S40 
THE RURAL MEW-YORKER. 
$ itcrarg IPstfllattg. 
LOFTS. 
BY PACT. PASTNOR. 
Do you remember when we were boys, 
And used to sleep so near the sky ? 
Ah ! life was a housetop-hiyht of joys, 
When you and 1 were country hoys 
And used to sleep eo near the 6ky 1 
How sweet and cosy the attic seemed. 
When. weary-Htnbed, we stole to bed, 
The drowsy candle sank and streamed. 
The starliyht thro mill the ehitiKles gleamed. 
And all things dim to slumber wod. 
Then, ns in reverent prayer wo knelt, 
Tlio figures on the counterpane 
How strangely into speech would melt: 
They seemed to utter what wo felt 
In some fantastic, far oil' strain. 
Oh, what was e’er so warm and soft 
As the humble cot we used to seek ? 
Bright dreams, that gently stirred and oft 
The fragrant stillness of the loft. 
Did brood ns, like a mother’s cheek. 
The swallows twittered under the eaves, 
The old clock struck the solemn hour, 
Yet we never woae till the dewy leaves 
Sifted the dawn thro’ their sparkling sieves 
Into the garners of the flowers. 
Ah well! all this waa long ago, 
And mists of time lie thick between. 
Already our locks are too white with snow. 
And it wouldn’t do to sleep, you know. 
Whore the frosty stars look in ! 
But sometime, brother, a night will come. 
When we shall ascend the flickering stair. 
And sleep as sweetly in God's great home, 
As though we had only laid us down. 
And tucked us in With a quilt of prayer. 
- 4 -*~*- 
EDWARD BENTLEY’S DECISION- 
CHAPTER n. 
Though slightly fatigued with their walk_ 
neither of the young girls felt Inclined to follow 
the example of the servants ana go to rest. Their 
feet were damp with the dew, and, Em, com¬ 
plaining of being chilly, set light to the lire, 
which was always laid in readiness, the Rector 
having a huge dislike to an empty grate after 
sundown; declaring that even In the dog-days a 
room looked comfortless without a cheery blaze. 
Drawing an Indian screen between their chairs 
and the door, Edith U lltou ;uid her friend sat with 
their feet on the fonder, talking by tits and starts, 
till Em fell from musing into slumber. 
Edith did not disturb her, for she, too, had fallen 
into a reverie, and was half sadly contrasting the 
peaceful life of her schoolfellow with her own. 
The rew days she proposed spending at, the rec¬ 
tory were a blissful respite from the exactions of 
the querulous, Irritable woman, who, while pro¬ 
fessing to love and treat her as her own child, 
contrived to try her patience continually, and 
was now urging her to marry a subaltern In her 
husband’s regiment, whose wealth blinded her to 
his want of brains. 
Major Wilton might have helped his niece, but 
he had taken It Into his head that little Edith would 
be better on as a wife than under the domination 
of her aunt; and as he could not understand her 
scruples, she refrained irom teasing him with 
them. 
The lamp having been so badly trimmed that It 
smoked Intolerably, Em had extinguished It as 
soon as she lit the Are ; and when that began to 
die oat the room grew very dark. Myers, peep¬ 
ing In, and finding no light and hearing no sound, 
concluded that the young ladles had gone up 
stairs long since, and went Ills own way In false 
security. 
From a very pleasant dream, In which she was 
bestowing more rosebuds on Leonard Clinton, Em 
awoke with a start and a shiver, and gently re¬ 
proached her companion for not having aroused 
her sooner. But Edith only laughed; declaring 
that she was accustomed to late hours, and had 
been too comfortable herself to care to stir. 
Lighting a taper that stood on the mantel-piece, 
Em now led the way from the room. The hands 
of the tall clock (not, my grandfather’s) that stood 
In the hall, were pointing to the half-hour after 
midnight, and t he measured ticking sounded so 
ominous in the silence of the night,, that. Invol¬ 
untarily the young girls stepped more lightly, and 
cast awed glances around them. 
Kin’s loot was on the lower stair, when a sharp 
click like the turning of a key In a lock, made her 
pause, and whisper the question : 
<• What was that?” 
Edith shook her head ; she too had heard some¬ 
thing, but could not tell what. 
“ Are all your servants in bed ?” she queried, In 
the same hushed tones that her friend had em¬ 
ployed. 
“ Oh! yes; we keep such early hours. It is 
rarely that anyone Is up after ten o’clock.” 
“ But your very civil man Myers may have 
thought It, Incumbent on him to wait for us. The 
sound seemed to proceed from this direction,” and 
Edith pointed to the door of the dining-room, be¬ 
yond which lay Mr. Bentley’s study. « shall 1 see 
ll anyone la there ?” 
Em faltered an assent. Her friend had more 
courage than she had, for if left to hex-self, in¬ 
stead or standing still, trying to look calm and 
brave, she would have rushed upstairs and hid 
herself under the bed-clothes. 
Edith’s own race paled slightly as, with a turn 
of the wrist, she opened the door and looked in. 
No one was In the dining-room, hut there was a 
light in the 9tudy. on the wall were thrown the 
shadows of two heads—Myers’ and another's! 
Finding that Edith did not stir, Em ventured to 
step nearer and peep over her shoulder. 
There was a subdued hammering, and then the 
cracking of wood—sounds whleh might have per¬ 
plexed the hearers of them if the Rector’s sister, 
on catching sight of the shadows on the walL had 
not divined the errand of the men thus reflected 
upon It. 
“There are thieves In the house!” she ex¬ 
claimed. “ They are breaking open Edward’s 
desk.” 
Edith’s first thought was one of thankfulness 
that the trusumoney was no longer there; but 
Em was too frightened to find similar comfort. 
Screaming for help, she flew upstairs; but before 
following her example, her friend, with more 
presence of mind, took the precaution to close 
the dining-room door and fasten It, thus placing a 
harrier, if but a frail one, between their defence¬ 
less selves and the burglars. 
In the excess of her terror, Em made for the 
chamber of ber brother, forgetting that he was 
not there to protect her; and once locked In It, 
neither she nor Edith dared leave It again, al¬ 
though. as the windows were at the back of the 
house, there was little or no chance of being able 
to make their position known to any belated per¬ 
son who might happen to pass by. 
And now Em sank on the floor, clinging to her 
companion, and sobbing out.a conviction that, they 
should both be murdered. Always timorous and 
sensitive, she bad become quite helpless In the 
face of this emergency. 
“Hush!” Bald Edith, almost sternly. “Had 
you not alarmed these men with your screams, 
we might have escaped from the house and ob¬ 
tained assistance; but I do not think we have 
anything more to fear. Thelves are generally 
cowardly, and these may have taken to their heels 
as soon as they found that they were detected.” 
But In this she was mistaken. A crash below 
proved that they had forced their way out of the 
dining-room, and the muttering of voices was fol¬ 
lowed by heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. 
“ They are coming! It Is the money they are 
In quest of!” gasped Em ; “ and It, Is here they 
will seek for It, now they have satisfied themselves 
that It Is not In the escritoire. Oh ! Heaven! 
what shall we do 7” 
“ Parley with them,” Said Edith. Assure them 
that they are making a fruitless search. To let 
them guess how much we dread them Is only to 
encourage such lawless ruffians to greater vio¬ 
lence.” 
•* Who Is there 7 she demanded ; and Em could 
not restrain a faint cry when the voice of Myers— 
civil, obliging Myers—made reply that he must 
trouble the young ladles to hand over the little 
sum of money the Rector left In their charge, as 
he had a better use for It than dividing It amongst 
old women. 
“ The money of which yon speak Is no longer In 
Che house,” Edith replied, speaking as firmly 
as she could, with the arms of the shivering, 
moaning Em about her neck. 
Myers heard this assertion with Incredulous 
laughter. 
“ He had taken good care,” he said, "that no 
fat farmers carried ltolT to the bank; and he knew 
• miss’ hadn’t lett the house all day. If It was not. 
given up at once-” 
He finished his speech with threats that made 
their blood run cold, and Edith clutched the arm 
of her half-minting companion. 
“ Rouse yourself, Em ; if t hese wretches break 
in here, only to be disappointed a second time, 
they will revenge themselves on us. Are there no 
weapons In the house with which we might defend 
ourselves 7” 
Em looked helplessly round as she faltered a 
reply. 
" Edward has a revolver somewhere; he used to 
amuse himself with shooting at a mark, but——” 
Ere she could say more Edith had caught sight 
of the pistol hanging above the chimney-piece, 
and taken It. down. But It was not loaded, and 
she would have t hrown It a way In despair, it she 
had not descried a cartridge-box nearly hidden 
amongst the books and pamphlets, with which 
some hanging shelves were filled. 
She had seen her father handle similar weapons 
too often not to know what to do with this one ; 
but Em, shrinking from her, gasped an entreaty 
that, she would not attempt to use it. 
Edith did not answer, for she was listening to 
Myers, who with fiercer menaces than before was 
demanding admission. He was terribly In earnest, 
and the brave girl trembled for her companion 
more thau herself. 
“ Is there no escape for us 7” she cried, moving 
to the window and looking out, only to see that 
the bight irom the ground forbade any attempt 
to lower themselves, evenlt Em could have been 
pei’suaded to attempt It,. Then her eye fell on a 
door, and she threw It open, but It did but lead 
Into a bath-room, and she was resigning herself 
to the struggle with their assailants that now 
seemed unavoidable, when she perceived a flight 
of steep ladder-llke steps In the farther corner. 
“ Em! Em 1” she cried excitedly, as she dragged 
her to the spot, “ where will these stairs lead us? 
—to the servant's rooms 7 Better to be there than 
here.” 
But Em w rung her hands, and hung back, cry¬ 
ing: 
“It’s no use ; they only lead to a little turret 
Edward uses as a smoking-room.” 
Nevertheless, “Up! up!” cried Edith; “they 
shall not follow us there!” and naif carrying her 
less courageous friend, she contrived to reach this 
last asylum rrorn Myers’ contaminating touch, 
just as one vigorous shove from his brawny shoul¬ 
der burst the door off its hinges and gave admis¬ 
sion to him and his surly conlederale. 
It would have tried the temper of the Rev. 
Edward Bentley if he could have seen his most 
treasured possessions tossed over by the baffled 
Myers, who had telt so sure of finding the money 
In one of hl3 master’s drawers, that when com¬ 
pelled to believe that It was not there he was 
furious. 
SUll he insisted that It was in the house, that 
miss and her friend had It about them; and know¬ 
ing but too well whttber they had flown, he rushed 
towards the steps, bidding his comrade follow. 
Edith’s heartbeat with suffocating rapidity. Em 
had slid down beside her quite Insensible. 
But with the courage of desperation she kept 
her post at the top or the steps, and presenting 
the revolver at Myers as he began to ascend them, 
Edith bade him keep hack. 
Again Ids derisive laughter drowned her words. 
“ You’re a very clever young lady, Miss Edith. 
I’ve known that a long time, for you and I are old 
acquaintances; and I owe your uncle a grudge 
for IxavlDg me drummed out of his regiment. 
You may put down your popgun. I happen to 
know that it isn’t loaded ; and I’m going to have 
the rings oil your pretty white fingers, and the 
pearls out of your ears, and by George! 1 don’t 
know whether Ned and I won’t steal a kiss or two 
off your rosy lips.” 
“ Stand hack, or I fire!” exclaimed Edith again, 
for he was now approaching her rapidly ; but un¬ 
heeding the warning, he took a step nearer. 
There was a flash—a report—and the wretched 
man, wit h a yell ot agony, fell backwards, knock¬ 
ing down his companion in guilt,, who, seeing the 
weapon pointed at himself, fled, muttering curses, 
and was never seen again. 
The ptstol dropped rrom Edith’s now nerveless 
hand, aud she sank on her knees beside her uu- 
consclous friend, afraid lo cast another glance 
towards the writhing, moaning wretch at the foot 
of the steps. The consequences ot her own deed 
terrified her; and though the shot had been fired 
lu self-defence, her woman’s heart quailed as she 
whispered to herself: 
“ will he die ?" 
Em recovered consciousness ; but only t o mingle 
her hysterical cries with the groans of Myers who 
was entreating help, and decla ring that he should 
bleed to death ir ho did not receive It. Edith felt 
her own senses fleeting, when the sound of foot¬ 
steps In the lower part of the house was followed 
by the voice or Leonard Clinton, crying, excitedly: 
“ Miss Bentley, where are you 7” 
Guided by Edith’s responses, he soon found ills 
way’ to where Myers lay. A couple of Farmer 
Andrews' carters were with him, and the farmer 
himself was coming as rapidly as his size would 
permit, unc of Em's maids had been roused from 
sleep by the screams of her young mistress uttered 
on discovering Myers and his confederate In the 
study’, and, slipping on some clothes, the girl had 
escaped from the house by a stall-case leading to 
the o dices, and flown for help to the farm on which 
her father and brother were employed. 
A broken leg proved to be the worst of Myer’s ln- 
jurles, aud that had been received in his fall from 
the steps, Edith's shot having merely Inflicted a 
llesh-wound In Ills arm. He was carried off and 
handed to the village constables, and the young 
ladies released from their captivity In the turret. 
But Em’s nerves had received a shock not easily 
overcome. The Rev, Edward Bentley had scarcely’ 
commenced his business, when he received a sum¬ 
mons by telegraph that, brought film home lu 
haste. 
He was met by Edith Wilton who did her best to 
reassure him; who forgot all she had herseir un¬ 
dergone that she might cheer him with hopeful 
predictions or Em’s speedy recovery. 
Nor did her generous efforts relax. For several 
ensuing weeks she was the household talry who 
nursed his sister, took Era’s place at the organ and 
liVttie schools, and quietly, unobtrusively attended 
to the creature-com tor is ot the rector. 
lie was filled with contrition for the Injustice he 
had done her. Was this thoughtful, intelligent 
girl, so active, y r et so noiseless lu her movements, 
the woman Irom whom he bad fled lu disgust ? 
“ We shall miss you dreadfully, Miss Wilton,” 
he said one evening, when, having seen her pa¬ 
tient so thoroughly recovered that she was her 
merry sell once more, Edith miked seriously of 
joining her uncle and aunt. 
“ You will have to accustom yourself to a greater 
loss than my society,” she replied, with a signifi¬ 
cant glance at Em, who was standing on the lawn 
listening with blushlug, downcast face to Leonard 
Clinton. 
“ Yes, 1 have l’ecelveda hint that 1 must pre¬ 
pare myseir to part with my dear little sister, and 
as Clinton Is ot good ramily, and has excellent 
prospects, I cannot refuse my consent.” 
“ 1 hope they will be very nappy,” said Edith, 
softly. 
“ Thanks ror your good wishes ; but have you 
none to spare for me ? Miss Wilton—Edith why 
should you leave us ! Who Is there who love3 and 
appreciates you as 1 do?” 
Having broken the Ice Edward Bentley pleaded 
his cause so ardently that Edith was persuaded to 
listen and confess that she was not Insensible to 
his growing affection. 
“ But,” she added, “ I ought to confess that I 
came here prepared to dislike you, I felt sure, 
from Em’s description, that I should find you a 
saucy fellow 1” 
“ And I,” laughed Edward, “ ran away to avoid 
you ; It Is delightful to know that we were both In 
the wrong. Let us exchange mutual forgiveness, 
and then you shall write to your uncle and tell 
him how one terrible night has brought us so 
closely together that we cannot consent to part 
again!” 
And when Em and her lover joined them the 
letter was written, and the betrothal ring glisten¬ 
ing on Edith’s finger. • 
r-»♦- 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
\Hbite Hands and White Hearts. Published 
by the National Temperance Society and Publication 
House, by Ernest (Iilmore. l2mo, C7S pages, price 
This Is a new and exceedingly Interesting book, 
intended particularly tor Sunday-school libraries. 
It is well written and pure In tone. Among other 
valuable lessons It shows the need of patience and 
trust by those engaged In temperance work and 
for the salvation of others. A deep religious splrlL 
pervades the wnole volume, making it specially 
adapted to Sunday-schools and home reading. 
AUG. 7 
MAGAZINES FOR AUGUST. 
Phrenological Journal—Contents :—.Tames 
A. Garfield, Republican Candidate for Presi¬ 
dent of the United States; Portrait; Chester 
A. Arthur, Republican candidate for Vice-Pres¬ 
ident of the United States; Portrait; Studies 
In Comparative Phrenology—Continued: With 
Illustrations; Anti-Malthas; or, the Colonization 
of the whole Earth—Its Normal Destiny: Progress 
of Phrenological Truth; What I Know about 
Mosquitoes; Charles C. Frost, Shoemaker and 
Savant; Portrait; st. Augustine, Illustrated; 
Phrenology Misinterpreted; The Curse of Civili¬ 
zation; Fashionable Gift-Giving; Physiological 
Antithesis; Wall Paper In Bedrooms; Seeing at 
Great Distances; Notes In Science and Agricul¬ 
ture; Editorial Hems; Answers to Correspon¬ 
dents; Peradnal; Wisdom; Mirth; Library No¬ 
tices; Publishers’ Department. 
The Amusements of tub Children of the 
Poor.—I n our walks we are much given to visiting 
the quarters of our great city where live the poor¬ 
er of the working classes. Their humble vocations 
and their modes or adapting themselves to the 
pinch ot want, offer very interesting subjects for 
contemplation. The children, always numerous, 
in such quarters specially command our attention, 
for they enlist at OBce our sympathy for their 
helpless destitution, and set in motion a current 
of thought regarding the life of toll aud sorrow 
which the future has In store for the most of them 
who survive the years of childhood. 
But In the most squalid neighborhoods the edge 
of oursadness has been taken off by scenes of 
hearty, thorough enjoyment on the part of chil¬ 
dren there. 1 lesplte the filth of the street and the 
dilapidation of the tenement; despite surround¬ 
ings of vice and associations of crime, groups of 
little ones are to be seen playing with all the ex¬ 
pressions of delight., and all the Innocent abandon 
of children In the elegant aud retired neighbor, 
hoods of the well-to-do. 
A day or two since we passed through a street 
In one of the worst parts of the city; the sultry 
weather had apparently driven all the grown 
people from their close lodgings to the windows 
and stoops, while the children In all degrees of 
dress or undress flocked on sidewalk and street. 
Here and there a group sat upon the curb engaged 
In playing ‘Jack-stones” with those odd-looklng 
little metallic eastings which are to be found In 
the putty stores whleh exist In the vicinage of the 
public schools. Now and then 1 encountered a 
ring of urchins, who, with hands clasped, were 
singing a merry-go-round with Intense earnest¬ 
ness. Or. a narrow, creaking stoop we descried a 
wee colored girl arranging some bits of china on a 
little bench. She was “setting table,” and her 
mother, we presumed, a tldy-looklng young wo¬ 
man, was leaning against the door-jamb observing 
the child’s play with an expression ot enjoyment. 
We could have counted fully one hundred chil¬ 
dren within the space of three squares, and all 
earnestly bent on play. There was noise enough; 
some were shouting lu high keys, as children will 
when earnestly at play, Out we saw not one In¬ 
stance of 111-humor or quarrelsome dispute. 
Who could entertain so harsh a temper as to 
look upon the amusement of these poor children 
with coldness ? To us such scenes encourage the 
thought of better days In store for them. We 
somehow associate their little happiness with the 
character of our national Institutions, which af¬ 
ford to the lowest and the poorest opportunities 
tor mental development, and point to fortune, 
honor, and power as attainments for which poor 
as well as rich may strive,—Phrenological Journal. 
Harper's Magazine.— contents: Robert Burns, 
A Poem. Illustrated; The Happy Uimilng-around. 
Illustrated Dy Marla R. Oakey ; Fish and Men in 
the Maine Island Illustrated by At. j. Burns; 
By Paths In the Alountalns. Illustrated by 
Charles Graham; Henry of Navarre before Paris. 
A Poem: Illustrated, Fredericks; Air. Tolrnan. 
A St.ory. Illustrated, by P. G. Church; Martin Sum¬ 
mer in the Garden of France, illustrated; The 
Cruising Canoe. Illustrated; White Wings, A 
Yachting Romance. Illustrated; Boat Song. A 
Poem ; Washington Square; A Boating Adventure; 
Alary Auerly; Editor's Easy Chair; Editor’s Lit¬ 
erary Record; Editor's Historical Record; Editor's 
Drawer. 
North Carolina Mountain Villages— The 
awful solitude of the forests Is scarcely broken by 
them. Half of their unpainted, weather-beaten 
houses are always empty, the Inmates having ap¬ 
parently died, or gone farther Into these sleepy 
wildernesses and torgotten to comeback. The 
roads leading to them are always over break-neck 
precipices aud In scandalous disrepair, one gener¬ 
ation putting off to another the mending of them. 
There Is always a deserted mica mine on a neigh¬ 
boring hlght, shining like a fountain of silver 
gushing Irom the rock; there Is always u stream 
which '• would give a powerful yield of gold, only 
we folks don’t coimt much on them on certain 
ways ot makln’ a livin’.” 
There are always one or two families of educa¬ 
ted, well-bred people. They have but little money, 
but they teel the need of It less here than any¬ 
where else In the Slates. They live In roomy 
wooden houses, the walls, ceilings, and floors 
frequently made of a purplish fine - grain cd 
poplar, which no Persian carpet or tapestry 
could rival in beauty; they buy no new books, 
but they have read the old ones until they 
are live friends; they never saw a Qerome or 
a Fortuny, but their windows open on dusky 
valleys, delicate in beauty as a dream, on rushing 
water-falls, on rainbow veils ot mist floating over 
dizzy high is; they dress tn home-spun, aud sit on 
wooden benches, but knowing nothing of fashions 
or brlc-n-brao, their souls sit at ease and are quiet, 
and they never feel the aching void of an empty 
pocket. Our travelers were welcomed to many a 
ioorn whore trunks, the spinning-wheel, and the 
cooking-stove filled one side, and the bed and a 
portrait ot a Rev olutlonai y ancestor the other 
