shelter was before her. The business people 
had gone to their homes. Some had rudely 
brushed by and stared her in the face. One 
had gone down the street, then turned and 
retraced his steps for the evident purpose of 
gazing at her more iusolently. Of all who 
formed the nioviug throng of these streets 
not. one cared for her; there wus not a single 
lace she recoguized. She was tired of asking 
the same questions for employment and hear¬ 
ing the. same refusals. She could not apply 
to the shops, for there was nothing but 
housework that she felt sure she could do, 
besides they were closed for that day. The 
twilight shades were deepening into darkness. 
The lamps were blinking at each other from 
one street corner to another, while the 
shadow's and the dark alleys betw een them 
seemed dismally black and cavernous. The 
passers by and the policemen looked at her 
curiously, as if wondering why she was 
wandering alone at such an hour. She was 
too faint and weary to walk along briskly, 
besides the day’s long walk and fasting had 
induced a racking headache. There was 
nowhere to 1‘esL Must she stay there walk¬ 
ing the street all night? Or would Bhe soon 
be found and taken by some policeman to 
the station-house and locked up among 
thieves and drunkards? 
Oh, the loneliness and sense of utter deso¬ 
lation that swept over her as she looked 
through brilliantly lighted window's into 
gorgeous parlors, where happy groups were 
heedless of her woe. Oh, the dreary night 
before her, the darkness of life itself! .No¬ 
where to go! 
She stopped at a corner and looked to see 
which way seemed most promising, if per¬ 
chance a ray of hope or kindness might 
smile upon her from the depths of ila gloom. 
The light of a street car glimmered far in the 
distance. There were few er people on the 
pavements now, and it seemed more desolate 
each block she walked. As she looked hesi¬ 
tatingly down the street toward the disap¬ 
pearing light, somebody w'bo had passed her 
stopped, turned, peered boldly into her face, 
then stepping nearer toiler said, “ The last 
car has gone out. There will not be another 
to-night. You had better walk along with 
me. I am going in that direction and will 
protect you.” 
Tacey shuddered with horror at the very 
thought of his protection. The odor of 
whisky which enveloped and seemed to form 
a part of his being would have been suf¬ 
ficient reason for her to fcul distrustful, had 
she not known perfectly well that the cars 
run as late as midnight. As it was, not be¬ 
ing so ignorant as be hail hoped, she gave 
him a look so full of contempt and so ex¬ 
pressively indicating that his concern for her 
safety was not desired, that he slunk away 
toward the darkness out of her sight. 
She walked on, almost w ishing she was 
dead. She realized fully the dangers about 
her. If she had not, learned something of 
the city she might have been induced to be¬ 
lieve that a friendly invitation, and gone, 
God only knows where 1 What snares w’ere 
set for those who could be lured, either 
through trouble or ignorance or too pure a 
belief in goodness of others! lIow r many 
hundreds of girls, somebody’s beloved daugh¬ 
ters, somebody’s sisters, tenderly loved by 
those who bad known them aud eared for 
them, had gone, through experiences very 
like her own, wandering homeless as she 
was now, and wandered till the white robes 
of pure womanliness had become soiled by 
the stains of sin so that no tears could wash 
them white! Tacky felt her weakness to 
protect herself. She had stood at the door 
of mansions and cottages blazing with light. 
She had caught passing glances of the com¬ 
fort and warmth within. The lake breeze 
was chilling her even this summer night, 
and no one would give her a home. She 
wondered if God would hear ..er if she 
should pray to Him. She had felt so deso¬ 
late and forsaken that she had forgotten 
Him. She had come from home in such a 
way that she feared confessing her wrong to 
God as much as going back. There was 
none else to call upon. It w T as not repen tr 
“ Tacky, you will do that,” aud a tone of im¬ 
patience often mingled witli these imperative 
requests, a something jarring against her 
self-respect, making her feel that she was 
considered as only a dependent and a meni¬ 
al. To Tacey, who chafed at anything like 
restraint or command, this Boon became even 
more intolerable than the perpetual scold¬ 
ings to which she was subjected at home. 
! Yet she would rather endure this than go 
back there, for that would imply a confes¬ 
sion which she felt too proud to make. She 
had begun to learn that in every station in 
life there are trials, and that all along the 
pathway there are sad ones plodding on, 
weak, and sometimes fainting by the way, 
from dragging the crosses that are constant¬ 
ly becoming heavier. How she longed for 
( sympathy, for some kind friend to whom she 
might go for words of counsel. 
After having waited a long while in vain, 
for Mrs. Leeson to broach the subject, she 
ventured to ask for wages. Mrs. Leeson af¬ 
fected great surprise. 
“I had not thought of such a thing! In¬ 
deed, I think the privilege of being a mem¬ 
ber of my family is sufficient compensation 
for the light services you have rendered me. 
1 supposed that you wished a home, aud was 
willing to work for your board.” 
“ I could not think of that, for I must have 
clothes as well as food. I have given my en¬ 
tire time to you, and I think that even the 
sewing I have done for you would have cost 
you as much as y u pay to the cook, to say 
nothing of the oth r work.” 
‘‘It is quite difficult for a girl to find a 
situation in the city without good city refer¬ 
ences. It would also be difficult to find 
those who would take you into their fami¬ 
lies as I have done.” 
This was a new phase of character which 
Tacey had not come in contact with before. 
She had supposed the laborer would be 
considered worthy of his hire. This awak¬ 
ened a feeling of indignation, and she re¬ 
plied with so much spirit as to astonish 
herself. 
“ It is not right or just. It is an outright, 
robbery of the poor, and of those who have 
been rendered for a time in some way de¬ 
pendent. You cannot expect to find a girl 
willing to drudge through your house, de¬ 
voting her whole time to your wants and the 
care of your children wit hout, being paid for 
it. Yet you call yourself an honest woman, 
aud do not scruple to take advantage of a 
stranger, because you think bhe will hesilate 
to run the risk of uncertainties in finding re¬ 
munerative employment. I must be paid 
for my work. I had no idea that in so 
flourishing a city there were people of means 
who were so lost to all sense of justice as to 
expect the poor to do their work aud thank 
them for the privilege.” 
“ There are many girls more grateful than 
you for the privileges and protection of a 
home, who would be very glad of such an 
opportunity of living where they might be 
considered as members of first-class families.” 
“Let them do it if they choose, and 1 will 
find some place to do housework or take 
care of children in some second-class family, 
in a family with a conscience. When I give 
my services, it will be to some one poorer 
than I, whom it will he a Christian charily 
t.o serve with kindly deeds. I will go at, 
once, Mrs. Leeson." 
When TAcey came down stairs with her 
little bundle, prepared to go out in search of 
employment rather than a home, she met 
Mi's. Leeson in the hall. That lady was 
truly sorry that such a misunderstanding 
had occurred. Indeed, she did not, see how 
Miss Thorne could have formed an opinion 
that she would do otherwise than right, or 
that she would receive any service for which 
she did not return an equivalent. Bhe had 
trusted her so entirely as one of the family 
that Bhe had not really observed how much 
Tacey hud taken upon herself to do. Could 
there not be some understanding yet between 
them ? Indeed she was very sorry to part 
with one who had given her so little trouble. 
Tacey thought no arrangement would suit 
her now. Mrs. Leeson hesitatingly held out 
a live dollar note, which she took quietly, 
remarking that she considered it only as her 
just due. 
CHAPTER IV. 
Alone, in the streets of the great city of 
which as yet she knew very little, Tacky 
started on her errand with a hopefulness of 
success which was to he put sorely to the 
test. She had formed no definite plan of 
what she would do. She had only started 
out prompted by an impulse to place herself 
in a better condition. She had no references, 
nor had she thought of the possibility of 
their serving her if they were in her posses¬ 
sion. She went to another street and called 
from house to house inquiring if a gill was 
wanted there. The answers which she met 
were rather discouraging. “They had all 
the help necessary,” or “ would she show her 
papers of reference?” Alter numerous re¬ 
pulses her buoyant courage began to ebb. 
She had gone from one street to another un¬ 
til she knew not where she was. She was 
hungry, and oh, so weary! The day had 
passed by, and no prospect of a home or 
Lake, on the Promenade of Michigan Ave¬ 
nue. Tacey knew that was a resort of 
pleasure seekers, and was quickly suspicions 
that this was a wolf, seeking for lambs to 
devour. She was no sooner out of one 
trouble than another met her. She did not 
know wlmt, to say to this man, nor did she 
wish to say anything, only to escape him ; 
but it must and should be done. 
There was a policeman pacing liis beat a 
few yards before them. She determined to 
seek his protection. SliJ would ask him to 
guide ner to a good hotel. Just then, her 
bund’e slipped from her bands. A gentle¬ 
man passing at the moment picked it up 
and handed it to ber. She looked in bis face 
as she took it, and thanked him. 
“ Tacey Thorne ! you here ? Where 
have you been for so long a time ?” 
“ Oh, Frank ! I am so glad to find you ! 
Tell me what to do!” As she clasped her 
hand in his, her voice was choked with sob¬ 
bing, 
“ Why, what is the matter? Where have 
you been staying? Tell me ail about it. 
Let me call in the morning and see you,” 
“ But, Frank, I don’t know where I am 
to stay. I have been trying all day to find 
a situation, and I don’t know what would 
have become of me if you had not come 
this way just at, this moment.” 
“ Where were you going, aud who was the 
man walking with you ?” 
Tacky turned to look for him, but he had 
disappeared, when he discovered they were 
friends. 
“ I do not know. He had just overtaken 
me a little before, and I was just thinking 
that the best thing I could do would be to 
ask that, police officer to direct me. Oh, 
Frank! I hope I may never suffer as I have 
to-night from friendlessnesa and homeless¬ 
ness !” 
“ But you should be at. home now, Tacey. 
Do you know that your friends have sought 
far and near to find you? When 1 was 
at home a few weeks ago, your mother was 
quite sick from anxiety on your account. 
Why did you come here, and why do 1 find 
you in the street at so late au hour in this 
desolate condition ? I sec you are lu trouble, 
aud 1 want you to tell me frankly the whole 
of it. We have grown up together, and you 
know you can trust me Tacky, and that I 
will befriend you lor your good." 
As they passed on through a quiet street 
Tacey told the whole story, how unpleasant 
the home life had been, aud why it was so, 
about her coming to the city, the troubles 
and griefs she had cudured as a “ member of 
a first-class family,” about the day’s dis¬ 
heartening experiences, and how lonely— 
she would not say honmick —she had been, 
and wished for the home among the honey¬ 
suckle vines, with the dear old scolding 
mother, who, she well knew, never really 
meant the half of the harsh words which 
had become her habit. 
“ Your heart is in the right place yet,” 
said Frank. “ I will get my landlady to 
give you a lodging to-night, and I would 
not try any more to find a situation here. 
There are enough other girls here in the 
city who need the situations, while you do 
not. You will be happier and better at 
home. Tacey, I do not like to think of 
any girl whom I know passing through the 
hard trials which so nmuy here must en¬ 
dure. I came hero before you did, and huve 
been in good employment. I have tried to 
find you. I had not intended speaking my 
thoughts to you »o soon, Tacey, not until 
fairly started in business. I want you for 
my wife. I love you, and will do anything 
for your sake that an honest man can for 
the most worthy woman in the world. Shall 
1 go out borne with you to-morrow, and 
smooth away the unpleasantness you may 
feel about returning?” 
“ 1 shall be very glad if you will. I sup¬ 
pose it was a foolish undertaking for me to 
Come to Chicago with no definite idea of 
what I wanted to do or of what I could do; 
still, I eun’l help feeling afraid to go home.” 
“ Remember how the prodigal went home 
and was received with joy. Be assured your 
parents do care for you, more than you have 
ever believed. 
“ Do you suppose, Tacey, that you can be 
content there in your country home for a 
year or so, for my sake ?” 
Tacey did not answer the question in 
words, but somehow Frank Riley had 
reason to “ hope for a year or two.” They 
had just arrived at his boarding place, where 
Tacey found a kind welcome from good Sirs. 
James to the hospitality of her little cottage, 
and next day she took the train for home, feel¬ 
ing a new happiness in the consciousness of 
being cared for. 
Il was a long time before she could bear 
to hear anything said about her visit to Chi¬ 
cago ; but now she tells the story to all dis¬ 
contented or ambu. girls who express a 
desire to live in the city. 
BONDAGED 
BY CHARLOTTE CORONER. 
Unbar ttio bolts in my house of clay, 
Fling wine the door* to the* north wind’s play, 
For the flesh-bonds have too heavy grown— 
And the hope* of year* uway have flown. 
I struggled—the strife wore out ray heart, 
And tore my soul from Its earthy part; 
The moans of my heart., in one long wail, 
Were borne aloft on the autumn gale. 
PLAYING TRUANT 
BY FANNY M. BARTON 
I don’t blame him, do you ? 
Only think how the sunshine smiled 1 
And each little drop of dew, 
Saucily winked and beguiled; 
And the leaves on the old elm trees, 
Fluttered and said, very plain— 
“ See here, we do as we el ease; 
Don’t go to that dull school again 1” 
I prayed, hut the word* fell at my feet; 
I tried from the bitter to extract sweet; 
But. the drifting clouds which shrouded my head, 
Meaningly sobb'd of the peace that was fled. 
Did the light in my soul die quite away ? 
Was there naught to feed its flickering ray? 
Nor shield to cover a poor, worn heart 
Whose chords had broken forever apart? 
So, deftly, when no one saw. 
He ran through the meadow path, 
Breaking the household law, 
Daring his teacher's wrath ; 
But better tliun duxens of books, 
Was the sky so tenderly biue; 
To say nothing of aqulnels and brooks, 
So I don't blame him, do you ? 
I fought for the Palm,—but now must fail. 
For my strength ebbs low In this last wail; 
And the dregs of the cup which I drink alone. 
For all of life’B errors will fully atone. 
The lilies nodded and smiled, 
As bis bare feet pattered along; 
And the birds, catching sight of the child, 
Burst out into riotous song; 
And quite in dedance uf rule, 
The butterflies, yellow and black, 
Caring less than a tig for a school. 
Advised him not to go back. 
fonts 
But down in his heart we may deem, 
He was slightly sad and afraid, 
Till he found a clear woodland stream. 
And rolled up his trowsers to wade. 
Then, through the cool depths making way. 
No doubt he was blessed through aud through 
And whatever stern moralists »uy— 
I don’t blame him, do you / 
BY SYLVIA BROWN. 
CHAPTER III. 
[Concluded from page ’.J90, last No.] 
Looking across fit at restless, blue distance 
which she had never seen before, Tacey for¬ 
got herself, until a voice recalled her to a 
recollection that she had rang the door hell. 
“ If ye plazo, Miss, was ye aftlier wantin’ 
anything ?” 
“ 1 have come to—I wish to see the lady of 
the house.” 
“ Maybe ye came to see about the place 
that was advertised? There’s been plenty 
to see the misthress, an’ Sure it’s moself that’s 
about tired of runuin’ to the door to wait 
on ’em. I think ye’re rather late to call, for 
I do believe, though I don’t know for certain, 
that it’s engaged.” 
“It won’t do any harm for me to step in 
and see the lady myself. 1 have come from 
quite a distance.” 
Mrs. Leeson was just passing through the 
hall, and overheard part of the conversation. 
“ Another gerl to see about the place, 
ma’am,” said BRIDGET. 
“ Some well-to-do farmer’s girl, good look¬ 
ing, not coarse or awkward, will know her 
place aud be grateful for a cbauce of living 
in the city. Just the one I want,” said Mrs. 
Leeson to herself. To Tacey she spoke 
differently. 
“ There have been quite a throng of appli¬ 
cants, hut I am very particular about having 
nice, respectable people in my house. You 
have come from the country, doubtless. 
Have you any friends in the city?” 
“ No, ma’am. I have never been in the 
city’ before." 
“ Then it will be very difficult for you to 
find a situation, with no one to recommend 
or assist you. I am sure I feel sorry for you. 
I will see how we can get along together. I 
Wish some one to take care of the children 
and assist me in the up stairs work. There 
will he the parlors to sweep and dust, my 
room to keep in order, and you can do the 
chamber work. You will also attend the 
door bell, and when there is leisure, help me 
with the family sewing." 
Tacey was delighted. The work would 
be pleasant, and of course where the people 
were so rich she would he well paid. She 
wished to ask what her wages would he, hut 
there was such a dignity in Mrs. Leeson’s 
manner, that she felt afraid to speak of a 
matter so gross, lest, it should seem vulgar. 
There would he none of the old troubles of 
home; none of the feeling that she was a 
sort of slave, with no will of her own, with 
no opportunity of developing her own indi¬ 
viduality. Here all the circumstances would 
he favorable, and she would cultivate herself 
into all the graces and beauty of character 
Which were combined in her comprehension 
of au excellent life. In short, her own view 
of the case was that she had been meant to 
he an angel, hut the wings had always been 
clipped. Under this new dispensation, they 
were to become gloriously beautiful. Her 
mother, who never understood her nature, 
Would have likened these angelic aspirations 
to the eagle-like soarings of a—goose. 
This would be a home after her own de¬ 
sire, only if it could be, she would rather he 
the mistress of such a. mansion. But she 
was to be as one of the family, and a com¬ 
panion to Mrs, Leeson. In the novelty of 
surroundings, with so much more of busy 
life about her than she had been accustomed 
to seeing, with all so very strange, Tacey 
found the new life as pleasant as she could 
wish. It was an intoxication of pleasure. 
But in time she discovered that each day 
brought additional duties for her to perform. 
The children grew troublesome. Though 
little angels in their mother’s immediate 
presence, with her alone they were obstinate, 
peevish, and generally rebellious. At first 
Mrs. Leeson was quite gracious iu her re¬ 
quests that Tacey would do this or that; 
then the gentleness was omitted as a super¬ 
fluity, aud it was “ Tacey, you will do this,” 
LETTERS FROM GIRLS 
Hon- to Preserve Leave* nod Flowers. 
Dear Mr. Editor: —As Fenelon wants 
to preserve specimens of leaves and flowers, 
I will tell her my way. When 1 pick, my 
flowers 1 am careful not to get those that are 
too far out, for the petals are apt to fall off 
if the flower is too old. You must have a 
heavy book to press them in. Now take 
your flower or leaf, uml lay it out as straight 
os possible (flowers may he pressed with the 
petals open or shut, just as you prefer;) then 
shut the book quickly, so as to keep them 
straight Until they are perfectly dry. Do 
not open the hook often, for it lets the air to 
them, and this often discolors them if they 
are not dry. After they are dried, a very 
nice way to save them is to take a blank 
book or sheets of blank paper, aud fasten 
them to it either by glue or by cutting loops 
in the paper, and slipping the Stems under 
the loops.— Nellie R., Catvkill, iV. F, 1870. 
Bevilia -Her Aqiiuriuui and Pi-t*. 
I rave had fine spoi l this summer catch¬ 
ing minnows from the brook with a dipper, 
and have made quite an aquarium by put¬ 
ting stones and shells in my terra cotta vase. 
You ought to see my dog. He Is a large 
Newfoundland, and Is white. How faith¬ 
fully lie watches me when I go into the 
fields, or when pupa and mamma are away! 
His name is “ Saneho Panza.” He has a 
line kennel made of brick attached to the 
barn. 1 shall not write about my pony this 
time, for fear that the editor will not wish 
to publish so long a letter from only one of 
the thousands of little girls wlto may trouble 
him. I am twelve years old, and have no 
brothers or sisters; but I try to make up 
this deficiency by having a great many pets, 
of which 1 have said enough already.— 
Bertha. 
LETTERS FROM RURAL BOYS 
