MOORE’S RURAL HEW-YORKER 
passionate love and self-abnegation, when Ftt- 
sen, the tempter, would njsli forth with rage 
and disappointment depicted on his counten¬ 
ance, and where Martha would learn that “ her 
life was only a dark shadow in the beautiful 
dream-land," and ever after present a picture of 
beautiful resignation till the time should eomo 
when, with life's close, should end its suffering. 
Maktma, however, did nothing that she was 
expected to do, positively refused to under¬ 
stand her sympathetic sighs, and would calmly 
continue to darn her husband’s socks as she 
sang to her, 
“ Alles 1st vergangott, 
A lies tun inicli her, 
Ilube koln verlangcn 
Hlorauf erden inehr!” 
• 
Anna meant no unklndness to her friend. 
She wrote and spoke the finest sentiments on 
virtuoand religion, and would not for the world 
have bad Maktma unmindful of her duty. She 
only wished to know whether Martha had 
really grown as entirely oblivious to every 
deeper feeling, as she appeared, or if it would 
be possible now to arouse one spark of the old 
love. This could surely do t he doctor, stolid 
and unfeeling as he was, no harm. 
Illinded by his own impatience, Felsen had, 
with a lack of shrewdness quite unusual with 
him, made a confidante of Anna, and she had 
some time before imparted to Martha »lie in¬ 
formation that she would certainly have been 
Fklnen's choice if fortune had boon kinder to 
him, and had not a nobler feeling made him 
hesitate to link her fo his unfortunate destiny. 
Martha had blushed as she listened to this 
revelation, but her only reply was a certain 
quiet smile which had frequently puzzled 
Anna of late. 
Fees UN's hand was now quite well. The doc¬ 
tor laughingly said that he st.tll carried it in a 
sling because ho thought It appeared interest¬ 
ing. Tlie prince, too,began to write impatient¬ 
ly. lie must not delay hi? departure any longer. 
But once, just once, he inn t speak alone with 
Martha, quite calmly and sensibly, than he 
would leave her. Anna promised to help him 
to obtain an interview. 
“ Felsen will leave in a few days now," Anna 
O bserved, as tho friends sat one morning at 
thoir work. 
"My husband,” repliod Martha, “said last 
week be might venture to travel, and I should 
think, too, that the pleasantest time for visit¬ 
ing Italy must lie very nearly past.” 
“ Martha !” said Anna, looking earnestly in 
her friend’s face, 
“Anna?" asked Makttia, laughingly. 
“ Is it indeed a matter of utter indifference 
to you when he goes?" 
“ You speak as if we were still seventeen, 
Anna," Martha said, coloring and somewhat 
earnestly: I suppose wo shall all of us miss him 
sometimes, it. is so quiet here.” 
“ I well know that you no longer have any re¬ 
liance upon me,” said Anna, much hurt. “I 
do not wish to force your confidence, but I 
must tell you this: Felsen wishes to see you 
alone to say good-by. I think you might at 
least do this." 
Martha was silent. Another car beside hers 
had heard Anna’s request, and an anxious heart 
waited breathlessly for Martha'S reply. 
“ You know," Marth a at length quietly ob¬ 
served, “that every fine morning I am in the 
shrubbery in tho garden." 
The servant railed her jus! t hen, and nothing 
more was said; but Anna., lately so full of vir¬ 
tuous intentions, so religiously disposed, now 
smiled complacently to herself. If Martha 
had confessed her weakness to her, and had 
asked her assistance, she would herself have 
implored I'm ,sen to depart, and not to endan¬ 
ger her friend's peace, but it was Martha’s 
own fault; why should alio bo bo false and so 
secret ? 
Quite unnoticed by the two frionds, who be¬ 
lieved him to bo away visiting his patients, the 
doctor bad heard this conversation from an 
adjoining room. Ho had returned to ask some¬ 
thing of his wife. ITo did not. ask it now, but 
went off qulentJy and unobserved, with a heav¬ 
ier heart than when he had come ! 
CHAPTER XX. 
The brightest and sunniest of March morn¬ 
ings lay upon field and valley, and overhead' 
was a clear, bine sky, With no trace of a cloud. 
Martha's little garden laughed in the spring 
gladness- a very paradise. Its pretty little 
summer-house, which the doctor lind built, 
was shaded by an acacia tree, as old as their 
homo happiness itself. Back of the yard were 
tho outbuildings and the stable, and Ihc house 
of the old fox, which latter was quite an im¬ 
portant member of the family, and had been 
brought with him by the doctor when he first 
settled in the village: back of all t Mb lay Mar¬ 
tha’s garden, M vrth a was by no means a 
first-class gardener. The little kitchen garden 
behind the house was not to be mentioned in 
the same breath with i hose of the Stadtschull- 
lieiszin and the apothecary's wife; but in tho 
arrangement of the flower garden the doctor 
had consulted her taste alone. It was a grass 
plat shaded by luxuriant fruit trees, the turf 
divided by narrow walks and hero and there a 
group of flowers, and the terrace bordered by a 
rose thicket. Nearihe stable was allttle shrub¬ 
bery which already quito hid the building with 
its thick foliage. Here stood rustic seats and 
tables, and (his was Martha’s favorite spot, 
the only retreat which aho had from the chil¬ 
dren. In summer the tea table would bespread 
here sometimes—always on holidays. The place 
was entirely apart from the noise and bustle of 
every-day life : birds built their nests in every 
bush and tree; noth ing was to be seen around 
but green trees and the little church peeping 
from among them in tho distance. 
At the window of an out-house which look¬ 
ed Into the garden leaned the doctor with 
a heavy heart, ail eavesdropper this morning 
for the first time In his life. There is somet hing 
almost fearful in the first, doubt of an unsuspi¬ 
cious nature, especially when this doubt In¬ 
volves the happiness of a lifc-tlmc. The pres¬ 
ence of this stranger in their midst had never 
pleased the doctor. ITi* whole nature revolted 
from the contact.. A man who loves his wife 
truly cannot watch with Indifference her inter¬ 
course with another who has once been dearer 
to her than himself. Never, though, had the 
faintest doubt, of Ids wife's truth entered the 
doctor's mind. Since that one long, earnest 
look the first night of Fei.SEN’s arrival, no look 
or word had passed between husband arid wife 
on the subject. Conjugal love Is a chaste and 
holy flower, which a breath may wither. When 
the husband can joke, be It ever so lightly, 
about his wife’s love and truth, the sanctity 
and poetry, to say tho least of It, of his married 
life i« gone. 
Xo shadow of a doubt—and now she had of 
lur own free will appointed a meet Ing with a 
man whose guilty love for herself she was well 
aware of. That it was to be Ihc last meeting— 
only to say farewell—could make no difference. 
There is no half-way course In wedded love. 
He knew full well that, she would do no wrong 
In the world's eye; he knew as well that for 
him all happiness was gone. He blushed to 
think of himself as an eavesdropper, and yet 
he must listen ; he must hear for himself,both 
for his wife's *-,kr and his own. Hr; haul left tho 
house early that he might be able to reach this , 
place unobserved. The quartered an hour which 
lie would have to wait was an eternity of hitter j 
agony. He thought of his long, silent lave for 
i the young girl; how he had watched her devel¬ 
opment ; with what deep pain ho had resigned i 
her as lie had believed, to n younger, handsomer 
lover; how blessed he had been to take her to 
bis arms at last, and how t he thought of her 
had consciously and unconsciously been the 
end and aim of all his aspirations ; how with 
her and her children he had found the peace¬ 
ful, happy homo for which for kng years he 
had worked and struggled alone. And now ? 
But anot her voice spoke to his heart In adif- 
ferent tone, and upbraidingly. It was true he 
had loved her and her alone ; but had he given 
sufficient evidence of this love, of whose t ruth 
bo had himself been so confident? Had he re¬ 
membered, ns he should, the requirements of 
a weaker nature, thirsting for love which it 
must have proof of to ho able to trust in it? 
Did he not well know that, love, like nil fare 
and delicate plants, itself ihc most delicate of 
them all, needed the tonderest care? True, he 
bad never spoken a harsh word to his wife, 
never denied hern gratification from an arbi¬ 
trary exercise of control,—but had he not un- 
: frequently indulged his ril-hunjor freely at lit¬ 
tle sins of omission, when a gentle reminder 
would have been better, and what was more 
wounding to a lender, i-rrndtive nature than 
a clouded brow and a short, curt reply? “Hus¬ 
bands, love your wivesThis had seemed to 
him hitherto an unnecessary injunction, at 
ieast as he had interpreted it; but now it was 
clearer to him. Perhaps it should have been 
translat ed, “ Husbands, state your love to your 
wives.” But too late this rang tn Ms ears. 
Now the garden latch was lifted. Martha 
it was who came first, and seated herself In her 
usual place. She laid her book on the table 
before her,but she did not. read. He could not 
sec her face, but lie noticed that her hands were 
clasped together as if in prayer,as she sat look¬ 
ing quietly before her. He looked at the be¬ 
loved form with a feeling as If of eternal fare¬ 
well. In vain hot-old himself a thousand times 
that she was his own wife and would remain 
so; that this slight error of feeling might be 
easily forgiven; that she had perhaps strug¬ 
gled bravely against it until now; again and 
again the voice in his heart said to him, “ Lost I" 
Nuw ho heard th ough the still morning air 
tho approach of nn elastic, manly tread. It 
was Fei.nkN, who carao up through tho garden, 
not from the house, naturally! As Martha 
turned her head and nodded a friendly greet¬ 
ing to him, the doctor saw her face flush deop- 
lv for a moment. 
“At last," began Felsen, in deep, tender 
tones, “at lasL I am so fortunate as to find you 
alone—before parting,” ho added bitterly. 
“You have seen me every day," said Mar¬ 
tha, and there was a slight tremor in her tone. 
“Every day!” he exclaimed, bitterly; “oh, 
yes; surrounded by your whole court, husband 
and children, friend and servants'. And you 
need not have feared me. Oh, no, I do not wish 
to destroy your peace, to come 3 * « snake into 
your home paradise. I only wanted to hear 
from yourself once, if every recollection of 
the past is dead in you; if you can forgive my 
seeming neglect., if one, only one, kind thought 
yet remains in your heart for one who was onco 
not quite a stranger to you! Then 1 will wil¬ 
lingly leavo you, apd—die alone.” 
The feelings aroused in Martha by her try¬ 
ing position underwent a change aa she listen¬ 
ed to Felsen R passionate words, for now a 
faint smile flitted over her features, “I hope 
you will neither live, ncr die alone," she said, 
I soothingly. “ Pray take a seat. I want to tell 
you why I have brought you to this place. Lis¬ 
ten," she said, earnestly, as FfitfiEN seated 
himself beside her. “It is now 12 years since 
my husband first brought me to our own home. . 
He had this house built himself in this place 
wbicn he selected for our future residence; 
and here for the first time, after Ihe long, sad 
months following my grandmother's death, 
and which J passed amid strangers, did I feel 
the happiness of having a home of my own. It 
is not my husband's habit to give much expres¬ 
sion t.o his feelings, but here we have opened 
out inmost souls to one another, more com¬ 
pletely and entirely than human beings often 
do. Here 1 first learned to appreciate 1 he treas¬ 
ure which C»OI> had given rno in this noble 
heart. Then the full assurance of the com¬ 
pleteness of my happincr* came to me, and I 
had no other wish, no ot her ambition, than to 
become worthy of his love. It had often pained 
me to observe how rarely t he first early happi¬ 
ness of married life continued, and 1 feared 
myself the return to every-day cares after the 
conversation in which I first learned to know 
my husband. Then I looked up into the blue 
heaven above me, and resolved to trust my 
happl ness in Gun's hands,that he might guard it 
for rae, and daily from His hands to receive it." 
Martha had lost herself In these recollec¬ 
tions, and raised her eyes to the same clear 
heaven which twelve years before had looked 
down upon that hour of happiness. After a 
pause she turned again to Felsen, who sat ai- 
Icntly gazing on those features In which shone 
a higher beauty—that of virtue and purity. 
“ No fearful storm has burst over our happi¬ 
ness," she continued; "but cloudy days have 
sometimes come to us—a rainstorm, or chilling 
winds. As often as I felt the happiness of my 
love, my faith in the future, and my courage 
threatened, I have taken refuge Imre for a 
quiet moment, to gather new strength and to 
sock again for my treasure where I had left it. 
And T can say before Goi>," she ended, with a 
sweet smile of inward peace, “that T have 
never once left this place without feeling my¬ 
self blessed with fresh courage to begin anew 
life’s st ruggle. 
“I wanted to tell you this,” she added, after 
a short pause. In a steadier voice, “ because the 
recollections Of my happy young days, with 
which you arc associated, make me feel a 
warm interest In you, and because I wish that 
Gon may bless you as he has myself. There¬ 
fore I wish that you may love with all the 
earnestness of your nature, and be happy in any 
path In life of which you may make choice," 
She gave him her hand kindly and rose from 
her seat. The usually self-possessed man-of- 
tho-wold stood silent, and abashed before the 
simple little wife of the country doctor—the 
usual ready reply was wanting now. 
Just at this moment the sound of little feet 
was heard upon the garden walk, and a festive 
train approached. Alfred headed the pro¬ 
cession, flourishing on immense sheet of paper 
on which he had written a Latin carmen, to 
which he had appended a German translation 
In consideration of his mother's ignorance. 
Dorothea exhibited, with great complacency, 
a rather unlovely pair of garters of her own 
knitting. Little Ann Ul brought a bunch of 
violets too large for her tiny hands to clasp; 
and even t he baby, in the nurse’s arms, carried 
a few rosy-red blooms of the Liverwort." 
“ I remembered it, didn't 1, mother?” erlod 
Alfred triumphantly. “I remembered it! 
Father forgot that to-day was your birthday, 
and Miss Anna too; but I knew it, and I 
wouldn’t say a word to any one but Doro¬ 
thea's teacher, t hat she might let her knit 
the garters, and 1 rot the flowers for the little 
ones myself. You did not think I would re¬ 
member, did you, mother!” 
In the litght of the happy confusion which 
ensued, the doctor made his appearance, no 
one knew whence. He seemed a little con¬ 
fused, ashamed perhaps at having forgotten 
his wife’s birthday. The eye6 of husband and 
wife met, and for the first time in his life in 
the presence of others he clasped her In his 
arms—his own wife 1 
Anna was in her room while all this was 
transpiring, anxiously awaiting the result of 
FelSen’S interview—not, however, feeling per¬ 
fectly easy as to her own part in having fur¬ 
thered it. She could not think what the chil¬ 
dren were having such a jubilee over, until 
Alfred, proud of being the only one who 
had not forgotten his mother’s birthday, 
rushed in to tell her that they were to go on a 
Utile excursion and drink chocolate. Felsen 
had declined the invitation, and Anna was 
rather silent when she heard of it, 
Felsen left the following morning. He 
asked for no more farewell interviews, but he 
offered Martha his hand at parting, and said, 
with n gbinoe full of meaning. “I thank vou." 
Anna was not told of what happened at the 
private meeting between Felsen and her 
friend, and imagining herself slighted by this 
want of confidence on Martha’s part, she also 
soon took leave of the little family. 
Wc do not know if tho doctor ever told Mar¬ 
tha where he had been on that morning, and 
what he heard; but it often seems to her as if 
they had begun another honeymoon, and her 
birthday has never since been forgotten. 
-»- 
Prisoner (to learned magistrate)—" Has any 
one a right to commit a nuisance?" Learned 
magistrate- “No, sir, not oven the mayor—no, 
sir, not even the Governor." Prisoner—“ Then 
you can't commit me for I was arrested as a 
nuisance, and you’ve decided that I am one.” 
A PHRENOLOGIST told a man that he had 
combativc-ness very largely developed, and was 
of a quarrelsome disposition. “ That isn't so," 
said the man angrily; “ and If you repeat!it I’ll 
knock you down." 
THE BLESSING OF CHILDREN. 
[Though often printed and re-printed, we often 
think of this beiiutlf ill poem, hy Charles Dickens, 
and re-read it again and again. You, who have little 
ones, will never forget Its sentiments.] 
When the lessons and task* nro all ended. 
And tho school for the day is dinnhsed. 
And the little ones gather around me. 
To bid me good night and be kissed : 
Oh, the little white arm* that cnclrelo 
My neck In n tender embrace ! 
Oh, the smiles that arc halos of heaven, 
Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! 
And when they are gone I git dreaming 
Of my childhood, too lovely to latt; 
Of love that my heart will remember. 
When It wakes to the pulse of the past. 
Ere the world nnd tig wickedness made me 
A partner of sorrow and sin; 
When the glory < t God was about me. 
And the glory of gladness within. 
Oh, my heart grows weak ns a woman's. 
And the fountains of feeling will llow. 
When I think of the paths steep and stony. 
Where the feet of the dear ones must go; 
Of tho mountains of *ln hanging o'er them. 
Of the tempest of Falo blowing wild ; 
Oh ! there 1» nothing on earth half 80 holy 
As the Innocent heart of a child ! 
They are idols of hearts and of households ; 
They are angel* of ('..id in disguise ; 
His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. 
Ills glory still gleams in their cycr : 
Oh ! those truants from homo awl from heaven. 
They have made roe more manly anil mild ! 
And I know how Jesus could liken 
The Kingdom of God to a child. 
I ask not a life for the dear one. 
All radlnnt, ns others have done. 
But that life may have just enough shadow 
To temper the glare of the sun ; 
I would pray God to guard them from evil. 
But my prayer would bound back to myself; 
Ah ! a. seraph may prny for n. sinner. 
But a sinner must pray for hltnself. 
The twig is so easily blended, 
I have banished the rule and the rod; 
1 have taught, them tho goodness of knowledge, 
They have taught me the goodness of God ; 
My heart Is a dungeon of darkness. 
Where I shut them from breaking a rule ; 
My frown is sufficient correction; 
My lovo 1» tho taw of the f chool. 
I shall leavo tho old house In the autumn, 
To traverse. Its threshold no more ; 
Ah ! how 1 ghnlt s gh for the dear ones. 
That meet mo each morn at the door! 
I shall miss the “ good nights" nnd tho kisses, 
• And t he gush of their innocent glu:. 
The groups on the green, nnd th" flowers 
That are brought every morning to tno. 
I shall miss them at morn and at cyc, 
Their song in tho school and the street; 
I shall tnisa the low hum of their voices, 
And the trump of their delicate foot. 
■When the lessons nnd tasks are all ended, 
And death says, " The school is dismissed !" 
May tho little one* gather around me. 
To bid roe good night and ho kissed. 
-- 
LAW 18 GOD. 
In all preceding illustrations, we have com¬ 
menced with the physical or lower laws that 
are easily understood, and compared them with 
the spiritual or higher laws that are not so 
easily understood. In doing which wc have 
shown that all arc alike God’s laws. Now, if 
all are alike His laws, then all are alike to bo 
lived up to, and r.one can be broken without 
doing that which Is contrary to la" - and there¬ 
fore contrary to God. To illustrate this let 
us take our Government. It enacts laws for 
the people to be governed by. Now, of what 
use are those laws, if the Government has not 
the power to enforce the law, causing those 
who break it to suffer thepcnalty ? Then what 
is law hut tho power behind it ? Nothing. Then 
what are tho physical laws, the spiritual laws, 
or the laws governing tho universe, but the 
Power which enforces them, and that Power is 
Gon, the Father, the All-wise, tho All-power¬ 
ful?—the power that Is Omnipresent and Om¬ 
niscient, everywhere ready to enforco all law, 
and sustain all motion, and through his only 
begotten Bon, Love, save the world. Then God 
Is Love— Lovo Is Law— Law is God. 
Palmyra, Neb., Jan- Iff, 1874, E. m. e. 
A STRING OF PEARLS. 
Forgive thyself nothing, and others much. 
We struggle with adversity ; success disarms 
Thoughts, not hours, are the measures of 
life.! 
Happy remarks are often made by very un¬ 
happy men. 
Instruct your son well, or others will in¬ 
struct him ill. 
We are all Adam s children ; but silk makes 
the difference. 
He Is nover alone that Is In the company of 
noble thoughts. 
The pleasure of doing good is the only one 
that never wears out. 
If we think of religion only as a means of 
escaping what, we rail the wrath to come, we 
shall not escape it; we are already under it; 
we are under the burden of death, for wo care 
I only for ourselves.— Jamee Anthony Fronde. 
