fire of passion, that fervor of love we call in¬ 
tensity, the niter absorption of the one by 
t he other, that complete union that would 
blend bodies ns souls, If it were possible. 
But they were united in mind, alike in am¬ 
bition, enough unlike in disposition to avoid 
monotony, and the truest friendship between 
them. So they worked together, studied 
together, and mutually shared deprivations 
and modest luxuries, 
Their happiness seemed so real, so com¬ 
plete and sensible, that “ as well mated as 
IIartt and Margarett Ci.ay” became 
proverbial in their neighborhood. 
They had known only simple country 
life, save as Margarett had seen the city 
Willi unaided, simple vision, for she hod, in 
studying her art, been blind to the human 
nature about her. Bo the ways of the world 
had been caught at by them mostly through 
literature. 
To work one’s way unaided, keeping clear 
of debt, and studying, in the menntime, the 
way up to Theology and Art, took years 
with them. They were seven years married 
when IIartt preached his first independent 
sermon, and Margarett had modeled what 
she called her first work. 
At tins time a child was born to them, and 
came unwelcome enough, especially to Mar- 
gauktt. She had devoted her life to art, 
not to the cradle. She had no time to rear 
a child, and was too poor to hire a nurse. It 
was not so much with IIartt; he had been 
sorry only on Maiigahett’s account; it in 
nowise specially interfered with his work. 
But that a woman should prefer other work, 
seek other ambition than that of child rear¬ 
ing, the “highest of all,” was a new thing 
under the sun, to tlu; calm villagers, and they 
hinted as much to Hartt. The men were 
especially indignant, and infected Hartt 
with their feelings. Instead of shutting their 
mouths, lie too, frowned at the idea of a wo¬ 
man caring more for moulding a hatch of 
clay than an immortal mind! It was the 
first time he had thought of criticising or 
questioning his wife's feelings. 
With Margarett there was but oneway. 
She must be a good mother at whatever 
cost. With her, it was costing what life was 
worth. A child brings compensation, in its 
way, liul. it only compensated for the suffer¬ 
ing it cost, and not for the never-ending sac¬ 
rifice it entailed. So Makoakett buried 
lier dreams, tended her child, and improved 
in domestic economy. But she was not so 
strong, and her eyes had a kind of aggrieved 
look in them. 
Hartt kept on his way rejoicingly, grew 
into popular favor and was tendered the pas¬ 
torship of a flourishing church in New Eng¬ 
land. The salary offered was liberal, and he 
accepted. 
After the birth of their child, Hartt 
seemed to forget that his wife had lost her 
power of self-help, and ventured no such 
possibility that now in their improved cir¬ 
cumstances she might hope to continue lier 
studies. His early, radical views were giv¬ 
ing way to conservatism in the new atmos¬ 
phere about him. lie began to see how 
men should shrink from having distinguished 
wives. 
The wound refused to heal, and was a con¬ 
tinual cause of bitterness. There was no 
open contention; and untallced trouble be¬ 
tween two beings, breeds the deepest and 
w i d est estrangement. 
Their new home avus near the sea, and to 
sit on a rock by the beach at. eventide be¬ 
came a habit with Makoakett. She was 
never so popular with the people as Avas her 
husband. He was always animated and 
cheerful, and bad a way of turning suitable 
phrases to the old as to the young. Mak- 
gakett was more stately, of a deeper, more 
quiet nature, and although all loved the 
light of her sweet face, they were kept aloof 
by an indefinable reserve in lier manner. 
Moreover, she had no taste for their tea par¬ 
ties, scAving circles or sociables, Avhilc IIahtt 
avus quite the life at each. 
Makoakett uoav lived wholly within her¬ 
self; Hartt in the people. While she avus 
hardening and fortifying her nature to genial 
influences, he Avas enlarging and offering his 
for all life could give. She failed iu no real 
kindness or outward wifely duty, and her 
husband did not chide her for keeping her 
own confidences, liis sermon writing and 
pastoral duties filled up his measure of lile. 
He acknowledged the change in his Avife, 
but the development Avas gradual and did 
not alarm him. She had the child, and it 
might be that motherhood had less need of 
husbandly love. 
But Margarett avus too Arise and deep 
not to think to what this estrangement 
might lead. But Avlnit mattered itV Much, 
her reason ansAvered. Will and pride kept 
her from going to her husband’s heart mid 
asking him to help her, and save them both. 
But she drifted on, a year more passed, and 
life seemed unendurable to Margarett. 
She seemed to lmvo reached that point 
when she could neither go on nor turn bade. 
She Avcnt down to her rock by the sea. 
There slie might Avalfc for the tide, and be 
carried out where the deep solves the mys¬ 
tery. The dying sun and fretful avuvcs wove 
pictures for her fancy; the deep, eternal 
sighing of the waters seemed the echoing of 
her soul’s moaning—’twould be only a mo¬ 
ment’s struggle, and then—but nay! her 
soul stood before her like an angel and said: 
“ God knoweth best.” 
She hastened back to the parsonage, and 
ns she Avas passing the door of her husband’s 
study she beard little Blanche exclaim, 
with a child’s delight:—“ How pretty, papa! 
Let Blanche see the pretty lady more.” 
The father took a miniature from his 
Inner pocket, held it before the child, who 
laughed and kissed it, and then pressing it 
to his own lips, rapturously replaced it in 
his pocket. 
Margarett passed noiselessly and unob¬ 
served to lier room, and sat down Avitli her 
scared self. The whole world seemed, with 
one blow, to have been knocked from beneath 
her feet. For awhile she could not think. She 
was not jealous. Bhc never had so deep 
and fateful love for him to be that. But 
never lbr one moment bad she doubted bis 
fidelity, bis honesty and bis faithfulness. 
And then lie was a minister, a man in God’s 
service. Was her faith in human truth to 
he wholly shattered? 
She went down, later, to get Blanche 
and put her to bed, and she did not return 
to her husband's study for prayers. Had 
she never loved her child before, she did 
that night. She pressed lier to lier heart 
until she cried out with pain. “ I’ve you , 
darling!” she kept saying to herself, as if 
fearing to lose herself in the confused mass 
of thoughts that entangled themselves in her 
brain. Thu sea seemed to reach out arms 
for them both, and Avhisper “Rest.” But 
her soul stood before lier. 
it Avas lute when she fell asleep and late 
when she awoke. They hud no servant, 
audit was well for Margarett that morn¬ 
ing that she had her Avorlc to do. 
After breakfast Hartt rode uav ay to visit 
some parishioners, as he often did, and Mar- 
gakktt Avas glad of the day to herself. 
After putting her household in order she 
went td her husband’s study to arrange the 
room, as was her habit. lie never kept 
anything under key, knowing hia wife had 
no curiosity, and never asked about bis let¬ 
ters. lie received many, she knew; bill 
Supposed they were of a spiritual nature, 
and she bad no desire to read of other peo¬ 
ple's spiritual conflicts. But now anew im¬ 
pulse possessed her. All at once it flashed 
across her that her husband had once started 
lit. her entrance as he lay on the sofa reading 
a bundle of letters that did not all seem new. 
Bhc opened one drawer and another until the 
package lay in her baud, all traced in the 
same delicate chirography. Bhc sat down, 
and read them nil with that species of fas¬ 
cination that leads one willingly to hopeless 
ruin. They were a revelation, if not of ac¬ 
tual sin, of intrigue, of infidelity, of vows 
and promises to Avhicli only* Death could 
give fulfillment. 
One lover’s letter is but a reflection of the 
others, and so from these av onion's letters 
Margarett could judge of what, her hus¬ 
band’s had been. The letters Avere signed 
Gertrude at first, afterward only " G.,” 
and she knew nothing more of her. The 
first one avus a simple note, the last one a 
loug letter, every line and sentence aglow 
Avith the deepest passion ; not Avitli the des¬ 
peration of hopelessness, but full of faith in 
love’s ultimate fruition. They could wait ; 
how few could better afford to, and mean¬ 
time not forgot to pray. God answered 
prayers ! 
" Oh, what blasphemy!” cried Marga- 
kett. 
If Hartt Clay Avas a minister, lie was 
human, and largely human. He felt the 
closest relationship to all human kind. It 
drew him to humanity and magnetized both. 
Christ was tempted; so were his disciples, 
and even they fell into snares. 
The first time the young pastor had 
stopped to tea, out at the farm house of 
Deacon Dills, lie Avon the love of all the 
inmates. There Avas a taking air about him 
something like that of a thorough-bred sol¬ 
dier. Tlieu bis calling and position gave 
him a broad license. The deacon Avas rich, 
and Gertrude had always reveled in the 
largeness of ease. She avus of the fine bru- 
ncLtc type, wore scarlet, and green, and 
maize, and had all the warmth, and richness, 
ami luxuriance of pansies. Margarett 
was a statue— Gertrude a painting. She 
had warmth, color and sensuousness. She 
was a flirt, too,because she could not marry 
all her lovers and would not commit the 
folly of giving her hand without her heart. 
IIartt criticised lier, but in a way that 
hud the best praise in it. lie had a way—it 
might have been natural or acquired—of 
always aiming at one’s heart first. He 
entered in by virtue of a natural license, 
and one could hardly account for it. He 
had been married long enough to know 
much of women in general, by comparison. 
He had neither bashfulness nor fear; he 
knew how to render help, how to give sym¬ 
pathy, and his advice was always of the 
most pleasing character. 
The deacon’s house Avas thoroughly pleas¬ 
ant, fresh, sweet and enjoyable. It had an 
inviting, welcoming atmosphere about it, 
and that indescribable feeling that said, 
“ All here are good, ami happy, and true.” 
Bo it was not strange that the pastor man¬ 
aged to take tea there often. At first he in¬ 
vited Margarett to accompany him, but 
she coldly declined. Ilow more enticing 
the hearty, genial greeting of the deacon’s 
beautiful daughter to the merely civil greet¬ 
ing of his wife! 
Gertrude came gradually to confiding 
other than spiritual vexations to her pastor. 
All tier little nonsensical ideas, her love 
affairs and her better and deeper feelings 
Avere fully unfolded to him. She never met 
a man before whom she could tell; and he, 
in turn, hud never been so intrusted 
with any woman’s confidence. Hartt was 
sympathetic to the last degree, and taking 
Gertrude’s hands or face between liis own, 
would look into her eyes gravel}' and advise 
“ Dear Gertrude to follow her pure heart 
in all things.” The frequent meeting of 
eyes and hands, the free interchange of 
inner living, the frequent letter Avriting, 
were Aveaviug together their souls uncon¬ 
sciously, but strongly. 
At the first be had never a thought of 
harm or Avrong. The girl, although richly 
surrounded, Avas isolated in real companion¬ 
ship. Their free talks were a pleasure and 
help to both. She was beautiful; he ad¬ 
mired beauty as all Christians must, for 
God is its highest exponent. Biie had an 
appealing, help-needing way that called out 
his strength for lier. Margarett was so 
self-helpful. 
From loving looking into loving eyes, it is 
not difficult for tender phrases to full from 
the lips in love's speech or rhetorically word¬ 
ed. Hartt had a private philosophy that 
favored getting all the happiness out of life 
possible; and the highest happiness is the 
highest religion. Love to God teaches “ love 
one another.” lie believed in love, he 
preached it; ho had none at home, but lie 
meant to practice Avhat lie preached. Tic 
grew to loving this girl almost unconscious¬ 
ly. Not quite that, for he reasoned the mat¬ 
ter Avith himself and with her. 
“You are very dear to me, Gertrude,” 
he would say, with his arm about her in a 
brotherly way. “I am glad I have seen you 
and know you. I thank God for such as 
you, and may He bless you always and keep 
you pure as now .” And yet bad he stopped 
and spoken his honest feeling, he avouIU 
have said with terrvfittrfc w i ft ness, “ God for¬ 
give me, but you are mg life!" 
It came to that at last. He only then 
knew w hat love was—learned his ow n capa¬ 
bilities for loving, and Gertrude learned 
the same lesson, If love Avas sin, then did 
lie sin. She was the embodiment of love, 
and as sacred to him as the memory of the 
Cross. But Margarett was his wife, the 
mother of Ids child; he would bring no dis¬ 
grace nor dishonor on her, although she had 
put him from her ns a stranger. He would 
not leave lier nor fail her in any duty that 
she would receive from him. lie could do 
those tilings for her. and her life would in 
nowise be changed from what it bad been. 
Love is not a duty, a thing one can force 
oneself to do. 
They came to talk the matter calmly over, 
not so calmly as they might have done six 
months later. They tested their love with 
imaginary years and various trials. Then 
Avhut might nof time bring about? Was 
there malaria, or disaster, or murder in the 
air? Ugly enough thoughts come into the 
saintliest hearts, if true fingers only be put 
out to feel them. 
In llial, last letter Gertrude had Avritten, 
“ Could 1 wait ten years ? Will my love live 
long as that?—aye, and more— forever ?” 
Margarett to her Avas a sort of mythical 
existence; she had never seen her, and rare¬ 
ly as she gave herself thought about her,she 
seemed to her a cold, narrow soul, Avith not 
the remotest appreciation of the nature of her 
husband. 
This love betAveen the two was at its 
height, or crisis, when Margarett found 
the letLers. That they should have been 
preserved seems unaccountable. Had they 
been destroyed, or had Marg arett tarried 
longer at the beach, and missed that fateful 
sentence, it would undoubtedly all have been 
different. Time works for bate as Avell as 
love. At all events, iu time there aatas 
room for the salvation of all, and each might 
have died as respectably as the “ Blameless 
Prince.” 
After reading the letters, it would be difli- 
cult to tell what Margarett did. Women 
feel at such times rather than act. She felt 
slclc and weary, and lay down. Insulted, 
dishonored, betrayed, widowed in licart. and 
full of grief, — the Avorst of all, living grief. 
She had sacrificed love and ambition to 
duty; it Avas a ghost, a hideous skeleton. 
What Avas her duty now ? WkiLher should 
she turn ? What, if lie should come back 
and find her lying there? The thought 
gave her strength, and, dressing herself, she 
took her child by one hand and Avith the 
letters held by lier other in her pocket, she 
went down the street to an old Quaker 
friend of hers, whose serene face had given 
her peace in times past. Bln: found her in 
her private sitting-room, and, handing her 
the letters at once, she said, “ Bead, T found 
them in my husband’s desk,” and, begging 
leave, Margarett lay down. 
The good woman read them, but said 
nothing. When she had finished them she 
went up to Margarett, and, stroking the 
hair from her brow, said, chokingly: 
“Thcc’ll stay with me until better, and the 
child too. I will put these papers out of thy 
sight,” and, passing to another room, she de¬ 
posited the fateful letters in a safe place. 
Hartt Clay found his home deserted 
when lie returned. He had never before felt 
such a spirit of utter solitude in the house, 
lie went for the letters Avith which lie had 
beguiled so many lonesome hours and which 
lie called, to himself, his licart food. 
They Avere gone! 
Had any one taken them? Had she seen 
them ? Taking up his hat lie went into the 
street, and from instinct or divination of 
fear, turned in at the Friend’s cottage. lie 
passed into the entrance without knocking, 
and looking through, saw aAvoman lying on 
a sofa, and her dress was the quiet gray of 
Margarett’ s. His face was white and 
angry, lie Avalked rapidly to her side. 
“Did you take those letters?” he de¬ 
manded. There seemed naught else for him 
to say. 
Margarett’s face was pale as his OAvn, 
hot her voice avus calm. “ 1 did,” she said, 
simply. 
“ 1 demand them.” He held out his hand 
fiercely. 
“You cannot haA'e them,” Margarett 
returned Avithoul a tremor. He knew when 
she said no, there was no hope for yes. Bhc 
Avas always so unyielding. The hostess 
came in at this juncture. Hartt bowed 
gravely, and taking Blanche by the hand 
he said to Margarett, “Are you not ready 
to go home ?” 
“ Home I” she echoed. “Do you think I 
can live Avith you after this?” and she looked 
strait in liis eye. “ You avIio have plighted 
vows, and intrigue, and shame Avitli-” 
“Margarett! Don’t couple her name 
Avith such epithets. Bhc is the only woman 
1 ever loved ; 1 love her as man never loved 
woman. There is no crime, unless loving 
lier better than Heaven is crime! You kept 
your own heart and love and confidences. 
You shut me out to starve or steal.” He 
spoke swiftly and passionately, but for all 
Margarett beard, bis last sentences might 
as Avell have been left unsaid. 
“ She is the only 'woman I ever loved." 
Those Avoids so Avildly, foolishly spoken, 
Avere as a lightning stroke. 
“Ah! what evil hath possessed thee,” ex¬ 
claimed the Friend with warmth, looking at 
Hartt and then at the dead-fainted wife. 
The two worked together lbr her restora¬ 
tion. She opened her eyes and called for 
her child. IIartt look her hand, but she 
withdrew it. lie began to talk, but she mo¬ 
tioned silence. lie went away and left her. 
Of course it spread like wildfire. There 
was a church trial and a trial in court, and 
in both IIartt avus convicted of guilt and a 
divorce granted Margarett. As a pastor 
be acknowledged hia actions as culpable. 
But ns a man, having a Avife only in name, 
and having loved a woman purely and hon¬ 
estly, he pleaded not guilty. He placed no 
barriers in Margarbtt’s way to a divorce, 
gave her his little property and the care of 
the child, and abandoned the ministry. 
Their friends were horrified at the result, 
and almost evenly divided in verdict. 
AN ACTRESSES’ PINCUSHION. 
The late Prince Demidoff Avas, some years 
since, payiDg court to an actress in Paris, 
who was the fashion among the bloods of 
the day; and it was his custom, on entering 
the room, to fall on his knees before that 
adored beauty. In those days, long neck 
scarfs and superb breastpins were the fashion. 
The Prince had, of course, invariably the 
superbest of superb. The reigning favorite 
never omitted playfully taking the pin out 
of the scarf, and placing it inker pincushion, 
to the great amusement of the Prince. The 
pincushion soon became studded with jewels 
of priceless value. One day the servant en¬ 
tered Ihe room Avith terror-stricken face. 
“ Madame, the* Prince.” “ Well,” replied 
the actress, “ let him come in.” “But, but, 
but. madame,” said the poor girl. “But 
Avhat ?” exclaimed her mistress. “ Oh, 
madame! the Prince wears a short neck¬ 
cloth.” “Tell him, thou,” rejoined the 
beauty, “ that I am not at home.” It is 
needless to say that iu future the Prince 
never had the courage to call without a 
long cravat and extravagant breastpin. 
-♦♦♦-- 
WEATHEB SONG. 
When the weather is wet, 
AVe must not fret; 
When the weather is cold, 
AYo must not scold ; 
AVhen the weather is warm, 
W r e must not storm; 
But 
Be thankful together. 
Whatever the weather. 
Mit anil littmor. 
cut) ref 
OLD SAWS EE-SET. 
As wet as a Hah—as dry as a bone. 
As live as a bird—as dead as a stone; 
As plump as a partridge—as poor as a rat. 
As strong as a horse—as weak as a cat; 
As hard as a flint—as soft as a mole, 
As white as a lily —ms black as a coal; 
As plain as a pikestaff—ns rough as a bear, 
As tight as a drum—as free as the air; 
As heavy as lead—as light us a feather. 
As certain as time—uncertain as weather; 
As hot as an oven—ns cold ns a frog, 
As gay as a lark—as sick as n dog; 
As slow as a tortoise—a9 swit t as the wind, 
As true as the Gospel—us false as mankind; 
As thin as n herring—as fat us a pig. 
As proud as a peacock—as blithe ns a grig; 
As savage ns tigers— as mild as a dove, 
As stiff as a poker—as limp as a glove ; 
As Mitol as a hat—ns deaf as a post, 
As cool as a cucumber—ns warm as toast; 
As flat »s a flounder— os round as a ball. 
As blunt ns a hammer—as sharp as an awl; 
As red as n ferret—ns safe as the stocks, 
As fluid its a thief—as sly aa a fox; 
As straight ns an arrow—as crooked ns a bow, 
As yellow as saffron—as black as » sloe; 
As brittle as glass-ns tough as gristle, 
As neat ns my nail—as clean as a whistle; 
As good ns a feast—as bad as a witch, 
As light as day—as dark as pitch ; 
As brisk as n. bee—a* dull as an ass, 
As full as a tick—as solid us hrass; 
As lenu as a greyhound—us rich as a Jew, 
And ten thousand similes equally new. 
-- 
COULD NOT SEE IT. 
TnE w'orthy gentleman who rules the 
rising generation of boys in a certain town 
in Tennessee hud occasion recently to cor¬ 
rect a little fellow named Johnny. Now 
Johnny got into a fit of what is called 
“sulks” because he was whipped; mulin 
order to convince him that he was justly 
and necessarily punished, liis teacher had 
recourse to the following argument: 
“ Well, Johnny, suppose you were riding 
a big horse to water, and had a keen switch 
in your hand, and all at once the horse were 
to stop and refuse to go auy further, what 
would you do ?” 
Johnny stifled his sobs for a moment, and 
looking up through his tears, replied: 
“ I’d cluck to him, sir.” 
“ Bill, Johnny, suppose he wouldn’t go for 
your clucking, what would you do then?” 
“ I'd get down and lead him, sir." 
“And what if he were obstinate and 
would not let you lead him ?” 
“ Why, I’d take off his bridle and turn 
him loose, and walk home, sir.” 
“You may go and take your seat, Johnny.” 
Johnny could not be made to see the ne¬ 
cessity for using the switch. 
-♦ ♦ ♦ . 
‘‘GOOD MIND TO GET A DIVORCE.” 
In Ann Arbor, Michigan, says Harper’s, 
resides a married couple who have each at¬ 
tained the advanced age of ninety-four years, 
and for seventy-two years have lived togeth¬ 
er. Until within a few years, their wedded 
life has been entirely happy. Now they are 
childish, and both insist strenuously on hav¬ 
ing their own way. Recently the old gen¬ 
tleman opened a window-blind to let the 
sunlight into their room. The old lady ob¬ 
jected, us it would fade the carpet, which she 
had made more than half a century ago iu 
Vermont, and closed it avith a slam, saying 
at the same time, “My mother always told 
me that I never could live with you if I mar¬ 
ried you, and I’ve a good mind to get a di¬ 
vorce and go home!” 
-- 
GLIMPSES OF GENIUS. 
Mrs. Partington considers it absurd to call 
this a l ive comil ry when you so frequently hoar 
of popple's memory being taxed. 
“ Let mo help yon to some red mullet," said a 
gentleman at a lubletoa lady,“'Usa rarodish.” 
“Thank you,” she replied, "I prefer lish well 
done." 
“I say, ma,”exclaimed a little minx of thir¬ 
teen, "do you know what the pyrotechnioal 
remedy is for it crying infant?" “Gracious 
goodness met No, I never heard of such a 
thing.” " Well, ma, it's rocket.” 
“SrEAKiNO of shoving," said a pretty girl to 
an obdurate old bachelor, “ I should think a pair 
of handsome eyes would be tlio best mirror to 
slmve by.” “ Ves; many a poor fellow has been 
shaved by them." the wretch replied. 
“I'M afraid you don't like babies when they 
cry." said a matron to a gentleman, ns she tried 
to soothe the thirling in I tor arms. “Oh, yes,** said 
lto, "Hike them best when they cry, because I’ve 
a I ways observed that i lien, they arc invurJably 
carried out of the room." 
"Ah,” said old Mrs. Doosonbury, “laming is 
a great thing! l'voofien felt the need of it. 
Why, would yon believe it. I’m now sixty years 
old, and I only know the name of three months 
in the year, and them's spring, fall and iiuiunm. 
1 limit the names of them when I was u loot Ic 
bit of a gal." 
A Germ an Drofcssor, whose days and nights 
had been devoted touniatertnUting study of the 
Greek article, lay on his death-bed. Calling his 
son to liis bodstdo, ho briefly reviewed liis past 
life,adding, in faltering tones, " Hans, be warned 
by my error—! meant well, but I attempted too 
much. 1 should have conlined myself to the da¬ 
tive case." 
In a village near the southern State line, a few 
days ago, n niee young man nut a sheet around 
him toeent'o a Dutchman. The Teutonic gentle¬ 
man says:—“ I just jump tiff my vagon and vip 
der ghost all der time. I vould vip him if tie vas 
a whole graveyard." Some one asked the young 
man what ailed his black eye, and he said he had 
received bad news from Germany. 
A Scottish clergyman happening to go into 
the ehiirOh-yard while the beadle was employed, 
neck deep, in digging a grave, thus accosted 
him:—"Well, Saunders, that's a work you’re 
employed in well calculated to make an old man 
like you thoughtful. I wonder you don’t repent 
of your evil ways." The old worthy, resting ou 
the' head of his spade, and taking a pinna of 
snuff, replied, “ I thought, sir*, ye kent that there 
was nae repentance iu the grave.” 
