MARCH 3 
THE RURAL HEW-YORKER. 
444 
“A THING OF BEAUTY.'* 
« a thing of beauty “ what. T A lovely flower! 
But see. beneath the heavy dropping shower 
Its fair leaves fall, it* day of beauty Rone. 
And nothin* le/t to hide its secret thorn. 
“ A t iling 1 of beauty "—what? A soft moonbeam ? 
The dark’niug cloud dispels It like a dream. 
A happy bird that warbles on the wing ? 
The sportmau’e shot- and it hath ceased to sin*. 
" A thing of beauty "—what ? A bumsn tace ? 
A human form with every motion grace ? 
Disease will change the warmest blush to snow. 
And death must lay the graceful figure low. 
Where then arc the eternal Joys that spring 
From the bright vision of some beauteous thing ? 
Deep, deep within the heart the treasure lies, 
And we can still g#w> on with dosed eyes. 
’Tin thus the pictures of the long ago 
Keep fresh and fair, though we're no longer so. 
’Tis thus some tittle, dry. and tlnir-brown’d flower 
Brings back the beauty of some past sweet hour. 
And so another beam from yonder moon. 
Another bird-song in another June, 
May take ua bad: toyouth’s bright fairy land. 
Where thing* of beauty sprang from golden sand; 
And if a happy face must lose its light, 
The active form repose one long dark night, 
Yet the most beauteous of created things, 
The soul, may mount above on ungel wings. 
Here, then, may we possess undying joy. 
If for God’s glory we our powers employ, 
And find at last.r.n biassed Heaven's shore, 
Unfading beauty—Joy forevermore. 
[Hnmt Journal. 
.^toni-if filer. 
SOLVING- THE PROBLEM. 
BY FRANK LARCH. 
“ To know What this life’s struggle Is all for, Is 
more than I can fathom,” said Klla Murray to 
her friend, Fanny Bonsall. “You know, my 
dear Fanny, I have now been out of school two 
years and over, and It almost, seems as If life had 
no object. I see people around me tn poverty aud 
distress, struggling ror a bare existence. And 
when they have attained a good position In so¬ 
ciety, accumulated a fortune and accomplished 
the objects for which they strove, they seem no 
happier—Indeed, less happy than while they were 
in the heat or t he battle. There Is rather, for In¬ 
stance. Why, only a few years ago, he was com¬ 
paratively poor, and it, was as much as he could 
do to pay for Ed's and my schooling, lie con¬ 
stantly complained ot the cost and seemed to he 
always In trouhle over the expenscsof his faintly. 
Having now acquired his fortune, he seems to be 
still more unhappy than of old. I'm sure I can¬ 
not solve the problem. And Ned, too. He has 
finished his education, been admitted to the bar 
and Is now working day and night, to do what.V | 
To amass a fortune as Ids rather did before him. 1 
While he is not, exactly unhappy, he appears to 
be anything but contented, and looks upon life as 
a perpetual struggle, which It, certainly is to him.” 
“Ella." exclaimed Mrs. Murray, entering the 
neat and tastily-furnished parlor, “ why arc you 
not dressing for tea? Here It. Is nearly three 
o’clock and our friends will he hero by four. Go 
at once girls, and dress, Instead ot lounging your 
time away.” 
It Is hardly to be wondered that Ella should 
fall to solve the problem of life’s object. Many 
older and wiser heads have labored at this same 
question without ever arriving at a solution. Mr. 
and Mrs Murray were honored citizens of the 
town of 8-, having acquired a fair competency 
of this world's goods some years previous to the 
time spoken of. They had done their whole duty 
toward their two children, Ned and Ella, so tar 
as their knowledge of that, duty' could reach. They 
had provided them with excellent educations and 
a fair station tn Ufe. Nkp was working his way 
up tn his profession and Ella-wcII, she was 
doing absolutely nothing. Having finished her 
education, the necessities of her position did not 
require rrom her any labor, nor had she ever been 
taught to do any. Here was the true cause of her 
inability to solve the great, problem. She had no 
object in life, and her parents had failed to teach 
her any except the usual one of marrying, which 
Is taught to most girls or tho present, day. Un¬ 
fortunately however, Ella was rather peculiar, 
and was unable to persuade hersell that any one 
of the ma ny gentlemen who were callers and vis¬ 
itors at the house would make for her such a 
husband as would render her life a happy one. 
In their own room fanny, who was an old 
schoolmate and Intimate friend of Ella’s, re¬ 
sumed the conversation which had been Inter¬ 
rupted by Mrs. Murray. “ I know, Ella, why 
you are unable to solve the problem, because you 
have begun at the wrong end of life. You have 
commenced at the Idle end and should be just 
now at the industrious end. Work and work 
alone will set you right.” 
. “But what need have I to work 7” replied Ella. 
“ Father has money enough and does not need 
any help from me,” 
“That Is true, but work does not mean simply 
doing something which shall bring coin Into your 
purse, my dear. It means a persistent effort to 
accomplish some particular thing, it may not 
profit you a dollar; but It will certainly go far 
towards solving that problem for you.” 
Here the conversation ended. The tea drinking 
and entertaining wore gone through with. But 
all through the evening Fanny's words would 
recur to Ella and set her to thinking, liven at 
the time ot thetr retirement, though nothing was 
said about it, the words, “ It may not profit you a 
dollar, but It will certainly go far towards solving 
lliat, problem for you,” would ring in iter ears and 
were ever present. The next day was set for the 
termination of Fanny’s visit and she departed. 
Then Ella was more than ever low-spirited and 
lonesome. 8 U 11 she pondered on those word: “It 
may npl profit you a dollar, * etc. Suddenly break¬ 
ing from her usual reverie one day, she. exclaimed, 
“ I’ll try—I’ll see If Fanny Is right.” Rising, she 
donned her street dress and started for thebusl- 
had begun to feci very weak, as very “ plucky” 
women will do after the danger la all past. “ I'm 
sure, Sir, I ean not find words to thank you for 
your timely assistance,'* and a slight shudder ran 
through her frame as the whole scone again 
Mashed through her mind. 
“No thanks are necessary, I did simply what any 
I one should do and I am Very glad to have come In 
time. 1 sec you are sketching. 1, t oo, am an ar- 
1 PEERING THROW*H THE FOJLUOE, SHE PERCEIVED' 
ness street of the town. She purchased an easel, 
some colors, some brushes and the various mate¬ 
rials used by artists In their work. She had al¬ 
ways possessed a Laste for art and had chosen 
t his as her work. When once she had made up 
her mind, Ella was not the person to turn back. 
At first she found herself beset by difficulties. 
Her knowledge was meager, and she had tew fa¬ 
cilities for overcoming tin; obstacles la her path. 
But resolutely and steadily she pursued her plan. 
She drew and painted a certain .number of hours 
each day, and permitted uotiiing to tnlcrrere with 
her work, as she called It. Her mother laughed 
at her and her father sneered, while Ned took her 
part and Insisted upon It that " Ell Ls a trump, 
and will some day be a groat fellow." 
One by one the minor difficulties worn ovcrcome i 
a result which porseverenoc ne ver falls to produce. 
Gradually many of the things which at first ap¬ 
peared to be mysteries became plain as daylight 
to her. Then ambition stepped In. Heretofore 
her efforts had been mainly directed to copying 
In her room such pictures as she could possess 
heraelf of. Now however, as tho fine Summer 
weather was at hnud, she concluded to work from 
nature. So, taking hr!’ material she would sally 
forth on these bright days Into t he. woods ana 
sketch whatever oi beauty In nature she could 
find. The exercise and the occupation conjointly, 
brought roses to her cheeks and a bright sparkle 
to her eyes. 
One bright sunny afternoon, as she sat busily 
engaged sketching tn tho woods she heard a 
low whtstle—a Httle familiar ballad. Feering 
through the foliage, she perceived, in the direc¬ 
tion from which the sound proceeded, a man ap¬ 
proaching with a port-folio under his arm and 
carelessly swinging a stout cane. He was walk¬ 
ing carelessly but sturdily towards her when, rais¬ 
ing his cudgel, he made a dash at the ground with 
It, striking about a yard from where she sat. 
Then raising himself up, lifting his hat he said 
with a gentle but manly voice “My dear Mlsa, I 
am extremely happy that I should have inter¬ 
rupted your occupation Just as I did, or his snake- 
ship," pointing to the snake to which he had Just 
dealt such a powerful and ratal blow, “ would 
have done so much more effectually than 1 have, 
and perhaps tor a longer time.” Sure enough. 
There lay beside her the venomous reptile which 
would In an Instant more have sprung upon her 
and stung her perhaps to death. 
The whole occurrence transpired In such an In¬ 
credibly short space of time, that Ella could 
hardly realize the danger from which she had 
been rescued. Gradually however, the whole 
affair came to her and rendered her speechless. 
“ I fear Miss,” said the gentleman, “ you ln- 
’ tend to faint and that would to my mind be quite 
j as disastrous as a snake bite.” 
l This had the effect for which 11 was Intended 
r | and brought Ella at once to her senses for she 
ttst, and should be glad to compare notes with 
you.” 
“Indeed, sir, I’m no artist. I was simply 
amusing myself and should be sorry to have you 
even look at the result.” 
With that, rare delicacy and tact which some 
men possess in so eminent a degree, he passed at 
at once from the subject saying, as Ella rose and 
gathered up her materials “ If you do not object 
l will accompany you through this piece of woods 
that no more snakes shall fall In love with you.” 
She laughingly permitted him to accompany 
her, chatting pleasantly meanwhile, not only 
through the woods but even up to her very door¬ 
step. Just as they wore entering the front gate 
Ned came In, having returned from his office. 
Seeing the stranger with Ella he was Inclined to 
scowl at dim at first and then a sudden smile 
Illuminated his whole race. Approaching him he 
extended his hand, exclaiming, “ Why, Charley 
Gaines, where the douce did you drop from? I 
thought you wore millions of miles away In sunny 
Italy studying art and basking In the smiles of 
those pretty models we road about." 
“8o I wag, Nkd, but I have returned and am 
just uow basking In the smiles of tills little artist 
whom I discovered among the ralrles in yonder 
wood.” 
Here followed an explanation ot what had 
occurred and then an Introduction of Ella to her 
quondam friend which was almost unnecessary as 
they had become quite well acquainted during 
their walk. Then followed an Invitation for 
Cqarlky Gaines to step in and take tea with 
thorn, at which the story was again repeat|fl -and 
a fresh volly of thanks poured out by Mr. an" Mra. 
Murray. 
It becomes almost unnecessary to follow tne 
thread of these lives much further. Charley 
Gaines soon discovered that Ella was sadly In 
need of Instruction and, as he was spending the 
summer In that part of the country, he took upon 
hlmselt the duties Of instructor. Not many months 
had elapsed before he began to Instruct Ella In 
an art of which nature Implants much knowledge 
In the youthful breast. So that during the 
Christmas holidays, when Fanny came to act as 
bridesmaid for Ella, she was confidentially in¬ 
formed by the latter through a mixture of tears 
and smiles that, “though the work had not 
profited her a dollar, It had gone far towards 
solving the problem for her.” 
-♦ . * ♦- - 
A BELEAGUBED HOME. 
It was the last letter in tho post-bag that 
brought the nows or our rulu as wo sat at break¬ 
fast with the windows open to tho ground, look¬ 
ing out on the sunny lawn, a silver streak of river 
beyond, and the mountains shining blue in the 
distance. The first day 1 of spring, balmy and re¬ 
vivifying. I am no believer In pr’esontiments; 
misfortune descends upon us unawares, without 
warning or foreshadowing, and tho House Beau¬ 
tiful of our hopes la swept Into ruin. 
Wo had been very happy tn our married life, 
little rnoro than a twelvemonth old, with every- 
Ull ng seemingly Clear and bright beforo us. And 
now all was doubt and gloom; our means had 
vanished Into thin air. All toy fortune that had 
been mother’s and that my father, a Colonel In 
the Indian army; had generously resigned to me, 
was Invested lu the Lahore and Delhi Bank, and 
that had collapsed into ruin. 
We had Battled In Wales on our marriage, 
where I took a pleasant, little house situated on a 
slope of a hill overlooking the valley; well shel¬ 
tered by trees, embowered tn llowerlng shrubs 
and covered with creepers; quite an idyllic little 
place. I had made up my mind to buy It, but the 
owner required such a heavy price that I hesitat¬ 
ed about withdrawing any of my capital from an 
investment where the return was so handsome aa 
In our bank; and now it was alt gone, 
J had no profession, cither, to fall back upon; 
I had served for a few years In my father’s corps, 
but the climate of India did not, suit ino, and as I 
was an only child and wo had ample means, l 
retired and come home at the Colonel’s wish. 
Then I married ray old playmate and my father’s 
ward, Jane Hammond, to his great delight; ho 
promising to complete another two years’ service 
and then come homo and live with his son and 
daughter. 
Whilst 1 was reading the letter announcing tho 
fatal news, Jane saw by my face that something 
dreadful had occurred. “ Is It. papa?” she cried, 
for she always called my father thus; “ has any¬ 
thing happened to him?” 8ho seemed absolutely 
relieved when I told her nothing had happened 
but the loss of all our means. 
There is a kind of excitement about misfortune j 
when It first comes upon us, that cases off a por- 4 
tlon ot the shock. We wore quite gay over It, I 
remember, that first day. We were young, with 
the world before us. Wo must descend into tho 
arena ot life aud fight our way to success; hith¬ 
erto we had been spectators; for tho future wo 
must be actors, heart and soul. Wo would sell off 
everything here and go up to London, where 1 
must try for employment. Jane would go out aa 
a dally governess. 
One circumstance interfered with any plana ot 
immediate activity on her part. We were dally, 
almost, expecting the adventof a young stranger, 
and that must ho got over first. Then them were 
soveral other hindrances. We had tho house 
upon our hands for another six mom hs at least. 
something could bo done about the house at 
once, my wife suggested. We could write to our 
landlord and ask hlrn to take It off our hands, or 
to accept a specified sum In lieu of notice. AV 1th 
an impulse of new-born activity, l sat down to 
write the note at once. Unexpected misfortunes, 
h j wrote, had put H out of my power to occupy a 
house at such a rent any longer. Would my land- 
tv lord kindly consent to some arrangement for re- 
’ u llevlng me of a portion of my responsibility ? 
“He must, do It; he ls sure to do It for his own 
,c sake," said Jane, decidedly, “ir he won’t, wn’U 
put a chimney-sweep In the house or the travcl- 
ia ing-tlnker.” But, 1 didn't feel quite so certain, 
Gt knowing that landlords arc usually tenacious of 
flH their rights. 
Our landlord was not a native-born Welshman, 
put a retired attorney from one of the largo 
towns, who had bought the property at a bar- 
>r “ gain and was bent on making the most out of It,. 
,t,e no lived in a small cottage, about a quarter of a 
" e- mile away, with a rather bold-faced housekeeper. 
,0 He and 1 were friendly enough, bur. Jane would 
110 never take the slightest, notice of the housekeep- 
he er, and T think the young woman resented this 
14 v hauteur a little. Mr. Tranter—that was rny land- 
1 lord’s name—evidently thought me a good tenant, 
nj for I had spent, a good deal of money in putting 
of things to rights about, the house, which had been 
before lu rather a neglected condition. 1 paid 
im rather a high rent for the place, as rents were in 
.1st that out-of-the-way locality-£90 a year, paid haif- 
ior yearly. The custom was In those parts to pay tho 
rent on a specified day, a good while after It was 
tad duo. Thus the Lady-day rents would he paid 
ter late lu June, and tho Michaelmas about Decom- 
’ as ber. 
lug i was a great simpleton, T thought afterwards, 
for to write such a letter; for there is no need tor a 
1th m an to trumpet his misfortunes, which get wtnd 
md soon enough without his aid. But I had at, that 
Lnj. time a stupid kind of confidence lu the good-will 
or people about me, engendered by a careless, 
the good-natured temper, of which It has taken a 
-ky good deal ot experiment, to na me. 
r 1,1 The day following that on which the sad news 
thc came was tho 25th ot March. All the sunshine 
pfm was gone now; a chill north-easter blowing; all 
■*7* the excitement, too, attending our misfortune was 
, Ul over, and the cold, dismal reality clearly visible. 
“So T j lfc newa 0 f our trouble had got about* through 
1110 | the medium or Tranler & Go., no doubt. Every 
■* as one, at least so we fancied, looked queorly at us; 
ln ‘ a shower of unremombered little bills came drtft- 
ia ” mg in upon us. In the course of the day came a 
n ° l reply from Mr. Tranter—a note, at least, taking 
Lrrls no notice of my letter, but reminding me that the 
half-year’s rent was this day due. 
Tho same evening, about six. I was told that 
David, the fisherman, was In the kitchen, and 
wanted particularly to see me. David had been 
my guide and companion In many a pleasant fish- 
Uiat lng expedition; a wiry little fellow; Ids face 
3 ak- I lined and seamed with small-pox; with quick, ln- 
jok- telilgent eyes, aud long, Utlio fingers, that were 
Ivor | dert at anything. David’s wife went uui as a 
the l nurse, and tn that capacity she had been retained 
i re- by my wife for her approaching trouble. 
