2S0 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ Compose yourself, madam," was the re¬ 
sponse, “she Is only In a swoon.” 
Miss Edgeworth shivered at the sound of his 
voice, but felt It was no time to give way to any 
emotion. 
Amy was put to bed, a doctor called and the 
stranger disappeared. 
Two hours later Amy was able to tell what 
had occurred. They were in the deepest part 
of the stream, when she made a sudden move¬ 
ment, the boat up-rt. and she fell out. Grey 
was old and stout: lie could not swim, and he- 
fore be could render aay assistance, Amy had 
sunk twice. At that moment a stranger divested 
himself of part of hta clothing and leaped from 
the cliff Into the water. He rescued her and 
carried her home. 
“ You never shall leave me again," Miss Edge- 
worth ejaculated: “ J knew you would come to 
grief.” ’ 
On the following morning the stranger called 
to inquire after the young lady’s health. 
“ We have met before,” ho said to Miss Edge- 
worth, when she thanked him, In tremulous 
tone-, for her nieoe’b life. “ Do you not recog¬ 
nize me? J am Stephen llayden. Pleaselntro- 
duce roe to your niece." (i 
“I I am happy to meet you, Mr. Hayden,” 
Bbe faltered. 
Then leading him in to whore Amy was re¬ 
clining In a largo easy chair, looking unusually 
pale after her bath, she said : 
“My niece, Mr. Hayden. Amy, this gentle¬ 
man rescued you from death. 
Mr. Hayden declined hearing anything more 
concerning that, expreesed his pleasure at see¬ 
ing her ?o well, and then fell into a light, easy 
conversation. Ho informed them tbathewas 
an artist, and was rusticating near Oakdale for 
the tminmer. 
l r rom that day ho became the constant com¬ 
panion of the indies, slthotigh a beau had been 
something unwished for. 
As the weeks went by, Miss Edgeworth be¬ 
came quieter than was her wont, and would 
have kept apart from the poll of lovers—as she 
designated them—if they would have permitted 
it; but Amy insisted on her accompanying them 
on every expedition. 
At last the Bummer wa* drawing to a close, 
and one afternoon Mies Amy stole off aud left 
the artist and her aunt together. Miss Edge- 
worth fidgeted—she waft annoyed ; but when 
Mr. Hayden changed his soat and came nearer 
to her, a now thought stole Into her brain. 
“ They are engaged,” she whispered to herself, 
" and ho w ishes to ask my consent." 
“Angle,” he said softly, “I-J have lived over 
the past once more: 1 have been happier this 
Bummer than ever 1 expected to be again, and, 
it i» in your power to make me happy for life: 
will you?” 
“ Yes,” she said slowly, “ she is worthy of you, 
Mr. Hayden ; I give her to you though ebe is all 
I have to love." 
He looked at her. 
** Who do you moan?’’ ho asked. 
“ Amy." 
“Amy? I was not asking for Amy. I have 
never had but one sweetheart in ad my life, 
Angle, and that was yourself. You know how 
long and devotedly I have loved you, you will 
not break my heart now ?” 
What could she say? Forthis man'sbo had 
lived single, and should have until her death : 
could she refuse hi* love when offered? 
“But Amy, Stephen—sho—porhapa she loves 
you?'* 
“ No, indeed, sho does not,” retorted a merry 
voice. “Amy Edgeworth wants no beaus this 
summer." Then in a quiet manner, she came 
aod knelt down besldo them, taking a hand of 
each in hers. 
“1 have a little confession to make," she said 
softly, “and a little story to tell. Our old bouse 
keeper told mo one day how a poor young ar¬ 
tist won Angle Edgeworth’s heart; that her 
haughty father offered to her either to stay at, 
home and givo him up, or accept him and go 
forth disinherited. Bhe chose to remain at 
heme, not because she feared poverty, but be¬ 
cause she had promised her dying brother that 
she would never forsake his motherless babe. 
And ft.lthlully sho kept that promise, breaking 
her own heart, to become a mother to it. Then, 
dear auntie, 1 vowed if over I could restore 
your lover to you I would do It. A friend of 
mluo accidentally Informed me that Stephen 
Hayden, the celebrated artist, was going up to 
Oakdale among the mountains, and that was 
why 1 preferred the oountry to Saratoga.” 
“ You sly sunbeam.” Miss Edgeworth ex¬ 
claimed. __ ' 
"You blessed girl,” said Stephen Hayden, a 
he imprinted a kiss on her cheek, “you do not 
know’ how Jealons 1 have been of you for years." 
When they returned to the city there was a 
fashionable wedding, and a bridal tour to Eu¬ 
rope, and Amy Edgeworth accompanied them 
--♦ ♦♦ — — 
A STORY AT THE WRONG TIME. 
“Will you be mine forever? I hope—will 
you marry me?” be stammered out, never In 
Lis life having propounded a question so diffi¬ 
cult to articulate. 
“ Dear 1—please let me think about it. I will 
give you an answer next Sunday evening. I 
o.m’t answer now." 
This waa Wednesday night. 
“So you want to take four days in which to 
decide, do you?" asked tbo journalist, all ths 
assurance of hla guild returning to bear him up 
in the emergency. 
“Oh yes, four days," murmured the girl, “it 
is only a little while." 
A happy thought struck the young man. lie 
was much given to Illustration bv anecdote. 
Why should he not Illustrate the present case? 
So he said: 
“ Darling, you remind me of an old Dutch 
judge down in one of the Mohawk countiesof 
New York." 
“ How, in the name of goodness, do I remind 
you of an old Dutch judge?” inquired the as¬ 
tonished girl, opening her gentle brown eyes In 
wonder. 
“Well,” began the wretch, coolly, “ a good 
many years ago the Whigs of Schenectady Co., 
New York, elected to the officeof County judge 
and Surrogate an old Mohawk Dutch farmer, 
who knew no more about law than a street-oar 
mule does about love. The first case that came 
before him was a suit for damages Involved In 
the opening of the r<>ad through a man’s farm, 
that wan tried before him without a jury. Af¬ 
ter he bad heard all the testimony and argu¬ 
ments of the attorneys, ho elevated his 275 
pounds of solemnity to a perpendicular posi¬ 
tion, nod made the following Fpeech : 
“ Shentlemens—I haf listened to de tcsbdl- 
mony unt tier arguments von der counsel, mit 
a-great deal of batlenee unt much addention, 
UDt I haf pegorne brofountly irabrosaed roltder 
great Imbordsnee of dot gase. It Is a gase vloh 
involfs many nish bolnte of jurlsbru donee, unt 
vich requires a great teal of tellberasbun. De- 
fore, in view of great Imbortanoo of dot gar.e, 
unt in order dot der deliberanhon may be op- 
serfed py dis court, 1 shall dhake lour days in 
rich fo de.clde dot gase, but. shall effentualty 
flnt shudgment for dor blalntHT." 
Somehow tills beautiful Illustration did not 
seem to produce a favorable effec’. The young 
lady’s dignity seemed to rise an the story pro¬ 
gressed until, when she hoard the last of it, 
and tbo beauty of it dawned upon her mind, 
she quickly responded: 
“ I don’t think 1 shall require the four day*, 
I can decide now, and I shall find Judgement In 
the case for thedefenriant. I don’t believe that 
any man who Is in earnest would tell such a 
story as that, under any circumstances." 
Then she glanced at tue watch, and remarked 
she had not thought It was so late. Tbo young 
man put on his hat and overcoat and walked 
down the front steps, murmuring to himself 
that he was always putting his foot in it. 
-♦♦♦- 
WONDERFUL ENGINEERING. 
Any person desiring to obtain any idea of 
tbe stupendous accomplishments of railroad 
engineering, should spend a few days in Teba- 
cnapo Pass, investigating the operations of the 
Southern Pac'flo Railroad Company, About 
twenty miles of that ro8d Is a succession of 
cuts, fills aod tunnels. Within this distance 
there are thirteen tunnels, rangii g from 1,100 
feet to a few yards in length. For the greater 
portion of the way tbe road bed is cut through 
solid granite. The elevation is so great from 
the present terminus of the road, at Calient, to 
Tahacbape Valley, that the first tulle and a half 
out, of Calient is attained by laying down eight 
miles of track. Higher up In the pass the road 
runs through a tunnel, encircles the bill, and 
passes a few feet above the tunnel. Afieroom- 
pletely encircling the hill, and going half 
around again, the track doubles oo itself again 
llkeaolosely pursued hare, and after running 
several mt'es in the opposite direction, strikes 
up the canon. This circling anddoubling is for 
grade. Oooe the track crosses tbe pass, and 
this involves t'no huilding of a long and high 
bridge. Wo doubt If a more difficult and ex¬ 
pensive piece of engineering was encountered 
In the building of the Centr.il Pacific over the 
Sierras thau that with which tbo Southern Pa- 
olflo is now struggling in Tebachapo Pass. 
Another tremendous piece of working Is the 
San Fernando tunnel, which, when oompleted, 
will be over a mile and a half in length, and In 
places over 1,000 feel bentath the surface. Yet 
the company will accomplish this great, work, 
and run oars through from Sun Francisco to 
Los Angelos by the 1st of next July. All the 
force that can be used is kept at work on the 
San Fernando tunnel. In the Tehachape Pass 
5,000 men are employed, and the force is being 
increased at tbe rale of 1,000 Chinamen per 
week. 
, - -»-«••»- 
PERSIAN MANNERS. 
Dr. Brown, in “The Races of Mankind," 
speaking of the Persian Court-official, says: 
No official can be sure of his life; it lies in the 
hands of the king, a* much as does the life of 
the meanest of hla subjects. The death of an 
official is determined, the warrant for bis exe¬ 
cution is made out, at d an officer is dispatched 
to execute it. ’I lie man rides as fast as horses 
pressed into bis service can carry him until he 
arrives at the city where the doomed man lives. 
He exh bits bis mandate to the Governor, or 
the chief man of the city, aud commands him 
to atslat him. As soon as the door of the vic¬ 
tim’s house is opened,the executioner tushes 
in, and t?rawing bis eelmitar, laUs on the unfor¬ 
tunate man, with the exclamation, “ It is the 
king's command.” cuts him dowu and strikes 
(If his head. It is rarely that any resistance la 
offered. Cases have been known in which a 
powerful man has attempted to waylay the 
messenger on t he road when he knew hlft er¬ 
rand, and, depriving him of the warrant, has 
dilayed his fato until another could be got, or 
until he has had time to make interest for his 
pardon: usually, however, such is tbe awe of 
the kiDg's name that, no attempt is made by 
the victim to escape his fate. He calmly sub¬ 
mits to It—it is the decree of the Allah—it is 
fate—Allah be praised! As for his nearest 
relatives, they fly from him as atbing accursed. 
The dependents whom an hour ago be would 
have made happy with a smile desert him as 
one whose touch would defile. He is like an 
Infected creature. 
-- ■ 
ES0 AND ESSES. 
" So yon have finished your studies at the 
seminary? I was much pleased with the clos¬ 
ing exercises. Tbe author of that poem—Miss 
White, I think you called her—bids fair to be¬ 
come known as a poet.” 
“ We think the authoress will become cele¬ 
brated a* a poetess.” remarked tbe young lady 
pertly, with a marked emphasis on two words 
of the sentence. 
“ Oh !—ah!” replied tbe old gentleman, look¬ 
ing thoughtfully over hi* rpcctnoles at the 
young lady. “I bear her sister was quite an 
actress, and under Miss Hosmer’a Instructions 
will undoubtedly become quite a aculptoress." 
Tbe younc lady appeared Irritated. 
“Tbeseminary,” continued the old gentle¬ 
man, with Imperturbable gravity, “la fortu¬ 
nate in having an efficient board of manage¬ 
resses. From tbe presidentress down to the 
humblest teaebress unusual talent is shown. 
There is Mira Harper, who as a ehemistress is 
unequaled, and Mrs. Knowles has already a re¬ 
putation as an aatronomeress. And in the de¬ 
partment of music few can equal Miss Kellogg 
as a singereas.” 
Tbe young lady did not appear to like tbe 
chair «bo was sitting on. Bhe took the sofa at 
the other end of the room. 
“ Yea," continued tbe old gentleman, as if 
talking to himself, “those White sisters are 
very talented. Mary, I understand, has turned 
ber attention to painting and the drama, and 
will surely becomo famous as a paicteress, and 
even as a lecturess." 
A loud slamming of tbe door caused the old 
geDtleman to look up, aDd the criticess and 
grammarlaness was gone. 
-♦♦♦ ■ 
CHEERFUL HOMES, 
Fkcgal wives, good housewives, always look 
as neat at breakfast as circumstances will per¬ 
mit. And the circumstances usually “beyond 
her control," if any, are her husband and her 
sons. The amount of litter, of things lost, bro¬ 
ken, or misplaced, which can bo maintained by 
two or three, or six or ten boys and men is 
Something wonderful; and the marvel is, not 
that hero and there a mother conies to the 
breakfast table with a stitch dropped, or a 
string or ribbon unadjusted, hut that the wea¬ 
ried woman c»n get there at all. 
If the w lfe is required to keep order, the hus¬ 
band and sons should avoid the making of dis¬ 
order. If ’they want hot coffee—and cold is 
disappointing—they must comedown In season 
to breakfast. And if a man desires that his 
wife should look pleasantly and speak pleas¬ 
antly, be should find some time to permit her 
to speak, and speak himself to her, between 
dinner one day and breakfast the next. There 
are some men, and boys too, for whom home 
has no attraction in the evening. There ate 
son3 who seem to regard the home as only a 
place to eat and sleep In. The mother of such 
sous cannot be expected to look cheerful at 
breakfast.— Philo,. Ledger. 
-•-*-«- 
THE SCOTCH JOHN BROWN. 
The London correspondent of the San Fran¬ 
cisco News Letter gives an annecdote showing 
tbe extreme confidence which the queen vests 
In her faithful servant: 
John's affection for Her Majesty is very great. 
It was Prince Albert who first took the man, 
simply because he was straightforward and ex¬ 
tremely Independent. John never alters his 
broad Scotch tongue to please any one, not 
eveu royalty itself. The Queen was once get¬ 
ting settled cosily upon her little Highland 
pony. The animal being small and the road 
dusty, it became necessary to tuck up her rid- 
ing habit with a pin. John Brown was per¬ 
forming this office, when suddenly, “Odear!” 
exclaimed Her Majesty, “you have pricked me, 
Brown.” “Your Majesty should wear mair 
claes, then,” was John’s reply. Brown was 
presently after sent, in to fetch a certain mantle 
which tbo Queen described. Instead of bring¬ 
ing the one described, John brought a much 
thicker one. “Brown," said the Queen, " that 
lsu't the one at all.” “Jr's just this and nae 
ither, your Majesty,” said John, buckling it 
behind the saddle; “Iken mair about the 
weather than you,” aud the Queen submitted 
like a child. 
Buried with Hlm.—W hen the late king of 
the Sandwich Islands v.as gathered lo Ids fa¬ 
thers, he was hurled in a great feather cloak 
which bad passed down to him through numer- 
our generations of royal chieftains. When the 
remains v ere about to be placed iu tbe coffin, 
and w ere removed from the feathered robe on 
w hich they had lain iu state, the apod father at 
once commanded that tbe body be burled in 
the robe, as the dead king, his son, was tbe last 
of the family, and to him, therefore, It belong¬ 
ed. It will coat more thau £100,000 to replace 
this beautiful robe. 
Sabbath Reading, 
“HE LEADETH ME." 
He leadeth me’ oh’. blessed thought. 
Oh I words with heavenly comfort fraught. 
Whatc’er I do, where’er I be, 
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeih me ! 
H- leadetb met He leadeth me I 
By Hla own hand He leadeth me, 
His faithful follower I would be, 
For by His baud He leadeth mo. 
Sometimes *rr.td scenes of darkest gloom. 
Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom. 
By waters still, o’er troubled sea— 
Still 'tis His hand tbtit leadeth me! 
He leadeth me, &o. 
Lord, I would clasp Thy band in mine. 
Nor ever murmur nor repine— 
Content, whatever lot 1 see. 
Since ’tis my Cod that leadeth me 
He leadeth me. Ac. 
And when my task on earth Is done. 
When, by Thy grace, tbe victory’s won. 
E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee, 
Since God through Jordan leadeth me. 
He leadeth me, Ac. 
- 4 -*-*- 
THE VACANT CHAIR. 
It Isn’t tbe little high chair at the table, nor 
the eewiog chair at the window, nor the sub. 
stantlal arm-chair by the grate that’s empty. 
Our cars do not achefyr the sound of pattering 
little feed ; our hearts arc not heavy with grief 
for an absent mother; the strong voice of our 
father Is stl.l in our midst. But when we look 
toward the corner and see tbe great eaty rock¬ 
ing chair empty, and beside it tbo stand upon 
which still rests the big family Bible and gold- 
bowed spectacles, tbe teats como into our eye 
and a smile to our lips as wo whisper softly, 
“Grandpa's gone home." We do not weep; 
it, would he wrong to grieve for him ; he is Dot 
dead, He’a only gone home. 
I remember when grandpa first came to our 
borne. It was the next day after grandma’s 
funeral; the old house was so lonely, grandpa 
came to live with us. Then housed to ho® In 
the garden and take long walks with us chil¬ 
dren. 
Such frolics we used to bavo climbing on his 
knees, combing bl6 gray hair and hiding bis 
spectacles until mamma would say; “Come 
children, grandpa is tired now.” 
I remember how be used to read a chap’er 
out of the great Bible in t he morning, and then 
we all knelt down while he prayed. Sometimes 
too, there wero tears in his voice when he 
prayed Pur the “ little children.” 
And then Sabbath afternoon we used to draw 
up our .stools und chairs at bis feet and listen 
while be told us about heaven, where grandma 
was. But after a while grandpa dfo’n't hoe the 
garden any more; be didn’t take any more 
long walks; he just sat in his chair all day, 
sometimes reading in his Bible, and sometimes 
sleeping. 
One Sabbath afternoon—it was a glorious 
June day—we were all out In the garden among 
the flowers, when little Bose pluck'd a bunch 
of rosebuds. “They are bo sweet,” she said, 
“ I’ll carry them to grandpa.” 
Pretty soon there came a frighten'd cry from 
little Rose. “Mamma, tnarnma! something 
ails grandpa.” 
We all entered the bouse, and there sat grand¬ 
pa In hla easy chair, a beautiful smile boverlDg 
on his face, and such a glad, eager look In his 
eyes, oh ! it seemed as if Rcav«?n itself was re¬ 
flected In those eyes! Mamma stepped to his 
side and laid her hand on hla head. There was 
Just one fluttering sigh, and then the eyelids 
dropped. mamma raised her head there 
were tears iu her eyes, as she said quietly: 
“ Children, grandpa’s gone home." 
After that, came a funeral, tbe choir saDg a 
swset, low song, the minister made a prayer, 
and a long line of carriages went up the to 
Hillside Cemetery'. 
When we had laid our wreaths of white flow¬ 
ers on the grave we came home. Now every¬ 
thing goes on as It did before, only there’s the 
Bible, tbe gold-bowed spectacles, a green spot 
in our memory, and the vacant chair.— Er. 
--- 
NEVER TOO 01D, 
Rev, Andrew Longacre, In a recent sermon 
said : “ A man is never too oid to work until he 
is too old to Jive." We thought how true that 
Isl Men of advanced age, trembling on their 
staff, as t hey tread cautiously along the crowded 
thoroughfare, or sir quietly in theoldarm-cbair 
at homo, may yet do romethlng—do something 
for Jeeus. Christian men often retire from 
business too early in life. They might work on 
and accumulate property to be used for Jesus. 
Let us work on—work ever—and even In the 
d jatii grasp, we may be able to do something 
for Jesus. 
-*•♦-*- 
The Fear oe God.—I have been youDg, and 
now I am old. and I bear my testimony that I 
have Dover found thorough, pervading, endur¬ 
ing morality with any hut suen as feard God— 
notin tbe modern sense, but in the old child¬ 
like way. And only with 6uch, too, have 1 
found a rejoicing In life—a hearty, victorious 
cheerfulness of so distinguished a kind that no 
other Is to be compared with It.— Jacobi. 
