MOORE’S BUBAL NEW-YORKER. 
06T. 34 
not thought of. We were going back, in the 
moonlight, when I put my hand on Nellie’s and 
made her turn her eyes toward me. 
“ J have been trying to Bay something to you 
for a long while,” J said; “perhaps you guess 
what it Ib.“ 
»ut before I could utter another word, my 
horses became frightened at something and 
away they went like mad things. Nellie clung 
to me and screamed. I did my best to Btop 
them. They left the road entirely and took 
their way across a field, and striking against a 
stump the snow had hidden, the sleigh was 
overturned and we were thrown out together. 
I was not hurt, but Nellie lay insensible. I 
lifted her In my arms and clasped her to my 
bosom, and begged her to open her eyes and to 
speak one word to me. But she was like one 
dead, and in my terror I dared not take her 
home. I carrb (1 her, instead, to my sister who, 
frightened half out of her senses, came forth 
to meet me. She took Nellie into an inner room 
and bade me bring a doctor; and he was there 
soon. 
J spent an hour of agony, such as 1 had never 
felt before; but at last Jennie came t.o me, all 
smiles. 
“There is no danger," she said. “She has 
come t o herself; she only fainted from fright. 
You haven’t kiJIod ner or even hurt her much, 
you foolish hoy.” 
And I burst into tears. Jennie bent over me. 
“ But to think that she should be so sly," she 
said. “A gentleman’s portrait in her bosom all 
the while and not a word to me of it! I ll pun¬ 
ish her for it now.” 
And away she ran hack to Nellie; but my 
tears were all dried up, my heart was gall. She 
waB engaged to some one else, this girl who was 
so dear to me. Some one had been before me 
and she wore his portrait next to her heart. 
Fool that I was not to guess it 1 
I never s aw whose portrait it was -Tom Arm¬ 
strong's or Jack Muyden’s 1 did not care. When 
Nellie was well enough to go, in the course of 
an hour or two, .1 dr >ve her home and bade her 
good bye. 
I said“ I regret that I should have been the 
means of alarming you so. Miss Brodie." 
And she looked up into my face with her 
great blue eyes, and said, “It was not your 
fault; you could not help it. It was so foolish 
to faint away." 
And I thought to myself “what deceitful 
creatures women are 1” for the look she gave 
me was as sweet as though she had not worn 
another man's portrait in her bosom. 
A week from that day I went to New York, 
and sought out an old ship-owner who had 
been my father’s friend. 
“I’m tired of farming,” I said, “ and want to 
try the sea as a common sailor.” 
The old man would have laughed me out of 
the notion; but when he found me firm he gave 
me what help he could. 
I went on board a vessel bound for China, 
and wrote to sister Jennie’ telling her to send 
for Uncle William and ills wife to manage the 
farm, which T knew they would lie glad to do; 
hut 1 never t old her where I was nor what I had 
done. I meant to throw myself away and be 
heard of no more by any one. Of course I was 
mad; that is the only excuse for me. 
So I led the sort of a life a sailor in the 
merchant service leads—no very pleasant, one 1 
can t ell you—for a year or t wo ; 1 grow no hotter 
for it, and no happier. The other men had 
mostly some one at homo mother or sister, 
wife or sweetheart, to get a letter or message 
from at times; 1 of my own act., had no one. 
And all the while, at work or at mess, in t he 
hours when watch was kept, on dock, I thought 
of Nellie ; saw her as she looked when she sat 
by her father's side in the summer moonlight; 
raw her with tho firelight on her golden hair, 
beside the winter hearth ; saw her smiling at 
me as we whirled through the snowy drifts that 
last bright day, and saw her as she lay like a 
dead Udng in rny arms. And fancy painted 
other pictures. I saw her its Tom Armstrong’s 
wife. I saw her—oh, good heavens, with her 
children on her kneel 
l am not sure but that I should have turned 
idiot, had not something happened to alter the 
circumstances of my position. This was nothi ng 
else than the total wreck of our vessel, and my 
narrow escape from drowning, hut with my arm 
broken by the fall of a spar. For a month I lay 
ou a sick bed ; and then with a softenod heart, 
end a feeling that 1 was sick of tho sea, I went 
home to see sister Jennie, and bo a farmer 
again. If I could. 
In these two yoars she had never had. a line 
ironi mo. Not an angry word did she give me 
but, ran in my arms and wopt on my bosom like 
a child; and then she showed me the wedding 
ring on her finger, and the baby lying asleep in 
1 bo cradle, and told me whose wife she was. 
She was Mrs. Tom Armstrong, and I had nevor 
.uessed they liked each other. 
“And I’m as happy as the day is long,” she 
said, “only fretting about you. How could 
you stay away so, Nod ? If you did not think of 
my feeling.--, you might have remembered Nellie 
Brodie’s." 
“ Nellie Brodie's feelings ?" I cried. “ Nellie 
Brodie’s! Don’t laugh at me, Jennie.” 
“Laugh nt you ?" she cried. “Laugh at you, 
my dear! 1 haven't a thought of it. Did you 
Quarrel that night? It must have been a quarrel 
J think. Whoso fault was it, yours or hers?" 
“Miss Brodie and I never had a quarrel," I 
said. 
in her bosom. I told you so, I know, and 
thought It was all settled and was so glad." 
I started up and caught Jennie’s wrist. “My 
portrait!" 1 cried. 
“AVhy Ned, don't look at me so,” .“creamed 
Jennie; “what, does it all mean? Your portrait 
of course, one of those photographs you had 
taken. I found the rest after vou went away. 
Oh, Ned,don't look so, dear!" 
“ 1 thought you told me she wore another 
man’s picture," 1 said. “ That drove mo away , 
that, nothing else. Oh, what a wretched fool 
I’ve boon ; 1 did not know she had my picture; 
and I might have cast her away I I, who loved 
her so, and have pined for her all these years !” 
But, Jennie, dear Jennie, with her kind, 
motherly face and loving woman's eye-, came 
close to me, and put her arms about my neck, 
and whispered, “ Don't despair, Ned. Bite lias 
never liked any one else, and I know, for cer¬ 
tain, than slic wears your picture still.” 
Ami those words brought my youth back to 
me; and the years seemed blotted out, and I 
was the Ned Brown who fell in love with Nellie 
Brodie, once more. 
Well, Jennie told tho truth ; I went to see 
Nellie Brodie, and found her sweet and beauti¬ 
ful as ever; hut, wo were married when the 
spring came and the bird-; began to build their 
nests in the green orchard. Afterwards, when 
she had been my wife for some time, Nellie 
told me, uuder those very apple trees, how she 
had found my picture one day when no oneaaw 
tier, and worn it afterwards for love of me worn 
it and wept over it while i was far away, trying 
to forget her trying, but never succeeding, for 
the Jove 1 had for Nellie Brodie was part of my 
life, and will he, I believe, part of the eternity, 
whore, when death severs us here, we shall he 
reunited. 
- 
WHY AUNT SALLY NEVER MARRIED. 
“ NOW, Aunt Bally, do please tell us why you 
never married. You know you said once that 
when you were a girl you were engaged to a 
minister, and promised that you would tell us 
all about it some time. Now, Aunt, ploa-c do.” 
“Well, if I overdid see such girls in all my 
horn days! It's tease from morning till night, 
hut what you must know all about everything 
that you haven’t any business to know anything 
about. 
“Such inquisitive, pestiferous critters as you 
are! When I was young girls was different; 
they minded their own business and didn’t go 
sailing around with a whole string of beaux, 
gettin'their bends filled with all kind o’non¬ 
sense. J never dared ask any of my aunts, mar¬ 
ried or single, about any of their affairs. Pretty 
mess I'd have got in if I had 1 When they of¬ 
fered to tell me anything of their own accord I 
kept my mouth shut, and listened. Everything 
is different now-a-days; young folks have no 
respect for their ciders. But as i see I urn not 
goin to have any peace till I tlo tell you, why 
jist listen, and don’t let me hear a word out o’ 
one o' yer mouths till I get through.” 
“ That’s right, Aunt Sally—go right ahead, do, 
and we’ll keep perfectly still.” 
“Well, you ace, children, when I was about 
seventeen years old 1 wa« living in Utica, In the 
State nt New York. Though I say it myself, 1 
was quite a good-looking girl then, and had 
several beaux. The one that took my fancy 
most was a young minister—a very promising 
young man, and remarkably pious and steady. 
He thought a good deal o' me, and I kind o’ 
took a fancy to him, and things ran on till we 
were engaged. 
“One evening he came to me—I remember it 
ns well as if It were yesterday. AVhen he came 
Into the parlor, where I was sitting alone, ho 
came up to mu and—but now, pshaw! girls, I 
don't like to tell the rest." 
“ Oh, Aunt Sally, for mercy’s sake don’t stop! 
Tell us what he did.” 
“Well, as 1 said, he came up to me and put 
his arms around me, and rather hugged me, 
while I got excited and some llustrated ; but it 
was a long time ago, and 1 don’t knowbutwhat 
I might have hugged him back a little—just a 
little. Then I felt—hut now just clear out, 
every one of you, I shan't tell you any more." 
“ Goodness gracious! no, Aunt Sally. Tell us 
how you felt.” 
“Oh, such torments as you are! I was like 
any other girl, and pretty soon I pretended to 
be mad about Ii and pushed him away, though 
I wasn’t mad a bit. You must know that the 
house where I lived was on one of the back 
streets of the town. There were glass doors to 
tho parlor, which opened right out over the 
street, and uo balcony or anything of the kind 
in front of the house. As It was in the sum¬ 
mer season, theBe doors were opened and the 
shutters just drawn to. I stepped back a little 
from him, and when ho edged up close J pushed 
him away again. I pushed harder than I in¬ 
tended to, and don't you t hink, girls, the poor 
follow lost, his balance and iell through one of 
the doors into the street ? Yes, it's a iket. As 
he fell 1 gave a scream and caught him but I 
declare 1 won’t tell anything more! I’m going 
to leave the room.” 
“No, no, Aunt Sally! How did you catch 
him? Did it hurt him much?” 
“ Well, if I must, I must. He fell head first, 
and as he was going I caught him by tho leg of 
his trowr-ere. i held on fora minute and tried 
to puli him hack, but Ids suspenders gave way, 
“Oh, Aunty, Aunty! Lordy, Lordy! He, he, 
hel” 
“There, that’s right; giggle and squeal as 
much as you want to. Girls t.hat can't hear 
about a little thing like that without tearing 
’round the room and ho-he-ing In sech a way 
don't k now enuff to cum in when it rains. A 
nice time the man that marries one o’ ye will 
have, won't he? Catch me a tellin’ yer any- 
think agin I” 
“ But, Aunt Sally, what became of him ? Did 
you never see him again?” 
“No, the moment ho teched the ground he 
got up and left that place in a terrible hurry. I 
tell yer, children. It was a sight to be remem¬ 
bered to 8co how that man did run! Father 
happened to he coming up the street at the 
time, and ho said ho never saw anyth ink ter 
ekal it in his hull life. I heard others say that, 
he did the fastest runnin’ever known In that, 
pari of the country, and that bo never stopped 
nor looked behind but 11 ho was two miles out. 
o’ town. He sent me a note tew days arienvard 
sayin' that tho ingagcincnt must bo broken off. 
as ho never could look me In the face agin art or 
what, had happened. Ho went out West, and 1 
b'lieve lie Is preaoldn’ out in lllynois. But ho 
never married. Ho was very mod eat, and I 
'spoon he was bo badly freckened that time that 
In- never dared to trust hlsself near a woman 
agin. That, girls, i* the reason I never married. 
I folt very bad about it for a long time, for he 
was a real good man; and I've cf’en thought to 
myself that we should have been so happy if 
hte suspenders hadn't given way /” 
jntei[m{i| tSoijltl. 
HEW PUBLICATIONS. 
American Wild Fowl Sliooilug.—By JOSEPH 
W. Long. (New York: .7. B. Fords Company.) 
Tmsvolum# describes the haunts, habits and 
methods of shooting wild fowl, particularly 
those of the Western States of America, with 
instructions concerning guns,blinds, boats and 
decoys, the training of water retrievers, etc. it 
is very neatly illustrated, and is written in a 
plain, practical and lively style. As we glance 
through its pages, we notice one sentence ad¬ 
dressed to both old and young hunters which 
ought to be engraved on every gun in such 
conspicuous place that no one who carries it 
can fail to sen and regard It, to wit:—“ Never 
cmry your gun with the hammer down on the 
raps. At. half-cock is tho proper position ; then, 
if the locks are well made and in good order, it 
will be almost impossible for the gun to be ac- 
Cldcnt.nliy discharged. Even at full-cook there 
is le-,* danger than with the hammers down. 
This \r true, and every man and boy who ever 
carries a gun should know and remember it. 
II, will save many lives. Numbers might have 
been saved had this advice been heretofore 
heeded. This volume will interest hunters, 
young and old. _ 
Lcpidoptrrn. Indigenous and Exotic. — By 
Herman g-raKOKKit: Beading, Pa. 
Number 10 of this beautiful work has been 
received. Tho Norfh American species of the 
genus Lycana are discussed in the author's 
peculiarly forcible style, accompanied by forty- 
eight elegantly-colored figures on one full-page 
plate. Mr. Stbec-k kr lias here brought together 
nearly all the known native species of this 
genus of beauttful little butterflies, making a 
fairy-like picture to look upon, also one w hich 
must be of great value to the entomologist. 
Wo need just such works as this to create a 
love for natural history, and if parents would 
place them In the hands of their children, in¬ 
stead of the many dull, unlnatruotive books 
which are frequently popular, consequently 
cheap, we should soon see a marked change in 
the Ideas of estimation in which scientific 
studies are generally held. We regret-, how¬ 
ever, to admit that there are so few persons 
who care to know anything of the beautiful 
creatures which flit about them in their jour¬ 
ney through life, that suoh men as Mr. 
Strecker receive little encouragement, finan¬ 
cially, in their efforts to instruct their fellow 
man. _ 
The Leader.—By H. B. Palmer, assisted by I.. O 
Emerson. Boston: O.Dltaon <xC o. fKoyal 8 vo. 
—pp. X>5.) 
Tub name of the authors Is a guarantee of 
originality and harmonic accuracy, and we 
were glad to find, on a somewhat careful exam¬ 
ination, that the “old favorites" were con¬ 
spicuously absent,—the hook is filled instead 
with raeto music, that will be "favorite" as soon 
as known. We think this ought to commend 
the book to choirs who only need a new book 
because they need new music, and who do not 
want to buy over again the music they have 
already. _ 
Running to Wnste.—The Story of a Tom-Boy. 
By Georg>: M. Baker. Boston; Fee & Shepard: 
New York: Lee, Shepard & Dillingham. 
This is a readable little volume full of quaint 
character portraits and spice and incident, be¬ 
ginning good and ending as one would have it 
who had traced the personal history of those 
who are talked of in it. 
Cinrn Lake’s Dream.— By Mrs. Henrt Wood. 
Philadelphia: T. B. Peterson & Bros. (8vo.—pp. 
101. Price 2i cents.) 
Another of those large type, easily-read 
novels, which arc such a pleasant relief from 
the double columns of small type, so wearying 
to the eyes. It well sustains the reputation of 
he authoress. 
Sabbath Reading. 
THE LOVE OF GOD. 
Like a cradle rooking, rocking, 
Silent, peaceful, to and fro— 
Like a mother’s sweet looks dropping 
On the little face below— 
Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning. 
Jarring, noiseless, safe and slow ; 
Falls the light of God's face bending 
Down and watching us below. 
And as feeble babes that suffer. 
Toss anil cry, and will not rest, 
Are the ODes the tender mother 
Holds tho closest, loves the best, 
So when we are weak and wretched. 
By our sins weighed down, distressed. 
Then it is that God’s great patience 
Holds u* closest, loves us best. 
O, great Heart of God ! Whose loving 
Cannot hindered be, nor crossed; 
Will not weary, will not even 
In cur demh Itself ne lost— 
Love divine ! of suoli great loving. 
Only mothers know the cost— 
Cost of love, which, all love passing, 
Gave a Boa to 9a ve the lost. [Serifmw’*. 
BE HELPFUL. 
It seems a strange thing, but it is nevert heless 
true, that sharing another’s burden will lighten 
our own. If you begin doing little things for 
your neighbor, it will very soon be easy for you 
to perform great- deeds In hia behalf. We all 
need help from each other. No man is suffi¬ 
cient unto himself. Trust in Providence Is 
nothing but. :t higher belief in humanity. You 
may feel very much depressed some day, dis¬ 
couraged and wellnlgh despairing, when some 
kind friend happens in—God sent—and you are 
soothed, cheered and encouraged; the vail is 
lifted, and you are happy once more. 
Many are able to give Substantial help to 
those who are in need ; money, to tide over 
some financial trouble; food, to keep a family 
from starving; gifts that nourish the heart 
with assurances of love; something that may be 
a trifle lu itseJf, hut helps make up the sum of 
human happiness. But perhaps you cannot do 
this; you have a large family and a limited 
income, or are otherwise prevented from mak¬ 
ing the hand the almoner of the heart. Well, 
then, draw on the spiritual treasury. Give 
kind words to those who need them ; comfort 
those who are bowed down ; speak lovingly to 
little children, and encouragingly to those who 
faint for this support. Stand ready to help 
every body. 
-- 
A DEFINITION OF RELIGION. 
Religion means the moving of the human 
soul rightly toward God, toward man, and 
toward duty. He who is using hit; whole self 
according to the laws of God, ts religious. 
Some men think that devotion is religion. Yes, 
devotion is religion; but it Is not all of religion. 
Here is a tune written in six parts; and men 
are wrangiing and quarreling about it.. One 
says that the harmony is lu the bass, another 
that it is in the soprano, another that It is in 
the tenor, and another that It Is In the alto; 
but I say that It Is In all the six parts. Each 
may, In and of ltaelf, be better than nothing; 
but it requires the whole six parts to make 
what was meant by the musical composer. 
Some men say that love Is religion. Well, love 
Is, certainly, the highest element of It, but it Is 
not that alone. Justice is religion ; fidelity is 
religion; hope is religion; faith is religion; 
obedience is religion. These are all part and 
parcel of religion. Religion is as much as the 
total of manhood ; and it takes In every ele¬ 
ment of It. All the elements of manhood, in 
their right place and action, are constituent 
parts of religion; but no one of them alone is 
religion. It takes the whole manhood, Imbued 
and Inspired of God, moving right both heaven¬ 
ward and earthward, to constitute religion. 
THE DAY OF REST. 
It is impossible to estimate the blessed effeot 
produced upon a nation's health and happi¬ 
ness. when, on the return of each Sunday, 
millions are thus set free from toll; when the 
ledger is closed on the desk; when the hammer 
rests upon the anvil, and the wheel of the fac¬ 
tory is silent; when the mine sends forth its 
crowds, into the light and glory of the new-born 
day; and when men can rest their wearied 
frames, or tread the gre6n earth or hoary 
mountain and breathe the fresh air, and look 
calmly upon the blue sky overhead, or listen to 
the sounding stream or beating sea wave, and 
when the very dumb cattle partake of the 
universal blessings. 
-- 
Patrick Henry left in his will the following 
important passage:—“I have now disposed of 
all of my property to my family; there is one 
thing more I wish l could give them, and that 
Is the Christian religion. If they had that, and 
I had not given them one shilling, they would 
be rich; and if they had not that, and I had 
given them all the world, they would be poor. 
-- 
Time is the only gift in which God has stinted 
us; for He never Intrusts us with a second 
moment till he has taken away the first, and 
never leaves us certain of a third. * 
“Oh, Ned,” she murmured softly, “Don't 
i ry to hide it from me, when I saw your portrait 
aud the poor young man fell clear out of his 
pantaloons into a parcel of ladies and gentle¬ 
men passing along the street." 
