JULY 31 
THE 
WEW-YOBIKEM. 
433 
fitwarg UfcteKaitjL 
NOT RURAL SIGHTS ALONE. 
Not rural sights alone, but rural sounds. 
Exhilarate tho spirit, and rnntoro 
Tho tone ot languid nature. Mighty winds, 
That sweep the skirts of some far spreading wood 
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
Tho dash of ocean on his winding shore. 
And lull the spirit while they (ill the mind; 
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast. 
And all thoir leaves last fluttering, all at once, 
Nor less composure waite upon the roar 
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
Of neighboring fountain, or of rills that slip 
Through the cleft rook, and, chiming as they fall 
Upon loose pebbles lose themselves at length 
In matted grass, that, with u livelier green. 
Betray the secret of their silent course. 
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 
But aui mated nature sweeter still, 
Tosoothuaud satisfy tho human ear. 
Ton thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
The Uvclcmg eight; nor those alone, whoso notes 
Nice Angered Art must emulate in vain, 
But cawing rooks, unci kites that swim sublime 
In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 
The jay, the pie, and e’en the boding owl 
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 
Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh. 
Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns. 
And only there, please highly for their sake. 
—William Cowper. 
-» ♦< - 
EDWAKD BENTLEY’S DECISION- 
CHAPTER I 
“ She's coming—she's coming at last, I declare I" 
cried the Rector’s Blister, waving a note overhead 
In such a sudden rapture that the Rev. Edward 
Bentley had to put out one hand to save the crearn- 
jug, and the other to prevent his small pile of let¬ 
ters from being swept on to tho lloor. 
His amused look brought the young lady back 
to the duties of the breakfast-table, which, as 
usual, on t hose lovely Juno mornings, was set In 
the bay-window, that tho brother and sister might 
delight their senses with the beauty and perfume 
of the Jlower-beds beneath It. 
‘•I beg your pardon, Edward, but 1 have so 
longed to get he r here ever since you were present¬ 
ed to the llvlDg! and there’s always been some¬ 
thing to prevent It, so that I was Just beginning 
to be afraid she wouldn't come till the bummer 
was over, and here are half a dozen lines to say 
that she’ll be at Spedham Station this afternoon 
by the ‘1:20 train. I am so glad I" 
Who was .she ? Mr. Bentley seemed to know 
Intuitively, for he asked no questions, but went 
on buttering bis roll with rather a glam counte¬ 
nance. However, his bright little sister and 
housekeeper was too muoh excited to notice his 
silence. 
“ 1 shall put Edith in the room adjoining mine, 
then we can share the same dressing-closet. I wish 
I had had the piano tuned; she plays exquisitely, 
and can master all ihosc tremendous bits of Beet¬ 
hoven you think so beautiful, and out of which I 
can only hammer discords and uolse, as you po¬ 
litely told me the other day. And 1 Intend to take 
her everywhere-” 
But hero the Rector rattled bis cup and saucer 
Impatiently. 
“ Some more cotree, please, Em, for 1 have fifty 
things to attend to this morning; and I have Just 
been thinking, dear, that as 1 must go to town 
sooner or later, and see the lawyers, to make ar¬ 
rangements about the small property our uncle 
left us, 1 could not do bet ter than embrace this 
opportunity." 
•* Wbat opportunity?" asked Em, with a flush 
and a frown. 
“ Why, my dear, you know that 1 have de¬ 
ferred going because 1 did not like to leave you 
alone, and now 1 shall not have to do so. Your 
friend Miss Wilton will tie here, and l Hhall havo 
the satisfaction of knowing, not only that you will 
not miss me, but that you and your guest will be 
relieved of the constraint of my presence." 
“Do 1 ever Hurt it. a restraint?” and tho young 
lady’s voice look an aggrieved tone. 
“No, no; you are the best of girls, and havo 
throwu yoursoir Into all my plans so energetically 
that 1 devoutly nope no other follow will llnd out 
your perfections and run away with you. But you 
and Miss Wilton will have so much to say to each 
other, that of course t should be In the way." 
“Why not tell tho truth at once, Edward?" bis 
sister demanded, hotly, “You have set yourself 
against Edith, without knowing anything of her, 
except from my descriptions; you have made up 
your mind not to like her, and when, tor the first 
time since wo came to the Rectory, she arranges 
to spend a row days with me, instead of giving her 
a hospitable welcome, you rush off." 
Mr. Bentley was disconcerted by bis sister’s evi¬ 
dent annoyance. 
“Youforget, Em, that Miss Wilton and 1 aro 
Btrangtts to each other," 
“ And you forgot how tenderly she nursed me 
through my long Illness at school, when no one 
else cured to come near mo for fear of Infection.'- 
“ I believe I wrote to the young lady, expressing 
my gratitude." 
“ Oh yes, you did and a very stilted letter It 
was, You had better write another to say that 
as you have no desire to make her acquaintance 
you beg to decline the visit she proffers.” 
Edward Bentley rose from hts chair, and began 
to walk about tho room; he did not wish to vex 
the sister he loved warmly, but he did not feel any 
desire to make the acquaintance ot Edith Wlltou. 
Her very name was odlovi3 In his ears; lie had 
heard It till he was ready to declare that female 
friendships wore detestable. There was his sen¬ 
sible, matter-or-fact little sister, who never 
rushed Into extremes, who was so methodical In 
her habits, and not even romantic enough to ap¬ 
preciate Tonnyson, always ready to rave over a 
mere schoolgirl—for no other reason, that he 
could discover, t han because Edith Wilton was In 
every respect the opposite of herself. 
Emily Bentley bad been carefully educated at 
first under the eye of her mother; and after Mrs. 
Bentley’s death, great care had been observed In 
the selection of the boardlug-scbool, where she 
encountered Miss WUton ; whilst the latter bad, 
by her own showing, lived a rambling sort ot 
life. After the death of her parents, she had lived 
with an uncle and aunt. 
The hideous photograph of her friend that 
Emmie had once shown her brother portrayed 
such a large-headed, unmeaning-eyed young fe¬ 
male, that he hoped for her own sake his sister 
was right when she said I hat the photo did not 
do Miss Wilton justice. 
To see such a creature tako possession of his 
good simple-minded Emmie—availing herself of 
her girlish Idolatry even while she ridiculed It, 
and very possibly making herself conspicuous In 
the village by her loud dress aud manners—was 
a prospect that made him shudderyet how could 
he induce Emmie to ace her school-friend as ho 
saw her, or how bint to her that, alter a separa¬ 
tion of three years her own tastes might have 
undergone such modifications, that she would 
feel as much disgusted with their guest ashlmselt? 
He glanced at his sister. She was still sitting at 
the breakfast-table with hi r head bent over the 
note—the free, bold callgraphyof which was an¬ 
other fault In the Jaundiced eyes of Edward Bent¬ 
ley—and a large tear had Just fallen upon It. 
He was not proof against this token of distress. 
After all, what did the eccentricities of Miss 
Wilton signify. If Em wished to see her again ? 
She was only coming for a few days, and after her 
departure they might have a hearty laugh togeth¬ 
er over what would be—or so he predicted—the 
last chapter of their girlish romance. 
He came and laid his lingers on his sister's 
shoulder. 
“After all, Em, dear, I think i’ll postpone my 
trip to town. Mnj.lt j go with you to Spodharu 
thisalternoou to meet Miss Wilton ?" 
But for ODce Emmie would not accept the olive- 
branch. He had tcstlrted a wish to avoid her 
visitor—let him do so; the loss would he his own, 
and she was too lond, too proud ot Edith, to wish 
to force her acquaintance upon the brother, whose 
prejudice sho disdained to comoat. 
“Indeed I will not hear of you changing your 
plans!’’she cried briskly. “After all, you were 
right; 1 shall have no time to feel dull if Edith 
spends the term of your absence with me; and 
I’m afraid that ir you were here 1 should be tempt¬ 
ed to neglect you for her. Go by all means l I 
must look to your collars and wristbands, so It 
will not do for me to loiter here. If } ou go down 
the village, you might as welt ask Mrs. Brown to 
lend me her basket-chaise Then I can drive you 
to Spedham, and dear old Edith back. 
With the general inconsistency of human na¬ 
ture, Edward Bentley was not very well pleased to 
find hts sister reconciling herself so quickly to his 
departure; but he assured himself that he was 
very glad she was so reasonable, and went away 
to hurry through a round of parochial calls before 
luncheon. 
Emmie was too much occupied to Join blm at the 
meal, or even to exchange another word with him 
till she ran down stairs, buttoning her gloves as 
she came—to act as his charioteer. Neither did 
she mention the name of Edllh as they drove along, 
but chatted cheerfully Of the friends he would see, 
and the books for tho school library he would be 
able to select, etc., till the station was in sight, 
“ There Is one thing 1 have been forced to neg¬ 
lect through leaving home sosuddeuly," the young 
clergyman observed; “ and that Is carrying to the 
bank the sum of money I received for the local 
charities," 
“ Is It of any consequence?" nsked his sister. 
“Perhaps not; and yet It would be safer there 
than In my desk. Tell Myers to look out for Farm¬ 
er Andrews when he rules by to tUc market to¬ 
morrow morning, and ask the farmer to carry it 
to the bank for mo. You will find It In a leather 
bag In the escritoire In my study. Don't lorget 
this, Em. It is trust-money, and 1 snould feel 
more comfortable if It were in safe-keeping.” 
She nodded, and threw tho reins on the back of 
the fat, quiet Utile pony. The train was in, and 
a gin lu a dark serge dress, tilling Uko a rlding- 
bablt to her small, slight figure, aud a shady hat 
perched ou wavy hair of chestnut brown, was 
standing ou the platform with her bag, ulster and 
neat little umbrella, looking around her with rath¬ 
er a forlorn aspect. 
Em flew towards the stranger, and her broi her 
more deliberately followed; but the train that was 
to bear the Rector away was now approaching. 
There was Just time enough for ihe briefest of In¬ 
troductions—a bow rrom the gentleman, a smile, 
sweet but reserved, from the lady—and Edward 
Bentley had to rush off, marveling as he went how 
any photographer could have so caricatured the 
refined and pensive features of Edith Wilton, 
Emmie's apologies for her brother's departure 
were good-humoredly received. 
“ It was very kind of Mr. Bentley to leave ug 
to ourselves; he knew we should be brlmmtng 
over with feminine gossip, ana that we could not 
discuss the scandals ot the parish, nor the last 
rashlons, In hts hearing. Oh, Em, 1 env y you; to 
have a fixed home— not a rambling one within the 
precincts of a garrison town, but really a home, 
and a brother with whom you go hand In hand in 
good works, must, be very delightful 1” 
“To me It is; but you would soon find It Irk¬ 
some. Reading to old people, teaching at the 
schools, striving to drill the choir, and listening 
but too often to vexatious and trivial complaints 
Is trying to the temper as well as the strength.” 
“ And so la the life to which l am condemned." 
answered Edith, with a sigh. 
Edith’s delicate bloom deepened, but she said 
no more, and Emtnlo was silent, too. She guessed, 
however, that Mrs. Wilton, who was a notorious 
matchmaker, had been trying to hurry her hus¬ 
band’s niece Into a marriage repugnant to her 
feelings; and the sympathizing glance she turned 
upon Edith, brought Into the bright brown eyes 
tears such as were seldom seen there. 
But they were nut allowed to fall, and It was 
with au assumption of gaiety that the guest ex¬ 
claimed : 
“Hurry, Em, for I am longing to seethe rectory- 
house you have palutcd lu such glowing colors. I 
have not had a day in the country, with leave and 
license to ramble where I please, since poor papa 
died, so l glvB you notice that l mean to make the 
most of my holiday. Do you bake your own bread 
and chum your own butter and grow your own 
strawberries? You do ! tbat’s good news, for I’m 
Immensely hungiy." 
Before the day was over the two girls had ex¬ 
plored the rectory rrom the leads on the roof to 
the cool, lreah dairy In the basement; bad strolled 
through Ihe village that Edith might make ac¬ 
quaintance with all Em’s pet. old-women and 
babies; climbed lure the organ-loft, at the church, 
and played over the exquisite bits from Uaudel 
and Mendelssohn, from Bach and Pergolesl, that 
Em loved re hoar, though she did not possess her 
friend's mastery over the Instrument; and on 
their way back to the rectory fallen lu with the 
doctor’s half-dozen merry children. 
For these frolicsome imps they Improvised high 
tea ou the lawn, followed by a dance, which was 
kept up tin the doctor lilmseir appeared, to 
threaten them, In much displeasure, with pills 
and potions fifteen to the hour, If they did not all 
troop off lo bed. 
Tbe next day was so Intensely hot that Em and 
her friend were obliged to confine themselves to 
tbe bouse and the garden, reading, working, and 
conversing. 
Remembering her brother’s Injunction, Em bade 
tho gardener Myers look out for Farmer Andrews, 
about the time the worthy church-warden gener¬ 
ally drove by on his way to the market-town, and 
Myers promised to obey orders with the prompti¬ 
tude that made him a favorite with the Rector, 
who had only lately taken him Into Ills service. 
Edith, who was sitting In the veranda, which 
just then was overloaded with climbing-roses and 
passlilui a, looked thoughtfully after tbe man as 
he walked away. 
“Is Myers your only man-servant?” she In¬ 
quired. “ Ho has been a soldier, hadn't he ?" when 
Em had answered lu the affirmative. 
“ 1 don't think so," was the reply. “ Oh no, I 
am sure he has not; for he told Edward, at the 
time we engaged him, that he had always lived 
with an uncle who is a Uorlst near London." 
“ I did not see his face," Edith observed, “but 
somehow ills voice and figure seemed familiar; 
and he walla with a military step. I am sure he 
has been through his drill at some time or other.” 
He may have been In a corps ot volunteers," 
Em suggested. “ He Is an excellent servant, clean 
civil, aud active. 1 am all the more ready to dwelt 
on hts good qualities because l do not like him. 
wnydon’tl? My dear, it’s a veritable case ot 
* Doctor Fell; tho reason why I cannot tell.’ Per¬ 
haps it's because 1 have a suspicion that he’s not 
truthful; but as I’ve never detected him in a reg¬ 
ular tlb, 1 suspend my judgment." 
The sultry day passed over, and the two girls, 
busy with some Illuminated texts Em was at work 
upon for the church, did not notice the flight of 
time, till the neat parlor-maid came In to lay the 
cloth for the tea-dinner they had decided on 
having instead or a more formal meal. 
“ So late! and we have seen nothing of Mr. An¬ 
drews I i hope Myers has not neglected to watch 
for him.'' 
No. Myers, ou being questioned, assured his 
mistress that he had been at work lu the front ot 
I he house ever since she last saw him, and was 
positive the farmer had not driven by. 
• How very tiresome I" exclaimed Em, a couple 
of hours afterwards, as she and her friend stood 
at tho open window lu the twilight, watching the 
moon rise over the elm-trees that fringed the mea¬ 
dows. “ That illtlu bag of money Is beginning to 
He heavily on my conscience.’’ 
“Why?” asked Edith. “You are not afraid 
that it will be stolen, are you ?” 
“Oh, not robbers aro unheard of In this quiet 
place. But I do not like to feel that any wish Ed¬ 
ward has expressed Is neglected, lie trusts to me 
so implicitly that I cannot be easy when l know I 
have uot obeyed au Injunction he has given me. I 
ought to havo watched for Mr. Andrews myself, 
or have walked over to Ills house this morning." 
“ Is It too late to do so now ? Uow far Is It ?” her 
friend Inquired. 
“A couple of miles by the road, but very little 
more than one by the river-bank and across tbe 
meadows. It would be a lovely walk, only——” 
Aud then, to the surprise of her friend, Em 
blushed, stammered, and began to pick to pieces 
the flowers she had just been gathering 
“Over the meadows, and beside the pretty 
stream you pointed out this morning. Why, it 
would be dellgliiful' and we should have the moon 
to light us home 1" 
“ 1 could send Myers," said Em, halt willing, halt 
reluctant. 
"And he might fall In the river, and lose the 
precious bag. No, dear, we ought not to fulfll your 
trust by deputy, but deliver the money ourselves 
to Mr.—Andrews did you call him ? Why do you 
hesitate? Do you think the walk will be too much 
forme? If you did but know how many miles I 
have tramped with papa in the golden days of 
yore t I am ready—are you?" 
As she spoke, Edith had thrown her gossamer 
white shawl over her head; and Em, when she 
had ruined all her ruses but one lovely bud, fas¬ 
tened that Into her brooch aud ran away to gtjt 
the leather bag from tho drawer lu the eaertcolre. 
Without apprising the servants of their tnteu- 
tlou, away they went—Em a little nervous at 
llndlng herselt m the lonely meadows alter dark, 
but encouraged by the example of her companion, 
who tripped along fearlessly, and comforted by 
the knowledge that on their return the moon 
would have chased away the long shadows that 
now fell across her path and startled her, 
They were noisily welcomed by the farmer and 
his rosy-cheeked daughters, and more quietly, but 
not less warmly, by a gentlemanly young man, 
who put aside his books to greet Em. and was In¬ 
troduced to Edith as Leonard Clinton, the son of 
an old friend of the family, who was studying 
farming under Mr. Andrews, 
The motive of this late visit was explained, and 
Em’s prudence, in ridding herself of so large a sum 
of money, commended 
“ Your man Myers must be a stupid rellow,” said 
the.portly farmer. “He ought to have seen me 
when I drove by; I’m sure I’m large enough.” 
Laughing at bis own Jest, he Insisted that his 
fair visitors should stay to partake of the supper 
then in preparation. Nor would ho admit of their 
excuses till Miss Bentley had promised that she 
and Edith would let him drive them on the morrow 
with Ids daughters to a Uower-show at a village 
close by. 
As they ran laughing away, they found Mr. 
Clinton, hat In hand, waiting to walk witn them 
over the meadows; and though Em had been very 
firm In declining Farmer Andrews’ escort, her 
objections to Mr, Clinton’s were so faintly offered, 
that Edith smiled slyly to herself at the Incipient 
romance she detected. 
At the gate nr the rectory-garden their cavalier 
shook hands and went his way, but be must have 
carried Em’s rosebud with him, lor it was gone 
when she led Edith into the house, where Myers, 
brisk and smiling, was Just emerging from the 
kitchen to bolt gates and fasten shutters.—To bo 
continued. 
SKETCHES OF GERMAN LIFE. 
BERTHA A. WINKLER. 
Emigrants. 
The emigration fever has reached our village 
and tnere Is a great commotion. Two canvas- 
covered wagons, already loaded with the effects ot 
the emigrant party, elicit no end of comment from 
the bystanders on tne probable future of their 
venturesome neighbors, whose hearts, so lately 
buoyed with hope of better days In pictured lands 
of wealth, seemed now to sink within them in that 
last hour with old friends and familiar scenes. 
Though the last nights of tho emigrants had 
been passed beneath the hospitable roof of neigh¬ 
bors In singing, drinking, and toasting, not a trace 
of their merry revels remained, as they made their 
customary farewell calls on the magistrate, the 
schoolmaster, and the pastor. 
The parting with the latter started the sobs of 
the women and children afresh, and even the 
sturdy peasants grasped the good man s hand 
again, as they realized mat it was Indeed only 
‘•on/ totedersohen la heaven.” 
Ouce on me outskirts of the village they mounted 
the wagons, mo driver cracked his whip, and they 
were driven away amidst the “ leOe wohts ” of 
those remaining. 
It was only after they had gone some distance 
that the good wishes of me people were mani¬ 
fested In cheers and waving or handkerchtels. 
They were to sail from Bremen, and on me third 
day my good emigrants made their appearance on 
the vessel flushed and excited from travel, but 
otherwise In good cheer. 
While the men stood on deck, smoking with the 
greatest complacence, the women trudged to and 
fro, carrying huge featherbeds and other precious 
bundles, considered Indispensable for Gorman 
comfort, and which they had been informed could 
not be hud for love nor money In America. 
When they wore Informed that Americans had 
only blankets tor coverlets tney clasped their 
hands, and, m mingled surprise and pity, ex¬ 
claimed : “ Aeh! acht have they then no geese to 
raise reathers 7" 
Tho result was mat before evening me whole 
party had determined not. to begin life in the Far 
West without a flock of geese. 
Hundreds ot trilling Utile articles were thus 
dragged along, under the Impression mat they 
could not be obtained anywhere but In tne Father- 
land. 
When the anchor was heaved and the signal 
given for starting, a motley crowd assembled on 
deck. 
We distinguished Bohemians by their sunburnt 
oblong faces, tUetr high-necked, Ellzabethlau 
ruffs, and their snuff-colored skirts tied around the 
knees. The peasants In their gay waist-coats and 
trtaiigle hats. The quiet, good-natured suab of 
the Black Forest and ms better half, with an im¬ 
mense black bow flapping up and down on her 
head, like buzzard’s wings, as she chased after me 
Uttle ones playing hide and seek behind the masts. 
Then, there were ibe townspeople or various 
grades; would-be students who escape the military 
law, sporting tasseled caps, short Jackets, and high 
dainty buttoned boots ; and girls, with nothing 
but a net ror the head covering, casting sheep’s 
eyes at them. 
But all were watching more or less Intently, the 
receding shores or the Fatherland. And when, at 
last, the highland mountain chain seemed about 
to dip under the sea, parents with one Impulse 
snatched up their Uttle ones exelaUnlng, as they 
pointed to me horizon, •• See, yonder is Germany, 
you may never see it againThen there was a 
momentous silence, every heart was lull of Its 
own memories and emotions, and every eye was 
gazing wistfully homeward. 
onco out on the open sea the vessel began to 
rock, aud sea-sickness made havoc among me 
strongest. In less than a minute the deck was 
cleared, and down in the steerage the people were 
huddled together like so many dizzy files; helpless 
and hopeless, wanting nothing so much as to be 
left alone. A tew ot tbe children and young people 
crawled on deck again after the. first week, but 
they looked so palo ana miserable crouching there 
In the sunshine, that even me rough and ready 
saUors withheld their usual broad grin and threw 
them some dried prunes Instead. 
Life now was anything but pleasant to the help- 
