rt> 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
AUS. 28 
when I came I might have something to love 
and talk to. Oh, you do make me happy, and 1 
feel jubt like singing.” And hereshc happened 
to remember that her aunt and Arabella had 
gone out for a drive and she was alone in the 
house. With a little, glad laugh at the thought 
she broke Torch Into a merry song which echoed 
through the lonesome old house and sounded 
far out through tbnopan window. Hhesangon 
and on. forgetful of all outward surroundinga, 
only knowing and feeling that she was Tor a few 
brief momenta happy. At length her joyous 
carol died away Into a low. soft melody, and 
the old Scotch song, so tender, so sweet, again 
broke from her lips. And again ClarKSCK Lbk 
was a listener and knew it was the name voice 
that had so charmed him on that never-to-be- 
forgotten evening. Its bad legal news of Im¬ 
portance for Mr*. St.John, concerning her bus- 
band's will,and be was just pia-lng up tho long 
graveled walk, when bln oar caught the llrat 
noteB of bis favorite song. He reached the door, 
then paused and listened. Ho could not bear 
to put an end to such sweet singing by making 
his presence known, and so he waited until the 
last verse was ended : 
•• Her voice in low and sweet, 
She in all the world to me; 
And for bonny AN.VIE LAU1UE 
1 would lay mo down and doe.” 
Then he rung the bell. Lettie started and 
rubbed her eyes as if she had been dreaming as 
Its harsh sound reached her little chamber. Sue 
supposed, of course, it was her aunt and Ara¬ 
bella returned and finding the door locked, 
h id rung the bell; and they had heard her sing¬ 
ing so loud up there—and, oh dear, what would 
they say, and what should she do? Hut she had 
no time to waste. She Hew like a bird down the 
long stairway and through the ball,and opened 
the door with trembling Huger* and a palpitat¬ 
ing heart. 
“Please don’t scold,” she began, but stopped 
short—for there, instead of the two frowning 
faces she had expected, stood a tall, handsome 
stranger, who was smiling in an amused way at 
her confusion and mistake. 
“No, I won’t scold,” ho said, “if you’ll tell 
me is Mrs. St. John at home?” 
Lettie’S cheeks looked like two full-blown 
roses. They felt, she thought, very much as 
they dUl once when she had the toothache and 
had a mustard poultice applied to her face. 
“ Yes, sir no sir, 1 moan,” stammered Letter. 
“ Will she be In soon?" 
Letter thought she would. 
“ Well, then, I think I’ll just step in and wait, 
for I have Important business with her,” said 
Clarence. 
LKTTIB led the way into the parlor aud was 
hastily retreating when he said, " Stay one mo¬ 
ment, please. Will you tell me who that was I 
heard singing, as 1 cam;-?’’ The lids drooped 
over the pretty brown eyes, and again the rich 
color cam© to her cheeks; butahe was truthful. 
“ 1 tbiuk, sir, it must have been me, as there Is 
no one else at homo.” 
“ Oh 1” and his look was amixture of surprise 
and enlightenment. “ You are Bridget, then ?” 
“Sir?” said Letter, with her eyes opened 
wide. 
“ Isn’t your name Bridget ?” 
“Oh.no," said &be, laughing at the queer mis¬ 
take, “my namo is L ext i e — Lett i e Morris, 
and Mrs. St. John Is my aunt.” 
Clarence began to have an inkling or the 
truth of the matter, as he thought of the cruel 
words he had heard the last evening ho spout 
with ARABELLA, and hla mind was Oiled with 
thoughts or Indignation ut the unjust treatment 
of one so sweet and innocent. “Do you never 
get lonely in this rambling old house?” asked 
ho. 
“Oh, sometimes," said Lkttie, “sometimes 
when—when—” and a sob finished the seutence, 
with a sudden outburst of tears. 
“ Pardon me, Miss Morris. I had no inten¬ 
tion of bringing up painful thoughts to your 
mind.” 
“Excuse me, sir, for weeping,” said Lkttie, 
a& soon as she could choke back the tears, " but 
1 was thinking o t my mother; she is dead—and 
you spoke so kindly, I could not help it.” 
Clarence ventureil some comforting words 
and then rose to go as it was growing late and 
Mrs. St. John bad not yet returned. He would 
call some other time, he said, to transact his 
business. 
• The rage of Arabella was fearful to behold 
when at dusk they came and upon inquiring if 
any one had been there, Lettie answered, 
“Yes, a gentleman called,” and described him 
so accurately Arabella knew it must have 
been Clarence Lee. 
Arabella had not yet recovered her temper 
nor forgiven Lkttie for attracting Clarence 
with her singing the previous evening and now, 
when she found out she had actually sat in the 
parlor with him and talked with him, she was 
so angry she would not listen to one word of 
explanation from Lettjl, who tried to tell her 
he cable to see Mrs. St. John. But Arabella 
would have none of It. She supposed of course, 
she was the one attraction there Tor him. She 
administered a sound scolding to Letter, who 
could only stand silent and trembling and re¬ 
ceive It all. “ And now," concluded Arabella, 
when at last she stopped Tor want of breath, 
“ now just pack up your duds aud go. I'm not 
going to keep any one around wbo puts on such 
airs.—entertaining my callers, and a gentleman 
too! Start!” she commanded, as Lettie stood 
mute with astonishment, “ and don’t come back 
again until you know your place better." 
Poor, frightened little Lettie want up stairs 
and In a few minutes her scanty bundle was 
made up. Bhe went to the window and putting 
her hand out in the dark touched the old tree 
and said good-bye to it with tears in ber eyes, 
came down and praised out, without meeting 
either her aunt or Arabella. 
She stood all alone In the damp, dark street. 
The heavy tread of a policeman turning the 
corner warned her she must not stand there 
long, so she walked on. On andou she walked, 
I.tile knowing or scarcely caring whither. As 
ahe came up to a huge stone gateway with mas¬ 
sive pillars, she felt so dizzy she leaned back 
against one of these, sick at heart and well*nlgh 
exhausted, for she had been walking and wan¬ 
dering for two hours. The lights wero begin¬ 
ning to die out in the houses, and still she stood 
there sobbing aud « coping bitterly. She heard 
stops approaching, but dare not move out of 
the shadow of the gateway. 
ClaubNCR lee had just closed the door of 
his sister’s residence! with a merry “ good night, 
sin; i’il lie 'round again In the morning,” aud 
walked briskly down the path toward the big 
stone gateway, lie heard a sob aud a moan, 
and paused to listen, liy the dim starlight be 
saw the figure of a woman crouching there in 
the shadow. “ Are you ill, madam?” asked he. 
“Oh, no, sir;” OL a hence started, the voice 
seemed so strangely familiar,—“but I don’t 
know where to go.” 
“ Pray come into the house a moment,” said 
he, and half supporting her trembling form, 
they entered the apartment Clarence had just 
left. 
Lkttte's face wore no roses now. She was 
pale as any Broadway beauty, and as Hhe sank 
Into a chair the room seemed whirling around 
like atop. Alice Dkane, Clarence’s married 
sister, was a sympathetic litt le body, aud In a 
few minutes she had torn off Lettie’* shaker 
bonnet and brought her a glass of water. Let- 
tie already fell quite revived under her treat¬ 
ment, while the old flush began to brighten up 
her cheeks- Cla hence all this t'mo looked u n 
In mute astonishment. He could hardly be¬ 
lieve Ids eyes, aud yet yes. It was the same 
little girl he had talked with that afternoon. 
“Why, Lettie—M iss Morris!" exclaimed 
he, “ is it really you ?" 
“Yes,” said Lettie. “I think it must be, 
thougti I seem strange to myself." Then fol¬ 
lowed an explanation and many inquiries, all 
of which Lkttie anssvered truthfully, in a 
straightforward manner, and when Clarence 
again bid his sister good night, ho added, “ Take 
good care of little Lkttie.” 
Arabella had no Idea that Lettie would go 
away and never come back, when she sent her 
forth. She thought she would again come to 
her and beg her forgiveness and plead to bo al¬ 
lowed to remain. But in this she found she 
was mistaken, and she was more chagrined at 
her own folly and hastiness than she would 
have owned. 
The next morning after Lettjk's departure 
Clarence received the f allowing note : 
Dear Mr. Lee;— lam sorry I was not at home 
when you called to see me yesterday. You must 
have been pleasantly entertained, 1 imagine, as 
my kitchen girl told mo she sat In the parlor 
and talked with you. I feel vcr\ much dis¬ 
tressed at the manner III which you must have 
been treated. 1 hope you will call again very 
soon. Your true friend, Arabella.” 
Clarence smiled. His first impulse was to let 
this pass unnoticed, but upon second thought 
lie concluded he wouly reply; so he wrote, ac¬ 
cordingly, lu this wise: 
Minn St.John: You need waste no regrets 
upon your absence yesterday, us l was indeed 
very pleasantly entertained Lv your cumin and 
kitchen glri, i liss Morris. Perhaps It v.'ill al- 
lovlate your distress somewhat, when 1 tell you 
my call was not intended for you, but for an¬ 
other person. lloKpectfuily, 
“Olahi m e M. Lee." 
“Decidedly cooi," Arabella said, but laid 
it all to “ that artful hussy," aud wondered it It 
was she he came to see, after all. bhe fait hu¬ 
miliated at llrat, but as Clarence never came 
to see her again, she reluctantly gave him up 
with a sigh of love—love for his father’s green¬ 
backs—aud in a few months was married to an 
old miser of sixty, who was both bald und rheu¬ 
matic, but he offered her a gilded cage to live 
In, and that was sufficient to satisfy her. 
Lkttie found a permanent home with Mrs. 
Deane, who gave her all the privileges of socie¬ 
ty, and a year worked wonders for her, both in 
outward appearance and mental culture. 1 said 
she found a permanent home there. It was per¬ 
manent for live years, but at the end of that 
time she went to help make a home of her own. 
Let me introduce you Into that charming home 
for a moment. We will make only a short call, 
as she and her huBoand yes, she’s married, of 
course, else where’s the good of my story ?—are 
talking upon u very interesting subject—inter¬ 
esting to them, at least. 
" What shall wo name her, Clarence ?” 
“ Have you any preference, Lettie?” 
"No. l'Jl be suited with auy name you may 
choose, provided it isn’t Bridget," she added. 
“ Well, then, dear Lkttie, in memory of tbe 
old Scotch song that first attracted me to you, 
let her be called’A nnie Laurie.' " 
And so the little brown - eyed, dimpled, 
month-old baby In the snowy crib was then and 
there ohristeued 
Annie Laurie Lee. 
--- 
Prosperity has Us “sweot uses” as well as 
adversity, for no sooner does a man come into 
a little property than ho learns the number of 
ids frieods; whereas, if he had remained poor 
he would probably have died in perfect igno¬ 
rance of the fact. 
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 
The death of Hans Christian Andersen, 
the well-known and well-beloved Danish au¬ 
thor, occurred In Copenhagen only a few days 
ago. His death will be felt as a personal be- 
reavementby millionswhobavo read hisstories, 
both among children and those of older growth 
who have retained the freshness and trust of 
childhood. Tbe portrait given on page 145 is an 
accurate llkoncss, and the following sketch of 
his life embodies the principal incidents in his 
career: 
Hans Christian Andersen was born in the 
little Danish village of Odense. April 3,1805, of 
poor parents, in the one room which his father 
and mother occupied, which served alike for 
bouse and shoemaker shop. His father died 
early, and Hans was left with even fewer ad¬ 
vantages than bis parents’ poverty promised 
him. He left home when only fourteen years 
old—a shy, bashful youth, absolutely destitute 
of ull worldly knowledge, as indeed he seemed 
tu be during most of Ids life. He was so sim¬ 
ple-hearted that he always seemed ready to 
trust whatever any one eaid to him, yet- 
strangely enough, the good Providence which 
bo always recognized us guiding his affairs so 
overruled his life that lie was rarely imposed 
upon, and in time his very simplicity became 
one great secret of bis success. No scheming 
or worldly-wise man could have had the sim¬ 
plicity which enabled htin to write his wonder¬ 
ful stories for children. 
At the age of fourteen lie went out to seek 
blBfortune in the great city of Copenhagen. At 
the charity school he had learned a little, but 
so carelessly, that when his genius for writing 
began to manifest itself bo was scarcely able to 
spell, and had to teach himself anew that im¬ 
portant. art. Ha sought at. first a connection 
wit h a theater, but was soon turned away as 
incompetent. What the tall, shy youth was fit 
for. none could tell, and he seemed to know 
least of all. But by degrees he began to attract 
attention and respect. His talents were recog¬ 
nized by a wealthy nobleman, wbo gave him 
some assistance, and from tin t time till within 
a short period of his death, or for more than 
forty years, he has boen busy writing books, 
stories and poems of the moat extraordinary 
character, and which will continue to lie read 
with unceasing interest so long as the world 
has children. Ills wonder stories are probably 
the most popular. They consist of short 
sketches, most of them hiding a nubile moral* 
which might well interest older readers. IDs 
longer stories are equally for t.bc common 
people, such as “The Improvisator*!,” which is 
a picture of Italy, and "The Two Baronesses," 
“ O. T." and "Only a Fiddler,” where the scenes 
ore Danish. He is Danish to the core. Tho old 
legends of his ancient country, the wild sand 
heaps of Jutland, the beach trees, the bright, 
quarrelsome city life, tho fresh, frank hospi¬ 
tality, all get into his stories. But it, is his lit¬ 
tle stories that, have won him renown. They 
wore something so new aud so pleasing that 
they i ee.ame at once general favorites with 
young und old. 
When he began writing his stories besought 
only to tel! over again old legends of Den¬ 
mark which ho had heard when a child; but as 
Ids interest increased ho brought his inventive 
powers to bear and originated his stories, and 
Boon every Christmas brought, a new volume 
from him. In the collected series of bis works 
there are volumes on “Spain and Portugal,” 
“The Poet’s Bazaar,” which is a narrative of 
travels, chiefly In Italy, Greece and the Orient, 
“Pictures of Travel" in Sweden, the liartz 
Mountains and Switzerland. One of the best 
and most characteristic is the poet's own auto¬ 
biography, “The Story of My Life," which 
abounds In reminiscences of his early and Jate 
years — his poverty, struggles and hardships, 
ending with the universal love, world-wide 
fame aud many honors with which his mature 
life was crowned. 
- *■*-* -- 
NO SUCCESS WITHOUT WORK. 
WHEN Charles Dickens said that all that he 
had accomplished had been achieved by dili¬ 
gent, patient, persevering application, he only 
stated what had been the experience of every 
successful man. Nothing Is more important to 
young men than that they should early learn 
aud fully comprehend this great truth. It is 
step by step, by toilsome effort added to toll- 
some effort, that all great achievements are 
made. As has been well remarked, there is no 
royal road to learning. Neither is there any 
loyal road to anything else of great value in 
this life. Work—steady, loag-ooutinued aud 
regular application—is the only price for which 
anything worth the having can be bought. 
There is no great success of any kind without 
great labor. 
•- 
CHINESE PROVERBS. 
The following are a few curious Chinese 
proverbs: The ripest fruit grows on the rough¬ 
est wall, it la the small wheels of the carriage 
that come in first. The man who holds the 
ladder at the bottom Is frequently of more ser¬ 
vice than he who is stationed at the top of it. 
The turtle, though brought in at, the back gate, 
takes the head at the table. Better be a cat in 
a philanthropist's family than a mutton pie at 
a king's banquet. The learned pig didn’t learn 
its letters in a day. True merit, like tbe pearl 
inside an oyster, is content to remain quiet till 
it finds an opening. The top strawberries are 
eaten first. 
pending. 
THE HERITAGE. 
The rich man’s son inherits lands, 
And plies of brick, and stone, and gold; 
And he Inherits soft, white hands 
And tender flesh that fears the cold. 
Nor dares to wear a garment old; 
A heritage, it seems to me. 
One et-arco would wish to hold In fee. 
The rich man’s son Inherits cares: 
The bank may break, the factory burn, 
A breath may burst, his bubble shares. 
And soft white hands could scarcely earn 
A living that would serve his turn ; 
A heritage. It seems to me me, 
One would not wish to hold In fee. 
What cloth the poor man's son inherit? 
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
A hearty frame, a hardier spirit; 
King of two hands, he doe* his part 
In every useful toil and art; 
A heritage, It seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 
What doth the poor man's son inherit? 
Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things, 
A rank adjudged by toll-worn merit. 
Content that from employment springs, 
A heart that in his labor sings; 
A heritage, It seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 
What doth a poor man’s son Inherit? 
A patience learned by being poor; 
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear It; 
A fellow feeling thut Is sure 
To make tbe outcast bless his door, 
A herltnge, It seems to me, 
A king might wish to hold in fee. 
O. rich man’s son t there is a toil 
That with all other level stands; 
Large charity doth never soil, 
But only whitens soft, white hands— 
This Is the best crop from thy lands; 
A heritage, it seems to mo. 
Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
O, poor tannV son ! soorn not thy Btate; 
There is worse weariness than thine. 
In merely being rieh and great; 
Toll only gives the soul to shine. 
And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 
A heritage, it seems to n>o. 
Worth being poor to hold In fee. 
Both, heirs to some six feet of sod. 
Arc equal in the. earth ut last; 
Both, children of tbe same dear God, 
Prove title to your heirship vast 
By record of a well tilled past, 
A heritage, it seems to me, 
Well worth a life to hold in fee. 
[James Ruxte.ll Lowell. 
-♦♦♦- 
ENTHUSIASM WANTED. 
D. L. Moody of Chicago, made a speech in 
England. In the presence of scholars, noble¬ 
men and a large crowd, ho said:—“We want 
something more. We find it lu the world. Men 
are desperately in earnest lu business circles. 
Jlell is in earnest. Why Bbould notwebe? We 
talk about Infidelity and all tbe isms that are 
creeping over the world, i am more afraid of 
cold formalism than uuything else. Let the 
children of Gt>dbut see eye to eye, and Chris¬ 
tianity will overcome ail the hosts of hell and 
death. There is as much power in the Gospel 
to-day as ever. Man has been as bad as he can 
be. He was bad in Eden, be was bud for 3,000 
years under the law, and he has been had these 
eighteen cent uries undergraoe; but my friends, 
there in power in the Gospel to save. When 
men are willing to give their lives to work for 
God, then He takes tiies© men and uses them. 
One thing I admire about Garibaldi—his enthu¬ 
siasm. in 1507, when he was on bis way to 
Rome, he was told that if lie got there he would 
be imprisoned. 
“Nald he—‘If fifty Garibaldis are to be im¬ 
prisoned, let Rome be free!’ And when the 
cause of Christ is burled so deep In our hearts 
that we do not think of ourselves and are will¬ 
ing to die, then we will reach our Tellow-men. 
Five years ugo I went to Edinburgh and stopped 
a week to hear one man speak—Dr. Duff, the re- 
turned missionary. A friend told me a few 
things about him and I went to light my torch 
with bis burning words. My friend said that 
the year before he had spoken for some time 
and had fainted In tho midst of his speech. 
When he recovered he said—’ 1 was speaking for 
India, was I not?* And they satd he was, ‘ Take 
me back that I may finish my speech.’ And, 
notwithstanding the entreaties of those around 
he insisted on returning and they brought him 
back. 
“He then said—’ Is it true that we have been 
sending appeal after appeal for young men to 
go to India and none of our sous have gone? Is 
It true, Air. Moderator, that Scotland has no 
more sons to give to the Lord Jesus ? If true, 
although I have spent twenty-five years there 
and lost m/ constitution—if it is true that Scot¬ 
land has no more sons to give, l will be off to¬ 
morrow und go to the shores of the Ganges and 
there be a witness for Christ.' This is what we 
want. A little more, a good deal more, of that 
enthusiasm aud Christianity will begin to move 
and go through the world and reach men by 
hundreds and thousands.” 
-- 
Wisdom and truth, the offspring of the sky, 
are immortal; but cunning and deception, the 
meteors of the earth, after glittering for a mo¬ 
ment, must pass away —Robert nail. 
