quite a number of dead leaves to pick off her 
grandmother's geranium just then. 
“ Well, who came homo with you?" 
“Me? Nobody. That is, FeuMsn was going 
home when I did, and came over with me; it 
was so slippery," he said. 
“ And so you did not slip?” said the old lady, 
dryly. 
** No; we slid," said Martha, laughing; “ we 
came so quickly." 
“Now, good night; light your candle.” 
“Good night, grandmamma. You won’t be 
angry with me for coming late, will you ? You 
know it would not have been proper for me to 
have broken up the party." 
“Highly improper," replied her grandmoth¬ 
er. in the same dry tono, -which puzzled MAR¬ 
THA a little. 
“And you? The good doctor has been with 
you, and you have not been lonely," said Mar¬ 
tha, soothingly. 
“ Not. long; he was with a sick child," 
“Ah, that is pleasant,” said Martha, ab¬ 
sently. 
“ Good night, grandmamma 1" and she kissed 
and squeezed the old lady so hard that she was 
forced to free herself, and shaking her head 
muttered to herself: 
“ Otic for mo and two for some one else.” 
II was a wonderful little room, that of Mar¬ 
tha’s; she, at. least, t hought it so. It is true 
thero were no paper hangings, but the white 
walls contrasted well with the dark brown of 
the handsomely-carved door. There wits a 
largo old-fashioned porcelain stove, which was 
never heated, as it wust-ed too much wood, so i 
Martha could use it for an etaocrc ail the bet¬ 
ter, and its broad top was covered with all 
sorls of rarit ies which she had been collecting 
from Iter childhood the slender flower vase of 
transparent glass, with lta wreath of forget- 
me-nots, under which, by way of making It 
more. Impressive, stood the inscription, “ For¬ 
get me not!" a box of carved ivory with needle 
case, pincushion, thimble case, all In one, and 
quite as useless for one thing as the other; a 
dainty reading stand, with pictures posted on 
it ; and many more little pretty things which | 
did not look much worse on the background of I 
the stove than on a toilet t able. 
A toilet table she hud. covered with an old 
worked muslin skirt, of her grandmother’s, 
which the audacious little one had lined with 
the rose-colored silk mantle, under which her 
papa and her Uncle Phihp, now with the blest, 
had been carried to the baptismal font. This 
was done, she assured her grandmother, when 
scolded for her sacrilege, for the most rever¬ 
ential motives, for she wished to have the 
valued relic ever hofore her. 
Martha could not cultivate many flowers 
here, as t he plants would get frozen in wintor; 
so her grandmother had a flower pot with I 
china-asters and au orange tree, both of colored 
worsted, w hich had been presented to her by a | 
poor traveling player In grateful return for a 
little money to help him on his journeying*. 
The boudoir was further adorned with a queer 
little old table with doer-claw feet, on which 
Martha kept her writing apparatus, a porce¬ 
lain inkstand, some pretty tinted paper, and 
sundry little baskets for everything under the 
sun. The drawer of t he little tublc closed with 
a spring and guarded Martha’s journal, a 
deep, impenetrable secret to all. 
The white walls were decorated with family 
portraits; that of Martha's deceased parents 
represented thorn seated in an arbor, and Mar¬ 
tha, as a child, standing in placid innocence 
by, holding a rose stiffly in her little hand. She 
had also hunted up sorno other long-forgotten 
family pictures from out the humbler rooms 
and given them places of honor on the walls; 
but her great grand-parents looked down with 
repelling stolidity on their blooming little de¬ 
scendant. 
There were also some pathetic pictures which 
the good grandmother had bestowed upon her 
when she had yielded to the child’s wish to 
have a room of her own ; altars with urns, 
shaded by weeping willows, and bending remain 
figures with flowing hair ; also a wonderful 
representation of Burger's “Lenore," which 
made one’s hair stand on end. 
For a toilet glass, Martha had a precious bit 
of antiquity which she had found among her 
grandmother’s tilings—a glass surmounted by ‘ 
a painted death's-head and a leafless rose ; but 
when one is young and healthy one is not much 
troubled by thoughts of death. And Martha’s 
rosy face looked none the less blooming beside 
the death’s-head. She and her bosom friend 
had made the curtains, which v?ere only grow¬ 
ing Ivy tastefully trained, but it gave to the old 
relics a youthful freshness. It seemed ns if 
tender, maidenly thoughts and childlike pray¬ 
ers pervaded the old room with a homely, 
soothing influence. 
To-night, all the wondrous enohantment of 
its seclusion rushud over Martha as she closed 
her door and set her candle down on the table. 
He had come with her for the first, time! Had 
she displeased him by not accepting his arm ? 
That could not bo, for he had said in such a 
deep, tender voice “ Good night and sweet 
dreams!" 
Who was it who had said “good night" so 
tenderly? Ah, he need not have wished for 
the sweet dreams; they came, of themselves, 
Martha rejoiced nightly over her dreams. 
They were so many and so varied that < ft on 
she had to think a long while in the morning 
to tell which was dream and which reality. To¬ 
night,though, It w as impossible that her dreams 
could be aa delicious as were her waking mo¬ 
ments. 
The grandmother across the hall In her high 
old-fashioned bedstead with its striped cur¬ 
tains, lay awake still longer. She slejit no 
longer the calm, sound sleep of youth; still 
w r ere the nights not long to her. She thought 
to-night sadly of the happy young face, the 
beaming eyes w hich had just left her. 
“ They will bum dimly enough some time, t he 
bright lights!" sighed she, softly. Jlut comfort 
came to her os the recollections of the past, 
with its joys arid sorrows, crept over her soul, 
and she ended her meditations with a silent 
prayer. 
THE DESERTED TEMPLE 
ny ctt art.ottf. coroner, 
Tur. temple t* empty, the floors are spread wide, 
The altar is dark, and a sad. sobbing sound. 
Like the moaning of wind, is heard at Its side— 
T.lke those which breathe requiems over many a 
mound. 
Creeping near, had ConfesstonAnost tenderly twined 
Hound the old-fashioned wall and wide-open gate. 
A mantle of green, which clung close like a vine. 
And hRI the decay of its fast-changing state. 
TUI, one morning, they found that the spirit had 
flown 
Which had kindled the lights on the altar that 
glowed;— 
That the book had been clasped, and the viol’s deep 
tone, 
Which in sweet, simple measures so often had 
flowed. 
Was mute; for a string, in the still hours of night. 
Had snapped to unite in some symphony grand 
Which was heard by the Priest,, when catching a 
sight 
Of a temple more fair, in the bright morning land. 
• CHAPTER II. 
| What a wonderfully eventful life Martha 
led this winter! The following day was only 
an ordinary week day, and yet she had so much 
enjoyment! 
Early in the morning she made the coffee, 
and her anxious grandmother could not help 
smiling as she heard horsing: 
‘ My heart is warmed in the cold, cold night. 
With thoughts of my true-love, pure and bright.” 
Certainly It was cold, and the lamp was still 
burning, and, for the rest, one must pardon 
these little discrepancies. It would have been 
quite possible for Martha to have sung a spring 
Bong this morning, though It w*as the middle 
of January. Now she began to sing: 
“ No fire, no coal go warmly clows. 
As th* secret love, of which no one knows—” 
and stopped, quite mortified us Ursula, who 
was polishing shoe* in the kitchen, remarked 
dryly, “ That Is t he very song that the young 
bachelors slug." 
The coffee making had been happily accom- 
xdished amidst all this singing; and now, as 
Martha Hat at the old carved table with her 
grandmother, ehe askedGrandmamma, do 
you too have days upon which it- seems as if 
something' quite unusual must happen?” , 
Her grandmother looked smilingly into the 
bright, blue, childlike eyes as she replied : 
“ Not exactly; I am always rather glad when 
nothing especial happens. It is more comfort¬ 
able, I think, when everything remains as 
usual.” 
“ Yea ; but 1 do not mean anything sad, but 
something nice and pleasant." 
“ Naturally,” said her grandmother, smiling, 
“ 1 think it Is so with you every day; but, let 
mo tell you, * something very particular’ Is most | 
apt to occur when one think* least about it." 
Before Martha seated herself at her work 
she must take just one peep over at the Hof- 
roth’s bouse. It was all as it should be; n red 
doth fluttered from ANNA’S window, the signal 
(hat there would bo fkutlng to-day. Delightful 
anticipation! Now the work must be quickly 
finished. 
The forenoon was certainly a little long; but | 
the time went faster while cooking than while 
sewing; and when she looked at the broad, 
good-natured face of the Black Forest dock 
she sometimes found it was later than she had 
hoped. 
r Plirt ilArlnp iktnnnnH tin hla tcav aii! 1a Attl/ fnr 
Whose spire cleaved the clonds. like a star In the 
air 5 
And the roses of Love clambered over the walls; 
And the chimes rang a welcome from burden and 
care 
In low, silvery sounds, like a mother’s sweet call. 
No fortune he left: but a field nicely sown, 
Which Vogels shall garner when harvest draws 
near 
And the hearts of the village have golden grain 
grown, 
Then—the Driest to his children again will appear. 
“But wo are. going too far!" cried Martha, 
anxiously, “You can hear the roaring of the 
rapids already." 
“Areyou afraid of death ?" 
“Oh, no!" -laid Martha, innocently; but 
to-day life seems so sweet.” 
A triumphant smilo passed over the hand¬ 
some features of the young man as he quickly 
turned the sh d and they sped back toward the 
starting- place. 
At Die general rendezvous there was plenty 
of crowding and merry jesting. The plumed 
hats of the Hof rath’s daughters were every¬ 
where conspicuous. Young ladles who were not 
sleighing amused themselves by sliding on the 
ice, and were unusually merry among them¬ 
selves in order to conceal their vexation ; fur¬ 
ther uut,the youngmen were gracefully gliding 
hither and thither, or trying to cut initials on 
the ice- Martha had never seen anything so 
blight and pretty, except in her picture-book, 
under the title of “ W inter." 
It was FttjgEN, the foreign meteor, who had 
introduced this knightly pleasure, who had 
ordered the sleighs m hi- own expense, and In¬ 
vited the youth of the town to partake of this 
new diversion, by which, by the way, they were 
aa much astonished as entertained. Who was 
this brilliant personage? A young, man from 
a distance—that Is, from a German State at 
least twenty or thirty miles away. Ho was en¬ 
gaged in a lawsuit of long standing, and was 
stopping at PappeJburg K> obtain missing 
proofs of Ida ancestry. He seemed to have 
nothing else to do but to amuse himself, and 
had prolrfnged his stay in the hospitable little 
town. The Hofraihiu, who for years had led 
the festivities of the place- was delighted to 
discover in this handsome, distinguished-look¬ 
ing young man the son of an old school-friend. 
The Hofrathin, the Sun ef Fappelhurg. lived 
with tier three daughters in a house of her 
own. Only o few iniimai.es knew that there 
was a Hofrath who walked in the garden and 
piaved dominoes after dinuer. At what court 
he bad once been councillor was not to be dis¬ 
covered. He was educated fornn apothecary, 
aud the house in which lie now reigned had 
belonged to his father, who had been a mer¬ 
chant.. He had been luckv once in a lottery, 
had obtained by some unknown means, of a 
court also unknown, the title of Hofrath, and 
now his wife managed matters, and he was 
content to live under her wing In obscure 
id 1 unes*. 
The Hofrathin was unwearied in her efforts 
to provide amusement for the young people. 
Martha waf the most Intimate friend of her 
youngest, daughter. Anna, and pitying the 
poor child who, she thought, led hut a dull life 
with i ho old Judy, she encouraged her to share 
the amusements of lo r daughters as much as 
possible—a great proof of good nature on her 
part, for M artha, though less accomplished 
.mil fashionable, was much prettier than her 
own daughters. In fact Martha was quite 
the pet of (.lift household* in so much that the 
Hofrath himself had once spoken to her, and 
even Charlotte, the oldest daughter, who had 
very much the look of a stuff dress faded and 
turned, would tenderly stroke t he fresh, round 
cheek of the voting girl. 
Just when the guy party on the ice was at its 
merriest, the doctor passed along the river 
bank with a hurried pre-oeoupied air. 
“ Whit her so fast, doctor ?’’ cried out the vol¬ 
uble Hofrathin. 
“Patterns," wag the short answer. He cast one 
glance on the gay scuno and pursued ids way. 
Martha had only given him a hasty greeting 
as he pass'll; and why such a burst of laughter 
should follow him die could not imagine till 
anna cried, "Mercy, Martha, just look at 
your Amelia !’’ 
And sure enough, there was the head of the 
poor imprisoned doll poking from out the doc¬ 
tor’s pocket, nodding her pretty, simple face In 
Its pink hat to the spectators at every step. 
" What, suspicious love token is that. Miss 
Martha?' asked FtaLsr.N, condescendingly 
amused; but Martha had already rushed off 
after the doctor, who turned in astonishment 
as he felt a hand in his pocket. 
"The doll, the doll! doctor,” she cried 
breathlessly, 
" Oh, to l>e sure!’’ said he, smiling and some¬ 
what, confused. " T did not know- why 1 caused 
so much amusement to your friends," and 
pushed the Inquisitive creature deep down in 
fits pocket. “ The joy will make the child al¬ 
most well. Much pleasure, Martha, Do not 
catch cold; you are quite heated.” 
Martha, un her return, had to endure a good 
deal of teasing from t.ic gentlemen, who in¬ 
sisted on knowing the history of the chosen 
lair one; but she could not consent to make 
her grandmother’s good friend the subject of 
their jests.—[To be continued. 
KNOWLEDGE - WISDOM - UNDERSTAND 
ING. 
[Whosoever readeth the following carefully 
and understanding!)* will receive appropriate 
instruction, especially for the beginning of a 
New Year. Perhaps some, or many, of our 
readers can tell where these wise sayings are 
obtained:] 
Surely there is a vein for the silver, and a 
place for gold where t hey fine it. iron is taken 
out of the earth, and brass is molten nut, of the 
stone. He setteth an end to darkness, and 
seareheth out all perfection: the stones of 
darkness, and the shadow of death. The flood 
breaketh out from the inhabitant; even the 
watery forgotten of the foot: they are dried 
up, they are gone away from men. 
As for the earth, out of It cometh bread : and 
under it is turned up as it were tire. The stones 
of it arc the place of sapphires: and it hath 
dust of gold. There is a path which no fowl 
knoweth, and which the vulture’s eye hath jot 
seen: the lion's whelps have not trodden it, 
nor the fierce bon possed by It. He putteth 
forth his hand upon the rock; he overturneth 
the mountains by the roots. He cutteth out 
rivers among the rocks; and his eye seeth every 
precious thing. ITo bindeth the floods from 
overflowing; and the thing that 1* hid brlngeth 
he forth to light. 
But. where shall wisdom be found ? and whero 
i'A the place of understanding? Man knoweth 
not the price thereof; neither is it found In the 
land of the living- The depth saitb, It is not in 
me; and the sea saitb. It, is not with me. It 
cannot, be gotten for gold, neither shall sliver 
be weighed for the price thereof. Tt cannot be 
valued with the gold of Ophir, with the pre¬ 
cious onyx, or t he sanphlrc. The gold and the 
crystal cannot equal It: and the exchange of 
it shaU not be for jewels of tine gold. No men¬ 
tion shall be made of coral, or of pearls: for 
the price of wisdom is above rubies. The topaz 
ol’ Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it 
be valued with pure gold. 
Whence then cometh wisdom ? and where is 
the place of understanding? Seeing it is hid 
from the eyes of all living, and kept close from 
the fowls of the air. Destruction and death 
say, AVe have heard the fame thereof with our 
ears. God undutvtandeth the way thereof; and 
be knoweth the place thereof. For lie looketh 
to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the 
whole heaven; to make the weight for the 
winds; and he welghetb the waters by measure. 
When ho made a decree for the rain, and a way 
for the 1 lightning of the thunder; then did be 
see it, and declare it; lie prepared it, yea, and 
searched it out. And unto man he said, Behold 
the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to 
depart from evil is understanding. 
The doctor stopped on his way out to ask for 
some raspberry syrup for the sick child. Al¬ 
ways ready to oblige, and glad, too, of any in¬ 
terruption which made the time pass, Martha 
sprang to fetch ft. The doctor looked inquir¬ 
ingly Into her -bright face as he thanked her 
and took his leave. 
Mrs. Verw alter expressed her sympathy for 
poor Mrs. Tuokwautik, who was in danger of 
losing her only child. “Ah. yea 1" sighed 
Martha; but it whs a somewhat hypocritical 
sigh ; it was too much to expect that her light, 
young heart, should Arid room for poor Mrs. 
Tuorwartin’s grief. 
At length the clock struck twelve, it really 
seemed unreasonable to Martha to expect her 
to eat any dinner, for she was not in tho iem»i 
huncrj. Before she had finished clearing away 
the uishes she hom'd herself softly called from 
the stairway. 
The doctor stood below and beckoned to hor. 
What could bo wont so secretly ? 
“Dear Martha," said he, breathlessly, “ you 
have given me wine instead of raspberry juice; 
the child might have been killed if I had not 
discovered the mistake. Change It. quickly 
as possible. Your grandmother would oe very 
angry if sho knew of this.” 
“ Indeed she would," whispered Martha, 
who well knew that her grandmother would 
permit no trifling In such matters; “she would 
bo so angry that I should never have Dim courage 
to ask her to let me go to walk this evening, 
and I want to go so much 1" And she hastened 
to rectify her mistake. 
But her grandmot her had heard that some¬ 
thing was going on. She came out and discov¬ 
ered the doctor standing at. the foot of the 
stairs, while Martha slipped the bottle alUy 
into her pocket: 
“What, arc you doing down there, Doctor?’, 
called out the old lady. 
“Ah, excuse me, madam,” stammered the 
usually grave and composed man, now as 
blushing and confused as a schoolboy. “ 1 bad 
a favor to ask of Miss Martha ; the poor little 
Blok child has nothing to play with, and I came 
to bog an *.Id doll of Miss M artHa." 
For a flivt lie this was not so l>ad; he was 
startled himself at the dangerous talent which 
he revealed tu-day for the first time. 
Martha, in her thankfulness of heart, and 
with a little childish enjoyment of the query, 
brought in all haste from her store of treasures 
her beautiful Amelia, for whem. not. six months 
before, she bad tnadea bat with her own hands, 
and whom she still prized most highly, and 
slipped her, together with the unnoticed hot- 
tie. in the doctor’s pocket. 
" There need have been no such baste about 
that," grumbled the old lady over her cold 
soup. If the child is so very sick she cannot 
need a doli. In rny time there were plent y of 
good doctors, hut I never heard that they were 
expected to bring toys with them when they 
came to see sick children.” 
The table cleared, Martha began cautiously : 
“Will you lake a walk to-day, grandmamma?" 
“I would like to get a little fresh air,” she 
replied; “ but it must- be slippery.” 
“Yes, it is quite slippery,” Martha jo- 
marked, as she looked from the window. “ Tne 
milkwoman fell down this morning.” 
“Indeed, then we will stay comfortably at 
home.” 
MAN’S LIFE 
Some modern philosopher has given in theso 
eleven lines tho summary of life: 
7 years in childhood’s sport and play. 7 
7 years in school from day to day.14 
7 years at trade or collcg'e life.21 
7 years to Anil a place and wife.28 
7 years to pleasure’s follies given. 35 
7 years to lununesa hardly driven.42 
7 years for some wild-goose ebnse. .49 
7 years for wealth and bootless race.56 
7 years for hoard!hg for your heir.63 
7 years in weakness spent and care.70 
Then die, and go you should know where. 
The bread of life is love; the salt of life is 
work; the sweetness of life, poesy; the water 
of life, faith.—Jameson. 
