fitcraro Utisdlaitg. 
JOHN ASOOTT’S DAUGHTER. 
BY CHARLES RICHARDS DODGE, 
Author of “ Louise and I.” 
(Continued from page 286.) 
CHAPTER III. 
CHASING A BUTTERFLY, 
Upon a warm and pleasant afternoon towards 
the latter part of May, George Ashton took his 
gauze net and collecting apparatus and sauntered 
out to spend a few hours with nature, In the pur¬ 
suit of knowledge and—insects. No doubt the 
reader’s nose Is slightly elevated at the bare sug¬ 
gestion of a grown up young man engaging In 
such an undlgnliled pursuit, an amusement be¬ 
longing particularly to the Juvenile age. Dear 
reader, are you aware that wo are all chasing but¬ 
ter Hies, and the greater part of mankind chases 
them with no better success than attends the 
truant boy? See how he pursues the splendid 
creature from Power to flower, now almost pos¬ 
sessing the gaudy prize, In a moment losing it as 
It Boars above Idm, following It, over Held and 
meudow, and through tangled wlldwood, here and 
there, up and down, breathless, panting and 
weary, while the ilelds are lull of golden butter¬ 
cups and tlger-lllles, and the woodland offers Its 
rarer floral treasures for the mere gathering. How 
eagerly and earnestly Is the pretty painted thing 
pursued, and when It alights again with what 
breathless eautlon does the youth draw nearer 
and nearer, and at last, exultant, the long-sought 
prize la grasped—and It Ilea In his hand a 
crushed and lifeless thing; Us grace, Its beauty, 
and all that nude It worth having gone out with 
the feeble, vital spark ! If you are a man of the 
world, what airy project are you pursuing, 
charmed only by the glitter of its wings as It 
floats so gracefully In the blue ether above you. 
Is It worth having, should you, oue day, find It 
within your grasp ? Will Its possession repay you 
for aU the toll and anxiety of pursuit? or per¬ 
haps, your gentle nature chases a butterfly of 
fashion and society, running a race as mad and 
wild as ever did rosy-cheeked boy, only 
“ To find at evo its wing-8 arc soiled and torn,” 
but, this is a long digression. 
Following In the footsteps of the truant young¬ 
ster, George left his work in the laboratory at an 
early hour, upon this pleasant afternoon, and 
started out to chase butterflies. To make tlielr 
capture a eertalnty, however, he was provided 
with a deep net of white gauze secured to a pole 
as tall as himself; and at his side hung a collect¬ 
ing box lined with cork. 
A cushion upon the end fairly bristled with long, 
sharp phis, with which to Impale the helpless 
victims,—and his pockets were burdened with 
sundry bottles and pill boxes, all In the interest of 
science, lie had rambled, for a couple or hours 
unmindful of the direction taken, when he found 
himself approaching, as he thought, a large pri¬ 
vate park upon the estate of some country gentle¬ 
man. Sauntering slowly along a neglected by-path 
that he knew must lead before long Into a traveled 
road, hla mind Ulled with pleasing fancies, his eye 
was suddenly attracted to a rare and beautiful 
Insect hovering over a thistle bloom, not twice the 
lengui of his net-rod distant, it was a prize worthy 
of capture at any cost and he proceeded to re¬ 
connoitre. Fortunately Its head was turned In an 
opposite direction, and as It gently opened and 
closed its richly-colored wings while resting with 
airy grace upon tUe flower, it, displayed its rare 
beauty to the best advantage. A quick maneuver 
and the next moment the splendid creature was 
sailing high above his head. Was anything ever 
more provoking? After wheeling, about a mo¬ 
ment In midair with no fixed purpose, It suddenly 
darted In the direction of the grove, and George, 
more eager for capture than ever, started after it 
in not pursuit. With net held high In air, straw 
hat flying by its guard, and face flushed with ex¬ 
ercise aud excitement, over stone walls and across 
the Held he flew—through brlare and under-brush, 
on and on, until the very grove was reached. 
Will It enter ? it passes the tow shrubbery at tne 
edge ot the park, mounting high above a clump 
of young undergrowth In Its flight, and plunging 
through the thicket in wild pursuit, the young ni ne 
emerged upon the other side, breathless and hat¬ 
less—and found himself face to face with a very 
pretty girl, lying In a hammock reading. 
To suite currently which evinced the greatest 
surprise, the lady ur the young man, would be an 
extremely dllticult matter,—but the shock was so 
sudden she lost her book In the grass while Indulg¬ 
ing In a slight feminine scream, and he forgetting 
entirely hla Fapllio gave expression to a remark 
most easily Indicated by the fifteenth letter of the 
alphabet and a row of exclamation marks. 
“ 1 didn’t know,—that Is, l thought—really par¬ 
don my rude intrusion,’’ he stammered, us he 
stooped to pick up the fallen volume. 
“ Tnank you,” she replied, with evident embar- 
rasment,” no apology Is necessary, but-" 
She did not finish the sentence, and as the young 
man had nothing lurlher to say, for a moment 
they simply stared at one another; then their eyes 
met, they both saw the ridiculousness of the situa¬ 
tion and laughed lu spite of themselves. She was 
rather above the medium In bight, with fair, 
tresh, complexion and lull oval face, ller fore¬ 
head was low and her blown eyes large and deep 
set, but her soil chestnut hair caught loosely at 
the back of her head particularly attracted 
George’s attention. Au awkward silence followed 
for a moment and the young man, not knowing 
what else to do, again begged the lady's pardon 
for his rudeness, said good afternoon, and retraced 
his footsteps to where his hat had fallen. 
“Who la she?" he mused, “l have lost the 
butterfly, but what does it matter after such an 
adventure.” 
There was something so attractive in the face 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
that had so suddenly hurst upon him he felt lrre- 
slstably drawn to It again, and before he was 
hardly aware, of his Intention, found himself once 
more confronting the beautiful girl. 
“Excuse me,—I have lost—my handkerchief,” 
he faltered. 
“I have seen none,” she modestly replied; 
“ what was It like ?” 
“It had a blue border,” he answered, looking 
full Into her eyes. 
“ You have such a one on your neck now,” she 
remarked, with a faint attempt at a smile. 
“ Have I, oh, thank you” he answered, blush¬ 
ing slightly. 
There was evidently nothing to do now hut to 
retire again, but something still held the young 
man, and In another moment he said “your face 
seems familiar, have we ever met before?” 
“ I do not know” she replied looking full Into bis 
eyes; you remind me of a friend I once had, years 
ago, though the resemblance Is not very striking. 
We were playmates.” 
“ Was his name George Ashton ?” 
“ Are you George Ashton ?'• she asked archly 
“You are May Ascottlknow” he replied with 
warmth, putting out his hand to her. 
“ Yes, I am May Ascott, but I never dreamed 
we should meet again, after so many years." She 
rose from the hammock laid aside her book and 
advanced to greet him. “What are you doing 
here.” 
“ Chasing a butterfly I should think from ap- 
pearance,” the young man answered, blushing 
now In real earnest." And you-” 
The eyes of the fair girl fell at the question. 
She stood thus, a moment, and then looking into 
the manly lace before her answered with nonchal¬ 
ance, “ l am living here for the present-os—a 
governess." 
“ And I am at College In N-’’ George an¬ 
swered quickly. 
“ Then you are near.” 
“So near, I shall be happy to chase butter¬ 
flies often In this direction—with your permission. 
Miss Ascott.” 
“ I shall be pleased to see you. I am at leisure 
Wednesdays and Saturdays In the afternoon." 
“ I shall certainly come, and I am so glad we 
have met ugaiu after so many years, Ir, Is strange 
I should know you for you have hardly a look of 
the little girl with whom I played at Maplewood.” 
“ It Is pleasant to renew old acquaintance,” the 
girl replied timidly. 
“ We must become good friends again, and I 
want to know what you have been doing all 
these years ” 
“ I fear my story would not Interest you. There 
has been Utile of Interest in It for me.” 
They talked on a little while longer, until, 
mindful of his long walk across the fields to N-, 
George said good-bye, promising to come again 
at the earliest opportunity. Those were pleasant 
days Indeed that followed, while they lasted, for 
In a few short weeks, school days were over, and 
the young man returned to his home In a distant 
part of the state. 
CHAPTER IV. 
A WILL AND A WAY. 
It will not he necessary in this brief history 
to dwell long upon ihe three years of George 
Ashton's life that followed his leaving college. 
He had studied well, fairly earned hla degree, 
and graduated with honor; but, after all, he 
found himself questioning in what possible way 
could his education be made to directly assist 
him In earning his bread. Many of his classmates 
who had taken *• practical courses ” as his father 
caUed them -clvtl engineering and the like—had 
stepped Into good positions or found employment 
upon leaving the walls of Alma Mater, others 
had become better fitted to enter business pursuits 
for which they appeared always fitted, but George 
seemed to be a round peg In the midst of a mul¬ 
tiplicity of square holes. Could he have had 
his own way he would have spent the remainder 
of his days In the study of that mysterious nature 
with which we are surrounded—that enters so 
closely into our very' lives, and of which we all 
know so little, but the question of bread and but¬ 
ter was so all-important a one—Indeed one ot the 
first questions to be considered in the solution of 
the “theories of lire”—that he left the Helds of 
scientific research for a book-keeper’s desk, near 
home, at a merely nominal salary. Here he found 
himself In the squarest kind of a hole, through 
which he dropped completely before the year was 
finished. Several other holes were tried In like 
manner, with a like result—they were all square— 
and at the end of the three years we find him a 
good-looking young man of three or four-and- 
twenty, out of employment aud chafing under the 
restraints of his father’s house. As has been 
stated, he was not wholly dependent upon his 
father's bounty, for a maiden Aunt had left to him 
her little property amounting to several thousand 
dollars. 
in the meantime the renewal of the acquaint¬ 
ance wit h May Ascott had led to something more 
than friendship upon his part. They had corres¬ 
ponded from the time he left college, and a year 
or two after, “ fortune ” threw them together tor a 
whole Bummer, at one of the resorts upon the 
coast, whither she hud gone with the l>e Fond 
vllles, In whose family she made It her home. Thus 
their intimacy, strengthened by the sentiment of 
childish recollection, early ripened Into that tender 
regard which often prompts brotherly and 6lster- 
ly feelings rarely experienced by blood-relation¬ 
ship. 
A few weeks previous to the opening ot the 
story he enjoyed a brief sojourn In N-, and the 
date of this visit may be fairly called the turning 
point in his life, it was theu that he told sweet 
May Ascott of his love for her, a love she had 
known and reciprocated long ere his lips had con¬ 
fessed It. It was then Ue told her of his plans for 
the future, and of his resolve to do something in 
the world. Then It was that he asked a promise 
of her, a sacred promise to become his wife, when 
hey were both ready, and received her woman’s 
answer, trustful, confiding and true. He did not 
care if the whole world knew It then—his brothers 
had known of an attachment before, and holding 
their father’s prejudice had ridiculed It—and he 
came home with a now Impulse for work. 
The Idea of going Into farming was no new 
thing with George Ashton. He had always hated 
confinement, and the thought of having to earn his 
living In business pursuits, In the ordinary accep¬ 
tation of the term, was exeeedlngly distasteful to 
him Here was a pursuit In which he might en¬ 
joy the freedom ot oul-door lire, and while labor¬ 
ing for his dally bread, have opportunity,for the 
study of nature In Its highest sense to gain a 
knowledge of Its laws and learn how to apply them 
to the service of mau. Yes, the farm was the 
thing! The lack of money to buy It had been the 
principal difficulty In carrying out the Idea, but 
thanks to Aunt Jane's preference, this. In a meas¬ 
ure, had been removed. 
A little bit of sentiment, too, entered Into this 
matter of buying a farm. After It was bought he 
hoped to bring a wife to It some day, and he knew 
by bringing her to the home of her childhood he 
would bestow a great happiness upon her. That 
was the sweetest part of the Idea, and as a man 
has seldom the opportunity to perform so simple a 
business transaction, and, at the same time, do so 
charming an action for the woman he loves best In 
the world, you may be sure George was In earnest 
about It. May knew nothing of this, of course. 
Toherltwas but a farm, her husband's farm— 
that was to be—and she was going to help him 
make It a success; but to him It was not only a 
farm but the farm, In fact. May Ascott’s farm, for 
she should never have been cheated out ot It by 
the deviltries ot her rascally half-brother. lie 
regarded It an exceedingly fortunate circum¬ 
stance that Maplewood was In the market. When 
It. passed from the Ascotts, It was bought for con¬ 
siderably less than its real value, by a gentleman 
who soon became tired ot rural life, and for a term 
of years It had been under lease to a neighboring 
farmer. 
It was now for sale, the time had come to talk 
of purchase, indeed George had "talked” pur¬ 
chase with the owner to as full an extent as was 
necessary short of actually closing the bargain. A 
lltt le aid irom hla father was uecessary, however, 
before that Important transaction could be gone 
through with; he could well afford to assist him 
and he resolved to broach tne matter at the earli¬ 
est opportunity. After several weeks of waiting 
for the favorable momenG-for he knew the old 
gentleman’s weak polDts, and shrank rrom arous¬ 
ing his prejudices—the time arrived, aud the 
request was made, with, what success the reader 
Is already aware. 
It was a cruel disappointment to the young man 
for he had no Idea that the old reelings of bitter¬ 
ness against an unfortunate neighbor, dead long 
years, could extend to the living daughter, but 
after all he felt himself more a man for the exper¬ 
ience. His father dared to speak lightly of the 
woman he loved, had even threatened to “cuthim 
with a shilling ” If Bhe ever became his wife, and 
stung and maddened by the fatal opposition, he 
was roused to a sense ot manhood and dependence 
upon himself that he had never felt before, 
“ W here therein a will there is a way,” and when 
there Is a woman In the case the tettl is generally 
a foregone conclusion and sometimes It’s a pretty 
Btrong one. Mr. Ashton heard no more of the 
farm project, and supposed he had “sat down” 
on the thing so effectually that he should never 
hear ot It again ; but George kept hla own counsel, 
made more frequent visits out of town, while to¬ 
wards his father conducting himself Id so proper a 
manner that the old gentleman really had hopes 
of him. 
Mr. Ashton felt la a particularly good humor 
one evening, a month after the occurrence re¬ 
lated In the first chapter, and as George had just 
returned from the lawyer’s, he too was In the best 
of spirits. 
“ Well, George,” sale! his father, “ I have about 
made up my mind to buy that Ascott place myself; 
It’s good property.” 
“ Do you really think so?” 
" Y'es, at the price you named 1 think it a good 
investment.” 
“ l am glad you agree with me for once, father; 
your opinion 1s a compliment to my Judgment.” 
“ Do you think you could really manage such a 
piece of property ?” 
" I feel fully capable of It.” 
“ And make some account of your chemistry and 
your botany and the bug-nonsense you learned at 
N-?” 
“I certainly believe in science with practice, 
father.” 
■* By the way, your cousin Jennie Is coming here 
to spend a month. She’s only a forty-second 
cousin, I suppose, but she’s a smart gal, and ought 
to be included In the family. 1 like Jenny.” 
“ Oh, she’s a fair sort ot a girl, I suppose; a little 
old fashioned,” George replied. 
" What did you say ?” the old gentleman asked 
abruptly, eyeing his son very sharply. 
“ I said she was a fair sort of a girl, but rather 
slow." 
“ I don’t understand you,” said the elder Ashton, 
his eye growing a lit tie colder. 
“ Well then, she’s not the sort or a girl I should 
choose for a wife, tt that’s what you’re driving at.’’ 
•* Oh, she Isn't, eh!” his father replied sarcas¬ 
tically. “ Perhaps when she owns Maplewood, and 
has a tew thousands In her own right, you’ll t.hinir 
differently.” 
“She will never own Maplewood, father,” 
George made answer, his Up curUug scornfully. 
“The devil she won’t, you young scapegrace. 
I’ll buy the place to-morrow,” and the old gentle^ 
man brought his list down upon the table with 
such force that a pair of wine-glasses sitting near 
were slavered. 
George looked at his father a moment, and then 
replied flrmly, but with great calmness, 1 hardly 
think you will.” 
“ You—hardly—think—1—will. Why—why— 
304 
damme—oh—ugh 1 What do yo mean, sir, by dar¬ 
ing to talk to me In this way ?” he fairly roared. 
Having just purchased U, I am not ready to sell, 
besides as 1 shall marry Miss Ascott in less than a 
month I shall need It for a home for her. 
The storm broke In Its fury; the thunder crashed 
and rattled over the devoted head of the young 
man, while forked lightnings seemed to play al\ 
around him until the atmosphere grew livid. The 
torrents of wrath descended as.though the flood, 
gates had burst their bars—and then there was 
calm.—[To be continued.] 
BBIC-A-BRAC. 
A NOBLE lord, os proud and as fond as a man 
should be of his beautiful young wife, was Just 
about rising to speak in a debate when a telegram 
was put In his hands. He read It,, left the house, 
Jumped Into a cab, drove to Charing cross and 
rook the train for Dover. Next day he returned 
home, rushed Into his wife's room, and finding her 
there upbraided the astonished lady In no measured 
terms. She protested her ignorance ot having 
done anything to offend him. Then what did you 
mean by your telegram?” he asked. “Mean? 
What I said, of course. What are you talking 
about?” “Read it for yourself.” said he. She 
read: “I flee with Mr.— to Dover straight. 
Pray for me.” For a moment words would not 
come; then after a merry fit of laughter, the sus¬ 
pected wife quietly remarked: O those dreadful 
telegraph people ? No wonder you are out of your 
mind, dear. I telegraphed simply: 1 tea with 
Mrs.-In Dover street Stay for me.” 
The other Sunday the Sabbath schools had a 
lesson which Involved an explanation of the term 
hypocrite. In one of the Infant schools a teacher 
labored very earnestly to give her class a correct 
idea of the word, one little girl said she always 
thought it was a great big animal, and she guessed 
she had seen one at a show, ** Oh,” the teacher 
said, “ a hypocrite is a man who makes believe to 
be real good when he isn’t. Sometimes a man will 
give a lot of money to a church just to make peo¬ 
ple think that he Is better than anybody else. 
“ Well, my papa ain't a hypocrite,” spoke up a 
little gtrl back In the corner of the seat, “for he 
only gives a penny every Sunday ,—Carbondale 
{Fa.) Leaner. 
Oh, dear! I feel so tired,” sighed Mrs. nicken- 
looper, as she sank Into a chair. “ Well, I should 
think you would be,” growled Mr. Hlckenlooper, 
as he put on his coat to go out; “you tramped 
around more’n seven miles this afternoon making 
your silly calls. I shouldn’t call myself half 
bright If I did such a thing.” And then he went 
down street, and walked nine miles around a bil¬ 
liard table poking Ivory marbles with a stick, at 
•25 cents an hour, and she thought how hard he had 
to work at his business, poor man, when he came 
home at midnight and dragged his enfeebled limbs 
into bed. Some women are just like that.— Rocic- 
land Courier. 
Luck is a good thing, but one cannot always 
afford to wait for It. Pluck is a better thing, be¬ 
cause it is always ready to begin. 
The covetous man Is as much deprived of what he 
has as of what he has not, for he enjoys neither. 
MAGAZINES FOE MAY. 
The Phrenological Journal and 8cience of 
Health— Contents: Wilhelm Richard Wagner Por¬ 
trait; Philosophy of Supemltution; Comparative 
Phrenology; Beer and Cider crusades; Labor and 
Social Co-operation In France, With Portrait of M. 
Godin; A society ror Guiding Children; Bits of 
Natural History from South Carolina; The Young 
Folks of Cherry Avenue, A Mischievous Boy and 
a consequence; Colds—How Caused aud Treated; 
Milk as Food; A Gentleman of Color on Brown 
Bread; Hard Reading; Remedies ror Cold Feet; 
Notes in Science and Agriculture; Editorial Items; 
Answers to Correspondents; What They say 
Personals, WlBdorn, Mirth, Library, Publishers. 
Department. 
A Glacier in Colorado — A gentleman who has 
traversed the mountains In the vicinity of Lead- 
vllle, and penetrated almost every one af their 
secret recesses, informed the Leadville Herald that 
there Is within twenty-live miles of this city one 
of the most interesting curiosities of nature-a 
veritable glacier, presenting all the characteris¬ 
tics of the glaciers of Switzerland, both in mag¬ 
nitude and motion, Us progress being gradually 
down.the gulch. The scene of this curiosity Is 
located in the Mosquito range, about fifteen miles 
north of the pass. The traveler states that he 
first discovered It about three years ago, when 
out on a prospecting lour. It was then nearly a 
a mile in length, and at the bottom of the gulch 
presented a sheer precipice ot ice not less than 
one hundred and fifty feet in hlght. Later In 
the season the place was visited again, when 
It was found that the great mass of ice had melted, 
until at its face It was not more than one hun¬ 
dred feet high, the loss Irom the surface reducing 
Its length to about half a mile. Again, early in 
the following year, the place was visited, and the 
glacier was found to have regained its bulk, show¬ 
ing that the accumulation ot Ice and snow during 
the winter was about one-third us gross bulk. 
The rocks on the side of this immense mass of 
Ice show the mark ot attrition, proving beyond 
all controversy that the glacier la In motion. The 
earth at the foot of the glacier, heav ed up in 
great masses, shows that It Is gradually moving 
down the gulch Into the valley. During the sum¬ 
mer a large stream ot water flows from the face of 
the ice cliff. The glacier, as It progresses out of 
the deep gorge In which It was formed, may 
slowly melt away, so that.lt will not last for many 
years. It Is out of the way of ordinary travel, and 
the route to the scene Is exceedingly difficult.— 
Phrenological Journal . 
