Itipf 
©OBI’S BUBAL WEW-YOBiCEB. 
THE OLD FARM HOUSE. 
Ax ttic foot of the hill, near the old red mill. 
In a quiet, shady spot. 
Just peeping through, half hid from view 
Stands a little moss-grown cot. 
And straying through at the open door, 
The sunbeams play on the sanded floor. 
The easy chair, all patched with care. 
Is placed by the old heart h-stone; 
With witching grace, tu the old fireplace. 
The evergreens are strewn. 
And pictures hang cn the whitened wall. 
And the old clock licks in the cottage hall. 
More lovely still, on the window sill, 
The dew-oyed flowers rest. 
While rald»t the leaves on the moss-grown eaves 
The martin hutlds her nesl, 
And oh day long the summer breeze 
Is whispering love to the bended trees. 
Over the door, all covered o'er 
With u sack Of dark green baize, 
Lays a musket old. whose worth is told 
In the events of other days; 
And the powder flask, ami the hunter’s horn. 
Have hung buslde It for many a morn. 
Kor years have fled, with ooiselcss tread, 
I.ike fairy dreams away. 
And left In their flight, all shorn of its might, 
A father—old and gray: 
And the soft wind plays with his snow white hair, 
And the old man sleeps In bia easy chair. 
Inside the door, on the sanded floor, 
Light, airy footsteps glide. 
And a maiden fair, with flaxen hair, 
Kneels by the old man’s Bide— 
An old oak wrecked by the angry storm, 
While the ivy clings to Its trembling form. 
$>ur ^torg-SC^U^r. 
MUFF MEREDITH, 
A STORY FOR YOUNG FOLKS. 
i don’t know what to make of the fellow,” 
said Ralph Jenkins, the heud boy at Mr. Bran¬ 
son’s private school; “ he's so quiet. I suppose 
he's one of the inulf tribe.” 
Very little gives a lad a name, and young 
Charles Meredith was instantly dubbed “Mull' 
Meredith" by his suhool-ftllows. lie bad 
arrived Iroin his home In the south of France 
late in the half-year, and the hoys had not time 
to And out what he was made of before they 
separated for the holidays. Two or three, 
however, were sure he must be a muff, since ho 
amused himself when out walking by botaniz¬ 
ing. He bad said aloud that he enjoyed the 
history lesson, and ho had twice been In con¬ 
versation with Soft Sammy, the butt of the 
school. 
Two boys beside himself were left at Mr. 
Branson’s for the holidays—Jack Travers and 
Sammy Wilks. Jack looked vory sad when the 
rest drove off, pitying him for being left with 
the Muff and the Softy; but his spirits were 
cheered when a dirty note was banded to him 
over the school-gate by a grinning rustic, to 
the effect that Mr. Grocrson’s school In the 
next village, which did not break up for some 
days, was to have a paper-hunt that, morning 
through Brickley, Homewood, &C-, and re¬ 
quested the pleasure or any gentleman’s com¬ 
pany who might be left at Mr. Branson's. 
Jack politely passed the note to Meredith, 
sayiug: “I suppose you won’t care?" 
But Meredith said, "I should like It of all 
things, If Sammy doesn't mind being left.” 
Jack smiled scornfully at the idea of consult¬ 
ing the Softy—just like the Muff, though ! 
•‘Come on to the study then," said Jack. 
And off they wont to usk permission. 
Mr. Branson was quite willing to lot them 
go. 
"It will be very tiring for you, Meredith," 
he said. 
“I’ve read Tom Brown , sir," said Meredith, 
smiling, “ and I should like to try.” 
“And you can drop off after a Held or two," 
said Jack, patronlsingly. " I always stick to It 
to the last." 
“ But the young fellows and the muffs are not 
expected to keep up," said Meredith. 
Jack looked hard at his companion; but, uo I 
it was impossible tbe new fellow—the Muff— 
could be laughing at. hint. 
He was rather a pleasant fellow, this Muff, to 
beguile the tedious highroad walk to the place 
of meeting. Of course he knew nothing about 
English sport, but he had traveled and seen 
queer things, of which ho spoke modestly 
enough. Ho was far better than the Softy to 
spend the holidays with. Jack decided. 
The paper-hunt once begun, tbe Muff began 
to show signs of spirit, which surprised Jack. 
He often put them on the t ight scent, and grew 
intensely interested in tbe matter, though Jack 
thought it foolish of him to wait once to help 
a very litt le lad over a high hedge, and again to 
caution another against taking long draughts 
of water from an loy-cold well. 
The fun grew fast and furious. Jack, the 
Muff, and the.ittle lad of all, who was us fleet 
as a deer, were all together, when the small 
boy tripped and fell, rolling down a steep 
bank. 
“Forward! every man for himself!" said 
Jack, running on. “Come on!” ho shouted 
angrily, for the Muff had stopped to pick up 
the boy. 
“Come on; he’ll shake right 1” said Jack, 
who did not want t.o loso the Muff’s company— 
he had such a capital nose for a scent! but. just 
like him! the Muff would stay, would pick tip 
the boy. Jack saw no moro; he couldn't lose 
tbe fun. whatever happened. 
That evening, footsore, weary and jaded, 
Jack reached home to find no Meredith. 
“He is at Fairholm Castle," explained Mr. 
Branson. " It seems Sir John Fairholm's little 
boy met with an accident at the p ipor-chase, 
and Meredith picked him up and carried him 
to the nearest farm-house, which happoned to 
him out bef:re they left. Because a fellow 
liked flowers, need lie lie soft? Because his 
lessons came easy to him, was ho a sap? So ran 
Jack's remarks on the subject, all the more 
glibly that Jack himself had at first shared the 
common error about the new boy. 
And why uhouldn't ho say a word now and 
then to Soft Sammy if bo liked ? Mr. Branson 
said Sammy would turn out a clever man if bo 
wasn’t badgered ; be would be a rhomist! Yes, 
I they might laugh ! Not a blue-and-red bottle 
I chemist, but a fellow with a laboratory, and all 
“Off The* Went to Ask Permission.’ 
be on his father’s q^tate. Lady Fairholm has 
written to me requesting that Meredith may 
remain with them for a time, aft little Reginald 
has taken a great, fancy to him. The boy’s arm 
Is broken, and be Is much bruised." 
“Poor little chap I” saitl Jack. “Luck for 
Muff, If be knew how to use It," he added to 
himself. “Sir John has splendid horses, and 
the trout stream at Fairholm is a stunner. I 
wish I was there. HoighoJ and now I’m left 
with Softy!" 
Next morning, however, eurno another note 
for Jack, less dirty than the one of the previous 
day. It ran: 
“ Dear Jack,— Ask Mr. Branson's leave to 
come over here for the day. Lady Ftlrholm 
wishes It. The little boy is better, and we are 
to have some furi. 
“ Yours. Charles Meredith. 
“P. S. The groom Is to go for you with the 
pony and wait.” 
Mr. Brunson readily gave Jack leave to go to 
Fairholm, and he enjoyed hia day mightily, 
riding, llshlng, and lying on the grass with 
Meredith, who could do all three as well as 
Jack himself. Sir John was most kind, and 
Jack, who felt a trifle shy before him, was 
amazed at tbo quiet, gentlemanly way in which 
Meredith answered all his questions, seeming 
perfectly at home. 
“You must come again soon," said Sir John, 
as Jack bid him guud-by; “and bring your 
other school-fellow with you. We can mount 
you all three, aud I feel I can hardly do onough 
for ray friend here, who makes such a capital 
head nurse." 
Fairholm was a charming place to spend the 
holidays In Jack found; and even Suit Sammy 
liked the ehange, though he declined the 
mount. Here Jack discovered, directed by Sir 
John, that Meredith was a first-rate rider and 
an excellent Bhot, besides being gifted with a 
quiet presence of mind in danger, which was 
better than Jack's boldneos. 
There was one event which for ever wiped 
out the iJl-deserved epithet of “Muff "from 
Meredith's name. The keeper’s thatched lodge 
took lire one night when Jack, too, was sleep¬ 
ing at the Castle. The whole place was roused, 
but It was Meredith who was first In climbing 
the slaty verandah, and rescuing the twin 
children of the keeper at the risk of his life. 
There was ranch to tell the other boys when 
they returned from their holidays. Meredith 
was Jack’s bosom-friend and hero now, and 
the other boys were very dull not to have found 
that. There was a laboratory at Fairholm, and 
Sammy uearly blow himself up tboro once; but 
Sir John only laughed, and said it was in the 
pursuit of science; and so Jack rattled on. 
There Is no space left to give more of the his¬ 
tory of Charles Meredith, but ho is first favorite 
In the school now, and the lads have found out 
that to be fond of study, and to bo kind to the 
young and ignorant, is In no way beneath the 
dignity of a boy who yet can ride and play with 
the best of them. So ends my story of the 
Muff. 
♦ - 
F A I T H I E ; 
A Story of Patience and Sentiment, 
BY J. C. K.ETLAS. 
“An’ for shuro, thin, mo darllnt, don’t be 
waplog yure pretty eyes out for tbe ould thing. 
She’U get over it, Faithik, an’ 'taint worth the 
mintin’.” 
“ Well, 1 know It, Honor, but It doesn’t make 
It any easier to bear,—the same thing day after 
day. I’m so weary of It 1” 
I stood a silent spectator of the scene, leaning 
over the garden fence; and It was a pretty pic¬ 
ture that took lodging in my heart, with 
“ FAIT lilts’’ for the central figure. There were 
the great horse chestnuts, wltn their white 
crowns and thick, protecting shade; and the 
stately, graceful elms, bending downward now 
and then, in gracious kindneBsto lower tilings; 
at their foot, the little, old-fasbioned diamond 
and octagon beds, with their wealth of bright 
and tiny flowrets; Lack of these the square, 
white house, with lta half-open blinds and 
broad, lattioed porch, over which the roses 
clambered, mingling their sweetness with the 
honeysuckle and the syringa, till the air was 
heavy with fragrance; and Faithik, looking 
up with sid, dreary eyes—a little figure, with a 
worn and tired look, as If pain had grown into 
the face and could not be banished. 
In the great city 1 hail worked bal'd at the 
law during the whole winter, and now craved a 
Utile rest; so 1 astonished ray friends by the 
announcement that summer resorts hail no 
charms for me, and that I was going off by 
myself in plain, bachelor fashlou, to a country 
village—to Winston, a quiet, beautiful place, if 
mother's girlish recollections were not Chateaux 
en Ettpagne. Moreover, wo had a relation there 
who would only bo too glad to see me—some 
fortieth cousin on my grandfather's side—and 
it became my duty to hunt her up. I had 
been In Winston about a week, without caring 
to make search for this cousin aforesaid, when 
just now T remembered the name—Miss Faith 
Gray. Here was a coincidence. Perhaps 
“FArriliR" know where she lived; so 1 oatno 
out from the shadow, opened the low, latched 
gate, and went boldly up the path. She gave a 
little start and dropped the lijs over the clear, 
hazel eyes, till I spoke. 
“Can you tell mo where Mrs. Faith Gray 
lives ? I am a stranger boro." 
“An* shuro, thin, man, she's been dead this 
mauy a year; but if It’s Faithik ye want to 
spake to, It's mesllf that'll go in an look afther 
tbe other otic for ye." And Honor disappeared. 
A faint color tinged FaitiuB’s pale cheek as 
she said, with a little hauteur, “1 am Miss 
Faith Gray. Did you wish to see me, sir?" 
“Well. Miss F. mi,” l replied, “I am your 
cousin, I’Atri, Wir.DBR, though you don’t seem 
very willing to recognize me; but here Is a let¬ 
ter from mother that I was to bring you, I sup¬ 
pose. 1 did not know that your mother was 
dead." 
“Yes, II is ten years ago,” she said simply. 
Then those beautiful eyes lighted up as slioroad 
my note. “Oh, yes! I remember mamma ofton 
spoke »r Mrs. Wilder and of you too. I have 
some letters now that tell of your baby prowess; 
but I had almost forgotten these things since— 
I am glad to see you. Cousin PAUL.” And she 
held out her hand to me with confiding frauk- 
ness. 
“It is very good of you to welcome me so, 
without a doubt of Hie relationship," l said. 
“ It Is quite far off, but near enough for mo to 
bo glad to claim Its privileges, so I shall come 
hero often, if I may." 
“Oh, yes, I should like it so much,” she said, 
eagerly, “ If-but come In and see Aunt Nancy, 
my father's sister," she added. 
The door was open into the best parlor, and I 
was Introduced to Miss Gray, seated there in 
state, In n rustling, dark brown silk. I saw in 
a moment what she might be. The keen black 
eyes, sharp face and thin, hard lips were almost 
too blandly soft for common wear, while the 
dulcet tones every now and then forgot them¬ 
selves in harsh, shrill notes on the higher keys ; 
but she was very gracious to mo, so I propitiated 
her to the utmost, received an invitation to tea 
for tbo next day, and with that hint took my 
leave, determined in my disinterested, manly 
compassK.n, that mother should ask Faithik 
to spend tho winter with us. 
With a few well-directed questions about peo¬ 
ple in the vlllago, I found out all about tbe 
Grays from my loquacious landlady. Faith’s 
family, on her mother's side, had lived In the 
old homestead for generations till ono by one 
they tiled or woro married, and went fur off to 
live; and then it was Faith s homo with her 
father, after the mother died. Mr. Gray v/as 
thrown from his horse and killed, five years 
after, when Faith was only twelve, and then 
Miss Nancy came on of her own accord, to take 
care of the child and keep houso for her. 
“ She means to be kind, I have no doubt, but 
she has a tongue, 1 can tell you," added mine 
hostess. 
So tills was the little orphan's life fretting 
and wearing till all tho sweet, glad associations 
were crushed within her, and all bright and 
beautiful thingsturned into wormwood. “Bet¬ 
ter Is a dinner of herbs where love is." Ah ! if 
wo only had to boar tin- sorrow* Uor> lays upon 
us, the afflictions that come straight from 
Heaven, wo should be quieter and more trust¬ 
ful: we could feel Him near as and know His 
love changeth not, even in darkness. But it is 
those t ft at. others bring Upon us, needlessly 
and without pity, that arc the heaviest; cruel 
words, cutting like a sword; the constant drop¬ 
ping that weareth even the stone, or the rush¬ 
ing on to ruin of a soul for which wo have 
yearned and prayed In silent agony. 
Not once but a good many times did Aunt 
i Nancy ask mo to tea, and T went gladly, though 
the cloven foot could not be hidden very long 
i after sho became acquainted; and I honored 
good, stanch Honor for standing by Faithik 
' with the endurance ol’ a Spartan, and pitied my 
little cousin with a full heart. She never said 
a word about it, but some days the flushed, 
troubled face told one side of the story; and 
again, the sottled, resolute pain told of new 
strength out of a new conflict, and at lant I 
i surprised her confideuce! Wo had wandered 
i to one of our favorite nooks in the cool, fra¬ 
grant woods. I had made a cool seat for 
Faithik with the soft plua and the fallen 
; leaves. Just where she oould see the sun set 
i over the water aud hear the evening chirp of 
; the birds and the sighing rhythm of the forest 
, trees, aud then l threw myself at her feet with 
l a delicious sense of rest. 
i “ Faithik," I said, “ I am afraid you are not 
> appreciative. Why don't you give yourself up 
‘ to the doles far niente cf the spot ?’’ 
; The tears welled up iu her eyes as she said: 
i “Cousin Pall, I often come here when I am 
• alone, and it is just as lovely to me as to you ; 
only 1 am thinking all the time. I cannot put 
) by care and work like you. J feel a great deal 
i older than you, I think, though 1 am only sev- 
j enteen. Beauty and quiet like this arc always 
> so full of pain to me; they do not seem to be- 
r long to my life. It is so hard, so hard l No one 
r knows what it Is.” 
r “ Tell me Faithik," I wild*taking her hands. 
t “You have been so good to me-that’s what 
i makes me so foolish now," she said, with a 
j faint attempt at a smile; “ aud I am so unused 
