ftftOOBE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
WHAT IS HIS CREED l 
He left a load of anthracite 
In front of u poor woman’s door,' 
When the deep snow, frozen and white. 
Wrapped street and square, mountain and moor. 
That was his deed ; 
lie did It well; 
* What was his creed?' 
I cannot tell. 
Blessed “ In his basket and In his store, 
In sitting down and rising up; 
When more he got tie gave the more, 
Withholding not the crust and cup. 
lie look the lead 
111 each good task. 
" What was his creed?" 
I did not ask. 
His charity was like the snow, 
Soft, white, and silent in Its fall! 
Not like the noisy winds that blow 
From shivering trees the leaves: a pail 
For flowers and weed, 
Drooping below. 
'* What was his creed ?" 
The poor may know. 
Ho had great faith in luavos of breed. 
For hungry people, young and old. 
And hope inspired, kind words he said 
To those he sheltered from the cold. 
For wo must feed 
As well us pray. 
•* What was his creed ?’’ 
I cannot say. 
In words ho did not put his trust. 
His faith In words lie never writ. 
He loved to share his cup and crust 
Witli all mankind who needed It. 
lu time of need 
A friend was he. 
•' What was his creed?" 
He told not me- 
Ho put his trust tn heaven, and he 
Worked well with hand and head; 
And what he gave In charity 
Swoetened hts sleep and daily bread. 
J.et us tako heed 
For life Is brief. 
" What was his creed ?" 
" What his belief?" 
A DAUGHTER OF OCEANUS. 
BY DE FOREST P. GUMMER90N. 
CHAPTER 1. 
A morning In June. A youog girl stood In 
the open doorway of an old-fashlOnerl oovutry 
house looking eagerly towards a turn in the 
road, distant some half mile. There was a look 
of eager expectation in her eyes, a3 if the time 
wore quite long in passing ere tho object of her 
expectancy came in view. Suddenly a cloud of 
dust appeared in the road ; whatever caused it 
was too completely lost amid its thickness for 
even the possibility of a recognition. 
The young girl left her place In the doorway 
and went slowly down tho walk, carelessly 
plucking the flowors that grew upon either side 
until she reached tho gate. Then placing her 
hand upon tho latch, sho opened it,, perched 
herself upon It find swung lazily to and fro. 
“ As If 1 didn’t know Jack would come to-day. 
Why, the fellow never disappointed me lu his 
life. Grandma always seems to dollght In mak¬ 
ing things look as bluo a* possible." Then with 
a whistle, sho Jumped hastily from the gate and 
started on a quick run dowu tho road. 
Berlina Dall was tho merriest, maddest 
romp that ever gladdened a home or spoiled a 
grandma’s afternoon nap. With her the law of 
time and place was a myth, and occasion and 
opportunity glorious realities. Bo when grand¬ 
ma fell Into adoze, the chances were ten to one 
that sho would awake suddenly and find her¬ 
self fastened to the legs of some chair nr even 
one of the old-fashioned bedposts. It did no 
good to soold Berlina ; she would only laugh 
the louder while she attempted to illustrate 
how tho temptation appeared to her, and how 
it was that It became Impossible for her to re¬ 
sist it. “You aee grandma— and hero she 
would break out in a laugh—“grand ma-a-a-a” 
—a perfect shriek at this point., “ Ton .-,co you 
had just commenced snoring, and you did look 
so dreadfully funny that—that" and hero she 
would usually break down entirely while the 
good old lady would Join her with a heartiness 
that did her credit. 
Some days her grandmother would try to rea¬ 
son with her about the folly of playing tricks 
upon people, but Berlina would laugh at this 
idea and say, *• Now, granny, what would be the 
use of living at all if one couldn’t have any 
fun? Why, If I couldn’t play tricks on some 
one, I’d die of—of—stagnation,—that’s tho word 
I wanted. I heard Jenny Davis use it only 
yesterday, so I suppose it’s a good one, for she’s 
bookish, you knowand so she would go on 
just the same as ever. 
Berlina Dall was the only child of Ed¬ 
ward Dall, wine merchant of New York City. 
His business often called him to Berlin, and it 
was during his stay there that Berlina had 
been born, and her name given her. His wife 
had been in feeble health when he married her; 
and when Berlina opened her eyes upou life, 
her mother opened hers in another and better 
world. Her father remained with his child In 
Berlin where, under the care of an efficient 
nurse, she throve finely. When she was six 
months old he decided to return with her and 
place her with his father and mother in tho 
home of his childhood. Since she had entered 
their home she had left it. but once, and then 
only for a week’s visit to her father's city home. 
Jack, whom Berlina was so anxiously ex¬ 
pecting tbts day. was a cousin, and like herself 
an orphan. Fora few years be had made the 
old farm Ills home; but when bia grandfather 
died—some two years after Berlina came there 
to live—it was decided that he had grown old 
fairest daughters to preside over It," said Jack 
looking into Bkhlina’s eyes mischievously. 
“ By which you mean me of course," replied 
that, merry maiden. “Now it. strikes me, young 
man, that if you want to he understood, you 
must, talk about, peoplo I know; i baveu’t the 
remotest Idea as to who Oceanus was, only I 
know he wasn’t my father; but. then, I do like 
this spring, and will continue to watch over it 
as long asl remain upon tho old farm." 
Then she jumped from her sitting place and 
TKtil WOODLAND LT-FA. I-DiDJNT- 
enough to go away to school, that it would 
lighten the responsibility and lessen the cares 
of grandma to have him away, and no doubt 
prove of greater benefit In the end, than to 
have him remain there. These June days when 
ho came home on a long vacation, were gala 
days to both Berlina and himself. He declared 
that nothing In tho world saved him from dying 
during a severe Illness he had whllo at school; 
but tho thought that If he did he would never 
seethe dear old farm, with grandma hustling 
about, and hear Berlin a’s clear, ringing laugh, 
and so determined to live it through. 
Ho was a handsome fellow; you would not 
have disputed that bad you seen him tills June 
day as ho walked slowly along with bin hand 
upon the bridle of his horse, upon whoso hack 
ho had placed Berlina when sho had met him 
on the road. When they reached the gate he 
threw tho bridle over the gal e post and then 
lifted her from her scat as easily as if she had 
been the merest child, as she was In form, 
though gone sixteen, Together they walked 
up to the house where, having greeted grandma 
In an affectionate manner, he hade Berlina go 
Into the house while he attended to his horse. 
When he returned from the stable he fouud 
Berlina sitting as prim as an old-fashioned 
clock in a corner, and the table sot in apple 
pie order for toa. Grandma had ensconced her¬ 
self In the other corner, and was knitting away 
as fast as she could. 
“You see this is the way we fix ourselves 
when we expect to entertain company; it's the 
fashion hereabouts to sltstill and say nothing," 
said Berlina. 
“Then don’t consider mo company, t pray 
you, for I shall never be able to live an hour if 
you persist in this sort of thing,” was Jack's 
reply. 
Then they went to the table and had tea. 
After tea, when Berlina had helped put away 
the things, she and JACK went out for a walk 
down to the old spring to get some cresses for 
breakfast. This spring was a favorite resort of 
Berlina’S. Here she spent many an hour 
watching the speckled trout, that sported in its 
deep water. Years ago her grandfather had 
caught them when they were but mere atoms, 
and placed them there; but now they had 
grown Into great, strong beauties. 
“I think this spring is one of the special fa¬ 
vorites of Oceafms, and so he hits sent one of his 
commenced filling her basket with the fresh, 
crisp cresses that grew in great profusion in 
the stream that rippled for miles and miles 
away, bearing the surplus water from the 
spring. 
“A veritable Undine!” he said; “here, let j 
me weave for you a wreath of these same cross¬ 
es, and when you are crowned, I'll bow down 
and worship-" 
“Tho cresses? You had much better wait 
until they are on tho table; I think that lathe 
proper place to do justice to them. ’ 
Back into tho quiet shadow of tbo old farm 
house these two strolled ; each, scarce knowing 
how or why, felt that life was very sweet at this 
moment, when they were so very near each 
other,—and felt too, that It would not be half 
so easy to part this time as in days gone by. 
The home of Berlina was at best a lonely 
one- Grandma had ceased to be very lively, 
and would often chldo HEREIN A for her unceas¬ 
ing gayety. “One would think, child," she 
would say. “ th.it you never gave a thought to 
that certain and Important event—dying. Why, 
one should spend every moment of life In pre¬ 
paring for that. You’re like grandfather, 
child; he never would give it a thought until 
he lay on bis death bed and then ' 
“lie died and went to heaven,” said Berlina, 
hastily interrupting her. “ Now there's Just no 
use, granny, in trying to make me believe that 
one is to go through a whole lifetime contin¬ 
ually preparing to die. I think there’s a great, 
deal more sense in preparing to live! ‘Suffi¬ 
cient to the day is the evil thereof.’ Now just 
suppose, granny, that I should go about tho 
bouse the whole live-long day, thinking of fu¬ 
nerals and gravestones, and wondering whose 
turn would come next, and try all tho tinjo to 
be so unmercifully good that I wouldn’t even 
dare laugh for fear of becoming wicked, what 
do you think would become of you? Why l 
[ know. You’d die in less than a year of a disease 
that I should call ‘too much preparation.' " 
i Then, with a laugh ringing behind her, out of 
the room she sped; while granny, too much 
I shocked to rise, could only sit and exclaim, 
“Oh, that child 1 that child 1” 
But if Berlina found an occasional check in 
her grandma, Cousin Jack would soon help her 
out of It, and In five minutes more would have 
her the same blithe, light-hearted creature as 
before. Jack was Berlina’S main dependence; 
every plan of her life had been unfolded to him. 
In tiie last long letter she had written she had 
told him how that when sho hud finished her 
course of study with Mr. Lane tho artist, she 
had planned tn go with him to Rome and study 
for a while there; and how, when her genius 
had been crowned with success, sho meant to 
come back to tho old homo, pay off the mort- 
gago and relieve grandma’s troubled soul. 
“And what will bocoino of mo during all this 
time?” ho said; “are you going to throw mo 
completely aside as you would some puppet 
that had for a time aroused you ?" 
“ Oh, you dear, stupid creature, do you sup¬ 
pose that Romo is out of tho world, and that 
there are no malls between hero and there, and 
even your home in New York? Why, I’ll writo 
to you of course, and torment you in every pos¬ 
sible way by telling you of tbo beautiful things 
I have seen and which you won't be able to." 
From her earliest, childhood Berlina had 
manifested unquestionable talent for drawing. 
Every nook and dell about, tbo village sho had 
transferred to paper. One summer a Mr. Lane 
came down to Crathton to sketch a little, and 
one day while ho was sitiIng beneath an old tree 
which overshadowed tbo spring, busy at work 
upon a delicate bit of scenery that lay over just 
beyond the bank of the stream which ran laugh¬ 
ing away from Ids very feet, ho was somewhat 
startled at hearing a gruff voice at his side ex¬ 
claim ; 
“Out skitchin’, aireye? Hevyeany 'jections 
t o let me see that alro?" 
Having none, and wishing to obtain the good 
will of all, Mr. Lane was ready to overlook the 
stranger'B rudeness and handed him the sketch- 
“ Um- ah 1 yes!—pnoty nice, pooty nice, that 
ere sketch; but that aire ain't nothin' to sonm 
as our leetle gal up yon’ to the Iiiib' has got; 
she does beat all rodur at- skitchin'.’’ 
“Ah, indeed I I'm glad to hear it,” said Mr. 
Lane. “ I had no Idea of anyone In this vicin¬ 
ity having.fi taste for sketching; shall ho pleased 
to know her." 
“ Wall, then, all you’ll hev to do Is to foller 
me up to the hus' and you’ll ho welklm ; Bhe’ll 
show the akRches, cos'the truth is she knows 
thoy’re kinder natur'l and nice, like horsolf.” 
While the two are slowly approaching the 
house let me Jot down a. little knowledge aa to 
who the man was who had accosted Mr. LANE, 
the artist., so that you may know by what right 
lie conducts strangers to the house where BkII- 
lina dwells. Jonathan Batigley was born 
upon the Dall estate. Ills mother had ooroo 
I there one any and begged that they would pro* 
l teot her from the brutality of a drunken hus¬ 
band until after her child was horn, when she 
| would repay them In work. It. did not, need 
1 much urging of tho Dalis to enable them to 
grunt this request. They knew that tho woman 
spoke the ti lth in regard to her husband, for 
he bad long been known no a, oomif.on drunk¬ 
ard. She died when Iter child was born ; but 
it always remained with them. As the years 
went by Jonathan, a* it had been named, grew 
to be of great assistance on the farm, until now 
he assumed,— as indeed he had for the past five 
years _entlro control of it.. Ho was decidedly 
an original ohar*picr;no matter how much logic 
you used, you could never change his opinion 
when once it was fully formed- He had a habit, 
i or abbreviating words that, was amusing to say 
’ the least. Berlina told him one day that this 
^ 1 habit would cost him his life if he should 
I chance to fall among Bohemians, who would 
bo Bure to mistake the meaning of some of his 
. words and think them something worse than 
1 they really were. To which Jonathan repliod 
dryly, “He’d be a lookin'out for the in aire, and 
1 he guessed he was eka.1 to talcin’ cur’ on him- 
. 1 self.” 
Mr. Lane, the artist, found no little amuse- 
8 ment that day as ho walked up the grassy slope 
I on hit way to the old farm house. Tbero was a 
n , qunintnesa of humor in all that his companion 
K said that led Mr. Lane to think him a gonlus In 
* his way. They reached the house at last. BER- 
lisa saw them coming; but having found a 
position Just suited to her t;iste at that precise 
moment, she decided not to get down even 
5 though the companion of Jonathan should ho 
* ’ a king—until she had heard him speak at least. 
i ’ ner position was a strange one. In a fanciful 
mood she had climbed half way cr more up the 
old well sweep, and there sat, or rather reclined 
^ — a veritable Vacuna. Jonathan did not seo 
her at first, and would have passed her by had 
jJ not the keener and more accurate eye of the 
artist chanced to fall upon her. 
A, “ And who may that be, my friend, perched 
,o upon that old well sweep, and apparently as 
at much at borne as though she were a bird and 
n- provided with wings In ease of a fall ?’’ 
at. “ Ura 1—why that’s she as does the skitchin’; 
n- shouldn't wouder abit if that ain’t what she is 
at np to now; looks like it,sartin." Thento Ber¬ 
io lina : — “ Berlin A, herei’s another uri’ likes 
u- skitobin'. 1 found him down at that aire old 
3e spring, puttin' in like mad at a ekitch.” 
to Berlina sprang from the sweep ; and after a 
an hearty laugh said sbo was glad to meet any one 
at who was fond of her favorite pursuit, “skitch- 
I in,” a 3 Jonathan would persist In calling It, 
se though she had tried and tried until she had 
’ " come to the conclusion that she might as well 
of come to a stopping place at any time to have 
iib him call things by their proper names. Then 
m , she invited the artist into the quaint, old-fash¬ 
ioned parlor, and after providing for him a seat 
in asked him to excuse her while she went for her 
l er portfolio. She never thought of waiting for 
ve him to ask for it. She had none of those little 
as niceties of tact that so many people use so well, 
e; She knew that lie wanted to see her sketches 
