JULY 3 
423 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
fitarjr IftisttUang. 
THE OTHER BIDE. 
“ The words are good,” I said, “ I cannot doubt,” 
I took toy scissor* then to out them out. 
My darling seized my hand. “ Take care! ” she cried; 
“ There Is a picture on the other side ?” 
I fell to musing We are too intent 
On gaining' that to which ourmindB are bent; 
We choose, then fling the fragments far and wide. 
But spoil the picture on the other side. 
A prize la offered. Others seek it too; 
But on we press, with only self in view. 
We gain our point and pause well satisfied; 
But, ah ! the picture on the other side! 
On this, a sound of revelry we hea r; 
On that, a wail of mourning strikes the ear. 
On this, a carriage stands, with groom and bride; 
A hearse Is waiting od the other side. 
We call it trash—we tread it roughly down, 
The thing which others might have deemed a crown; 
An infant’s eye, anointed, seos the gold 
Where we, world-blinded, only brass behold. 
We pluok a weed and fliug it to the breeze; 
A flower of fairest hue another sees. 
We strike a chord with careless smile and Jest, 
And break a heart-string in another’s breast. 
Tread Boft and softer still as on you go, 
With eyes washed clear in Love’s anointing glow; 
Life's page well finished, turn it, satisfied. 
And lo ! heaven’s picture on the other side, 
RESULT FROM MISTAKE. 
CHAPTER I. 
It was the eve of 8t. Valentine, and Kate Seton, 
the eldest daughter or the great David Seton, was 
kneeling on the hearthrug In the dining-room tn 
front ot a brightly blazing Are. 
The winter 's day was nearly at an end, and the 
richly-furnished room was full of flickering 
shadows. The upleaplng flames displayed to 
great advantage the rounded outlines of her 
dainty figure, aud shining on her chestnut hair, 
tinted It with a richer gold. 
One hand was raised to shield her from the heat; 
the other held the carte-de-vis tte portrait cf a 
young man, whose face was full of that dark 
beauty which 1 b girlhood’s charm. 
“How handsome he Is!” she murmured, soft¬ 
ly, as her eyes rested fondly on the photograph— 
“ how noble 1” 
Then, after a pause, she added: 
“ Does he love me ? Does he even care for me 7 
Have I placed a higher value upon his attentions 
than they justified or he intended ? I fear It must 
be so; for though his glances have seemed elo¬ 
quent, hla tongue has been mute. He has never 
said a word of love, not one! Yet what a kind ex¬ 
pression t Surely he does not look like one who 
with ardent glances and flattering words, would 
strive to win a young girl’s love only for sport, 
for wantonness! No—no; I will not think so 
meanly othlm.” 
She could no longer disguise from herself the 
fact that, whether for weal or woe, she had be¬ 
stowed her young affections upon the original of 
the photograph—FraDk Drayton—bestowed them, 
too, unasked. 
Her head sank lower—her heart grew sadder— 
the firelight lost its brilliance. But Kate remained 
unconscious of all around her, until a loud double 
knock at the outer door caused her to spring sud¬ 
denly to her feet. 
“Only the postman 1" she exclaimed. “But 
how he made me start 1” 
The door opened and a servant entered with a 
letter. 
“Foryou, miss,” he said. “Shall I light the 
gas?” 
“ Not at present, thank you; I will ring.” 
And down on the rug she sank again, and ex¬ 
amined th£ superscription. 
“ it Is from Frank 1” sne whispered. Her color 
came and went, and her hand trembled. “ How 
strange that a letter should came from him, and 
at such a moment t II—? No—no; I am foolish 
Indeed I It la moat likely only about the books he 
promised to lend me.” 
But when the note lay open before her, she 
found It no auch commou place communication as 
she had schooled herself to expect. 
The contents ran thus: 
“ My own dear Kate. 
“ Pardon me for commencing thus, 
hut any other way seemed too cold, too formal, 
for my purposes. Although I have never told you 
so in words, I cannot help thinking that my at¬ 
tentions have been sufficiently marked to lead you 
to infer that I love you; while, on my part, I have 
indulged in the nope that you would listen favor¬ 
ably to a declaration of my attachment. More 
than once I have been on the point of asking you 
to ho my wife, but on each occasion the reflection 
that my life-long happiness depended upon your 
reply has kept me silent. I do not hesitate to con¬ 
fess that your rejection ot my suit would be a 
sharp and hitter pang to me, and It Js for this 
reason I now make my proposal to you by letter 
Instead or in person. I reel mat I could bear the 
pain of a refusal better If It oume irom you m writ¬ 
ing than If I heard It rrorn your own lips. 
“ You perhaps can imagine my suspense; let 
me ask you, then, to favor me with an early an¬ 
swer. If your reply should be In accordance with 
my desires, believe me, my constant effort shaU 
be to ensure your bapplaess, and my highest am¬ 
bition to become worthy of such a wife as you will 
he. “ Yours faithfully, 
•* Frank Drayton.'* 
It would bo Impossible, In any reasonable space, 
to give even an idea ot the effect which this letter 
produced in Kate’s mlud; she could ouly press his 
letter to her Ups in mute thankfulness and Joy. 
“ I was right,” she said, at last. “ My heart 
told me truly. He loves me—he loves me 1" 
How long she remained In thfLt blissful reverie 
she never knew. All at once she was brought 
hack to a recollection of where she was by hearing 
her mother’s voice. 
“ Why, Kate, my ohlld, what are you thinking 
about 7 Here all alone In the dark, and not 
dressed yet j Run up stairs at once, or you wlU 
never be in time 1” 
“ Oh) mamma 1” she exclaimed, rising and kis¬ 
sing her mother’s cheek, ‘ I am so very—very 
happy.” 
And by way of manifesting her joy she burst 
into a flood of tears. 
“ Kate! Kate!” exclaimed Mrs. Seton, “ I don’t 
understand this at all! What does It mean ?’’ 
“ This letter,” answered Kate, who was now 
smiling through her tears; “ Frank Drayton has 
asked me to become his wife. ” 
“Frank Drayton?” 
« yes—yes, mother! Read for yourself! ” 
“My own dear Kate,” she said, reading cue 
commencement of the letter, “ well, really that 
strikes me as rather a remarkable commencement. 
I had no Idea you were already upon such very 
friendly terms.” 
Kate’s cheeks became a deeper crimson under 
her mother's steady gaze. 
“ Please read the letter,” she answered, •* you 
will understand better then." 
“ I must admit that at the present time there is 
no accounting for what young people may say or 
do.” 
And having thus expressed herself, Mrs. Seton 
read the letter, 
“ I suppose,” said Kate, presently, “ I must write 
to him, mamma ?’’ 
“ Of course you must, child! What a question! 
And It is easy enough to see, as far as you are con¬ 
cerned, that Frank Drayton has no reason to fear 
the mortification of a refusal.” 
“ And you, mamma 7” 
“I have no objection to your returning him a 
favorable reply. Frank Drayton bears an excel¬ 
lent character. He is good-looking, generous, and 
well connected. It Is tme he has yet his way to 
make In the world, and, to use a common expres¬ 
sion, you might have looked higher.” 
“ But I love him I" said Kate. 
“ There is your father ?" 
" Ah i yes—yes. As you say. my father!" 
It was with a little shiver of doubt and dread 
that. Kate pronounced these words; for Mr. Seton 
was known as a hard, shrewd man of business, 
one who had no touch of sensibility or sentiment 
In his composition. 
“ Don’t tremble so, dear child,” said Mrs. Seton 
stroking Kate’s hair caressingly. “ I do not say 
your father will withhold his sanction. At the 
same time you must not forget you will be the sole 
inheritor of the vast wealth which it has been his 
llie-long occupation to amass, and he may have 
formed ambitious views regarding his only daugh¬ 
ter's future.” 
" But surely,” pleaded Kate, “ he would not be 
so cruel as to sacrifice my happiness!" 
“ I hope not; but do not distress yourself by an¬ 
ticipating evil. Write to-night to Frank Drayton, 
and tell him that when he has obtained your 
father’s sanction you will be ready to become his 
wife.” 
“Oh: mother, how kind, how good you are!" 
“ Yet,” added Mrs. Seton, after a pause, "I can¬ 
not help reeling a good deal surprised at the ab¬ 
ruptness of this proposal. 1 have noticed, of 
course, that Frank has paid you many little atten¬ 
tions, though It never struck me that they meant 
more than ordinary' civilities—I certainly saw no 
manifestation of love in any one of them; and 
above all, 1 never knew that you were on suffi¬ 
ciently Intimate terms to juatlly him in addressing 
you in so familiar a manner. It seems very strange 
indeed to me.” 
“ But uot to me, for I love him—and he loves me 
too, or he would not have written this letter.” 
“ Well, well, darling; do not let any doubts of 
mine dull the brightness of your Joy. Go now 
to your own room and write your answer or you 
will be too late for post.” 
CHAPTER II. 
“ Mrs. Thuraby.—Mrs. Thursby. confound that 
old woman, 1 do believe she grows deafer and 
deafer every day 1 Ringing, knocking, and shout¬ 
ing appear to be equally useless. Mrs. Thursby, I 
say! It’s uncommonly convenient to have a deaf 
landlady on certain occasions, but as a regular 
thing it’s an intolerable nuisance. Mrs. Thursby: 
how much longer do you luteud to keep me wait¬ 
ing for my breakfast? Calling is of no use, that’s 
perfectly clear—so here goes for the bell again!" 
And the speaker, marching up to the chimney- 
piece, began tugging at the bell-pull in a manner 
that was enough to alarm the whole neighbor¬ 
hood. 
“ I see you a- ringing, sir,” said a shrill voice at 
this moment , and a thin little old woman appeared 
on the threshold, carrying In front of her, on a 
tray, the long-awaited breakfast. 
“See me a-rloglug, as you call It, and heard me 
too, I should think ” 
“No—uo, Mr. Drayton; I couldn’t hear you. 
But l see the bell a-sbaklng, and so 1 says to my¬ 
self, ‘ there’s Mr. Drayton In a hurry for his break¬ 
fast. and what am I to do ? There ain’t no one In 
the house to answer him, and if 1 leave the fire 
myself his chop will be spoilt, so’ ”- 
“ There—there, Mrs. Thursby, that will do,” an¬ 
swered Mark, who was considerably mollified by 
the tempting appearance of hla morning meal and 
the appetizing odor that pervaded the apartment as 
soon as the cover was raised. “It’s a great pity 
you are so awfully deaf, for I would back you 
against anybody as a cook. But where are the 
letters?” 
“Cook lit for your betters I” exclaimed Mrs. 
Thursby, with a simpering grin. “Lor’, no, sir. 
I’m glad to please you, and—” 
“No—not” screamed Frank, frantically. “I 
didn’t say anything about my betters! 1 asked for 
my letters.'' 
“Beg pardon, sir. None come yet. Valentine’s 
Day, you know, sir. Letters Is always late on Val¬ 
entine’s Day. The postman he says—” 
“ Never mind what tho postman said. Go down 
to the door and wait for him, and bring the letters 
to me the moment they arrive.” 
“ Yes, to be sure. sir. I’ll go at once. ’’ 
“Now, I wonder whether she understood me?” 
speculated Frank. “ I don’t believe she can hear 
a sound, but Just watches the movement, ot my 
lips, and Just guesses at what I say, and that is 
why she makes such ridiculous mistakes!” 
He listened continually for the well-known 
sound ot the postman’s knock—paced restlessly 
to and fro from the window to the fire—and ex¬ 
hibited aP those peculiarities displayed by a per¬ 
son who is In a state of great suspense. 
“ She Is sure to write !” be muttered. “ What 
hard luck that this is Valentine's Day I She Is 
sure to write: but what will her answer be ? I 
am afraid, after all, that Kate Is nothing but a 
coquette, and I have more than once suspected 
that, when she has shown such a decided prefer¬ 
ence tor me, she has only been playing me off 
against that conceited little Jackanapes, Horace 
Brown. If I thought that was the case, by Jove! 
Id-” 
Frank Drayton did not express his intentions In 
words, but snatched up the poker, and commenced 
a vigorous onslaught on the Are. 
He was thus engaged when Mrs. Thursby en¬ 
tered with her apron full of letters. 
“Lor’ a mussy, sir!" she ejaculated, as she 
poured the missives upon the table, “ no wonder 
at the postman a-grumbllng! Did you ever see 
such a lot ? Shall I take away the breakfast 
things, sir ?” 
• * N o—no, not now. You can go.” 
And he accompanied his words with such a 
slgnlflcant and unmistakable gesture, that Mrs. 
Thursby left the room without uttering another 
word. 
Frank glanced hurriedly over the pile of letters, 
and quickly discovered tne one he sought. 
“ That is Kate’s handwriting!” he exclaimed. 
“Now for my fate J” 
He sank back In bis chair as he spoke, and de¬ 
spite the i vtdent eflort he made to maintain his 
composure, his hand trembled as b<- tore open the 
envelope. 
But no sooner did the first words meet his eye 
than he started and ohanged color; while, as he 
continued to read on, his features assumed an ex¬ 
pression of incredulous amazement. 
The contents ran thus: 
*■ Dear Old Frank, 
“ Very many thanks for t he books. I do 
not remember that you promised to lend them to 
me; but I am much obliged to you all the Bame, 
for 1 was awfully in want of something to read. 
•* And now for a real bit of news I Prepare your 
congratulations! Horace has come to the point 
at last. He proposed to me in due form last night, 
and of course I have accepted him. I feel very 
much indebted to you for the assistance you have 
rendered me In the matter. Indeed, if 1 had not 
flirted with you in the barefaced manner I did, 
mere Is no knowing how long my diffident lover 
would have been before he found strengtn of 
mind enough to pop the question! But all Is well 
at last. 1 knew you were love-proof, and that you 
wouldn't mind It a bit. I hope you will call soon, 
and then you can offer your congratulations in 
person. 
“ Your grateful and affectionate cousin. 
“ Kate Barton.” 
••Good Heavens!” he ejaculated, not only are 
my fears about my cousin’s behavior towards me 
fully confirmed, but by some extraordinary mis¬ 
take she has received the note 1 wrote to Kate 
Seton. And can It be possible that—no, no! it 
would Indeed be to make me the &port Of fortune.” 
He was deathly pate as he made another hasty 
search atnoug his letters, tor the supposition which 
had now taken possession of his mind affected him 
deeply. 
“Yes, this must he It I” he exclaimed, holding 
up a letter on the seal of which appeared the 
initials K. S., “yes. this Is it, no doubt. I feared 
to open the other envelope, but 1 shrink in dread 
from opening thl3, yet It must be done! Better 
know the worst at once!” 
He read as follows: 
“Dear Frank:—! have received your letter 
and It has made me very—very happy. I hope my 
candor will not displease you, but l write as my 
heart dictates. My mother knows aU. and favors 
your suit, lr you can obtain my lather’s consent, 1 
am yours. Kate Seton.” 
No sooner did Frank finish the perusal of this 
note, than he sank Into his chair with a groan. 
•• What on earth Is to be done ?” he asked him. 
self, ‘was ever anyune In so porplextug a predic¬ 
ament before I How can suen an unfortunate 
mistake have occurred. Stop!—Let me think! 
Mrs. Thursby! Yes, that is It! Contound the old 
woman! It ta aU her fault I I remember now 
perfectly! she Interrupted me by say trig i should 
be too late tor post. Both letters were open before 
me, and in toy haste I must have put them Into 
the wrong envelopes. Even now, however, with 
the proof staring me In the face, 1 can scarcely 
conceive the possibility of my havlug done such a 
thing. But being done, how can I act? What 
course can I take ? It ts quite clear that Kate 
Seton has fallen into the mistake that the slight 
attentions I have paid her were prompted by af¬ 
fection on my part, it Is enough to make a fellow 
vow never lo do or say a civil thing to a girl again 
as long us he lives. And then, she is not at aU 
the style ot a girl who would suit me for a wife. 
No, no; lot the matter end how It may, 1 can never 
marry Kate seton 1 Never, never!” 
“And yet, what a sweet, tender tetter It Is,” 
he continued, after having perused It a second 
time. “ Poor Kate. 1 pity her! It la very awk¬ 
ward and unfortunate tor her of course ! Would 
that she were Cousin Kate: But no, no! I will not 
think of her again ! she ts not worthy ot another 
thought! Yet stay! In all this miserable business 
Is there not some small amount of consolation 
for me ? Yes; for so far as regards my declaration 
to her, I can congratulate myself that It did not 
reach her hands! That humiliation at least Is 
spared me! 
This consideration seemed to bring Frank some 
little satisfaction, for he smiled grimly. 
“ As for Kate Seton,” he added, a few minutes 
afterwards, “ it is quite clear there Is only one 
mode of notion possible. I must write and tell 
her that the letter she received from me was In¬ 
tended for another. It will be very mertlfylng 
for her, poor thing r But how can I help it ? I can 
only express my regret that my carelessness 
should have produced such unpleasant conse¬ 
quences. Only let me have the good luck to get 
safely out of this scrape, and I abjure the sex for 
ever! But now I think of It, there is still another 
difficulty. If i confess my mistake, the question 
will naturally arise—for whom was my offer In¬ 
tended ? Come what may, Cousin Kate must not 
know that I have been the slave ot her fascina¬ 
tions. I would marry Kate Seton first. And now 
I come to think of It, why should I not? it would 
be an easy way out of the whole difficulty. I 
know her to be amiable, beautiful, and the only 
child of wealthy parents. She would make a 
good wife no doubt. Above all, she loves me! 
That Is a fact admitting of no dispute, for I hold 
the acknowledgement of it In my hand." 
as he made this reflection he started up and 
began to walk rapidly up and down his room. 
The difficulties of hla position grew greater and 
greater as he dwelt upon them. Yet he was sur¬ 
prised to And how often he recurred to the Idea of 
making Kate Seton hla wire And the more he 
dwelt upon the project, the less averse did he feel 
towards It. 
“My mind is made up!" he said at length, in a 
resolute tone, as he paused before the window. 
“ I will go at once to Mr. Seton and ask him to 
sanction my engagement to his daughter. He may 
at once refuse to give his consent. If 80 , why then 
all Is well I should tell Kate that, without her 
father’s consent, I could not In honor prosecute 
my suit and I should be tree.” 
It was Inconsistent, certainly, and yet Frank 
was perfe -1 1y conscious that this termination of the 
affair wou'd be by no means agreeable. His pride 
and self-love would suffer severely in the event of 
a denial from Mr. Seton. 
“But should he return a favorable reply,” he 
continued, “one of two things will happen: I 
shall either And that I care sufficiently for Miss 
Seton to marry her; or I shall do something to 
break off the match.—To be continued. 
THE FIEND AND HIS LAWN-MOWER. 
“ Whirr-r-r-r-r 1” 
Blast him 1 
“ R-z-z-z-z-z I" 
Blast him again l 
“Rr-rr-rr-rr-rr!” 
Turn over in bed and vow that you will shoot his 
hens, poison nls dog, and leave fish-bones where 
his cat will find thbm and choke to death. 
Who v 
Why, the triple-plated, bomb-proof, iron-coated, 
and hard-hearted next-door man, who went to bed 
at sundown for no other purpose than to get up at 
five o’clock A. M. and gallop his old lawn-mower 
around. 
“Rattle* Whirr 1 Bang.' R-r-r-r 
Oh! he’s there: He simply stopped for a mo¬ 
ment to spit on his hands and get ready for a new 
twist. Just five by the bells, and some tool of a 
doctor has told him that the morning air is good 
tor him 1 He knows that he Is disturbing every 
man, woman and child within a block ot him, but 
what does he care ? 
•* CUckety-te-ohckecy-cllck-cllck l” 
There he goes! He’s got his coat off, his pants 
tn his boot-legs, and he’s thlnklDg how nice It must 
be to live In the country and canter around over 
the dew-wet sward. Country be hanged i Lawn- 
mowers and next-door neighbors be hanged 1 The 
man who sold him that lawn-mower warranted it 
to be noiseless. Just remember that when you 
get to shooting 1 Nolseless, oh, yes 1 
“M-m-m-m! Bur-r-r-r-r * Z a-z-ae 1” 
The baby wakes up with a howL Why shouldn’t 
he! Can a baby stand more than a horse ? Every¬ 
body wakes up. If you think people can sleep on 
and dream ot the gates of heaven while a man is 
pounding sheet Iron with a hammer you have 
lived In vain. 
“ G-u-r-r-1” 
Good. His old machine has struck a stone. Hope 
the contact has wrenched off every wheeL twisted 
every spring out of place, and flung the villlan 
head over heels against the fence! Nobody but a 
villlan would have a lawn to mow in the first 
place, and nohody but a mutton-head would go 
sloshing around on an empty stomach tn this ma¬ 
larious climate. His health v What is his health 
compared to the peace of his neighbors? Who 
cares whether he gets rat and Uves on, or if he 
grows lean and dies: He ought—" 
“ CUekuty-te-ellek-ollek-ciick-click!” 
“ There he goes, the old machine making mote 
noise than ever! Hit him with a brick I No, 
don’t do it. Such a man as that couldu't appreci¬ 
ate a decent clip on the ear with a missile made by 
human hands. Draw a bead on him with a shot¬ 
gun? Never! Keep your ammunition for owls. 
Owls Aave sense enough to stick by the roost until 
seven o’clock. Argue with Mm? Not much l You 
couldn't convince such a man tliat he ought to be 
run over by a drove ot Texas steers any more than 
you could make a Turk believe that he ougnt to 
pay one hundred cents on the dollar.” 
“Gurg-g-g-g-g! z-z-z-zl Bang! Rattle-r-r-r- 
rlp 1” 
Let Mm alone 1 There is a Providence, and that 
Providence sometimes gives a villlan rope to play 
with, just to see him squirm when he is brought 
up with a sharp turn. That mower may explode 
It not, the morning air will bring on sore tnroat, 
toothache, neuralgia, and cMlls. May he have 
them all jump on him at once, and stand by him 
