338 
MOORE’S RURAL 5SEW-YORKER. 
my. a* 
after the gow, but he didn't fit ’round afore 
we went, an' I wan’fc ngoln' to wait for him." 
“We’ll go right into the kitchen till it gits 
warm in the other room," said Mrs. Brown, 
and led the way. 
The pantry door was open. She went and 
looked in and started hack with a little cry of 
astonish merit. "Somebody’s been here an* e't 
half o' one o' them pmikin pies, true’s you 
Jive ! Who could It ha' been, d’ye s’pose ?" 
“ Y ho do you think ?” said a voice. 
They all started and looked around thorn at 
the sound of the voice, but saw no one. It was 
strangely like one they used to hour. 
“1 don’t see anybody, but I’d lia' been willin’ 
to doclar' 'twas James, of 1 hadn't known bet¬ 
ter. Batin' that pie it. jisl likoonoo’ Iris tricks, 
for all the world. Like enough It's son Lemuel 
come over a'ter somethin' an’ hid on purpose 
to s’prise us. Is that you, Lemuel?” called 
Mrs. Brown, expecting to see her eldest son 
step from behind some door in answer. 
“No, It ain't Lemuel, but it's me, mother," 
answered n voice from the hall, and a thin, 
worn face looked in upon them with a great 
gladness shining over It. 
“My Goo! it’s James,” and Susan held out 
her arms toward the husband who had come 
back to her from the grave, and sank down, 
faint and white, upon the nearest chair. 
“Yes, Jamie’s come back to you," he an¬ 
swered, folding ills arms about ber and kissing 
her again and again. “You thought I was 
dead, didn't you? I'm not, you see," 
“My toy!" .Mrs. CROWN cried, her old face 
all beaming over with sudden, hardly-compre¬ 
hended happiness, while tears ran down her 
cheeks. “1 never expected t o see you again — 
never! But GOD is good to us—so good !” and 
she sobbed out her joy upon her baby's breast. 
Though twenty-five years had gone by since 
fust ho lay upon her breast, he tv as her “ baby " 
still would always bo. 
And Oeaeon Brown, with ills arms full of the 
struggling, squirming specimen of humanity, 
bundled up in white 11 uincl, looked on, hardly 
comprehending Ids eyes or ears. 
“Huv'n’t you any welcome for me, father?” 
James naked, coming toward him. 
“ Yes, yes," said the old man, with a terrible 
winking and blinking, which failed to keep 
back the tears in his eyes. “An’ here ’ti»J" 
Whereupon he deposited in Jamie's arms the 
crowing, kicking grandson, of which he was as 
“proud as he could be," according to Mrs. 
Brown. “It’s the best welcome I can give 
you, my boy," the old man added, wringing his 
boy's band In a way that was eloquent us any 
words could have been. 
“ I can't toll you much about it- that Thanks¬ 
giving. It was too sacred. 1 can only say that 
no other Thanksgiving under the old home¬ 
stead roof ever came up to that In true, thank¬ 
ful happiness. Late into lh» night light shone 
from t,lie windows of the old red farm house 
where Lemuel's folks and Joseph’s family and 
Raoiiel and her nusband were gathered about 
t he hearthstone, summoned home to give wel¬ 
come to the dcud who was alive again. And 
James told over and over the story of his cap¬ 
ture after being wounded, and his life in a 
Southern prison, and how, just as ho was about 
to give up all hope of living to get out of It, re¬ 
lief came, and lie was among a lot of exchanged 
soldiers. 
Deacon Buown read a chapter from the old 
Ib'blo and prayed before they separated. It was 
a short and simple prayer, but it had a world of 
thanksgiving in it. And every heart there 
joined in the Amen. 
-- 
A STORY OF CHARLES DICKENS. 
“ i chanced to be traveling some years ago," 
ho said, “in a railroad carriage between Liver¬ 
pool and London. Besides myself there were 
two ladies and a gentleman occupying the 
carriage. We happened to be all strangers to 
each other, but 1 noticed at once that a clergy¬ 
man was of the party, r was occupied with u 
ponderous article in the Times, when the sound 
of my own name drew my attention to the fact 
that a conversation was going forward among 
the three other persons in the carriage with 
reference to myself, and my hooks. One of the 
ladies was perusing ‘Bleak House,’ then lately 
published, and the clergyman bad commenced 
a Conversation with the iadies by asking what 
book they were reading. On beiag told the 
author's name and the title of the book, he ex¬ 
pressed himself greatly grieved that any lady in 
England should be willing to take up the writ¬ 
ings of so vile a character as Charles Dickens. 
Both tiie ladies showed great surprise at the 
low estimate the clergyman put upon an author 
whom they had been accustomed to road, to say 
the leust, with a certain degive of pleasure. 
They were evidently much shocked at what the 
mini said of the immoral tendency of these 
books, which they seem never before to have 
suspected ; but when be attacked the author’s 
private character and told monstrous stories of 
his immoralities in every direction, the volume 
was shut up and consigned to the dark pockets 
of a traveling-bag. 1 listened in wonder arid 
astonishment, behind my newspaper, to stories 
of myself, which, if they had been true, would 
have consigned any man to a prison for life. 
After my fictitious biographer had occupied 
himself for nearly an hour with the eloquent 
recital of my delinquencies and crimes, I very 
quietly joined Jn the conversation. Of course 
1 began by modestly doubting some statements 
which 1 had just heard touching the author of 
4 Bleak House,’ and other unimportant works 
of a similar character. f • Tin- man stared at me, 
and evidently considered my appearance on the 
conversational stage an intrusion an Imperti¬ 
nence. 
“ 4 You seem t o speak,' I said, 4 from personal 
knowledge of Mr. Dickons. Are you acquainted 
with him?’ 
44 He rat her evaded the question, hut, follow¬ 
ing him up closely, I compelled him to say that 
ho had been talking, not from his own knowl¬ 
edge of the author in question; but he said he 
knew for a certainty that every statement he 
had made was a true one. 1 then became more 
earnest in my inquiries for proofs, which be 
arrogantly declined giving. 
“The ladies sat by in silence, listening in¬ 
tently to what was going forward. An author 
they hail been accustomed to read for amuse¬ 
ment, bad been traduced for the first, time in 
their bearing, and they were waiting Lo learn 
what 1 had to say In refutation of the clergy¬ 
man's charges. I was taking up his vile : tnrics 
one by one, and stamping them as false In every 
particular, when the man grew furious and 
asked me if I knew Dickens personally. 
“I replied, ‘perfectly well; no man knows 
him better than 1 do, and your stories about 
him, from beginning to end, to these ladies, are 
unmitigated lies.' 
“The man become livid with rage, and asked 
for iny card. 
44 4 You shall have it,’ I said coelly, and taking 
out one, I presented it to him without bowing. 
“Wo were Just then nearing the station In 
London, so that I was spared a longer interview 
with my truthful companion ; but if I were to 
live a hundred years, 1 should not forget the 
abject condition into which the narrator of my 
crimes was instantly plunged. IDs race turned 
white as his cravat, and his lips refused to utter 
words. He seemed like a wilted vegetable, 
and as if his legs belonged to somebody else. 
The ladies became aware of the situation at 
once, and bidding i hum 4 good-day,’I stepped 
smilingly out of the carriage. Before 1 could 
get away from the station the man had mus¬ 
tered up strength sufficient to follow me, and 
his apologies were so nauseous and craven, that 
I pitied him from my soul. I left him with 
tliis caution : 4 Before you make charges against 
the character of any man again, about whom 
you know nothing and of whose works you are 
so utterly ignorant, study to lie a seeker after 
Truth, and avoid Lying as you would eternal 
perdition.’ ” 
--- 
A MICHIGAN HERMIT. 
How Love Acts on Some Minds. 
A few days ago Sergeant Baehrnann of the 
police force had leave of absence, and he went 
to Lansing to visit friends and have a hunt. 
One day, while hunting on the Cedar River, 
about five miles east, of Lansing, the .Sergeant 
came upon a little log but, erected upon the 
bank of the river. The curious architecture of 
the hut attracted his attention and drew him 
nearer than ho would otherwise have gone. 
The builder bod cut poles and slanted them up 
in the shape of an Indian lodge, with un open¬ 
ing at the top for the smoke to pass out, and 
hud then plastered mud over the poles, making 
a snug and warm house. Supposing that lie 
had come across the house of a lone Indian 
family, the Sergeant looked in, and great was 
his surprise to discover that there was but one 
occupant, at id lie an old, gray-haired man. 
When the occupant bee a mo aware of his visit¬ 
or's presence be shrank back, as if inclined to 
hide, and t he Sergeant invited himself in to see 
what sort of a den it was any way. 
Tim old man would not speak when first ques¬ 
tioned, but when Bachmann threatened to ar¬ 
rest him as a suspicious character he found his 
tongue. He gave his name as Darius Green 
and his age as fifty-nine. He stated that ho 
had lived in seclusion in St. Clair County for 
several years, but having been greatly annoyed 
by parties who desired to drive Idm back to the 
world, he bad changed quarters and had been 
on the Cedar for about two months. He said 
he would rather drown himself than mingle 
with the world again, believing all men liars 
and all women hypocrites. When he was about 
twenty-three years nr age he became engaged 
to a young lady at Medina, Ohio, and in due 
time all preparations were made for the wed¬ 
ding. At the last moment, his fiance ran away 
with another lover, leaving Green feeling about 
as flat as a defeated candidate. He tried his 
fortune again in a year or two, and the girl of 
Ids heart died a few days before the time ap¬ 
pointed for their nuptials. 
These affairs, together with the loss of some 
property, turned the young man’s disposition, 
and he wenr, from the active world into the 
woods and built himself a home. Driven out 
after several years, lie came to Michigan, and 
has changed locations four or five times. He 
has several times been sick, but is his own doc¬ 
tor. He lives mostly on vegetables and corn- 
meal cakes, and never moves away from his hut 
until hunger forces him to. He has a few dol¬ 
lars in specie—enough, he thinks, to last him 
during the remainder of his life. The old man 
had no companion- not even a dog or bird, no 
books, no way to pass the long hours but to sit 
and brood and think and sleep. His hair Is 
down oil ids shoulders and his beard long and 
matted, while Ids clothing is iu rags and his 
feet wound up in cloths. Such a life must be 
lonely beyond what one can imagine .—Detroit 
Free /’ms. 
A MARRIAGE DISCOUNT. 
A few years since, one of our Boston divines 
was called upon to unite a jolly old couple in 
the bonds of matrimony, and just as they were 
pronounced man and wife, another couple 
entered the room, to be Joined likewise. The 
moment the two latter entered they were some¬ 
what surprised at seeing the divine receive the 
splendid ransom of a new and bright half dol¬ 
lar from the hands or the newly married bride¬ 
groom. Our eminent divine Immediately thrust 
the money into his pocket, and then congratu¬ 
lating the happy pair, bode them adieu, and at 
once commenced upon his duties In performing 
the marriage rile for the remaining couple. 
Being pronounced mini and wife, the youthful 
husband thrust his hand Into liU pocket, and 
pulled out the same amount, an equally bright 
new half dollar, and presented It to the divine; 
whereupon the good man looked with profouud 
astonishment at the insignificant amount, and 
remarked: 
“My customary fee on such occasions Is five 
dollars.” 
“ You married the last old ugly couple,” said 
the indignant young bridegroom, 44 for fifty 
cents, and now you dare to tax me ten times 
that amount, merely because we are a young 
couple." The good divine, placing his glasses 
several Inches above his nose, looked the young 
mail full in the lace, and then said : 
“ 1 have never married you but this once, 
while I have married the former man five times! 
and on such occasions duty demands a liberal 
discount to the trade !" Suffice it to say, the re¬ 
maining $4 hO was forthcoming, and with a 
smile, the bride and bridegroom took the 
nearest way to the door. 
■4 « ♦- 
EIGHT IT OUT LIKE PA AND MA DO. 
A story is told of a daughter of a prominent 
person now in the lecture field which is pecu¬ 
liarly interesting and suggestive of unconscious 
wisdom. A gentleman was Invited to the 
lecturer’s house to tea. Immediately on being 
seated at the table the little girl astonished the 
family circle and the guests by the abrupt 
question: 
44 Where Is your wife ?” 
Now, the gentleman having been recently 
separated from the partner of his life, was taken 
so completely by surprise that he stammered 
forth the truth : 
“I don’t know.” 
“Don’t know," replied the infant terrible, 
44 why don’t you know ?” 
Finding that the child persisted in her inter- 
rogutorieH despite the mild reproof of her pa¬ 
rents, he concluded to make a clean breast of 
the matter and have it over at once. So he said, 
with a calmness which was the result of inward 
expletives: 
44 Well, we don't live together; we think, as 
we can't agree, we’d bettor not.” 
He stifled a groan as ( lie child began again 
and darted an exasperated look at her parents 
But the little torment would not lie quieted 
until she exclaimed: 
44 Can’t agree! Then why don’t you fight It out 
as pa and rna da ?" 
44 Vengeance is mine," laughingly retorted 
the visitor, after “pa” and 44 ma" exchanged 
looks of holy horror, followed by the inevitable 
roar. 
-- ■ 
A ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. 
A short time ago a young man about twenty 
years of age arrived In Baltimore from England 
and commenced to look for work at his trade. 
After several days' fruitless search, the Gazette 
says, lie entered a large factory on Lombard 
street and Inquired for work. The superin¬ 
tendent asked him hfs name, where lie was 
from, and other particulars about his family. 
He replied that his mother resided in England 
and had reared him, his father having quarreled 
with her when he was an Infant and bad aban¬ 
doned them, and It was supposed that, he bad 
ootne to America, but no tidings had been re¬ 
ceived from him. When the young man had 
concluded, the superintendent, who, for many 
years, has been employed by the firm with 
whom he is at present eugaged, suid to the as¬ 
tonished youth, "I am your father!" They 
discussed family matters at length, and the 
father, hearing from his son that bis wife had 
never ceased to mourn their unfortunate dif¬ 
ference and his absence, determined to pro¬ 
ceed at once to Europe and bring her to this 
country and endeavor in the future years to 
atone for the mistakes and errors of the past. 
Ue- secured employment l'ur his son, and, ob¬ 
taining the necessary leave of absence from Ins 
employers, he sailed last week for England, in¬ 
tending to bring back witli him on his return 
the wife'drom whom he had been so long sepa¬ 
rated. 
-- 
ABOUT ENERGY. 
Energy is omnipotent. The clouds that sur¬ 
round the houseless boy of to-day are dispersed, 
and he is invited to a pal age. 31, is the work 
of energy. The child who is a beggar this mo¬ 
ment, in a few years to come may stand forth 
the admiration of heroes! Who lias not seen 
the life-giving of energy? It makes the wil¬ 
derness to bloom as the rose; whitens the 
ocean ; navigates our rivers; levels mountains; 
paves with iron a highway from State to State ; 
sends through, "’ith the speed of Lightning, 
messages from rme extremity ol the land to the 
other. Without energy wJtai is man ? A fool, 
a clod. 
BT BE FORREST P. GtTMMERSON. 
I,AST night, when tne shadows had fallen low. 
And the star-bearus fell with their silvery glow, 
Un the earth with its beauteous mantle of snow; 
Came an angel form to my bed of pain, 
M bile my tears fell fast as the weeping rain. 
O’er the loved and hist, who, never again 
Would coiue buck from over the sea. 
“ 'y h Y weep for thy loved one." the angel said; 
“ Though gone from thy sight she is not dead. 
Her home Is with Him of the thorn-crowned Head. 
And when thy work on earth is done. 
Thou wilt, meet again thy much loved one 
And worship with her at the Father s throne. 
In the beautiful summer-land.'' 
-♦♦♦- 
A BEAUTIFUL EXTRACT. 
Going back to a bouse which we left long 
ago with the sweetness and memories of lost 
summers locked away iu its closed rooms, and 
hidden within Us darkened passages, always 
seems to me tike u resurrection. We throw 
back shutters, and blue heavens peep smilingly 
into dim rooms and dusky corridors; wc open 
doors, and the Juno air chases the flickering 
sunshine through the stillness of the dead 
atmosphere ; we turn keys and slips, until the 
troops of eager children full of laughter and 
motion sweep from threshold to threshold in 
one glad rush of life and gladness. Hulr-I'or- 
gotten dreams and fancies and feeling wake 
again as some faded relic crumbles under our 
lingers, and the present touches llie past so 
nearly that all Intervening time and space is 
blotted out, and Hie old days Join the new in 
one unbroken line of thought and action. 
Somewhere beyond the stars I love to fancy 
that t he same wonderful change will come to 
the dear dead fuees that have been hidden 
from our earth forever. Breath of heaven will 
unseal the silent lips, light of heaven will un¬ 
veil the shadowed eyes, glory of heaven encom¬ 
pass the frozen soul, until joy unspeakable and 
life eternal fill for them the whole boundless 
measure of eternity. 
■ -- 
PURITY OF LIFE. 
Few men and women seem to know how to 
Jive pure lives. There is one rule which Is 
easily understood, which it is .«fe to follow: 
Do, think and say nothing with which you, 
yourself, will not become disgusted, or against 
which your purestconsciousness will revolt. It 
is doubted if any man's or woman's nature does 
not repel impurity of deed or thought when¬ 
ever the deed is performed or the thought 
spoken or revealed to one's own inner self. 
The penalty of consciousness of degradation, 
diminution of self-respect, unworthinesscomes 
to every honest mind. The man or woman 
who cultivates purity or life, physically, men¬ 
tally, spiritually, is not likely to act Impurely, 
nor to impress others as Impure. Nor is lie or 
she likely to lie accounted vulgar or uncom¬ 
panionable in consequence. 
Purity of life is not peculiar to any creed or 
condition. It does not belong to any class ex¬ 
clusively. It is agiowtli. It comes c.f convic¬ 
tion and Is aided by nature at every step; for it 
brings the surest compensation* and the sweet¬ 
est. An impure life develops bitterness at every 
step. It yield dissatisfaction to the soul and 
discontent to the spirit. It embitters the whole 
being, rendering it distrustful, insincere and 
u nstable. b. 
-- 
No SABBATH— Paris has no Sabbath, and that 
fact has done more to banish Christianity than 
all the writings of Voltaire ; and Vienna has no 
Sabbath, and that fact does more to annihilate 
religion than ever did.the skepticism of Frede¬ 
rick. Q'urn the Sabbath into a day of sports 
and pastimes, of military reviews and of panto¬ 
mimes and Theatrical exhibitions, and not an 
infidel anywhere would care a farthing about 
the tomes of Volney or Voltaire, about the 
skepticism of Hume, the sneers of Gibbon or 
the scurrilllty of Paine. 
-- 
We hold to earth and earthly things by so 
many more links of thought, if pot affection, 
that it is fur harder to keep our view of heaven 
clear and st rong; when this life is so busy, and, 
therefore, so full of reality to US, another life 
seems by comparison unreal. This is our con¬ 
dition, and its peculiar temptations, but we 
must endure it and strive to overcome them, 
for we may not try to flee from it. 
Thousands of people might be enjoying rea¬ 
sonable lives, with opportunities for self-cul¬ 
ture, for social enjoyment, and for charitable 
effort, whose whole energy Is absorbed in the 
desperate struggle to add superfluities to com¬ 
forts. 
-- 
It was among the loveliest customs of the 
ancients to bury the young at morning twi¬ 
light, for, as they strove to give the softest in¬ 
terpretation to death, so they imagined that 
Aurora, who loved the young, had stolen them 
to her embrace. 
