u 
MOOBE’S BUBAL UEW-YOBMEII, 
3AM. as 
MINNIE CLAHE. 
HY MARY DUFF-CORDON. 
On, I loved thee long and dearly, 
Minnie Clark. 
Life's fttlreHt dream and early 
Ungers there 
'Round that sen-tower ruined and niolci’ring, the sea- 
tower old. 
When thou didst hear my story In sweet words told, 
While the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly fell 
her ray 
On the dancing, sparkling wavelets that rippled oe'r 
the bay. 
But a message came from Heaven and bore you from 
me, 
Minnie Clark, 
And 1 long to hear the angels calling me 
I'p there. 
Sometimes, In the hush of the sad and solemn night, 
A spirit stands beside me, all robed in living white, 
Then i hear the soft wings tlutter and behold a glo¬ 
rious sight, 
And I see the angels floating in the culm and holy 
light 
Then you break upon my vision like u morn in Para¬ 
dise, 
Minnie Clare, 
And X fall upon my knees before my altar’s sacrifice, 
Humbly there, 
And devoutly bow my head, as 1 worship at thy 
shrine, 
As we road of some lone pilgrim, before his saint 
divine, 
Who has wandered many a weary mile to find, at last, 
his goal— 
The forgiveness of his sins and salvation of IiIb soul. 
And brightest ’mid the throng, with a crown upon 
thy brow, 
Minnie Clark, 
And a harp within thy hand, thou art a seraph now, 
Forever there I 
Ah, the glittering pageant fades slowly, like starlight 
upon the ocean, 
While, spell-hound, 1 stand gazing, in statue-liko de¬ 
votion, 
At the fairest of the train, and my poor life feels Its 
loss, 
For thou hast taken the Crown, hut left forme the 
Cross. 
’TIs many a long and weary year since last wc parted, 
Minnie Clark, 
And 1 wander lone and broken-hearted. 
Full of care. 
Hut there Is still one dear spot, where thy fair young 
form lies dreaming. 
With the violets all about you, beneath the moon¬ 
light streaming; 
Where the dews of morn and even o’er thy grave In 
sorrow weep, 
And the pitying stars of midnight a faithful vigil 
keep. 
Fame is singing syren songs to my lonely heart, 
Minnie Clark, 
But I’m sighing for the dime where we'll never part, 
And my prayer 
Is to rest where thou art sleeping a last and quiet 
sleep, 
Where the hands shall toll no more, and the eyes 
shall never weep.— 
To walk there beside you, forever ’mong the blest, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling und tho | 
weary ure at rest. 
(Our 
NEW YEAR’S EYE IN A STORM. 
BY LILLI IS DBVKIIBUX Ill. A KB. 
“What a tiroary Now Year’s Eve !” exclaimed 
Bholto Morton, as lie pulled the collar of Ids 
overcoat up around his neck and turned in his 
solitary promenade on the deck of the steamer. 
The night was indeed very forlorn, the rain 
swooping; down with n steady, continuous rush, 
the wind howling through the rigging, and the 
sea heaving and dashing in blank waves around 
the vessel, it was only the Sound, but the 
weather was so rough that half (he passengers 
were seasick, and, disgusted with ( lie close air 
below, BilOl/i'O had come on deck for a breath 
of purer n( tnosphere. 
He was on his way from New Vorlc to New 
Haven on business for the firm in which he was 
junior partner, and as ho braved tho storm there 
ho thought ruefully of last Now Year’s Eve and 
how different it Jiail been to this. Then lie was 
id a gay party, given to see tho Old Year out and 
i he New Year In. As the clock struck twelve 
he had boon seated beside I.t i,u Grafton in tho 
alcove formed by a big bow window. 
He remembered how the snow on the window 
outside had sparkled in tho moonlight, how 
Lulu had complained of being chilly, and he 
had drawn her pretty white cloak around her; 
then, shielded by the curtains, lie had taken her 
hand in his, her pretty head had drooped, and 
lie was just, about to avow the love ho had long 
felt for her when the great cloc^ struck twelve 
midnight, and an instant after Mrs. Grafton's 
voice demanded sharply: 
“ Where is Lulu?" 
At this awful sound tho two young people 
catne out from behind tho curtains, looking 
doubtless foolish enough. At last Mrs. Graf¬ 
ton glared at (hem sharply, as if sho suspected 
their secret, and since that unlucky time 
SuoLTQ had never been Invited to her house 
again. 
Lulu was half orphan and an heiress, and 
Mrs. Grai ton no doubt thought that Bhoi.to 
Morton, who was only a clerk then and not 
even junior part ner, was no fit mutch for her 
handsome and wealthy daughter. Ho was cut 
dead by not being invited to the grand Grafton 
ball, the cards for which were sent out the day 
after Now Year. 
Of course lie could not, go to see Lulu any 
| more. He could only catch a glimpse of her on 
rare occasions on the street or at the theatre, 
and very soon she, too, began to look coldly at 
him, so that he despaired of ever winning her, 
- and, though he loved her still, resigned himself 
to t he hopelessness of his passion. 
'• I la walked on now up and down, up and down, 
until he began to feel chilled, and the wet 
r seemed to creep through even Ills waterproof 
overcoat, lie had forgotten all about, tho dis¬ 
comfort. of the scene as he thought, of how 
3 happy lie had been a year ago, until the going 
out of his cigar recalled him to himself, and he 
awoke to the dreariness of the surroundings 
with a shiver. He would seek some shelter. 
, He could not go into the cabin, hut perhaps he 
could find a comfortable place in the roofed 
■ duck in front of the ladies' saloon. So think¬ 
ing, Morton went on till he reached a door 
which led Into this retreat. He looked in 
through the glass to see if ho should be In- 
■ t,rudlng on any women who might have taken 
possession of H. The plaeo was entirely de¬ 
serted, however, and he stepped In. 
It was a gloomy spot, lit Only by a swaying 
lantern that hung from the roof, and filled up 
on one side with plies of freight and luggage. 
Still, hero Sholto was sheltered from the wind 
and rain, and as there was a long settee each 
side «f the cabin door, he sat down on one of 
them, took off Ids wet overcoat, and prepared 
to make himself os comfortable as he could 
until ho should bo so sleepy as to Insure repose 
even amid the disagreeables below. 
He had been there but a few moments when 
the door beside him opened and a lady came 
out. Bhe was wrapped in a large, dark cloak 
and hood. Morton could not see her face; 
hut just as she stepped forth tho vessel gave a 
lurch. The deck was slippery, and she would 
have fallen had he not sprung up and caught 
her in his arms. Sho uttered a faint cry at the 
sudden clasp, her hood fell back, and he saw 
win) It was. 
“Miss Grafton!" lie gasped. 
Her eyes were not yet fully accustomed to 
the light, but some subtle instinct seemed to 
tell her who it was that held her. 
“Oh,Mr. Morton!” sho exclaimed. 
“ Let mo support, you a moment till you are 
sealed," said Bhot.to, and so, slid with his arm 
about her, ho guided her to tho sofa, and then 
could do no less t han si! down beside her. 
For a moment neither of them spoke, each 
was too much overcome with the suddenness 
of the encounter easily to find words. At last 
Morton said: 
“This is a very unexpected pleasure, Miss 
Grafton. I had no t hought of finding you as 
mv fellow voyager." 
“No, I had no idea of being here till this 
morning," replied Lui.tr. But mamma received 
a letter at breakfast time informing her that 
Frank Is 111. You know he Is the cousin mam¬ 
ma has lmd charge of so long; he is a Freshman 
now at Yale College; and so mamma at once 
decided to go to him, and 1 of course came with 
her." 
“ And I am going to New Haven on business," 
explained Bholto. A little while ago I was 
lamenting tho necessity that drove me out on 
such a night and In such a storm ; now I bless 
It!" 
Lulu did not reply, and Bholto presently 
asked : 
“Where Is Mrs. Grafton now?” 
“She is asleep. Four mamma! she has been 
dreadfully sick,and indeed, it was so close in¬ 
side, I feared I might be 111 too, and came out 
here for pure air," 
There was silence again for some moments, 
except for tho angry rush of tho waves outside, 
the dash of the rain on the roof above, and the 
war of the wind. 
"Oh, Mr. Morton! do you think there is any 
danger ?’’ asked Lulu at last. 
“No, I believe not; but you arc frightened," 
he said, looking at her pale faco earnestly. 
“No indeed, 1 don’t think there is any cause for 
alarm." 
The desire to Clasp tho little trembling figure 
in ids arms was almost irresistible. 
"It is a horrible night!" she said, with a 
shiver. 
“ Yes, and you arc chilly. Lot me fasten your 
cloak better." As he put out his hand to draw 
tho warm foJds around her he recollected, oh ! so 
vividly, the moment when ho had clasped the 
white opera cloak about her throat the year 
before. “Oh, Miss Lulu!" be exclaimed, with 
an overwhelming impulse, “do you remember a 
year ago to-night when I was with you at that 
party ?" 
“Yes." Lulu Just, whispered the word, her 
fair head drooping ns it had done a year ago. 
A wild desire to know all—to be refused if he j 
must be, but at least, to learn his fate from her I 
lips—overcame Bholto. lie felt himself in a 
position now where lie could honorably woo 
her—the ojiportunity might never come again— 
and he said, suddenly: 
“ Can you guess what I should have said last 
New Year's Eve if your mother had not called 
you ?" 
“No," faltered Lulu. But didn’t she really 
know, I wonder? 
’’ 1 should have told you that, I loved you, 
that I adored you, that I worshipped you ; but, 
then, if you had hoard me, I should not have 
boon nearly so worthy of your acceptance as I 
am now, for 1 love you a thousand times more 
now than I did then; 1 believe 1 am a better 
' man, and, what your mother would regard, I 
arn surely a richer one. Toll me, Lui.tr, do you 
like me well enough to take me for life?” 
i He had stolon his arm around boras bespoke, 
i but sho did not. draw away, and as he finished 
, her head sank on his shoulder, with some faint 
, murmured words that Morton certainly inter¬ 
preted to signify consent, for he pressed a kiss 
on tho lips that uttered them, and for a while 
there was between them the silence of happi¬ 
ness. 
“ Oh, Lull’,” lie said at last, “ 1 was so mis¬ 
erable after last New Years!’’ 
“ Why?" 
“ Because I could not see you any more.*’ 
“But why couldn’t you see me? I’m sure I 
thought ftvery odd you never came to the house 
again." 
“How could I when you ali cut me?” 
“Cut you ! I don't understand." 
“ Vos; you sent me no card to your hall. Of 
course, after that, I could not come to your 
house again, and then you looked coldly at me, 
and 1 thought I hod lost your favor.” 
“ Of course I looked coldly at you, sir. I never 
knew you were not invited to t lie hull. Y’ou did 
| not call, and—and I was very unhappy.” 
“Then you loved mo all the time!” cried 
Morton. 
“Certainly I did, and refused two offers for 
your sake; but 1 never meant to tell you so!" 
she half pout ed. 
“And I never hoped to tell you of my love, 
darling, and probably never should if J had not 
met you here. But what will your mother say ?" 
“I don't think she'll oppose us much. I was 
twenty-one last birthday and can do as 1 please. 
Besides, she told me the other day that she had 
heard you spoken of very highly lately, and 
there Is a card for you I’m sure for our next 
hall, if wc don’t have to give it upon account, 
of Frank's Illness. I don't think wo shall, 
though. He Is a sort of spoiled child, and 
wanted mamma to come up and see him more 
than anyt hing else, I fancy." 
“Then, darling, this will indeed bo a happy 
New Year!" 
■ ■■ ■ 4 * » 
OUB NEW OEGANIST, 
It nearly divided tho church. The pew-own¬ 
ers weft* Indignant, the deacons protested. 
Parson Mlldmay poui'ecl what, little oil ho had 
upon the troubled water, ami the choir re¬ 
signed. Tho old meeting-house was rocked to 
its foundations. And all this turmoil because 
the music committee had, at the suggestion of 
the organist , put a cornet-player beside the or¬ 
gan to lead the congregat ion. 
Dreadful proposal, was it not? The idea of 
having a horn in church! A French horn! 
You know what, wicked people the French ure. 
Think of having the same instrument they use 
In the Jar—well, you know as well as I that 
some folks are no hotter than they ought to be. 
No wonder Deacon Tipples said that ttie rising 
generation was? a wayward generation, seeking 
after ungodly inventions. 
Now, you know my views. I don't care what 
Instrument we use in church, provided wo 
praise God musically and soberly, as wc ought. 
If a horn or a violin will help us, I go for it. 
Deacon Squuggles said I ought to he ashamed. 
1 laughed, and told him that, if I read tho 
Scriptures right, David danced before the Lord, 
and advised the temple choir to use cymbals 
oven the loud sounding cymbals. 
Ho shook his head and said that there were 
grave doubts about that passage. Perhaps the 
word translated dance meant something else. 
“ Hop," 1 suggested. 
The deacon went away sorrowful, and said I 
was a backslider. 
“ It’s not a long story. Let mo tell it to you. 
We had sal under n Indy organist, for years— 
sat under, in a figurative sense. Wo had groaned 
inwardly under her weekly Inflictions for a long 
time. She was short (well, how can I tell it?)— 
her feet did not touch the pedals. 
The effect was peculiar. The organ seemed 
ready to topple over every Sunday. Some folks 
said that the organ had no bass notes. Biess 
you! What did they know about it? They 
could not tell one tunc from another. 
She (the organist) had u weakness for the 
reeds. The reed stops, as you know, have their 
little weakness, like the rest of us. Their par¬ 
ticular weakness is to get out of tune. “Never 
mind,” said she, “they are sweetly pretty after 
the long prayer. Make you think of angels In 
long clothes singing t hrough a cloud." 
Her voluntaries were remarkable. She har¬ 
assed the parson and kept everybody on the 
alert , for M ho could tell when she was going <o 
stop. Every other minute we said, “This is the 
end—the closing chord lias come.” But no; it 
had not. More closing chords followed, till .we 
were near distracted with hope deferred. 
At last some benevolent young man hud the 
goodness to marry her and take her away. 
Bless him 1 How heartily we congratulated him 
—and ourselves! 
We could not blame Jlenvcn for giving her 
short limbs; but then sho might, at least, have 
played something besides her own composi¬ 
tions, and could have safely neglected her be¬ 
loved trumpets and oboes. 
The next Sunday the man came. He was a 
stout follow, und his coat had very long sleeves, 
and his trousers were extra large. They were 
none too long to be becoming. He could touch 
anything in the shape iff keys, stops, or pedal, 
manage tho swell, draw the top right-hand stop, 
and play on the lower bank at t he same instant. 
! Clever man, they said; clever In both the Eng- 
\ Ji«h and American senses. 
The first Sunday he presided the folks said 
that the OOminltMo had repaired the iu i'an. It 
> had not sounded so well for a long time, It's 
deep and majestic tones shook the air, pervaded 
the church with solemn harmonic*, arid made 
Deacon Squ,aggies’ youngest cry. He is not a 
precocious child, and did not ask to see the 
monkey. 
The music that dav was a revelation to most 
of tho people, and there was a satisfied buzz 
among the folks on tho steps when the church 
was out. Things improved from work to week. 
One or two who had backslid of late returned, 
and really rnme to church half s day—came to 
hour the music. Deacon BqHaggles reproved 
their motives and accepted I heir renewed pew- 
rent complaisant ly. 
About the fifth Sunday after the new admin¬ 
istration Parson Mlldmay announced that the 
last hymn would be sung l>y Ihc congregation. 
With fear and trembling t hey listened to hear 
what time would bo given our. After the first, 
bar their fears were allayed. There was no mis¬ 
taking the melody of “Duke Street" played 
distinctly and .accurately on a single loud stop. 
At the end the people struggled to their feet, 
and the singing began The result was peculiar 
and delightful. Did I not feel sure that you 
know all about it, i would give you a detailed 
description of it. Congregational noise! You 
have heard It,. Doesn’t congregational singing 
always remind you of I huso famous Hues con¬ 
cerning the little girl who 
“ When (die was good, she wits very, very good, 
And when sin was bad, she was horrid.” 
The sermon was lost that day. The people 
weut home to their dinners dissatisfied, and 
hoped it wouldn’t be tried again. 
rho next Sunday evening brought the explo- 
; sion. It was announced in the morning that 
there would be an extra service of song at half 
past seven. 
At seven the church was full; at half past, 
crowded. AVord had got about that something 
peculiar might be expected. Many backsliders 
and others came in. “To scoff," Deacon 1*1 p— 
pics said. Would they remain to sing. Per¬ 
haps so. 
The service was opened by reading, and a set 
piece by tho choir. Then Mr* Jones, Chairman 
of the Music Committee, rose, and, to our 
amazement, called the organist from Ids seat 
and introduced him to us. Our organ is behiud 
tho pulpit, just where it ought to be. Every¬ 
body woke up, and you might have heard a pin 
drop. 
The young limn bowed and spoke as follows : 
“ My friends: AYe meet here every' week for 
prayer and praise, AVe come to lift our hearts 
to Heaven Fii. thankfulness and joy. For music 
we have t he organ, the most noble instrument 
In the world, in all our churches, and trained 
choirs sing the praise of the Lord with the best 
skill and art the world has discovered. 
“The church him always aimed to command 
the best mu ale, believing that the best Is none 
too good for God's service. In this pursuit of 
art there is great, danger of going to extremes. 
The trained choir should ho used everywhere, 
lint not to the exclusion <>f the people. Tho in¬ 
spired command, ‘Letall the people praise tho 
Lord,’ is sadly-neglected of late. 
** We have, HI our search fur high art, delegated 
our pralsegtving to pahl singers, and wo praise 
God by proxy. 
”My friends, these thing-; ought not so to he. 
AA r o should all sing. Let the choir lead, and all 
join them In the solemn psalm or cheerful song 
of thanksgiving. 1 am aware that the congre¬ 
gational singing is view ed with disgust by many. 
It is HomotliriOH very bad, and offends more than 
elevates. This need not be so if one or two 
rules are observed. Let me give them to you. 
“Firstly. Letallsing, youngaml old. No mat¬ 
ter how badly It sounds to you, sing with confi¬ 
dence. 
“Secondly. Do not attempt to sing parts. 
1s t all sing the melody. Lot those who think 
they cun sing tenor; alto, or bass, give up their 
parts, UUd join tho soprano In singing the air or 
melody. Of course, tho gentlemen will sing it 
one octavo lower than the ladies. The organ 
will give the harmony, the voices the , ; ng. By 
the aid of these rule#, our winging will bo easy 
and effective. , . , , 
"Now. to help you, I will i,’ vo , ' UI f 1 ”'* 0 '*/ 
played upon a cornet. This lustrum... . *9. ’ 
penetrating, and easily followed. The ,,,”iru- 
inoril and organ will play the time over, anu 
then, after an instant's pause, all Join In sing¬ 
ing/ 
If a thunderbolt had spilt tho gilded cockerel 
on the steeple, and rung the fire alarm bell, wo 
could not have been more elect rifled. The peo¬ 
ple with one consent sat down in a nuddlo of 
discontent and horror. Deucon Bipiaggles leaned 
Ids head on his hand and groaned aloud. Par- 
soil Mlldmay looked dubious, and wo were vari¬ 
ously much shocked. The organ and the c ornet 
began. It sounded well, and amue of us were 
inwardly set up with much joy. Then the con¬ 
gregation roBo as one man, resolved to extin¬ 
guish ihc desecrating Instruments—resolved to 
sing the thing down. 
Wo sang Old Hundred through twice. Such a 
tremendous volume of tone had never been 
hc.vi-d in the church before- Tho grand old tune 
fairly shook the house. When it wns finished, 
wc sal down. I looked round, and found tho 
deacon's wife wiping her eyes furtively. Some 
Irreverent person rapped on tho floor with u 
cane just, a timid little rap, but applause, cer¬ 
tainly. Deacon Pipples’ little boy said audibly, 
“ Hurra; won’t that bu— ” Tho last word was 
extinguished by a fatherly hand. 
The Parson read two verses of another hymn. 
His voice trembled, and ho seemed peculiarly 
happy. That splendid old tune of Christman, by 
Father Handel, was played. Handel believed in 
horns and trumpets. Av hen thoglowlng melody 
rang bravely through theeluireh, everybody rose 
and seized their hymn books, with ardent de¬ 
termination t o do their beat. 
Everybody sang. Who could help it? The 
ringing tones of the trumpet bore everything 
along with it. At the Interlude between the 
verses, there was a profound hush- The people 
felt that at last they were really praising God 
with heart and soul, The second verse was even 
more successful than the first. Everybody felt 
warmed up to the work. The congregation had 
ttuide a discovery. It could sing. 
When it was ovcr parson Mihimay leaned over 
the desk and said “ Brother Bipiaggles, let us 
sing all the verses." 
Wo did. From that night congregational sirg- 
ing and tho cornet player were a fixed part of 
our service. A t first, as I said, it nearly split tho 
church. The choir resigned (resignation not 
accepted), and a smalt tempest raged for two 
weeks among the people. The church was di¬ 
vided Into comet ists, hut anti-coriietisls carried 
t he day’. The storm cleared away, and now all 
1; serene. The unsold pews found n market. 
Beats in the church became scarce. Even the 
gallery filled up, and Parson Mlldmay i- happy 
over a large and growing congregation. The dear 
old deacons lament the cause, but rejoice in tho 
prosperity of the church. 
