274 
OOBE’S BUBAL NEW-YOBKEB 
AUTUMN. 
Came Jeweled Autumn. Hovering o’er the world, 
A radiant being, on her gorgeous wing, 
Bbe saw In verdant, swaying patches spread. 
The mystic forests; saw the brunches swing 
Their emerald pennons in the softened air, 
And heard the silken moan that floated by. 
Then loosed a million braids of dainty hair, 
Till auburn glories streamed along the sky. 
Forth from the folded purple of her robes 
She plucked a fairy scepter, gold-embossed, 
Jndlademed with myriad drops of light— 
The gift of God—the gem-work of the frost. 
Slie waved the scepter over wood and wold. 
Till Barth was diamond-sprout. Through forests 
green 
A color ran, and left a waste of gold, 
With amethyst empurpled in its sheen. 
Thou, wanton Queen, art strangely beautiful— 
Thy throne the conquered woodlands, and thy 
crown 
The cold, gray clouds that sweep the ley sky. 
The flowers of dale and hill are bending down 
Beneath thy chilling Xqet; thon'st laid thy hand 
'Upon the taper-leaved, wind-shaken maize; 
The orchards reel in wealth at thy command : 
The vineyards blush and own tby queenly ways. 
I see full many a vestige of decay 
Beneath thy flimsy tinsel-covering. 
Soon, Autumn, wilt thou doff thy gorgeousness, 
Aiul yield thy throne to Winter's bleaky king. 
Then will the rattling w inds through turrets leap, 
And ashy snowflakes wing the Otful air, 
A nd Nature, tranced In dumb and frozen sleep, 
Suatter no more her poems everywhere. 
<©ur j$torg-§mtyr. 
GRANDMOTHER’S STORY. * 
_ t 
by mbs. a. a. c. ‘ 
_ t 
We were at home spending the holiday vac a- i 
tion, brother Ned and T. There were three of > 
us. Our fulr, stately slater Floy, the eldest of ; 
the three, had graduated two years previous, 1 
and at present the chief object of her thoughts 
and attentions was a certain tall, dark-eyod 1 
young gentleman, already her accepted lover. 
Floy scorned very happy, and certainly the lit- i 
tie dash of dignity that her now position gave i 
her was quite becoming, albeit it afforded Ned 1 
and I another source of amusement at her ex- 1 
penso. N icd was a kind-hearted, generous lad, < 
but the most Inveterate tease and mischief that 
ever tormented a Household, so, between us i 
both, poor Floy had a sorry lime of it, and the < 
day that we returned to school she declared to 
be the most comfortable one she had passed 
In a month. Her place of retreat was always , 
grandmother’s room a place sacred from all 
intrusions of noise or rudeness, and yet in that 
very room we children had passed the happiest 
hours we over knew, for grandmother's cheer¬ 
ful, placid temperament, and her strong mind, 
unimpaired by age, made her a pleasant com¬ 
panion alike for old and young. 
It lud been a day of uncommon mildness and 
beauty, but towards nightfall t he sky was over¬ 
cast by heavy clouds, and at dark the snow was 
falling fast and the wind blowing frightfully; 
and the prospect was that we wore to have such 
a night as makes one appreciate the blessings 
of a comfortable home and a warm (1 reside. It 
was a bil ler disappointment, for this was the 
last nigh i of our vacation, and t he one set apart, 
for the gathering of all our young friends at 
our house. Wo gave up seeing them, however, 
as the storm and darkness Increased, and all re¬ 
paired to grandmother's room for a quiet even¬ 
ing. Ned gently displaced grandma’s pretty 
Maltese and threw himself down In her place 
on tho rug, with the determination to make 
himself comfortable In spite of wind or weather; 
but to Floy it was a double disappointment, 
for l’AUi- Meredith bad been expected with 
the others,—so she walked Impatiently up and 
down the room, pausing occasionally before 
the window to look out on the storm and dark¬ 
ness. ,Seeing that il grew no better she would 
resume her walk, tears of vexation tilling her 
eyes and impatient exclamations tailing from 
her lipB! 
“I do declare," she said, "this is too bad; 
to think that to-night of all nights it should 
storm, when last evening was so delightfully 
culm and pleasant. What shall we do, grand¬ 
ma, to Amuse ourselves all ihis long, dull even¬ 
ing?” 
“ Be patient, my dear children, and come and 
sit down and 1 will tell you a story to pass away 
the time,” said grandmother, smiling. 
We had thought Ned sleeping, but. at that Ida 
eyes flow open, eager and bright, while Floy 
and I needed no second bidding, for those old 
stories were always new to us. So grandmother 
folded her knitting and settled herself comfort¬ 
ably, looking the very picture of peace amt con¬ 
tent. “it was many years ago,” she began, 
“ when 1 was a very little girl, that my father, 
your great-grandfather, moved Into this coun¬ 
try, then almost, an unbroken wilderness, save 
an occasional clearing where a log hut had been 
erected and sufficient comforts added to bo des¬ 
ignated as home by the sturdy pioneers. In 
6ome respects we were a little belter off than 
several of our neighbors, although our house 
was a log one, consist ing of but two rooms and 
an attic accessible only by means of a ladder. 
I wonder how such a staircase would suit our 
proud lit tie Floy here. Never mind, we were 
happy in those days—just as happy as you are, 
my children, in vour home ; and we grew up to 
manhood and womanhood In our simple, forest y 
home, hardy, fearless and free. We had plenty b 
of neighbors, yet the nearest one lived two miles r 
from us; but wo thought nothing of the dis- a 
tance, and social gatherings were of frequent p 
occurrence, especially during the winter. These t. 
consisted of all the married people, young men t 
and maidens throughout the sparsely-settled p 
district. It Is about one or those merry-mnk- f 
ings that I am going to tell you. Christmas was p 
near at hand, and Invitations had been sent out b 
to all the people for miles around to meet at n 
Daniel Changer's on Christmas day, to eat, n 
drink and be merry; and for days beforehand s 
the young people lived in lively anticipation of 
the coming pleasure. The day came at length, ^ 
and early in the afternoon father, mother, John * 
and Kitty started for Daniel Changer's farm, j 
nearly three miles distant from our house, the 0 
road lying most of the way through the woods, j 
Later in the afternoon I was to go with your n 
grandfather, then a fine, athletic, handsome t; 
youth, and we had been three months engaged. y 
Left alone, I began making sundry changes and j 
experiments in my simple apparel, and you 
would laugh heartily, girls, could yon see the , f 
bits of finery and ribbons that I brought forth v 
and carefully Ironed and prepared for my even- 
lug's toilet. 1 couldn't help wishing, on seeing ( , 
how faded some of them had grown, that to- a 
night they might be replac ed by nice, bright ^ 
ones; but people In those days had to be con- f 
tented with a little,- so I made my simple j 
toilet, quite satisfied after all with the picture 
1 saw in the little cracked mirror, only my 1 
long, black curia would look so much prettier f 
tied with a now scarlet ribbon, I thought. 
“ i was ready at last, and sat down by the lit- j 
tie front window, softly humming to myself , 
while I watched the glowing sunset and the 
brilliant parting beams that stole through the 1 
window whore I sat. At. last the sun had gone f 
down, and gray shadowscarno creeping up from } 
the forest, the yard, and even into the little j 
room. I began to wonder whore Robeht was, ( 
and what could detain him so. I was no cow- , 
nrd, having been brought up in a forest where ( 
all manner of wild beasts abounded; besides, ( 
I hud early learned l he use of John's rifle, and 
could handle it almost as dextrously as himself. y 
Yet somehow the loneliness of tho house, to- ( 
get her with a vague, undefined four thaL some- f 
thing might, have happened to Robert while ^ 
coming through the pine woods at that time of ( 
day, startled me out of my usual composure, , 
and I began to feel very uncomfortable indeed. ' 
“ It was already dark In the bouse, and the t 
lire had gone down, yet I remained by tho win- , 
dow, watching anxiously in the direction Hob- ( 
eut would come, wishing J might in some way | 
be warned of his whereabouts or approach. I | 
do not know how long I had remained there ( 
when the cry of some animal broke on the still , 
air, quickly followed by a succession of yells , 
and bowls, sounding nearer and nearer, arid , 
t understood instantly that it was a pack of 
wolves in pursuit of something. They ware ( 
evidently coming from the pine woods, and my 
heart stood still when I thought that possibly 
it was Robert they were pursuing. The road 
he would come lay through the deepest part of 
the pine forest, which had always been thickly 
infested with bears and wolves. Nearer and 
nearer they came, and at last over the brow r of 
the hill, out Into the clearing, rushed the whole 
pack, snarling and yelping like so many demons. 
A few feet ahead or them a sleigh dashed along 
with the figure of one person, whom I recog¬ 
nized as Hobkut, standing upright, evidently 
making desperate struggles to distance his pur¬ 
suers. He struck out right and left, and urged 
his poor animal to still greater exert ions, till, 
within a short distance of the house, terrified 
and exhausted, it reared and fell. Instantly 
they wore surrounded, and 1 saw that Robeht 
was battling manfully to save himself and his 
poor, fallen horse. It was of no use, however, 
for the poor beast was soon dead and the flesh 
tom from its bcncs, and as 1 watched with 
wild, agonized eyes, and a heart that scorned 
turning to stone, I saw him, my handsome, 
noble-hearted Robeht, Tali, homo down and 
struggling in the grasp of his foes. I knew tho 
struggle must be a inlet one, unless their atten¬ 
tion could bo drawn from (heir victim long 
enough to allow him to regain his feet, il in¬ 
deed it were not already too late. I sprang up, 
determined to aid him or share Ids fate. I took 
flown John’s rifle and made a hasty examina¬ 
tion to bo sure that it was properly loaded. 
Then I carefully unclosed the door, and pre¬ 
pared to raise tho gun—but, alas 1 I was power¬ 
less, my strength was failing me; 1 tried to 
speak, to cry out, but in vai n. In that, one brief 
moment of horror and agony, I seemed to have 
lived a lifetime. A strange, rushing sound filled 
my ears, utter darkness came before my eyes, 
and 1 remembered no more until -ROBERT'S 
strong arms raised me and his voice wakened 
mo from my horrid dream. Yes, after all, it 
was nothing but a miserable dream. It took 
me a long time, however, to realize that there 
was no reality about it; yet there lie was beside 
me, safe and well, only terribly frightened at 
the state he had found mo in. 
" * Why, Uachib, darling, what is the matter? 
— have you been dreaming? Look up, little 
i one, and tell me about it.’ 
> “ jiut l could only sob and cling to him, weak 
l and trembling as a little Child. After 1 grew 
. more composed I related my dream, and he 
r laughed at me ami called me a silly girl and a 
* little coward; but. there was a mist in his eyes, 
, and he spoke very tenderly. 
) “ ‘ Now, Rachie,’ he said, * let me tell you 
why you were kept waiting so long. I have 
been clear to the town of S. to-day, and did not 
reach home until nearly sunset; then I mode 
all haste, but you know the path through the 
pines has to be traveled very slowly, even in 
the day time. SoA what I have brought you ; I 
thought you would like them to-night, dear,' 
placing a little package in my hand, which I 
found on opening contained a ring, a pretty 
pearl brooch, and the Identical scarlet ribbon I 
had been wishing for. So I tied the ribbon in 
my curls and fastened the brooch on my collar, 
my heart ail tho while bearing with such a 
sense of relief and thankfulness. 
“ We wore late that night at Daniel Gran¬ 
ger's, and many were the jests and surmises 
started at our expense; but we wero too happy 
to heed them and were soon keeping time with 
our young companions to the shrill muslo of 
Jerky Case's fiddle. A merry night we had, I 
assure you, and it was far into the small hours 
before the party broke up. On our way home¬ 
ward I could not help a nervous start or a quick 
look over my shoulder at every twig that snap¬ 
ped or leaf that crackled ; but wc saw nothing 
alarming, and my fears gradually subsided. We 
were married In the spring, and years afterward 
your grandfather told the story t o the children, 
exaggerating considerably, I thought, on my 
appearance and conduct when first awakened. 
Well, well," sighed grandmother, “a great 
many years have come and gone since then. 
Floy, dear, look around." 
Floy turned, and sure enough there stood 
Paul Meredith, bending over her, looking 
mischievously down Into her face. 
“ Why PAUL ! where did you come from, and 
how did you come in without disturbing us? 
Are the rest coming?” 
" One question at a time, If you please. Miss 
Ft«o y. I came from home, and entered, 1 fear, 
rather unceremoniously. Not finding any of 
you below, 1 ventured up hero Just in Hina to 
hoar the denouement of grandmu’s story. Wake 
up, Ned, you lazy fellow; and come, girl.-, you’ll 
bo wanted clown stairs; here come sleigh-bells, 
ami i here is Mag Thornton's laugh. What a 
madcap sbo is, though." 
Paul was not mistaken, for there they all 
were. We had boon so absorbed in the recital 
of grandma’s story that wo now for tho first 
time saw that the storm had cleared away, the 
wind ceased, mud the stars wero nodding and 
blinking familiarly at the bright eyes watching 
thorn below. Grandmother, forced at last to 
yield to our entreaties, was carried in triumph 
below and seated In a snug corner of the parlor, 
where, Instead or being a hindrance to our 
amusements and gaiety, she assisted greatly by 
the suggestion and directing of sundry old- 
fashioned games or which we were wholly un¬ 
acquainted, but which afforded us no small 
amount of mirth. Wo had a pleasant evening, 
after all; and the least part of our pleasure ww- 
surely not grandmother’s story. Dear grand¬ 
mother, she has slept, many years In the quiet 
cemetery of Oakdale, yet we still love her mem¬ 
ory as dearly as in t.lie days when she called us 
her children and we listened to her stories of 
the oldeu time. 
ITEMS ON THE POETS. j 
Very fast indeed—“ Swift.” 
Worn on the head—“ Hood." 
A lady's garment—“Spencer.” 
A slang exclamation—“ Dickens.” 
An interesting pain—“ Akenside." 
Pilgrims kneel to kiss 1dm—“ Pope.” 
A young domestic animal “ Lamb.” 
The value of a word—“ Wordsworth.” 
To agitate a weapon “ Shakespeare." 
A sick place of worship—” Church-ill.” 
Vital part of the human body—” Harte." 
Makes amends for others -“ Makepeace.” 
A barrier built by an edible—" Cornwall.” 
A work in precious metals—“ Goldsmith." 
What an oyster heap Is opt, to he—“Shelley.” 
Small talk and large weight—" Chatter-ton.” 
I can’t describe its pains and stings—“Hums." 
An American manufacturing town—“Low¬ 
ell." 
Au officer in an English University—" Proc¬ 
tor.” 
Roast beef, what are you doing?—" Brown¬ 
ing." 
Humpbacked, but not deformed—“ Camp¬ 
bell.” 
A disagreeable fellow at one's foot— 1 “Bun- 
yan.” 
A French proposition and an enemy—“De 
Foe." 
Brighter and smaller than other ones— 
” Sparks.” 
Depicts tho dwelling of civilized men— 
“Holmes." 
A lion’s home In a place without water— 
“ Dry-den." 
One who is more than a sandy shore— 
“ Beecher." 
What arc you apt to do when sleepy?— 
“ Press-cot.” 
A chain of hills containing a dark treasure— 
“ Colo-ridge.” 
A ten-footer, whose name begins with fifty 
—” L-ongfellow.” 
A fraetluu in currency, and thohight of fash¬ 
ion—" Mil-ton.” 
Which is the greater poet, Shakespeare or 
Tupper?-" Wlll-is.” 
A common domestic animal, and what it 
cannot do “ Cow-per.” 
Not one of the points of the compass, but In¬ 
clines to it—“ Southey.” 
THE WILL OF GOD. 
All goeth But Gotl’H will I 
The fairest garden flower 
Fades after its brief hour 
Of brightness. Still. 
This Is but God’s good-will. 
All gocth but God's will t 
The brightest, dearest day 
Doth swiftest pass away, 
And darkest night 
Succeeds the vision bright. 
But still strong-hearted be 
Yea, though the hight be drear- 
How sad and long soo'ar 
Its gloom may be. 
This darkness too shall flee. 
Weep not yon grave beside 1 
Dear friends, ho Is not gone; 
God’s angels soon this stone 
Shall roll aside. 
Yea, Death shall not abide! 
Earth’s anguish, too, shall go. 
Oh. then, be strong, my soul! 
When sorrows o’er thee roll, 
He still, and know 
’Tls God’s will worketb so. 
Dear Lord and God ! incline 
Thine ear unto my call. 
O, grunt mo that In all, 
This will of mine 
May still be one with thine! 
Teach me to answer still, 
Whate’er my lot may be. 
To all thou sondest me. 
Or good, or 111; 
“ AU gocth as God will.” 
[Alice Williams. 
-♦♦♦-- 
GOD’S PROMISES. 
They are sure. God is not man that He should 
llo; neither tho Bon of man, that He should 
repent; hath He said and shall Ho not do it? 
or hath lie spoken and shall He not make it 
good? A mothers bubo was dead. For strengt h 
and comfort she fell back upon the promises of 
God. And when asked by her pastor if she 
found support from them, she replied, “ What 
are the promises for, if not for such a season 
as this?” A poor boy, when asked what he did 
when in sore trouble, answered, “ I fall flat on 
the promises.” A (la* cloud hovered over tho 
prospect of a father. For a few days he bore up 
under the burden, and then bis strength failed. 
Retiring early, ho slept soundly, and waked at 
early dawn. Tho weight was still upon his 
U?ind. Conscious of Ids own weakness, tie laid 
hold upon God, and cast his burden upon Him. 
A~. distinctly to his mind as though by a voice 
from heaven, the assurance came, "Leave it 
with me and all will ho right.” Years have 
passed and all is “right.” God’s past faithful- 
miss Is encouragement for future trust. A man¬ 
ly youth, noticing hiB father’s anxiety respect¬ 
ing certain changes about being made In bis 
business arrangements, encouraged him with 
these words:—" You know, pa, that Providence 
always takes care of you.” Tho Psalmist says, 
“Whoso Is wise and will observe these things, 
even they shall understand the loving kindness 
of the Lord. —Christian Weekly- 
-- 
THE AUTUMi; OF LIFE. 
It is the solemn thought connected with 
middle life, that life’s last business is begun in 
earnest, and it is then, midway between the 
cradle and tho grave, that a man begins to mar¬ 
vel that tie let the days of youth go by so Half 
enjoyed. It is the pensive autumn feeling, it is 
the sensation of half-sadness that we experi¬ 
ence when tho longest day of the year is pa. -ed, 
and every day that follows Is shorter, and tho 
light fainter, and the feebler shadows tell that 
uature Is hastening with gigantic footsteps to 
her winter grave. So does man look back upon 
his youth. When the first gray hairs become 
visible, when the unwelcome truth fasleua 
itaelf upon the mind that a man is no longer 
going up hill, but down, and that the sun is 
always westerning, he looks back on things 
behind. When we wero children we thought 
as children. But now there lies before us man¬ 
hood, with its earnest work, and then old age 
and then tho grave, and then home. There is a 
second youth for man, better and holier than 
his first. If he will look on, aud not look back. 
—F. W. Robertson. 
You should not only be religious and love 
religion ; you should make religion attractive, 
useful, and agreeable to every one around. Tho 
siok will like your religion if it leads you to 
tend them, your futnily will lie attracted to it 
if they see you more careful in your duties, 
more patient, muro diligent, more gentle in 
finding fault. If your husband sees that, as you 
become more devout, you are also more affec¬ 
tionate to him, more tenderly submissive, ho 
will he won to your religion. Xu a worn, let 
your religion bo as winning to others us possible. 
-—-- 
The character of our world depends more 
upon our Inward life than upon any accidents 
of outward circumstances. It is cot in our 
material surroundings that w e are to louk tor 
blessedness. We are to realize it only by mean* 
of right, law nrd conditions. It is not our 
outward eiivuinstances that make or n or m 
coinpletenoB of our lives, so much ns it )■- ri”' 
spirit iu which we meet aud deal with them. 
