JUNE § 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
IF WE KNEW. 
Ir we knew the woe and heartache 
Waiting for ns down the road. 
If our lips could taste the wormwood. 
If our hacks could feel the load. 
Would we waste to-day in wishing 
For a time that ne'er can he ? 
Would we wait with such impatience 
For our ships to come from sea ? 
If we knew the baby’6 fingers 
Tressed against the window pane. 
Would be stiff and cold to-morrow. 
Never trouble ns again, 
Would the bright eyes of our darling 
Catch the frown upon our brow ? 
Would the prints of rosy fingers 
Vex us then as they do now ? 
Ah, those little, loe-oold fingers. 
How they point, siir memories back 
To the hastv word* anil actions 
Strewn along our backward Uftok! 
How those little hands letnlnd us. 
As In snowy grace they lie, 
Not to scatter thorns—but roses— 
For our reaping by-and-by. 
Let us gather up the sunbeams 
Lying all along the path ; 
Let ns keep tho wheat and roses— 
Casting out the thorns and chaff; 
Let us find the sweetest comfort 
In the blessing? of to-day; 
With a patient hand removing 
All the briers from our way. 
#ur j&torg-S^r. 
A TREASURY ROMANCE, 
BY KBKN K. REXTOML 
Miss Kittie Kaynb sat on the veranda and 
sang, "Within a mile of Edlnboro’ Town,” while 
John Fenwick sat, in the parlor and scowled 
fiercely at tho portrait of that young lady, hang¬ 
ing over tho mantel, as bright and piquant, and 
saucy In its expression as the young lady her¬ 
self. But scowling didn't seem to havo much 
effect on the portrait, and his anger had seemed 
to have about us much on its original. The trut h 
of the motter was, there had been a lover's 
quarrel. 
John Fenwick and Kittie Bayne had been 
engaged for six months. It was a real love- 
match, people said. They were exactly suited 
for each other, and seemed to think that DO one 
In the world was quite so happy as themselves. 
I boileve that lovers are apt to cherish rose- 
colored opinions of each other, ins well 
as of life. It was Bomowh at so with 
John and Kittie nt first. But. of late— 
within the past two weeks—a “change 
had como p'er the spirit o' their dream. 
Kittie was—or rather had been, con¬ 
siderable of a flirt. She was never so 
happy as when she was making some 
young man believe that be was tho es¬ 
pecial object of her regard. Her mother 
lectured her on tho awful wickedness of 
flirting, and warned her of the conse¬ 
quences wblch might result from It, hut, 
like most parental lectures, they failed 
to make tho impression they were in¬ 
tended to make, and Kittie went on 
flirting with this one and that one, until 
John Fenwick came. Then she gave 
it, up, and devoted herself wholly to 
John ; and this time she was in earnest. 
She couldn’t have flirted with John if 
she had tried, because she respected 
him too much, and then—lie was so 
good, so handsome, so "nice in every 
way." she told her mother, that she 
didn't want to. She was sure from the 
first, that he intended to marry her, pro¬ 
vided, of course, that she was willing; 
and Kittie was willing, and thefore de¬ 
cided to be sensible and in earnest in 
this new phase of courtship. 
Six months was a long time for Kittie 
to keep her flirting propensities In check. 
But she had done it, and congratulated 
herself on the victory she bad gained. 
Why is it that, just as soon as we think 
we have ourselves under our own con¬ 
trol, something comes along to tempt 
us, and in a good many cases we find 
that we are not so much masters of our- 
eelves, after ail, as we had congratulated 
ourselves on being. I don’t why it is, I 
am sure. Kittie didn't, either. But 
just about the time that she began to 
plume herself over her seif-conquest, ^ 
Carl Davenport came along; she was 
Introduced to him, and straightway up -f 
popped the old penchant for flirting from (Si 
the grave into which she had thrust It iiM 
and took possession of her at once. r&n 
Somehow it seemed to her as If she 
couldn’t help flirting with Davknpout. Jg 
Ho was handsome and Jolly, and there (y\ 
was a something about him which y. 
seemed to dare her. And she had been U\, 
so demure, so sober and good, and si 
played propriety for such a long time, v> 
that the prospect of a little fun made 
her wickedly happy. She knew that 
* John would not like it. That people 
would talk. That her mother would 
deliver daily lectures to her—but for 
all that, she struck up a flirtation with 
Davenport in a reckless, heedless way, 
and never once stopped tc think what 
the consequence might be. People hegan to 
talk beforo John mentioned the subject to 
her. And she knew that they had occasion to 
talk, too, hut she kept on, and tried to make 
herself believe that, she had never been fft Me 
so happy In ail her life beforo. That she did. 
enjoy herself In a certain way, I have no doubt, 
because she was fond of mischief— of doing 
things to shock people—of being different from 
other people, and above all of having her own 
way. But she knew, all the while sbo was 
doing this, that she was doing wrong. As the 
betrothed wife of another, she had no right to 
receive Davenport's attentions. She was not 
only wronging herself, but John also. “John’s 
such a good-natured fellow that he won't care,’ 
she said. “If he does, I can make up with 
him when i want to. He knows I don’t care n 
straw for Davenport." 
But John did care, and by-and-by he spoke 
to her about it. 
“ You areu’t jealous, I hope ?” she answered, 
gaily. "I nover would have thought that of 
you, John Fenwick, never!" 
“ No, I am not jealous," had beeu his reply. 
“Perhaps I have had good cause for jealousy, 
but I am not afraid to t rust you yet, Kittie. I 
think you are thoughtless, and acting from a 
spirit of girlish mischief. If you will only stop 
and think about it soberly, l think yon will see 
that you are doing wrong, and that most men 
would think they had a right to bo jealous if 
they were in my piace. Think of it in its real 
light, Kittie. Imagine yourself in my place 
ami I in yours. Would you like to have me 
flirting with Miss Powell or Miss Standish? 
I don’t believe you would, Kittie." 
“ Ob, / shouldn't care,” she laughed back. 
“Not the least, in the world. John. Try it, if 
you want to. It’s such fun t” 
That was all the satisfaction he got then. Ilv- 
and-by he touched the subject again, and they 
came very near a lover’s quarrel. But John, 
who had a horror of lover’s quarrels, had tho 
good sense to stop hefore they came to angry 
words, and of course Kittie couldn't quarrel 
alone. 
But now tho lover's quarrel bad coine In dead 
earnest. Ho was not the "good nattired fel¬ 
low” sho had taken him to bo, “ If she thought 
he could stand everything,” he had told her. 
And Kittie. passionate and quick in temper, 
had answered back In hot, stinging words, and 
for half an hour there had raged a tempest in¬ 
side the parlor. A little lull had dome by 
Kittie’s withdrawal from the scene and taking 
up her position on the veranda where, for the 
sake of showing how lit t le she cared about It, 
and being provoking.she sat and snog, “ Within 
a mile of Kdinboro’Town" in a most exasper¬ 
ating way, as If the solo object, she had in Kittte s plan was f 
life, at. that particular moment, was to see how to work as she inter 
many runs and trills and other variations she ready to take John b 
could got into it. and/ortrfue him, be w 
At length lie got up and joined her. She look- where to. Tho days 
ed up saucily, & scarlet flush of hot passion yet hoped that he would 
showing in her cheeks. her hope was a vain c 
“I want to come to some understanding in her word, evidently, 
the matter," he said. "I will tell you what I to he strangers to ear 
want you to do. Either stop flirting with Dav- “ And 1 was the on 
enport, or-" Kittie. “ It was al! 
“ Or break off my engagement with you ? Is hlml I loved him !" 
that it?" she cried. 
“ Yos ’ “ you « b ° Q8e t U \ 1 » was a drowsy bui 
answered, gravely. “ I have borne It long whUo c , oud Hko 
onough-as long as l can, in fact. Everybody horizon, 1 
Is talking about It, 1 don't know that you care but™ 
to If VOU 4„, or oourao I. would b. ,»r “ith «2 
bolloi- tor us to uiKlorstand each other. rl«ht , ,, , 
here. If you do not, 1 have a right to Insist J 
that you end the affair by no longer receiving J of |r h;i( , ; u . 
or encouraging Davenport a attentions. | thfl oI(| elm Juflt HCr( 
“You Inatut! ” Kittie's eyes flashed fire. Ua yne stood at her 
" You insW l I’d have vpu to understand Just , nfJ at Washington, 
one thing, John Fenwick, and that Is this: work l(1 a k | IK j of 
You are not my master yet, and 1 shall not be j inr(1 to kee p her t 
dictated toby you. I shall not drop Mr. DA v- g | S h afternoon, who 
enport, because you order mo to. I shall do to Bwoon for want o 
just as I please about it, sir!” to v - cv i V o it. 
“Very well,” ho answered, pale and stern. lof)ked at th , 
“ You understand what tho consequences will ^ J_ nway \riimps 
be, then ?" of tho Maryland hi 
" I do," she answered, scornfully. You need wapm ek antl , 
not wait for then, Mr. Fenwick. I will give you J 
your freedom note. If you want it. Hero Is your J^’t oa re m w 
ring. Keep It for some woman who will allow » rom , 
herself to be dictated to by you, and who will « u had g eett)od 
alwavs come and go > it your royal will. Good ^ ^ he0ftU9e 
morning, sir. quite as well aa nan 
And then, with scornful y indignant eyes and heafc wa3 h( , 
a mocking bow, Kittie loft him, and shut the . .. . 
door tn his face. Ho turned slowly and walked ^ l e VZ n ge had 0 
away. Kittie, from behind tbo curtain of her d when aho gftV( 
window, saw him go away. . A eu(i(l , n Col 
" The Impudent, man 1 she cried, shaking u mn WB8 
her fist at him, " to dare to tell me what l must dependc 
| and must not dol I'll teach him that I’ll do JJJJthey must, e, 
Justus l please, for all of him.” wear . shc had a , 
But by and by better thoughts came to her. j t ncc ded some sti 
“ I suppose I have been to blame," she said re- strength in Inr ch 
loctantly, for she hated to acknowledge it, even W ould have sat d< 
to herself. “ But he needn't have made a fool hands, and spent 
of himself by being Jealous of mo, He might, wtiat ooujd Ilot b( 
know that. I didn’t oar© anything for Daven- bread of dependon 
port, but the men can’t, sc© an Inch ahead of aiune Bayne did 
their noses. I II let, hint think I iu mad for independence, too 
awhile, and when L think he s had ttmo to get manliness in her it 
ashamed of himself, I’ll come around and every- down weakly and i 
thlng’ll turn out nicely, and I'll ho good after knew Bka could n» 
that and not worry the poof fellow any more." | a friend In Was] 
Kittte's plan was good enough, but it failed 
to work as she intended it to. When she got 
ready to take John back into her good graces 
and /orfftw him, he was gone nnd no one knew 
where to. Tho days silppod by, and Kittie 
hoped that he would coidq hack or write ; but 
her hope was a vain one. He had taken her at 
her word, evidently, and henceforth they wero 
to he strangers to each other. 
“And I was the only one to blame," sobbed 
Kittie. “It was all my doings, and I loved 
ir- 
4p vSflSIaiiSifff /? 
St. -tl 
or TT XsT E . 
It was a drowsy summer day. The softest of 
white clouds, like banks of down, lay piled 
above the horizon, while overhead there was 
nothing but blue sky and sunshine. The wind 
was languid w ith warmth, and seemed to rnako 
th© day more depressing in Its Influence on 
brain and body than it would have been if no 
breath of air had stirred the drooping leaves on 
tho old elm just across tho street. Catharine 
Hayne stood at her desk Ju the Treasury build¬ 
ing at Washington, and went through with her 
work So a kind of mechanical way. It was 
hard to keep her thoughts upon it this slug¬ 
gish afternoon, when everything seemed ready 
to Bwoon for want of a fresh breath of coolness 
to revive It. 
Sbo looked at the elm across the street,—at 
the far-away glimpses of woods, and tho peaks 
of tho Maryland hills outlined hazily against 
tho warm sky, and wished she could get away 
from her desk for a few days and rest,. She 
didn’t care much where she wont to, only that 
she got away from her work. For the last, few 
days It had seemed more like drudgery to her 
than over, because she had not been feeling 
quite aa well aa usual, perhaps. Tbo long and 
Intense heat was beginning to tell on her, and 
she knew that she was working too hard. A 
great ohango had come into her life since that 
day when she gave John Fenwick back h!s 
ring. A smhUn Coll pse of the hank lu which 
their money was deposited had left her and 
her mother dependent upon their hands 'or the 
bread they must, eat and the clothes they must 
wear. She had accepted tho change br vely. 
It needed some such blow to hr ng out the 
strength In Inr character, Some young women 
would have sat. down w th weak and helpless 
hands, and spout t’ e lime In moaning over 
wtiat could not be holped, willing to eat tho 
bread of dependence rather than do as Cath- 
aiiine Bayne did. But thoro was too much 
independence, too much onergy and truo wo¬ 
manliness in her make-up, to permit her to Bit 
down weakly and accept from others what she 
knew she could earn for herself. 
| A friend In Washington had procured her a 
clerkship In tho Treasury Department, 
and she hud come there to live, bring¬ 
ing her mother, who was but little more 
than an invalid a greater share of the 
time. Wiiat she earned at her desk was 
sufficient to keep them comfortably, nnd 
she felt that, that was a good deal to be 
thankful for. Catharinewos very dif¬ 
ferent, now from the Kittie Bayne 
that John Fenwick had known. She 
had grown to be a gravo and thoughtful 
woman. The years had come and gone, 
and now she was thirty-five, with a few 
silver threads beginning to show in her 
beautiful brown hair, and linos of care 
about the mouth. This summer after¬ 
noon there were lines of weariness thoro 
I too. After all the change had been of 
\ sonic good to her, for It had taught her 
v, to bo self-reliant and earnest, and to 
\\ look at life In a sober way. 
v\ In all these years not one word had 
ll ever come to her from John Fenwick, 
a nor of him. For all she knew’of him he 
jl might be dead. Dead! She thought of 
that In a strange, wondering way, as we 
puzzle ourselves over tho dreams wo 
ffl cannot comprehend. Dead— John dead ? 
u It might be, and yet she couldn't really 
Jy believe It. It had always seemed as If 
I he would oome back some time. She 
II had never forgotten tho bitter lesson 
11 that she had learned herself. Loving 
l/j him as she had done, with all the 
I strength of her nature, she had felt 
what It is to love and lose ; and to lose 
in the way she had lost Is the saddest 
way In which loss can oome to any of 
us. Ever since they had known her in 
the Treasury Department she had car¬ 
ried the patient look of sorrow lu her 
face. But It was not the look of a mor¬ 
bid sorrow. She had a cheery smile for 
s everybody and a kind and bracing word 
§ 5 ^ for those who needed It. 
“ I am sure there must be some ro- 
g feL mance clinging to Miss Bayne." de- 
clarod Susie Vernon. “She looks as If 
there might. I wish I knew.” 
But Catharine never took any one 
into her confidence enough to tell them 
about the romance which had bright- 
i ened up her life In the years gone by 
* and which she had crushed out of It 
with her own ruthless hands. 
“ How tired and worn out she Is look- 
7‘ lng to-day,” whispered Susie to her 
, neighbor. She has been too busy lately. 
She'll be down completely If she doesn’t 
take a little rest.” 
There wus a sound of voices at the 
door, and cue of the Treasury officers 
came Jin with a gentleman. Visitors 
were nothing unusual, “nd no one gave 
