of the door he sends back a shaft of humor 
that turns the laugh upon his customer. Up 
the streets he goes crying, 
“ Auld hats! Any auld li-a-t-s 1" 
Sometimes a wicked, mischievous boy 
deliberately runs against him, jolts off the 
bat on his head, knocks the half dozen out 
of his hand and scuds around the corner or 
slinks info a cellar to chuckle over the old 
man’s discomfiture. And then it sometimes 
happens that a manly, kind-hearted, though 
rough and coarsely clad street boy goes to 
the old man’s aid and helps him pick up and 
adjust his hats again. The old man gives 
him a penny, and both are happier for this 
chance mishap which made them known to 
each other. 
completed his study of the law, passed a high¬ 
ly creditable examination and opened an 
office in a flourishing town in Western New 
York. For some time his practice was 
small, but at the end of the fourth year he 
was making more than enough to claim the 
fulfillment of Eve’s promise. 
Mrs. So rley accompanied her daughter 
to America, and lived many happy years 
with the young couple. Ranald is always 
a warm defender of that much abused char¬ 
acter, a mother-in-law. 
As years wore on the little vine-covered 
cottage, to which he brought his bride, was 
added to, and enlarged, until it became the 
pride of the town; and J udge Mttchell’s 
handsome house and gardens, his thorough¬ 
bred homes and numerous servants are cer¬ 
tainly evidences of an income vastly above 
the ,£500 a year he refused to accept as 
equivalent for manhood’s noblest rights and 
privileges 
Ranald is a portly, middle-aged man 
now, and Eve, though still beautiful, lias 
lost the early bloom of youth ; but up and 
down the long piazzas and through the 
sliady arcades of dm and chestnut many 
beautiful boys find girls play or walk, or 
read, uncontrolled by any element, but a 
wist* and patient love; for Ranald lias still 
a very vivid remembrance of a home cheer¬ 
less and loveless amid all its splendor, of a 
childhood unblessed by fairy lore or moth¬ 
er’s kisses, and of a youth in which every¬ 
thing was sacrificed to interest and ambition. 
Mrs. Mitchell still lives. If her heart 
ever softens to her exiled son, she never 
suffers it to make any sign. She is to all 
appearance as indifferent to his later honors 
and successes as she was to his early strug¬ 
gles and trials. Presents do not propitiate 
and letters remain unacknowledged. It is 
not improbable that she may outlive her 
active and hard-working son, whose brain 
and heart carry the cares and sorrows of 
many beside bis own; for 
“ The srocul die first, 
Aud they whose hearts are dry as summer dust 
Horn to the socket.” 
Yet. never has Ranald Mitchell re¬ 
gretted the day in which he chose love be 
fore land, and a true wife in preference to 
to £10,000. Ask him to-day if be would 
pari with even one memory of the real life 
which commenced for him with that decis¬ 
ion, aud he will tell you “ Not for Gold.” 
“Very well, sir; that is enough. 1 am 
not curious about the family. We will 
change the subject, if you please.” 
The habit of obedience was so strong that 
lie remained silent, if silence that might be 
called in which every attitude and feature 
were eloquent with feeling and resistance. 
“ The two Wilkies’ were here to-night. 
They wish you to Join a fishing excursion to 
the Tro 3 achs. I told them I was sure you 
would be glad to go ” 
4 ‘You are mistaken, mother; I shall be 
better employed, 1 hope” 
Mrs. Mitchell raised her eyebrows in¬ 
credulously, but asked, “ How ? ” 
“ I am going to try and find some work 
to do.” 
“Work!” almost screamed bis mother; 
“ and pray, what can you do ? ” 
“ Indeed, mother, very little; but I can 
learn. I have been taught nothing useful; 
my education is superficial, and no profes¬ 
sion has been placed within my reach. 1 
am not fit for a clerkship even ; I see 
nothing before me lint, manual labor, unless 
you will continue my allowance while I 
study law or medicine.” 
“You have begun at the wrong end of 
your story, sir. You have given me the 
consequence of some destined course of ac¬ 
tion. Now, be pleased to begin your argu¬ 
ment properly. What led you to form this 
resolution ?” 
“ Your remark this evening. You declared 
that if 1 married Miss Soiiley 1 should no 
longer bo your son.” 
“ Quite correct.” 
“ Then, as 1 am determined to marry Miss 
Sorley, it became necessary for me to con¬ 
sider on some way of supporting her.” 
“True; for you can hardly expect me to 
support a person I hate. As for continuing 
your allowance, 1 shall do no such thing, 
sir. I will give you a month to re-cousider 
your conduct. If at the cud of it you still 
prefer this, this--” 
“ Miss Sorley, mother.” 
“ Tills girl, sir, you can take her and go 
your own way. That is all I have to say,, 
sir ” 
But it was easier to determine to work 
than to find the work to do, and if it had 
not been for the strengthening influence of 
Eve, Ranald would probably have become 
discouraged. The month drew to a close, 
and Btill no employment of any kind bad 
been found. 
“ What shall I do, Bright eyes?” said Ra- } 
nald, one evening. “It seems as if there 
was no place left in the world for me.” 
“ Oh, yes there is,” replied Eve, “ only 
you have not found it yet; and do you 
know, Ranald, that mamma and 1 have 
been talking of your going to America? 
The suggestion was not new to the young 
mau ; his heart, had given him the same ad¬ 
vice from tiie very first, but he bad not 
liked to speak to Eve of a separation until 
the thing seemed inevitable. But. the sub¬ 
ject once broached soon assumed a tangible 
form. It was thoroughly discussed and ar¬ 
ranged for, and Ranald’s place taken on a 
steamer leaving two days before bis month 
of grace had expired. During all his trials 
ami preparations Ranald’s home (never a 
happy one) had been becoming daily more 
wretched. His mother wearied him with 
alternate reproaches and eutreaties, and his 
friends pitied or abused, advised, or laughed 
at him. Still, the last night be was to speud 
under bis mother's roof lie made another ef¬ 
fort at reconciliation-. 
“ I have a miserable headache to-niglit,” 
he said; “ kiss me, mother, for the sake of 
old times.” 
“Certainly, Ranald, if the kiss implies 
that you have recovered your senses and 
are willing to follow out my plans for your 
welfare.” 
“I cannot give up Eve, mother," he an¬ 
swered, firmly, yet so sadly and with so 
much sorrow in his eyes that her heart 
might, have smote her, if she had possessed 
one, with pity for her son’s present grief, 
and fear for her own future remorse. 
“ I cannot give up Eve, mother. Forgive 
me this.” 
“You are oid enough to choose between 
us If it is Miss Sokley, her kisses must 
suffice you.” 
“ At least, mother, shake hands." 
“You are sentimental to-night, a thing I 
have no U6e in the world for. Obedience is 
the test of love.” 
“ Well, good night, mother.” 
“ Good night, sir." And thus they p tiled 
never more to meet in this world. 
Hard as his parting was with Eve, there 
was in it love and hope, and the promise of 
happy reunion. It did not sadden his heart 
like the unnatural “ good night, sir,” which 
PAPA, TAKE ME 
BY ALICE. 
Papa, take me. let me kiss you; 
It is not my bedtime quite; 
There is no one now to keep you 
Talking. May I talk to-night? 
You won’t tell me to ” be quiet” 
When I sit upon your knee? 
Papa, dear, I want to ask you 
II you’ll goto Heaven with me? 
Papa, take me. I’m so lonesome! 
For I beard a voice to-duy, 
And 1 know It was an angel. 
For it ^aid:—'’Child, come away ! 
And all day I’ve been so lonesome 
Waiting for you to come borne; 
Pupa, when the angel takes me 
May I tell him you will come ? 
THE GAME OF STAGE COACH, 
Each one of the company take the name 
of some part of a stage coach, or of the 
harness. If there are few to play, one can 
be the horse; if there are many, there can 
be the white horse, the black one, &c. For 
instance, Charley is the white horse; Tom 
the black one; Nellie is the reins, Mary 
the driver, Benny the wheel, Sam the 
whiffle-trec, Frank the whip, Fanny the 
big trunk; .Timmie is old Mr. Buzfuz, a pas¬ 
senger ; Maggie is Mrs. Fidget, another 
passenger ; Annie is Mrs. Fidget’s baby, 
and Jenny is a little brown bundle. 
If there arc more to play, the oilier parts 
of a stage coach can be represented, and 
there can be more passengers beside. Dick 
now must stand in the middle of tlie loom 
and tell a story something in this way : 
“The black horse is put in his place”— 
when Dick says this, Tom jumps up, turns 
round, and sits down again—“then the 
white horse” — Charley ' turns round — 
“then the big trunk is put on”— Fanny 
turns round—“Mr. Buzfuz, Mrs. Fidget, 
and I lie baby get in ” —Jimmie, and Maggie, 
and Annie all turn,—“The driver picks up 
his whip”— Mary and Frank kirn— “says 
be is afraid the wliiffle-trce will break”— 
8am turns—“lie looks at the wheel”— 
Benny turns—“takes up the reins”— Nel¬ 
lie; turns—“ and off they go. Mr. Buzfuz 
calls to the driver to stop, because lie lias 
left his little brown bundle”— Jimmie and 
Mary are turning, and Jenny turns too. 
“Then they gel the bundle"— Jenny turns 
again— “and Mrs. Fidget’s baby begins to 
cry” — and so on, each turning as lie is 
called. 
Dick goes on :—“ The driver looks to 
the wlilffie-tree, takes bis seat, cracks i lie 
whip, thinks the wheel is coining off. Mrs. 
Fidget screams because she Las dropped 
the baby out of the window, aud the big 
trunk bits tumbled off beside. They pick up 
all the things, and start again, but one of the 
wheels gets stuck, and the black horse won’t 
poll, the driver cracks his whip, which 
scares the white horse, and they both run 
away, and the whiffli -tree breaks, and the 
wheels come off, and Mr. Buzfuz roars, amt 
Mrs. Fidget faints, and the baby screams, 
and the big trunk tumbles off again, and the 
brown bundle rolls down the mil, and the 
whole stage coach breaks to pieces.” 
When Dick says “ the stage coach,” every 
one jumps up and tries to get some one 
else’s seat; Dick pops Into a chair, so one 
of the others is left out in the middle of the 
room, to tell the next story. 
I haven’t had room to tell a very long 
story, but 1 have uo doubt Dick’s story 
would be a great deal longer Hum this, and 
a great deal better. Dick must be careful, 
though, not to say “ stage coach ” till the 
eud, because when he says that every one 
jumps up together, and the story is done. 
Laura Southgate. 
Fapii. Like toc ; hold me closer; 
Let. me hold your hAnd so tiKht; 
Papa, would you love me Better 
III went to Heaven to-night? 
Pretty soon you’ll lose your darling 
You will miss roe in your home; 
But. pupa, if uhgels ask me. 
May I tell them you will come? 
Take we. papa; lot me love you 
Let me give you just one kiss ; 
Now. If »ny itngcls auk me, 
May I tell them you said yes? 
WHILE I MAY, 
“ PArA, shut the book, please; let us play together; 
I’ll be Patty Wotton In her gown o’ gray. 
Mamma’ll be a iady buying all my berries, 
And you'll pay in silver—papu, what you say ?” 
PagOB of the Poets, open at your sweetest, 
Yon will be to-morrow what you are to-day ; 
But the sunny eyes here, if 1 now deny them. 
When I lain would meet them may have turned 
away. 
Singing birds are songful only in the spring time, 
Blossoms will be blossoms only for a day, 
Golden hair Is holdcn but a little longer, 
Sol’ll make your heart light, darling, while I may. 
Ever willing fancy, charm away the present, 
Summon all thy magic, honor bright in play. 
Let my little maiden In her seventh summer 
Be a wrinkled woman In a gown o’ gray. 
[Old and New. 
STREET SCENES IN NEW YORK, 
BY UNCLE CHARLES. 
I often saunter down Broadway in the 
fresh morning, keeping, these hot days, on 
the shady side, and I rarely fail to meet the 
“ old hat man” the artist has given us in the 
picture. Usually he has an old, uncouth bat 
on bis bead, set there as jauntily as if lie 
were a boy of sixteen years, and bad all the 
vanity that some boys have when they get 
their new palm-leaf, with a blue ribbon 
about it. But this old fellow is never seen 
twice with the same hat on. And he has 
from two to half a score of all sorts slung 
over his shoulder, or carries three or four In 
one hand, holding on to the rim of each. I 
have often wondered how he manages so 
many. 
MARRIAGE IN RUSSIA 
simpering and crying—to say that she wished 
to leave her place. “ To leave! For what 
cause?” 
Well, she was going to be married. 
“Married, Maria 1” cried her mistress; 
“ when ?” 
“ The day after next,” replied the woman, 
shedding tears. 
“ So soon, Maria! Aud what sort of a 
mau are you going to wed?” 
The woman dropped her eyes. She could 
not say; she bad not seen him yet.. The 
proposeress had done it all, and sent, her 
word to appear in church at four o’clock, 
the hour for marrying persons of her class. 
“ You really mean to take this man whom 
you have never seen ?” 
“ I must," said the woman ; “ the prayers 
have been put up in church.” 
** Do the parish popes raise no objections 
to such marriages ?” 
“ No,” laughed the lady. “ Why should 
they object ? A wedding brings them fees; 
and in tlioir cabins you will find more chil¬ 
dren than kopecks.” 
The livings held by the parish clergy are. 
not rich. Some few city holdings may be 
worth three or four hundred pounds a year; 
these are the prizes. Few of the country 
pastors have an income, over and above the 
kitchen garden and plow of laud, exceeding 
forty or fifty pounds a year. The city priest, 
like the country priest, has neither rank nor 
The only chance for 
LETTERS FROM GIRLS 
How to Make Hanging Baskt’ts. 
Dear Mr. Editor:—I hailed Edith’s let¬ 
ter with delight, and hope she will write 
more, and, dear girls, with such a good me¬ 
dium as the Rural New-Yorker, we 
might tell each other about our ways and do¬ 
ings, whether we live in Pennsylvania or in 
Oregon. 
A cheap wav to make “ hanging baskets,” 
which are pretty tor bed-room windows, is 
to take pieces of hoop-skirts, make two circles 
—the size depends on how large, the basket 
is to be—then five other pieces, all joined in 
the middle securely, for the bottom, and join 
each piece on to the two circles with pieces 
of wire twisted round. Tiiat off of old 
brooms does very well. Fasten up with 
stout cord; put a layer of moss in it, then 
fill with good soil, and it is ready for the 
plants. Mine has “ money wort," which has 
a buff blossom, in bloom now, drooping over 
the sides more than half a yard, and “ morn¬ 
ing- glories” to twine up the cords. They 
need to be watered every evening. Com¬ 
mon “ground ivy” is beautiful, as it grows 
so fast. What kind of ivy does Annie have 
m the green box? and does it grow fast? 
A Ia/ 1 hntff oho mol/u VfiQPtl for flowers ? 
He starts out early in the morning. He 
visits the offices aud stores soon after they 
are opened, and finds the dapper young 
clerk, and it may be the junior partner of 
the concern, at leisure—reading the morn¬ 
ing papers and joking over the previous 
night’s experiences. They are in good hu¬ 
mor ; there are no customers to serve; they 
have just eaten breakfast and are smoking 
their after-breakfast cigars. Along comes 
the old hat man, who bawls out at the top 
of his voice, 
“ Any auld hats ? Auld hats! 1 Hats 1” 
Sometimes he deals in boots also. A 
young clerk, who lias a new stylo bat on bis 
bead aud an old style stored on a shelf, calls 
him in, produces the old style and begins to 
chaff the old man, who is ready with cute 
answers and for a bargain. He gets tlie old 
lmt at from twenty-five cents to one dollar, 
depending upon quality and the knowledge 
the clerk has of the value of this kind of 
property. 
How the old man’s eyes twinkle when 
he gets a good bargain! And as he goes out 
power in the Church, 
an ambitious man is, that his wife may die; 
in which event he can lake the vows, put 
on cowl and frock, obtain a career, become 
a fellow in the corporation of monks, and 
rise, if he lie during, supple and adroit, to 
high places in his church .—Free Russia. 
Mark Twain produces one of the most 
striking cases of meanness on record. He 
says be knows of an incorporated society 
which hired a man to blast a rock, and be 
was punching in powder with a crowbar 
when a premature explosion followed, send¬ 
ing the man and crowbar out of sight. Both 
came down again all right., and the man 
went to work again promptly. But, though 
he was gone only fifteen minutes, the com¬ 
pany “ docked him for lost time." 
