THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
EVERY YEAR. 
ALBERT BIKE. 
The spring has less of brightness 
Every year 
And the snow a ghostlier whiteness 
Every year; 
Nor do summer’s flowers quicken, 
Nor autumn’s fruitage thicken 
As they once did, for we sicken 
Every year. 
It is growing darker, colder, 
Every year, 
As the heai't and soul grow older, 
Every year. 
I care not now for dancing, 
Or for eyos with passion glancing. 
Love is less and less entrancing 
Every year. 
Of the loves and sorrows blended. 
Every year; 
Of the Joys of friendship ended, 
Every year; 
Of the ties that still might bind me 
Until time to death resigned me, 
My intimities remind me, 
Every year. 
Oh ! how sad to look before us. 
Every' year. 
While the cloud growB darker o’er us. 
Every' year! 
When we see the blossoms faded, 
That to bloom we might have aided, 
And immortal garlandB braided, 
Every year. 
To the paBt go more dead faces. 
Every year. 
Come no new ones in their places. 
Every year. 
Everywhere the sad eyes meet us. 
In the evening’s dusk they greet us. 
And to come to them entreat us. 
Every year. 
“ You are growing old,” they tell us, 
“Every year; 
You are more alone,” they tell us, 
“ Every' y'ear. 
You can win no new affection. 
You have only recollection. 
Deeper sorrow and dojection, 
Every year.” 
Thank God! no clouds are shifting. 
Every year, 
O’er the land to which we’re drifting, 
Every year. 
No losses there will grieve us, 
Nor loving faces leave us. 
Nor death of friends bereave us. 
Every year. 
A CHINESE CORN-DOCTOR. 
Ku-Yunq, a city near Nanking, has a remarka¬ 
ble history In connection with the Chinese su¬ 
perstition called “Fung-Shul.” The learned as 
well as the tgnorant In China believe that there 
are good and bad fiifluences In the air, caused by 
good and evil spirits; and they employ a large 
number of “ fung-shul” doctors to show them 
how to ward off lnjurlons Influences, and obtain 
good ones. 
Early in tbe Ming Dynasty, about four hundred 
years ago, one of these doctors discovered that 
the city of Ku-Yung would produce an emperor, 
and that all Its people would be mandarins or of¬ 
ficers. The emperor then reigning, alarmed at 
the prospect of losing bis throne, look steps to 
have the fung-shul of that city corrected. It was 
decreed that the north gate, at which the evil 
spirit entered, should be built up solid and re¬ 
main so, and that all men of the city should 
choose of three callings—a barber, corn-cutter or 
bamboo-root sbaver. They were ordered to fol¬ 
low these pursuits because this particular spirit 
was bellved never to come near one who used 
sharp-edged Instruments, aud also because an 
emperor and mandarins would never be chosen 
from among those who followed these callings. 
So the north gate of liu-Yung has been closed 
for more than four hundred years, and at the 
present day no less tbau seven-tenths of all the 
barbers In China are from this city; and an 
equally large number of the corn-doctors, and 
the dressers of the dried bamboo shoots are 
known to be Ku-iung men. These trades are 
readily granted to them, since tt Is known to be 
decreed that, they should get their rice In that 
way. This Is a striking Illustration of the. strong 
hold which this superstition has upon the minds 
of both the rulers and people of China. 
Our engraving shows one o( these corn-doctors 
following his calling in the open air, after the 
manner of the barbers, tinkers, pedlars, etc. 
FEE MOTHEB’S SECRET. 
CHAPTER V. 
[Continued from page 14.] 
“I have listened to your mother’s distant 
word,” bs said, kindly. “ I will read her long 
statement presently. For the present you will 
stay here. As soon as your servant has had 
something to oat she can retch your luggage. 
Of course, Edith was ouly too glad, under the 
circumstances, to obey. Her grief was too re- 
cent, her dejection too great, for her to care about 
facing the world us yet. 
But she meant to do so, and In this fully to car¬ 
ry out her dead mother’s wishes. Of love she 
had had enough and to spare. 
Iler mother’s story had pained her much; and 
though she had very strong convictions that her 
mother was right, In her estimate of her father, 
still she could not understand the strange and 
mysterious circumstances of his marriage and 
the sudden departure of the officer. 
Why had be never sought her out? It would 
have been easy to apply to the aunt. 
But Edith scarcely understood the feelings of a 
husband who believed that his wife had eloped 
during Ws brie! absence. 
He had wiped her from bis Ueurt. 
Lunch over, and Martha gone to fetch the lug- 
discovered that it occurred on every occasion 
when they took a walk. 
Martha fired up. Edith was uncommonly pretty, 
and the provincial old lady had heard of such 
things as young girls being snapped up from 
under the very eyes of their guardians. 
But Edith only smiled, and no one said a word 
of It to the excellent virtuoso. 
When they had been a month In the house, 
Edith felt so restored that she wished to look out 
for some work. 
“ What kind of work?” he asked. 
CHINESE CORN DOCTOR. 
gage from the coffee-shop, the recluse and Edith 
had a long conference. 
He read the statement carefully, and asked 
Edith to let him have It to study. 
He wanted to read It when alone—this stern 
old man, who had so loved the young girl, and 
who revered her memory. 
Presently Edith, after some hesitation, spoke. 
“ My mother wished me to tell you something 
which I only confessed to her on her death-bed,” 
she faltered. “ 1 promised I would tell you.” 
“ Speak, my dear. I am sure It was nothing 
very wrong,” he smilingly observed. 
She told him frankly. 
He listened with deep Interest, but the name of 
Royston Yorke startled him. 
“He is a distant relation of a friend of mine,” 
he said ; “ we will make inquiries about him.’ ’ 
“Never!” cried Edith. “ I will obey my dead 
mother. If he had wanted me, and had gained 
permission to woo me, ho would have come long 
ago." 
“I don't know,” replied Unton; “hut of that 
we need not speak now. You must rest yourself 
a little, and then we will see what ts to he done." 
“ As soon as I am well enough,” said the young 
girl, “I will write. In the first place, we must 
send Martha away,” she added, “ with a tearful 
sigh. *■ 1 cannot afford tu keep her.” 
“ She shall remain with me for the present. I 
am very short of hands, and now I have a visitor 
must keep more servants,” he added, with a fer¬ 
vor he had not felt for many a day. 
Martha returned with the luggage, Including 
the desk, all safe, and was delighted to find her¬ 
self retained in the establishment. 
Edith was at once Installed mistress of the 
house, with the two women and an old man-serv¬ 
ant under her. But her hand was Ught, and the 
servants soon found the yoke to be so gentle as In 
fact to be nominal. 
Edith was happy in the garden or the library, 
where she could sit and think. But Mr. Linton 
who was out a good deal now, insisted on their 
going out for a stroll on the banks of the river. 
Edith was only too willing, as she loved the 
sight of water, boats, i£c., and It distracted her 
thoughts. 
This went on for a day or two, and then Martha 
particularly noticed that they were followed by a 
man. He wore a slouched hat, common clothes, 
and had his face blackened. 
At first they thought it an accident, but soon 
"Teaching," she replied. “I suppose I might 
set up a school with my thousand pounds.” 
“No, my dear, that money Is sacred,” was the 
eager reply. “It was put away by your mother 
for a rainy day. Now, listen to me, my dear. I 
am an old man, and am very rich, with no near 
relatives. Now, for your mother’s sake, let me 
make you my daughter, adopt you, and leave you 
my money ?” 
“ You are very kind, generous, and noble,” she 
said ; “ but l would rather work.” 
“ I never saw such a girl,"laughed the old man. 
" We might find Koyston Yorke, and the old man 
would not refuse my heiress!” 
“ If Royston Yorke wants me, he will find me,’> 
she replied; “ hut I don’t believe he does.” 
“ Then heregoeB. A man 1 kuow something of,’ 
he continued, gravely, “ by buying and selling 
pictures for him, has an only daughter the very 
same age as yourself. She is not polished ; she 
wants the society of a young lady, ayd she wants 
you to put something in her head.” 
“ Is she very stupid ?” 
" Rather stupid and vulgar. She Is very good- 
tempered; but before she thinks of society or mar¬ 
riage, she must have a year’s tuition. The price 
Is two hundred guineas a-year," he added. “ Will 
that suit you ?” 
“ Certainly ; who is she ?” 
“ The only daughter of Sir Arthur Tresslder,” 
he continued. M How he ever married the vul¬ 
gar city madam, which he did in Rome, Is a mys¬ 
tery to me, except that his father loved a fortune. 
He lived In Rome some time, and then returned 
to England. He has only this one child, a daugh¬ 
ter. To-morrow I will send you there. You are 
already conditionally accepted," 
“I thank you for your kindness,” said Edith; 
and she went out into the garden to think of com¬ 
ing events. 
Could she have known! 
As she sauutered along, peeping through the 
railings, she saw the strange man looking at the 
house. 
What could he mean ? 
As she attempted to retreat, he crossed over in 
the moonlight, took off his hat, aud stood re¬ 
vealed, haggard and pale, Jack Clayton ! 
She gave a little shriek, and then he was gone 
out of sight. 
She walked slowly back to the house, and up 
Into her bed-room, to collect her thoughts before 
supper. 
The sight of tills man bad roused thoughts sho 
had believed partially forgotten. Not only did he 
make her think of dear Longmead, of her mother, 
and of many kind friends, but It brought before 
her eyes the trystlng oak, and the scenes that 
passed there. 
The night of the attempted murder was agaiu 
bafore her, aud the sweet awakening to love and 
hope, and the brilliant vista of tbe future. 
Was it all gone now? All was burled in the 
grave with her sweet, good mother. 
When she went down to supper she was calm 
and collected, and discoursed with the old man. 
“ Try and please the Baronet," be said 
“ though he yields to his wife and daughter, he Is 
Just and good, ami will allow no one to be treated, 
below their station in hl3 house,” 
“ I will try and do my duty,” she answered. 
“ You can do no more," he said. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
Tbe Baronet’s Family. 
Next day, after taking a tarewell of tbe worthy 
Mr. Linton and her faithful Martha, Edith started 
on her Journey from Chelsea to Belgravia. 
She took only with her her simple luggage, 
leaving her relics, especially the much-valued 
desk, in the custody of the virtuoso. 
As Edith drove along, she naturally enough 
speculated In her own mind ou what manner of 
people she was going to live with. 
From Mr. Linton's description, she did not ex¬ 
pect to He upon a bed of roses. Whatever might 
be tbe good qualities or Sir Arthur Tresslder, he 
would have little to do with her personally. Her 
duties would bring her chiefly In contact with a 
vulgar woman and a rather silly girl. 
In making his arrangement, Mr. Linton had 
stipulated that as his young lady Mend was of 
good family and origin, she might be allowed to 
call herself, In her teaching capacity, Mdlle. 
Marechale. 
The lady thought It odd, but had submitted, es¬ 
pecially as tbe Baronet had at onee acqtil eseed. 
“ If she la half as accomplished as you say,” 
he remarked, “she is a female Crichton, and 
may call herself what she pleases.” 
Her arrival had been fixed for eleven o’clock, 
and punctually at that time did Edith give her 
modest knock at the door. She was at once ad- 
i mitted, the footman being civil and obliging as 
all footmen are when under the influence of a 
! wise and discreet master. 
“Mylady la in the morning-room," he said; 
and, opening the door, ushered her In, pronounc¬ 
ing her name as best he might. 
A lady was seated in an arm-chair—a lady, fat, 
fair, and forty; but with a face which, without 
being repulsive, .was hard and unsympathetic. 
She slightly bent, and then motioned Edith to a 
seat, without herself rlslDg. 
“ You are the young lady recommended by Mr 
Linton," she said, In a baugthy but rather drawl¬ 
ing tone, as If It were an effort to speak to any¬ 
one ueneath her. 
“Iam Mdlle. Marechale,” was the answer, in 
that quiet, soft voice that lu general went to the 
heart of those who heard, 
“That is It; though why anyone should call 
themselves by such outlandish names, I cannot 
say,” she continued, peevishly. 
“ You should remember, Beatrice," said a grave 
and earnest voice, “ that chat matter has been set¬ 
tled once for all.” 
Then she saw that there was also present a gen¬ 
tleman of tall and erect mien, a man of about 
flve-and forty, singularly handsome, but with a 
grave and sad look. 
“ Welcome to my house young lady,” he went 
on, advancing and giving his hand, “ I hope 
you will And yourself comfortable. Your pupil 
is engaged”—this with some slight scorn—" in 
some important millinery transaction. I hope, 
Beatrice, she will be at leisure shortly." 
“I will expedite her,” cried Lady Tresslder, 
with an annoyed look. 
“ In the meantime, Mdlle, Marechele will, I am 
sure, come to the music-room,” continued the 
husband, speaking with all the respect he would 
to a duchess, “ and let me judge of her powers. 
Linton has given me such notions-” 
“ But you can only be disappointed, Sir Arthur,” 
she timidly replied. 
She was awed in spite of herself in the pres¬ 
ence of this grand-looking gentleman, who seem¬ 
ed to her eyes the perreetlon of man as he should 
be. 
He opened a door, rang for a servant to take 
away her wraps, and then led her to the piano. 
Edith was always equal to the occasion when 
music was concerned, and she was soon pouring 
forth a volume of harmony and melody, which 
startle* the connolseur. 
When she concluded, there was a proud ex¬ 
pression ou his face, tears were In his eyes, which 
he covertly wiped away. 
“ Never, young lady,” he said, after a pause, 
“ have I heard such music before. It has thrilled 
me to the very heart. It sounds like an echo of 
long ago. You must have had .able teachers ? ” 
“ My mother only," she replied. 
“ Your mother-” he began; but at this mo¬ 
ment Lady Tresslder entered with her daugh¬ 
ter. 
The latter was very much like her mother, only 
a smaller edition, with less Intellect In the face, 
and one of those sauve smiles which exasperate 
the looker-on. 
She was well-dressed, and despite her deficien¬ 
cies in figure, had a certain doll-like beauty about 
her. 
The lady of the house now left with her hus¬ 
band, and the two were alone. 
“ You play and sing very nicely," said the girl, 
rather sulkily.—[To be continued. 
