CF 
OCT. 3 
MOORE’S RURAL WEW-¥ORKER. 
HARVE8T HYMN. 
Once more the liberal year laughs out 
O’er richer stores than gems Of gold ; 
Once more with harvest song and shout 
Is nature's boldness triumph told. 
Our common mother rests and slogs 
lithe Htith among her cornered sheaves: 
Her lap Is full of goodly things, 
Her brow is bright with Antonin leaves. 
Ob, favors old, yet ever new ; 
Oh blessings with the sunshine sent'. 
The bounty over-runs our due. 
The fullness shames our discontent. 
We shut our eyes, the flowers bloom on : 
Wo murmur, but the corn oars All: 
We choose the shadow, but tlio sun 
That casts It shines behind us still. 
Gives ub with our rugged soil 
The power to make It Eden fair, 
And richer fruits to crown our toil, 
Than summer-wedded Islands bear. 
Who murmurs at his lot to-duy 7 
Who scorns his native fruit and bloom, 
Or sighB for dainties fur away 
Besides the bounteous hoard of home 7 
Thank Heaven, instead, that freedom’s arm 
Can change a rocky soil to gold; 
That brave and generous lives can warm 
A clime with northern Ices cold. 
And by these altars wreathed with flowers, 
And fields with fruits awake again 
Thanksgiving for the golden hours, 
The early and tbci later rain. 
[Joan G. Whittier. 
®ur j^torii-i^llcr. 
THE END OF IT ALL, 
BY EBEN E. REXEORD. 
A woman stood before one of the windows 
of an elegant house on one of the most fashion¬ 
able streets of a large city, and looked out into 
the night with a weary, dreary look in her eyos. 
The room in which she stood was richly fur¬ 
nished. A soft carpet covered the floor, dead¬ 
ening every footfall. Beautiful pictures were 
upon the walls. Everything denoted wealth 
and refinement. The poor seamstress who 
paused upon the threshold wondered If It were 
possible for u person to be owner of Buch wealth 
and not be happy. 
Nora Gresham, standing at the window 
wrapped in her own moody thoughts, heard the 
step at the door and turned to see who the vis¬ 
itor was. “Oh, is it you, Mrs. QkAyek?" she 
at the beautiful room and its occupant. The 
firelight flickered over Nora Gresham's beau¬ 
tiful face and made it inexpressibly lovely and 
touching with that sad, unrestful look In it. 
The folds of iter dark dress fell about her like 
a queen's purple. A single Jewel upon her 
bosom flashed back the light, from the grate In 
a cluster of vivid rays; her dark hair had fallen 
from the comb with which it had been confined 
and lay in rich and lustrous masses upon her 
neck and shoulders. She made a pretty pic¬ 
ture, standing there in the shadowy rooms with 
the dim twilight for a background, and the lire 
in the grate bringing out her faoe and form 
from the imiistlnetuess which surrounded her. 
The seamstress sighed softly as she closed the 
door, and wondered ir the woman whose single 
Jewel was probably worth more than all lift' 
earnings for a year, was happy among her 
wealth ? 
Happy? 
Nora Gresham would have smiled bitterly 
tohorselfif she had known what the woman 
was thinking about. Happy? The question 
was mockery. 
She went back to the window and looked out 
again into the shadowystreot, while she waited 
for the coming of her hushand. Husband! Her 
lips curled a little at the thought. That old 
man whose years wero thrice her own, and who 
had not one taste in common with hers,—her 
husband ? Sometimes she wondered If it could 
be that she had ever promised to love and obey 
him. Love! The idea! What would John 
Gresham have done with the article ? It vras 
not convertible into hank stock orGovcrnment 
bonds, therefore John Gresham, whose heart 
—provided, that is, he had any—was In bla ledg¬ 
er, would have boeu at a groator loss to make a 
proper disposal of it than he had ever been in 
all his life about anything else. Never, by any 
word or sign, had he given her to understand 
that there was such a word in his vocabulary. 
She had come to feel, rather. In the two years 
of her married life, that love was the name of 
a weakness which he ignored—of something he 
knew nothing about from any personal experi¬ 
ence and very little from hearsay—in the light 
of a myth rather than in that, of a realil y. 
Standing thore, she wondered how she ever 
came to marry him, and yet there could be no 
wonderment about It after all. She was young 
and knew little of the world—next to nothing, 
In fact. Iter father had got an Idea into ids 
head that it would be a flue thing to see his 
daughter mistress of a fortune, and had suc¬ 
ceeded In marrying her to a man older than 
himself, who cared nothing for her, but who 
wanted a head to his stylish establishment, and 
made it a special requirement that whoever he 
selected as that head should be stylish and in 
i keeping with the establishment. Nora had 
beauty and style and refinement, and she would 
do as well as any. He selected her much as lie 
would have chosen ahorse if he had been goiug 
to buy. 
Well, they were married. She had been used 
to doing as her father said, and when he told 
her that she must marry John Gresham she 
felt that she must obey him, even though the 
obedieneo cost her considerable sacrifice of her 
pretty, girlish dreams. There was no romance 
about the man selected for her husband. The 
wildest flights of imagination could Invest him 
in no garments of boanty or Ideality, nor throw 
around his matter-of-fact ways any of that 
charm which usually Ungers about n woman's 
choice. Though, please understand, he was 
not Nora’s choice. She becatno his wife be¬ 
cause her father wished her to, and from no 
desire of her own. 
Two years had gone. In that time her life 
had come to an understanding regarding many 
things she had never understood before. She 
saw now, when it was too lute, what a mistake 
she had made in marrying a man she hud no 
love for—nothing more than respect at the 
most, and sometimes, when she saw how ut¬ 
terly absorbed he was in getting gain, she 
found she had not even that. She saw, too, 
that love was a necessity of her nature—that 
she needed someone to lean on and look up to. 
This kind of life was like standing alone. 
Sometimes, when such a mood was on her as 
was filling her with Its unrest to-nlglit, she 
almost hated her husband. If she had never 
seen him she might, have been happy now. If 
but what use of saying if? The hard, cruol 
fact was there to stare her in the face. Stic 
was his wifo, and a world or Its could not iiide 
it away for a single moment. Yet always that 
wild, strong yearning rose up In licr heart, that 
cry for love made itself heard. She could not, 
keep it. down, ft clamored for utterance and 
made her press her hands upon her oars some¬ 
times, as if to shutout, its longing importun¬ 
ities. Is there anything sadder In life than 
such a longing when we know we cannot grati¬ 
fy it? 
She heard steps and voices In the hall, and 
turned to the door as two men came in. One 
of them was her husband, a w hite-haired man 
of sixty-flve, and the other a man in the prime 
of life, with a fair Saxon face and blonde hair 
and heard. Even in the dim light from the 
grate she saw how handsome he was, and a 
little thrill of admiration went over her. 
“Mrs. Gresham, t have brought a friend wi h 
me,” her hushand said, coming up to tier. “ Lot 
me present Max Guaylk.” 
She bowed and holdout heir hand in welcome. 
Almost any face was welcome In that house, 
because new faces helped to break up the 
gilded monotony which held the hours in its 
clutches. 
Max Grayee spoke a few r words of greeting 
and held her hand in his fora moment, and in 
that brief time Nora Grksiiam knew- that she 
should like him. Her quick perception told 
her so. 
“ I must leave you to entertain each other," 
JOHN GHR8UAM said, by-and-by. I have busi¬ 
ness to attend to, and you will not miss me." 
And he left them. By and by, us lie bent, 
over his accounts, he heard singing, and he 
stoppcdl for a moment to listen. Their song 
was something sweet and plaintive, lie no¬ 
ticed how well their voices blent together, but 
the sentiment of tint song fell on unheeding 
ears. “I declare," he exclaimed, suddenly, as 
his eyes fell on the long row of figures before 
him, " I have forgotten where I was. 1 musu’t 
bother to listen to t hem, or l shan't get through 
with this to-night." 
Nora Gresham sat beforo the fire in her 
room a long time that night before she un¬ 
dressed herself and got ready for bed. A new 
feeling pervaded her. She felt, some way, as if 
lire had suddenly put on a now brightness. 
“Life wouldn't be so terrible a thing, after 
ali, if one could have lots of friends like Max 
Grayer to pass It with," she thought, as she 
crouched there before the flickering lire, with 
her bads clasped across her knees, and her wide 
eyes looking miles and miles away in the vistas 
oT the coals. “I like him so much. I count 
him one of tbn best of friends already, and 1 
am so glad to think that he is going to stay in 
town, where we can see each other often. If 
John were like him 1" 
Ali, Nooa! If you could only have known, 
just then, what a dangerous place you were 
standing on! When a woman gets to compar¬ 
ing her husband with some other man, in the 
way Nora did, I tremblo for her, and for the 
consequences. 
Slic lingered over her toilet longer than usual 
the next morning. She put a spray of helio¬ 
tropes in her hair, and that slm never had done 
for her husband, because the chances wero ten 
to ono that, he would not notice them. But Max 
Grayer saw them, and spoke of tlioin. 
Bitting at tiic breakfast table she had a good 
opportunity to examine iiis fuc •, while iio was 
talking with her husband. It was a handsome 
one. Not strong, but fair. With blue eyes, and 
a mouth almost, womanish in its curves, half 
hidden by a soft brown moustache. NORA was 
not a close observer. She saw only the beauty 
in his face, and not its weakness. There were 
lines about the mouth whiob told of fickleness 
of purpose, and a look In the blue, passionate 
eyes that a closer reader of faces would have 
thought Indicative of something bad and cruol 
in the man’s nature. 
Max Grayer came often after that, to sit 
with Nora through the long evenings. .John 
Gresham was seldom with them, and they 
said, seeing the seamstress s t. a n ding 
there; "come in and sit down." 
“I mustn’t stay," Mrs. Grayee said, 
advancing a little way Into the room and 
looking admiringly about her; “ I've got 
a great deal of work to do and T. haven't 
any time to waste. Oil I” with a little 
curious sigh that was only natural from 
a persou In her position, " What a fine 
thing it must be to be rich, and have 
everything you want." 
Nora Gresham turned suddenly and 
faced the woman, with a hard, bitter 
look in her eyes. “You think so, do 
you?" she asked, with a bitter laugh. 
“ i wonder if you ever thought that some 
of us who seem rich to you arc really 
among the very poorest people in Goo’s 
world ? You don’t see how that can be, 
do you ? Well, it is so, strange as it may 
seem. I know a woman who can wear 
the purple and flue linen of the world 
who would readily exchange places with 
you if the exchange would only bring 
her a little love. A little lovo is all hhe 
asks. But, though everything else that 
heart can wish is hers, that which her 
heart craves most is denied her. Her 
heart is starving—do you hear ? Starving 
for a morsel of love. Do you wonder 
that the world seems pitifully poor to 
her?" 
"I pity her," answered the seamstress, 
earnestly. “ I know what it is to be poor, 
but I always have had some one to care 
for me, and that lias helped me along 
through a good deal of trouble and hard 
work, 1 can tell you, as nothing else 
could. Poor woman! I pity her." 
“And so do I," said Nora Gresham, 
looking not at the woman but far beyond 
her; "from the hottom of rny heart I 
pity her as I never pitied any one before. 
To her life seems 6ucb a dreary, dreary 
thing.” 
The seamstress watched her wonder- 
ingly. She seemed to forget that she 
was not alone. The beautiful brown 
eyes of the woman were dark with some 
troublous shadow. Her face was full of 
unrest. Couldn’t be that sympathy for 
another’s sorrows affected her so? She 
seemed to make them her own, and ali 
their dreariness expressed itself in that 
look of hers. She seemed to recollect 
herself suddenly. “ I am keeping you 
when you want to be at work," she said. 
“I am not feeling very well to-day, and 
am inclined to be forgetful of anything 
save myself.” 
She paid the seamstress for her work 
and the woman got up and went out. 
At the door she turned to take one look 
wero not \sorry that jt was so. Mia 
presence seemed to clog the enjoyment 
which each found in the other’s society. 
Nora gave herself up to the dream 
which had come t o her with the coming 
of Max Grayer, wholly and completely. 
She did not look ahead. She was coi 
tent to drift down the current, livli 
only In the present. And Mi© present 
was so sweet, 3 o delightful! She forgo* 
what had been, and what might I n, 
VVitli her it was now! 
I think Max Grayee hardly know 
what, hi* motives were in keeping up so 
close an Intimacy with (he wife of bis 
old friend. He admired her. He felt 
attracted toward her, as lie had often 
felt attracted to other women. He en¬ 
joyed her society, ami especially the way 
in which she gave herself up to be ruled 
by his wishes and tastes. Them was 
something in that which fluttered his 
selfishness. He saw, after a little, that 
she was forgetting friendship and get¬ 
ting to love him ; but ho was too selfish, 
too cruel, to withdraw before she had 
compromised herself. He thought only 
of himself. Tills homage from a beauti¬ 
ful woman was pleasant to him. When 
ho saw lit to put an end to the flirtation 
as he chose to cull It, he could do so 
without any serious consequences re¬ 
sulting so far as he was concerned. Ho 
did not botberhlmaelf to think what the 
consequences might be to her. What 
did it matter if her heart broke? Jio 
had had kin sport I 
Six months drifted away, and in that 
time Nora Gresham gave her heart up 
completely to Max Grayee. She had 
never loved before, but now she knew 
what it was to lovo. I question if she 
once stopped to think, the thrill of lov¬ 
ing-was go new and strange and sweet, 
that to lovo him, when she was the wife 
of another, was dishonor. Thinking 
would have put an end to the dreams at 
once. That was one of those dreams 
which will not bear the investigation of 
thought. You must dream and dream, 
but never think. If you would have the 
dream last. But this one. Ilka all other 
dreams, must have an end some time. 
And by and by the end came. 
One night Max Grayer was with her, 
and they were alone. He had brought 
her a new aong, and they aang it togeth¬ 
er- As the song ended she looked up 
into his faett, as if some force compelled 
her to do so. and met his passionate 
glance. Her eyos drooped before It, 
while a wild thrill of gladness that was 
almost pain in its Intensity went over 
