MOORE’S  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
find  that  It  had  grown  bitter  cold,  as  well  as  very 
dark.  1  Instantly  dispatched  my  men  to  ronse  the 
neighbors  and  then  returned  to  the  house  to  en¬ 
deavor  to  console  ray  poor  wife.  .\s  1  entered  the 
door,  the  sound  0(  my  steps  appeared  to  rouse  her 
to  cotisclousness,  for  she  sprang  towa  rd  me,  and, 
throwing  her  arms  about  ray  neck,  and  looking 
pleadingly  into  ray  face,  cried : 
“  You  will  bring  me  back  my  darling  hoy,  won't, 
you,  Paul?" 
I  promised  her  I  would,  and  she  bestowed  upon 
me  a.  hundred  kisses,  murmuring  all  the  time ; 
“Thank  Ood!  he’s  safe  then ;  thank  God!  he's- 
sate  then." 
Perhaps  you  can  Imagine,  In  some  degree,  my 
feelings.  No  pci’son  ever  cxiierlenced  such  as  1 
did  when  I  realized  what  I  had  promised,  for  I 
knew  that,  the  boy  was  dead  as  well  a.s  I  know  It 
now  ;  and  all  the  while  she  lay  at  my  feet,  moan¬ 
ing  like  some  dumb  creature  In  palii,  and  1  trying 
to  console  her  with  aasurnnccs  that  I  knew  In  my 
heart  were  false  1  nut  what  else  could  1  do  7 
When  the  oelghhors  caiuu  Id,  they  curried  her 
to  her  room,  while  I  went  out  to  search  for  our 
Shortly  after  this  our  child  was  taken  sick,  and 
It  seemed  for  months  as  though  we  should  lose 
him.  lie  pai-tlally  recovered,  though  my  physi¬ 
cian,  after  many  mysterious  hints  that  1  can  un¬ 
derstand  now,  told  me  that  If  I  wanted  to  see  him 
grow  to  years  of  maturity,  I  uuistleave  Now  Vork 
and  find  a  home  upon  seine  Western  farm. 
1  can't  tell  you,  sU",  how  I  dreaded  to  inform  my 
wife  what  the  physUdan  had  said ;  It  seemed  a 
terrible  sacrlllce  to  ask  her  to  make :  and  It  was 
only  alter  mouths  of  hesitation  that  I  ventured, 
one  day,  to  broach  tht;  subject  to  her.  To  my 
great  Joy,  she  saw  the  necessity,  and  at  once  con¬ 
sented  to  leave  New  York,  our  nlcnd.s,  acQualnt- 
aiK^es.  cullui'o,  ease,  and  luxuiy.  for  the  dl^som- 
forts  of  a  pioneer  life. 
Inclosing  my  business  In  the  city  an  opportu¬ 
nity  oeemred  wMilch  enabled  me  to  secure  what 
was  termed  a  tluc  tract  of  wild  Western  laud,  and 
to  It  we  came.  I  built  this  house  and  surrounded 
pled  a  portion  of  the  lawn  between  the  house  and 
the  beautiful  little  lake.  But,  If  surprised  by  the 
order  and  neatness  everywhere  vlalhle  upon  tlie 
outside,  I  was  no  longer  w*  when  1  was  presented 
to  the  presiding  genius,  the  mistress  of  the  estab- 
llslonent;  for  I  was  hardly  prepared  to  Und  In  a 
AVestern  farm  house  so  much  retlnemenl  a  nd  ex- 
qulslle  taste  as  was  displayed  In  the  tout  mmnMr 
of  the  charming  home. 
The  lady  lierseU  was  about,  forty  years  of  age; 
not  heauMliU.  but  Interesting,  a.  connoisseur  ot 
female  beauty  would  have  decided,  with  a  face 
still  iresb  and  fair  though,  like  the  husband's.  It 
wore  an  expression  that  so  t:tr  excited  my  curios¬ 
ity  that,  ai  the  first  glance.  T  hts’ame  p.alnfully 
conscious  of  a  desire  to  learn  the  history  of  this 
couple  that  had  evidently  so  heroically  relinquish¬ 
ed  the  luxuru's  and  retlncments  of  the  Hast,  forthe 
hnnlaud  l.ahonous  duties  of  a  frontier  life.  Mrs. 
Mllmoro  hade  me  welcome  to  her  llrostde  with  an 
ease  ana  grace  that  only  served  to  conllrm  my 
first  Impressions  of  her  education  and  cultui'c. 
ilalntlly  served,  mine 
FORGET-ME-NOT 
I  AM  the  flower  th»t  even  wye  has  sung, 
Mjr  name  has  trembled  on  the  unwilling  tongue ; 
'Midst  sad  farewAlls  how  mournfully  has  rung 
Forget-me-not ! 
I  imagine  best  the  heaven’s  eternal  blue  ! 
Though  transient  clouds  may  hide  it  from  the  view, 
It  sbineth  still,  faith's  never -changing  hue. 
Foojet.mo-not- 
The  restleee  brook,  the  river’s  deeper  flow, 
Beside  my  quiet  home  etill  come  and  go ; 
I  kiss  the  waters,  munniiring  soft  and  low 
Forget-me-not. 
The  birds  alwe  roe  hovering  on  the  wing 
Iiist  the  hushed  whisper,  and  the  woodlands  ring 
With  the  light  choral  as  they  answering  sing, 
Korget-rno-not. 
The  laughing  eddies  hastening  to  the  sea 
With  rippling  echoes  mock  the  symphony. 
The  rude  winds  toss  ll  on  their  pinions  free. 
Forget-me-not. 
And  human  voices  catch  the  sweet  refrain. 
In  loving  accents  fraught  with  human  pain. 
Repeating  still  the  never-dying  strain. 
Forget-me-not. 
After  111)  exquisite  supper 
Host  Invited  mo  Into  tlie  library,  remarkltig  that  1 
mlghtmakc  myself  eomfortnblc,  for  I  must  remain 
his  guctil  foi-  the  night,  at  the  same  time  wheeling 
oueofthe  large  Turkish  easy  chairs  before  the 
blazing  hickory  fire.  He  then  produced  a  tiouplo 
of  fragrant  Havanas,  and  lighting  one  1  prepared 
myself  to  hoar  my  host’s  singular  desire  m  prot-ect 
those  ill-omened  htrda,  tht!  crows. 
It  Is  that  story,  told  as  nearly  as  1  <;an  rt'eall  It 
after  all  these  .vears.  In  hts  own  words,  that  l  pro¬ 
pose  to  relate  to  you. 
1  was  born  In  Oneida  County,  New  York,  und 
was  Intended  by  my  fatber  for  a  lawyer;  but-, 
after  delving  a  year  In  the  ofilcc  of  an  eminent 
practitioner  or  that  County.  I  became  dlssatlsilcd, 
renounced  the  Idea  of  acquiring  a  profession,  and 
went  Ui  the  City  of  New  A'nrk,  where  I  entered  Ihe 
mercantile  house  of  smith  A.Talbot-t  ben,  as  now, 
oue  of  the  wealthiest  firms  In  the.  Importing  line 
In  that  city.  But  promotion  in  the  counling  room 
comes  slow  ;  particularly  so  while  one  ha.s  hut 
lltllo  oapitol  to  advance  Ids  Interests. 
AVlilh!  In  the  employ  of  this  hottse,  I  mat,  for  tho 
first  time  a  niece  of  one  of  the  members  ot  the 
firm— my  wife ;  and  when,  two  years  later,  my 
father  died  and  left  me  a  small  competenc.y,  I 
took  It  and  entered  Into  hnslness  for  myself,  and, 
within  a  year,  married.  From  the  dale  of  our 
marriage,  my  life  was  a  blessed  one  indeed ;  noth¬ 
ing  seenied  to  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  our  lives, 
;  for  we  drifted  along  In  the  mirrent,  torgetfulof  all 
elsn  save  our  own  happiness  .and,  I  now  foar,  sel¬ 
fishly,  heedless  of  Mio  c.arc8  and  troubles  of  others. 
Alter  five  years  of  unalloyed  happiness  my  wife 
became  the  mother  of  a  beatitUul  boy;  and  It 
seemed  as  though  I  had  noiJilng  more  to  desire, 
no  greufer  boon  to  ask  for.  Then  came  the  finan¬ 
cial  crisis  of  ’r>7.  that  caused  such  widespread  dls- 
iisr.er  and  nilii  among  the  mercantile  community, 
and  lor  u  time  It  seemed  Impos-Slble  that  my  house 
would  he  able  to  wilhbtand  tho  crash  that  swept 
I  like  a  whirlwind  ibrraigh  the  country ;  hut  I  tlnal- 
i  Ij-  weathered  the  storm,  and  by  good  manage^ient 
1  c«rae  through  it  stronger  than  ever. 
PAUL  MILMOEE’S  STOEY; 
OR,  THE  I.0ST  CHILD  AHD  THE  CROWS 
your  sake,  iny  dear  husbaml;”  and  thmi  -  well, 
sir,  1  knew  nothing  more  tor  forty-eight  hours. 
When  I  awoke  to  consclnnHncs.H  1  rose  from  the 
bed,  partfnlly  dressed  m.vscir,  and  went  out  and 
stood  bareheaded  beneath  the  Icadcn-gray  No¬ 
vember  sky;  and  when  I  felt  the  wlnti-y  wind  and 
saw  the  ground  whlto  with  snow,  and  realized 
that  It  wa.s  Mm  winding  shed,  of  our  darling  boy, 
I  tell,  that  1  could  alriio,st  follow  Mm  advice  of 
.Job’s  wirn,  “Curwi  God  and  die.” 
Standing  In  the  yard  I  noticed  that  a  large  flock 
of  crows  had  gatlmred  In  the  Weld  yonder,  nearly 
halt  a  mile  from  the  house,  I  watched  them  for 
some  time  without  secminglo  heed  them.  I  saw 
them  Hying  svvif1.1y  athwart Vhe  heavens,  jostling 
each  other  In  Umlr  hiusto;  Iheh,  when  they  ap¬ 
peared  to  have  romiied  one  particular  spot,  they 
would  soarhlgh  In  the  air  lor  an  Instant  and  swoop 
down,  almost  ’nuchlng  the  ground,  lo  rise  once 
more,  mounting  lilglmrnnd  higher  in  a  circle  until, 
flying  over  iny  head,  they  would 
..  „ .  _  again  dart,  hack  to  the  field,  all  the 
r-  time  uttering  their  harsh  ciics, 
- ■  ^  -  which  seemed  to  bid  me  “  Hcarch  t" 
So  strongly  did  T  become  Im  press- 
ed  wltb  (his  Idea,  that  I  started 
:  toward  the  place,  bareheaded  and 
-  half  clothed  as  I  wa8,  and  so  weak 
that  I  could  hardly  sta  nd. 
It  was  a  longtime  before  I  reach- 
“  ^  ed  the  spot  over  which  the  crows 
were  hovering ;  but  ,  as  f  approuch- 
cd  it  I  saw  by  the  side  of  a  dry, 
wlthEired  stalk,  crouched  as  though 
for  protection  from  the  rude  blast, 
a  rabbit.  Imagine  my  feelings 
when  I  recognized  It  a.s  o)ir  d.arllng 
_  .  hoy’s  pet,  nearly  dead  from  hunger 
'  and  cold.  The  Instant  I  saw  It  I 
=  ■';  :  knew  that  I  had  fotiiid  our  boy— 
^  that  Benny  Was  there.  I  lifted  the 
halt -frozen  creature  carefully  to 
oue  side  and,  kneeling,  quietly  re- 
^  moved  the  cold  Snow  from  the  body 
of  our  darling.  I  rememher  taking 
him  In  my  jirms  and  kissing  his 
cold  Ups ;  hilt  how  I  reached  the 
hoiwo  1  can't  tell ;  1  only  know  that 
T  laid  him  in  his  tnothcr's  lap,  and 
that  she  looktid  up  In  niy  face  with 
a  sweet  smile  and  said :  “lhave 
been  waiting  so  long  for  you  to 
-  bring  dear  Benny  back  to  me,  I’aul." 
r  When  I  again  returned  to  con- 
-  sclonsnese,  Benny  hud  been  burled 
two  weeks,  and  I  was  told  that  the 
physician  said  he  had  undouhiedlj' 
''  ~  -  dropped  dead  from  ancurl.'Em  ol  the 
heart.  Had  It  not  been  for  those 
crows,  sir,  hlfl  little  body  would 
^  have  lain  upon  the  cold  ground, 
unhurled,  until  spring. 
Now,  sir,  you  know  why  I  didn't, 
want  the  crows  shot.  I  don’t  often 
speak  of  this,  0)ir  great  hoitow  ; 
hut  I  feci  that  an  apology  was  due 
^  you  for  the  unceremonious  ma  nner 
in  which  I  Interrupted  yonr  shot, 
and  perhaps  there  was  something 
in  your  taca  that  told  me  t  hat  y(ju 
would  understand  the  motive  that 
prompted  mein  spoiling  .your a n- 
tlclpateEj  sport.  And  now,  with 
?=— .  ~  your  permission,  we  will  return  to 
- '  the  other  room.  My  wife  will  be 
glad  to  talk  with  you,  for  It  Is  not 
often  that  we  see  gentlemen  from 
the  East  so  far  West  as  this. 
crowK  art?  waiconio»  sir,  to  »ui  Liie  corn 
they  want  on  my  farm.  I’ve  lived  on  this  pla<a! 
more  than  six  years,  and  should  be  very  sori'y  to 
think  that,  one  had  been  killed  tIuM ng  that  time.’ 
“  It’s  a  vEjry  singular  fancy  you  siBem  to  have— 
tills  penchant  for  crows;  there  musf,  be  some  rea¬ 
son  for  It.  1  certainly  never  heard  ot  such  a  thing 
before.” 
“  There  Is  a  reason,"  said  the  gentleman,  exam¬ 
ining  my  face  closely,  as  he  paused 
for  a  moment :  then,  us  If  satisfied  — i.-— 
with  the  wTUtlny,  he  resumed, 
“  and  If  you  care  to  hear  It,  and 
will  walk  over  to  the  bouse  and  ~ 
take  a  cup  of  t  ea  with  us.  I’ll  tell 
you  the  story, ”  adding  apologeti¬ 
cally,  “  we  sometimes  get  lonesome 
out  here  on  the  prairies,  and  arc  .  . 
glad  to  see  a  genllema  a's  face.”  t 
As  the  Invitation  had  been  prof- 
tered  In  the  spirit  ol  genuine  West-  ; 
ern  hospitality,  I  accepted  it  as 
frankly  a-s  It  had  been  given,  and 
climbing  over  the  fence  that  had  ^ 
up  to  this  time  separated  us,  start- 
ed  to  accompany  the  farmer  to  the  -  — 
house.  ” 
The  conversation  had  taken  place 
In  a  newly-planted  corn  field,  ihad  — 
been  hunting  all  day  without  suc¬ 
cess  Chilled  with  the  cold  and 
weary  and  vexed  at  my  111  luck,  1 
was  returning  toward  the  farm  —  — 
house  where  I.waS  stopping,  when  • 
I  noticed  a  large  flock  of  crows 
busily  engaged  In  toartog  up  the 
just  sprouting  com  In  a  field  some 
distance  from  the  road.  Deter- 
mined  not  to  return  empty  handed 
and  thinking  to  do  the  owner  of 
the  field  a  favor  as  well  a.s  to  test 
the  truth  of  the  old  axiom,  that  : ' 
“crows  can  smell  gunpowder,"  1  -  , 
had  crept  quietly  up  until  within  — ^  ^ 
g;uu  range,  and  was  about  to  give,  _ _ ^ 
the  contents  of  both  barrels  of  my  J  ^ 
“Jo  .Manton.'when  I  was  inter- 
mpted  as  a  bo  ve  narrated.  j 
A  short  walk  brought  us  to  the  jjWBlfcife 
house,  which  proved  to  be  a  com-  - 
fortable— in  fact,  for  Weatom  Iowa, 
an  elegant— cottage,  romantically 
situated  upon  the  hanks  of  a  mtnla-  ^ 
ture  lake.  As  we  were  walking  to- 
ward  It,  I  handed  my  companion 
my  card,  which  he  received  with  a 
how,  Informing  mo  that  hU  name  — 
was  Mil  more,  and  that  he  wa-s 
pleased  to  greet  m  e.  ^ 
As  we  approached  the  house,  J 
could  but  note  the  neat  and  com-  f  ^ 
foitable  appearance  of  the  build- 
lugs,  a-s  well  as  the  good  j  udgment 
that  had  been  displayed  In  their 
location,  and  the  admirable  taste 
shown  In  the  general  plan  of  a  half 
finished  flower  garden  that  occu- 
sentmcht  that  Kenny  waSTlead.  It  flu.shed  upon 
mo  like  lightning,  noi-  i^ould  I  gti,  rid  of  U,  though 
it  weighed  mo  ilown  like  an  Incubus. 
We  were  alone  in  the  house,  at  the  time,  and  I 
picked  htjr  up  from  tho  floor  o  nd  carried  her  to  the  i 
