34 
IVJOOBE’S BUBAL HEW- YORKER 
JAN. 40 
>P 
‘Softly,’ said she; ‘you must remember that 
Elma is twelve years older than when you 
l;i8t raw her; and in twelve years a woman 
becomes neit her younger nor prettier,’ 
“And T,” cried IDnohard, have hud her all 
these twelve years In my heart ; she has not 
grown old there ! How she looked, that is to 
me like a dream ; but what she is, so mild, tip 
soft, so cheerful and so holy—that, is all dear 
before me, and 1 will always love and cherish 
her.’ 
“I will fay nothing of how Elma was wooed 
and won. I will toll you, though, that as she 
stood beside him at. the altar, so graceful and 
gentle, with her deep, tender eyes, she was 
pretty enough, and he must have thought so 
too, from the way his glance rested on her. 
They had a lmppy life together. Hhe took care, 
however, to give her dnughtors good, plain 
Christian names, so that no such mistake could 
occur to them as that which had very nearly 
wrecked her own happiness, for it is not all 
men by any means, who are so constant as 
Rinoh AMD. 
“Now," little olio," continued her grand¬ 
mother, n little while after she had ended her 
story, “doyou feel like dancing any more to¬ 
day ?” Martha silently shook her head and a 
tear stood in either clear, blue eye. 
The doctor stayed t ill prayers wore read, and 
then said “ Good night." 
CHAPTER IV. 
The following morning the red flag waved 
again from Anna’s window. Something very 
important she must have to communicate. 
Martha found It to he absolutely necessary to 
run over witli an embroidery pattern for Anna, 
and stayed long enough for a good, satisfying 
chat. An hour or so after her return, Anna 
came over, and the two became absorbed in 
long and earnest whispering. A fter dinner the 
afternoon walk was declared highly necessary* 
although the day was raw and cold, and the ice 
no longer safe. The old lady began to grow 
quite restless under tills incessant gosslpplng 
. nd mystery, though she well knew that Mar¬ 
tha could not keep anything to herself very 
long. 
A little after two o'clock came her old friend 
Miss J acobine, bringing her work with her— 
this pleasant little incident, occurring every 
four weeks with the regularity of clock-work. 
Martha was bidden to make an extra cup of 
coffee and lay the red-checked rug. And the 
two old friends soon became absorbed In confi¬ 
dential conversation, utterly oblivions of the 
secrets of (he rising generation. Miss JacO- 
mNE hurt. in the times long gone by, loved a 
departed brother of old Madame Verwaltkr- 
18'8. Tills memory of past Joy and sorrow 
bound them closely together now, t hough the 
romance of Mis*.! auobink’s life had been bu¬ 
ried long .igo out of sight, and only saw the 
light on anniversaries. 
Tho two old ladles discoursed usually on 
most practical topics. Though themselves most 
frugal livers, nothing delighted them morethan 
to recall the banquets spread by them in former 
times, in the hoy-day of their house-keeping. 
If Miss JAOOBixn dwelt with lingering delight 
on the dances with which she had regaled her 
brother, the bailiff, Mrs. Verwalterin could 
recall with equal pride her soups, in which the 
Verwat.tef. had delighted. Ever brighter and 
more vivid appeared the pictures painted by 
fancy, that great, artist, of the wondrous feasts 
spread by the two skillful housekeepers In 
their more youthful days. Alongside the but¬ 
ter, honey nod preserves that, decked the little 
table, appeared imaginary larks, pates, stuffed 
pig, iced cakes from the pastry-cook—a varied 
entertainment. 
And Martha, with glowing cheek and danc¬ 
ing eye, listened to the two worthy old dames 
as she so gracefully attended upon them, like 
a very fairy, who for onco has descended from 
her realm of rosy cloud-land and fragrance to 
wait upon poor children of earth. Ah, what 
indeed were the broths which bad regaled her 
respected grandfather, now among the blest, 
and the sauces with which. Miss .Tacodine had 
gladdened the heart and palate of her departed 
brother, aud tho puddings with which respect¬ 
able aldermen and prelates had been enter¬ 
tained, beside the gladness of her present and 
the golden hill of her future I 
Evening came, and the spinning wheels were 
humming as usual. Her grandmother glanced 
over at Martha with a covert smile upon her 
face, curious to know how and when the great 
secret would out. Martha made sundry’ false 
starla. The exact words with which to tell her 
secret seemed hard to find. At last it came: 
“What would you say, grandmamma, if I were 
to tell you that there is to be a ball next 
Tuesday 
“1? I should say that it would be very un¬ 
necessary; why there was one in the autumn. 
This is the work of that stranger, Pelze, or 
whatever his name may he.’’ 
“Felsen! grandmamma; is it not an interest¬ 
ing name? The North -German names are 
much prettier than ours." 
“Well, I don’t know about, that. The name 
is not of much moment. Awhile ago there was 
a stocking maker here whoso name was Fal- 
kBNhorst. 'That is a fine name, also.” 
“A glorious one, grandmamma! His sons 
should all have been soldiers.” 
“He had only a daughter, and she married 
Katzknwadel." 
“Oh, dear l" 
“ Yes, the name made no matter. She lived 
very happily with him. And as for this Pelze ” 
“Felhen, grandmamma." 
“I don’t like bis remaining here so long a 
time idle.” 
“But hla lawsuit, grandmamma! Don’t you 
know he expects »n inheritance, and has stud¬ 
ied law in order to understand all about the 
matter himself. When ho gets it he will attend 
to his own property." 
“I don't like it,” repeated her grandmother, 
shaking her head ; “T don't like Stat all. Were 
J a man T w ould be too proud to let my future 
depend upon a lawsuit. A man should be a 
man, even should lie not have a penny. Look 
at the doctor; he was reared In an orphan 
asylum, and has made his own way, with God’s 
help, and he in now respected by the rich and 
blessed by the poor. Now him I call a man." 
“But, grandmamma, people have different 
natures. The doctor was brought up in poverty, 
and it is not so hard for him to help himself; 
besides he must work to gain a livelihood. 
But everyone cannot he like Ur. Enohelmaiise, 
or men would never got wives.” 
“Indeed, do you think he will not be able to 
get a wife?” asked her grandmother, right an¬ 
grily ; “ ten to one, I tell you: but the silly girls 
of the present day arc not good enough for him." 
“Then he must needs have one brought, down 
from heaven for him," said Martha, angry In 
her turn, tt was quite natural that a young 
maiden,^proinl and impatient, as young maid¬ 
ens not seldom are, who believes herself a cer¬ 
tain victor over men's hearts, and deals out the 
mittens by the score In imagination—it was 
quite natural that she should be indignant at the 
suggestion that her charms would lie scorned. 
But still It was imperatively necessary to re¬ 
call her grandmother to the subject of t he ap¬ 
proaching ball, and she therefore added en¬ 
couragingly: “ You will sec, grandmamma, the 
doctor will one day find a nice, quiet wife, just 
the one to suit him. She will not be in lone 
with him, hut that he will not mind, for with 
her he will lie able to lend a quiet, peaceful Jilo,” 
Gon grant that you yourself may never long 
for a quiet, peaceful life, and not find it I" mur¬ 
mured the old lady to herself, sorrowfully 
shaking her head. 
But Anna now’ added her entreat! es, and the 
Indulgent grandmother could not withstand 
the united persuasions of the two friends. And 
now was held a grand review of old flowers and 
rihboni. Grandmamma would not hear of any 
great outlay of money, so Ursula reoeived or¬ 
ders to stlffln tho white dross again, for the 
simple customs of the little town admitted of 
a done-up white dress and twice or thrice worn 
roses as a ball costume. 
CHAPTER V. 
It seemed to Martha, in her impatience, 
that she could not possibly live till Tuesday— 
that something must happen to prevent her 
enjoyment of the anticipated pleasure. “ You 
will see,” she constantly said to Anna, “that 
something will happen before Tuesday.” 
She did contract a very bad sore throat, and 
though she concealed with great courage the 
pain which it gave her in swallowing, her voice 
betrayed her. 
“ Ho, dear doctor, cure me, Just for awhile," 
she implored her good friend. “I shall have 
plenty of time to he side afterwards.” 
The doctor cured her definitely, and not. tem¬ 
porarily. as she had asked; and a cough with 
which her grandmother was troubled, did not 
make St necessary for her to remain at home. 
“ It will be much better for you to go to bed 
quietly, will it not, dear grandmamma? and I 
will conic in so softly as not to wake a mouse,” 
“Yes, yes,” laughed her grandmother: “go 
along with you!” 
How triumphantly the young glance back at 
the aged on the shore, as they rook on the 
golden waves; and with wcat comfortable In¬ 
difference do the old look out from their safe 
harbor on the childish pleasures of the young. 
Tuesday morning came at length, and as in¬ 
evitably followed Tuesday evening. Ursula 
I md enough of running to and fro for that day, 
for Martha intended making her toilet at the 
Hofrutli’s, and Ursula felt a conscious pride 
as she bore the beautifully Ironed dress across 
the street on her outstretched arms. Martua 
and Anna slipped over In the dusk to show 
themselves to grandmamma in all their Qnery. 
Anna was dressed in sky-blue gauze, and wore 
a wreath of artificial flowers in her hair, blue 
with silver leaves; but her complexion was un¬ 
decided, and her tall, Ibln Uguro had no youth¬ 
ful roundness of which to boast; still she was 
always very well satisfied with herself, and 
thought her appear an oe very interesting, and 
always selected for her reading tho very tragic 
romances in which the heroines were tall. 
But Martha, herself like a fresh young rose, 
with a spray of roses in her light brown hair, 
her eyes dancing with delighted anticipation, 
was, despite the washed dress, a very picture 
of youthful beauty. Her grandmother gazed 
upon her with an undisguised gratification, 
which she did not. consider it dignified to ex¬ 
press; but Ursula, who, between her young 
mistress and Miss Anna’s wreath, was in a total 
state of bewilderment, rushed up to the doc¬ 
tor’s room and cried out, “ Oh, doctor, doctor, 
come down! Our young ladies are so beautiful 
one might take them for two angels!" 
Quietly smiling, the doctor changed his com¬ 
fortable dressing-gown lor hi« coat, and came 
down. He stood In the doorway, and as he 
looked at the two young figures there was a 
touch of sadness in his glance. Martha, blush¬ 
ing at being thus the center of so many eyes, 
yet smiled at the doctor with a shy conscious¬ 
ness of her < wn beauty. “ Will you not look in 
at the ball fm* awhile?” she asked. 
“Oh, do, doctor!” cried her more confident 
companion, “and I will invite myself to take a 
turn with you.” 
“Thank you, you are very kind,” said the 
doctor; “ but I never have danced in my life." 
“Doyou think dancing improper ?" Martha 
asked. 
" Ob, no,” cried Anna ; “ the doctor could 
not do that." 
“You are right, Miss Anna,” said the doctor, 
and than added, turning to Martha “ My 
early life was one of the sternest reality; [ al¬ 
ways had my goal In view, and no time for play 
by the way.” 
But Martha evinced no further desire, fora 
discussion on the morality of dancing, nor did 
the doctor seem disposed to continue the sub¬ 
ject. 
“Came on, get your gloves," said Anna ; “ it 
Is time to go.” 
Truly, her gloves!—how could she have for¬ 
gotten them 1 She hastened to get the pair 
worn at the lust ball; but alas! one of her, 
partners had danced in black buckskin gloves 
t at evening, and had left, some hopelessly 
black stains on Martha’s pink kids, and shef 
had never thought of It. since 1 [ 
[ ‘ Send to the milliner’s quickly," said Anna, 
! “she is the only one who has light kids at a 
l florin a pair." 
“ What I” cried the old lady In astonishment; 
“a florin for a pair of gloves? Where are the 
new thread gloves 1 gave you Christ mas ? They 
arc quite nice enough !" 
“ But thread gloves at a bail, my dear Mrs. 
Vkhwaltkkin!" expostulated Anna; “that 
would hr quite unheard of.” 
“ Unlaaiitonahlo!—did they not cost a half 
florin? When I was young 1 had one pair of 
chocolate colored silk gloves, and I wore them 
until 1 married, and never dreamed of having 
light colored kids at u florin 1” 
Anna would not give up, and neither would 
the old lady. While they discussed the point 
hotly, Martha, struggling with her tears, tried 
in vain to clean away tho black spots. Mrs. 
Vakwaltkhin earnestly maintaining that 
thread gloves were extremely useful, turned to 
the doctor for support. In her opinion; but he 
had disappeared. 
There was no help for it; Martha must 
wear the thread gloves. The sympathizing 
URDU LA had stood all the while with her pair 
of white woolen confirmation gloves hidden 
under her apron, unable to summon courage 
sufficient to offer them to Martha. Just as 
they got outside the door they were startled 
by seeing a dark figure running breathlessly 
towards them. The mysterious figure slipped 
a package in Martha’s hand, and disappeared 
in the darkness of the hall. Was it a genii in 
an overcoat, or could it. indeed have been the 
doctor—the grave, solemn, economical doctor, 
who wore twice-turned coats—who slipped a 
pair of white kid gk>ves in Martha’s hand, so 
soft and fine that a princess might, have worn 
them? Martha could not credit her own 
senses, and never after had she the courage to 
thank tho doctor, but rather looked upon thorn 
as a fairy gift. 
Not a wish of her heart now remained un- 
gratifled, - as beaming with happiness, with her 
graceful little head decorously bowed, but with 
heart quickly beating, she entered the ball¬ 
room under the wing of the Hofrathin. Mean¬ 
while the grandmother walked restlessly to 
and fro in her room. It pained her not. to have 
gratified the child’s wish, and she vented her 
vexation in little tirades against the silly pleas¬ 
ures of young people. The doctor, after finish¬ 
ing some writing which he had to do, wrapped 
himself in his overcoat and went out to see a 
patient. He passed quietly along on the oppo¬ 
site side of the street, whenco came the gay 
music, which followed his steps even to the poor 
hut whither bo was going.—[To be continued. 
-» ♦» 
SPARKS AND SPLINTERS. 
How to prevent llts—buy ready-made boots. 
The paper that’s full of rows—the paper *f 
pins. 
A goat is a good milker, but succeeds better 
as a butter. 
When is a gun-barrel a chicken ? When it 
is a little fowl. 
Paper containing many fine points— the 
paper of needles. 
The paper baling the largest circulation—the 
paper of tobacco. 
"When a young lady gives herseif away, does 
she lose her self-possession ? 
Unrequited love is said to be the toothache 
of the soul, but a little gold Ailing usually 
stops it. 
“A thing of beauty ia a jaw forever,” as 
an American husband said of bis handsome, 
scolding wife. 
Somebody says: “ Man was the main thing 
at the creation. Woman was only a side issue. 
But she has grown a heap since then.” 
All the Smiths, says a paper, who went to 
Europe last summer will come home Stnythes; 
Thompsons will omit the “ p," and Bakers will 
style themselves Becairs. 
Small coal-dealer: “Another penny, my 
dear. They’ve riz. Ah, coals is coals nowa¬ 
days.” Little girl: “I’m glad of that, sir. 
Mother 6ald the last lot were slates.”— Judy. 
“IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN 
TO RECEIVE.” 
BY KATE CAMERON. 
[Looking over a package of old manuscript, we 
found the following from the pen of our former 
gifted contributor, Mrs, K. B. W. Barnes, who now 
has gone to her rest.. For her friend*, and those who 
are familiar with her writings, it will possess especial 
interest.—Kns. Rural New-Yorker. J 
He knows not the Joy of living. 
Who feel* not the bliss.of giving: 
This it is that shed* such beauty 
O’er the barren path of duty. 
Sets Ihu wild flowers there all springing. 
And the merry song-birds singing. 
But It Is not golden treasure 
That alone can yield us pleasure; 
He who hut for wealth Is eager, 
Finds enjoyment scant and meager; 
Bettor far, a portion slender. 
With ahenrt that’s warm and tender. 
Kindly smiles and words of blessing, 
Cordial greeting,—fond caressing, 
These the heavy load will lighten, 
These the poorest home will brighten; 
Till tho flowers of peace immortal 
Blossom ronnd the humblest portal. 
Give then,—If but poor and lowly, 
With an impulse pure and holy i 
Smiles for Joy,—and tears for sorrow,— 
Bid the doubting, courage borrow; 
To the downcast and the weary 
Strive to make their life less dreary. 
Giving thus, and thus receiving. 
Fills the soul with gtad believing : 
Keeps in mind the Gracious Giver, 
Tho’the cold world makes us shiver; 
’Mid earth’s snows a beauty vernal 
Whispers of our home eternal, 
•-♦♦♦-.- 
LOVE IS LAW. 
Whenever we come to know, understand 
and realize the fact that Love i* Law we come 
to that condition in which we are ready to 
iearn the Laws of our Being. God is Love, 
Love is Law. Then Law is God. Now, we 
all understand t he lower laws of our physical 
being; how. if we break a law, either acci¬ 
dentally, or through ignorance, that it will 
cause a sore nr disease, or in .some way we will 
teel the effect. But. now, if we carefully ob¬ 
serve the laws it will soon heal up, or tho dis¬ 
ease will bo worked off, and all will appear 
sound; but then the scar remains, which al¬ 
ways reminds us of the law we break. 
It is just the same with the Higher Laws 
governing the mind or the immortal part of 
man. Ail minds have conception* of right in 
a greater or less degree, and all feel that they 
should do right in all places and under all cir¬ 
cumstances. Now, when any one doea wrong 
maliciously, with Latent to do wrong, and con¬ 
tinues to do so, it is like purposely cutting off 
the linger and then working at it continually, 
cutting or bruising, not only preventing its 
healing but causing it to grow worse and 
worse. "When any one does wrong accidentally 
he w’ill at once repair the wrong as much as is 
III bis power to do, constantly keeping iris 
mind in earnest prayer to the Father to re¬ 
move the effect from hla mind and help him to 
be more careful in the future. If through 
ignorance, he will feel the effect upon his 
mind, and yet not know the cause, because he 
hois not learned the law; yet now if he will go 
to the Father with his whole might, mind and 
strength he will be taught the law and made to 
see his sin. Then Love is Law. 
Palmyra, Nob., Dec. 31, ’73. E. M. Brown. 
-- 
THE LAW OF BENEVOLENCE. 
The divine benevolence, as we see It illus. 
trated in the supply of our physical and spirit¬ 
ual wants, means that God gives us the means 
by which w© supply ourselves. He has created 
us with the power or doing it, and he gives us 
the meani of doing it. So far does the Al¬ 
mighty Father go with us, his children. lie 
helps ua in every way; he does for u* directly 
comparatively little. If this, then, is the law 
of divine benevolence, it certainly should be 
ours. The law of benevolent human action 
should, then, be simply—perhaps we may say, 
quite exclusively—to give those who are in aiiy 
way needy, help—f. c„ the means of helping 
themselves. In so Lir as we actually do for 
them that which they can do for themselves, 
we are not living in obedience to the law of t he 
divine action with regard to the relieving of 
human suffering.— I/lberal Christian. 
■ »-- 
POWER OF CONSCIENCE. 
A follower of Pythagoras once bought a 
pair of shoes from a cobbler, for which he 
promised to pay him on a future day. On that, 
day he took tho money; but finding the cob¬ 
bler had died in the interim, returned, secretly 
rejoicing that ha could retain the money and 
get a pair of shoes for nothing. “His con¬ 
science, however,” says Seneca, “ would allow 
him no rest, till, taking up the money, ho went 
back to the cobbler’s shop, and easting in the 
money, said, "Go thy way, for though he ia 
dead to all the world besides, yet he is-alive to 
me.” 
