URAL NEW-YORKER. 
273 
MY GARDEN. 
Bounded by the budding clover, 
And sentineled with trees, 
Showered with wealthy sun all over. 
The home of birds and bees: 
It has only elouris to love It, 
The winds to be Us friends, 
Moon and sun to watch above It, 
And stars that evening lends; 
Kindly morns to wake Its flowers, 
Still noons to give It gold. 
Patron twilight, sunset, dowers, 
And dews when (lays'are old. 
Purple phlox and sunflowers trusty 
Guard all Its rich estates, 
Dandelions, broad and lusty. 
Like peasants, crowd its gates. 
Violets bloom In corners shady, 
And on Llie borders gay 
Sits tne stock, a crimson lady, 
And pinks Hare holiday. 
Larkspurs loaning out in places 
Where bashful myrtles creep, 
Laugh at monk-flowers’ hooded faces, 
And popples gone to sleep. 
There are starched and stately briers, 
And thistle-knights and dames; 
Bloomless weeds, like Jovial friars, 
Grasses with ancient names. 
Vagrant hops that court the clovers, 
Prim lilacs. In n row, 
Gaudy beans grown willful rovers, 
Grand hollyhocks for show. 
Quaint, bright pansies, foxgloves stately, 
Lilies with petals wide. 
Jasmine tinted delicately, 
And daislos merry-eyed. 
I am queen and lady In it— 
Queen over loaf and flower— 
Crowned with sprays of purple spinnet, 
I own no higher power. 
Teems the world with fears and sorrows, 
For me, I have no care! 
My good realm excludes to-morrows. 
And all I want is there. 
Where such gold ns sunset treasures, 
Or truer friends Ilian flowers? 
Such dear dreams, such happy leisures, 
And such enchanted hours? 
When my life and I are tired 
Calling ourselves by name, 
When the things we have desired 
No longer seem the same ; 
When the years bnve weary faces, 
And heaven Is near and fair, 
I shall seek Its broader spaces, _ 
And And a garden there. 
<§ur ^tori)-3[£[Uer. 
KEN A REIGNOLDS: 
A Story of tlie Flower-Mission in New York. 
and temptation which beset her on every 7 hand. 
Should ahe give up the useless battle ?-take 
the joy the tempter offered, and be happy again ? 
Not far away stood a beautiful mansion wait¬ 
ing to receive her as its mistress. Wealth and 
easy luxury and rest, were at her command. 
What matter that In the eyes of the law another 
claimed the hand of the man who loved her itud 
her alone? What though the world should 
point with scornful linger at the wreck of her 
girlhood's purity and truth? Hotter scorn and 
contempt, better sin and shame, than I he 
The spell was broken by CLARA Babton’s 
gentle voice saying, " You are III. Let me help 
you.” Then all grew dark around her and she 
became unconscious. 
Hours afterward Rena opened her eyes in a 
strange apartment. Lamps burned dimly In 
sheltered nooks and the rich fragrance of flow¬ 
ers (lllod the air. As she strove to rise Claiia 
j Barton was at her sido and prevented her. 
“Lie still,” she said, “ and rest. You are still 
■ weak. If you wish to see your friends I will 
I send for them.” 
BY FLOYD BENTLEY. 
Rena Reignolds drew aside the curtain and 
looked forth. It had been a stormy night and < 
day-break promised nothing better. The rain¬ 
drops pattered monotonously upon the roof 
and foil with sorrowful cadence from the oaves, 
and the wind wailed mournfully around the 
house-tops. She stood silently for a moment, 
looking out, into the dawn, thinking of the long, 
wet, streets that stretched between her and her 
place of work; f lic streets which she must trav¬ 
erse without overshoes or umbrella, for die 
was only a poor sewing girl, and now that tho 
times wore so hard if she could keep a shelter 
for her head and food enough, though of the 
poorest quality,to eat, It was all that she could 
expect. 
This window was Rena's Inspiration— the 
only beautiful thing In a smoky, dingy room— 
and worth climbing the long flights of rickety 
stairs to see; for through its dark and narrow 
casement one saw at sunrise the wondrous glory 
flooding the earth, touching tho towers and 
steeples with mystic radiance, and flinging 
across the azure sky a ladder of gold for angels’ 
feet to tread; and on a calm, still day you 
might sec far ofT the waters of the bay glitter¬ 
ing like some wondrous jewel In its dusky set¬ 
ting of masts. 
But this morning there was no Inspiration in 
the air—no promise of the Master’s coming In 
the darkened sky; and letting the curtain fall, 
with a sigh she turned to her scanty breakfast. 
That disposed of, never of late a heavy task, 
she donned hat and shawl and Boon was on her 
way through the wet and slippery streets. 
Rough men jostled her as ahe hurried along. 
More than once was the bundle she carried 
knocked from her hands by the passers-by in 
their ha:to, and sadder than evor before tho 
tears rose In her eyes and nearly blinded her. 
Wet and weary she at last reached her desti¬ 
nation to receive madame’s reprimand for her 
tardiness, and without having an opportunity 
to rest or dry her damp feet was conducted to 
the sowing room, a small, cheerless apartment, 
doubly chill and dreary this weary day. Hour 
after hour passed by and still she sat with 
flushed cheeks and throbbing brow stitching 
away at the piles of silk and muslin which her 
utmost efforts seemed unable to diminish; and 
all the while a fierce, desperate battle was rag¬ 
ing In her soul. Mustltalwajs be like this? 
Must tlm existence God gave as a blessing he 
only a curse? Far back in the past lay a happy 
childhood, of which In these days of tempta¬ 
tion and trial site hardly dared think. Nearer 
at hand were the days of her loneliness and 
friendliness—the days in which she had fought 
with all her small strength the fiends of poverty 
LITTLE HARRY AND HIS DBG “ SNOW.” iSee page 275.) 
weary, hopeless lot to which fate had consigned 
her. The struggle was ended and tho tempter 
had won. 
For the remainder of 1 he day Rena worked 
like one in a dream, hardly conscious that the 
storm had died away and the glad sunlight 
swept across the world. She folded up the last 
garment with a sigh of relief. For her there 
would he no more lonely days of toll. The 
anger of her mistress, the Insolence of tho serv¬ 
ants, would wound her never more; and the 
coho of an old-time song rose softly to her Ups 
as she hurried down tho steps into the glad 
sunset. Its splendor rolled through the crowd¬ 
ed streets, waking in every heart the memory 
of tho holiest and best Its life had known; and 
rough, rude men, softened by its magic touch, 
paused reverently and stepped aside to make 
room for a young girl who, with both bumfs 
filled with flowers and a basket of fragrant 
blossoms on her arm, came down the street. 
Clara had borne peace and joy to many 
hearts this afternoon, and tho pure light still 
lingered on her face as she threaded her way 
through the crowd. Sick room and hospital 
had felt, the Joy of her presence, and yet her 
store of gifts was not exhausted - the gifts 
which a gensrous and benevolent people had 
placed in her hands for the benefit of the city’s 
poor and helpless. As she passed along, Rena 
met her face to face, and as her eyes fell on the 
fragrant blossoms a sudden shock passed over 
her. Was it the hunted look la Rena's fright¬ 
ened eyes? or did some angel's voice speak to 
Clara Barton’s heart of the peril which beset 
this girl’s soul? .She did not know what Im¬ 
pulse moved her, hut taking from the basket a 
cluster of pond lilies, snowy and pure, she 
placed them In the girl’s trembling hand ; and 
faint and breathless Rkna stood silent In the 
presence of the picture these flowers evoked 
from the past. 
A softly-flowing river on whose bosom a child, 
cradled In a father’s loving arms, rocked to and 
fro In a tiny skiff, while around the white pond 
lilies raised their fragrant heads,swaying light¬ 
ly at the will of the waves. Far off the sunset 
fell on purple mountains that rose to meet tho 
purple sky. Green fields stretched far ou either 
hand, and through the hush of twilight came 
the solemn voice of a distant hell. Ami as the 
child clasped the sentient blossoms la her tiny 
lingers, the father drew her closer and whis¬ 
pered softly, “Oh, Father] in the evil days to 
come keep itiy little one unspotted from the 
world, and may the blossoms she clasps be an 
emblem of her own souI’b purity!” 
Rena shuddered. “Friends," she echoed, 
drearily, " r have not known tho meaning of 
the word since they placed my father within 
the grave with tho lilies resting upon Ills bosom. 
I have no friends.” 
“ 1 too am fatherless I” said CLARA Barton, 
clasping Rena’s hand within her own. “ With 
his latest breath my father bade me carry on 
the work he had begun, the work of oaring for 
the poor and a filleted. If you have no friends 
T claim you as my Own. Let me bo the friend 
you need and you shall aid me In my work.” 
Tho offer was gratefully accepted, and Rena 
Reignolds was saved. Clara Barton's home 
became her own and her friend found in her a 
faithful helper. The bitterness of her past life 
had taught her what it la to be nelpiess and 
friendless In a great city, and die bent all hor 
energies toward relieving t hose who were simi¬ 
larly situated. Aiding the needy, guiding the 
helpless, cheering the sick and afflicted, suc¬ 
coring tho tempted and tried, who shall say 
that the. days of heroism have passed away 
while women sucli as those walk tho earth and 
labor for the sons and daughters of man ? Lung 
may they live! and may the good work they 
have begun flourish and extend till every town 
and city may reverence and imitate the good 
deeds of tho founders of the Flower Mission. 
IN THE GEO YE, 
“BUT, JACK, YOU HAVEN’T ASKED ME TO.” 
It was a cloudy afternoon in July. The early 
morning had been prophetic of a pleasant day ; 
but, like a groat, many prophecies of tho present 
time, had proved utterly false. Yet a Sunday 
school—it was Presbyterian in its belief, and so 
did not care fora sprinkling had determinedly 
shut Us eyes to tho threatening look of the sky, 
and gone on a picnic thirty miles from home. 
But tho heavy drops of rain which fell about 
the middle of the day, drove them from their 
original place of destination, the famous Lion 
Creek bridge gorge, and sent them on some five 
miles more to the pleasant town of Horwlch, 
The excellent music discoursed by the baud 
which accompanied tho excursionists, as well 
as the inherent curiosity of man to look upon 
strangers, attracted many of tho residents of 
Horwlch “down to the grove,” where the 
plcknlckers were. Jack Havlland was one of 
the many who could not resist the temptation, 
Jack and his friend Marion. Down they went 
to the grove, with one umbrella between them. 
Can any one hope to describe the feelings of a 
lonesome young man who wanders through a 
bevy of young girls, any one nod everyone of 
whom he desires to know, yet none of whom ho 
can know? Jaok was overflowing with that 
inexpressible feeling. And who can blame 
him, or who would expect him to feel other¬ 
wise? He had been shut up for six long months, 
poring over “ Parsons on Cont racts ” a book so 
suggestive of love dreams “Kent's Commen¬ 
taries," a “Law Glossary," and “Tomlin’s 
Law Dictionary,’’ till his nightly dreams pre¬ 
sented a ghostly, troublesome phalanx of agents 
and principals, of persons who could and who 
would not make contracts of cestui QUC trust and 
non compos mentis, while above them all towered 
Hugh Grot,lus, conversing In stately Latin jure 
belli et pads, and of the laws of nations. Can 
any one censure Jack for feeling a longing 
desire for a little human sympathy and human 
contact? Ho listlessly leaned against a pine 
tree and looked around him. 
Just then two young ladies came into the 
Ueld of vision. One Jack know, the other was 
a stranger; and the other was the one Jack im¬ 
mediately began to admire. She was of medium 
height, dreasod simply, yet tastefully ; a white 
Garibaldi waist- I believe Jack found out after¬ 
ward that was tho name of It, belted In by a 
broad ribbon, a dark skirt, over which was 
looped another striped black and white, and 
out from under which peeped two protty foot, 
Incased In thick but neat boots; a classical 
head—though Jaok confessed to me, that if tho 
figure head which formed the frontispiece of 
his Iliad, and which was held up to innocent 
freshmen as i hat of tho blind “old man elo¬ 
quent,” Is classical, why, ho didn’t think hers 
was with a great mass of hair, real, brown, 
living hair, twisted Into a grand coll behind, 
but not so firmly but that stray little curls had 
managed to creep out hero and there to give 
themselves an airing as tho wind fluttered 
around her face; and it was such a sweet, 
comely face, withal, that Jack most heartily 
envied tho wind and, crowning all, was a 
tasteful hit of headgear, such as is worn novv-a- 
days. 
Jack stood under tbeplno tree and lost his 
heart. But ho might just as well have lost it to 
the will-o'-the-wisp, a sprite, or some other 
fearful deception for what possibility was there 
<»r his ever getting acquainted with his suddenly 
sat up divinity, much loss of—well Jack hadn’t 
as yet exactly defined It In his own mind. 
But nature Is a match-maker. A rather broad 
statement, do you say, gentle reader ? Does not 
the old couplet, 
" There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them as wo will," 
apply to match-making us much as to any other 
course of life? And do you want any better 
authority ? 
Just then it bezan to rain. Jack had hls 
friend's umbrella. It would not do to let her 
get wet—so without a word Jack opened the 
umbrella, stalked over to whore she stood, and 
held it over her. He did It in such an hon at, 
earnest way, she could not. take offense. ; -.ie 
looked up Into Ills face and smiled; Jack 
smiled. She laughed a low, rippling lao ;h ; 
Jack a hysterically short one. 
“ It’s too bad it rains," said she, with the 
accent on tho “ too bad," just as girls always 
speak. 
“ I don’t know," blundered Jack In reply. 
bhe looked at him curiously, and said, “ Well," 
in a self-iuterrogatOry • way, ms though she 
might have, said, " What sort of an oddity are 
you ?" and then laughed again. 
With that Jack also laughed and came to 
himself. Then he began to talk, and they got 
on grandly. 
The rain not ceasing, Jack walked home with 
her, for ho found out that she lived In town. 
When they had arrived at her door, and she had 
thanked him for the use of the umbrella, or 
rather the use of himself and the umbrella. 
Jack knew he ought to gp, but every young 
man knows how it Is—he wasn’t quite ready. 
“ My name," stammered he, “is Jack—Jack 
Havlland.” 
“ And mine Is Clio Stanley.” 
“ And—and I’m studying law here in town." 
“And I am stopping here for the summer 
with papa. 1 should be happy to receive a call 
from you.” 
Then Jack went home. 
The next day Jack thought it all over. The 
one moment he called himself a fool, the next 
chuckled over the action, and decided, with all 
the acumen of a country Judge, toward which 
position he had aspirations, that it was rather 
“cute," and If cute, why he, as the perpetrator, 
must be somewhat, sharp. Now ho was inclined 
to feel sorry and ashamed over it; then, with 
an appeal to the principal heathen deity of hls 
vocabulary, Jack expressed hlmsoll as "deuced 
glad” it happened. So he went on In spirit 
alternating up and down, like a boy on a see¬ 
saw, provided the boy could ride both ends of 
the aee-saw at once, which I suppose Is an im¬ 
possibility; but when evening came he went 
and called on the young lady. She invited him 
to call again, Jack did so. In fact, ho wont 
several consecutive times. 
Three yoars passed away. Jack had studied 
diligently, and now for six months bad been a 
practising lawyer, with every prospect of suc¬ 
cess. All this time hls devoted attentions had 
been paid to Clio; yet in all that time not a 
word of love had passed between them. Jack 
could not and would not ask her to love him 
until lie could offer her something more tangible 
than possibilities. But now that he had won 
