FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS 
servo to keep a family going headlong to de¬ 
struction.’* 
“ Sally Miller 13 a very prudent and useful 
girl,*' replied my grandmother. “I don’t see 
what you find amiss In her.” 
“Don't you?” he returned. Then ho relapsed 
Into silence and smoked and looked into the 
lire. 
By-and-by he got up and walked out of tho 
room, and then my deur old grandmother took 
ray hand and held It In her own and told mo 
not to fret, that sho would bring my grand¬ 
father to think better of my sweetheart. I 
thanked her ever so much, but I had little hope 
that she would be successful. 
About this time my grandfather was selling 
some property In the town where I was reading 
law, and It became necessary for bint to go 
there to sign some deeds and receive 1 he money 
for the sale. At his request l accompanied him. 
It was yearly evening when'hla business was 
finished and we sot out on our return home. 
Four thousand dollars, the proceeds of tho sale, 
ray grandfather carried in bang, notes on his 
person, as It was too late to make a deposit in 
bank. The old gentleman was lu a good humor, 
arid talked pleasantly as wo drove along. My 
mind was full of schemes Just at that time, as 
to how I was to support Sallle Miller if I mar¬ 
ried her before my grandfather died. I little 
dreamed that ere we should arrive home a way 
would be opened to me. We were going down 
a steep bill and It was now quite dark, when 
the horse stumbled and fell and In an instant a 
shaft was snapped In twain. I sprang out of 
tbo wagon and grandfather quickly followed. 
The horse. In his fall, had become entangled 
In the harness and lay helpless upon the earth. 
The moon was Just rising and gave but an un¬ 
certain light, for the sky was full of fleecy 
clouds, but still It was bright enough to per¬ 
ceive grandfather drop tbo package of four 
thousand dollars as he stooped down to free the 
horse. There it lay at my feet and he was un¬ 
conscious of his loss. Another instant I had 
picked it up and was holding it behind me, ir¬ 
resolute how to not. You will understand that 
I didn't intend to steal it, hut. somehow or other 
I had au indistinct idea that I could make the 
occasion subserve my alms. There was a large 
flat stone by the roadside. I hud trapped a rab¬ 
bit. there once and I knew there w an a consider¬ 
able cavity beneath It.' An Instant later and 
the four thousand dollars were deposited in the 
hole. 
The shaft being tied up we got on our way 
again, but it wa3 midnight ere we arrived at 
home. 
Grandfather had not been within 
doors five minutes ere lie discovered 
the loss of his money. He didn’t get 
angry, but he was frightened. It wa*> 
the first time 111 my life I hadever wit¬ 
nessed Mm alarmed. 
“ I’ve lost my money I" he exclaim¬ 
ed, as be drew his band from h!s coat 
pocket. Then lie slid down, l.ke a 
helpless child, into a chair, and the 
cold perspiration broke out in large 
drops on his forehead. His /ace be¬ 
came very white. Grandmother was 
standing by his side. 
“Never miud, ” sho exclaimed; 
“ grandson will go back and look for 
it and I dare say will find it, too.” 
“ Four thousand dollars don’t lay 
long on any road, however nnfre- 
quented, and the one we traveled to¬ 
night has always some one passing 
over it. No, the money won’t be 
be found. Ah ! meand the old 
man lay back in bis chair like one ill. 
For an Instant »ny heart reproached 
me and T was almost ready to confess 
^ my trick, for my grandfather looked 
the picture of despair. 
“ I’ll go and saddle :i horse and ride 
back. I suppose you must have lost 
it when the hcreo whs being freed 
from the harness. 'Tls only three 
miles back and the moon is now up. 
It won’t take me long to Jlde it.” 
“ I think fil go with you,” said the 
old man. 
‘-Don’tthink it,” I replied. “Trust 
ine, grandfather; if 1 can't mend a 
clock or turn a somersault, you will 
acknowledge 1 was always a good 
hunter. I’ll bet you anything you 
- dare that I’ll recover every dollar of 
^ your money.” 
“Do you think so?” he asked, 
j3. ; : , grasping me by the hand. “You must 
not mind what I c-ald to you, my boy, 
about being good for nothing. You 
g j% are my grandson and my heir, too. 
^ All I have will be yours some day.” 
“There’s one thing you won’t agree 
to let me have,” i replied. 
lie waved his band. 
“ I know what you are going to 
|||) lljfiJlfl say,” be answered. “Well, your 
iSrjrE? ; grandmother has been thlklng to me 
on that subject. Go along boy, bring 
Bg 5 - me back the four thousand dollars 
gpfgfe4 and I’ll allow you to marry Sallle Mil- 
pSgk! Mr." 
I made a spring for the door and was 
hurrying to the stable when the old 
gentleman fallowed me. 
“Remember my conditionsThe 
|lggr- r four thousand dollars 1 h-st. Find 
sg; 7 that for mo and you can marry Sallie 
Miller and I'll provide for you. But 
If you fail to bring me the money I £j 
fled. But she smoothed the way for ray grand¬ 
father’s consent. But he never ceased to ridi¬ 
cule me for my pretensions and positively re¬ 
fused to give me his consent to marry Sallle 
Miller. It would not have been a wise thing in 
me to cross the old gentleman’s whims, for I 
was bis heir and be could have found another 
without much difficulty, so I never urged my 
case but humored him In every way I could 
think of. 
Once when I was home on a brief leave of ab¬ 
sence, we were sitting around tbo open fireplace 
and there was a cheery fire of hickory wood. 
Grandfather was smoking his pipe and alter¬ 
nately looking at the burning logs and rny 
grandmother’s frilled cap. 
“ What are you thinking about, father?” she 
Inquired. She always called him by that name. 
" I was thinking," he slowly replied, taking 
the pipe from between his Ups and dropping 
both hands upon his knees, “ that a few years 
hence and one won’t see good old hickory logs 
burning upon'andirons. Stoves and grates, and 
that Infernal coal that makes gas enough to 
suffocate a household, will supply the piaoo of 
our old-fashioned fires.” 
I ought to bave held my tongue for he was 
not speaking to mo; but I wanted to show off 
some of my smartness and so I replied : 
“ Ob, my dear sir, there Is really no occasion 
for having a stove which permits the gas to es¬ 
cape. We have now gas-consuming stoves and 
one is not troubled in the way you suppose." 
I shall never forget my grandfather’s look a* 
he raised his eyes toward me and repeated, “ We 
have. Pray, Mr. 8martness, permit me to In¬ 
quire how long you have been possessed of this 
valuable information ? I have known It for 
some years, or rather have beard it said that 
these stoves were gas-burners, but it’s all a lie; 
there’s not a word of truth in It. I’ve known 
them to send out as much gas as would kill an 
ox If he were confined In the atmosphere. Now, 
sir. don’t you feel like a fool?" 
“ Come now, father,” replied my grandmoth¬ 
er, “don't bo so severe on the boy”—she called 
me a boy to the day of her death; “be only 
told you what he hoard, no doubt, and of course 
every one Is liable to mistakes, especially about 
such matters.” 
" That puts mo In mind,” continued my grand¬ 
father, “ of asking you how you are coming on 
with your piano-playing friend ?” 
“ 1 scarcely see her, except on Sundays.” 
“Humph 1" returned my grandfather, clear¬ 
ing hts throat. J didn’t like tho ejaculation. I 
had often heard it before and 1 regarded it with 
the same apprehension that a mariner does an 
ugly cloud that rises to windward. “ Humph I” 
he continued, blowing a column of smoke to¬ 
ward the china ornaments on the mantel-piece, 
“ what are you good for?” He looked squarely 
at me as lie asked the question. 
He evidently expected a reply, so 1 answerod 
him by saying that, as yet l didn’t, know. 
“That’s candid, at all events," he replied. 
“I’ve been thinking a good deal ahout you of 
late, and it occurred to me that, you might, make 
a poor lawyer after all. And you know what a 
poor lawyer is. You remember Simmons, the 
man that used to board about upon tho farmers 
during the summer time? Well, he was what 
they term a poor lawyer. He hadn't brains 
enough to make hla profession support him, 
and was ready to do writing or saw wood to 
help eke out a livelihood.” - 
“ Our grandson has brains,” tartilv Interrupt¬ 
ed my grandmother. "My side of the family 
contained no fools and yours, father, were what 
were termed ‘ cute' men.” 
“There’s a beginning everywhere,” returned 
the old man, puffing vigorously at bis pipe. 
“There must be a beginning." Having deliv¬ 
ered this remark with an emphasis that left no 
doubt that, he believed it, ho went on : 
“ Can you take that clock to pieces”—there 
was an old-fasliloned clock standing in the 
corner of the room — “ and put it together 
again ?” 
“ I’m no clockmaker," I replied. 
“That is to say,” rejoined ho, "you have no 
mechanical Ingenuity. One need not be a clock- 
maker to do that. 1 have done It and can do It 
again, and 1 am no clockmaker.” 
“ How unreasonable you are, father,” suggest¬ 
ed my grandmother. 
Ho did not appear to notice her remark, but 
continued “Can you turn a somersault?” 
“ T never tried,” I replied. 
" Then you are not as expert as a clown. For 
the life of mo I can’t see what good you are 
going to do In tho world.” 
“ And I can’t Bee,” said my dear old grand¬ 
mother, “ what occasion there will bo for the 
boy to mend clocks or turn somersaults. To 
hear you talk, one would think you had noth¬ 
ing to leave him but your advice, and that Is 
not of the moat encouraging nature." 
“Ayoung man should rely upon himself,” 
returned my grandfather. “ Riches take wings. 
I’ve managed to hold roy property together 
pretty well, but how do I know lie will do 80 
when you and I are gone? He'll marry Miss 
Miller. What sort of a wife will she mako him ? 
Smart with her heels, no doubt. Nimble with 
her fingers at the old organ, but theso won’t 
Dear children of tho Garden, Field and Wood 
And Wayside, ye have come, and yo have gone. 
Like players In some merry interlude, 
Between the tragic acts of Winter: on 
In gay procession o’er a brilliant zone 
Ye've trnreled, bolding up before the cyo 
The shape of perfect Beauty, and the tone 
Of that harmonious coloring which wo try 
In vain to equal, or Indeed oome nigh. 
Sweet was the honey which ye gave the bees, 
Iadustrions slppors of your golden cells; 
R.ch was the fragrance which yc gave the breeze. 
As he ran riDgtng ail along your bells; 
Glad were ye when the nun from cloudy wells 
Sparkled upon your petals, and the sun, 
Like one who In the blessed heaven dwells. 
Came down and fondly kissed you every one, 
And every day until your course wua run. 
Like one bereaved, upon your groves 1 gaze. 
Mourning your absence with unfeigned grief: 
Remembrance paints me all your pretty ways, 
In your One progress from your first green leaf, 
Until ye stood up like an Autumn sheaf 
In meilow splendor. O ye fairy things I 
Why should ye go down like a sunken reef ? 
Why like the swallows ply your farewell wings. 
And cause t no desolation which your absence brings ? 
Thou Snow-drop, rival of the taintless snow ; 
Thou Crocus, symbol of the monarch's crown ; 
Thou Primrose, shiner In a golden show 
Which glittered richly all tho green bank down ; 
Thou Daisy, wearer of the bridal gown: 
Thou IAly, lady of the ancient hall: 
Thou Poppy , soldier tn thy red renown: 
Thou Rose, the. queen of every bush and wall 
How have yo all gooo down under the spoiler’s pall? 
Farewell! companions of the singing hills, 
Of tho groan grass, and of the yellow crop: 
Ye friends of rivers and of glassy rills; 
Ye watchers on the lofty mountain’s top t 
Ye worshlpors beneath the crystal copo, 
And In the flaming, shining, solar fane : 
Farewell, farewell, in sorrow and in hope ; 
Our hearts will linger on in dally pain, 
Until wo sec your liappy looks again. 
HOW I WON HER: 
OR, THAT STONE BY THE ROADSIDE 
Where the town of Randolph now oartles on 
its busy traffic, Egbert Bacon’s farm was onoe 
located. Egbert Bacon was my grandfather. 
His farm covered mure than soven 
hundred good acres *nd be consider¬ 
ed himself wealthy, aabe undoubted¬ 
ly was. He started tn life a poor boy 
and hla honest accumulation was tbo 
result of his toil. 
Grandfathor wax a very peculiar 
man. Many persons considered him 
penurious, but he was really liberal ; 
and from the fact that his charities 
were given with secrecy, people sup¬ 
posed that he never contributed to 
good works. It was in his old age 
(and ho lived to a great period) that a 
company of speculators bought his 
land because of the fine water power 
that ran through It, and as soon as 
they erectod mills the place began to 
go forward until Bacon’s farm was* 
thing of the past, I can recollect 
when the first mill was built, and I 
well remember my boyish curiosity 
in watching the mechanics who 
worked upon It. 
My grandmother was a b out the 
same age as her husband. She did 
not long survive his death and I miss- ^ 
ed a good friend and counselor when 
she lert me. Grandfather expected e 
me to be a farmer, but as I never hsd |i 
a taste for bard work, my thoughts 
and inclination:! went another way. £ 
Of course, he was not at all pleased 
with my stubbornness; but ray good % 
grand mother always stepped between __ 
me and bis wratb, aid shielded me C 
from bis displeasure. *4- 
The o’d gentleman was a sturdy ^ 
man at seventy years. He Invariably ^ 
dressed in brown clothes, aud wore 
so broad a brim to hia low-crowned 
hat that he might easily have been 
taken for a Quaker at first sight; but 
get him angry nine (and his irritabil¬ 
ity was easily aroused) and be would 
let fly such sharp and vehement sen- M 
tences that it was sometimes difficult /fi 
to Imagine they were not profane. 
I was nineteen years old, and was 
deep in love with Sallie Miller, the 
young lady who played the organ at 
the Cross Roads Church, and was tbe /0m 
finest dancer among all the girls in 
the country. Grandfather had con- -sJgsj 
celved a dislike for Sallle, because 
she was a musician. He had no eir 
for music, and was “not moved by 
concord of sweet sounds,” and noth- 
ing so quickly excited his Ire as to 
scrape a violin within his hearing or ggSgsg 
Strike a chord upon the piano. ~~~ 
Much against, my grandfather’s in- .ISgSS! 
cllnation, he permitted me to enter 
tbe law office of Mr. Smart as a s-u • 
dent. Had It not been for tbe good 
offices of my grandmother I should 
never had this wish of my life gratis 
