FIS .48 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER 
413 
#ur ^torg-S^ltyr. 
corner, then to drag away t wo or three boards, 
and finally to lift a trap-door. This revealed a 
flight of steep, narrow stairs, which ho de¬ 
scended, carrying the candle with him. 
On arriving at the foot of the stairs he stop¬ 
ped to listen. Not a sound. The dogs would 
have given warning of any intruder. They 
would have eaten one alive. 
Old Caleb now proceeded to the furthermost, 
corner of the cellar and removed from a hole 
in the crumbling stone wall an iron box. In 
this he deposited several pieces of coin, listen¬ 
ing fondly to the chink of each as it dropped. 
Then he passed his fingers lingeringly through 
the mass of gold and silver contaiucd in the 
box, muttering unintelligibly as he did so. Af¬ 
ter a short time spent thus, he replaced the 
box and moved toward the stairs. Before 
ascending ho hesitated. “ I might take two or 
three cents and buy the hounds some scraps, I 
suppose, It is four days since I have fed them. 
But no,” he added after a moment’s irresolu- 
I tton, “ they can get along until to-morrow, and 
j hunger makes them all the more savage. Ob, 
what would become of anybody that should at¬ 
tempt to invade this place?" A horrible grin 
overspread his features. 
"Let me see," he muttered, “it is almost 
Christmas. Had I better wait another year? 
The principal is all there and a little more, but 
there is the interest to makeup. Will lever 
do it? I don't know—I don’t know. A strange 
feeling seems to tell me that I shall not work 
much longer on this dreary task.” A long, 
quivering sigh escaped him. 
" Let the liouuds go another day!" 
He ascended the stairs, arid his ascent was 
hastened by an unusual noise. The dogs, who 
had been trained to remain perfectly quiet un¬ 
der such circumstances, except in case of in¬ 
trusion, were moving about uneasily. 
** Wbat is it, Tlge? What Is it, Lion ?', ho ex¬ 
claimed, in a. whisper. 
Having reached the upper room, he hastily 
closed the trap-door and pulled the boards over 
It. Then he commenced re-piling the wood on 
the hoards. The dogs still walked to and fro. 
“ Bo still I" he commanded thorn and continued 
liis labor- The answer of the animals was a 
muffled howl. 
“ Down I both of you I" he exclaimed, In puz¬ 
zled alarm, for their couduot was not as if they 
were giving notice of an unwelcome approach. 
They stood In the doorway, looking at their 
master, their heads lowered, their eyes rolled 
up, and their tails between their legs. 
“Go back!" he snarled. Instead of going 
hack they slowly Hpproached him. 
I He raised a sticknf wood and hurled it at 
BE HAPPY AS YOU CAN. 
This life Is not all sunshine, 
Nor is it yet all showers. 
But storms and calms alternate, 
As thorns among the flowers ; 
And while we seek ihe roses, 
The thorns full oft we scan; 
Still let us, though they wound us. 
Be happy as wo can. 
This life has heavy crosses, 
As well as Joy to share. 
Ami griefs a:>d disappointments, 
Which yon and l must bear; 
Yet, ir Misfortune’s lava 
Entombs Hope’s dearest plan, 
Let us with what is left us. 
Be happy as we can. 
The sum of our enjoyment 
Is made of little thins®. 
As oft the broadest rivers 
Are formed from smaller springs: 
By treasuring small waters 
The rivers reach their span ; 
So we increase our pleasures. 
Enjoying what we can. 
There may be burning deserts 
Through which our feet may go. 
But there are given oases 
Where pleasant palm trees grow ; 
And if we may not follow 
The path our beans would plan. 
Let ns make all around us 
As happy as we can. 
Perchance wo may not climb with 
AinbiUtfn to its goal, 
Still lotusaniwor "present,” 
Where Duty calls the roll; 
And whatever our appointment, 
Bo nothing less than man ; 
And, cheerful in submission, 
Bo happy as we can 
pearance than others around It, which was 
closed tightly. No faces peered from its win¬ 
dows. No children hovered about its door. It 
seemed solitary and forsaken. The snow around 
it was broken onlr by a single path and that 
but slightly trodden, that led straight from the 
street to the front door. In here it was that 
Old Caleb turned. The children stared at him, 
but did not follow him nor shout at him as the 
previous rabble bad done. They were too fa¬ 
miliar with him. They saw him every day and 
lived in mortal fear of him and of what dwelt 
with him in his dismal abode. As he opened 
the door they whispered mysteriously and hud¬ 
dled together, staring still harder. 
“ Down !’’ spoke Caleb to something inside. 
A growl and a snarl followed from that same 
something. The children shrieked and (led pre¬ 
cipitately. 
Caleb opened the door only wide enough to 
permit his body to squeeze in and quickly closed 
it after him. It was pitch dark, but he unfas¬ 
tened mdopened asraalL, strongly-barred shut¬ 
ter, by this means admitting a little light. Then 
he stood still and rubbed his cold hands togeth¬ 
er and looked down at the only two compan¬ 
ions that shared the shelter of ids roof. They 
were two dogs —large, flerce-iooklng blood¬ 
hounds, with ugly faces and hungry mouths. 
They were thin, gaunt animals, with protruding 
bones and watchful eyes. Their lips were trem¬ 
blingly drawn back, showing their red gums 
and sharp teeth, and they walked uneasily hith¬ 
er and thither, snuffling and smelling and beg¬ 
ging for something to eat. Old Caleb threw 
down the hone he had picked up in the street 
and they pounced upon it with the greed of 
long-continued hunger. But it was white and 
bare and tasteless and they soon abandoned it, 
uttering pitiful whines. 
“ Lie down !” snarled old Caleb, as they 
came tip to him and looked Into his face be¬ 
seechingly, They fled to a corner and sat down 
on their haunches, where they licked their 
cnops restlessly, occasionally snapped at each 
other, and followed anxiously with their eyes 
every movement of their master. 
The latter, uTter looking around cautiously 
ami listening attentively, opened the door of 
another apartment. As he passod from one 
room to the other, lie seemed to shrink and 
wither, to retire within himself—actually to 
diminish In size. His mouth screwed Itself Into 
painful distortion, and his eyes became fairly 
frightful In their suspicious, restless glaro. The 
dogs knew better than to follow him. He half 
closed the door of the apartment he had enter¬ 
ed and then lighted a tallow candle. The feeble 
light thus afforded enabled him to remove, 
stick by stick, a pile of wood which lay In one 
FRIGHTENED BY A. BEE. 
them. They dodged, ran past him, and crouched 
in the opposite corner of the room. 
Old Caleb was spell-bound with dismay. The 
dogs had been trained never to enter that room. 
They crept toward him with a strange, terrible 
light in their eyes. He stood still, watching 
with frightened gaze the brutes, who seemed 
to have some fixed, settled purpose. This pur¬ 
pose seemed suddonly to dawq upon him. With 
an oath and a cry of terror he fled into the 
other room. The dogs bounded after him, ut¬ 
tering frightful growls. 
OLD CALEB’S REPARATION. 
CHAPTER I I. 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
BY o. S. ADAMS. 
A great fire had devastated a largo tract of 
the city. Where marble palaces had stood 
blackened walls aroso in .lagged ugliness; where 
busy workshops had hummod day after day 
there were heaps of broken, twisted iron and 
smoldering rubbish. Mathew Cole saw his 
earthly possessions sink beneath the march of 
the flames, and ho turned from the scene of 
destruction with a look of despair. Amid such 
a general wreck individual misfortunes sank 
into obscurity. Yet two who saw his despond¬ 
ing face talked low to each other: 
“ It Is a terrible blow to poor Cole.” 
“ Yes, he has been a hard -working man.” 
“Just got himself Into comfortable shape, 
hadn’t he?" 
" So I understand. He was cheated years ago 
by one whom he believed to bo bis friend. It 
told on him severely, but ho wsb young and 
full of energy, and fought his way up again." 
" He won’t hardly bo equal to another such 
task, will he ?" 
“ 1 am afraid not, In Ids old age." 
Meanwhile, Matuew Cole went homo to his 
family. His wife and daughter met him with 
tearful faces. They knew the location of the 
Are and that It had swept everything in Its 
course. 
“Is all lost?” was the first inquiry! 
“ All,” was the single word In reply, given In 
a low, hard tone. 
"Don’t look that way, Mathew,” appealed 
his wife, frightened at his pale, desperate face. 
“ Perhaps it Is not as bad as we now think.” 
u If Is as bad as It can be,” be replied, whi'o 
the despairing look remained. “ I am ruined." 
"Oh, do not say that! Is there not an insur¬ 
ance?” 
“ Yes, there was an insurance.” 
“Well?” 
"That amounts to nothing. Tbe company 
cannot pay one quarter of Its losses.” 
The family gathered around the dinner table 
with gloomy faces. After tbe meal was over 
Mrs. Cole drew her husband one side and said : 
“The $5,000 that you had yesterday—what of 
that?” 
“ it is gone, with the rest. It was In the 
safe, but that did not save It.” 
Mrs. Cole bowed hor head and was si¬ 
lent. Her husband pacod the room in 
melancholy abstraction. 
“Poor Chahles !" at length sighed Mrs. 
Cole. 
“Yea, he will bo here to-morrow. All 
his bright hopes are scattered to the winds 
now'. Oh, how fate thwarts me whenever 
Tam on the eve of any great consumma¬ 
tion! 
“ Mathew 1" exclaimed hla wife, with 
gentle reproof in her tone. 
“ Rut It is so f” be replied, almost fierce¬ 
ly. "First Caleb Ha hbis played *nefalse 
and laid me in the dust, and now all that 
I have raised from nothing, as it were, is 
felled at one blow. It might have been 
left for mo to do for iny son what I had 
wished.” 
“ It is terrible," said Mrs. Cole, gravely, 
" but, my dear husband, we must not talk 
or think In that way. There Is no such 
thing as fate unless God’s will be fate, and 
surely w e should not murmur in bitterness 
against that.” 
"No, no, I suppose not," he said, brush¬ 
ing his hand across his face, like one be¬ 
wildered ; " but It is hard, very hard 1” 
The day passed away dreamily, with 
nothing to cheer t.ho melancholy of the 
household. The whole city was under a 
pall. Hundreds of other family circles 
were wrapped in their own gloom. 
Charles Cole returned homo on tbe fol¬ 
lowing day. He was prepared for the 6cene 
which uwaited h!rn, for the telegraph had 
flashed tidings of the great calamity to 
every community in the land w hile it w as 
yet in progress. He met his parents with 
a brave face and words of cheer. But this 
was all the more pitiful, for they knew the 
disappointment that he must feel. He 
was the victim of an injury received in 
childhood and was permanently incapaci¬ 
tated from performing severe manual la¬ 
bor. But he had talent, high principles 
and force of character, and had qualified 
himself to conduct the business bis father 
had followed for so many years. He had 
just been West to make final arrangements 
for embarking In that business, and his 
purpose in returning home was to receive 
from his father thesum which was to form 
his first capital and, he hoped, the starting 
point of a prosperous career. That lie 
should feel sick at heart and cast down 
when the full truth came to him, was in¬ 
evitable; yet he resolutely put his own 
sorrow aside and endeavored to comfort 
his parents. He assumed a sanguine air 
and would not listen to their laments on 
his account. 
CHAPTER I. 
“ Hi ! there goes Old Caleb!” 
A volley of shrieks from a rabble of urchins 
followed this announcement, which was dellv- 
oiedlnashrill voice by ono of their number. 
And there was forthwith hurled a storm of 
derisive remarks about tbe ears of a small, 
stooping and apparently Inoffensive old 
man who wa3 making his way quietly up 
the street. His head was bent forward, his 
attitude was submissive and his knees 
seemed to be failing him ; but from under 
the brlrn of hla battered and rusty hat 
peered a pair of rouud, eager eyes. Tbe 
rest of his face was pinched; hi 3 mouth 
was drawn In with painful-looking wrink¬ 
les, his cheeks were sunken, his chin pro¬ 
jected sharply, and hla hair was gray and 
tangled; hut tils eyes—how bright they 
were—bow hungry and miserable, how se¬ 
cret and thankless! 
He was a miser. 
His tattered coat was too small for him; 
It had shed It* buttons long ago, and was 
tied with a faded, decaying scarf. His hat 
was weather-beaten and dust-begrimed, 
and foul wilh the taint of it3 wearer. His 
pants were of an ancient pattern and care¬ 
fully patchod and darned In many places. 
His boots were wrinkled, cracked and 
dusty, and looked as if their owner never 
p.illeil them off for fear of tearing them to 
pieces. 
Yes, he was a miser. Not a word of re¬ 
monstrance did he offer his tormentors; 
but he picked up and put In his pocket an 
old bone which one of them threw after 
him. 
At this a fresh storm of jeers arose, but 
Old Caleb paid no attention. Perhaps he 
was afraid of wearing out bis boots or 
straining his coat by pursuing the rabble. 
At all events, he went meekly on his way, 
looking neither to the right, nor to the left. 
And of course the boys soon abandoned In 
disgust one whom they could neither irri¬ 
tate nor taunt Into retaliatory measures. 
Old Caleb wended his way slow! up 
the street, bis eyes rolling ab^ut watch¬ 
fully and hungrily, ne pursued a line on 
the extreme outside edge of the sidewalk, 
and soemed to 3hun auy greeting or even 
notice. He soon turned Into a poorer 
street, thence Into other stlil poorer ones 
and finally Into a narrow alley. 
It was a miserable place. The houses 
were old, dilapidated, near together and 
thickly populated. This last circumstance 
might have been considered a blessing, for 
it was in the winter season and many half- 
clad, poor, human creatures, made up, in 
a degree, by huddling toget her, the warmth 
they could not get fuel or clothing to sup¬ 
ply. r aces with the gloom which departed 
hope loaves peered from windows and 
stared with gaunt eyes at other similar 
faces in opposite windows. Children, in 
whom the freshness of life was not quite 
dead, were out of doors running and play¬ 
ing and shouting, while their hands and 
feet were freezing. 
An observer might have noticed one 
building, smaller and more repelling in ap¬ 
