FES. 24 
THE BUBAL NEW-YORKER. 
425 
THE LOST, LOST DAYS. 
Ate, happy are the nodding flowers 
That tasseled hang from yonder tree; 
Their lives all lwauty, wear their gold 
In summer-crowns of parity. 
But roan. O man, * hat costly tears 
Bedew thy cradle, as thy grave: 
What griefs eoscam thy course of years 
And break the rest we vainly crave. 
I fain would be the-nodding flower 
Which one bright summer morn arrays. 
Than in a wintry noon of life- 
Sit down to count the lost, lost days! 
IT. 
Pause, listen to that singing bird, 
He trills not for a vague applause ; 
He but obeys his Master, God. 
And sings in cadence with His laws. 
I hate the bitter lies of art, 
Melodious fraud that fills our curs; 
The servile school where men are taught 
To mould in song pretended tears. 
I fain would be the bird who sings 
With fearless throat, his honest lays. 
Nor heeds nor knows to-morrow's dawn. 
Nor yet regrets the lost, lost days. 
in. 
Aye. happy are the bursting buds. 
Aye, happy are the birds ol song; 
’Tis only' man, whose discontent 
Disturbs the earth with railing tongue. 
He mourn* for childhood’s artless Joys, 
Aud youth’s and manhood's vision’s fled; 
While by the ember* of old age. 
He mumbles only of the dead. 
Whence Is it that frail man alone 
Should fill the earth with grievous lays. 
Always a story of regret. 
And wasted Life, the lost, lost days ! 
[John, Ant ml) u# in Toledo Blorlr. 
®|t ^torg-Sfllfr. 
BOB’S BABY. 
A boy sat on a trunk near the baggage-room of 
Wakesha station, waiting for the train to come 
In. Not that he was expected to go anywhere— 
he only wished he could—but he liked the bustle 
and excitement of the scene and, wlmt, was more 
to the purpose, ho sometimes picked up a stray 
penny by giving the porters u lift., or standing 
guard over some gentleman’s traveling-bag, or 
carrying some lady’s supernumerary parcels. 
On this particular occasion there was an un¬ 
usual bustle, for It wns Christmas morning, and 
the depot was thronged with those awaiting the 
arrival of friends or who were themselves bound 
on a holiday excursion. 
Presently the engine, with Its long train of cars, 
came snorting and thundering up the track, and 
the crowd surged forward to the trout,of the plat¬ 
form. Boh—for that was the hoy’s name—was 
about to do the same when he was stopped by a 
showily-dressed woman with a child In her arms. 
“ Please take my baby for a moment," said she. 
“ I’ve forgotten something." 
“Yes, ma'am," said Bob, receiving the cldld j 
and seating himself on the trunk again, while the 
woman, dropping her traveling-bag at his reet, 
hurried away and was lost lu the crowd. 
Bob waited patiently, not doubting that she 
would immediately return to claim her little 
charge; but the minutes went by, the whistle 
sounded, the bell rang, and the train began to 
move slowly out of the depot, and still she did not 
appear. Then Bob started up In alarm, and ran 
toward the departing train and, as he did so, Ip 
distinctly saw the woman’s face at a window. 
“ The lady—she’s left her baby—take It, some¬ 
body!” he cried, and held It out to two or three 
gentlemen who were rushing Into the cars at the 
last moment—as gentlemen will. 
But neither of them seemed Inclined to avail 
themselves of the offer. The train moved faster 
and faster, and Anally whisked out of sight, while 
Bob still stood gazing In the direction in which U 
had vanished, an image of surprise and dismay. 
“Glngo!” exclaimed he then, turning his eyes 
from the Line of blue smoke which stlil floated 
above the tree-tops to Die face or the child in his 
arms; and In that, single word he expressed vol¬ 
umes. 
“ Well, what's the meaning of this?” asked the 
depot-master, his attention now for the first time 
attracted to the scene. 
“ Why, you see, the lady asked me to hold her 
baby while she went to get. something, and she 
was carried off without it." 
“ The lady ? What lady ? ” 
“1 don’t know. For I never seen her before.” 
“ Where did she come from ?” 
« Don’t know. The fust I see, she was standing 
right In front of me.” 
“ Where was she going?” 
“ Don't know. Don’t know nothing about her, 
only she asked me to hold the b sby, bee use she’d 
forgot something. She leit her bag, too; here 
’tls,” pointing with his foot, because his hands 
were otherwise engaged, *• and I know she went 
off in the cars, ’cause I see her looking out the 
winder.” 
There was a straightforwardness about Bob’s 
story which carried conviction with It, and none 
of the little circle, ot which Bob was now the cen¬ 
ter, thought ot doubling its truth. 
While the depot-mast er was deliberating what 
to say next, a rough-looking boy about Bob’s age, 
who had left off shouting “ Wakesha Chronicle" 
to hear what was going on. cried out: 
“Oh, ain’t you green! She didn’t mean to come 
back.” 
“That’s so, I guess,” said the depot-master. 
“ Bob, you're sold, and have got a baby on your 
hands," said another. 
In short, It was apparent that the young news¬ 
boy bad expressed the sentiments of all the men 
present. 
*• You had better goto the town authorities and 
let them take the child,” said the depot-master. 
“ Yes.” 
“Certainly," chimed In the bystanders; and so 
the matter would have been settled but the baby, 
who had been looking wonderlogly rrom one to 
another, now nestled closely to Bob's shoulder 
and began to wall piteously. It. wns only a natu¬ 
ral result ot finding herself left so long alone 
among strangers, but to tender-hearted Boh It, 
seemed a direct appeal to his sympathy and pro¬ 
tection. 
“I should like to keep her. I should like to take, 
her home," said he. 
“Good for you!” said a man who had not yet 
spoken—only a poor coal-heaver, begrimed aud 
smutched from top to toe. “ Good for you! You 
see, gentlemen, Taln't noways certain! the wo¬ 
man won't come back next train; so what’s the 
hurry about sending the baby to the poor-house 
—tor that's wlmt’twould come to. If the woman 
don’t come and we don’t hear not hing after we've 
advertised,'pears io me it III be Dine enough to 
talk about the prior-house then.” 
No one offered any objection to this view of the 
case, and the coal-heaver added: 
“ it. will cost, something to advertise, tnough; 
don’t know's that ought, To come onto Bob.” 
“Certainly not," said the depot-master, taking 
out his pocket-book, an example which was Im¬ 
mediately followed by others, so that an amount 
was collected quite sufficient to defray all contin¬ 
gent expenses, and handed over to Bob. Then ho 
walked out of the depot, with i lie. baby and carpet¬ 
bag, followed by his rrlend, the coal-heaver. 
“ Have a ride on rny kesrt t" asked Ihc latter. 
“Don’t care If I do, If It’s In your way," said 
Bob. 
“ I'll make It, ltirny way," said the good-natured 
man. so Bob climbed In, the horse started off at 
a slow trot, and the little cart. Jolted away over 
the cobble-stones, with Its novel freight. 
It was not till Bob came In sight ot the lit. tie 
one-story house which he called Ills home, that 
he began to ask himself whether hehadnotacted 
hastily in undertaking such a charge without 
consulting Mother Darby, as ho called the woman 
with whom he lived. 
For Bob was an orphan; nay, more, lie had 
neither kith nor kin that lie knew of In the wide 
world. Ever since he could remember, lie hud 
been passed trom one to Another who bad hoen 
wilting to harbor him for a little while, either for 
charity or the work he could do. For two or t hree 
mont hs bis home had been with Mother Darby, 
receiving his board and scanty clot hlng In consid¬ 
eration of his tending the cow, bringing in wood 
and running ot errands. 
“So, what will Mother Darby say 7" was the 
question he asked himself as the cart stopped at, 
the gate, and bidding the. kind coal-heaver good- 
by, he entered the house with his burden. 
What she did say was, " What under t he sun 
have you got, there now ?’’ 
• She's so pretty- and the woman left, her, and 
they miked of Bonding her to the poor house. I 
couldn’t help it, ’ answered Bob, rather incoher¬ 
ently. 
‘ Mercy on us! What, are you talking about? 
1 can’t make head nor tall of It. But give me iho 
buoy, do. Khe’s most frozen, poor thing!" 
And as the woman, whose heart was much soft* 
or than her speech, Sal, down by the fli c and began 
to take off the child's hood and cloak, Rob’s cour¬ 
age revived, and he told the story from beginning 
to end, ns we know It, already. 
**A nice job you've undertaken!" said Mrs. 
Darby then. “The woman neve.r'l) eorne back, 
that you rnay depend. She wa’n't its mother no 
more’n 1 atn." 
“I thought you’d let It stay till something could 
bo done,” said Bob, dejectedly. 
*■ of course l will. I’m not a wild Injun, to turn 
I such a baby as this adrift by itself," said Mother 
Darby. 
She then warmed some tnllk and fed the little 
one, and m a few minutes It was sleeping quietly 
on Mother Darby’s old ealleo lounge, unconscious 
alike of past or future perils. 
-Her folks Is well off, whoever they be,”said 
Mother Darby, examining the little blue silk hood 
trimmed w ith swan's down, and the embroidered 
Thibet cloak. 
“The woman that gave her to me was a stun¬ 
ner,.’ said Bob; by which phrase he no doubt In¬ 
tended to express his appreciation of her flne 
clothes. 
Bob lost no time In advertising the child; but 
days went on and no answer appeared, nor did 
t he woman return to claim her charge. The trav¬ 
eling-bag contained nothing that would afford 
the slightest clue to the child's identity except 
the single name “ Elsie" on some of the clothing. 
’’ Well, I’m sorry, but there's nothing for It but 
to send It, to the poor-house,” s^ld Mother Darby. 
“ That I’ll never do,” said Iioh. 
‘•Heyday! I reckon there’s somebody to ne 
consulted besides you. ’Tatn’t likely I shall un¬ 
dertake to raise her at my time ot life, and noth¬ 
ing but my two hands to depend upon, neither.” 
••Butcouldn't you let her stay here If I’d pay 
her board ?” pleaded Bob. 
"You?” said Mother Darby, laughing derisive¬ 
ly. “Much as ever you earn the salt you eat.” 
“Well, If you won t keep her, I suppose I must 
find a place Tor her somewhere else, for she shall 
never go to the poor-house while I can work for 
her." 
“Mercy sakes! If you’re so set about It, do let 
her stay and try It.” said Mother Darby, whose 
I heart secretly yearned over the child more than 
she cared to acknow ledge. And so It was settled, 
though the good widow could not believe the ar¬ 
rangement, would be more than temporary. 
“I dare say as soon as we begin to get, fond of 
the child we shall have to send her off,' said she. 
But. In this case she was mistaken. It was true 
that hitherto Bob had uot been overfond ot work, 
and had given her some ground for the taunt that, 
that he hardly earned the salt he ate. Rut now 
a great change came over Him. Ho felt that he 
had an object In life; was ready to undertake 
any nonesc Job, to work early and late, so that 
he might keep Elsie with him. 
And when the story got abroad and It. was seen 
how thoroughly in earnest he was, much sympa¬ 
thy was manifested for Bob and “ Bob’s baby,” as 
the child came to be called; and many kind- 
hearted people were ready to aid him In bis en¬ 
deavors. SO Bob succeeded, as he deserved to do, 
and nothing more was ever said about sending 
poor Elsie to the poor-bouse. 
She, meanwhile, conllmied to grow and thrive. 
In fact, she quite outgrew her original wardrobe, 
which was carefully folded away in Mrs. Darby’s 
best drawer, and new and coarser clothing had to 
he provided for her use. 
Nearly a year had passed away and people wore 
ceasing lo speculate upon the mysterious advent 
of Bob’s baby, when the affair was revived again 
by the appearance of an advertisement in a New 
York paper headed, “ Child LoBt.” Then followed 
a description of the child, of Its clothing, with a 
statement of dates and circumstances which 
seemed to Identity Elsie as the lost one beyond a 
doubt. 
The sddress given was Amos Markham, Box 
1229, New York city. 
Poor Bobl This was a terrible blow to him; 
but he felt that he ought, to do all that he could 
to restore Elsie to her parents; so he Immediately 
wrote a letter In answer to the advertisement,, 
and having dropped it, In the office, returned home 
with a heavy heart. 
“ Mebbo she don't belong to them, after all,” 
said Bob to himself, “ and they’ve got to provo It 
before they take her away." 
This was the one hope to which he clung; but 
It speedily vanished, for only three days later a 
lady uml gentleman stopped at Mother Darby’s 
door. Bob hastened to open It, and a single glance 
at, the lady’s face told him that she was Elsie’s 
mother. 
“ is this the place”—began the gentleman; but, 
with a faint shriek, the lady darted through the 
open door and caught little Elsie In her arms. 
“O my darling!” sobbed she; for neither time, 
nor change, nor absence, could deceive the moth¬ 
er’s hoart. 
if further proof was needed It was found on El¬ 
sie's clothing, which, as we have already said, 
Mother Darby, bad carefully preserved, and in the 
complete harmony of the evidence on both sides. 
The story Mr. Markham told was this:—Ilia 
wife being an invalid, he had, by order of Die 
physician, taken her to Italy to pass the winter, 
leaving Elsie In charge of a nurse In whom they 
had confidence. They kept up a constant com- 
munlcai Ion with the woman until their return, 
when, to their dismay, they found both nurse and 
child were missing from the house in which she 
had lived when they hart left, the country. They 
could obtain no trace < f her, nnd only recently 
they had received a m< sa .ge from the woman, 
through a. third person, i hutshohadloftDiochtld 
at some station on the line of the New York Cen¬ 
tral Uallroad. but, the name of the place she had 
forgotten or failed to notice. Her object, In this 
transaction was, of course, lo appropriate the 
money, with which she had been liberally sup¬ 
plied, and rid herself of the burden of oaring for 
the. child. 
To Mother Darby, Mr. Markham paid for her 
care of Elsie twice as much as It was worl b, which 
she received with a grateful courtesy, but to Bob 
he said:—“I don’t know how I can pay you.” 
“ ] don't want any pay. I did It because I loved 
her,” answered Bob, with a quivering lip. 
“I shall remember you, though," said he, and 
led his wife to the hack which was awaiting them 
outside the gate; but, when lie would have lifted 
Elsie In, she clung to Boh, crying: 
“ Bobbin go. too! Bobble go, too! ” 
“ a nd why shouldn’t he go, loo 7 Itls very cruel 
to separate them," said Mrs. Markham. 
Then they talked a few minutes In a low voice, 
and turning to Bob, Mr. Markham said, “How 
should like to go to New York with us?" 
“To New York and be with Elsie?" cried Bob, 
his brain hardly able to take In two Ideas of such 
magnitude at once. 
“ Yea; to he with Elsie always. Do you think 
you could be happy with us7” 
“ nappy? Oli I" was all Boh could answer. 
Another Christmas morning dawned and again 
Bob rode from the station with Elsie in his arms: 
not, however, In the poor coal-heaver's cart, but 
In Mr. Markham’s comfortable carriage. 
Presently the carriage stopped—not at Mother 
Darby’s little one-story house. In the outskirts of 
Wakesha, hut at a pleasant, commodious dwell¬ 
ing in New York city. Mr. and Mrs. Markham 
alighted, and went up the granite steps, fol¬ 
lowed by Bob. leading Elsie by «ie hand. 
The door opened, and warmth, and light, and 
beauty greeted them whichever way they turned. 
Such was Bob’s entrance Into his new home. Can 
we do better than take our leave of him there by 
wishing hlin a merry Christmas? 
BIG BONANZA. 
As one by one the owners of great fortunes dis¬ 
appear, the accumulations ot over halt a century 
are subdivided among their heirs or legatees. The 
possessor of five or ten millions can not Oil the 
1 places left vacant by Astor and Stewart. Vander¬ 
bilt was the last of the three men whose fortunes 
ranked with the great, fortunes or the world. All 
this great wealth, amassed during the present 
century, was the result, of hard work, sagacity 
and economy, steadfastly continued during a long 
series nt years. John Jacob Astor, tho founder of 
the fumlly in New York, was not one or the very 
rich men of Mils city In 1800. lie began with the 
century and grew with the country during those 
years of unparalleled material prosperity which 
marked the. wonderful progress of the United 
States In manufactures, commerce, agriculture 
and railroads for the first, fifty years of the pres¬ 
ent century. We look the world over in vain for 
such auother example of Increased wealth, popu¬ 
lation and political power lu so short a space of 
time. Nor can any ol the great centers of clvll- 
tnatlon, London. Paris, Berlin or Vienna, furnish 
us with the names of three men who have unaid¬ 
ed achieved such enormous fortunes in tlie short 
space of a life. The name or Meyer A nselm ltoths- 
chlld may be quoted In objection. But be stands 
alone, and, moreover, was hard upon sixty years 
old at the beginning of the present, century, and 
belongs to a generation long since passed away. 
During the past fllty years this country has pre¬ 
sented to all comers a field for ilie accumulation 
of wealth such as 1ms never before been known 
to man or offered to endeuvor. 
We cannot, hope again to realize such excep¬ 
tional conditions for all manner of eornmerelul 
and Industrial enterprises herein the Eastern or 
Middle states during the remaining years of tho 
century. But over the mountains, on the shores 
of the Pacific, those new con utiles abounding In 
precious metals, where untold wealth lies dor¬ 
mant in the bowels of the earth, only requiring 
the. Ingenuity and labor or man to bring it forth, 
promise a field for tbc rapid accumulation of 
wealth which bids fair to furnish us with Califor¬ 
nia millionaires, some of whom are already among 
tin? very rich men ot the world. Senator William 
Sharon of Nevada and California, a man yet In Iho 
prime of life. Is reputed to b.* worth $- 10 , 000 , 000 . 
tits colleague, Mr. Jones of Nevada, Is estimated 
at $80,0(H),ooo. Both ot these gentlemen are, as Is 
universally known, deeply interested In the Ne¬ 
vada silver mines, and right royally would they 
manage the financial affairs of this financially 
aiUlcted nation if they had Dielr way and say. 
Henat.or Sharon on Ids arrival at. Washington this 
winter was understood to be In favor of selling ft 
per cent, bonds In Europe and at, once redeeming 
flW,ooo.ooo of greenbacks In silver. This would 
not have been a bad way, for him, of getting rid 
of the surplus California silver. 
Among the most, active aud stirring of Califor¬ 
nia’s millionaires may he mentioned the members 
of tho great San Francisco house of Flood K. 
O'Brien, known the world over as the owners of 
the Big Bononza, The firm consists or four part¬ 
ners- Flood, O’Brien, John W. Mackay and James 
G. Fair. Tho two latter are practical miners, and 
in point, ot fact the working partners and rcul 
heads of the house. They dlreet all tho work at 
the mines. John W. Mackay and James G. Fair 
have made silver mining what It Is In Nevada. 
Tho members of the firm all came to California 
without money or frlendH. It Is estimated that 
each partner ot this firm Is to-day in the enjoy¬ 
ment of an income of over $ 1 , 000,000 a year. Tho 
Big Bonanza alone is computed to contain a mass 
of gold and silver valued at $800,000,000, and yields 
at present over $2,.100,000 a month. The fabulous 
sums which are here regularly extracted from the 
earth every four weeks remind one of the fairy 
tales of old. The Consolidated Virginia Mine pro¬ 
duces $ 0 , 000,000 a month, while It, Is estimated by 
t hose experts now on the ground that the total 
product, of tho “Comstock" for the present, year 
will exceed $lr>, 000 , 000 . No wonder tho California 
millionaires and Big Bonanza people look upon 
the. circulation of stiver “to almost any extent,’’ 
as a great National measure of finance. But Cali¬ 
fornia Is not only rich In gold and sliver. She Is 
rapidly developing her agricultural, Industrial 
and manufacturing interests. An Immense and 
lucrative commerce with Asia Is springing up. 
To this trade with the East no limits can he set. 
The Chinese question may prove the key which 
will open t he door of the Chinese Empire to tho 
restless and enterprising traders of the Pacific ' 
coast,. And with ft population or aoo.uou.ooe people 
to trade, with, whose civilized wants are dally in¬ 
creasing, wo may confidently look for the great 
fortunes of tho future among the merchants and 
traders of California. 
-» ♦ »- 
ONLY NELL. 
It was a wet evening, and I was returning 
home from a long walk when, In passing the 
“ Free Ferry,” 1 saw a handle of rags, the shape 
of which I thought I recognized, huddled up under 
a wood-pile outside the house. The rain waBcom¬ 
ing down so hard, however, that, though 1 called 
her name, I hardly thought, It could be Nell ex¬ 
posed to such weather; but, 1 was wrong, for at 
the sound of my voice she sprang up Instantly 
and came to me, pleasure at seeing me struggling 
with a latent expression of anxiety and fear, piti¬ 
ful to sec In sd young a face. 
“ Why, Nell, what are you sitting out In the 
wet for?" as she stood shivering before me, the 
rain dripping from the edges of her ragged frock. 
“ You will catch your death, child.” 
“Oh, no, sir, I won’t. A hit of ram don’t hurt 
me,” she answered, with the smile which always 
gave her ugly little face such a well'd look. “An' 
I'd liefer bn out ’ore. They bo so awful wild to¬ 
night, I got feared to stay wl’ ’em”—Jerking her 
head in the direction of the house, In which, to 
Judge from the noise, a saturnalia ot devils 
seemed to he bolding teaBt—“ an’ 1 was a watch- 
ln’ to see yer come ’ome as well, sir, to give yer 
these." 
