MOORE’S  RURAL 
A  SPRING  SONG. 
Bi.t  rnci.Y  broakii  the  mornlUK' 
With  a  wamor  tMtam . 
Now.  O  Earth,  awaken 
From  thy  Winter  dream  ! 
From  some  land  of  beauty. 
Where  the  swallow's  mng 
Reets  on  balmiest  zephyrs, 
Gomee  the  radiant  Sprinv- 
Odorous  Southern  breezes 
With  her  garlands  play, 
A.nd  the  anllen  snow-clouds 
Slowly  drift  away, 
fn  the  woods  and  valleys 
Water  BOftly  flows. 
And  its  silvery  murmurs 
Greet  her  as  she  goes. 
By  the  btiilding  hedgerows. 
Through  the  meadows  sweet. 
Bright-eyed,  starry  daisies 
Springing  round  her  feet. 
With  the  fragrant  violets 
To  her  warm  lips  jirost. 
And  the  timid  snowdrops 
Nestling  In  her  breast. 
Many  a  shrinking  flow'rot 
From  Its  nook  she  wiles 
With  her  tears,  more  precioiiM 
Than  her  sunniest  STtiilos. 
Quickly  will  the  forest 
Weave  a  leafy  maze. 
Ere  the  sun  can  seek  them 
With  too  ardent  gaze. 
Haste  then,  Earth,  arouse  thee  ! 
Bid  thy  wild  birds  sing ; 
bet  them  give  a  welcome 
To  the  gentle  Spring ! 
[Siecert  Wynne. 
®l;c  .Storir-SflliT. 
FOUND  IN  THE  SNOW, 
“  Halloo  :  This  won’t  do.  Move  on.”  The 
speaker  was  a  gigantic  policeman.  The  object  of 
his  wrath  was  a  hoy  who  sat  on  a  low  st.oop,  with 
his  face  burled  In  his  hands  os  If  crying. 
It  w.os  night  and  snowing  fast.  A  bitter,  bitter 
night,  In  which  one  would  not  wish  even  one’s 
enemy  to  be  homeleas  and  shelterless.  The  boy 
did  not  stir. 
“Halloo,  I  say!”  cried  the  policeman,  angrily, 
advancing  nearer.  “No  sham¬ 
ming,  young  ’uu.  Get  up,  and 
move  on.” 
But  as  the  lad,  even  yet,  did  not 
rise,  the  policeman  stooped  down 
and  shook  him.  As  he  did  this  the 
hoy  fell  over,  senseless,  in  the 
snow. 
“fjreattiod!”  cried  the  police¬ 
man.  “He's  dead.  Frozen  to 
death,  too ;  perhaps  starved.  Poor 
little  fellow !  An  orpliaii,  no  doubt. 
Well,  I  must  take  him  to  the  sta¬ 
tion,  I  suppese.” 
But  as  ho  lifted  the  body,  which 
he  did  tenderly— for  he  had  chil¬ 
dren  of  his  own  at  homo,  the  seem- 
lugly  inanimate  form  stirred, 
“ Fainted, ’’said  the omcer,  “but 
not  dead  yet.j  If  tlie  station  house 
onlyiwasn'tso  farolT.  Ah!  maybe 
they’ll  take  him  In  here.”  % 
As  he  spoke,  a  close  carriage  had 
dashed  up  to  the  next  house,  a  p=^  .:^= 
footman  sijratig  from  the  box,  the.  h.-  .  _ 
coach  door  was  flung  open,  and  an  w 
old  man,  wrapped  In  a  fur  cloak,  . - 
stepped  out  and  took  the  servant’s  - - = 
arm,  to  he  helped  up  the  high  ~ 
stoop.  Seeing  Uie  policeman,  how-  [_  .•  — 
ever,  with  the  boy  In  his  arms,  he  [-.w--  ■ 
stopped  abruptly.  F. 
“  What!  what!”  he  cried.  “A 
young  tramp— a  beggar?  Not  — 
dead — ” 
“  No,  not  dead  yet,  Mr.  Ascot,”  -  ~  = 
said  the  policeman,  respectfully,  L. ..  ..  = 
as  he  recognized  the  speaker,  well 
known  as  the  weaUblest  and  most 
Influential  householder  on  his  ==■.  -  ^ _ ^ 
beat,  “  but  I’m  afraid  will  bo  be-  r. 
tore  I  reach  the  slallun.  And  he 
doesn’t  seem  to  be  a  common  sort 
“  Not  the  common  sort,  eh  ?  Nel-  ■  -  -  ^ 
ther  Is  he,”  said  Mr.  Ascot,  as  he  ■■  ■ 
looked  at  the  boy’s  clothes.  “Have 
him  in  here— have  him  In  here. 
John,  ring  the  bell ;  why  the  douce  ^ 
do  you  stand  there  gaping— don’t  ^ 
you  see  the  boy's  dying  from  cold 
and  hunger  ?  1  can  walk  up  the 
steps  well  enough  alone.”  ^ 
A  moment  more  and  Mr.  Ascot 
himself  led  the  way  into  a  warm, 
spacious  drawing-room, 
“There’s a  roailng  Are  ready,” 
he  said.  '•  I  always  have  one  wait- 
ing  for  me  when  I  come  home  from 
dining  out.  Whore’s  the  house- 
keeper?  Didn’t  I  lellJohn  to  bring 
her  at  once?  Ah  I  here  Mrs  Som- 
ers  comes.  Something  to  revive 
him,  quick !  Good  heavens !  If  he  ^ 
should  die  at  ter  aJL” 
“Poor  little  dear  I”  said  Mrs. 
Somers,  as  she  poured  a  restora- 
tlve  down  his  throat.  “There,  ■ 
Jane,  give  me  the  blankets  while 
I  wrap  him  up.  Ah  1  he’s  coming 
to.” 
The  boy  opened  his  eyes,  looked  In  a  far-off  way 
at  M rs,  Somers,  and  then  glanced,  dreamily,  about 
the  mom.  Evidently  his  senses  had  not  yet  quite 
come  back. 
“  Mother,  mother,”  ho niunnured.  •'  1  can’t  tlnd 
grandfather— and  It’s  so  cold.  I’m  so  — ” 
His  head  dropped  on  her  shoulder  and  hls  eyes 
closed  again.  One  of  hl.s  hands,  which  up  to  this 
moment  had  been  tightly  shut,  opened  weakly, 
and  a  note  fell  to  the  door. 
Mrs.  Somers  did  iioL  soo  the  note.  Somethltig 
In  the  hoy’s  look  had  startled  her.  Mho  gave  a 
quick  glance  up  at  her  mast.er;  then  she  began  to 
tremble  all  over.  Mr.  .Vsent,  who  bad  been  stand¬ 
ing  by  her  lull  of  Intcrosted  aiLxlct.v,  did  not  ob- 
seiwe  tills  look,  forlils  attention  had  been  attract¬ 
ed  by  the  note,  which  he  now  sfonprd  to  |>lck  up. 
Then  he  proeooded  to  take  out  hls  gla.sstLS  In  order 
TO  read  rhe  superscription. 
“  Perhaps  Mils  may  throw  some  light  on  the 
matter,"  he  said.  “The  poor  lad  hivs  been  sent 
out  on  an  errand  and  has  fainted  from  cold,  and 
perhaps  hunger.  What!  what!  GoodGod!’’  Hls 
hands  were  shaking  llko  le.aves  In  an  uutnmn 
wind.  Ill  the  dccii  stillness  the  paper  rattled  wit  h 
slarlllng  noise.  “It  can’t  be— it  can't  be !  Mm. 
Somers,  your  eyes  arc  younger  than  mine— read, 
read;  Is  that  address— Is  It— mlno—’l'hornton  .As¬ 
cot  ?” 
As  he  spoke  In  choked,  convulsive  gasps,  Mrs. 
Homers  leaned  forward  to  read.  The  motion  roused 
the  boy  agiilii,  aud  be  opened  hls  eyes— this  time 
with  more  of  consciousness  In  them- and  he  lixcd 
a  long,  questioning,  puzzled  look  on  Mr.  Ascot. 
“ Merciful  heaven!”  the  latter  said,  staggering 
like  one  struck  wllli  palsy,  “It  Is  her  eyes- her 
eyes  —  ” 
with  these  words  ho  tell  back  scusclesS,  the 
half-open  letter  fluttering  from  bis  lingers  to  the 
floor.  Fortunately  the  policeman  was  In  tliun  to 
catch  him,  and  lay  him  on  Mio  sofa.  For  a  mo¬ 
ment  the  boy  was  forgotten,  every  one  pressing 
around  the  master  of  thi!  house. 
“  Is  It  a  stroke?”  asked  the  policeman,  anxious¬ 
ly.  “  W  hat  does  It  mean  ?” 
At  any  other  time  Mrs.  Homers  would  have  been 
reticent,  about  family  affairs;  but  she  was  too 
flurried  to  think  clearly.  Hurprlsed  out  of  herself 
she  took  her  audience,  unconsciously,  into  her  con¬ 
fidence. 
“No,  It’s  not  a  stroke,”  she  nuswored,  with  the 
experience  of  long  years  of  n  ill's!  ng.  “Hls  face 
Isn’t  awry,  you  .see;  and  he's  only  limp,  not  jiar- 
alyzed.  There,  I've  opened  hls  cravat;  and  now, 
Jane,  bring  some  water.  It’s  but  a  fainting  fit ; 
he  often  has  ’em  whmi  he’s  worried;  often,  1 
mean,  alnco  hls  daugliter  went  uway.  Hhe  ran 
olT,  you  know,  Tnost  ten  years  ago.  He’s  never 
forgiven  her,  or  mtlier  .she's  never- leastway  of 
late  years— asked  to  he  forgiven.  The  last  tlino 
was  when  she  came  herself,  just  after  she  was 
mariTod,  on  a  night  as  bad  ns  this.'’  All  this  while 
Mrs.  Somers  washiisy  In  trying  Inrcvlve  her  mas¬ 
ter,  clxatlng  hls  bands,  bolding  smelling  salts  fx> 
him,  even  ordering  the  window  opened,  '^lle 
turned  her  from  bis  dooi’s  in  a  piTtcct  rage— I 
never  seed  him  so  angry  afnre  or  since.  But  bo’s 
been  sorry  tor  it  many  and  many  a  time,  I  know. 
1  have  beard  bim  sigb  .so!  Tie  was  a-lblnklng  of 
her.  He'd  have  forgiven  all,  years  ago,  If  she 
would  have  come  again ;  but  she  wmr  as  proud  os 
him ;  I  don't  Know  wlileb  was  the  prouder.  Hhe 
went  to  rornn  parts  with  her  iiusbnnd— he’d  been 
her  music  teacher,  you  see— that's  what  made  Mr. 
A.scot  so  angry— and  she  has  not  been  heard  of 
for  these  years  and  years.  Theris-he’s  coming 
to;  wluii  a  slgli!  stand  aside,  .Mr.  I'ollceman. 
please,  ami  give  him  some  air.  Poor  man!  but 
he’s  nobody  to  blame  but  Ulmseir,  after  all.  I 
don't  uphold  disobedience  In  clilldi  eii,  of  course ; 
but  a  dearer,  sweeter  girl  tban  Margaret  .Ascot 
never  wius.  .Many  and  m.in.v’s  the  time  I've  car¬ 
ried  her  m  my  arms  when  she  was  a  baby  and  her 
mother  was  alive.  How  are  yon  feeling  now,  sir?" 
This  last  aeutence  was  addressed  to  iier  mHafA!r, 
who,  with  a  deep  drawn  sigh,  opened  hls  (lyes. 
"  What,— what  Is  Mio  matter?”  he  said,  looking 
vacantly  from  one  m  tbe  other,  "  Yes,  I  remem¬ 
ber,”  putting  bis  hand  to  bis  brow,  “  .Margaret - " 
Ills  eyes  wandering  about  tell  on  tbe  boy  who, 
dui'lug  this  eiitsodc.  hud  entirely  recovered  enn- 
scloiisness  and  was  now  looking  with  a  strange 
sort  of  wonder  at  .Mr.  .Ascot. 
“  Please,  sir,"  said  tJic  lad,  seeing  he  had  at¬ 
tracted  the  old  man’s  eye,  “ca  n  yon  toll  me  where 
Mr.  Ascot  lives?  1  was  to  go  to  lilm  only  I  lost 
my  way— mother's  very  .sick— and  .she’s  hud  noth¬ 
ing  to  eat  to-day — ” 
With  these  words  he  broke  down  with  a  great 
soil,  the  tears  streaming  along  hls  thin,  wan 
ebeeks. 
“  Where’s  the  note  7  Order  the.  carriage,”  said 
Mr,  Ascot,  Incoherently,  rising  to  his  feet.  “  Is  It 
from  Mai-gni'etV  Hid  soniebody  say  she  wnsstan'- 
Ing?”  Ills  poor,  weak.sbaklng  hands  vainly  tried 
again  to  unfold  the  paper  wbleb  the  policeman 
had  banded  blni.  “  I— 1  am  not  strong  as  I  used 
to  bo;  1  thluk  1  am  getting  old; '  and  he  looked 
'riiii;  Kiii.H'r  -(Woo  i>ui4o  iiti.) 
piteously  at  Mrs.  Somers  and  sank  again  on  the 
sofa. 
“  Drink  this,”  said  the  housekeeper,  handing 
him  a  restorative. 
He  drank  It  and  rallied. 
"  Ah !  It  Iq  her— her  writing,”  speaking  to  him¬ 
self.  •'  She  Is  a  widow,  and  her  only  child  Is  named 
-after— afWT— me.” 
He  stopped  reading  and  turncTl  to  look  at  the 
boy. 
“  Are  you  grandfather  ?”  said  the  latter,  tlmld- 
l,y.  “1  think  you  must  be,  for  mother  has  a  pic¬ 
ture  she  looks  at  and  cries  over,  and  It's  like  you.” 
The  letter  fell  again  w  the  floor.  Hut  this  tlrao 
It  was  because  be  oiiened  bJs  arms  and  the  boy, 
catching  the  meaning,  came  to  him. 
"  Y'ou  won’t  let  her  die,  will  you  ?”  said  the  boy, 
looking  piteously  into  hls  face. 
“  Die,  die !”  cried  the  old  man,  rising  up ;  and 
hls  voice  and  air  wore  Miar  of  youth,  “  She  shall 
not  (He,  AVhere  is  the  carriage  ?  I  will  go  at  once 
and  she  shall  come  home  to-ulgliU  The  carriage, 
I  say,"  he  cried,  almost  angrily,  mal  be  turned  to¬ 
ward  tbe  door,  where  llio  footman  now  aiipeared. 
“  The  carriage  waits,  sir,”  said  the  servant,  ob- 
scfiulously. 
*•  Get  your  cloak  and  bonnet,  .Mrs.  Somers,  a  few 
blankets— a  bit  of  food— tluic’s  not  a  rnluuto  to 
lose.  Good  God  1  Margaret  dying,  ami  we  wast¬ 
ing  our  time  here!  No,  my  brave  little  fellow; 
your  mother  shall  not  die." 
in  a  tow  mlnutos,  during  which  the  tlioughttul 
Mrs.  Homers  had  provided  a  biscuit  and  some  hot 
lea  (or  the  hoy,  tho  Utile  party  set  forth.  While 
the  carriage  la  rolling  over  the  snow,  its  destina¬ 
tion  being  one  of  tho  most  obscure  Blreete  of  tho 
great  metropolis,  let  us  say  a  few  words  about  the 
daughter. 
Margaret  Ascot  had  been  one  of  those  sweet- 
tempered,  sympathetic  natures  that  everybody 
loved.  Beautiful,  accomplished,  wealthy  and  well 
horn,  aim  had  crowd.s  of  suitors,  but  nt  nineteen 
she  turned  from  them  all,  and  gave  her  heart,  (o  a 
penniless  lover,  i'hls  was  not  because  she  was 
foolishly  romantic,  like,  .so  many  others,  but  be- 
(^aiise  her  suitor  was  worthy  of  her  In  every  way 
e,KCept  riches.  He  was  only  a  poor  mmslc  tctu  her, 
an  Italian  exile- for  this  was  in  days  now  fortun¬ 
ately  long  ago.  before  Italy  Avas  free,  and  to  be 
an  H  allaii  patriot  meant  banishment  or  Ufivlong 
Imprisonment,  or  even  death. 
Andrea  Fllllppo  had,  when  hardly  more  Mian  a 
boy,  joined  In  the  Insurrection  of  ’is,  and  had  been 
compelletl  after  Its  failure  to  fly  tho  country.  He 
had  come  to  America  and,  being 
penniless,  hud  been  compoUed  to 
— - ^ - Hike  up  the  ilrst  pursiil  t  that  offer- 
ed  Itself,  In  ills  own  land,  nearly 
^  everybody  has  .some  knoTv ledge 
musln ;  but  Andrea,  was  an  ama- 
V  F  tour  of  more  than  ordinary  merit, 
naturally  became  a  teaeluM' 
^  ^  of  singing.  .Margaret  As(;ot  was 
hls  favorite  pupil.  He  .saw  In  her 
ovetythlng  Muit  youthful  nmn- 
3=^=3  hood  In  Its  highest  type  mlmlrfw; 
i  *11111  a  hero  aud  a  mar- 
‘y'’-  Compared  wtUi  the  prosaic 
F  young  men  of  hiislneH.sorUiei  old, 
calculating  lawyers,  or  tlie  idle 
I'loii  of  fashion,  who  const,! tutwl 
-T  — '  tbo  bulk  of  her  admlrei's,  he  w,'i.s  a 
prince  In  tUsguilse,  a  young  god ! 
Parents  do  not  suCflcletilly  make 
allowances  for  the  Imaginative 
elementof  their  daughters.  They 
fancy  that  at  ulnet,eeu  girls  can 
feed  as  their  moilicrs  do  lU  forty ; 
A  that  the  dry  husks  of  a  m.atter-of. 
”  ^3^^^  fact  life  are  .suflicieiit  (or  them,  it 
fa  not  so,  and  Mi‘.  Ascot,  though  <i 
3^31^3  sensible  man  in  oUier  respects, 
^3331=3  oould  not  undei-siund  wliy  hls 
K33-  daughter  wa.s  cold  to  her  wealthy 
lovers  ami  had  given  her  heart,  lo 
When  Margaret,  hopeles-s  of  al- 
tortng  her  fatlier’s  ojUnlon,  tlnally 
eloped  with  her  lover,  hls  wrath 
.  knew  no  rnmnds.  lie  refused  to 
iin.swer  her  letter  announcing  the 
=  -  ^  '“‘'“If  age ;  and  when,  a  few  weeks 
later,  slie  cam*;  In  pirrson,  lie  hud 
;;  her  literally  ttmisT  iroin  the  doOr. 
^  After  vainly  trying  to  got  some 
other  employment  -  for  Mr.  Ascot's 
Influenco  deprived  Amlreu  nt  all 
3  bis  pupils— the  young  couple  went 
jg/---,,  ,1  abroad.  For  a  while  Uiey  lived  In 
but  afterwards  Andrea 
returned  to  Italy  and  there  stmg- 
=  '  '  ^  gled  on  until  he  died.  Ho  left  hls 
=:---==  AVldow  penniless;  she  had  only 
~  money  enough  to  pay  her  pa.ssage 
fo  America,  whitJmr  she  had  re- 
— ^ —  '  — -  ■  4  solved  to  come,  In  hopes  by  a  last 
appeal  to  soften  her  father's  heart. 
It  was  a  winter  voyage,  and  Mar- 
garet  caught  a  violeut  cold,  which 
' ' "  1  lircatoned  an  iDflamrihitlon  of  the 
lungs.  She  could  only  crawl  feo- 
bly  to  the  nearest  lodging  on  the 
bight  she  landed  —a  miserable  ar- 
The  ae.x't  day  Margaret  w  rote  a 
note  to  her  rather,  trusting  to  her 
boy  to  deliver  11,  as  she  was  too  111 
Wgoout  hei-selt.  Knowing  that 
Mr.  Ascot  would  he  mil  during  the 
day,  she  had  defen'cd  sending  the 
lad  until  toward  ulghttall ;  but 
- '  —  hardly  had  ho  left  before  she  began 
to  think  of  the  peills  he  ran  alone 
in  that  great  city.  PerhaiiS,  .she 
said  to  lierself,  lie  has  fallen  down 
