MOOBVS 
black coat, more than once been taken for 
Mr. Marrow himself by strangers, and Betsey 
Bull, the prim and highly respectable female 
domestic of the household. Mr. Harrow, his 
wife knew, could not but disapprove. It is 
all very well to go to India to save the souls 
of heathens; but Mrs. Harrow felt sure that 
zealous as he was in such a cause, Mr. Har¬ 
row’ could not think of taking any one heath¬ 
en into his own house for the same purpose. 
“ It will never do, I know,” she said to 
herself, with a sigh. 
But just then the man spoke again. 
“ If you could only see Lizzie, and know 
about her, ma’am.” 
And she saw his rough hands clutch them¬ 
selves in a despairing way that decided her 
to risk Mr. Harrow’s disapproval. 
“ I'll take you on trial,” she said, with a 
smile. “ Never mind the references. Jfyou 
really love your child you’ll not make me re¬ 
pent it, and I think you do.” 
And the man, with his face all aglow, 
ruined as it was, made what he meant for a 
bow, and said only: 
‘‘ Tliunky, ma’am.” 
Reading him as she did, Mrs. Harrow 
could not have understood his gratitude bet¬ 
ter had he knelt and kissed the hem of her 
robe. 
“James told me not to trouble him—to 
choose a man for myself.” So she tried to 
comfort herself; but she knew just what 
would come, after ail—the astonishment, 
elevation of the eyebrows, the rigid disap¬ 
proval, the quiet censure, so much harder to 
bear than any ecoldiug; and, though the 
Rev. James Harrow never guessed it, took 
up her cross in the cause of Christian duty, 
when she resolved to bear it for the salve of 
trying to save one poor soul and body. 
She did not presume to say why she had 
hired this man, instead of one of a dozen 
reputable, sober persons, with characters 
and savings, who applied for the position, 
and no one fathomed the motive. She had 
prided herself a little on being considered a 
sensible woman, especially by her husband, 
aud she gave that up with a sigh, aud heard 
that muttered, “ [ fancied I could entrust, an 
important matter to your charge, Elizabeth; 
I find I am mistaken,” in silence. If only 
this man should keep his word, she should 
be rewarded. 
Hawker came to fill liis place next day, 
and a hard place he found it for a while. 
The gardener scorned him ; the housqmaid 
was, or pretended to be, afraid of him ; and 
the very dog barked at him with that fero¬ 
cious bark that dogs in respectable families 
keep tor vagrants; but be bore it all humbly, 
as lie bore the speechless disapproval of his 
master. 
Mrs. Harrow, crushed under the same dis¬ 
approval, watched him and comforted her¬ 
self with the thought, “ He is thinking of his 
daughter •Lizzie.” 
Tliosa who have been drunkards speak of 
the agonies endured by men who leave off 
drinking. Probably Hawker passsd through 
all these, but for all that he remained sober, 
and drove Mrs Harrow’s little pleasure 
wagon, and did the odd jobs confided to him 
carefully. 
A bushel of recommendations could have 
been productive of nothing more, but still 
he did not win on the clergyman. The gar¬ 
dener continued to scorn him, and the wo¬ 
man servant counted the spoons and forks 
and shook her head over their probable 
fate, as persistently as on the first day of his 
arrival. 
“ Folly inevitably brings its own punish¬ 
ment, my dear,” said the clergyman, and the 
respectable Scotch gardener had, in effect, 
declared the same opinion when he hoped 
that Hawker “ wouldn’t drive over the edge 
of the cliff some day in a drunk in frolic, and 
kill the bonnie lady aud the high priced 
beastie.” 
While Betsy, more privileged, cautioned 
her mistress to take off watch and purse, for 
“ drunken Hawker” was known to be none 
too honest, and she, for her part, did not be¬ 
lieve in ” these here sudden repentances.” 
It was the opinion of the household that 
Mrs. Harrow was not able to take care of 
herself, after such a token of weak intellect 
as engaging “drunken Hawker,” and the 
lady knew It. Yet, as the time passed on, 
Hawker wore a better hat and neater coat, 
aud had his hair cut, and his features began 
to be features again, and bis voice became 
clearer, and the little room had been hired 
for Lizzie, and the humble housekeeping had 
begun, and, on Sundays, the horses never 
being taken out on that day, father and 
daughter sat in a back pew, and listened to *1 
the sermon. 
Though this was regarded as a mere flash 
in the pan by everybody but Mrs. Harrow, 
and all the wise folk of the household were 
on the lookout for some sudden and terrible 
relapse into ssttishness and dishonesty. In¬ 
deed, if they had not been such good folk, 
one might have fancied that they desired 
some such sequel to this highly disreputable 
engagement for the first six months. 
Nevertheless, Hawker had been coachman 
at the parsonage all this while, and had 
grown quite sleek-headed and smooth-faced, 
when one day Mrs. Harrow sent for him, and 
with somewhat of a low-spirited air, ordered 
the little carriage at nine, precisely. 
“ She looked as though she didn’t want to 
order it at all,” said Hawker to himself, and 
he was right. 
Only a strict sense of duty sent Mrs. Har¬ 
row out at all that day. A fair was in con¬ 
templation, and funds were necessary, and, 
in virtue of her position as the clergyman’s 
wife, Mrs. Harrow bad been appointed a 
committee of one to call upon a certain mis¬ 
erly member of the church, to solicit a do¬ 
nation. Mrs. Harrow had said, “ I hate to 
do it, James,” and Mr. Harrow had replied, 
“then it is so much the more your duty, Ann,” 
and there the remonstrance ended. 
She stepped into Her little conveyance 
with quite a cross face, however, a drizzling, 
misty rain, and a sharp, unpleasant air, mak¬ 
ing her no more cheerful. 
“ You know where Mr. Hough’s place is ?” 
he had begun to say to Hawker, when Betsy 
ran out with a paper of pins. 
“ Please let me loop your dress, ma’am,” 
she said. “ You’ll have it all spiled if I 
don’t. There is half a mile to walk through 
Mr. Hough’s grounds, where no carriage 
can’t go, and everybody knows what a mud¬ 
dy place bis is. That purty dress, that 
you’ve had such a bother trimming.” 
Mrs. Harrow was open to reason, even ut¬ 
tered by an inferior. She allowed her old 
servant to climb into the vehicle and festoon 
her skirt in a manner which rendered it im¬ 
possible that it should be Injured by mud¬ 
died road, and then dismissed her with a 
pleasant nod. But her face grew grave 
again as she looked out upon the uncomfort¬ 
able landscape lying under the drizzling 
sky, and she unfurled her umbrella at last 
and made her way along the ill-kept garden 
paths to old Hough’s house, with no thank¬ 
fulness to the committee in her heart. 
Yet, as it happened, she came at a lucky 
moment. Old Hough was ill, and having 
neither friend nor relative to part from or 
mourn for him, and being of no use in the 
world, was terribly afraid that he should be 
called upon to leave it. 
He received her in his easy chair, in dress¬ 
ing gown and slippers, and to her utter as¬ 
tonishment produced a twenty dollar bill 
“And tell the dominie to call, if you 
please,” he said, “ 1 don’t think 1 shall last 
long.” 
And lie spoke and felt as though he had 
just paid his fare to heaven. 
Mrs. Harrow proposed to send the clergy¬ 
man down at once, and went her homeward 
way in a more pleasant frame of mind. The 
object had been gained without any begging, 
and the disagreeable task was over. She 
gave a smile as Hawker touched his hat. 
“ Beg pardon, ma’am," said he. 
“ Well, Hawker,” said Mrs. Harrow. 
“ Would you mind telling me the color of 
that dress ?” 
He stopped as be spoke, and lifted a 
breadth of it in a reverential way and stood 
looking at it. 
Mrs. Harrow laughed. “ They call it gar¬ 
net, 1 believe,” she said. 
“ Garnet color—it’s a purty dress, and ye 
look like a new one in it,” said Hawker. 
“ Thank ye, roa’tn," and bowed and stepped 
back; while Mrs. Harrow composed herself 
in her seat with an amused look on her face, 
wondering whether the man really bad be¬ 
gun to take an interest in dry goods, or 
whether it was only a little bit of flattery. 
But then, a dozen times on the way home, 
she saw his lips form the word garnet, as 
though he were trying to learn it. 
The Scotch gardener was amongst the 
newly planted beds when she drove up, and 
gave utterance to his usual thanksgiving that 
"Mistress Harrow was na rin awa wi’ yet,” 
ami Betsey appeared to take the umbrella 
with the same sentiment expressed in all her 
movements; hut for once Hawker took no 
notice of either of them. His mind was 
evidently full of something else—for, with 
his eyes fixed on vacancy, he kept repeating 
over and over again, garnet, garnet , garnet 
color.” 
Mrs. Harrow ran into her husband’s study 
with a light step, proud of the success of her 
embassy. 
“ What do 3 'ou suppose Mr. Hough gave?” 
“ Nothing!” queried the minister. 
“ Guess again.” 
“ Five dollars.” 
“ No.” 
“Twenty, James. Look!” and Mrs. Har¬ 
row’s hand was plunged into her pocket; 
lightly at first, then deeply and eagerly, as 
hands grope in pockets which are empty of 
what should be there. Her face turned pale, 
and she sat down seeming faint and ill. " I 
am sure I put it in my portmonale, and put 
it in my pocket ” she said. I am sure of 
that I must have dropped it in the carriage, 
or on the stairs.” 
And she flew out of the room and down 
stairs, examining every inch' of the ground 
slie bad passed over, and watching while the 
cushions were taken from the carriage and 
looked behind and shaken. All in vain; 
neither pocket-book nor mone} r were t® be 
found. Hawker was not to be found, either. 
He bad gone somewhere as soon as the horse 
was put up; and beads were shaken, and 
eyes exchanged glances, and public opinion 
was soon expressed in very plain terms. 
“I feared some such an end to your mis¬ 
placed confidence, my dear,” said Mr. Har¬ 
row. 
“ I had my doots o’ the mon a’ the while,” 
said the gardener; and Betsey capped the 
climax with “ The only wonder is we’re not 
all murdered in our bods into the bargain.” 
But Mrs. Harrow’ still refused to doubt her 
protege. 
“ As well accuse me of taking the money 
for my own use; as well suspect Furgeson 
or Betsy,” she said. Because the man lias 
struggled to reform himself so long, shall w r e 
suspect him of dishonesty ? I have been care¬ 
less. He had no opportunity.” 
And then a chill ran through her heart, as 
she remembered that Haw’ker had absolute¬ 
ly hold her dress, on the pocket side, too, in 
his hands. 
“ 1 have been careless,” she repeated, argu¬ 
ing down her outspoken thought. 
“ 1 will, of course, be responsible, and I 
will not have Hawker charged with theft on 
no better grounds.” 
Betsy went down to the store thi evening, 
before anything had been seen oi Hawker, 
and returned grimly triumphant, followed 
by the store keeper, Mrs. Jones. Mrs Jones 
had something to say to Mrs. Harrow, and 
appeared to he very glad to have it to say. 
The substance of the communication was 
this: 
Haw’ker had been to her store that very 
evening, and purchased a dress for his 
daughter. 
“ Garnet merino, with fringe and buttons 
to match ; a dress for Liz Hawker, you may 
say,” said the woman, " I’d go to church in 
it myself.” 
“ He is a sober man now, and employed 
at, good wages. He is fond of bis daughter, 
and probably lias been careful in order to 
make Uc-r a present.” 
“ Yes, ma’am,” said the woman. “ I hope 
it is so, I’m sure.” 
She started and uttered a cry just then, 
for there at the door stood Hawker himself, 
w’hite, trembling, despairing. He clasped 
bis bands above his head. 
“ There ain’t no chance for me,” he said. 
“ I thought the Lord gave folks a chance 
when th ey wan ted one. He wron’t give 
none. 1 nevertook yer money, mum. 
“ That, bill—God knows that hears me—I 
found two weeks ago. ’ Twas on the bridge. 
I’d been for oats. 1 picked it up—’ twas a 
spectacle case.” (And lie took one from his 
pocket.) “And I thought nothing of it. 
There was nothing iu it 1 thought; but a few 
days after I found there was—a bit of paper 
rolled up—and come to look, ’twas a twenty 
dollar bill. I looked in the papers and, 
’ twasn’t advertised, and 1 looked on the 
walls and fences and nothing was posted 
there about it, and so says I, who should 
have it but me? And Til buy a frock for 
Lizzie such as 6he’s never had before. It’s 
awful against me, but I never touched your 
money — nobody can prove it., not even 
Lizzie, for I lctept it for a surprise for her.” 
And Mrs. Harrow, before them all, crossed 
the room and put her hand on the old man’s 
head, and bent down in despair. 
“ I believe you," she said. 
But Mr. Harrow stood stern and cold. 
“ You are encouraging crime, Annie,” he 
said, iu tones as measured as though he had 
been delivering a sermon. “ You have no 
right to do so; no sensible person can re¬ 
fuse to produce positive proof. I do not be¬ 
lieve you, Hawker, and it is my duty to de¬ 
liver you iuto the hands of justice. 1 will 
give you every chance to prove your inno¬ 
cence.” 
•“ I have none but God Almighty,” said 
Hawker, passionately; “and I have called 
on Him.” 
“ Betsey, send Furgeson for an officer. It 
is not the value of tlie money, but the prin¬ 
ciple of the thing. I must place you under 
arrest.” 
Aud the next morning the clergyman ap¬ 
peared before the justice of the peace to 
make a charge against his servant. His wife 
went with him, determined to the last to 
maintain her protege’s honesty; and the 
woman from the store was there, and Betsey 
also, aud the little court room was crowded 
with people who had a certain satisfaction 
in the fact, that Hawker had “ turned out 
bad ” at last, as they always said he would. 
He stood there, pale and trembling, with a 
hopeless look on bis face. But he denied 
his guilt in words as solemn as he had at his 
command. 
“ I can’t prove it, sir,” he said, in answer 
to the charge. “ But the money I spent I 
found on the old bridge in a red spectacle 
case, two weeks ago. They say God sees 
ever 3 r thing, and if there’s any way to do it 
as solemn and reverent as if I was in 
church—•” 
Then every one saw a strange change 
come over the face of the Justice. He bent 
forward eagerly. 
he cried. 
“ Yes, sir,” said the prisoner. 
" Have you the case ? Let me see it,” said 
the Judge. 
And Hawker drew it from his bosom. 
There was a solemn silence, as the old 
gentleman turned with glistening eyes to the 
prisoner. 
“ You prayed that God might interfere in 
3 T our behalf,” he said. “He has done so. 
This is my spectacle case. I can swear to it. 
My initials arc upon it, and when I dropped 
it from m\' band, as I thought, into the 
water, as I rode over the old bridge a fort- 
mght ago, it had a twenty dollar bill in it, 
M 3 ’ pocket-book was strapped up with im¬ 
portant papers in it, and this note, which I 
bad intended for a certain purpose, I bad 
put into the case to avoid 1103 ’ troublesome 
search for it. I fancied both gone forever; 
but m 3 ’ e 3 ’es are poor, and 1 must have over¬ 
looked the crack in tlie bridge. Your pos¬ 
session of tlie money is accounted for to the 
satisfaction of the court. As for that which 
has been lost or stolen—” 
But just then Mrs. Ilarlow gave a ay. 
She bad started up as the Judge claimed 
the spectacle case, and bad taken a step for¬ 
ward, and in the act tlie loops of her dress, 
so fully festooned b 3 f Betsey’s hand, lmd 
caught in one of tlie benches, and one of 
them bad become unfastened. The folds of 
the garnet poplin fell to tlie floor, and from 
them dropped, shimmering and gleaming, 
the pearl portmonaie in which old Hough’s 
donation had been enshrined. 
It had dropped into the festoons instead 
of her pocket, and had been there all the 
while. 
It was a little country place, and every one 
iu the room knew the parties concerned, and 
listened to the words which fell from Mrs. 
Harrow’s lips as she made a statement of the 
facts. And when, with tears in her eyes, 
the lady gave her hand to old Hawker, and 
even the clergyman condescended to follow 
her example, there was heard such a sliout 
as had never been before heard in that court 
room, and despite of all the cries of silence, 
the audience, as one man, united in three 
cheers for Old Nick, and flooded about him 
as a hero. 
The dog lost bis ban name, and from that 
day thenceforth nobody in Marsh Mallow 
was believed in as implicitly as was Nick 
Hawker, who lived long in the clergyman's 
service, aud if be is living at all, probably 
lives there still. 
- *■■*■■* - 
A WEDDING SIXTY YEARS SINCE. 
Mary Russell Mitford, in one of her 
lively letters to a friend, thus gossiped about 
a wedding slie liad just attended: 
Very grand wedding! Plenty of barouches 
and bridesmaids, cake and favors, kissing 
and crying! The bride, indeed, bad amused 
herself with the last mentioned recreation 
for a whole week, mul having, moreover, 
accumulated on her person so much finely 
in the shape of lace flounces, spencers, bon¬ 
nets, veils aud scarf’s, that she looked asifly 
mistake she had pul on two wedding dresses 
instead of one, was ly many degrees the 
greatest fright I ever saw in my life. In¬ 
deed, between crying and blushing, brides 
and bridesmaids, too, do generally look 
strange figures; I am sure we did, though 
to confess the truth, I really could not cry’, 
much as 1 wished to keep all my neighbors 
in countenunce, and was forced to bold my 
handkerchief to ny eyes and sigh in vain 
for “ ce don de dames que Diev ne in'a pas 
dontie." I don’t really think if I were mar¬ 
ried myself I should have the grace to shed 
a tear. For the rest all went oft’ extremely 
well, except two small accidents, one of 
which discomposed me very much. 
One of my fellow bridesmaids put on her 
skirt wrong side outwards, and though half 
a dozen abigails offered to transplant the lace 
and bows from one side to the other, and 
though I all but went down on my knees to 
beg lier not to turn it, turn it she would; 
and turn it she did—the obstinate 1 The 
other mischance was our entirely forgetting 
to draw any cake through the ring, so that 
our fate still rests in abeyance. The bride 
aud her second sister set off to Brighton, and 
I and the youngest remained to do the 
honors of the wedding dinner. Of course 
we all got tipsy—those who were used to it 
comfortably enough—and those who were 
not, rather awkwardly—some were top 
heavy, and wanted tying lip like overblown 
carnations, some reeled, some staggered— 
and one fell, and catching at a harp for a 
prop, came down with liis supporter and a 
salver of coffee, which be knocked out of the 
servant’s bauds; such a crash, vocal and in¬ 
strumental, I never heard in my life. 
-- 
A young man in Indiana worked all last 
summer to clear an eighty-acre tract of land 
belonging to a young woman who had 
promised to marry him. When, just as the 
weather began to get cold, be went to claim 
his reward, she married bis rival, who bad 
looked on while the victim was w’orking. 
Mobfs anti Manners 
d|p c£p> 
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. 
A “rustic” reader asks for information, 
and we print her letter entire, for the enter¬ 
tainment of our readers:—" It has never been 
1113 ’ fortune to be present at a wedding, or to 
hear aiy conversation about the various lit¬ 
tle etiquettes of such occasions, aud now 
that my own is approaching, I don’t know 
the least in the world 4 what is what.’ I 
wish to be married in the quietest manner 
possible, in the morning, and at Lome; pres¬ 
ent, about half a dozen intimate friends, 
(a) Should one have refreshments, and if so, 
should there be a great variety? ( b ) If mar¬ 
ried in a traveling costume, should the bon¬ 
net. and gloves be on ? (c) For what price 
can plain cards, of notification, be procured 
b 3 ’ tlie hundred? (d) I am desired by my 
betrothed (who, comically enough, is as in¬ 
experienced as I,) to ask wliat costume would 
be proper for him —a fair-cornplexioned six- 
footer, of moderate means, about to start on 
4 the trip ?’ 
“ If Mintwood will kindly answer these 
querries she will greatly oblige— Ignorance. 
“ P. S. (c)—If I am married iu a traveling 
dress, would it be nccessar 3 r for him to have 
a dress coat and white vest and gloves? 
They would be of mighty little use after¬ 
ward." 
(«) It would be quite in keeping to furnish 
refreshments. A cold collation of meats, 
such as game, poultry, etc., nice bread, fruits, 
as grapes, apples, oranges, figs and delecta¬ 
ble tea, coffee and chocolate, with a bride’s 
loaf of cake and such other cakes and entrees 
as you like. Have the collation spread on a 
table iu the dining-room, and served as at a 
party, to be partaken of standing. 
( b ) No, not unless the carriage waits at the 
door to convey 3 r ou awa 3 ’ immediately after 
the service is solemnized. Sometimes, how 
ever, the hat and gloves are worn, and the 
collation partaken of in them, but it is a mat¬ 
ter of taste and convenience. 
(c) From five to thirty dollars per hundred, 
according to finish and style. 
(xf) A complete suit of very dark blue, 
French tricot, with overcoat or duster of 
neutral shaded melton cloth or cassimere 
Black neck-tie. 
(e) No; white gloves are not fashionable 
for gentlemen, even in full dress. IIis gloves 
should be of dark kid, of some natural shade, 
and should be worn during the ceremony, if 
3 ’ou wear yours. 
Helen A. Paumf.lee, Denver, Col.—Six 
yards of full width waterproof will probably 
make you a riding habit of sufficient length. 
Gore the front breadth partially, put the two 
others in full. Hem the bottom. Make the 
waist a short basque, with postillion back, 
cut square ends, revert collar, coat sleeves, 
jet buttons, and if you desire trimming, np- 
ply one row of llerculese braid. White linen 
chemisette and bright colored neck-tie 
Pocket in left side. Gauntlet gloves. 
- +++ - 
GOOD HAIR OILS. 
Upon tlie subject of dressings for the hair 
the Boston Journal of Cbemistiy says: 
The mixture which may be regarded as 
the most agreeable, cleanly, and safe, is com¬ 
posed of cologne spirit and pure castor oil. 
The following is a good formula: —Pure, 
fresh castor oil, two ounces; cologne spirit, 
(uinctv-five per cent.) sixteen ounces. Tlie 
oil is freely dissolved in the spirit and the 
solution is clear aud beautiful. It may be 
perfumed in any way to suit the fancy of the 
purchaser 
The oil of the castor bean has for many 
years been employed to dress the hair both 
among the savage and civilized nations; and 
it possesses properties which admirably 
adapt it to this use. It does not dry rapidly; 
and no gummy, offensive residuum remains 
after taking on all chemical changes which 
occur in all oils upon exposure to the light 
and air. It is best diffused by the agency of 
strong spirit, in which it dissolves. The al¬ 
cohol or spirit rapidly evaporates, and does 
not in the slightest degree injure the texture 
of the hair. This preparation, for dressing 
the hair of children or ladies, will meet near¬ 
ly or quite all requirements. 
A cheap and very good dressing is made 
by dissolving four ounces of perfectly pure, 
dense gl 3 ’cerine in twelve ounces of rose¬ 
water. Glycerine evaporates only at high 
temperatures, and, Therefore, under its influ¬ 
ence the hair is retained in a moist condition 
for a long time. 
As a class, the vegetable oils are better for 
the hair than animal oils. They do not be¬ 
come rancid and offensive so rapidly; and 
they are subject to different and less objec¬ 
tionable chemical changes. Olive oil and 
that derived from the cocoauut have been 
largely employed; but they are far inferior 
iu every respect to that from the castor bean. 
--- 
Dresses are still trimmed profusely, but 
u plainer style will doubtless soon prevail. 
