A116. 20 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
literal]) Utisttllanp. 
OBSERVATIONS OF REV. GABE TUCKER. 
You may notch it on da palin’s as a mighty reeky plan 
To make your Judgment by de clo'ee dat kivere up a 
mau; 
For I hardly needs to tell you how you often comes 
ercroBB 
A fifty dollar saddle and a twenty dollar Iiobb. 
An’, wnkin, tn de low-grroun's. you diekiver as you go 
Dat de flneB' shuck may hide de rneaneB’ nubbin in a 
row! 
I think a man has got a mighty Blender ck'auce for 
heben 
Dat holdB on to hiB piety but one day out of seben, 
Dat talks about de Blnners wid a heap o' solemn chat 
An' nebber drape a nlckle in de missionary hat; 
Dat’s formoee in de meetln’ house for raisin' all de 
chunea, 
But lays aside his 'ligion with his Sunday pantaloons 
I neber judge o’ people dat. I meets along de way 
By de places whar dey cum fum an' do houses whar 
dey stay: 
For de bantam chicken’s awful fond o’ roostiu’ pretty 
high, 
An’ de turkey-buzzard bbIIb above de eagle in desky; 
Dey ketches little minnies in de middle ob do sea, 
An’ you find de BtnaUea’ ’possum up de be biggest kind 
o’ tree! —Scribner’s Monthly. 
-- 
COUSIN FRED. 
CHAPTER I. 
DISCOVERY. 
“ This is the second time l It’s singular, to say 
the least of It, let alone mysterious. Who can the 
little figure dressed in gray be ? I’ll not rest un¬ 
til I find out!” 
4» # * * ■< * » 
“ Lucy, cousin Fred la coming down again to¬ 
morrow. Think of that 1 Why, he only left a 
fortnight ago. He certainly must find some par¬ 
ticular attraction In old, dull Silvervllleand 
with a laugh the speaker took a furtive glance at 
herself in a looking-glass. “ Nevertheless, I am 
awfully glad, aren’t you ?" 
“Yes indeed; It’s always a pleasure when cou¬ 
sin Fred oorae-V responded the young girl ad¬ 
dressed, looking up from the book she was reading 
in the large bay drawing-room window of silver¬ 
vllle. 
She was a quiet, graceful-looking girl of about 
eighteen, with delicate features; large, brown, 
thoughtful eyes; soft, plainly braided brown hair; 
unassuming, ladylike manners; and was neatly 
attired In a dark costume, relieved by snowy 
collar and cuffs and a becoming ribbon at the 
throat—altogether as great a contrast as could 
be to her handsome cousin, Linda Brand, the 
heiress, who was fair, with rather classical fea¬ 
tures ; a tall erect figure; and a totiette as bright 
and pretty as the flowers on the lawn. 
An only child—Linda Brand, spoiled from la 
fancy, was proud of nature, petulant at times, and 
inordinately conscious of the prestige which the 
being an heiress gave her. 
Lucy, on the other hand, was penniless: having 
Deen taken out of charity, when a llctle more than 
an in rant, by her Onole, Mr Brand, and supported 
by him. 
“ How calmly you take ill” exclaimed Linda, 
with a movement of her pretty head, as she ar¬ 
ranged the tiny flower-wreath about her white 
throat. “ You’re awfully ungrateful! I don’t 
think you care for Fred a bit 1 Yet he’s very kind 
l am sure, to you," In a condescending tone, which 
the speaker often used from habit In addressing 
ber younger cousin. 
Lucy Brand raised her head qulokly; a delicate 
color was on her cheek. 
" Not like oousin Fred !” she exolalined; then 
colorlog decpsr, and as If ashamed of her earnest 
protest, she added, with a little laugh, “Of course 
I like him, Linda, but you would not buve me 
care for him too muctt, would you ?”—a laugh— 
** though, if I did, there would be little danger of 
bis caring for me, would there ?” 
Linda laughed too, tried to look conscious, but 
failed. She had a score of lovers, and such Innu¬ 
endoes as Lucy’s were familiar; though certainly 
as yet handsome cousin Fred had won her prefer¬ 
ence. 
“No, there would not, l suppose, be much dan¬ 
ger," she re] Dined placidly; “but I never meant 
that. I’ve pat you down, you know, for a curate ; 
you are just the neat, quiet little person to go 
doddllng among your husband’s parishioners, darn¬ 
ing his socks, and attending Dorcas meetings.” 
•* Well, one might do worse,” said Lucy quietly. 
“ Oh, of course! There’s a place tor everyone in 
this world. Now, I should no more do tor yours 
than you for mine. What a delightful morning 
It is! I’m off for a row.” 
Lightly she pissed through the open window 
and across the lawn, Bhadowed by sliver beeches, 
towards the river. 
Leaning, forward, her elbow on her knee, her 
chlu In her hand, Lucy Brand watched her, an 
expression halt sad, half amused. In her eyes. 
“ Not do for my place any more than I would do 
for hers 1 I wonder, If our childhood had been 
ohanged—mine hers, hers mine—whether then It 
would have been so ? Circumstances have much 
to do in forming natures. I think-" 
She paused, then added: 
“ Not like cousin Fred ! Would to Heaven 1 did 
not! then one trouble of my life would be re¬ 
moved. 
For a second time she paused—for a second time 
sbe proceeded, now rather bitterly: 
“No; there would be no danger of his caring for 
suohaall None. 1 must be content with the 
curate and sock-darning 1 There, how foolish I 
am I” and she dashed away a tear. 11 Everyone 
would say l ought to consider myself a most for¬ 
tunate young person; only, as Linda says, I sup¬ 
pose I am ungrateful.” 
Rising, iho went to give orders about the prep¬ 
aration of cousin Fred’s room; for though two 
yoara younger than Linda, the duties of house¬ 
keeper wore passed to Lucy. 
in due course cousin Fred arrived. There was 
little wonder that both Linda and Lucy liked him, 
for he was one of those handsome, manly, good- 
natured, genial specimens of masculine humanity 
that is a favorite with all. 
“How kind of you to come down again so soon!” 
remarked Linda, gaily, on greeting him. 
“ I am glad, fair coz, that I am bo welcome,” he 
rejoined. “ Ah! beauty Is a greater magnet than 
steel, isn’t tt? And you, Lucy, are you not going 
to say I’m welcome?” 
"Indeed, yes, Fred: though there la scarcely 
need to state that of which you are so sure,” She 
smiled, extending her hand. 
He took it; but the light that was in bis eyes 
when be spoke died out. Cousin Lucy was the 
strangest girl he ever knew—why did she not care 
for him like Linda ? He told himself that he tried 
to be kind, hut she was always drawing away or 
answering his approaches so indifferently. 
“Well, Fred, so here you are again," said Mr. 
Brand, entering. “ What has brought you down, 
eh ? Pleasure or bustness ? ” 
“ Both, uncle, I may say. l have been offered 
a floe position by my father’s old friend, Mr. Mel- 
broke. I need not say,” with a laugh, “ I have 
accepted It; for Mr. Melbroke says It may lead to 
a lot of other good things. So before I start I 
thought I would run down and spend a few days 
at Silvervllle. 
“ Oh l delightful-charming t” Ltnda exclaimed. 
“ I congratulate you, Fred,” added Mr. Brand. 
“ Thanks; I knew you would, uncle. Yes, It’s a 
good thing." 
Then oousin Fred’s eyes strayed round the room, 
having missed a third voice; but Lucy, unper- 
celved, had disappeared. 
As pale as death, she stood beneath the veran¬ 
da, one hand pressed to her heart. 
“ He has come to ask Llndi to be bis wife,” she 
murmured. “ 1 know It! Well, have I not known 
this all along ? Have I not expected It ? And why 
not Linda—Ltnda as any one ? is it not the same 
to me? Only it la hard to bear. How foolish I 
am. Am I the only girl who has loved with¬ 
out return ? 
Later on she came te cousin Fred, a bright 
smile on her face, 
“ Is It true,” she said, “ what Linda tells me, 
about your going away ? Iam so, so glad 1 I con¬ 
gratulate you so much!” 
» Yes, Lucy, I’m off. You’ll be glad to get rid 
of me, eh ?” 
“ I!" She could not help it, the tears sprang 
Quickly she averted them before she had seen the 
expression In bis, and with a foroed laugh, added, 
“Ask Ltnda^if she can bear your departure, I 
must try to.” 
He dropped her hand, and she moved away, not 
Beelng the look of half pain, half anger on hla 
features. 
There were rarely dull momenta at Silvervllle 
when Fred Beaufort was a guest. The dullest, 
in Linda’s estimation, was the after-dinner period 
when she and Lucy were alone In the drawTOg- 
room. and the gentleman remained over their 
wine. If cousin Fred had any great fault It was 
smoking, and the hour his uncle dozed he enjoyed 
his cigar, it was the fourth evening after his ar¬ 
rival, that dlreotly Mr. Brand had emptied his 
wine glass and thrown his handkerchief over hla 
face, Fred Beaufort, lighting a fresh cigar, passed 
into the grounds. 
The night was cairn ana warm; but it was evi¬ 
dent that was not the cause that attracted him, 
for directly he had got beyond thought Issuing 
from the dining-room, he Increased hla pace and 
walked, with an undoubted purpose, obliquely 
through the grounds. Entering dually the wooded 
portion, he came out by the river, just where the 
willows drooped most thickly. Here he threw 
himself down among the ferns, extinguished his 
cigar, and waited. 
In a few momenta he raised bis head BUghtly. 
There was the soft sounds of cars. Soon a boat 
containing one person loomed through the gray 
twilight, and stopped Just opposite him at the 
other shore. Watchlng, he saw the figure—which, 
man or woman was clothed entirely in a some¬ 
what loose gray garment with a hood—attach the 
boat, landaud disappear among the trees. 
Fred Beaufort drew himself higher up under 
the willow. There was no mistake about the 
boat, it was tbe one belonging to Mr. Brand; he 
knew It by the red and white water-line. Then 
he uttered the sentences which commenced this 
chapter. 
The previous evening while smoking his cigar, 
he had chanced to stroll In this direction, and had 
seen the boat arrive as It had to-nlghc. in less 
than half an hour the gray figure had returned, 
got in and rowed away. Fred had followed along 
the bank, bat bushes had Intervened and he had 
lost sight of the little craft. 
Why, he hardly knew—he had mentioned the 
olrcumsiances to no one—but with the curiosity 
of an Idle man, noting the time, resolved to watch 
the next time—che thing surprising him being the 
use ol Mr. Brand’s boat. 
Again the solitary rower had appeared and 
acted Ju the same manner: and now he deter¬ 
mined to find all out. No one had any right to use 
the boat but Mr. Brand’s own family. If some 
maid were carrying on clandestine meeting with 
a lover, they had no right to use the skiff, which 
might create mistakes not pleasant to his cousins, 
for he was assured now that the rower was a 
woman. 
Hardly had half an hour elapsed when the gray 
figure re appeared. Fred, who had already risen 
was about to move away along tbe bank, when he 
perceived the figure look back, and then he saw 
another figure Just shadowed under tne trees; 
then, with a motion like a wave of the hand, it 
went back, as tbe rower, taking tbe oar, shot the 
boat along the silent river. 
This time Fred Beaufort was prepared for the 
bushes, and skirting them quickly, managed to 
keep the boar, in sight, himself unseen. Rapidly 
it proceeded until it, turned into the pretty little 
red-and-whlte boathouse; there he was able to 
overtaken. aDd concealing himself among the 
trees, wait for the rower to issue forth. 
Speedily she came, but tbe gray mantle was 
now carried under her arm. She walked hastily, 
yet with caution, passing within a foot of him. 
Fred Beaufort gave a great gasp, for he recog¬ 
nized his cousin, Lucy Brand. 
The slight sound he had made when he started 
at che discovery reached her. She halted and 
glanced round. The expression of her face was 
pale and troubled. Believing she had been de¬ 
ceived in the noise, she hurried on again, and 
Fred Beaufort followed alowiy. heavy at heart. 
Whom did Lucy go thus stealthily to meet ? 
could It be a lover ? Then why clandestinely ? 
If he were not womtr to come to her home, then 
he was not worthy of Lncy. Ought he to tell his 
uncle? What danger might not Lucy be running 
into ? 
But there was reason why he shrank from him¬ 
self being Mr. Brand’s Informant In this matter; 
and yet undecided, he approached the drawing¬ 
room windows. Ere he entered he heard a light 
touch on the piano, and soon Lucy's voice, sweet, 
clear, and sympathetic, Droke rorth, singing— 
'* ’ My heart l« Bair to sickness. 
Ne’er may I smile a*ain; 
My een will aye be greeting’, 
For bitter is nay pain.' ” 
The pathos of her voice thrilled Fred Beaufort, 
He listened until the song ended, then: 
“ No, by George, I can’t tell uncle 1” he thought. 
“ Only one who feels the words ooald sing them 
like that 1 Poor Lucy la In trouble, and has a sad 
heart! Perhaps she loves some one that uncle 
does not approve of—then / know my fate. Bah I 
as if I ever had any chance! Never r ” 
Yes, Linda Brand was right. Cousin Fred had a 
particular attraction at old, dull Silvervllle, and 
the attraction was Lucy. 
To be continued. 
■» »»- 
MAGAZINES FOR AUGUST. 
Habpkr’s Magazine.— Contents: Frontispiece, 
Illustration tor “Almond Blossoms;” The Surren¬ 
der of Cornwallis; Almond Blossoms, a poem; A 
Day In Africa. II.; The White Mountains, III.; 
The Parcte, or, Three Dainty Destinies. The Ar- 
melet; Anne, a novel; Left Behind, a poem; 
Then: The Various Languages of Billy Moon; A 
Neglected Corner of Europe, III,; Water Routes 
from the Great Northwest; Miss Pickett: Assas¬ 
sins and Nihilists ; Sheltered, a poem; President 
Madison and the Baptist Preacher; A Laodicean; 
Editor’s Easy Chair; Editor’s Literary Record; 
Editor’s Historical Record; Editor's Drawer. 
Cirocimstantial Evidkncb.—a lawyer in Cen¬ 
tral New York gives the following account of one 
of his first cases :— 
“ My client sued a neighbor for the alleged kill¬ 
ing of a favorite dog. The proof consisted In the 
mysterious disappearance of the animal, and the 
possession of a dog’s skin by tne defendant, which 
after considerable argument, was brought Into 
court in evidence, it was marked in a singular 
manner, and was positively identified, with many 
tears, by tbe plaintiff's wife and daughter aa the 
undoubted Integument Of the deceased Bose. In 
summing up to the Jury, I was In the midst of a 
highly colored picture of the virtues of tne de¬ 
ceased, and of the love of me children for their 
lour-footed friend, when 1 was Interrupted by a 
slight disturbance in the crowd near the door of 
the little school-house which served as court- 
house. Looking around, l saw my client’s young¬ 
est son, a tow-headed urchin of twelve, coming 
forward with a dog whose skin was the exact 
counterpart of the one put In evidence. The dog 
wagged hla tatl with good-natured composure, and 
the boy cried, tn his childish treble, • Paw, Bose 
has come home.’ I gathered u p my law books and 
retreated, and l have never had perfect confidence 
In circumstantial evidence since.” — Editor's 
Drawer, in Harper’s Magazine for August. 
Lippincott's Magazine.— Contents: A Glimpse 
of the Cumberland Border—first paper; The Home 
of the Giant Squid: l’halatta; Craque-O’-Doom, a 
story: New Ground; Before the Dawn; Captain 
Put’s Novel; Zoological Curloiiues—v„ secret- 
lvenesB; Flowers; on tne Wrong River; New 
York’s Fresh-air Fund; Santa Lucia; The Pension 
Office; Going to Housekeeping In North Carolina; 
Our Monthly Gossip: Ait Alattera, Anecdotal and 
Miscellaneous; Literature of the Day. 
The Pension Office— The first law providing 
pensions for deaths and disabilities Incurred tn the 
War of the Rebellion was approved on the uth of 
July, iso?. Since then the Government has paid 
In pensions more than five hundred millions < t 
dollars. The payments for many years, up to 
1 STU, averaged about thirty million dollars a year. 
During the fiscal year ending In 1879 the payments 
rose to nearly thirty-four uillllou dollars; and In 
that ending in lsso they went up to over flrty-seven 
million dollars. For the current fiscal year nearly 
seventy millions have been appropriated, but 
nearly a hundred millions will be needed. 
The highest pension known to the general law 
la seventy-two dollars a month; the lowest la one 
dollar a month. In cases of surviving soldlere, the 
rates are giadod according to the degree or disa¬ 
bility for manual labor found to exist In each 
ease, ab a matter of faot, the disabilities of many 
do not interfere materially with their ability to 
gain a livelihood. A jeweler or dentist with one 
foot may earn his living as well as with two. The 
law pensions all, nowever, as if they were hewers 
of wood and drawers of water.—Llpplncott’s Mag¬ 
azine for August. 
The Atlantic Monthly.— Contents: Dr. Breens 
Practice, T-ITT; Freneh Domestic Life and Its Les¬ 
sons; Corda Concordia, read at tbe Ouening «pp_ 
sions of tbe Summer sobool of Philosophy; Con¬ 
cord, July 11 , 1881 ; In Exile—a story tn two parts 
Part I.; The New York Art Season; On the Acting 
oflago; The Portrait of a Ladv-XXXIX XLTT • 
Sleep’s Threshold; The Tndoor Pauper : a study J 
Tidal Waves; Recoltectlons of James t. Fields • 
Parton’s Life of Voltaire; Ward's English Poets •' 
The Contributors Club; Books of the Month. 
Clkbical Oratory. —Why do not our preachers 
study oratory ? As preachers, not pastors, their 
business la to work a certain effect, and a’l helps 
to Its production It should be a part of their edu¬ 
cation to learn. I presume I shall not be misun¬ 
derstood to mean tbe effect of displeasing seif and 
winning admiration ror personal gifts. What the 
true preacher seeks to do Is to inform the intellect 
with Christian truth ; to stir the heart, and there¬ 
by influence the will, of his hearers. Half the 
sermons annually preached are, ho far as human 
Insight goes, a waste of labor and breath. Two 
things partly account for this: one Is that, a ma¬ 
jority of the men set to preach are ont of their real 
vocation,—good pastors they may be. but fit 
preachers they are not; another is that those with 
more aptitude for preaching do not yet understand 
the means to be employed to attain their object. 
sometimes the preacher has some conception of 
the needs of human nature, and knows that the 
truest truths fall to move when put before men In 
a dull, dry way; perhaps be does his best, ro ac¬ 
quire a good style, and succeeds in maklDgan 
ably-written discourse. But when he comes Into 
his pulpit to give it to hla people, where is the im¬ 
pression it should produce ? What becomes nf his 
choice words, hla considered sentences? There 
they lie upon the page he holds; he proceeds to 
read them. WbF do they fall of any result ? rt la 
for want of delivery, of the oratorical art of mak¬ 
ing mere words “tell.” His fAlthful effort grus 
for little; he seems to hla hearers to be reading 
something to them, as be Is.—not to be speaking 
to them from tbe heart.—August Atlantic. 
North American Review.— Contents: The 
Christian Religion; Obstacles to Annexation; 
Crime and Punishment in New York; A Mllltta for 
the Sea; Astronomical Observatories; The Public 
Lands of the United states. 
Crime and Punishment in New York.—I t is 
not tbe purpose of this paper to present the sta¬ 
tistics of crime In the city of New York, but to 
exhibit some of the principal canses of crime 
which are here In operation, and the Inadequacy 
of the administration of Justice to meet the case. 
A large city presents the greatest advantages and 
Incitements to deeds of fraud, sensuality and vio¬ 
lence, by the denseness of the population and the 
faculties of concealment. Temptation Is multi¬ 
plied and the risk or exposure diminished from the 
same cause. The latter fact draws evil charac¬ 
ters to a large city, and the former manufactures 
evil characters from among the citizens. But 
New York la not only a large city, but It Is a sea¬ 
port, and cbe principal gate of immigration to tbe 
inlted States. Men of every clime throng Its 
streets, and nearly one-half of Its population has 
no personal or Inherited interest tn American In¬ 
stitutions. The worst elements of European 
society are constantly brought into this civic cal¬ 
dron—in many cases the emptyings of alms¬ 
houses and prisons, it Is no light task to meet 
this onset of depravity with the firm hand of 
order, and to make this heterogeneous mass take 
on agy assimilation to the general constitution of 
American fife. Too much has been said thought¬ 
lessly of the mlsgovernment of this metropolitan 
city, where the critics have not considered the pe¬ 
culiar obstacles to social order to which we have 
referred. The real wonder la that New York 19 so 
well governed—that, amid all the antagonisms to 
public peace which are found in it, It is, on the 
whole an orderly city, and offers attractions for 
residence beyond any other clry in the Union. 
There is rar more rowdyism and drunken rioting m 
Glasgow and Liverpool than In New York; and 
the streets of New Y'ork, which have formed the 
theme of so muoh indignation because of their 
unclean condition, are pure and spotless in com¬ 
parison with the streets of tbe cities of Southern 
Europe. It has become popular to condemn New 
York, and to call tt a modern sodom; but nowhere 
in the world are so many and so mighty agencies 
In active operation for the material and moral 
welfare of the community. Churches, hospitals, 
charity homes, sobools, libraries, galleries, benev¬ 
olent societies and other forms of gratuitous help 
to the comfort and welfare of the city abound, 
and a general liberality toward all measures 
tending to elevate the tone of society ts very con¬ 
spicuous. It is, then, with no cynical feeling that 
we endeavor, tn this article, to show where effort 
la still lacking and where remedies ought speedily 
to be applied. 
We have taken New York City aa our text, be¬ 
cause of that city we have a thorough and accu¬ 
rate knowledge; but tne principles, as well aa the 
facts, will doubtless apply to all the large cities of 
our country, and hence our article, we trust, will 
not have a merely local interest or value. We 
have not used rhetorical appeals, or spread before 
our readers heart-rending pictures of vice and 
and crime. We wish to arouse something deeper 
than emotion or sentiment. We wish to convince 
the reason and establish a firm basis of principle 
from which systematic action may be expected to 
grow. The appeal is to the common sense of citi¬ 
zens. We have no patent theory, or radical meas¬ 
ure or moral reform to propose; but ask our fellow 
citizens to take time to consider this great funda¬ 
mental question of crime and punishment in the 
community, to see what their duty Is In the 
premises and to do it.— Howard Crosby, in North 
American Review. 
