JULY 45 
THE STORY OF STONY BROOK FARM. 
HENRY STEWART. 
(Continued from page 458.) 
CHAPTER IV. 
Patience was busy packing her batter into 
neat little wooden boxes ready for sale, as her 
father came in, and did not raise her eyes or 
take notice of his entry but went on with her 
work. Her father saw at a glance her com¬ 
pressed lips, her brightened eye, and the way 
in which she pressed the butter into the boxes, 
and s°emed to think discretion the better part 
of valor at this 6 tageof the inevitable quarrel 
Hero were two antagonists; th« one deter¬ 
mined, and all the more bv the newly aroused 
opposition, to bend the will of his daughter to 
his own and that without parley, explanation 
or justification. This man had spent his 
whole life In opposition to the wishes and de¬ 
sires of other persons. From a child he had 
been self-willed, domineering and defiant, and 
his father, who had named him Defiance from 
a whim, had often afterwards said the boy 
completely justified his naming. The other> 
the daughter, smarted under the slight cast 
upon her womanhood by the very evident 
bargain and sale made between her father and 
his neighbor; and her whole soul revolted 
against the idea of having been offered and 
and given away to a man she despised, the 
more especially by the unjust aspersions cast 
upon the only man she had ever cared for and 
who, in her eyes, was a paragon of goodness 
and of manly and filial virtues. 
Toe tragic death of the father of Barley 
Merritt, occurring as it did, while Jonas Pratt 
was standing looking on md not daring to go 
to the relief of his uncle, helped to strengthen 
the admiration for the son; and the popular 
belief that he had been cheated out of his 
inheritance in some mysterious way by Pratt, 
excited sympathy for the one and intensified 
aversion for the other. 
No wonder the soul of poor Patience Bart¬ 
lett, young and inexperienced in the ways of 
the world and trained by a patient and long- 
suffering mother, should overflow with the 
apprehensions of trouble ahead. Her lover 
whom she respected as well as loved, discarded 
and threatened; her father, whom she feared, 
determined to oppise her wishes and enforce 
his own; and her suitor, whom she despised 
and thought of only with aversion, helped and 
encouraged by all the power and influence of 
her father. How helpless she felt, how utterly 
alone, as she passed the next few days in dread 
of the bursting of the storm which she knew 
was comiog upon her. Fortunutely. the delay 
helped to restore tone to her mind; to give her 
new courage; to strengthen her defence as it 
were, against those whom she could not help 
but look upon as her enemies. All through 
these days she reasoned and discussed in her 
mind the position before her, and her constant 
conclusion was; ‘‘I’llnever be his wife. Never! 
never! never!” 
CHAPTER V. 
Patience was a good housekeeper, and that 
involves the possession of good judgment, 
pro npb decision; the use of precautions; the 
points of gioJ gansralship in fact, for house¬ 
keeping is a continuous warfare, no doubt. 
And her trained mind made it clear to her that 
if th-*re was to be a struggle about the pro¬ 
posal of Jonas Pratt it would be better for 
her to open the attack and not stand on the 
defensive. Her father seemed to take little no¬ 
tice of the affair; but it brought a dread upon 
her to ice bow furtively he glanced at her as 
if to measure the strength of her resolve be¬ 
fore attempting to overthrow it. The delay 
was plainly a lull before the storm. She de¬ 
termined to take counsel of her mother’s in¬ 
timate friend, Mrs. Merritt, Barley’s mother, 
anil one afternoon sped across the meadows 
to Mrs. Merritt’s cottage. She knew, or 
thought she knew, that Barley was awaj r at 
his coaling j .b for the iron works, where he 
was obliged to remain weeks at a time. 
“Why, law’s sakes, child! what’s the mat¬ 
ter with you; you are as white as a ghost and 
nigh about as boney,” exclaimed her friend 
as she kissed and embraced her affectionately. 
“Dou’t till me there’s notiin’ the matter! I 
know better. That’s the way your poor 
mother always looked when she came to me 
wiih her troubles. I dou’t want to hurt your 
feelms, Patience, but if there ever was a man 
who don't know how to use a woman, that 
man’s j our father. And I guess he's been a 
botherin’ you. Tell me all about it, dear.” 
Aud Patience related all her story, her sus¬ 
picions and bow they had all been realized by 
the offer of Jonas Pratt. She dealt tenderly 
wiih her father’s share in the business, but 
told of his refusal to permit B ai lev to visit 
her. Mrs. M irritc coincided wiob Patience in 
her suggestion that Barley should for the 
present suspend his visits until matters were 
smoothed down, and at least await further de¬ 
velopments. In the midst of an eager con¬ 
versation both the womm failed to hear a 
rapid footstep which approached the cottage, 
and were surprised by the lifting of the latch 
and the sudden appearance of Barley Merritt. 
“Well, mother, how are you, all alive and 
right side up with care, eh?” kissing her af¬ 
fectionately and greeting Patience with a 
gratified smile aud a warm hand shake. 
“Mother, my ears have been burning for two 
days, and I’m sure somebody has been giving 
it to me hot and heavy. I hope it is neither 
of you.” 
The two women looked at each other with a 
meaning glance, which was not lost upon 
Barley. 
“Flow are all at Stony Brook, Patience? 
What! are you going? I’ll go along with you.” 
“You may come part of the way if you 
like; but I fear you will have a poor welcome 
at home, Barley.” 
“Why ? Is anything the matter, Patience?” 
“I’m afraid there is; I will tell you by and 
by, but you musn’t feel bad about it, but hope 
for the best.” 
Patience then returned towards home and 
on the way related what had occurred during 
the few days previous. 
“Oh, is that all, Patience? don’t let that 
trouble you. Keep your spirits up, we’ll have 
this matter settled right off, that is if you 
consent. Let me see your father, Patience. 
You know my love for you, darling, and you 
should not object that your father should 
know it, too. We are both young, and yet 
old enough to know our own minds, and I 
don’t see that he has any right to stand in the 
way just now, so long as you are willing to 
wait until I have a home for you.” 
“ But, Barley, I’m afraid father won’t look 
at it in the way we do;indeed I know he won’t 
and he is not a man to be talked over from 
what be has made up his mind to." 
“ Well, let us know the worst anyh iw, Pa¬ 
tience, and the worst can only be waiting for 
a year or two, and maybe it is not so bad as 
you think it is.” 
“Perhaps it is best as you say. Bat, Bar¬ 
ley, if he is cross and ill-tempered, be patient 
with him, for a soft answer, you know, turn- 
eth away wrath.” 
“ That’s like your good nature, Patience; 
but the softest answer never turned away 
your father’s wrath, I believe. That’s not his 
way. He Kkes to be opposed. I do believe, 
just for the sake of opposition. I’ve always 
found him so, and yet I’ve never given him a 
hard word for all the hard words he has given 
me in the two years I worked for him. But 
he never treated me worse than he has treat¬ 
ed other folks, and its only his way, and I 
have no blame to him for it. He don’t mean 
anything bad.” 
“Just as you think best, Barley. It can’t 
make matters worse than they are, and it may 
do good, perhaps. No, don't come any far¬ 
ther, good hye; I've ouly this field to cross. 
Goo 1 bye then, darling, I’ll come around this 
evening and hope f ir good luck ” 
“ What a contraptious cuss that Jonas Pratt 
is,” said Barley Merritt to his mother on his 
return home. “Do you know mother, that 
that rascal hid uacle John’s will and made an¬ 
other one. I heard him say so himself the 
other night wheu I passed him on the road and 
he was talking to hitns Q lf liud enough to be 
heard ever so far off. 
“You don’t say so, Barley! Then your 
TJucle John was as good as his word, after 
all. It’s just what everybody suspected. But 
don’t say anything about it, Barley. What 
you have never had you’ll never miss. If it’s 
ever found let it come out without you.” 
Ouly think of him wanting to marry 
Patience Bartlett! I’d pity any woman that 
married him! Hi’s as cross as old Bartlett, 
and a good deal rneaaer. I dou’t thiuk there’s 
a meaner mau living thau that same Jonas 
Pratt; if heis my cousin. But it will all come 
right one day, dou’t you think so mother?” 
“ Surely Birley; you may be sure of that.” 
There were never truer words than “ be sure 
your sin will find you out." So never do any. 
thing Barley you would be ashamed to have 
found out. Wuat's gained by roguery, ’ll 
never do any good and is like to do a good 
deal of harm.” 
“ Mother, I came home to-day to tell you 
something. Mr. Barney is building some fur¬ 
naces up ia Michigan, and wants me to coal 
for him up there. He offers me a hundred 
dollars a month and board, to boss his coal 
jobs. Shall I go mother and leave you all 
alone, or stay?” 
“The Lord’s will be done, Barley I It’s not 
my business to stand in your way. You’ve 
been a good boy to me, always, Barley dear; 
aud the Lord will reward you for it Never 
mind me. You are young and must look after 
yourself. I want to see you settled down be¬ 
fore I go, and l don’t see any way here, and 
this seems to lie sent for you.” 
It does look like it, don’t it mother! I can’t 
do near as well hare, if I lived 50 years; aud 
it won’t be long before l can save enough up 
there to make us all comfortable. He wants 
me'to start next week and begin before the 
Winter sets in.” . 
“Well Barley, let’s sleep over it to-night 
and decide iu the morning.” 
“ Maybe that will change Bartlett’s plan 
mother; what do you think?” 
“ No Barley, you can’t change that man. 
When he’s set, he's set; and no one can move 
him; don’t ycu build up any hopes on that. I 
know he’s bee a a hankering after that low 
farm for years, and if he gets Patience to 
marry Jonas, he'll twist Jonas round his fin¬ 
gers, and the man won’t dare to say his soul’s 
his own. I guess that’s his plan. But Patience 
has a will of her own and she’ll never marry 
that man; if her father do worry her.” 
“ I’m going over to see Patience’s father to¬ 
night, mother; I think it is better to see him 
and know all there is about it. What do you 
think?”—[To be continued.] 
A DIALOGUE AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
Buttercup. 
“Good morning, little Pansy! 
Come, open your bright eye, 
For I have come to tell you 
The sun is in the sky, 
And all the fair, sweet flowers 
Are clad in colors gay ; 
So waken quickly, Pansy, 
For ’tis a lovely day. ” 
The Pansy. 
“ I thought it must be morning; 
I heard the happy birds 
Singing tbeir songs so sweetly, 
Saying such pretty words. 
They woke me with their music— 
They keep such early hours— 
As yet, it seems like twilight. 
Good morning, sister flowers!” 
The Sunflower. 
“ Is that you, little Pansy, 
That gayly calls 4 Good morn ?’ 
If I grew down so lowly. 
I’m sure I’d feel forlorn. 
I’m sorry you're so little— 
You’re hidden by a leaf— 
You ought to be as tall as I, 
For Summer days are brief. 
My head is bright and golden, 
Far o’er the world I see, 
No more a simple flower— 
I’ve grown to be a tree!" 
The Dahlia. 
44 Often, like neighbor Sunflower, 
I rise to be a tree; 
A daintily-dressed Dahlia 
Is all I wish to be. 
And when in richest colors 
I grace the garden bowers, 
I hope the time is coming 
When I’ll be 4 Queeu of Flowers.’ ” 
The Rose. 
4 ‘ June is the 4 Month of Roses,’ 
Bui still I linger here, 
For modern cultivation 
Gives roses all the year. 
The title 4 Queen of Flowers’ 
Has long been mine alone, 
But you, ambitious Dahlia, 
May come and share my throne; 
And as we sit together 
And hail the blushiug morn, 
You’ll find e’en regal stations 
Are girt with many a thorn.” 
The Geranium. 
“I’m with the bright Geraniums; 
Ours is a lovely bed, 
Where crowus of fragrant blossoms rest 
Oa every graceful head. 
At home in varied climates, 
I view no flower with scorn, 
But gayly show my colors 
And say to all 4 Good Morn.’ ” 
The White Lily. 
“ I’m called the sweet White Lily, 
With foliage fair and green; 
When comes the gorgeous Summer, 
My blossoms then are seen.. 
4 Consider well the lilies, 
That neither toil nor spin,’ 
Was said by One whose teachings 
Make want of faith a sin. 
No king in sacred story 
Could match my fair array, 
Though clad in Orient splendor, 
But now 4 Good Morn,’ I’ll say.” 
The Verbena. 
’Mid clusters of Verbena 
Mi ne is a lowly sphere, 
But safe from storm and tempest 
I bloom in beauty here. 
A fall would not alarm me, 
For I am near the ground, 
Aud here my star eyed blossoms 
All gemmed with dew, are found. 
With charming sister Pansy 
I never feel forlorn, 
Though lower than the Sunflower. 
I wish you all * Good Morn.’ ” 
The Sweet Pea. 
“ I am a Sweet Pea blossom, 
Not low, nor very tall; 
I’m gathered for my fragrance, 
And dearly loved by all. 
I do not boast rare colors, 
A simple garb is mine, 
And with my gorgeous sisters 
I never seek to shine. 
Among the older favorites 
I long have had a place. 
Decking the humble cottage 
With loveliness and grace.” 
The Petunia. 
“ I am a gay Petunia 
And joyful bloom each day, 
I show my brightest colors 
And make the garden gay. 
I revel in the Autumn 
In innoceut delight, 
And always feel like smiling 
Or laughing clear outright. 
But now, oerhaps, I shock you, 
My cultured sister flowers; 
I wish you all 4 Good Morning,’ 
And many happy hours 
Sophia C. Garrett. 
♦ ♦ » ■ ■ ■ 
A PEN PICTURE OF THE SEASIDE. 
The following exquisite bit of word-paint¬ 
ing is from the Long Branch correspondence 
of the Neav York Times: 
“The scene in and around the Branch is 
more attractive this year than ever before. 
The oceau—of course that never changes from 
year to year. The sight of it never wearies. 
The vast reach of tossing waters that stretch 
till they reach the sky; the proud clippers 
standing eastward with full cauvas and tow¬ 
ering mast; the pug-nosed aud venturesome 
tugs that dance on the billows and scurry 
around the huge steamers like minuowa about 
a whale; the tiny dories scudding bef ore the 
wind; the harbor boats, whose machinery 
seems to be perpetually reaching down into 
the cabin for something it never quite suc¬ 
ceeds in fetching up; the long white and often 
dazzling beach, where the great rollers boom 
and surge forever—these make a scene which 
never cloys. Often a mist comes down, 
“Like slowly dropping veils of thinnest 
lawn.” and shadows steal hither and thither in 
the distance like ghosts. Away northward, 
beyond the low blue hills, lies the great mart, 
toward which and from which a mighty and 
never-ending tide of commerce ebbs and flows. 
To the south stretches the line of patrols, with 
eager eyes strained oceanward for signs of 
distress As shadows fall upon the main the 
beauty hightens. Electric lights flash into 
sudden splendor and glow like new]y fallen 
stars. Ten thousand jets of gas, line the beach 
with mellow radiance. The young moon rises 
dripping from the sea and silvers the crest of 
each inconstant wave. The breeze strengthens, 
and the hoarse voices of the beach lift with 
renewed power. Like emerald or like ruby 
gleam the far-off lamps of the incoming ships. 
A distant light-house turns its searching beam 
from horizon to horizon with ceaseless vigi¬ 
lance and motion. Upon the pier burns a 
blood red beacon like an angry eye, warning 
of danger. Anon the steadiness of the wind 
slackens and it 9 fingers wander long the wires, 
and there wakes a low, rhythmic and throb¬ 
bing strain. The muffled roar of waters swells 
like the voice of an organ A delightful cool¬ 
ness steals in from the sea and woos all to 
slumber. Every afternoon now upon the bluff 
in one of the little kiosks fronting the cottage 
may be seen a youug girl with wistful eyes 
turned seaward. The exquisite sad face might 
be reproduced iu alabaster, save for the bril¬ 
liantly red spot which flames on either cheek. 
All that wealth can command or tenderness 
do is hers. Mother and father uever leave her. 
There seems to be something io the wide- 
reaching, dark and mysterious waste of waters 
that she loves, for her eyes never leave it. 
Poor girl! I see her on the verge of another, 
more solemn sea, and the tide is rising fast.’-' 
- »■» » 
IS THE EARTH, OUR WORLD, BEING 
SPOILT BY THE WORKS OF MAN ? 
Every one who has read the current news 
for the past score of years, even after making 
due allowance for the increased facilities for 
the transmission of intelligence, must be aware 
that devastating torrents of rain, floods, 
whirlwinds, tornadoes, cyclones aud the con¬ 
sequent disasters that follow, have been and 
are now on the increase both in frequency and 
intensity. The great fires of the few past and 
the present years seem to indicate, too, an 
increased capacity in the air for inflammatory 
action. 
History does not furnish record of other fires 
on this continent equal to those of Chicago, 
Peshtigo, Sanilac aud Port Huron. It is a 
universally admitted fact that effects are sim¬ 
ply the result of eauses. What, then, are the 
causes of these effects ? What changes in the 
earth, the water or the air can have produced 
them ? The atmosphere, for aught we know, 
