OOTRE’S RURAL WIW-YOBXER 
APRIL S 
them that I could not play anything that they to ] 
would rare t > liear. Iliat my music was old- ho 
fashioned, mid all that sort of thing: it was of ti< < 
no use; they urged me until I felt fairly com- shr 
polled to sit down to the instrument and try. drf 
At first, Hi'* sounds were so very different from I st 
our own little old piano at home, that I was *nr 
fairly frightened ; but gradually I became used 1 h 
to It, and forgetting that there was any one 1 * 
present but myself, I threw my « hole soul into pal 
the music, and played one of my favorites, a 
wild, weird piece, called 'The Storm at Sea.' 
When I finished, there was a dead silence in the wil 
room. Lawyer Fuller had been standing In 
the door, listening to my playing, although I ins 
was not aware of it until, as I rose to leave the ed. 
piano, he said, ‘ Aru't any «r you going to thank 
MAMIE for her music, or shall I have to doit no 
for you ?' and he came over where I was st and- lie 
ing 1 We were spell bound. I had no idea she he 
could play SO well.’ cried Eve Stanton, a young to 
lady from the city, who considered herself quite of 
n musician. 
“ Mr. Fut, nan took both my hands in his own, 
and said Vou display a rare musical talent, cv< 
Mamie and he added, is a lower tone,‘yon | ni< 
shall have a chance to develop it,’ t can’t re- st* 
member what I s»i<1, 1 felt so confused and wl 
embarrassed. I only know that they all praised an 
and complimented me so much that J hardly ha 
thought of HARRY (Tipton the remainder of 
the evening. n " 
“ When it came t ime for us to go home, Law- So 
yer Fuller slipped a paper into my hand ami alt 
told me to give It. to my mother. 1 thought ra 
affairs were certainly coming to a crisis, so dr 
many queer things had happened that, night, I tu 
soon forgot everyth lag else when your Uncle an 
Charles, whom I had never seen but once be- fo 
fore that night, asked If lie might have the of 
pleasure of escorting me home. m 
“Your Uncle Charles, Louise, was Madge In 
Fuller’s cousin. They had been expecting M 
him for some weeks, and M adge had given ns yii 
such glowing descript ions of him t hat all the lo 
girls that were fancy free declared their In ton- <’i 
tionsof setting their caps for him. fcoof course 
1 felt considerably elated that I was the first h< 
one he had condescended to wait upon. lit 
“ We had a pleasant walk home, and when he to 
left me, he asked if he might cnll t he next F 
morning, 1 doubt If there were many in Clay- M 
more that night that sank into t he arms of Mor- at 
phous hotter satisfied with themselves nnd the lj 
world generally, than you* Aunt Maky. The tl 
next morning I was up early, and hurried to ni 
my mother’s chamber with the paper Lawyer sf 
Fuller had given me, for I was exceedingly a’ 
anxious to know what the contents could be. w 
‘ Here, mother,’I cried, Ms something Lawyer t< 
Fuller sent yon. Open It as quick as ever you d 
can, for 1 am almost distracted to know what p 
it means.’ i' 
“Mother smiled n.t my eagerness, and pro- f, 
ceeded to break the seal, very leisurely, I d 
thought, when out fell a check on the bank for a 
two hundred dollars- 1 
“•Why, Mamie!* exclaimed mother,‘what ii 
does this mean ?’ 1 
“ ‘I can’t, tell, 1 am sure,’ said I. Here is a t 
note, this will probably explain.’ a 
“1 could not wait for mother to read it, so 1 < 
Just caught It up and read it myself. It read 
something like this: t 
" • Mits Ellers ley : In listening to your * 
daughter’s playlng, t was astonished at the rare ■ 
talent she displayed. I think she dcsoi vea a i 
chance to complete her musical education, and . 
I beg you will accept this chock and use it to 
that end. I do not want Miss Mamie to have 
any scruples as regards using It, I fe d that, she i 
will be conferring a Tavor on me If she will take , 
H and do ns 1 request her. E. D. Fuller.' 
“ * what will you do Mamie, accept it or not t 
said my mother, after a little time spent in 
earnest thought. 
“‘What will ( do?’ 1 echoed. ‘What shall I 
do? is the question. What do you think is best?’ 
“ ‘ I think it will be best for you to do just as 
you please. If you think you would like to, 
perhaps you had better keep it, as It is Just the 
opportunity you have long been wishing for, 
and 1 presume before long, you will be able to 
repay It.’ , . , , 
“ I know you are growing anxious to hear the 
rest of my story. Eloibe, bo I will stop talking 
of myself, and only say that 1 kept the check, 
and although I never had the chance to repay 
Lawyer Fuller, In after years T paid It to an¬ 
other, near and dear to him, and one more 
needy than ever he had been. 
“There was only a week before the wedding, 
and every one was busy preparing for it. I 
hardly saw Harry Clifton again until his 
wedding night, but I often thought of his 
strange illness, and wondered at t he remark he 
made, ‘ l am subject to auch attacks; any little 
excitement brings them on.* ‘ What excite¬ 
ment could he have meant? I asked myself, 
over and over again. At last I concluded that 
I must have stirred some unpleasant memories 
in my allusion to his boyhood, and there I let 
the matter drop. After-time showed that my 
[ surmises wore correct. 
“ The long looked-for night came at last, 1 
i was to bo first bridesmaid and Charlie was 
groomsman. “ How beautiful Madge looked 
that night 1 She was dressed Inawhite tarletanc, 
with pearls for her jewels. HARRY looked very 
proud of his beautiful bride, atid M adoe seemed 
equally proud of the man to whom she had 
given her heart’s best affections. 
“ The evening passed merrily, and at last- we 
went out to supper. Then came the wine. I 
stood close by Madge and saw her turn out a 
goblet of the sparkling nectar, and held it up 
to Harry. He merely raised it- to his lips, but 
he never drank a drop. Just then Madge no¬ 
ticed that he set the wine down untouched, and 
she exclaimed-.— ‘Surely, Harry, you will 
drink a little wine on this, our wedding night ?’ \ 
1 saw the same look come back to his eyes, the 
same deathly pallor o’erspread his face, that 
1 had seen the night he waalll. Half-frightened, 
1 whispered to her, ‘Don’t urge him ; see how 
pale he is.’ 
“ ‘ Harry, Harry !’ she cried,' what is the 
matter are you ill? Do take a little wine; it 
will revive you.’ 
“The color came back to his face, and bend¬ 
ing over her, he whisperedDon’t be alarm- j 
cd, darling; I was only faint; I am better now.’ j 
“ Kt ill she urged him:- ‘Take It for my sake if 
not foryourown.’shewhispered: and she raised 
her dark eyes coaxlngly to his. For a moment 
he wavered; but H seemed impossible for him 
t,, resist the tempter when it came in the form 
of hi* own lovely bride, and raising the glass to 
his Ups, he drained it. 
“I don’t know why,but for the rest of the 
evening I seemed followed by a dread presenti¬ 
ment of evil. Harry and Madge were con¬ 
stantly before my eyes, Just as they looked 
when she was urging him to drink the wine, 
and the picture haunted mo for days, like a 
hateful dream. 
“The next day Harry and Madge left f lay- 
more for their own home, away in the sunny 
South, ami we settled back into our old ways, 
although the memories of that summer were 
carried by more than one through long years of 
dreary toil. One short week after their depar¬ 
ture the whole village was filled with sorrow 
and consternation, for Lawyer Fuller had been 
found dead in ids bed. Traveling in t hat part 
of the country, in those days, was done for the 
most part in stage coaches, so of course it was 
impossible to think of sending for Harry and 
Madge. They hurled him in the little church¬ 
yard by the side of his wife, with no one to fol- 
ns mourners except Mahsden, Minnie and 
low as mourners except wakhum, mm 
Charlie. . - a 
“ When the will was opened they found that an 
he had left the homestead to Mahsden, a nice f«> 
little sum to your Uncle Charlie, and the rest he 
to Madge. They were Ids only living relatives, ha 
For a few months we heard very often from 
Madge, but gradually she stopped writ ing, and 
at last stopped entirely. Markdkn and Char- wi 
, ik wrote; still, they could get no tidings from iir 
the absent ones, and finally they made up their to 
minds that both must he dead, for surely, they 1 J 1 
said. »ts did every one else, * If they have moved <> 
away, they would write, and let os know their w 
whereabouts. The years rolled by, nnd nearly 
ten had elapsed since Madge Fuller’s wed- “ 
ding. In that time many changes had taken u 
place. I had completed my music, and after « 
your Unde CHAtiU k and I were married, I still ( 
found it a great help to us, ns I never found any u 
difficulty in procuring as many music scholars “ 
us i could teach. The tenth anniversary of ]' 
Harry and M adge’s wedding came, and with 11 
it another party assembled at Markdkn Fure '' 
LER’S to witness the marriage of his only daugh- 1 
ter Gertrude. The ceremony passed pleas- d 
aptly. Then came supper, and after supper “ 
came the wine, as Is usual on such occasions. J 1 
“Before the first drop of wine was poured, 1 
the hall door opened, and a woman dressed in •* 
the dcepeal mourning enfeored, and stood quiet¬ 
ly at the farther end of the room. In un instant 1 
all eyes were turned t oward her. Seeing that 1 
uliewas the center of observation, she moved 
nearer to the table, and throwing aside her ' 
niuntlq, so all could see her face, she commenced 
speaking: ‘1 beg pardon for intruding,' she ’ 
said, * but when 1 saw that wine brought in, 1 
could be quiet HO longer. Hear with me a few 1 
moments, and I will tell my story. Ten years ; 
ago I sat where yonder bride now rits, just as 
fair, perhaps, as she, and without one care for 
the future. By my side sat one with as noble 
and true a heart as ever beat ina human breast. 
I nail the days of our wooing he never would 
taste of wine, but on our wedding night I pre¬ 
vailed on him to take the first glass that ever 
passed his lips- Ob 1 how many, many times 1 
have repented the foolish act I Wo had not 
been settled in our -own home more than two 
weeks before I not iced that lie took wine daily, 
and In a little while he was brought home to 
me a<> drunk that he could neither talk nor 
stand. Then my troubles commenced. Some- 
i times he would go for a rnont h wit hout touch¬ 
ing a drop; then I would hope for better days, 
but ulus! he would commence again, and drink 
[ harder than ever. At last our boy was born, 
4 aT „l then I thought for Us sake. If not for mine, 
< he would do bet tor; but no! After a few weeks 
■ it was' the same old story. Than I saw the prop- 
s that my rather left me going, and we were 
obliged to move Into a emnller house; from 
•, that into a smaller one, and at last 1 found rny- 
t pelf a tenant in an old house In a part of the 
s city where, in my more prosperous days, l 
t would not have dared to venture alone. One 
y night Harry came home to me, and I saw with 
horror that he was suffering front delirium tre- 
1 mens. I called a physician Immediately, but all 
l- that night and t he next dny his sufferings were 
d terrible. At last, reason came to him, nnd he 
r, called me to Ids bedside and said he had somo- 
•>- thing he would like to say to me. Ho told me 
d that his father had died In a fit of drUrium tre- 
d mens, arid that he himself had always had an 
unnatural longing for strong drink : his mother 
,. e died from the effects of a blow that Ids father 
I had given her in a drunken frenzy, and she hud 
a made HARRY promise her on her death bed 
ip never to taste a drop. “And,” said he, “I never 
did, until tny wedding night, when to please i 
you I drank my first glass of wine. That first 
glass was a fatal one; it seemed to rouse a very 
demon In me. From that t ime 1 could not re- — 
slst the temptation to drink. I do not blame 
you, MADGE,’’ he said ; “you did It. innocently, 
and you have suffered enough ton thousand 
times over, without my casting one reproach on 
you ; and now I am going away to leave you and Ay 
my boy, and I may never see you again. I am xh; 
going to try to be a man once more. If F sue- 1 Th 
cced. I will come buck; if not, T shall never Wc 
trouble you." In vain I pleaded with him to let j Q } 
me go too, but he could not think it best; and p (I] 
the next morning he left us. Five years have An 
passed since then, and 1 have never seen nor Foi 
heard from him in all that time. An 
“‘I toiled hard to provide for myself and Kv 
little one for a while, and then the angel of ^ 
death came and hade me give my precious one w. 
into his keeping. I folded the little hands on w) 
the quiet breast and closed the darling blue j ^ 
eyes without one murmur, for I t hought he had H( 
been taken while yet pure and sinless from the lAi 
evils to come. They laid him away In a quiet 
spot, and 1 went back to my old life, now made 
doubly lonely by the absence of my darling. ^ 
“ • How I missed the patter of his little feet Ar 
and the merry prattle of his voice, that had been 
all the music 1 had known for many a day. I 
could not stay there with nothing but bitter 
memories to keep me company. After a time, 
with the assistance of friends that T had become 
acquainted with during Eddie'S illness, I sue- a < 
ceeded in getting classes In music and drawing, hr 
and by these I supported myself comfortably, id 
and was enabled to lay by a little. 
“ * I received letters from home, but my pride rh 
kept me from answering them. I preferred that os 
they should think me dead, rather than have it 
them know my sorrow and disgrace. I kept hi 
waiting and looking for Harry, but he never j t» 
came; and at last, tilled with an insatiable j tl 
longing to see my old home once more, I came il 
back- On arriving, I heard that there was to be ol 
a wedding here to-night, and I resolved to come I. 
and make myself known; and I think I have, si 
for If any that know me in my youthful days are <>i 
here to-night, they will sec the once gay and 
happy Madge Fuller In the pale, sorrowful 
woman standing before them.’ 
“it Is almost* needless to say that the wine 
was carried away untouched, and wc gathered n 
around Madge and welcomed her hack with H 
tears of Joy, Intermingled with sorrow. Joy t 
that she was with us once more, and sorrow at ,j 
the unhappy ending of her blissful dreams of ( 
wedded felicity. 1 ]j 
“We were Juat beginning to get calmed down , j 
after this strange affair when, as Gertie said, y 
the “ Climax was capped’’by the door of the fJ 
conservatory opening, and out stepped Harry 
Clifton. ‘ I wish,' said he, ‘ to corroborate the 
testimony or my wife. For five years f have 
never touched one drop of any kind of liquor. 
Four years of the time 1 have spent, in deliver- ' 
I ng temperance lectures. I returned to Weston, 
where I left my wife and little one, and hearing ‘ 
that she had returned here, 1 followed imme- ’ 
dlately. Not caring to make myself known to 
any one until I had seen her, 1 came up the 
back way, and entered the conservatory in time 
to hear her whole story. And now, before you 
all. as my witnesses. I would ask her to take me 
back again to her heart, and to-night wc will j 
renew again those vows we took upon ourselves 
ten years ago.’ 
i “ Not a word was spoken : but Madge, as a 
realizing sense of how matters stood came over 
her, rose from her seat, and going to him, she 
threw her arms around IiIh neck and said‘Ob, 
, Harry, God ha* answered my prayer at lust in 
* giving you back to me!’ and then she sank iu- 
sensible Into his arms. Ho carried her Into the 
S library and laid her on the sofa. After a few 
H moments she recovered sufficiently to speak; 
r then, one by one, we left the room, and they 
0 were atone together. In the excitement, we 
had almost forgotten the occasion that called 
1 us together; hut GERTIE said she shouldn't be 
particular If she could not be the heroine of 
i ber own wedding, since things had turned out 
' so happily. ATter a time, Harry and MADGE 
'* cune out. MadGE looked very pale; but t here 
° was a happy look in her eyes that made her look { 
'' ever so much younger than when she first ap- i 
“ peared on that eventful evening. 
,r “ Mahsden made, them stay in the eld home- 
stead with him and Minnie, and Harry com- 
monced practicing law in anymore, which, by 
the way, hud grown to be quite a town. So 
lk after many trials and long years of waiting, they 
,l * were once more happy. 
“ i have telii you this story Eloise, hopingyou 
ks may benefit by it. 1 trembled last night when 
j saw you offering your betrothed, Fickd Moore, 
ro that glass of wine; and I thanked God in my 
,m heart when 1 heard him say,‘Please take It. 
iy " away, Eloise, for I have signed n pledge of 
, total abstinence.’ I beg of you never to offer 
’ 1 him spirituous liquors again, lest your future 
ne life may be as deeply clouded as was Madge 
th Clifton's.” 
Sabbath leading. 
THE PATH OF THE JUST. 
BY MRS. M. I*. A. CKOZIER. 
Ate, so let us five in the path that’s before us,. 
That Heaven's soft glory lie constantly o er us , 
That our light shall grow brighter ns, day after day, 
We faithfully walk In the difficult way ! 
O, no, not in darkness the good mun should go, 
For Heaven watches over Its children helow; 
And, tho' It he narrow, the path we may t rust, 
For God hangs a lamp In the 6ky for the Just. 
And Its radiant light In the heavens afar 
Kvur beckons us on, like a Bethlehem star: 
Kver on* ever upward, vrllh ftaves In our 
Wc* must seek out the way to the beautiful land, 
Where'the avalanche thunders and wild torrents roar, 
Over glaciers nnd rocks, see It leads on before; 
Hold ire fast, to the hand of the Guide that we trust, 
Lest we slip <>u tho steeps where SO many are lost. 
So tho’ rugged mountains we painfully climb, 
Let us sing as we go. while our footsteps keep time; 
With the spirit so humble it loveth to pray, 
And the eye on tho crown at the end of tho way. 
ILL TEMPER. 
A single person of sour, sullen temper w hat. 
a dreadful thing it is to have such a one in a 
house! There la not myrrh and aloes and chlor¬ 
ide of lime enough in the world to disinfect a 
single home of such a nuisance as that; no 
riches, no elegance of mien, no beauty of face 
ran ever screen such persons from ut ter vulgar¬ 
ity. There Is one thing which,rising persons 
hate tho reputation of more than all others,/uni 
that is vulgarity; but trust mo, ill temper la 
the vulgarcst thing thnt the lowest born and 
ill,.st bred can ever bring to his borne. I t is one 
of the worst form sof impiety. Peevishness in a 
homo Is not. only sin against the Holy Ghost, but 
sin agalhst the Holy Ghost in the very temple 
of love.— Theodore Parker. 
SABBATH-DAY SUGGESTIONS. 
Among the gifts which have been made to hu¬ 
manity, none, in the lower sphere of virtues, 
should call forth our thankfulness more than 
the gifts of cheerfulness, nnd wit, and humor. 
They civilize life. They carry with them a per¬ 
petual blessing. H any man have buoyancy, If 
Be find himself given to wit, In the name or 
heaven do not suppress It. Multiply the drops 
which spring out of that precious fountain. 
There i» life in It ,—DneJur. 
As the lenses of a telescope must, be smooth, 
free front irregularities, properly shaped and 
u..dimmed by moisture, that it may yield a true 
View of star and Bun, so the mind that would 
truly reflect God must he In the highest possible 
condition. A great many have thought they 
saw God when In fact they saw nothing but t he 
fancies of a diseased organization deified. IF. 
U. 11. Murray. 
It is no great matter to live lovingly with 
humble and meek persons; but he that can do 
so with the freward, with the peevish and per¬ 
verse, he only hath true charity; always remem¬ 
bering that our solid, true peace consists rather 
in complying with others than In being compiled 
with; In suffering and forbearing, rather than 
In contention and victory ,—Jenmil Taylor. 
One does not like to say much .against the 
Church, because the church always says she is 
In danger. I would not add to her fears. But 
just now the church reminds me very much of 
that old woman of whom the doctor asked 
what was the matter with her, and she said she 
did not know, but she felt very badly in her 
l inside. John Jiriyht. 
A thief, who broke jail in Ohio, being cap¬ 
tured, told the sheriff “that he might have es¬ 
caped, but he had conscientious scruples about 
traveling on the Sabbath day.” 
Pome men never lose their presence of mind. 
In Chicago, last, week,a man threw his mother- 
in-law out of a window in the fifth story of a 
burning building, and then carried a feather bed 
down stairs in his arms. 
The surest way to hit a woman’s heart is to 
take aim kneeling. 
Fear never was a friend to the love of God or 
man, to duty or conscience, truth, probity or 
honor. It therefore can never make a good sub¬ 
ject, a good cit izen, a good soldier, and least of 
all a good Christian; except the devils, who 
believe and tremble, are to be accounted good 
Christians.— Henry Uroohc. 
MAKING reflections on the faults of others Is 
generally a fruitless thing; it. is often attended 
with mistakes and involves men in sin. When 
we And it so bard to amend ourselves, we may 
well esteem it a very unseemly thing with bit- 
. terncssto inveigh against our brother. A. V- 
not. 
What a difference have we often seen betwixt 
our afflictions at our first meeting with, and at 
our parting from them 1 We have entertained 
them with sighs and tears, but parted from 
them with joy, blessing God for them as the 
happy instruments of our own good.—> Flavd. 
At the last when we die we have the g“" ( l 
angels for our escort on the way. They who 
can grasp the whole world in their hands can 
surely also guard our souls, that they make that 
lost journey safely. Luther. 
Let a roan take a telescope, and reverse Lt, 
and how far off things seem ! and let a man re¬ 
verse hia own nature and look through it the 
wrong way,— how Impossible it is for him to see 
God! 
So live that death may never surprise thee 
unprepared. Happy the man who constantly 
keeps the hour of hia death In view, and evwi 
day prepares himself for It.—ThvnKW-et-Keinjns, 
Hope the best, get ready for the worst, and 
then take what God sends .—Matthew Henry■ 
