242 
No. 1. Fifth Ate.. New York. 
Come to me, Ned, if your heart is the same as 
when last you saw me. Come to mo and receive 
the answer I could not give you then. 
Elsie. 
" Elsie at No. 1 Fifth A verm®?" exclaimed 
the amazed follow, re-reading the precious lit¬ 
tle missive with tear-dlmmed eyes. Go to her! 
of course he would, that very night., and though 
Ills circumstances would not allow of his offer¬ 
ing again ills hand and heart, yet It. would be 
more than happiness for him to see his precious 
Elsie again, even here for a moment. But. 
what position did she bold in that rich house, 
he wondered, and had Nettie discovered who 
she was? Thinking all thlB, ho hurried away 
and spent the day as usual In fruitless search 
for a situation. 
It is not necessary to dwell long upon the 
meeting of the two lovers that night. When 
Nun beheld in the stylish, ricbly-dressed girl 
who stood before him in Mr. Barclay's sump¬ 
tuous parlor, the same sweet face and dark 
eyes of the young school mistress whom lost he 
saw In-village, his heart gave a great bound 
and he could not speak. But a half hour alone 
with her made everything clear between ( hem, 
and Mr. Barcley, who Idolized the orphan 
niece whom but recently he had found and 
adopted Into a life of luxury, made our hero a 
happy fellow by promising to take him into his 
office with a salary that would soon pormit 
marriage between tho two who loved each 
other so well. 
As for Nettie.ho one can find out how she 
managed it, but one thing Is certain — the 
widower soon disc ivered that Ills child re¬ 
quired a mother more than a governess, and If 
he couldn’t persuade Nettie to fill that posi¬ 
tion he would not offer It to anybody. And so 
It happened that ore long one of the European 
steamer* carried a happy bridal party from our 
dock—consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Barclay and 
child, and Mr. and Mrs. Clark, and the two 
brides in confidence declared that there were 
worse things In the world than teaching school; 
in fact they owed a good deal to their efforts to 
" teach young ideas how to shoot," since from 
those efforts other and happier Ideas had 
sprung into existence. 
- ■ - —. - 
HOW A WIFE WAS SAVED. 
BY DEFOREST P. GITMM ARSON. 
It certainly had po inviting look, the old, 
dingy house into which my old friend hade me 
enter, in one of the driz/.liest of November 
mornings. Since my lust meeting with him two 
years had slipped Into oliilvion, nnd many 
changes had came to us both. Of this fact I 
thought, almost the whole time during my walk 
with him towards hla home, for the face that I 
had often fancied, in t he past, one of the bright¬ 
est and best, wore now a careworn and almost 
dissipated look. 
We met that morning on one of the grandest 
streets of a great city. It was one of those 
chance meotines that often restore lost friends 
to us whom wo have supposed dead or gone 
from out our vision forever. I think the first 
look that I gave my friend must have filled hts 
heart with pain, for he said quickly" Yes I I 
am shabbily dressed, Fred ; but m£ heart is as 
true to an old friendship as ii ever was In the 
past. Can you say the same?" 
"Yes, I can!” was my answer. “Yes, old 
fellow. There is no use, however, in my trying 
to conceal the fact that I was a little surprised 
at. your appearanoe; for you always dressed 
with such exquisite taste and care.” 
" But the time has passed for that. I have a 
sorrow too deep to allow of my ever thinking 
of dress—a skeleton within my home and heart 
that, all tho broadcloth In the land could not 
sufficiently cover to hide It from the eyes of 
the world 1" 
And here my friend sighed—and such a sigh. 
It seemed to come from the very depths of his 
soul. Then, turning to me, ho said “ Years 
ago, Fred, I believed you to be the truest 
friend I had in the world. I have not had occa¬ 
sion to doubt that you are still; only our lives 
have drifted so far apart since then, that I feel 
you may not have the same interest In my af¬ 
fairs.” 
It was after I bad assured him that I had as 
great an Interest as ever, that it was only 
through a force of circumstances which neither 
of us could control that we had drifted apart, 
that he asked me to accompany him to his 
home. 
The room into which he bade me enter wbeD 
we had reached the top of the stairs, bore no 
resemblance to the shabby appearance of the 
outside. It was tastefully, almost elegantly, j 
furnished. A beautiful woman arose to meet 
us. She was dressed with a nice regard to the 
harmony of colors and with some considerable 
degree of rlchuess. But the moment my eyes 
rested upon her tho secret of my friend's 
changed appearance flashed upon me. This 
woman, with all her exquisite beauty —this 
woman who had won the love of my friend, and 
was bis wife, had learned to look upon the wine 
when it was red and tarried thereby too long." 
I think she knew that T had discovered her 
weakness, tor her eyes Unshed as if she would 
bid me defiance; then she turned them away, 
as though she would avoid their meeting mine. 
"My wife, Mr. Atherton. Dearest, this is 
my old friend, Fred Atherton, of whom I 
have so often told you. I met him wandering 
about the streets, a sort of ‘ Japiiet in search 
MOORE’S RURAL I'iEW- YORKER. 
08T.40 
of a father,' and so I decided to bring him 
home with me." 
Poor fellow 1—he was even trying to he gay, 
although he must have known me better than 
to suppose he could deceive me by attempting 
such a thing. As to the lady—his wife—she 
stammered forth a sort of confused welcome, 
then asked to be excused a few moments and 
left the room. When she had fairly gone, and 
I dared trust myself with speech, I turned to 
my friend and said, "You have asked Jor my 
friendship with looks, which with me are more 
potent than words—it is yours; only tell me 
what you would have me do. Of course I have 
discovered tbo secret of your domestic sorrow. 
It needed hut one glance to open that door and 
see wbat was before a mystery'. But she Is too 
young and boautirul to be lost. Wo must save 
her my boy I—nay, more, we will 1" 
Here my friend asked me to walk with him. 
and together we spent the whole of that day 
upon the street. Tbo story of his wife was not 
unlike that of many another whose sun had 
risen in brightness, only in.ftfter years to set in 
darkness. Born with the fatal gift of beauty 
which, as she grew to womanhood, ripened 
into A greater fullness, causing her to be sought 
after by the gilded butterflies of fashion to lend 
her presence to add to the glare of their salons. 
Her nature not being a strong one, she. seldom 
refused to accept an Invitation to one of those. 
Here ft was that she commenced taking wine, 
and ere the first season of her fashionable life 
had ended she had learned to like it so well as to 
almost sacrifice honor to obtain it. Her parents 
were aware of this fact, and did all in their 
powor to keep it from her, but in vain. 
It was at one of these fashionable parties that, 
my friend, Roswell LYNDON, had first met 
this beautiful woman. The sight of her must 
have dazed tbo man, for in less than one month 
he was her affianced husband. But not until 
after they were married did he discover the 
dreadful secret which during the two years of 
his married life had made him so miserable. 
Not until the wife whom ho loved was upon 
the eve of becoming a mother, did ho fully 
realize the groat misfortune that was so nearly 
to wreck both of their lives. 
Their child wai born, a bright-faced, winsome 
little thing. Its mother seemed to doat upon 
it. Indeed, for the first few months she lavished 
an undue attention on it, to the entire neglect 
of her hushand and her home. Then her love 
for the wine cup came to her once more with 
increased ardor. "She mu&t have wine; she 
needed it to give her strength”—and Roswell, 
eager to gratify the wish of one so dear to him, 
denied her not. 
One day when ho returned from business and 
opened tho door that led into hts room, a sight 
met ids eye that completely stunned him. 
“Stretched upon the floor in a drunken stupor, 
lay his wife. In her arms was his child. But, 
oh God! dead—quite dead' In her tall, the 
mother of his child had killed it.!” 
“I think to my dying day there will never 
corne one hour of anguish greater than the one 
through which I lived at that time," he said ; 
and as I looked into his face I believed him. 
“ I took the dead child from its mother's arms 
—her child and mine!—and laid it tenderly 
upon Its little bed. Oh, Goo I to think that the 
one thing dearest to me in iife was lying there 
cold and still in death, and that the mother 
who gave it life gave it also unto death, was 
killing me. 
“But I knew that I must be strong. No liv¬ 
ing being need know how my child died. She 
must never go through life with the stain of 
having killed her own child upon her name. It 
was hours before she awoke from her slumber. 
Almost the first words she uttered were to ask 
mo for her child. I did not in those first mo¬ 
ments know how to act—whether to tell her it 
was dead, or t ry and keep the secret from her 
until she was in a more fit condition to hoar it. 
But 1 could not put her off. She started towards 
the little bed on which Jay her child. The scream 
which she gave convinced me that no words of 
mine were needed to inform her of its fate. One 
glance had told her all. She stood before me 
in that moment, the very embodiment of sav¬ 
age rage—such rags as 1 can imagine a lioness 
possessing upon returning to her den and find¬ 
ing that during her absence her young have 
been turn from her I Then the turned to me 
with such a look that to my dying day I feel 
will haunt me, and the next moment she lay 
sobbing in iny arms. Poor bruised creature, 
poor mother, robbed of her child—poor slave to 
an appetite which she could not control. Of 
course 1 pitied her, for I loved her, and for the 
time I forgot my own grief in the greatness of 
her's. 
“ After our child was laid in the grave and we 
returned to our home, she promised me that j 
never, ;i ever again should one drop of that ac¬ 
cursed stuff touch her lips. But promises avail 
but little when one’s appetite is stronger than 
they are strong to resist; and ere the grass had 
grown over Lillie's gravesho had broken hers. 
“I am tired of living in Lhis way. I think that 
I shall yet become insane if this thing contin¬ 
ues. Cannot you, my friend," said he, turning 
to me with an eagerness almost beyond any¬ 
thing of the kind f had ever soon, “cannot you 
point out the way for ine to take?" 
How, during the whole of my friend's painful 
story there had been floating through my mind 
a sort of dim haze of a ways and means to end 
this 1'eariu) skeleton's existence, which was 
robbing him of home, health and all that was 
dearest to him. I thought of a home in some 
country village—a little vine-covered cottage, 
and the society of good, home-loving people, 
whose tastes were purer, whose Jives were not 
altogether worldly—as the very spot in which 
this woman's life might, again become of use to 
herself and husband. Then, too, I thought, a 
sin like this cannot, so readily he. hidden from 
the public eye in a small village as In a large 
city, and perhaps this woman's pride will help 
her to reform. 
So I laid my plan before my friend, and the 
dear boy almost jumped for joy at the Idea, and 
even went so far as t.o commission me. to pro¬ 
cure such a place for him. I readily accepted 
the commission, and before a week had passed 
had succeeded in finding one that exactly filled 
my I flea of what I wanted. 
On the first of the month Roswell and his 
wife moved into their new home. During the 
month that followed I was a frequent visitor, 
and I am proud to say that l never saw any In¬ 
dication of the old ti me sorrow upon my friend’s 
face after the first month had passed. They 
have dwelt in their cottage homo for nearly 
two years; another lovely babe makes glad 
their hearts and hears my name. I am a bach¬ 
elor still and have no homo of my very own : 
but 1 know that wander where I will, there is 
always a room ready for me in the home of my 
friend. 
-- ♦ 
A STRANGE CASE. 
Fourteen years ago Mr. A. was the American 
partner of a large firm doing business on both 
sides of the At lantic. He was a hard worker, 
and trade rapidly Increased in the United 
States under his management. His European 
partners thought the world of him. But sud¬ 
denly, one day, without any warning or premo¬ 
nition whatever, ho became stark mad. Bofore 
night he was raving, and upon the following 
week he was removed to the Litchfield (Conn.) 
Insane Asylum. He was very soon classed 
among tho "Incurables." Time passed on; 
his friends most of them ceased to visit him, 
and had apparently forgotten the unfortunate 
man. Never once had he given any evidence of 
returning reason, but on the contrary, as each 
year came and went, he grew seemingly more 
confirmed in his dementia. The other day 
some of the attendants were Bomewhat sur¬ 
prised and amused when Mr. A. came toward 
them as they were standing in a group and ex¬ 
claimed ; “ I am restored to my senses again 
and want to get out. of this place.” At the 
same time ho indited the following dispatch to 
the senior member of the firm when he lost 
reason, directing It to London, England:—“J 
am sane again, come over and meet me." Inas¬ 
much as til® laying claim to sanity is one of the 
marked indications of insanity among the 
patients, the attendants thought nothing of 
the request of the man. He continued, how¬ 
ever, to push them so persistently and mani¬ 
fest such striking inclination of returning 
reason that the physicians were finally called, 
and held a consultation, They decided that 
t ile man was sane. To make a long story short, 
he was subsequently released. The withheld 
dispatch to his old partner was forwarded. It 
found him in Europe. He cam® over to this 
county to meet the restored lunatic, tho latter 
found bis Interest in tho business, which had 
never heeu disposed of, had increased from 
$3(10.000 to $500,1X10. He at once resumed his 
place as an active member of tbe firm, and 
what is both remarkable and valuable, the 
memory of everything transpiring just before 
his calamity came upon him as fresh as though 
the events transpired but yesterday. He jok¬ 
ingly alludes to his long period of forced retire¬ 
ment from the World, observing that it was 
probably the best thing for hint, inasmuch as 
he would have probably engaged in some 
speculation and lost, ail his money, instead of 
being worth more than twice as much as he 
was when prostrated with insanity. 
-- 
WHY HER PLAN DIDN’T WORK. 
The Pottsville (Pa.i Miners Journal is respon¬ 
sible for the following story“ A Pboanixville 
maid,” quite old, becoming anxious about her 
matrimonial chances, recently concocted a plan 
to deceive a young fellow as to her age. This is 
the way she tried it,:—The old family Bible 
contained a faithful record of alt births, marri¬ 
ages. and deaths. This volume the maiden 
took to her chamber, and selecting the birth 
page, she managed by dint of scratching and 
writing to change the date of her birth to a 
period eleven years later than what it bad 
legitimately been recorded. Then the bible 
was placed on the sitting-room table in a con¬ 
spicuous manner. That evening came along 
the lover. He soon began to finger the Bible 
pages, and finally reached the birth record, 
where and when he discovered, to his surprise, 
that his Angelina was just one year younger 
than he. He thought it strange, as she appeared 
older. He kept bis mouth ahut and continued 
to rumble over the pages. Next he began 
reading the death list, and made the very 
astonishing discovery that the radiant maiden, 
according to tbe Bible, had actually been boru 
ten years after the decease of her father. The 
young man quietly arose and Lid Angelina 
good-by, and now declares that eternal vigilance 
is indeed the price of liberty. 
■» - 
“The elevation of women 1" exclaimed my 
Lord Torn Noddy, as he was driving home from 
Ascot, “ Aw, if a fella wants to soe—aw—woman 
elevated, he should see ’em at the waces—aw 
after a good lunch.”— Punch. 
jkbklh fading. 
THE RIVER’S CROSSING. 
BT O. M. KNAPP. 
One by one they are gathering there— 
There at the River’s Crossing: 
The weary of life, its turmoil and care, 
Down by the River's Crossing. 
Thousands have gone to that River’s side— 
Thousands have plunged in its chilling tide— 
There—at the River's Crossing. 
There waits a ferryman, pale and grim. 
Down l>y the River's Crossing; 
He silently, solemnly gathers them in 
There—at. that River’s Crossing. 
There our sisters, so gentle. 
And our brothers brave,— 
The hc-autiful children must pass the wave. 
There—nt the River's Crossing. 
Death is the name of that ferryman pale. 
Down by the River’s Crossing; 
He lists not the dying suppliant’s wail 
When at tho River's Crossing. 
He heeds not tbe sinner's despairing cry. 
His power is crushed whr-n the righteous die.— 
He hurries them all to the shore that la nigh. 
Oi.rr the River’s Crossing. 
We, too, shall stand on t hat beaten strand, 
Down by tho River's Crossing; 
And pray for a home in the *' better land ”— 
Beyond the River’s Crossing. 
The friends of years, ine true and tried, 
Who lov’d and sustained, when our hope had died— 
We must part from them at tho water’s Side- 
Down by tho River’.* Crossing. 
The loved ones of " the long ago,” too, are gone 
Down to that River's Crossing: 
They have pass’d the way. Each passeth alone, 
Down to that River's Crossing. 
Faces beautiful—hands most fair— 
Little feet that have climbed “the Golden Stair ”— 
Tresses of gold nod gray are there¬ 
over the River's Crossing. 
Metblnks "voices” come back, when the wind is 
fair— 
Back from the River's crossing— 
Singing, “ Jesus or Nazareth walteth there,” 
Close by the River's Crossing. 
The “ City Celestial ” is seen from afar, 
With Its “ Beautiful Mansions” and “Gates Ajar:” 
The Rest for God's people remaincth there— 
Over the River’s Crossing. 
Brothers and sisters and friends shall meet 
Over the River’s Crossing; 
With parents nnd children at Jesus’ feet, 
Over the River's Crossing. 
Oh! that "Home of the Soul,” in our visions and 
dreams. 
Which toil of Its beauty, how peaceful It seems 
Oh ! to wander for aye by Its murmuring streams— 
Over the River’s Crossing. 
-- 
DESCRIPTION OF JESUS CHRIST. 
Copy of a letter from Publius Lentulus, 
governor of Judea, to the uenate of Rome re¬ 
specting the person and notions of our blessed 
Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, which may serve 
as a strong testimony and evidence in favor of 
the divinity of the Lord’s person and doctrines 
against the stale objections of the deists, as the 
authenticity of the manuscript from which it 
was translated is founded on the best authority. 
Tiberius Cresar caused this letter to be published 
throughout all the Roman provinces, whioh is 
as follows: 
There appeared in these our days a man of 
great virtue named Jesus Christ, who is yet 
living among us, and of theGent|le6 is accepted 
as a prophet of truth : but by his own disciples 
is called the Son of GjJ. Ho raiseth the dead 
and cureth ail manner of diseases. A man of 
stature somewhat tali, and comely, with a very 
reverend countenance, such as tbe beholders 
may both love and fear; bis hair is the color of 
a filbert, full ripe, and plain almost down to his 
ears, but from his ears downward somewhat 
curled, more orient of color and waving about 
his shoulders. In the ruidst or his hair goeth a 
seam or partition of his hair, after the manner of 
tbe Nazarites; bis forehead very plain and 
smooth; his face without spot or wrinkle, 
beautified with comely red ; his nose and mouth 
so formed that nothing can be reprehended; 
his heard somewhat thick, agreeable color to 
the hair of the head, not of any great length, 
but forked in the midst; of an innocent, ma¬ 
ture look ; his eyes grey, clear and quick. In 
reprovlngbeisterrible, in admonishing, courte¬ 
ous and fair spoken, pieasant in speech, mixed 
with gravity. It can not be remembered that 
any have seen him laugb.but many have seen 
him weep. In proportion ol body, well shaped 
and straight; his hands and arms right delect¬ 
able to behold; In speaking very temperate, 
modest arid wise. A man for singular beauty 
surpassing the children of men. 
-- 
JOHN AND JAMES. 
On a certain occasion a father, speaking of 
his two sens, said, “John is the more honest 
man, hut James is the better Christian.” How 
could that be? Can true piety exist without 
honesty? We apiirehend there are some per¬ 
sons who think It can, but if so they are mis¬ 
taken. The consistent Christian is a man of bis 
word, a man of integrity an upright man in all 
his business transactions. There may be honesty 
where there is no piety, but where there is piety 
there will he found honesty. Hays Lonl'eliow. 
“Mora'ity without religion is only a kind of 
dead reckoning, au endeavor to find our place 
on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we 
have to run, But without any observation of the 
heavenly bodies.” 
