WOORE’S BUBAL NEW-YORKER. 
LOVE’S REASONS. 
Wuv do I love my darling bo ? 
Good faith, my heart, 1 hardly know. 
1 have such store of reasons; 
’Twonld take me all a summer day— 
Nay, saying half that 1 could say 
Would fill the circling seasons. 
Because her i ? ea are softly Brown. 
My dove, who quietly hath tiown 
To me as to her haven ? 
Because her hair Is soft, and laid 
Madonna-wise In simple braid, 
And jetty as the raven ? 
BecauHe her lips are sweet to touch 
Not chill, nor fiery overmuch, 
But softly warm as roBcs. 
Dear llpa that chasten while they move, 
Lips that at man may dare to love, 
TUI earthly love-time closes? 
Because her band t» aoft and white. 
Of touch so tender and bo light, 
That where her slender finger 
Doth fall or move, the man to whom 
The guards of Eden whispered, “ Come!’’ 
Beneath It' spell might linger? 
Because her heart Is woman-soft, 
So true, bo tender, that I oft 
Do marvel that a treasure, 
So rich, bo rare, to me should full. 
Whose sole desert—so small, so small. 
Is—loving past all measure ? 
Because she has such store of moods. 
So archly smiles, so staidly broods, 
Ho lovingly caresses j 
So that my heart may never tire 
Of monotone, or more desire 
Than she. tuy love, possesses f 
Ah me ! what know or what care 1 V 
Or what hath love to do with *' why?” 
How simple Is the reason! 
1 love her—for she is iny love, 
And shall while stars shall shine above, 
And season follow season. 
(All the Year Hound. 
©ttr Jstoni-cTcller. 
THE STORY OF MY GRANDFATHERS. 
11Y DH. FULLKR-WAI.KF.lt. 
“ 1 should not find fault with it country which 
gives me my bread and butter, mid I have not a 
word of complaint to make ; but If I had known 
when 1 left Italy of all the trials I was destined 
to go through with In America, I should never 
have Bet my foot on her shores.” 
We were all seated around an open grate, in a 
cheerful back parlor, the walls of which were 
lined with bright pictures, while the room and 
furniture was upholstered In a soft, rich maroon, 
which gave It a rosy, comfortable air. 
Miss Mahbden. who hod been speaking, was 
rather a remarkable woman, who bad seen much 
of the world. This particular evening she had 
promised to tell us something about her ances¬ 
tors, for you know Old World families have 
many traditions in them, which reach far back, 
and are of special Interest to the fresh ears of 
A mcricuns. 
“ Every country is famous for something," she 
said, “ and 1 am thinking America is the great 
railroad country, just as Italy is the home of 
art, for you build railways at an astonishing 
rate; then you run them, and smash the cars, 
and kill the people, and do all manner of odd 
and awful things 1" 
Miss Marsden laughed a little, until we re¬ 
minded her of her ancestors, her grandfathers, 
uncles, aunts, etc. 
"1 ought to begin by telling you about my 
grandfathers, 1 suppose," she answered, “for 
1 t hink t hey were as wonderful as any of the 
rest. You make me a great compliment, in¬ 
deed you do, when you ask me to speak of 
my ancestors at all. Well, now, my great-grand¬ 
father was the son of a French lady and a Welsh 
gentleman. I never told you how be fell in love 
with the French lady, did I? 
“Her real name was—I think I may tell her 
real name if I like, for it is a queer name, and 
nobody in this part of the world will know it— 
her real name was Marik (’it aup Vin.” 
“ What Is that in English ?” we tisked. 
“ Mulled wine, of course." she replied. 
"To begin again t—My great-grandfather was 
poor, and so he left Ireland and went to France, 
to seek Ids fortune. T've heard my mother re¬ 
peat the story many a time. He settled in Bor¬ 
deaux as a wine merchant, and in the course of 
trade he became acquainted with one M. Chaud 
Yin, who was a man of great wealth and had n 
line house in Bordeaux. My great-grandfather 
was a genial old gentleman, a man of excellent 
t raits of character. Quite an intimacy sprang 
up between him and the French wine merchant. 
In the course of time, after business hours, he 
used to spend bis afternoons on the verandah 
of M. Chaud Vis's house, who by this time had 
become his partner. He was sipping claret, one 
afternoon, just as the Germans in t his country 
resort to their gardens iu the evening to sip beer. 
My great-grandfather had a predilection fur 
mulled claret— he really had—and he used to 
drink a power and all of it—enough to float a 
ship ! One afternoon, as J said before, he was 
drinking a glass of the rich red wine of Bor¬ 
deaux, and exclaiming to himself. l C<mbicn 
kiimr chmid tin!' when he was start led and sur¬ 
prised by footsteps approaching from an open 
lattice near by, and a voice, which eaid ‘ Ah! 
do you, Jonathan ! And I love you so much, 
too 1* 
“My great grandfather's name was Jon athan. 
“ What he meant to say in English was, ‘ How 
much T love ffmlled wine.’ He had noideatbat 
the only daughter of his very wealthy partner 
was within hearing. The remit was, t hey were 
very shortly married, and my great-grandfather 
became a very wealthy man. That was the be¬ 
ginning of the good fortune for our house—or 
at least, that lathe way I he tradition runs In t he 
family.’’ 
“And all from the fort unate exclamation that 
he was in love with ('hand Vln ?" wo said. 
“They had four children," Miss Marsden 
continued, “ Pi.tkr, and Isaac, and Scran, and 
Elizabeth, all Bible names. Peter got. his 
name by a mischance, for ho ought to have been 
Called Jonathan, after his father. After his 
birth, it was thought his mother could not live, 
so he was sent off to the little Huguenot church 
in a great hurry to be baptized. The French 
nurse forgot the name by the time she reached 
the church, and when the priest .asked her what 
it was, she tremblingly replied * Pi eiirk/ after 
her husband ! And that is bow Peter ramie into 
the family. He wan the eldest child of all. 1 
needn't tell you anything about the ot her chil¬ 
dren Tor a while. Peter grew to be a very 
handsome boy. He had flaxen hair, large, light- 
blue eyes- and the handsomest legs in France,” 
“ Legs?" 
“Yes; why not? They were considered an 
object of beauty in those days. Ho was very 
highly cultivated, and spoke several languages, 
for his mother employed the best tutors for 
him she could find. He was a regular grand 
Turk in his manner, and oh 1 he was as hand¬ 
some as a rose. When lie went down to Ver¬ 
sailles and stood on the steps of the grand foun¬ 
tain, he attracted an Immense a mount of atten¬ 
tion, The grand ladies would all exclaim: 
* Quetln jainbes!' “ What legs !' lie had delight¬ 
ful legs ! He wore silk stockings, black shoes, 
with diamond buckles I have Seen Ibe buckles 
—and all In all, he was one of the handsomest 
men at the court of Lofts XVI. and the fair 
Antoinette. He carried his chapctm-brax under 
his arm, for that was the fashion then, and he 
always wore bis rapier. I have seen the very 
rapier he wore—my brother has it In his posses¬ 
sion now." 
“Ho your story Is true, Miss Marrden ?" 
“ Every word of it: ns true its the Declaration 
of Independence. The rapier Is splendidly 
damasked and Inlaid with gold, with n jeweled 
handle and a ricbly-crubosscd scabbard. 
“Withal, my grandfather wasn’t a 11111 ( 1 . He 
wa.s a keen sportsman, a good shot, and tut ac¬ 
complished chess player. In pursuing his favor¬ 
ite pastime of shooting, he used lo visit the 
British Isles. During ono of these visits he 
made the acquaintance of Mr. Antony Hick¬ 
man of Ilallery Kill, County Flare. Ireland. J 
may just as well tell you hia real name, 1 sup¬ 
pose, for it was a great many years ago. He was 
always very graciously received by Mr. Hick- 
m an. who had a daughter, named Anna Maria. 
Hhe was the third daughter.and as soon as ever 
she set eyes upon t his gay, handsome young 
Frenchman, lie ruado a lusting Impression upon, 
her heart. Anna could see nobody so charm¬ 
ing ns rny grandfather was, albeit she moved in 
the castle circle and was courted by her cousin, 
the Lord of Inclmquin. This Irish lord had it 
beautiful castlc on an island in the middle of 
a lovely lake, w hich I must toll you about sonic 
time. 
“ After a while my grandfather went buck to 
France, and to the surprise of all his friends, uo 
one heard from him for a great while. Years 
passed, and news reached Ballcry Kitt house 
that Peter Mausdkn was married. Then the 
roses left Anna Maria's cheeks, and she no 
longer took pleasure in her hounds and horses, 
lri Ashing in the lake, or ranging on the moun¬ 
tain side; not oven gazing upon the statoly cliffs 
Of Mohur could give her rest. She frequently 
looked over the waste of waters stretching to¬ 
wards France, and thought erf the cruel French 
bride who had snatched from her all she held 
dear in life!” 
“ Why didn’t some one of the family write to 
Mr. Marsden and learn if the rumor was true?” 
W6 asked. 
“Oh! It wasn’t etiquette to do that In those 
days. Mr. Marsden might have written to 
Anna’s mother, if ho had wished, but probably 
he never thought of it. He know that if Anna 
loved him she would remain true.” 
“ if Anna had been an American girl, she 
wouldn’t have endured the suspense a week. A 
short telegraphic dispatch would have called 
him to his senses at once.” 
“Now I must, beg leave to differ with you, 
even if you are a native born American. 1 have 
abetter opinion of American girls than that. 
The man should write, if any one." 
“ Well, at all events, the American girl would 
have found Out whet her or not the rumor of his 
marriage was true or false." 
“ Which would have been no difficult job with 
our present appliances of civilization. But 
things were vastly different In those days In Ire¬ 
land and France. However, Anna was rewarded 
at lust for her patient waiting. The shooting 
season came again, and with It Mr. Peter Mars¬ 
den put. in an appearance at the Ilallery Kitt 
house. He had no foreign bride with him. Mr. 
Hickman greeted him as cordially as ever, jok¬ 
ing him on the absence of his 4 better-half.’ As 
he appeared at the door, lie said : 
14 * Why, Peter . where’s your wife ?' 
1 44 * Wife!’ exclaimed Peter, 4 1 have no wife.’ 
“My grandmother, who was sitting inside, 
heard him. and rushed to the door. 
“‘Oh! I am so glad you are not married 1’ 
she exclaimed. And then, when she reflected 
how she had committed herself, she immediate¬ 
ly fainted clear out, and would have fallen to 
the ground, only Peter Marsden picked her 
up and carried her Into the bouse. 
41 The long and the short of it was, that 111 six 
weeks they were married, and my grandfather 
took her to Bordeaux. She was a very rich 
woman, for her father owned almost every bit 
of the County of Clare. His lands extended for 
inilcs and miles along the banks of the river 
Shannon. Some of this property still remains 
in the possession of my brother. Never you 
mind that! Who knows*but some day I shall 
have miles and miles of land on the banks of 
the Smoky' River in Kansas? 
“ After they were married they lived for years 
in peace and plenty in France, where they had 
nine children. Just before the birth of her 
tenth child my grandmother came to Ireland, 
to her old home. She died shortly after, and 
the tenth child was the only one born in Ire¬ 
land. After n time my r grand fa 1 her married a 
distant cousin of his first, wife, who looked like 
her, and lived In Ireland, near where she war. 
buried. He built her a. splendid tomb at Rath 
Cormack; I have seen the tomb myself. You 
see, my grandfather was really very fond of his 
first wife, strange as it may seem nt this day.” 
We all reflected upon Miss Marsden’, s re¬ 
marks, wondering if the. times had changed 
any, and If so, whether for better or worse. 
Maggie, coming into the parlor, announced 
that ft was time we were setting out for the 
concert, if wc expected to bear Rubknstkin 
that, night, so we left Miss Marsden to her 
meditations. 
A HAPPY DADDY. 
We are not obliged to tell how the following 
funny letter fell into our hands—all the reader 
has to do is to read it and laugh at it. We con¬ 
gratulate the new made pn-ri-ont, and hope ho 
will get over his confusion of ideas shortly, so 
as to he able to tell bis baby from Ids horse t 
Dear Sinter Emma :— I now take my scat and 
sit down to take this opportunity, to inform you 
that I am a “daddy" at last; that is, T suppose 
I am, for Addle has got a nice, fat, baby a ever 
made up faces. We hope that these few lines 
may find you enjoying the same great, blessing. 
Now this Is to bestrletly » business let ter. First¬ 
ly, as I said before, Addie has got anleobaby. 
Nextlv, I have swopped away Old John and 
think I have got u pretty nice horse, St is a girl 
and weighs nine pound- I mean the baby—it is 
just as fat as butter, and lia-s a good strong pair 
of lungs. She is red a.ud has a bobtail the 
horse 1 mean—andn white stripe in her face, 
and is a good driver; she lias got blue eyes and 
a dimple In her chin—I mean the baby—and just, 
the prettiest month that ever opened to receive 
pop; judging from her teeth I should think she 
was about six years old—I mean the horse now 
—she is Bound, smooth arid kind —I mean the 
horse or baby either, now—and the doctor says 
she is the fairest hoover saw, without any ex¬ 
ception—he meant; the baby T got twenty-five 
dollars to boot., not on the baby though, for in 
its case the boot is on the other foot and two or 
three sizes larger as near as I can find out. T am 
going to harness the horse now, and go after 
mother, she w as boro last night at twenty min¬ 
utes past nine—I hope you don't t hink 1 mean 
mother or the horse, I mean the baby. She Js 
as hearty ns a pig; cal an egg, a biscuit, and 
drank three cups of tea—I mean Addie—she is 
getting along nicely and if she don't have any 
bad luck site wilt get along first-rate. She is 
subject to disorders of the stomach ami lliey 
say that is a sign of colic—I mean the bab> —1 
hope it is, for the nurse says, colicy babys never 
die. She talks about her rtoseas she takes snuff 
—I mean the nurse. I am going to name it 
Ediema—I mean the baby. There I’ve been 
reading tills over and I see plainly that I ain’t, 
fit. to write. The amount of it is, I am flustra- 
ted; I am a happy daddy, and that accounts 
for it, so you must excuse me tills time. 
-- 
HOW TO “COME AGAIN.” 
Some time ago there lived a gentleman of In¬ 
dolent habits in Sussex, who made a business, 
in the winter season, of visiting his friends ex¬ 
tensively. After wearing out his welcome In 
his own immediate vicinity last winter, he 
thought he would visit, an old Quaker friend, 
somg twenty miles distant, who had been a 
school-fellow of bis. On his ax-rival lie was cor¬ 
dially received by the Quaker, he thinking his 
visitor had taken much pains to come so far to 
see him. He treated his friend with great at¬ 
tention and politeness for several days, and as 
he did not see any signs of his leaving, he be¬ 
came uneasy, but he bore it with patience till 
the morning of the eighth day, when he said to 
him: 
“My friend. I am afraid thee will never visit 
me again." 
“Oh, yes I shall,” said the visitor;.“I have 
enjoyed my visit very much I shall certainly 
come again." 
“Nay,” said the Quaker, “I think thee will 
not visit me again." 
“What makes you think I will not come 
again ? ” asked the visitor. 
“If thee does never leave,” said the Quaker 
“ how canst thee come againV ” 
His visitor left. 
abbath pfailimj. 
ABOVE THE CROSS. 
BY MRS. M. A, WHEELER. 
Above the Cross the love of God abides; 
Beyond the swelling tides 
Where now must ebb und flow 
Tim life vre bva helow. 
Above the Cross our loving Father dwells. 
Above the Cress there is 3 purer air. 
And flowers will blossom there 
Too sweet to linger here— 
There brighter will appear; 
Above the Cross our loving Father dwells. 
Above the Cross; it is no giddy hight, 
But only out of sight; 
So near mir loved ones stand 
They seem to press our hand; 
The loving Father hr< j: them where He dwells. 
Above the Cross: we who have borne it long 
Will join the happy throng; 
Love's labor only waits 
To open u Ule the gates 
Where r.rtn now our loving Father dwells. 
-*- 
IMPLICIT FAITH. 
It was in John Fall’s Orphan House, in Wei¬ 
mar, one evening, when one of the boys had 
said the pious grace, “ Come, Lord Jesus, be our 
guest, and bless what Thou hast provided,” a 
little fellow looked up and said : 
" Do toll me why the Lord Jesus never comes. 
We ask Him every day to sit. with us, and He 
never comes.” 
“ Dear child, only believe and you may be sure 
He will conic; for Tie does not despise our in¬ 
vitation." 
44 1 shall set him a seat,” said the little fellow; 
and just then there was a knock at the floor. 
A poor frozen apprentice entered, begging a 
night’s lodging. He was made welcome—the 
ehai r stood empty for him. Every child proffered 
his plate; every child was ready to yield his 
bed. The little one had been thinking hard ail 
the time. 
"Jesus could not come, and so Ho sent this 
poor one in His place—is that it? "said the 
child.' 
“ Yes, dear child, that is just it," answered 
Fulls. “ Every piece of bread und every drink 
of water that we give to the poor, or the sick, 
or to the prisoners for Jesus' sake, we give to 
Ilim. 4 Inasmuch as yc have done it unto the 
least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto 
Me.'” 
-- 
THOUGHTS FOR THINKERS. 
Keep a good conscience, let it cost you what 
it may. 
There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the 
ghost of an injury. 
It Is only great souls that know how much 
glory there is in being good. 
Always act as if you believed God was pres¬ 
ent, and that you must give an account to Him. 
If wc hud not our trials, the pleasures of this 
sublunary scene would render us forgetful of 
another world. 
Christian perfection in outward conduct 
consists, not in doing extraordinary things, but. 
in doing things extraordinarily well. 
Were we as eloquent us angels, yet should we 
please some men, some women and some chil¬ 
dren much more by listening than by talking. 
So weak Is man, so ignorant and blind, that 
did not God sometimes withhold in mercy what 
wo ask, we should be ruined at our own request. 
Commend us to a man who holds his faith, 
whatever It be, with a manly grip, and dares to 
defend it in a manly way—"speaking the truth 
In love." 
True glory consists induing what deserves to 
be written, in writing what deserves to be read, 
and in so living as to make the world happier 
and hotter for our living in it. 
You have only a day to sjiend on earth ; act 
in such a way that you may spend it in peace. 
Peace is the fruit of love; for to live in peace it 
is necessary that we put up with many things. 
Repentance hath a purifying power, and 
every tear is of a cleansing virtue; but these 
penitential clouds must still be kept dropping; 
oneshower will not suffice, for repentance is not 
one single action, but a course through life. 
It is an old saying and one of fearful and 
fathomless import, that wc tire forming charac¬ 
ters for etern i ty. Form i »g characters! Whose ? 
Our own or others ? Both, and in that momen¬ 
tous fact lies the peril and responsibility of our 
existence. 
Of him that hopes to be forgiven it is indis¬ 
pensably required that he forgives. It is there¬ 
fore superfluous to urge any other motive on 
this great duty. Eternity is suspended; and to 
him that refuses to practice it, the throne of 
mercy is inaccessible and the Saviour of the 
world has been born in vain. 
You can have no heaven after death of which 
you have not sown the seed before death. Keep 
a stric t watch over your thoughts and affections, 
over your imaginations and wishes, for accord¬ 
ing to their character la the character of the 
demons or angels that keep yon company. With 
what spirit your soul is associated in the body, 
into the hands of the same will you fall when 
you are loosed from the body. 
