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FEB.40 
AT THE STILE. 
Set deep In the hawthorn hedgerow stands the old 
rustic stile; 
Beyond it, the breezy uplands lie stretching many a 
Above it! the rale, wild rosea, spread fairy hands to 
meet; . 
Below it. the scarlet roppy flatints, with tho daisies at 
its feet; 
Beside it. the bright brown river stirs the lilies amid 
the sedges. 
And sings to the blue forget-me-nota that nestle on 
■willow ledges. 
Over the hill, where the heather glowed to a purple 
flush. 
And the gorses flashed their lavish gold, *mid the pink 
of the bilberry bush. 
Tracing the meadow pathway where the scented hay 
was sweet, 
Through the waves of the bearded barley, and the soft 
cool green of wheat, 
Graceful, and gay, and gallant, with the lover’s eager 
snitle. 
He strode through the July sunshine, to keep his tryst 
at the stile. 
Amid the ftr boles glancing, her robes’ white folding 
showed, 
The bluebell rang its prophet chime, by the winding 
way she trode; 
The skylark poised above her. shook out its Joyous 
song, 
Butterflies, while, and blue, and gold, heralded her 
along; 
On her eheek a w avering color, on her lip a fluttering 
smile. 
She stood in the July sunshine, keeping her tryst, at. 
the stile. 
Flower and bird will fade and die, and summer to 
winter change, 
Many a heavy doom may lie in the. future’s mystical 
rouge. 
Many a glitter and glory the coming years may bring. 
Many a w ild and varying uote from the great lifo harp 
may ring- 
But oh! those two young lovers, let fortune frown or 
smile. 
Will scarce know an hour more purely sweet than the 
tryst they kept at the stile. 
®|e j&torjr-$rUfr, 
BEHIND THE SCENES. 
BY CHARLOTTE H. OUIOU. 
“ I call this comfort," said Ralph Edson to 
Ills pretty wife, as he took in the survey of a neat 
little parlor, with Its glowing grate and tasteful 
furniture. He rubbed his hands together In token 
of extreme satisfaction, and dropping into an easy 
chair man-Uke, elevated his slippered feot to a 
horizontal position. 
“Yes, wo are comfortable,” was the half-indif¬ 
ferent reply. 
“1 think wo aru more than comfortable, Ada. 
We are real happy—as cony as two bugs In a rug,” 
was the cheerful answer, drawing his wife on his 
knee and softly brushing her brown hair with a 
caressing motion. 
“Oh, T don’t know, our parlor looks bare and 
poor enough compared with Edith Bkntly’s. I 
called there to-day, 
and her house and 
its appointments are 
superb. Her parlors 
are something to bo 
proud of.” 
“I don’t care for 
Edith Bbntly’s par- 
lore. I am satisfied 
with our own. * Bet¬ 
ter Is a humble home 
and quiet therewith, 
than a house full of 
sacrifices with 
strife.’ ’* I 
“ Edith seems hap- ’ 
py. She Is the best- 
dressed lady of my 
acquaintance. 8 h o 
has servants to do 
her bidding and 
wealth to give her po¬ 
sition.” 
“You. bridge over 
the fact that all these 
fine things are en¬ 
cumbered with an 
old, irritable, rheu¬ 
matic husband. All 
her comforts are ex¬ 
ternal. She knows 
nothing of genuine 
happiness.” 
“I think you are 
mistaken, Ralph. E- 
dith appears too gay 
to be burdened with 
trouble.” 
“ Many a sad heart 
la hidden under a gay 
exterior. That wo¬ 
man, In the spring¬ 
time of her youth and 
bloom, sold herself 
for money. 8uch a 
crime Is a kind or 
moral sulcido that Is 
death to that sweet 
peace of mind that 
always springs from 
well-regulated prin¬ 
ciples.” 
The wife was silent. She felt In her heart that 
her husband was right; but she was dazzled by 
the gutter and show of her friend and classmate, 
Edith Bently, who a few months previous, was 
wedded to a wealthy widower and Wall street 
broker, and a man whoso age u umbered three 
times her own. it was May and December, drawn 
into unison Through iho glided agency ol gold. 
Ada Edson generally accepted tilings tor what 
they seemed to he, and did not look beneath the 
surface for hidden deformities. Bhe loved hor 
husband, but sbe was not quite happy. Sbe was 
ambitious to make considerable display, while 
her husband's modest means curtailed her aspi¬ 
rations. 
Ralph Edson was book-keeper at a salary of 
two thousand dollars per annum In a mercantile 
house in New York City. He owned a pretty house 
on a good street, and furnished it with all the 
comforts and as many of the luxuries of life as 
was consistent, with prudent management. 
A tew days after tho conversation we have re¬ 
corded between Mr. Edson and his wife, Mrs. 
Bently returned Mrs. Edson’s caU. The hand¬ 
some carriage and elegant costume of tho rich 
man's wife, awakened tho envy of the woman less 
favored in the possession of worldly goods. 
The “green-eyed monster" takes a kind of ma¬ 
licious pleasure In stirring up the bile of that, 
remale weakness. Vanity and envy arc latent 
Imps in the feminine heart., that need but tho 
touch of the magic wand of old “green eyes” to 
awaken them to active life and motion. 
As Mrs. Bkntlt was about to take her leave, 
she asked, “Shall you attend the matinee at 
Union Square, Ada?" 
“ Oh, no,” w as the reply, “ Mr. Edson could not 
leave hts business to accompany ine." 
“ Why don't you go without him,?” 
“ Why, 1 have never gone to any public place 
of amusement without Ralph. Mr. Bently has 
plenty of leisure, so you can aIways count on his 
escort, I presume?” 
“Oh, dear no. Mr. Bently never goes to such 
places.” 
“Why not?” 
“He Is past the age to enjoy society. Why 
can you not call a round Saturday and go with 
me? Bo. May 1 depend upon you?” 
“I will speak to Mr. Edson about It. and let you 
know,” settled tho question as Mrs. Bently took 
her departure. 
Six o'clock brought. Mr. Edson to the wife and 
home that he treasured above all earthly tilings. 
Ada watched blin springing up the steps of tho 
entrance to the door, with a thrill of fond pride 
as she noted hla manly figure and tlqe counte¬ 
nance, bright and eager In Its anticipation. She 
could not help but draw a mental contrast be¬ 
tween hor friend’s asthmatic, decrepit husband, 
and the man she looked upon, rich in the vigor of 
health and strength. The comparison resulted so 
much in favor of Ralph Edson, that he was greet¬ 
ed with enthusiastic alloetlou. 
“ Mre. Bently called this afternoon,” said Mrs. 
Edson, as she passed her husband his second cup 
of tea at the nicely-spread table. 
“ Well, what did she have to offer, Ada ?” 
“ She offered me a seat In her carriage to attend 
the matinee on Saturday at l 1 nlon Square." 
“Did you accept her Invitation?” 
“ I promised to send her word if I concluded to 
go.” 
“ I would go ot course, Ada. You would enjoy 
It, I am sure. I only wish I could get away from 
business so I could escort you,” was tho kind re¬ 
mark. 
“ 1 guess XU go,” decided the wife; and the day 
of the matinee she rang the bell at Mrs. Bently 's 
door In a pleasant state of expectation. A serv¬ 
ant showed her Into the front parlor. The folding 
doors wero closed, and a low murmur, as of a 
voice reading, came rrom beyond. 
Presently a hnrsli, querulous tone commanded 
the reader to speak louder. 
“ Why do you mope along In that, ding-dong 
way? Read louder, so I can understand you.” 
The voice of the reader arose to a higher key. 
“Don't squeal In that manner. Read naturally, 
if you know howto bo natural;" was the second 
rasping Interruption. 
After a moment tho reading went on. 
“ Was ever a man so bewildered and harraased 
with a contrary wife! You don’t try to pleuse 
me!” 
“To please you would be rather a difficult, task.” 
“ You can afford to make tho effort, at least, 
In consideration of all I have done for you.” 
"I do not feel Indebted to you In the least. 
You have received a fair equivalent for all your 
generosity.” 
“ Yes, a big equivalent,” was tho sneering an¬ 
swer. “Let me see: when T married you, l be¬ 
lieve your fortune consisted of about fifty dollars’ 
worth of olotlilng.” 
“What did t/our fortune consist of?” was tho 
mocking inquiry. 
“Nearly a half a million.” 
“Yes, but your ‘half a million’ was badly en¬ 
cumbered, sir." 
“ How ’encumbered,’ your ladyship ?” 
“By yourself." 
“ You were very glad to accept the encum¬ 
brance, madam." 
“ Yes; out of respect to your fortune, that was 
In sad need ot some one to show It on to advan¬ 
tage,” was the taunting answer. 
“ You are a beautiful wife—one to be proud of 
came In bitter tones. 
“1 agree with you, sir, l think we Illustrate 
tho character very well ot ‘boauty and the 
beast.’ ” 
“It It wero not for this Infernal rheumatism, I 
would administer the power that the law gives a 
husband—to break the devilish spirit, of a long- 
tongued wltol" was the savage retort. 
“Hat ha! ha!" rang out a scornful laugh. 
“ What a pity that you cannot carry out your 
laudable wish I Really, your gallantry is over¬ 
powering! 1 am sorry, sir; but I must now Lear 
rnyseir away from your delightful society, and 
prepare tor the matinee.” 
“What are you going to the matinee for, tout to 
parade your vanity like a senseless idiot!” 
“I paid too dearly tor tho privilege of parading 
my vaulty, to allow opportunities tor the de¬ 
lightful exhibition to pass; so, au remit,” 
Mrs. Edson listened to this conversation going 
on behltuUlie scenes in dumb amazement. This 
was the brilliant lot that she had envied! This 
was, indeed, the empty splendor ot a “ house toll 
ot sacrifices and strife therewith.” .She looked 
around the room, and the costly evidences ot 
wealth, In Its sumptuous arrangement, seemed 
suddenly to t urn into garish mockery. 
She was Interrupted in her reflections by tho 
entrance or Mrs. Bently, who sauntered halt way 
across the room before she observed Mrs. Edson 
seated In the embrasure ot an oxotlc - adorned 
window. 
Why, Apa, 1 did not know you were hero. How 
stupid in jane not to Inform me of your arrival l” 
was the exclamation after the compliments of the 
day. 
“ I have not been waiting long,” was the reply. 
“I will bn ready In a moment. 1 have been 
reading to Mr. Bently, and was not aware that It 
was growing so late,” said tho elegantly-attired 
lady, with «. look at her jeweled watch, “Excuse 
me a llttlo while longer," and going out, she soon 
after returned velvet-cloaked and Freneh-mun¬ 
noted, with a gold-mounted opera-glass clasped 
In her daintily-gloved band. 
some way, these evidences of wealth had lost 
their charm with Mrs. Edson. Her mind was so 
engrossed with thought, that “The Orphans” on 
the stage, failed to absorb her Interest. She felt 
relieved when the curtain dropped on the last 
act, and she could seek hor peaceful home and 
think it, over. 
The drama behind the folding-doors, to which 
she had been an unintentional listener, made 
Ada Edson a wiser and better woman. 
THE LANDLORD. 
BY frank larch. 
As Mary Harris sat In her single sleeping- 
room— sitting-room and kitchen alt in one—won¬ 
dering what would be the result of her husband’s 
search for employment, she hoard a knock at the 
door. This was Immediately followed by the 
opening of tho door and tho appearance ol Mr. 
H ad lev, the landlord. Ho was a stout, sleek, olly- 
faced man of about, forty years, bald-heudcd, darlc- 
sklnned, with the sharpest, pair of little black eyes 
that could he set, under a aliaggy brow. He looked 
well fed and comfortable in every respect, thus 
contrasting strangely with Mary, who was pale 
and troubled-looking. 
“Good morning, Mrs. Harris. I hope you are 
well, m’atn,” said the Landlord, letting the end of 
his umbrella strike the bare floor with a thud. 
And without waiting for a reply, lie continued, 
“ it Is now the tenth day of January, ma'am, and 
I must have my rent. I shall call hero hut once 
more and (hat will bo to-morrow afternoon. If 
the ten dollars arc not here for me then, you must 
vacate your room tor some one else who will pay 
me the rent.” 
“ My husband Is now out, seeking employment, 
sir,” said Mary, “and Just os soon us ho can earn 
a llttlo money you can have it- He has been out 
of work, as you know, over since he met with tho 
accident by which ho broke his leg; and what 
with the doctor’s bill and food for tho family, It 
has exhausted all our little savings.” 
“ 1 can’t help nil that, ma’am; 1 must have my 
rent rrom somebody and It you wout pay It I 
shall have to got a tenant who willand as he 
opened tho door to go he turned once more to her, 
“ recollect, to-morrow afternoon. I shall bo hero 
for my rent,” with which reminder ho stalked 
out. 
Poor Mary continued her thoughts, which were 
anything but pleasant,. Hhe had no heart to bus¬ 
tle about and forget her sorrows, nor lndeol had 
she the physical strength to do so were she in¬ 
clined that way. Little dlrl Mary think fifteen 
years before that day, when sho had Just married 
John Harris, the 
“ His Hat was knocked off, he Dropped his Umbrella.” 
carpenter, and taken 
possession of a snug 
floor, nicely furnish¬ 
ed, that she would be 
ever as poor as she 
now round herself. 
Then all things were 
bright before hor. 
John was making 
good wages and sav¬ 
ing money all the 
flam. 
So well had he pro¬ 
gressed that a few 
years after his mar¬ 
riage he had consld- 
e r o d himself war¬ 
ranted In going into 
business for himself, 
and had Invested his 
savings in that way. 
Like many another 
man, he was a sober, 
steady, Industrious 
fellow, and a good 
mechanic, but with¬ 
out any business fac- 
u 1 1 , y. He worked 
hard, but somehow 
toe managed to lose 
Instead of making 
money and was Anal¬ 
ly obliged to return 
to hla position of 
Journeyman carpen¬ 
ter. Tho failure of 
his business left him 
somewhat lu debt 
and, for a number of 
years, all ho could 
save had to bo ap¬ 
plied to t,hc extin¬ 
guishment of his In¬ 
debtedness. 
About a year pre¬ 
vious to the time at 
which our sketch 
opens, he had paid 
the last cent of his 
obligations and had 
begun to save a llttlo 
