Stern Winter and Spring led the van of the train i 
Sweet Summer and Autumn the rear did maintain ; 
WlillO all clamor above, like tho note of a horn, 
Iloso tho volcoof the Now Year, in accents of scorn: 
” Bold follow ! how dare you my passage thus bar. 
And with your baso presence this spectacle mar? 
Know, if I but speak to old Hour Blass tho word, 
A sacriheo quickly you’ll fall to Ills sword ! 
My business in urgent, clear, marshals, the way ! 
A Kingdom and Scepter await mo to-duy!” 
To whom tho Old Year—his voice weak and low, 
Point and t rembling bis acconta—spako gently wild 
blow: 
“ 1 wish not thy pathway Its aught to Impede 
O, foolish and vain! to tny warnings give heed ; 
For in running a race, rull oft, wisdom is won. 
My reign is Just ended and thine scarce, begun. 
The sycophant crowds which upon thou how wait 
Caro nothing for 1 her, but much for thy stale. 
For the riches and hoqon thy power can bestow 
They will Hatter and fawn, but no gratitude show. 
Young monarch, beware 1 put no trust In their truth; 
Thcy’vo forsaken me now, to attend on thy youth ; 
When thou, in thy turn, shall grow old and decay. 
Think not, they will longer thy mandates obey.” 
Whereupon, from tho crowd rose such tumult and 
din 
That tho New Year ldiuself scarce a hearing could 
win, 
“ Away with the craven old coward! away ! 
Hot his presence not cumber the. earth for a day 1 
JVnvn, down with tho dotard 1 false prophet, begone! 
Let our joyous procession march onward, right on.” 
lli.-fl confusion and discord had rule for a space. 
When suddenly quiet, fell over the place. 
Loud and clear on the air rose the tones of a bell 
For tho pan. tog Old Year, tolling forth the last knell. 
The gay throng all vanished—’twas lost to tho eye— 
But from tho ter distance reechoed this cry : 
*• On 1 on to the banquet! the revel and cheer, 
Hurrah for the New Year ! the happy New Year!" 
(J0ur ^toni-<a^Ucr. 
FBOM YEAR TO YEAR, 
BY MRS. MARY’ I>. BRINE. 
“It is Christmas Eve, Everard; do you for¬ 
get it? Surely you will not let tho blossod sea¬ 
son of peace and happiness to all mankind, be 
clouded for us only, by an unreasonable anger 
on your part ?” 
Maude Hastings raised her dark eyes to the 
face of her companion as she spoke, and ex¬ 
tended both hands, which ho Immediately seiz¬ 
ed and pressed warmly in liis own. 
“O! Maude. Maude!” lie murmured, “you 
know my heart did not givo birth to tho hasty 
words just uttered! Forgive my wicked jeal¬ 
ousy, darling! and tell mo you are not angry 
with mol" 
“ Angry! <>b no, dear Evkrard ; only hurt and 
grieved at your readiness to doubt me. Will 
you not believe in the truth of her whom you 
profess to love so dearly? And will you not. 
for my sake, try to overcome that impulsive¬ 
ness which loads you to words so sorely regret¬ 
ted a moment after?” 
“1 do believe In your love, my own dear 
Maude,” was Everard’h reply. “But—but— 
O! you don’t know how it gulls me to think 
that others may step between us, my Maude, 
and perhaps separate us forever!” 
Everard Grey, the betrothed lover or 
Maude Hastings, was a noble-hearted young 
fellow enough, but jealousy was strong within 
him, and had so frequently gained the mastery 
over him as to cause many a secret tear to flow 
from MAtnc’s eyes, and made him, most truly, 
uncomfortable. The only son of parents who 
j resided in a Southern city, be doing business in 
| New York, had met, at the house of a mutual 
friend, young Maude JlASTi nGS, and greatly at¬ 
tracted by a certain sweet gravity and quiet dlg- 
1 nlty which she possessed, had sought her soclc- 
I ty more and more, until at last he succeeded in 
winning for his very own, t lie heart which many 
| another had wooed In vain. 
Maude was not—according to tho beauty al- 
i lowed heroines generally, in romance strictly 
beautiful; but few could see her without a 
desire t o see once more the sweet, oarnost face 
which was lighted by a pair of really beautiful 
| eyes: eyes the depth of which it was hard to 
j fathom; so dark, so wondrously dark, were 
they! and how many limes had Everard pass¬ 
ed tils hand lovingly over the wealth of hair, 
which, “gold in the sunlight, and brown in the 
shade," had excited the envy of many a lady 
friend who could only depend upon tho skill of 
some famous liair-dresser to give their heads an 
equal “crown of glory.” She lived alone with 
her invalid mother, whose own life had been 
made wretched by tho caprices of ;m exacting 
and stern husband. Why ho had married her, 
or sought her love so eagerly before she yielded 
her heart to him, tho poor wife had pondered 
over to herself many a time after she discov¬ 
ered her mistake. And when, at last, ho coldly 
informed her that “ marriage without wealth 
could bring no Joy," she vvopt bitter tears that 
siio had not scon through his falsity before too 
late to save herself from misery. Tho property 
lie had hoped to gain through Iter bad been 
willed to another. Thus in his disappointment 
and wrath t lie husband forgot, every vow to 
“love -Miti protect," and cruelly treated tho wife 
whoso only happiness came through their little 
Maude. Then Mr. Hastings had thrown up a 
business which did not. fetch in money as rap¬ 
idly as be desired, and went to a far-off country, 
leaving in trust for his deserted family hut a 
small stun upon which they lived comfortably, 
and that was all. Tho few letters he sent home 
brought no coinfort to his family, atid so year 
after year had passed, until now Maude was 
seventeen, old enough to feel u righteous indig¬ 
nation at her father’s conduct, yet striving at 
ull times to remember that he was still tier 
father. Tho young girl provided her mother, 
now lust falling in health, with many luxuries, 
outside of their actual necessities, Ivy the skill¬ 
ful use of tier pencil. Bountiful designs formed 
themselves rapidly and gracefully beneath her 
Angers, and found ready acceptance In several 
of tho large art establishments In the city. Just 
beforo our story opens Mrs, Hastings had re¬ 
ceived a letter from her husband in which he 
stated that a cruel disease had come upon him. 
Fearing he had not many days to live, ho dc- ! 
sired to aalt forgiveness of both wife and child, 
for Ills unnatural conduct. And lie Implored 
them to fulfill a last request he should make, 
which request would bo made known to them 
by a friend of I 1 I 3 who would see them ere long. 
Distressed beyond mean ire, by this strange let¬ 
ter. 1 bo mother and daughter had awaited fur¬ 
ther news. 
“If lie had really loved us, mamma,” cried 
poor Maude, “ho surely would have returned 
while his strength permitted, to have seen us: 
at any rale, you, I 1 I 3 wife, once more. 0, ho lias 
been cruel, cruel in the extreme!” 
To which tho mother could only reply with 
tears, because in her heart she know her husband 
gave them no love. 
At the time our story opens, Evf.rard and 
Maude were alono in the small parlor. The 
young man had complained bitterly that Mac de 
received the visits of a gentleman whom ho had 
frequently met coming down the steps of her 
house. Ho asked who and what be was—and 
Maude informed him that lie was only a friend 
of her father’ ;, who,'staying a while in tho city, 
called frequently to sco her mother, and talk 
about tho absent one. "Mamma has not3ccn 
my father for so many years, Everard," she 
added; " Burcly you would not wish mo to dc- 
clino seeing one who can talk to her about him ? 
Ilor life has boon sad enough, God knows!"— 
she paused because her voice was choked by 
tears, then added—“1 would not distress her by 
treating coolly the visitor whoso coming so an¬ 
noys you, Everard; you would not wish it!” 
And lie, loving her with his whole heart, had 
forgotten liia annoyance while listening to her 
words, which ended, as our story begins, by t he 
reminder of the glad season of peace for all the 
earth. And as he gathered her to his repontant 
heart, sho smiled through tho tears that spark¬ 
led on her lashes, nml the firelight flickering 
and dancing about them, flushed her checks 
with a si if: glow that made her beautiful indeed 
to her lover’s eyes. 
’’Dear!” she said presently, “ do you know 
that this I ratt in your disposition, gives us both 
much unhappiness? Let me say now, because 
I love you, how wrong it is for you to crush all 
true, good feeling out of your heart, by allow¬ 
ing that ono habit, to grow* and increase daily! 
It not only makes you miserable, but Everard, 
it has caused me. whom you love, many a tear! 
1 am not ashamed to t ell you, dear, because 1 
think, for my sake, you will try to overcome it. 
Thorolsno ono on this earth, whom 1 lovo as 
I love you! now are you satisfied? Will you 
promise never to doubt me again ?” 
And, standing there among the shadows of 
the List increasing twilight, with only the glow 
of the fire-light shining upon their faces, and 
the hands clasped so tightly, Everard Grey 
promised that which Ids young betrothed de¬ 
sired of him. and kissed away the tears which, 
like diamonds, were still glistening in the dark 
eyes he loved so well. 
And now the room grew darker with shadows 
and the young man remembering an engage¬ 
ment, could not accept Maude’s invitation to 
take tea. with them but kissed her good-by with 
all his old tenderness, and went out Into the 
busy streets, leaving ids heart behind him Iri the 
little room that contained that heart’s treasure. 
And Maude, drawing her cushioned chair 
more closely beside the fire, leaned her head 
against tho crimson covering and closed her 
eyes, while her glad heart and loving, earnest 
thoughts, that were almost prayers, after him 
she loved so truly. 
And thus her mother found her a few mo¬ 
ments after. Rising, that Mrs. Hastings might 
be scaled in her own easy chair, Maude sank 
down upon the floor, and, laying her head in her 
mother’s lap, both were silent, and the stillness 
about t hem, war. broken only by the soft, mono¬ 
tonous tick of tho little clock on the mantel, 
until Maude asked presently: 
“ Mamma, was my father ever jealous ? I know 
ho was not kind, but did ho add that to other 
faults, which made your life with him so sad ?" 
And the lady replied with a sigh, as she passed 
her slender hand over the bright young head in 
her lap, 
“ My child, your father was jealous, tho’ lie hail 
no love for me, and I could not understand why 
he should allow himself to feel so, if others spoke 
to, or appeared to bo interested in me. But, 
oh! it is n dreadful trait! And were Everard 
Grey inclined so, I should implore you to spare 
yourself years of misery, by rejecting him now 
forever.” 
As Mrs. Hastings ceased speaking the door¬ 
bell rang, and rialug hastily, Maude heard a voice 
asking for her. Her mother, too much agitated, 
by her recent thoughts, to see & visitor, left the 
room by another door, as a young gentleman en¬ 
tered, whom Maude recognized as the young 
Mr. Cromwell who had visited them so fre¬ 
quently before, and who, as she had explained 
to Everard, had at ono time known her father. 
Fearing sail nows, because this time ho had 
asked for her, the young girl rose tremblingly to 
meet him, apologizing, also, that tho room wan 
yot, unlightod save by I lie bright glow from the 
lire. At his request, it was allowed to remain 
so, and tho gentleman drew near to Maude. 
But a little while after, Everard Grey, who, 
having finished his business engagement, found 
lie might yet lie able to take tea with Mrs. 
Hastings mid her daughter, ran up the stops, 
and panned to glance I hrough the window at tho 
mother and daughter, who, he imagined, 
would bo sitting there together. One glance i 
then, with flushed and angry face, he strode 
away in another direction, with a heart on fire 
with tbo old enemy jealousy! And, five min¬ 
utes after, young Crowmell also descended 
t hose steps, bearingu troubled face, and anxious 
heart, while M aude tied to her own room, ami 
throwing herself upon the bed, wept tears of 
anguish. 
Christmas Day dawned bright and beautiful, 
and the Joy-bell* were ringing gaily as Maude 
dressed for church. Her mother, not well 
enough logo out, kissed her daughter, as she 
remarked anxiously: 
“ My darling! you are looking pale and tired! 
Did you sleep last night?” 
And MAUDE, stifling a sigh, replied, “Don’t 
worry about me, dear mamma! Everard, T 
guess, has been unexpectedly detained, and I 
cannot wait longer; so kiss me * good-by’ once 
more!” 
Then she went out Into the sunshino and a lit¬ 
tle of it crept into her young heart, making her 
aim net glad and happy, as sho walked along. 
She wondered a little why Everard had not 
called for her, but knew tho afternoon would 
surely bring him: and was glad with the antici¬ 
pation- Tho holy words, “ Peace he unto nil 
men I” greeted her ears us she entered tho 
church, and, bowing her head, she prayed for 
that “peace which pa3sctb understanding.” 
The day wore away at hist. Everard liad not 
come; it was now five o’clock. Anxiously she 
went to the window, and at last, with a smllo so 
full of joy that it made her beautiful to look 
upon, she wont to t he door herself, and admitted 
Everard G rev. 
“ Dear!" sho whispered, “ you have been long 
coming." 
Then, as ho mudo no answer, sho scanned 
more closely Ida face, and grew sad as sho saw 
the frown which bail gathered there. Timidly 
she laid her hand upon his arm. 
“Everard, you are angry; and what have I 
done? Surely, you cannot wilfully wound me, 
when 1 am guiltless of Intentional wrong." 
“ You talked so to him, didn’t you, last even¬ 
ing, very likely?” at last he burst forth; and 
Maude, terrified, drew back from him. 
“If you will explain yourself,” she said, at 
lengthen little coldly, “ 1 will answer you, if 1 
can.” 
“Oh 11 saw you. Maude," Everard said, bit¬ 
terly. “ / gnw you i I urn sorry that I saw it all 
though,” he added, “ because the truth would 
have been less hard to bear, coming direct from 
ymir Up*, honestly and candidly, than forced 
upon me so suddenly as it was 1 ” 
“Everard Grey?" demanded Maude, who, 
first pale, then crimson with indignation, could 
scarce control herself. “1 ask you, for your 
own sake, if you wish 10 retain my self-respect? 
Be careful in speaking, that you do not forget 
In whom you are speaking. This is tho .first 
lime, with all your many faults, in spite of 
which I have loved you,that you have so nearly 
insulted me by manner, if not by words, and, 
before you continue, think a moment if it be 
well to say such things to me I" 
Then, as lie stood moodily before the fire, in 
the same place where only the day before he 
had held her so closely In his arms, she forgot 
everything but her love for him, and her voice 
grew tender again as she continued : 
” Dear! we will not drift apart. We must not! 
Listen nnd f Mill repeat that you are dearer to 
mo than life itself; and, Everard, you must 
believe me!" 
“Maude,” he answered, “1 was on your 
stoop last night. I saw him with your hand in 
hif. Why, how can you love us both ? And you 
(In, else lie would not be privileged as I havo 
been. No, no! women are all alike. They play 
with us who love them, and we are idiots to 
trust otic among them !" 
Not a word from Maude, ivho stood like a 
statue before him. 
“Tell me!” ho almost shouted, “did you see 
young Cromwell alone last, evening?" 
“You know I did,” was the reply, "since you 
watched us through the window." 
“Did lie touch your hand?" again asked 
Everard. 
“Listen, Everard," implored Maude. “ You 
saw us, you say, and l know that it would seem 
strange to you; hut, dear, if you will believe 
me, 1 will toll it all to you some time—not now, 
because I cannot. But you may trust me, 
Everard. My heart is true, to you 
Then followed more of Everard Grey’s 
stormy, rashly-spoken words. His wholo heart 
on lire with Jealousy and anger, while yet ho 
worshipped the girl who stood with tearful 
eyes and flushed cheek:! before him. It seemed 
as though some evil spirit within tempted him 
further in liis injustice than ever before, for at 
last, with form drawn up to its fullest hight, 
and checks which were now white as marble 
save where In the center of each glowed deep 
red spots, like fire. 
Maude Hastings drew from her finger tho 
betrothal ring and laid it upon the mantel, be¬ 
side which Everard had placed himself. With¬ 
out a word she laid it. there and moved toward 
the door, while her companion, startled, turned 
towards her. 
“Ono moment, MAUDE— ono moment!" ho 
exclaimed, now thoroughly aroused to a sense 
of shame. 
" Between us two, Everard Grey, there can 
bo no more reproaches. Go you your way and 
leave me!" 
With tiioso words she left tho room, and, 
flinging Into the glowing coals tho ring which 
glittered before his eyes, tho young man left 
the house to enter it no more. 
And locked in her own room Maude Hast¬ 
ings watched with tearful eyes tho stars that 
one by one came out to sing In their own silent 
way a Christmas anthem of “Peace on Earth.” 
To Mrs. Hasting’:; inquiries as to why Ever- 
ard’s v I nits had ceased, Maude only replied 
that, circumstance:; had occurred which altered 
the feelings of both, and it. was all over between 
tlietn henceforth. 
“I do not, deny that 1 havo sufferod—am suf¬ 
fering still, dear mamma,” sho added, as her 
mother spoke of her sad face: “but I shall 
grow strong and happy again, arid will bo your 
own loving daughter always. You are all I 
have to love now, mamma; so, pray, got strong 
and well for my sake!” 
There were hours of grief when no eye save 
the eye of the dear Father in Heaven witnessed 
Maude’s agony, when no car savo tho car that 
hears and pities knew of the prayers that lonely 
heart sent up above for holp and comfort 1 But 
from t he mother, dally growing weaker, all this 
was concealed, and the daughter'll face wore 
only smiles when tho watchful eyes that loved 
her wore near. Tho Christmas season passed 
away, and tho New Year came In jubilant and 
full of anticipations. Maude was loth to let 
tho old year go, for it. had given her much of 
joy and gladness, and had been, on the wholo, a 
kind friend! But, alas I os it died, so died her 
happiness. The friend who brought them with 
him took them away, and left her only sorrow 
with which to greet the “new face at the 
door!” 
Meanwhile Everard Grey, whoso hoart was 
sick with its unutterable longing for tho dear 
face he had kissed so often—for the touch of 
tho little hand lit* had clasped so many times— 
wandered hero and there, striving to find new 
joys for the new year, and hoping ere long to 
forget forever the love which had taken so 
strong a hold upon his very life. 
Maude never dreamed of tho many times his 
feet paced slowly the street before her door, 
when the friendly darkness hid him from curi¬ 
ous eyes, that ho might perchance obtain ono 
more glimpse of the dear figure so constantly 
before his mind's eye. But the curtains were 
closely drawn (Oh! how ho wished they had 
been so ono night weeks before!) and his 
watching was in vain. So tho days came and 
went, and tho two who should havo passed 
them together were aching oh, how wearily, 
apart from each other. 
Young Cromwell, notwithstanding he had 
left Maude's home with, a troubled heart, still 
called again and again, each time with more of 
hope in bis heart and a happier look in his eyes. 
I Occasionally Everard Grey would meet him 
eomingfrom tho house, at which times a groan, 
hardly repressed, would escape iho former, who 
crew daily more and more sure tbut Maude 
had cH-silv borne his absence. Aud at last he 
went away, far away to his own Lome, and 
entered upon <1 new business, which allowed 
him less leisure for sad thoughts. 
And Maude— still loving, still sad!—was 
aroused to anew life, Kidder and harder to lie 
borne still by the sudden failure of the com¬ 
pany to which tHeir little sum of money was 
intrusted, and the consequent distress which 
follnwed for her and her mother. 
Then it was that Mr. Cromwell called one 
day and asked for “Miss Maude,” alone.—]T o 
be continued. 
<53 
