ass 
OOBE’S BUBAL WEW-YORKEB 
ABB3L -19 
IN THE STREET. 
BY FULLER-WALKER. 
Ten thousand feet, slow, glad and fleet, 
Thick thronging through the crowded street 
Like tide-wave* small, with rise untl fall, 
A human *on by marble wall. 
IUcli, wrought with euro, grand, proud and fair 
A hundred dome* lift high lu air; 
While wonil’rous gleam* of morning bourns, 
Transform them all to poet’s dreams. 
A misty hare which ends In mn*e, 
Blots out the view from human guxc, 
Till sky and street In cloud-land meet, 
A seeming path for earth-worn feet. 
The man of care, with snowy hair, 
Goes trembling through the thoroughfare, 
His thoughts Intent, with body bent, 
On better things than ten per cent. 
With senses dim, lie hours no din 
Of strife of trade or worldly sin; 
With Inward eye he can espy 
The streots of gold beyond the sky. 
A woman sad, with reason mad, 
Her garments old, and thinly clad, 
Walks down the street with leaden feet, 
As one who looks her grave to meet.. 
For her the shines have turned to groans, 
And every nag Is lllled with moans, 
Kadi wheel that rolls drags human souls 
From earthly life to hungry ghouls I 
Thus flows the tide of human pride 
Through channels long and gay and wide, 
While Time's fnlr hands with golden sands 
Hweet pathways strew on silent strands. 
The brook may run through shade and sun, 
A silver tliruud by Hprlng-thne spun ; 
In meadow fro©, beneath the tree, 
'Tls ever moving towards the sea. 
In vain shall man, hts little span 
Of lifetime longer hope to scan, 
He foolshls needs and plucks at weeds, 
or puts hts faith In human creeds. 
There is a s ia, from tempest free, 
The Ocean of Kternlty : 
Beneath Its waves, within Its caves, 
Mankind drops down to dreamless graves. 
[A 1 . V . Mail . 
<©ur ,^torir-${tllcr. 
KATHIE’S FLITTIN', 
BY SUSAN B. MUIUIAY. 
It was of a different sort from the one LAH>- 
iiAW has immortalized in the beautiful ballad 
t hat boars this name, with lit t ie of t he romance, 
but, it may be, with very much more fun for 
did not “the tano ” happen In bonny Boot I and, 
and “the totlier” in the very matter-of-fact 
precincts of a Now York country boarding 
school. 
I.atc, one summer afternoon, 1 came from a 
lecture ou chemistry, in “ No. 3" of the great 
hall, and sauntered up to my own room, “No. 
ti,“ in the house. My room-mate and bosom 
friend, KAT1UK HowiTT.was always ready to 
meet me at my door when I entered, and go 
with me where 1 would. But on the night, of 
which I speak she was absent for t he first time. 
Of course I could not think of going out with¬ 
out her. Ho I sat down before the study table, 
and by the open window, and looked out. The 
village eliureh stood on the common just before 
me, its tall spire shining in the crimson light. 
Beyond It. lay the mountains, at whoso dark 
tops 1 loved to gaze so well, because upon their 
other side lay the place I called my home. I 
leaned my head upon my hand and mused. 1 
thought of the white house under the elms, 
and wlmt t hey were doing there : -h<»w my guar¬ 
dian read l lie paper by the window, grumbling 
now and then because It, was growing dark : 
—how my aunt, and Lizzie walked In the gar¬ 
den, admiring their l<\ir Vkrw roses, which 
had just been brought from Franco, and bloom- ' 
ed kindly enough In republican soil, remember¬ 
ing Lafayette, 1 suppose:—how May sat by 
the little fountain, near Hie tulip hod, and read 
of “Christiibol” or “ Kuhla Khan," and thought 
perhaps of me liow Allik sang. In tho little 
parlor, that song, 
“ I love the night, the glorious night, 
When hearts beat warm and true,” 
to which I used to listen, in the moonlight, 
under the syrlnga hush aud t he pine tree out¬ 
side, and fancy myself in Italy: how Blanche 
chatted with two or three young medical stu¬ 
dent.!', and lit tie Will stood near the piano, in 
love with his brilliant mother and her mag¬ 
nificent voice: In short, as I contrasted all f his 
life and sound with the stillness of my own 
chamber, I began to grow depseratoly home- 
sick. 1 used to w T rite. In those days, what I 
called “poetry," and drawing a sheet of paper 
and a pencil near me, I began to compose some¬ 
thing exceedingly doleful, when the door flew 
open with a great, hang, and Kathie ran in and 
shut, it behind her. After that, there was no 
writing, as a matter of course. I got up and 
tried to look very severe. 
“ Faithless young woman, where have you 
been? We have lost our walk, anil I have 
nearly lost, my wits, thinking you had come to 
grief somewhere. I was just going to write an 
elegy." 
“Thank you, my dear. Supposing you try 
your hand at an epithalamium.” 
“ What do you mean ?" 
“ Nothing. How did the chemistry' go off to¬ 
night?” 
“Just as usual,” I said, yawning at tho bare 
recollection. “It is getting to be a terrible 
bore, and 1 wish with all my heart that the old 
fellow would grow deaf and dumb by degrees." 
Hiie laughed, hut as if she hardly heard what 
1 was saying, and leaned her head upon her 
hand. She had a pretty, round Lace, dark hair, 
and very dark eyes; but that night she looked 
as grave as a judge, and wc sat a long time 
without speaking. The moon rose, finely in tho 
east, and I was watching with deep interest 
the way in which she silvered over the edges 
of the passing clouds, and presently looked up 
over them, fair and full, when somebody w his¬ 
tled faintly under our window. It was like the 
note of a robin, three times repeated, at. short 
intervals. I was going to loan out to nee what 
it could lie, when K A rm I', sprang up, pulled me 
hack, and, waving her handkerchief, sat down 
on the arm of my chair and held me fast. 
“ Are you mad ?" was uiy first, question. 
“Yes—no—1 suppose you will say so,” was 
her not very coherent reply. “ Tho fact is, I 
want to toll you something.” 
“ what prevents you ?” 
“ Because I am going to ask you to do some¬ 
thing for me, too, and I am afraid—All 1 you 
will, 1 know you will.” 
“Well, bo quiet,"—for she was loading me 
with caresses, and 1 did not care much for 
them,—“ and tell me what it is." 
“ You miserable creature ! The long and tho 
short of llie matter is lam going to elope to¬ 
night." 
“ You—are—going—to—What?” I said in slow 
astonishment, turning round and looking her 
full In t he face, thinking I had not hoard aright. 
“To elope. And I want you to help me." 
There she sat, tapping her foot upon the car¬ 
pet, and looking as unconcerned as if she had 
proposed a walk to the next confectioner’s shop. 
I was fairly puzzled, hut 1 did not much fancy 
iier to be In earnest. 
“ And pray whore are you going to elope—and 
what for and who with ?” 
“To Buffalo—because I want to get married 
—and with Hubert Stevknh," was the quiet 
answer, equal in brevity t« tho famous one of 
“up to the knee and ninepenee,” which won 
for some market girl in Pennsylvania tho dis¬ 
tinction of a Judge’s lady. The truth was out, 
very plainly, ton. 
Katiuk’s father, Deacon 8 has Howrrr.was 
a stern, obstinate old fellow, who, if he had 
been Auc immkhes, would, I am sure, have used 
liis lever for making the world, and its people, 
turn hi* way. She was his only daughter, and 
almost. befor6 she had left her cradle her des¬ 
tiny had been settled over a bowl of punch 
with his neighbor, Judge Howell, Phc was to 
marry the judge’s youngest son, n hoy of seven, 
who hated babies, and always pinched his “ lit¬ 
tle wife," when he was dragged up to see her, 
and made her cry. The children grew up to¬ 
gether—she an arch girl, always tensing and 
provoking him, and he n rude and boisterous 
boy. who thought, girls were an Rii-ncceasarj 
evil, and could never endure playing with her, 
because his school-fellows (who knew all about 
the contract) plagued him so. By-and-by they 
quarreled to such an extent, that Kathie was 
sent away to school, where she had remained 
for three years, receiving visits each vacation 
from her father, hut never going, or caring to 
go, home. Tlie poor child had no mother, no 
sisters or brothers there—only a sour, maiden 
aunt, her self-willed father, and Koukh How¬ 
ell, who had, at last, become a lawyer, and 
was Inclined to think better of the proposed 
match, when ho saw how pretty Kathie hud 
grown. No one could blame her for having the 
good taste to prefer those gay vacations at our 
hoarding house, where some dozen girls re¬ 
mained, with leave and license to play all sorls 
of pranks, t ill the fortnight, or three weeks were 
over, to the conventual gloom of her father's 
house, some three hundred miles away. But 
Huger Howell was not the worst of the busi¬ 
ness. I never saw it girl yet who could love ac¬ 
cording to prescription, and Katuik, forming 
no exception to the general rule, had taken It 
into her unfortunate head to look in another 
than l ho lawful direction. Hhc “ had an attach¬ 
ment'*—as foolish and unreasonable as any 
hoarding-school fancy could well he to a cer¬ 
tain young gentleman named Hubert Si evens, 
who was the son of t he preceptor of the school, 
and whose blue eyes looked unutterable t ilings 
at her for many a month, unseen by any one ex¬ 
cept “us girls," who wore all too honorable to 
pencil. Matters had come to a decided crisis 
with I lie young pair, and a letter from her father 
that day received, requesting her to come home 
at the end of the term (In three weeks’ time), 
and “get ready to marry Huger Howell,” fin¬ 
ished the business. They determined to elope 
at once, that very night, and Dick Chapin (a 
bosom crony of the lover's) and I were selected 
ns tin* most fitting assistants In their escape. 
The keys of the great hall door were to bo taken 
by Robert from his father's room. Dick Cha¬ 
pin (who hoarded In another house) was to 
keep watch outside to see if Hie coast was 
clear, and to keep guard over a carriage sta¬ 
tioned under Hie care of Ids brothers at the end 
of the street. Hubert was to leap out of his 
own wlndoyv and wait upon the steps, while I 
unlocked the great hall door, let Miss Kathie 
safely out, and made all right after they had 
gone. There was one grain of sense amid all 
this foolery. An elder sister of Robert’s, who 
had been “ disappointed,” as the saying is, had 
taken pity upon the lovers, and promised to go 
with them and see them married. .She was only 
twenty lierseif, hut I looked upon her as a ven¬ 
erable old lady then, and was quite satisfied so 
long as she was in the scrape, She resided with 
a married slsterin the town, and was to contrive 
some excuse for going homo that night, and 
wait in the carriage tm her companions came. 
All tills Kathie told me, whispering in a low 
voice. 
“ But you will want money, you goose, and 
clothes,” 1 said. 
“Oh, Hubert has plenty of money for the 
present, and his sister is going to give us more. 
And I have packed up some of my things,” - 
she dragged a small traveling hag from under 
the bed,—" and if T want more I shall send to 
you. But then we shall not lie very long away. 
My father will be terribly angry at llrst, hut 
when we come and ask him to forgive us, ho 
will be sure to do it, you know.” 
“Oh, yes," t answered, because l knew all the 
fathers' did forgive their children in the novels 
1 had read, and I supposed, of course, lie would 
follow their example. And having pledged my¬ 
self to help her to the best of my ability, I went 
down to the other hoarding-house to see Mkdge 
Chapin, and through her means (she was a cap¬ 
ital girl, and knew all that was going on) got a 
chance to talk quietly half an hour or so with 
Dick in her room, till wo had made ail the ar¬ 
rangements we needed, and were sure the thing 
Could not fail. 
I do not suppose Micro ever was n more 
“babes in the wood" sort of tiling; I hope 
there are not six more such simpletons left in 
the world at tho present day, Tho bride was 
sixteen, the bridegroom nineteen, aided and 
abetted by a boarding-school girl of fifteen, n 
“young lady” of twenty, and two boys of ten 
and twelve! Kathie's carpet-hag contained 
one or two changes of dress, a great budget of 
HoUKRT’H letters, a pair of bracelets, and a silk 
apron that lie particularly admired, a smoking 
cap,'which w'as to he a “surprise” gifl to that 
young gentleman, a Chinese fan, a paper of 
lemon and peppermint drops, some cocoamit, 
cake, and five ucw hooks. I know for I helped 
her repack after she had asked my advice about 
taking anything more; and 1 could think of 
nothing except (Ire-crackers, as the Fourth of 
July would come while they were awny; hut 
these were out of the question, it being already 
too late in the evening to buy them. As for 
Hubert, I have heard—but l cannot vouch for 
t he truth of the story—that he, in addition to 
his clothes, took only his flute, a bat and bull, 
and a preposterous pair of horse pistols, wit h 
rusty locks, with which he vowed lie would 
“ exterminate" any one who came after them ! 
This was their preparation for braving the world 
together. 
I sat. up that night with Kathie, feeling as 
nervous as “a fly lu a drum,” and expecting 
each moment that tho prooeptor would pounce 
in upon us, Kathie took the matter much 
more coolly, and made a hearty supper of the 
bread and ©old veal J had taken for her from 
the dining-room pantry just after dark. At 
eleven o’clock the faint, robin s whistle came 
again beneath our window, and raising the sash 
softly, I saw Hubert underneath, while Ids sis¬ 
ter, carefully wrapped up, was hurrying down 
the street towards the carriage, whose driver, 
“deaf Ben,” was as trusty ns tho grave, and 
after whirling the party down to the depot, 
would come back, and put up his horses, and 
bo the flrst to wonder at the strange disappear¬ 
ance in tin! morning. Everybody trusted Ben, 
and what was still better, nobody was betrayed 
by him ; but I doubt if he ever had such a cargo 
of ignoramuses as tic carried that night. 
How my heart heat as I stole out w ith Kathie 
into the great hall, and found my way down 
stairs by the light of the moon. Those great, 
dangling keys,tool 1 thought of Willie Do ko¬ 
las and tho escape of Mary, Queen of Scots, 
from the Castle of Lochlovon, and was sure 
they would crash down upon the floor and rouse 
the whole house before I finished my task. 
But no; oitr Willie Douglas had taken good 
care of that. The lock turned smoothly upon 
its wdl-oiled wards ; the night air and the 
moonlight swept In together, and there were 
Dick Chapin and Hubert, the latter of whom 
wrung my hand and said “ Good bye," mid then 
caught Katie to liis breast. 
“Don't he a goose, ROBERT," she said, com¬ 
posedly. “but take the traveling-bag, and 1 will 
run after you In a moment." 
The poor fellow obeyed, little thinking what 
a fair sample it was of tho petticoat govern¬ 
ment he might expect as they both grew older, 
and kissing me hastily, she whispered: “I’ll 
write to you as soon as wo are married. Be 
sure you say you don't know anything about 
this, or Hubert's father will murder you." 
8he ran lightly down tlie yard and joined her 
lover. In a moment more 1 heard the carriage 
roll away, and Dick Chapin and his brother 
ran by toward their boarding-house, where 
Maiigk was waiting to smuggle them In. I 
wont. Lack into Hie house and locked the door 
quietly, leaving the keys upon the window-sill 
outside, (by means of a sliding panel in the 
frame,) as I had been told to do. and then crept 
hank to my room. Its utter silence, as I shut 
tho door, frightened mo more than I can say, 
and 1 realized a little what I had been about, 
perhaps for the flrst t-liue. But there was no 
help for it; sho had gone, and Could not he 
brought, back again, aud 1 must face the morn¬ 
ing as best I might. And so I went to sleep. 
Every one knows the old song, which ends: 
“ The kirk was decked at morning tide, 
The tapers glimmered fair; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 
And dame and knight arc there. 
They sought her haith by tower and ha’, 
The ladle was no seen ; 
She’s ower the border and awa’, 
Wi’ Jack o’ Hnzledean.” 
It rang In my ears tlie next morning as I 
awoke, and thought what a scrape I was in. By 
and by the house grow' Into a turmoil; the keys 
had been found outside; Mr. Huberts' window 
was open, and he not. In the room. There were 
voices in t he hall, and they eantc into my room 
at last, in the persons of tho preceptors and tho 
matron. I had taken very good care to lie 
found undressed and sound asleep (seemingly) 
in bed; hut I was quickly roused, ami after a 
hasty toilet taken to tho preceptors'room for 
judgment. It was no less a point of honor than 
a question of safety, to he Ignorant of anything 
and everything; hut 1 hope I shall be forgiven 
for that day's work. “Kathie,"! said, "was 
certainly not in my room;” but I knew no 
more than the dead whore she was, (and that 
was true in one sense,) and as for Mr. Hubert, 
1 had scarcely spoken a dozen words to him in 
my life. But il was all of no avail, and I was 
kept a pr isoner in my room all day, which I did 
not at all object, to, as I got. rid of all my les¬ 
sons, and the girls on tlie floor above lowered 
down by a string from their window some cakes 
and apples, a bottle of lemon sirup, and a capi¬ 
tal romance, one after another. On the whole, 
I had a jolly t ime of it, and thought my part of 
the elopement quite as pleasant its Kathie’s. 
The next night 's post brought a letter from 
ROBERT’* sister, saying that they had been mar¬ 
ried in Buffalo by a well-known clergyman of 
the Episcopal Church, and that no one was to 
he blamed for the whole thing hut herself. 
Hearing this, my preceptor came formally and 
released me, making an apology ((he dear old 
simpleton!) at the same time ; ami I was taken 
up stairs in triumph by the girls, who voted me 
queen of t he whole school upon the spot, for 
tlie way ill which 1 had defended KATHtE. 
They .were married that could not ho gain¬ 
said— and the parents wisely concluded to 
put the best face upon the matter. Deacon 
How itt went after them himself to Buffalo, 
forgave them, and took thorn home to Ids own 
house, where our preceptor tllvt theln, and Hie 
reconciliation was complete. It was not deemed 
proper for them to return to Winded* (I siij»- 
posc Hie poor preceptor thought wc should alt 
follow their example if they did,) since they 
had set the rules of its school so completely fit. 
defiance; but a pretty home for their residence 
and employ''merit In a lawyer's office for Hub¬ 
ert, were soon found : and when K atb i k wrote 
1o toll mo that her little daughter was to bear 
my name, she added that, she was so happy she 
was really ashamed of lierseif, and that she hud 
not n wish imgratllled on eart h. 
I.caving her thus in the beatitude*, I wont 
away from school, and out Into that world 
which wrung my heart and tyrannized over me 
at llrst, hut would now stoop to he my servant 
since my eyes are opened, and I v T nlue it no ntoro. 
During t ills process of disenchantment, though 
I never saw Katie, I pinned my faith upon her 
and her home with a pertinacity that makes me 
smile to-day. Though nil the world was false, 
thoso hearts wore true; though husbands and 
wiVoastrovo, day and night, to wound and grieve 
and slander each other, that “dear home was 
sacred from all wrongs.” 
At last, I mot its Initiates in the city of Wash¬ 
ington, where Hubert had been sent as a metn- 
hcr of (’ongress. I went to find out Kathie, 
with my heart upon my lips. A brilliant, show¬ 
ily-dressed woman lounging on til© sofa, With 
a group of gentlemen around her, rose as ( en¬ 
tered the drawing-room of her hotel, and re¬ 
turned my eager welcome with a languid smile. 
Heavens! Was this the girl that ran away at 
night, with tho peppermint drops and the five 
new novels? Hubert was also there, hut not 
near her; an eager, amhltlous-looking man, 
with a deep channel worn lu the brow I had 
known so smooth and fair. It wusan awaken¬ 
ing, Indeed, from all my fairy drcanlfl, to see 
that guy eoqilCltc and tier worldly-minded hus¬ 
band in t he place of the young lovers who had 
“ tied out Into the night " so long ago. 
I rose at lust, to say farewell, for I was grow¬ 
ing sick at heart, and as X took her hand again, 
I spoke of the old school at Winsled, and espe¬ 
cially of that one night, and all that happened 
there. 
She glanced at her wedding-ring, then at her 
group of eager admirers, then at her grave hus¬ 
band, and again at me. “My dear,” she said, 
with a heavy sigh, " I think the moon never 
shone on two greater fools than we were then. 
Take warning by me, and never elope ; marry 
for money, rank, or what you will, but for love 
-" she waved her white hand in the air with 
a scornful smile, said “Good bye,” and sank 
down grace In By into her old seat again. 
I have neverseen her since; nor shall I everbe- 
liove in domestic peace or happiness any more. 
THE TRUE MAN. 
Nink-tknths of the alleged inhumanity of 
mankind is owing to their being deceived. If 
people are sure of an accident or calamity 
crowds hasten to relieve It. By veracity wb 
charm in conversation: by sincerity we influ¬ 
ence opinion; l»y trustworthiness wc render 
friends loving and secure, add to the general 
confidence of men in men, and by thussfrciigl h- 
eiiing the foundations of society , acquire the 
right to an analagous personal sense of worth 
and firmness. Truth gives a sense of security to 
the feeblest man. as lying does of insecurity to 
the strongest. The true man has but one an¬ 
swer to give to interrogators, ono story to tell 
them, nobody’s face to fear. 
41 _ 
