162 
angrily, and at the words Hester, with a moan, 
dropped down insensible. 
Not dead ! But when, after weeks and months 
of painful illness, he faced the world again, he 
looked like a shadow out of the past. But bent 
and aged, with scarred forehead und whitened 
locks, the wreck of his body was not the great¬ 
est evil that had befallen him; for of the bril¬ 
liant genius of other days not a vestige was left. 
Saddest of all, the miserable ghost of bi6 lost 
hopes haunted him. and In t he ruined obam. 
berjof bis darkened intellect he was forever 
groping, trying to gat her up the mystic chords 
of tuneful thought which no longer vibrated 
to his magic touch. The lost manuscript music 
had never boon recovered, and, though his 
feeble mind failed to lake In the greatness of 
his I08P, the shadow of something beautiful 
which was to have been, but, somehow, failed 
to be, lay on him, and gave his face a wistful 
look, which was sadder far in its mute endur¬ 
ance than any wail of speech could have been. 
Music was to bun now something akm to the 
sound of “ sweet bells jangled, uut of tone and 
harsh." 
One day in early spring lie went to the church 
for the first time, leaning on Hester's arm. The 
old, familiar look oi the place struck him for¬ 
cibly and aroused his dormant wits. lie sat. 
down to the organ and glided his hands over 
the keys; a few jangling, discordant chords 
followed, wandering end disconnected; thou 
bis face changed, and, with a terrible cry, he 
flung bis head down on his arms. 
“Oh, Hester! tell mo what it is I have lost! 
Sometimes I almost reach It- It Is In my mind, 
something beautiful which I almost grasp, and 
then It eludes me and fades away. 1 have lost 
it now. Hester! Hester! take me home.” 
She kissed him and soothed him with sweet 
womanly words, and when he was more com¬ 
posed she led him away. 
goon after that they woie married. In vain 
Hester’s friends threatened and opposed her. 
She w as quietly determined. 
“Ho loved me when friends aud fortune 
stalled on him." she answered them. “He 
would have given me every great gift which the 
world was ready to bestow on Inin lor love of 
hi.-, beautiful genius, and shall 1 desert him now 
when misfortune lias overtaken him'/ Perhaps 
-oh, perhaps some tlmoGod mayrestoreto him 
his lost mind." Tears filled her lovely, soft, 
pathetic eyes. “Iff dared to hope it—oh, if i 
but might hope for it, how willingly would I 
give m / life to have it so." 
The day before her wedding she received a 
visit, from Conrad Cburterla. 
'»* lc shall not bo!" he cried out, vehemently. 
“Do you realize what you are doing? Why, you 
had better far die at once, for Robert Field is 
but little bettor than an idiot.” 
“And if lie were an idiot,” returned Hester, 
bravely hiding her hurt at the brutal words, 
“even then I would many him. 1 love him, 
and if not ouo vestige of hla glorious intellect 
remained t would be Robert Field’s wife and a 
proud one too." 
“1 bellevo you would!" answered Conrad, 
looking with a fond, mad longing Into the pale 
face, lifted so undauntedly to his dark gaze. 
“Hester,you will drive me mad. I would to 
heaven that Robert Field was dead. Why did 
he not die that night last winter?" audhostruek 
his hand luriously on the table in a blind frenzy 
of despair. 
“ God knows it was from no lack of purpose 
In you that he did not die," returned Hester, 
spiritedly. 
Stic spoke at random, but Conrad shrank away 
with a white face. The id.e words evidently hit 
him hard. They cut close and sharp as steel in 
their unexpected descent, aud wheeling abrupt¬ 
ly about he lo:t her and did not seek her again. 
They were married quietly and after that, In 
the tender security of his modest homo, under 
the loud and cherishing ciue Of his wife, health 
and strength came slowly hack to the shattered 
frame of Robert Field. 
slowly, too, out of the darkness he began to 
wrench, one by one, the secrets of his prisoned 
mind. Old melodies began toshape themselves 
under Ills touch, discordant, and frag me ut ary 
at (list, but gradually assumiug symmetry aud 
power. 
“Not quite a wreck!" he would sigh, wist¬ 
fully. “Some day some good genii will unlock 
my prison door and set me free.” 
Iu the child that was burn to them—a beauti¬ 
ful boy who sang sweet mus e lu every tone of 
bis childish voina-Ujs pride was great. Ho 
talked of him, listened to him, watched him 
and dreamed of him, predicted a future of 
which Bertrand was to bo t he perfect dower, 
the very golden rose oi joy. So the five years 
passed and sweet Heater Field's fair face grow 
heavenly beautiful to see, with its tired look of 
patient waiting, (lot 1 only knows how her heart 
failed her now at times, or with wuat fierce 
power she wrestled with her growing doubts 
and prayed for strength to help her hear this 
cross whose shadow fell even darker and deeper 
on her young life. 
Had iter Jove, then, been a sacrifice in vain? 
But one day the answer Caine 1 Returning owe 
aftirnoon from a long walk, Robert Field stop¬ 
ped la the ball, spell-bound by the triumphant 
strains of some new and beautiful melody flout¬ 
ing through the rooms. Hia worn face Hashed 
with the old light of inspired thought; bis eyes 
jdilated ; his whole form shook with a myste¬ 
rious emotion. 
“What Is it? what is it?” he asked of his 
wife, vrlio came to meet him. 
“ Bertrand's music !" answered proud mother 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
Hester. ‘ He has been engaged with it a long 
time. He meant it to he a surprise for you." 
Robert Field threw up his arms with a joyful 
cry. 
“It is mine—mine! My lost music! The 
music I played for you that long-forgotten day ! 
Hark! Hester, do you not re cog ribs it now? 
Oli! to think that It has slept so long and now 
comes back to me so fresh and fair. This Is 
what I have missed out of my life. This is my 
treasure which was lost to me and now is re¬ 
turned t> me after many years. Brought hack 
’.'y a little child! Our child, Hester! Oh,thank 
God for that 1” 
Rushing into the parlor he swept Bertrand 
from the stool, and seating himself at the organ, 
with otic powerful sweep of bis hands over the 
keys lie summoned his Gcd-giveu genius from 
the tomb of his youth and bade it stand resur¬ 
rect ionized In new lilt before him. On and on 
tlie music swept; not a uoto was lost; not a 
chord dropped out of the splendid work. Bhout- 
inply, exultantly the tones leaped forth, “ and 
their name was called Wonderful.” On, on! 
Up and on! 
At last, from sheer exbuustioD, the musician 
dropped to the floor and lying there at Hester's 
feet, he wept tears w hich were no shame to him. 
“His the very saints” lie cried. “Bertrand 
lias written it out note for note, a counterpart 
of my own work. Is it not an awful tiling to 
think of? My own work, aud yet his! Who 
hut God Of hi explain it? And oh, llester! The 
darkness is all gone now. Let me thank God 
for that." 
Then wrapping his arms about her, Robert 
Field ltlascd his wife’s pale face and kissed her 
tender mouth, her wavy hair, aud her slim, pale, 
faithful hands. 
“My wife! my wife! Oh, what if your love 
had failedy on, Hester ? If in those terrible first 
hours of my misfortune your true heart had 
been one whit less true, then I should have been 
lying In my grave to-day, a broken and forgot¬ 
ten man!’’ 
So fame and success in the later days of his 
life came, not uuwelcomely, to Robert Field. 
The world welcomed bis famous piece with 
none the less acclaim for its long delay and for 
the strange story which accompanied It. One 
truth only concerning that fatal night Robert 
withhold- known alone to his faithful wife. 
But Conrad Charter 1 b had long ago disappeared 
from the town aud was seen no more among 
them. K<> he and Hester bulled tire secret in 
their hearts, contented that it should be so — 
for God Is his own avenger. 
They had been taught a wonderful lesson, 
too, by One who, having lived on earth, knew 
what the lull truition oi earthly life must be, 
aud who gave, ere He passed away from among 
meo, the crowning blessing of His wisdom iu a 
last, new commandment— 
Love ye one another ! 
-- 
A PRACTICAL JOKE. 
Many long years ago there lived upon the 
shores of a Gauadiau river a man named Peter 
Jolifl'. An honest, upright fellow, a good neigh¬ 
bor und friend, but with ouo abominable fault 
that won him many enemies and caused much 
discomfort and even suffering to those around 
him. This fault was an almost irresistible fond¬ 
ness of practical Joking, that would uot allow 
him to Jei an opportunity pass wherein he could 
gratify this special passion of his being. 
There came a time, however, when i lie exer¬ 
cise of this peculiarity brought upon him an 
ordeal so sharp that It cured this unfortunate 
propensity, to the great joy of his family and 
friends. The process was disagreeable, but the 
cure was effectual and permanent. 
One day Peter had been at work a few miles 
from bis home. Alter his day's labor was fin¬ 
ished, his employer invited him to partake of 
the evening meal with him; this invitation 
Peter accepted and then, his system fortified 
by a hearty supper, he commenced his journey 
homeward. 
The path which Peter trod that night would 
lead one to-day through cultivated fields and by 
many pleasant farm-houses; but then it was an 
unbroken forest. 
It was a cold, dark December night; the wind 
swept fitfully among tho great pines and beech¬ 
es; strauge mourning sounds went ebbing 
through tne forest; now and then an owl ut¬ 
tered its hoarse cry, or the sudden rattling of 
the dead leaves told when some timid animal 
scurried away fioru tho sound o/footsteps. 
But Peter was strong and stout-hearted, and 
trudged quietly along, without paying much 
attention to the sights aud sounds around him, 
until lie had achieved perhaps one-halt of his 
Journey, when suddenly his cars caught the 
sound Of horses’ foot desc ending the long, rocky 
path before him. Gradually the sounds drew 
nearer, until the sharp, peculiar voice of tho 
horseman could be heard urging the beast to a. 
faster gait. 
“Ah, ah !" said Peter to himself, as he heard 
the familiar tones, " that is Uncle Tom Barry." 
Now Uncle Tom aud Peter were neighbors— 
that is to say, thslr clearings lay about a mile 
apart; and none knew better than Peter that 
the old mao was naturally of a timid disposi¬ 
tion and, Inrtlitrmere, that nothing inspired 
him with greater fear, nothing which he wou.d 
uot rather meet, than a wolf. No sooner, there¬ 
fore, had Peter become convinced that the 
horseman behind him was his neighbor, than 
he resolved to use this trait of Uncle Tom’s as 
a means of working out what ho considered 
would be a moat capital joke. His plans were 
soon laid and he proceeded to put them into 
execution. Creeping through the undergrowth 
which bordered his path, he crouched down and 
patiently awaited the approach of his victim. 
He had not waited long before Uncle Tom, his 
horse at a sharp trot and himself casting timid 
glances around, arrived opposite his place of 
concealment. Peter allowed him to pass a few 
paces, and then springing forward on his hands 
and knees, i e uttered one or two snarling yelps, 
instantly followed by the loud, dear, gathering 
cry of the wolves. 
The effect upon Uncle Tom was electrical. 
Springing half way out of his saddle he uttered 
a scream of terror ; and then, stoopiDg until his 
head nearly touched the mane, he plunged his 
spur Into the horse’s flanks and was off down 
tho road like a shot. Aa for Peter, he rolled 
over on ITs back and kicked ids heels in huge 
enjoyment of Ids success. Loud and long he 
laughed, occasionally varying the performance 
by making the forest, ring with a repetition of 
the wild, savage cry that had struck ouch terror 
into Uncle Tom’s timid heart. But there la an 
end to all things; and so, after awldle, there 
was an end to Peter’s mirth. Wiping hla eyea, 
he regained the path aud was about to resume 
bis journey', when he heard a sound that sent, 
the cold shivers coursing over his body and al¬ 
most froze the blood in his veins. The wolves 
had heard his successful Imitation of their 
rnu-ic and were coming down, foil cry, upon 
him. 
In ati instant he saw hla position and peril. 
From the sounds, ho knew that the wolves were 
coming down on either side of the path he had 
Just traveled, and therefore the nearest point 
of safety was Ida own clearing more than a mile 
away. 
AU this passed through his mind like a flash, 
and then, calling Ida energies into play, he 
dashed down the path with scarcely less speed 
and terror than hud Uncle Tom Barry himself. 
Peter was a famous runner, aud had cotno off 
victor in many u tidal of speed when the people 
had come together at a rural game, but this 
was no holiday game. He wa» not taxing Ida 
muscle to win the applause of admiring friends 
or to grat ify an ambition to excel. The race 
was for life. 
Down the long slope that led to Burnside 
Hollow, aud up the ascent beyond, fled Peter, 
while hardly a hundred yards behind came a 
yelping, snarling pack, hungry and fierce. The 
Jifv of an unarmed man would not be worth a 
minute a purchase could they once surround 
him. This Peter acknowledged to himself, aa 
the idea entered ids mind of standing on the 
defensive; so he abandoned the thought before 
it was fully formed, and braced himself anew 
for flight, 
Down another Jong slope, across abroad sheet 
ot ice at its foot, aud Bee’s Hill, with its long, 
steep ascent, lay before him. He shuddered as 
he glauced up its rugzed side, for he felt that 
hi* strength would scarcely suffice to cany him 
to the top. The perspiration streamed from 
every pore; his breath came Iu short, wheezing 
gasps; ids steps were becoming unsteady; and 
once, striking his foot against a loose stone, he 
preserved himself from falling only by an exer¬ 
tion so groat that the blood spurted from his 
nostrils, and flames seemed to leap before his 
vision. 
Still he kept on. though it seemed madness 
to hope, for his pursuers had gained upon him 
fearfully; he know it by the beating of their 
footsteps; b it, with energies Inspired by mor¬ 
tal terror, ho ran on, hoping only to gaiu the 
brow of the bill, for there the ground became 
more open, and his own cabin was but a few 
yards beyond. Ho felt sure that his pursuers 
would not follow him beyond tne summit; but 
could he roach it before they would be dose 
upon him ? 
No, not by his own exertions ; for just as the 
thought passed through n s mind, his foot 
caught under a gnarled root that extended 
across tho way, and he lell heavily forward. 
His head struck the frozen ground, and ho lay 
senseless. 
Whoa Peter recovered his consciousness he 
found himself hanging over the broad shoulders 
of his brother John, and about to enter his 
own door. Here he soon collected his scat¬ 
tered senses, and wa^ able to listen lutelligeutly 
to bis brother’s account of his rescue. 
Unci© Tom Barry, iu his flight, had stopped 
at t he cabin long enough to shout through the 
window that the wolves were out, and then 
hurried un. Juhn, who lived with his brother, 
knowing that Peter must come the same path, 
took Ids gun and walked to the edge ol the 
forest, where he halted to listen. But a short 
time elapsed before be heard the sound of the 
pursued and pursuers; and rushing down the 
hili, ho arrived upon the scene just In lime to 
leai) between Peter’s prostrate lorrn and the 
wolves, the foremost of which was less than 
ten feet Uistaut. Takiug steady aim, he sent a 
bullet into the creature ’b brain; and then, while 
the pack were lighting over the body of their 
comrade, he slung Peter over his back and 
gained the open ground In satety. 
Peter frankly told the truth about the affair 
from beginning to end, and concluded the 
story with the emphatic assertion that, as long 
as he lived, ho would never be guilty of another 
practical joke, a vow which he faithfully kept. 
-- 
A satirical writer in a German paper ob¬ 
serves that if people go to apothecaries because 
they are cheap, then doctors must be fright¬ 
fully dear. 
j&rfrkth Heading. 
THERE IB NO UNBELIEF. 
Tqere Is no unbelief. 
Whoever plants a seed beneath the sod 
And waits to see it push away the clod, 
Trusts in God. 
There is no unbelief. 
Whoever says, when clouds are In the sky. 
“ Be patient, heart! Light breaketh by and by,” 
Trusts the Most High. 
There is no unbelief. 
Whoever sees ’neatb Winter’s field of enow 
The silent harvest of the future grow, 
God’s power must know. 
There is no unbelief. 
Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep, 
Consents to lock each sense iu slumber deep, 
Knows God will keep. 
There is no imbelief. 
Whoever says “ to-morrow,” the unknowp. 
The future, trusts that power alone 
He dares m. t to disown. 
There is no unbelief. 
The heart that looks on when eyelids close. 
And dares to live when life has only woes, 
God’s comfort knows. 
There is no unbelief. 
And day by day and night unconsciously. 
The heart lives by that faith the lips deny, 
God knoweth why. 
ST. PAUL AND SENECA. 
Let any one ask himself why it is that the in¬ 
fluence of two contemporary teachers like St. 
Paul and Seneca has been so wonderfully dif¬ 
ferent In the lapse of eighteen centuries. La¬ 
martine preached to t he multitudes who surged 
under his window In 184? that whereas the 
Drapcau Rougo Lad only been carried round 
the Champs <le Mars, the Tricolor had been the 
emblem of the glory of France to the ends of 
the earth. With somewhat greater sobriety we 
may say that white the lesasons of Seneca are 
known only to a few scholars, tho doctrines of 
tit. Paul have gone forth Into all lands and cre¬ 
ated therein an entire newness of life. On 
what principle can we rationally account for 
the vast difference in the area of persuasion or 
acceptance covered by the respective essays of 
the two men ? Of course character tells im¬ 
mensely in the long run, and .t is true that be¬ 
side St. Paul's ideal of human character, as ex¬ 
hibited especially In the thirteenth chapter of 
his first letter to the Corinthians, the most 
rhetorical of Seneca's sentences are cold and 
palld, though many of t hem are very splendid 
after a fashion, and euriously, while we read 
tnom.give us t he sensation us if we were enjoy¬ 
ing a good Latin translation of some passages 
of Emerson. 
But the secret of St. Paui'e influence is this, 
-that he was not merely a formalist, but that 
his whole life front a given day bore witness to, 
aud was the direct result of, his recognition of 
a transcendent fact, lie asks iu one place. 
“Am 1 not an Apostle? Have I not seen the 
Lord?” and these words, which even the Tu¬ 
bingen writers accept as liis, are the key to his 
history, aud render his long career of devotion 
to the welfare of humanity a transparency; 
while, without the truth implied in them, the 
noblest aud wisest life—always excepting that 
of St. Paul’s Master—which is to be found in 
the annals of mankind becomes either a tragic 
dream, or must be reprobated as the most con¬ 
summate imposture which ever was perpetra¬ 
ted uu the credulity of tiie world. The charity 
which St. Paul has painted in colors so fair and 
in proportions so exquisite was no mere fancy 
sketch. It was his summary of the life of Jesus. 
But his gospel to the world and the source of 
his own inspiration was Ibis,—that He in whom 
this charity unfolded jts lofty attributes was 
the Revelation of the Eternal Purpose of God 
for humanity, and that he had emerged from 
the eclipse of death and was alive for ever¬ 
more.— Spectator. 
■ -- 
FACTS ABOUT THE BIBLE. 
The Bible contains 3,586,439 letters, 773,603 
words, 31,173 verses, 1,189 chapters, 66 books. 
The word “ and " occurs 46,277 times. 
The word “ Lord ” occurs 1,855 times. 
The word "Reverend” occurs but once, 
which is in the ninth verse ol the 111th Psalm. 
The 21st verse ot the 7i.h chapter of Ezra con¬ 
tains all the letters of the alphabet except the 
letter j. 
The finest chapter to read he thinks, is the 
26th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. 
The 19th chapter of If Kings and the 37th 
chapter of Isaiah are very nearly alike. 
Tho longest verse is tho 9th verse of the 8th 
chapter of Esther. 
The shortest verse is the 35th verse of the 11th 
chapter of St. John. 
The 8th and 21st and 31st verses of the 107th 
Psalm are alike. 
Each verse of the 136th Psalm ends alike. 
There are no words or names of more than 
six syllables. 
--. 
An uuohaoglug state of joy Is not possible on 
earth as it now is, because evil and error are 
here. The soul must have i.s season of joy aud 
gladness. Still the mercy of the Lord Is shown 
as much in the night as in the day. 
