*■ 
80S 
MOOSE’S BUBAL NEW-YOBKEB 
«OV. 8 
THE FALL. 
O AUtuMN, •with thy dying smell i 
So faint, eo mu!, and yet so sweet; 
A mhl the. strewing* at noy foot. 
By pattering nut and broken eUeJl, 
1 feel tbn secret of tby sped, 
Thy Hying year In foil rotreat- 
Forover. 
Bebnmisbed by the last week’s rains, 
Tim fluids recall the green of Spring j 
The hills describe* a sharper ring; 
The (lows tn diamond* drench the plains; 
The loaves grow thinner in the lanes; 
The threads upon the hedgerows cling— 
ID silver. 
Pale, like the fading forest hair. 
The slanting sunbeams struggle through 
The slty Is of a tvarl ul blue; 
A pensive essonco tills the air 1 
And, with pathetic sweetness fair. 
The won world seems to wave adieu— 
Forever. 
The cattle browse s long the lea ; 
The piping robin haunts the lunes; 
The yellow-turning woodland “ wanes 
The apple tumbles from the tri o; 
And Autumn, ranging through, Units me 
To Mature. 
O pensive and poetic year, 
What la the secret of thy power ? 
Whereby my poesy would flower 
Between u radiance and a tear I 
And yet i rind no language hen 
To paint whet trembles to the hour— 
Within uie 1 
O Eden-world of hill and green, 
And distant gleams of slumbering blue 1 
I find no lyric language true 
To paint the shadowed and the seen : 
O infinitely touching view, 
In vain thy spirit peeps between ! 
The sublimities that lie In you 
Evade me. 
<§ur JStorg-Styltyr. 
A GOOD INVESTMENT. 
A STORY FOR, HARD TIMES. 
BY QOWE RUNNING. 
There were three neighbors of us, Mr. 
Jones, Mr. Smith, and my father, Mr. Cbook- 
vvell, and wo lived in Cottage Row. Our 
house was “Nd.8." I remember how ixiy name 
used to mortify my childish feelings, arid how 
every toucher used to repeat It after mo with 
suoh an indescribable emphasis ou the first 
syllable. That was before wo lived in Collage 
ltow or had attained to the dignity of a peda¬ 
gogue In the family. My father was a stone 
mason, as was Mr. Jon Kb. Mr. Smith whs a 
boss carpel) I or, so the socia l scale was about 
evenly balanced In our families. 
Years ago, before Cottage Row was dreamed 
of, or even our nourishing village of Bolden 
had acquired a name, the wilderness some¬ 
where around us hud been the scene ol' a not 
quite bloodless battle, and though In the eyes 
ot those stern, In-earnest Revolutionary sol¬ 
dier.-*, it must have seemed ihe merest scratch 
on the face of the war, yet having no falls, or 
care, or other present curiosity. Bolden must 
needs have a battle ground. Tradition bad 
grown rather foggy about tho exact locality, 
but It. was generally supposed the almost inac¬ 
cessible summit of a hill some rour miles dis¬ 
tant, the spot where the British encamped for 
the night, to find by tho duwnlng light the 
Yankees climbing like squirrels up the perpen¬ 
dicular banks, to have been unable to bring 
tb/dr two guns to a light slant, and so retreated 
in dismay, leaving the hill and the guns to their 
captives. At all events, It was to this hill that 
our orators Invariably addressed their loftiest 
bursts ot eloquence and their wildest gestures. 
" hen out good people had seen fit to celebrate 
(he anniversary of the momentous occasion. 
For we had had celebrations many and di¬ 
verse, from a lew i n. pi'iios imd sky rockets to 
imposing processions and Thomas Qrn i.uioui. 
lift for an orator, though everybody confessed 
that worthy editor might bettor have written 
his speech and let. some kind friend read it for 
film. But this year wo were to outdo ul! the 
past. Our one village paper had hardly type 
large enough to announce the important, per¬ 
sona coming. Celebrities of all ranks, from a 
New York pickpocket (on a large scale, of 
course ) to n Major-fierieral: even the Presi¬ 
dent “ was expected.” He hud been invited 
truly. One of our citizens had once been in 
Washington and passed through tho White 
House, and another’s first wife had once at, 
fended school with the President's cousin. 
Beth claims wore duly set, forth in a petition 
signed by ninety-nine names, deal ring hie au- 
spioious presence, and none knew until the 
morning of the groat day tliut *• executive du¬ 
ties rendered it impossible,'’ though tho Im¬ 
portant missive had Iain snugly iu the desk of 
tue B.'ldon President more Umu a week •, the 
crowd would be greater. 
Friday before tho 10th we were all around the 
dluuertable us usual, and of course there was 
but on* topic. “It seems to mo,” Said mother, 
with a sigh—mother was given to sighing— 
” that there are a great many play-days this 
year. Tbei'e was the Fourth, of course; there 
wasn’t anything particular going on, but then 
all lost the day; then there was the ..unday 
School excursion, aDd we all went; and there 
was Decoration Day tn May, and the Island ex¬ 
cursion, when t hree of the children went, and 
It seems to me, if wo go on in this way, we shall 
never have that house of our own. Beside, it 
tiros and frets one so.” 
"Tbat’a so,” said Maria, the oldest of the 
Crook wells ; “ I wish to-morrow was over.” 
"1 don’t,” cried Johnny JrrMPCP, the young¬ 
est of the family name. “ I ll be more’n jolly. 
Jim Wallace says the procession will roach 
clear from here to the battle ground.” 
“ Nonsense,” said Will. 
“What.a dust!” Ihdh-ii ted mother. I knew 
she was thinking of Johnny’s clean white suit. 
“f have been thinking,” said tho father, 
gravely—he was id ways grave—“of trying a 
new plan. Let's set* how much tv a lost* by to¬ 
morrow. There's my $4, and Will and James 
have each f? for helping me—that makes $8. 
Marla has ?1 in tier school, and LUCY $1 at the 
shop—that makes $10 in all. Now isn't, there 
some way of getting more solid comfort out of 
that than in all the powder and fuss and dust 
of to-morrow?” 
“ But school don't keep, father,” said Maiua. 
*' 1 heard Mules say ho would give any one a 
dollar to wait on his loo cream rooms to-mor¬ 
row. lie wants extra girls,” spoke up Will. 
Will always thought Just as his father did. 
All were quiet until Johnny broke out; 
“You don’t mean no celebration, pa?” 
“Wouldn’t it be just as nice, Johnny, for 
mother to take you and Susie out to Aunt El¬ 
sie's and spend the day?” Aunt Elsie was 
lame, so was always at borne. She lived a little 
way out, and the thought of the chickens and 
pet calf brought Johnny and .Susie out of their 
aprons, behind which they bad retired, though 
It took a good many more words to quite recon¬ 
cile thorn to tlx* plan, for such it became at 
last.. A t'tcr we Imd got the children quiet James 
said;—” But, father, I don't quite see! We 
shall put the money right In with the rest and 
it will all go, and at tiie end of the year we 
shall not know that we arc any better off after 
all." 
No,” said father, “ I propose that we form 
a company, and put our gains all together, and 
then decide on some mutual plan of expending 
for Ihe mutual good. Wo will say uothlng of 
the negative gains from what we will not ex¬ 
pend In fiuft and confections, but. the actual 
increase. Wo will try to get $10 worth of good 
that will last,” 
So it was settled. Maria called that very 
noon at Mr. Mules and secured tho place, and 
I enguged to go back to my shop-work, where 
w« were much driven just then. 
But Mr. Jones’ and Mr. Smith’s ? Mrs. Smith 
came in after tea. and to her mother told of the 
fact that we did not celebrate. She was so u 
tonl.shed : I had almost said horrified. 
"Why, I would not miss It for anything'! Tt 
will be so delightful. Ju»t think <»! all t he peo¬ 
ple and the dresses, and the President too, and 
all the Generals. Perhaps we'd even speak |o 
some of 'em." 
” Well, they're men, I sui pose?” said mother. 
“Of course I but there! How fuuny of you, 
Mrs. ChOokwell. They wouldu’t seem like 
the same, you know." 
Jane Smith worked In the same shop with 
me, and wo walked home together. 
“ My head has boon full ol' it for a week,” she 
said. “ I .hall have to sit up till 12 to-night, at 
least, to finish off ruy new suit— white nmsliu, 
all ruffles, uud the loveliest blue sash, pinked, 
you ever »eo.” 
“ You'll be tired to begin with," I said. 
’* Ob, that's nothing; it's pleasure you know.” 
“ Lot seems to am it don't pay, I answered, 
for I was beginning to look through father's 
spectacles. 
"My! what an old-fashioned idea!” she ex¬ 
claimed. “ Why, what do people live for now¬ 
adays ? I'll be bound, I won't bo any more 
tired t han those grand ladies that spend their 
days in ibrewing and shopping and their nights 
exhibiting, and yet are uuder the doctor’s care 
all the time." 
There was no use In trying to convince Jane. 
Mrs. Jones, a weak, worn-out little woman, 
sighed, and wished she could do as mother wus 
going to and get a day ot rest, but would no 
more have thought of suggesting it to her noisy 
tribe I ban of turning t he course of the sun. 
By early dawn everybody was astir, we with 
t lie rest. After a good breakfast and a quick 
clearing up, mother set. off with t he two oh II- 
<li\ n, for fathers' and the boys' w ork Jay In (be 
same direction, and they could be company 
and carry Susie souie, who was not strong. 
Cottage Row was on the edge of the village, so 
Maria and 1 could watch them walking out so 
blithe and strong between tho borders of dewj 
grass In the fresh morning ulr. Then we fas- 
tened all the windows and doors ami went off 
1o our work. I cannot say but. the shuproom 
scorned narrow and close when I iound I was 
to be the only occupant for the day; but the 
sun rose higher and higher, ami when 1 ran to 
the upper window to see the procession pass, l 
must say I did not envy them-the sun shone 
down so pitilessly hot upon their Leads and the 
dust in such clouds about them. I saw Jane 
b.\UTu too. but so obscured In dust, that her 
dress lookeu gray already. I could hear the 
bond often during the day, and 1 learned that 
the President did not come. At the usual time 
I wept home, and as Maria had only hired for 
the day I met her, and we walked on together. 
She said she was no mono tired than after sumo 
Schooldays, that her room had been cool and 
she w as well satisfied. People were going home 
now, those who would not stay for tho fire 
works; they looked tired enough, for it was one 
of the hottest of summer days. 
We had supper ready when tho rest came, 
the children ho happy over n little motherless 
duck Aunt Elsie had given them, as to quite 
have forgotten what eventful day it had boon 
” Country air agrees with you, mother," said 
Maria. “ You look fresh as a roHO." 
“I have had a delightful day.” mother an 
ewered. “ Tho children were so good, and there 
Miis no fear of ( heir being hurt. In that quiot 
place. It has been such a restful day.” 
Jane Smith looked in a minute. “You arc 
goiug to the fireworks, of course ?” 
“ 1 don’t know,” I said. " We can see all the 
good ones here. It looks like rain.” 
“ You look tired out, Jane,” said mother. 
“1 never was so tired in my life," was the 
reply, ** and I am so dusty and my head aches.” 
“Don’t go any more, Jane,” said I. “8t,ay 
here this evening, it Is so much more quiet." 
“Oh, I wouldn’t for anything!” was the an¬ 
swer. 
\\ hat strange ideas some people have of 
pleasure." said father, after Jane had gone. 
“ They think it Is found only iu perpetual ex¬ 
citement. And that, girl has worked harder 
to-day than in any three washing days, has 
undergone more discomfort, and yet to-night 
Hatter.-; herself that it has been a day of pleas¬ 
ure." 
By-and-by Me each gave into father's hands 
the wages of that day, and deliberated how to 
spend it. Finally, wo decided to indulge in the 
luxury of a Rural New-Yorker for a year, 
and with the remainder to buy a set of pretty 
hanging book shelves for the sitt ing room. 
The next morning Jane was late ut the simp 
und cross enough then. The rain bad cornel 
before the fireworks were over, her dross shorn 
of its beauty, her sash ruined. Beside, she 
caught cold, and her head ached. She said In r 
mother was BO cross she could not stay at homo 
to rest, even if she had not been afraid or los¬ 
ing her place In the Hiop. I went past Mrs. 
Jo new’ at noon. Mrs. Jones M at over t he wash- 
t ub and fretting at t he children iu very audible 
tones. Ilow bright and peaceful every one at 
home looked ! 
But It Mas not until the year rolled around 
and another ann'versary— though a quiet, one 
this time came round that I knew all the wort h 
of our purchase. James and I Mere walking 
home from the office with a new Rural, when 
he Bald: ” LUCY, that Investment of ours a 
year ago was a fortunate thing for me. No¬ 
body at home knew, but 1 was growing just a 
touch wild; liked to be out evenings, uud not 
always in the wisest of eoinpuny, hanging 
around saloons ns late as I dared, and even 
learning to smoke. After this paper began to 
come it kept me at home more, and I liked to 
mad it. Then those boon shelves u'ere too 
empty, and every time 1 saw them it struck me 
they ought to bo filled, and instead of spending 
mV money in treats of candy and—and—yes, 
pops and such, I made up my mind to buy 
books. You know I’ve got t hree already. And 
noM' 1 mean to fill It, and read them too, and, 
who knows? Perhaps I may do something he¬ 
ebie carrying hod yet.” 
Who knows? Father says J a mes can take a 
better place to-day th in lie—all of the knowl¬ 
edge; and James says licit wise “celebration 
day investment,” as we call it, may make him 
one of the M orld's workers yet. 
$abhth Reading. 
SEEDS. 
Broadcast over tho world wc sow 
Seeds of evti, seed* of good j 
Weak aod powerful, high and low. 
I .inked In human brotherhood. 
What we scatter we never know; 
Out of small tilings come the grout; 
Weeds spring up and daffodtlB blow. 
Harvests rtpon early and late. 
Sown in gladness or sown in pain. 
Fra lest ecedings strike firm root. 
Quick to vigor and growth atfolo, 
Baaring sweet or hiitor fruit. 
Never one do we drop tn vain. 
Each, recorded, angels keep. 
Softly counting the loss or gain 
Men therefrom wilt sometime reap. 
Drones or workers tn life V boehlvc— 
All we do or leave undone, 
Duti-p that for fulfillment strive. 
Things tin perfect, Just begun, 
Seed-llko, after us sill survive. 
Woo to careless nand or heart! 
Weed* and thistles the swiftest tkrlvo. 
Rarest buds are slow* to stai t. 
Noble action, or word, or thought. 
Helps another to the light, 
Guides him into the path ho Bought, 
Teaches what Is best and right. 
Work in secret and silence wrought , 
Foolish words unthinking sold, 
Kiich with blessings or curses fraught. 
Influence eternal said. 
Broadcast over tho world wc sow 
Seeds of evil, seeds of good. 
Heedless trample and grind them low, 
Life's true aim misunderstood. 
What we scatter we never know ; 
Out of sun II things coino tho great, 
Weeds spring up and daffodils blow, 
Nature's law Inviolate. 
SPARKS AND SPLINTERS. 
The houoo-tiy is not generally regarded as a 
tall insect, but is a “six-footer” nevertheless. 
A YOUNG man mTjo ket*p„ a collection of locks 
of hair of his lady friends calls them his ” hair¬ 
breadth 'scapes." 
A poetic Hibernian explains that love is 
commonly spoken of us a “ tiatue” becahse it’s 
a “ tinder sintlment.” 
An Irishman being asked in court for his cer¬ 
tificate of marriage, showed a big gear on his 
I toad about the size ol u small shovel. 
The creditors of an absconding Yankee found, 
on opening his safe, that (he old) thing he had 
laid up for a rainy day was an umbrella. 
'It’S really very odd my dear,” said an old 
lady one very hot day to a friend, “ I can’t bear 
the heat in summer, and in winter I love it.” 
Jones, bciuc told that he looked seedy, and 
asked wind business tic M-as in, replied, “The 
* kard wear' business- look ut my wardrobe.” 
Why is Julius t'msar supposed to be tho 
strongest military man in the M-orid ?—Because 
lie “threw his entire army across the Rubicon.” 
A faithful brother lu a Fairchild, Connecti¬ 
cut, church, recently prayed for the absent, 
members “ w ho were prostrate on beds of sick¬ 
ness and chairs of Wellness.” 
" .Small thanks to you, sir,” said a piiimiff to 
me of bis witnesses, “for whatyou said in (he 
•au.se.” “ Ab. sir," suid the conscientious w it¬ 
ness, “ but just think of what x didn't say l ” 
Auominatiokb at seaside hotelsMatches 
that won t light, *. jap that won't wuah* lowe.s 
con expending in size to napkins, dies in soup, 
s ind in water-pi teller, and looking-glassed 
fearfully and wonderfully made.” 
When you see a bare-beaded man billowing 
a cow through the front gate, and filling the 
air with garden implements and profanity, you 
may know that bis cabbage plants have been 
set out. 
TILE MARCH OF PROVIDENCE. 
THE BIBLE. 
Blessed be God that there is at least one 
thing thoroughly superhuman, supernatural in 
this world ; something which stands out from 
und above ‘‘the law* of natutc,” something 
visible and audible to link us with Him whose 
lace wc see not, and whose voice w« near not, 
Mhut a blank would there be here if only this 
one fragment of thedivine, now venerable both 
m ith wisdom and age, were to disappear from 
the midst of us; ojfcwliat Is the same thing, 
the discovery were to be made that this ancient 
volume is not the unearthly thing w hich men 
have deemed tt, but, ut the highest estimate, a 
mere fragment from the great block of human 
thought—perhaps according to another esti¬ 
mate, a mere relic of superstition 1 There i.i 
but one book, and wo shall one day know this 
alien that which Is human shall pass away 
(like (he mists from some Lebanon peak), and 
leave that which is divine to stand out and to 
shine out ulone iu its unhidden grandeur.— 
Uorat ill* Honor, D. D. 
GETTING RID OF SLPT. 
It Is a delusion to think of getting rid of sin as 
a whole when you are not willing to part with 
It in particular. What is conversion or e incti- 
fioation but au abandonment of our evils? And, 
If you are not willing to set about rooting up 
covetotraneea, overreaching in trade, corrupt¬ 
ing pleasures, envy, malice, hatred, or any other 
evil passion or band, how can you expect the 
more general purification of being &auctiiled? 
Our ideas of the general change implied by tho 
terms conversion, regeneration and sanctifica¬ 
tion arc* totullj' false if we exp^ot. to rea. h It 
except as we give up one sin after another, as 
fast end as fur as they come to our view. When 
the prodigal came to hlmsell, he first set about 
looking bis sins squarely in the face, and to 
trace to them the miseries he was (suffering, 
lie next roSe up, went to his father, made his 
confession, and thus became a reformed man 
through successive Stages, und did not Malt to 
know the Whole by a single effort.—Dr. Church,. 
- - 1 
No one over knew what friends were worth 
until they had lived without them. 
If we turn our eyes to history, we shall find 
that ail tho great developments of the human 
mind have timed to Ihe advantage of society 
—alt the great struggles of humanity to tho good 
of mankind. If is not, indeed, Immediately 
i hat these effects take place; age* often elapse, 
u i iu m Kind obst no Jen intervene, before they arc 
fully developed; but when no survey a long 
course of ages, we sec that all fia« boon accom¬ 
plished. Tho inarch of Providence is not sub¬ 
jected to narrow limits; it caroe not to develop 
to-day t in consequences of a principle which it 
liu* established yesterday; 1c will bring them 
lorth in age-, when the appointed hour has ar¬ 
rived ; and la nut the less sure that it is slow. 
The throne of the Almighty rests on time—it 
in uches through Its boundless expanse as tho 
gods of Homer thru igh a space— It makes a step 
and ages have passed away. How many centu- 
i;c« elapsed, how many changes ensued, before 
the regeneration of the inner man. by mcanaof 
Christianity, exercised on t he social state its 
great and salutary influence! Nevertheless, it 
bus at length succeeded. No one can mistake 
its effects ut this time.—Guizot, 
?TD 
