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RAIN AFTER DROUTH. 
The lips of Earth the Mother were black; 
They icapctl throUKh fissure, and crevice, and crack ; 
O, for the full of the rain ' 
And the life of the lloiver* paused ; and the wheat. 
That was rush lint up, seemed to droop In the heat, 
And it. griLss-greon blades, they yearned f r the 
» aeet, 
The sweet, sweet kiss of the rain ! 
The secular cypress, solemn ond still. 
The sentinel pine on the edge of the hill. 
Watched, but they watched In vain : 
And the glare on the land, the glare on the sea. 
The glare on terrace, and tower, and tree. 
Grew fiercer and fiercer, mercilessly; 
O, for the fall of the rain ! 
The streams wore silent, the well# were dry. 
The pitiless clouds passed slowly hy, 
With never a drop of rain. 
The priests in the town exhumed a saint, 
They passed iri procession with prayers and plaint, 
Ilut the heavens were cruel, or faith was faint: 
Came never a drop of ruin. 
O, for the full of the rain! 
One night the sky grew ragged and wild, 
With a sound like the lisp and the laugh of a child, 
I-'ell the first sweet drops of the rain ! 
Moist lips of ilie mist the mountain kissed, 
And cooled the hot breath of the plain. 
The emerald wheat leapt gaily to meet 
The welcome kiss of the rain ! 
And the rose* around, as they woke at the sound, 
Broke Into blossoms again ; 
O, beautiful, beautiful rain! 
tOllCS 
for | 
imtltsfs. 
WOMEN AGRICULTURISTS. 
l|Wi: find the following In the Mirror and Farmer, 
Whether it was written for that paper or not. we do 
not know; whatever its origin, it is good.— Eds. Rit¬ 
ual New-Yorker.] 
“ I’ve made up my mind,” said Miss Bell 
Martin, 
She was a rosy-cheeked, squarely-made 
woman, somewhere about flve-and-ttiirty, 
with merry black eyes, short curling hair, 
and a resolved expression of countenance. 
“ But, dear me, Bell, you are not going 
out into the wilderness actually to live, are 
you ?” 
“ Well, I’ve no intention of dying there,” 
cpigrammatlcally replied Miss Bell. 
Mrs. Parkcsworlh Prycc stood in open- 
eyed amazement, her garnet-colored moire 
antique dress trailing over the carpet, and 
her large carriage shawl festooned gracefully 
over fine shoulders—the very personification 
and embodiment, of a brainless votary of the 
latest fashion. 
“ My goodness gracious !” said Mrs. Pryce, 
feebly, as if' the magnitude of the idea ren¬ 
dered it impossible for her mind to grapple 
with It, 
“ Yes," said Miss Bell, “ I am. And, what 
is more, Kalie Appleton is going with me. 
1 <m see, Mrs, Pryce, I am not, so young jus I 
was, and poor dear Katie was disappointed 
when that young scamp, Henry Messenger, 
went South and married Julia Levy, so we’ve 
concluded to retire on a farm in Western 
New York, where we can raise calves and 
chickens, and grow our own asparagus and 
strawberries—a place, in short, where we can 
be entirely independent of men !” 
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Pryce, “what a 
Quixotic plan, to be sure!” 
“It may be Quixotic,” said Miss Bell,rub¬ 
bing her chin thoughtfully; “but we’re go¬ 
ing to give it a trial, nevertheless, Katie 
and I.” 
“ You will he heartily sick of it, and come 
hack to New York in less than a month,” 
replied Mrs. Pryce. 
“ No, we shall not,” said Bell Martin, reso- , 
lutcly. “ l hope I’m old enough to know my 
own mind, and Katie will he governed en¬ 
tirely by me." 1 
And in spile of the pathet ic and oft-repcat- ' 
cd remonstrances of Mrs. Pryce and others * 
of her stripe, Miss Bqjl Martin and her cons- ' 
in, Katie Appleton, ashy little maiden,with , 
modest blue eyes, and a face like a peach 
blossom, packed their guitar and canaries, 
and croquet and bandboxes, and went out 1 
West. 1 
“ Isn’t this jolly?” cried Bell, warming her ' 
plump hands before the blaze of a huge wood 
fire, on the night of their arrival. “Just see ' 
tho fringe of moss on that log- And such a * 
])icturesqne red brick hearth!” 
“Oh, yes. certainly,” said Katie, timidly; \ 
“but don’t you think it’s a little lonely, 1 
Isabel?” v 
“ We don’t mind that, child,” said Bell, J 
briskly; “we’re going to be company for !l 
ourselves." 01 
“Are we?” ai 
“Why, of course we are. Just wait till !l 
we gel our flower beds planted, and the dai- st 
sy roots set out, and the chickens hatched, 0 
and we shall have no time to think about 
getting lonesome.” K 
And Miss Bell jumped up to get a fresh g 
supply of wood from the covered shed back st , 
of the door; for a fundamental element of V( 
her dreams of rural felicity had been the U] 
strict interdiction of anything in the simili- , 
tude of a servant. 
“For I’ve been quite sufficiently Irish- ar 
ridden in New York,” she had said. K 
“ This is luxury,” went on Bell, basking w 
before the genial blaze; for the April even- ii< 
ing was chill and raw. “ I feel just like | ar 
Robinson Crusoe on bis desert island, and—” 
“ Hush!” cried Katie, nervously grasping 
i t: her cousin’s arm, “ what’s that?” 
“ What’s what?" 
’ “ That noise! Oh, Bell, if there should be a 
lie ghost in this ruinous old house!" 
“ Oh, fiddle st icks!” said the matter-of-fact 
Bell; “it’s only the cow looking in at the 
casement; don’t you see her horns now ?” 
Miss Bell rushed out of the door to rout 
the enemy. 
“ Such a dear little dot of a red calf as 
there is in the barn yard!’’ she cried, ecstati¬ 
cally, as she returned, “ But we must take 
it away to-morrow.” 
“Oh, don’t take it away—the dear little 
thing,” cooed Kate. “ Let, us he a little con¬ 
siderate.” 
“And have no milk Ur use,” scoffed Bell. 
“ That would be nice farming. I saw a fine 
lot of hens in the barn this afternoon, Katie; 
eggs arc fifty cents a dozen, and spring chick¬ 
ens forty cents a pound. We shall make our 
fortunes, Kate. And old Mr. Tully says 
strawberries bring fitly cents a quart, and 
the asparagus yielded a hundred and seven 
bundles last year, at forty cents a. bunch. 
And butter—dear, dear—there’s no saying 
what we shall realize out of our butter, with 
three cows.” 
, “ To he sure,” said Katie, sympathetically. 
It was raining hard the next, morning 
when they woke up. Now, if the agricultu¬ 
ral world was all made tip of leafy dells, 
where the drops tinkled musically as they 
fell, and opening buttercups and violets, this 
would he all very well, hut rain on the roof 
of a leaky farm-house, and rain in the coun¬ 
try barn-yard, arc decidedly lacking in the 
elements of romance. 
“ Bo let me sleep just live minutes longer,” 
pleaded Katie, piteously. 
“ Get up! get tipi” cried the ruthless Bell, 
“ we’re farmers now, and you must come out 
and help me milk! It will be sucli fun.” 
“ In the rain?” 
“We’re neither sugar nor salt—we shall 
not melt. Get your aqua scutum, and come 
quick!” , 
Miss Bell looked the ideal of resolution I 
and enterprise as she stalked into the barn¬ 
yard, swinging the pail in one hand and the , 
three-legged stool in the other. Kate Apple- i 
ton looked on in admiration. s 
“ Where did you learn to milk, Bell ?” 
“ I never learned.” ] 
“ How can you do it, then V” ( 
“ Why, it is easy enough, of course. A ny- l 
body can milk. This calf lias got to come ] 
out first.” . 
Niss Bell advanced to the little red calf, 1 
who was nestling close to its mother. 1 
“ Get along, Bossie,” she said, brandishing 
the milking-stool. j 
Bui to her amazement the brindled cow v 
lowered her horns and ran furiously at the v 
disturber of her darling’s peace. Miss Bell n 
Scrambled over the wall more nimbly than s 
gracefully., 
“I am afraid she’s vicious,” said Miss “ 
Bell, dubiously. “ We won’t disturb the 
calf just now.” 7 
So, descending once more when the bel- o 
ligerent animal had apparently calmed 
down, Miss Bell selected the mildest-eyed y< 
cow she could find, and sal down, adjusting u; 
her pail as she had seen it adjusted in all 
engravings. 
“ Why don’t the cow stand still ?” she de- ki 
mantled, after having several times jumped 
up and followed the bovine animal around, at 
In a few minutes she reappeared, dripping 
like Undine of old. 
“ Katie,” she cried, breathlessly, display¬ 
ing the pearl-white treasures of her apron, 
‘ I’ve found two more settlements of eggs." 
“Let’s have some custards,” suggested 
Katie. 
“ Custards, indeed! No, no, I prefer 
spring chickens. Katie, I am going to set a 
hen.” 
“ Set a hen ? ” repeated Katie, in bewil¬ 
derment. 
“I’ve caught the most motherly-looking 
old hen you ever saw, and shut her up in a 
barrel,” went on Miss Bell, exultingly, “ and 
now I’m going to fix the nest. In just 
twenty-one days from now, Katie, we shall 
he feeding our chickens.” 
recommended the farmer. “ Tiiat’s a sure 
cure for them as wants to set.” 
“ But they don’t want to set,” interrupted 
Bell; that’s the trouble. Old Speckle has 
broken all her eggs trying to get out,” 
“If they don’t want to ihey won’t," 
said the farmer, “ and it’s no use talk¬ 
ing.” 
“Ill sec whether they will or not,” said 
Bell, compressing her lips tightly. 
1 lie farmer looked somewhat awed at 
her imperious voice and gesture, and glanced 
despondently. “If Katie had the spirit of 
a gray kitten she would attend to mutters 
and things herself', but she screams if the 
cow shakes her horns, and is actually afraid 
of the Chinese goose.” 
The rector looked admiringly at Katie, 
whose blushes at these enumerations of her 
faulls were certainly rather becoming, and 
Mr. Milburn assured Bell that he would 
look after the interest of her agricultural 
demesne. 
“ I like that man,” said the unwilling in- 
uneasily out of the window for a change of valid, when Hugh Milburn had g 
subject. 
“ What you been doin’ out in the door- 
yard ?’ lie asked in some surprise. 
I wanted to plant some candy-tuft and 
mignonette seeds,” said Kate, meekly; “so 
gone out 
to look after the cattle, and his brother 
had also departed. “ There’s no nonsense 
about him.” 
“ Hhrtll we?” Katie Appleton did not dis- I dug up all those onions with the sprouting 
“ \\ ho, the rector?” innocently questioned 
Katie. . 
believe, perhaps, but she doubted. 
Half an hour afterwards, when the rain 
field up a little,and here and tberea glimpse 
of dazzling blue peeped through the rifts in 
t he sky overhead, Katie tripped out into the 
barn, w here Miss Bell stood in an anxious 
attitude over a square box she had placed on 
a beam. 
“ Bell, what are you doing?” she cried. 
“ I am trying to keep this hen on her 
nest,” said Miss Bell, turning a perturbed 
face toward her cousin. “Nine times she 
has flown cackling off, and nine times I have 
caught her and put her on again. “ We’ve 
broken three of the eggs, but they are easily 
replaced. It. is like the old story of Bruce 
tops-” 
“ Onions!” 
“Onions!” cried Mr. Tully. “Why, 
them was Jcrushy’s double tulips and hya¬ 
cinths !” 
Kate looked at Bell in consternation. 
“ You told me they were onions, Bell, and 
you have got a. handful of them boiling in 
the pot wit.li the macaroni and sliced carrots 
now',” she said reproachfully. But Bell pre¬ 
tended not to hear. 
“What do yon think of the strawberry 
bed,Mr. Tully?” she said, complacently. 
“You haven’t been disturbin’ the roots 
diggin’ round ’em at ibis time of the year?” 
he said. 
“ No,” tartly responded her cousin. “ I 
mean his brother, Mr. Hugh Milburn.” 
I he early summer dawned bright and 
soft over Elm Brook. Old Speckle having 
maintained a troubled existence under the 
board for some weeks, suddenly decided to 
set in good earnest, ami divers other biddies 
followed her example. Mercer potatoes 
sprouted feebly above the earth—the sweet 
corn transplanted from Miss Bell’s earthen¬ 
ware crocks died and made no sign, but the 
later crops made the furrowed fields beauti¬ 
ful with their silver-green blades, and the 
farm throve gloriously under the new ad¬ 
ministration. 
1 How nice it all looks," said Bell, sighing 
nevertheless, when she first walked out, 
1 . • It TT . ..... 
replaced. It. is like the old story ol Bruce “ Yes, 1 have,” said Miss Bel!. “I didn’t nevertheless, when she first walked out 
and the spider, and I will conquer. I have like to.see them straggling about so sloven- leaning on Mr. Hugh .Milburn’s arm to see 
matters Tolerably safe with a board and a ly, so I dug up every root and planted it the young wheat beyond the corn lots 
stone lor the present, and 1 shall come out neatly over again " “ It’s a beautiful farm in a beautiful’ loca- 
three tunes a day-to feed her. “Land o’ Goahin!” said farmer Tully. lion,” said Mr. Milburn, quietly. “I have 
J ut I thought, said Katie, after a mo- “I believe ye’re crazy. And what’s them always thought I should like Hist such a 
meet or two of grave consideration, “ that pots in the window ? Posey seeds ? ” form as this ” 
you always had to wait until a hen clucked, “Why,” said Miss Bell, with conscious “Why don’t you buy one then?" de- 
:md puffed out her leathers, and wanted to pride, ‘ it, was too wet for me to work in the manded the straightforward damsel 
3 e l<o, w ?' n aCC °, ni ’ J l5clds li,is 11101,1 in bb »> I’ve started my sweet “ What for? Am I not a cipher in the 
U d-iaal.ioned farmers do that, 1 sup- corn in crocks, so as to be ahead of the sea- sum of humanity—a solita. v old v” 
“ A cow is a very trying quadruped! Get 
some hay, Katie, and feed her, 1 am 
afraid that unprincipled Mr. Tully deceived 
us when lie said there were three milch 
Cows; the more I pull, the more the milk 
won’t come!” 
Stone for the present, and 1 shall come out 
three times a day to feed her. 
“ But 1 thought,” said Katie, after a mo¬ 
ment or two of grave consideration, “ that 
you always had to wait until a hen clucked, 
and puffed out her feathers, and wanted to 
set of her own accord.” 
“Old-fashioned farmers do that, I sup¬ 
pose, lmt T can’t wait a hundred years for a 
hen to make up her mind.” 
The rebellious murmurs of the gallin¬ 
aceous fowl imprisoned beneath ilie cruel 
board echoed Alias Bell Martin’s accents. 
“ 1 declare, Bell!” cried the admiring Kate 
Appleton, “ I didn’t think you had such a 
will. You ought to have been a man and a 
statesman.” 
“ Don’t, talk nonsense, I beg of you,” said 
Bell, a little more Ilian ordinarily compla¬ 
cent, however, “ but run into the house and 
bring mo that box of assorted garden seeds. 
If the weather clears up, we must begin 
planting early tn-morrow morning. I won’t 
have people saying that our farming is be¬ 
hind hand because we are women !” 
Toward Ilie evening of the next day, old 
Mr. Eliphalet Tully, a leather faced farmer, 
with a curiously intricate net-work of fine 
wrinkles round his keen eyes and shrewd 
mouth, looked casually in to see how his 
successors were thriving. 
“Afternoon t’ye,” was his greeting — 
“ Wa’ul, how ye getting ’long?” 
“ We are not getting along at all, Air. 
Tally,” said Miss Martin, in an injured tone 
of voice. “ You have imposed upon us.” 
“ 1 declare to gracious I don’t know what 
ye mean,” said the fanner, with a counte¬ 
nance of unfeigned astonishment. 
“ Didn’t you tell us your cows were kind ?" 
“ Bo they be,” said old Eliphalet,—“ the 
kindest creatures alive!” 
“ 1 hen why does the old brindlc one run 
at me every time I come near the calf? and 
Mr. Tully t urned of a deep apoplectic pur¬ 
ple in consequence of living to convert a 
hurst of laughter into a fit of coughing. 
“But how be ye going to get your potato 
crop into the ground?” ], e demanded; 
“ women can’t plow.” 
“I don’t know why they can’t,” said Miss 
Bell, argumentatively. 
“Because they are women,” said the con¬ 
servative farmer. “ Ain’t that reason 
enough ?” 
“ Not by any means,” said Miss Bell. “ I 
am going to follow the example of the Ger¬ 
man women, who work out in the open 
fields just like men. Germany is a great 
country! ” 
“ I should think it must be," said Mr. 
Tully, dubiously. 
And lie took his leave, after some very 
kindly meant advice, which Miss Bell re¬ 
solved mentally not to take. 
So the days went on at Elm Brook — by 
which euphonious title Miss Martin had de¬ 
cided to call her farm—until one evening, 
returning from a survey of her premises, she 
came on Katie Appleton leaning over the 
stile talking to somebody in the twilight. 
“ Katie ! ” she cried, warningly, as the 
conscience-stricken little damsel fluttered to¬ 
ward her with both hands full of the lovely 
pick blossoms of the wild azalea, “ was that 
a man you were talking to?” 
“ It — it. was only the rector,” faltered 
Katie, “ to know why w T e weren't at church 
“ Ils a beautiful farm in a beautiful loca¬ 
tion,” said Mr. Milburn, quietly. “ I i mvc 
always thought I should like just such a 
farm as this.” 
“ Why don’t you buy one, then ?” de¬ 
manded the straightforward damsel. 
“ What for? Am T not a cipher in the 
sum of humanity—a solitary old bachelor?” 
“But you needn’t be an old bachelor.” 
“Need I not?” 11 is blue eyes sparkled 
with merry amusement. “ This* is just what 
I wanted you to say, Bell. You have trust¬ 
ed me with your farm for a month, now 
suppose you trust me with yourself for a 
lifetime." 
“ Do you mean you want me to marry 
you ?” she asked, bluntly. 
“ Exactly.” 
“Dear me!” mused Bell, dropping his 
arm, “J had never thought of that! Bull 
do believe we con’.d manage the farm nicely 
on shares," 
“ Well," said Mr. Milburn, who had pa¬ 
tiently waited with an amused sparkle in his 
eyes, while Bell thoughtfully twisted a 
green blackberry round and round her dim¬ 
pled linger, “ is it yes or no ?” 
“ It is yes," said Bell. 
She was sitting by the window that, even¬ 
ing, thinking how she could best explain 
her change of programme to Katie Apple- 
ton. Truly, it was an embarrassing thing 
to do. In her own mind she felt that she 
had acted wisely; yet to the iimliserimimit- 
ing world it would seem a pusillanimous 
furling of her flag. 
“I don’t care,” thought Bell; “next to 
being a farmer, it is nicest to be a farmer’s 
wife. Let people say what they please, so 
long as I-” 
Her reverie was interrupted by Katie Ap¬ 
pleton’s arm around her neck. 
“ Dear Bell, I hope you won’t, he vexed 
with me,” faltered Katie, turning red and 
“Try again,” said Katie, encouragingly. 
“ Pull harder.” 
But the cow, resenting this mode of treat¬ 
ment, deliberately kicked over the pail, 
whisked her tail in Miss Bell’s eyes, and 
walked off. 
“ Oh, dear, dear!” faltered Kate. “ I wish 
we had asked Mr. Tully to stay a day or 
two and teach us how to milk !’’ 
“ As if I’d ask a man to teach me any¬ 
thing,” cried Bell, disdainfully. “ If he can 
do it I guess I can ; I’ll try again by and by, 
when the cow gets a little heller tempered. 
Let’s go in and get breakfast, Katie. I b re are 
a half dozen eggs in the hay manger. Very 
Careless of the hens to leave their eggs 
around in this sort of a fashion! 1 shall 
have tip a row of pine boxes, filled with 
straw, before I am twenty-four hours 
older.” 
“ Perhaps they would prefer hay,” said 
Katie, dubiously. 
“ I don’t care what they prefer,” said Miss 
B.dl, dogmatically. “ they must adapt them¬ 
selves to my preferences, or I’ll know the 
reason why. But, as 1 was saying, here’s 
the material for an omelet, so we’ll go in 
and breakfast like a pair of queens.” 
The coffee was made—without, milk— 
and the morning meal was soon disposed of, 
Katie remaining in-doors to sweep up and 
\s ash the dishes, while Miss Bell again sal¬ 
lied forth to investigate the various offices 
ami buildings which skirted the barn. 
“tiMC every ume i come near the calf? and last month” with me,” faltered Katie, turning red and 
Gel j why does the spotted one kick the pail over Miss Bell was not exactly satisfied with white, after her fashion when never so 
beioie it is halt full, besides making me chase her cousin’s explanations, but she said noth- slightly excited, “ but—but—I am going to 
all around the barn-yard after Iter?” ing. Verbs! silence, however, does not re- be married!” 
“Guess you ain’t used to milkin’,” said strict the freedom of thought, and within “To the rector V 1 
Mr. Tully, shrewdly. herself Bell Martin was by no means at ease. “ Yes.” 
“ Not used to it ?” echoed Bell; “ and sup- “ The rector,” she repeated, “ A rector is “ God bless you, Katie,” murmured Bell, 
posing that, 1 am not, wlmt difference can it only a man, after all, and I should think “Oh, Katie, we have both found our desti- 
possibly make? Am I to have a diploma Katie had lmd enough of the false hearts and nics!" 
and show it to the cow before I dare take the hollow professions of men ! But there it is— And then she told her story and they 
puvi ege of milking ?” some people will never learn by experience.” were very bappy together in the purple soft- 
joivs is dreadful sagacious creatures,” said And between the obstinacy of her Mercer ness of tIie twilight. The spring-time of 
ie amier, with a laughing twinkle in his potatoes, which absolutely declined to come tlieil ' Ufe was late, but it had come. 
gt JJT* on can l‘' never abide women up, ami the ill-advised thoughtlessness of ___ • 
n v loum , and now I come to think on’t, Katie in persisting in any intercourse with THACKERAY 
M as 1 ully never used to milk, cause I was the forbidden ranks, Miss Bell was really - 
iillus handy to do it. I tell you what, Miss quite miserable-that nhdit. The New York World says:—“The only 
Marlm. guess you'll toy® lo keep » man." SUc amm , norc miscraM<! ,, Mgb writer of fiction since the days of 
Aever, said Miss Martin, resolutely, a day or two, for in a hand-to-hand encotin- SC ° TT ls JG wl,09e bu8t > not llis bones, is in 
Ami then the turkeys—they gobble and ter with a refractory pig which had the tbc -^-bhey; who, seven years ago, died 
well out, and run after us in a way that is greedy taste to prefer the’vegetable garden sleeping in Lis bed i wfiose cfiDdren, two 
positively Irightful.” to tho precincts of its own pen, she sprained niolherless girls, sorrowed meekly; whose 
Do you wear them ur shawls when you her ankle. family treasures were not greedily divided ; 
;o out to feed ’em?” said the farmer, nod- “What are we do now?” she groaned w]losc walls were not covered with pictures 
lllli** lit f TTfi Iinirltf unr.vL.t ..hIa.. __• i * .. - 1 * (Wvin l.iw Aii»n I. n __ . .. 
possibly make? Am I to have a diploma 
and show it to the cow before I dare take the 
privilege of milking?” 
“Cows is dreadful sagacious creatures,” said 
the farmer, with a laughing twinkle in his 
eye. “ Some on ’em can’t never abide women 
folks round; and now I come to think on’t, 
Miss Tully never used to milk, ’cause I was 
alius handy to do it. I tell you what, Miss 
Martin, I guess you’ll have to keep a man.” 
“Never,” said Miss Martin, resolutely. 
“And then the turkeys—they gobble and 
swell out and run after us in a way that is 
positively frightful.” 
“ Do you wear them ar shawls when you 
go out to feed ’em?” said the farmer, riod- 
■» • > .... 
nies!” 
And then she told her story; and they 
were very happy together in the purple soft¬ 
ness of the twilight. The spring-time of 
their life was late, but it had come. 
THACKERAY. 
a:.,,. . , , , , * .- .■ ~ ‘ uiuauuu. 
ding at two bright scarlet outer wrappings when, by dint of much fortitude and reso- 
that bung on the pegs behind the keeping- lution, she had hobbled to the old chintz- 
100111 ooor - covered lounge. 
room door. 
“ Why, yes, I believe we did.” 
“That accounts for it, then. A,turkey 
and u bull—the color o’ red sets ’em wild. I 
thought everybody knovved that.” 
“ And am l to select my wardrobe with 
reference to the turkeys in the poultry- 
yard ?” indignantly demanded Bell. 
“ Don’t you think,” hazarded Kate. “ that 
we had better send for the rector.” 
J lie rector, indeed !” cried Bell, irasci¬ 
bly. “ I think a doctor would be a great 
deal more to the purpose !” 
The doctor came, and so did Mr. Milburn, 
the rector, with his brother, a handsome, 
I m keys know a dreadful sight, although square-shouldered man of forty 
S"J'TSJ'S “ lculaK ? *» “I thought," said Mr. Hugh Milburn, 
bird, said Mr. T nlltr ....-.1 .. . . . ... 
bird,” said Mr. Tully, sagel}*. 
“ Aud the hens ! dear me!” went on Miss 
ting.” 
“ I have such trouble about their set- 
apologctirally, “ that you might like, some 
one to have an eye to things around tin- 
place till you are better. June is a bad 
month for working farmers to fall sick.” 
Give them a good ducking at the pump,” | “ I’m sure I’m obliged to you,” said Bell, him! him here.” 
The New York World says:—“The only 
high writer of fiction since the days of 
Scott is lie whose bust, not bis bones, is in 
the Abbey; who, seven yearn ago, died 
sleeping in his bed; whose children, two 
motherless girls, sorrowed meekly; whose 
family treasures were not greedily divided ; 
whose walls were not covered with pictures 
from his own works, for he was too modest 
for that; who had been a visitor in America 
without cither slandering or flattering us; 
who shed a tear for the desolate South—and 
left behind him, with those who who knew 
him personally ami those who did not, save 
through his works, that sweet and lovely 
memory which literally blossoms in the 
dust. There lie before us as we write, the 
words of a poor sick American girl which 
tell a tale of truth. ‘ Often,’ sayH sin-, * when 
I have closed one of Thackkky’s books, I 
sit thinking with a full heart liow milch I 
owe him of what is best In me, of the purest 
pleasure 1 have ever known, filled with 
thankfulness for the power which has been 
given me to appreciate him in my poor 
way.’ This is the track which he left be- 
rjri 
