THE STORY OF STONY BROOK FARM. 
HENRY STEWART. 
CHAPTER XX. 
(Continued from page 885.) 
Within, the sick girl lay motionless and un‘ 
conscious, her brain slowly consuming with 
the fever. A slight shivering of the eyelids, 
her half opened burning lips and her almost 
imperceptible breathing alone told of a spark 
of lingering life within its wrecked and nearly 
overthrown temple. The closely shaven head, 
wrapped in ice-cold cloths seemed a prognostic 
of the grave. 
The quietness of the room had scarcely been 
disturbed by the bustle without through the 
precaution of blinding and muffling the win¬ 
dows by the careful nurse. The fate of the 
father was yet unknown to Mrs. Merritt, for 
the few neighbors who watched the body kept 
perfect silence while the justice, the doctor 
and the undertaker, who were notified by the 
departed neighbors, were on their way. The 
doctor quickly made his way upstairs after 
determining the manner of Bartlett’s death, 
so that the justice decided an inquest was un¬ 
necessary, and found his patient at the crisis 
of her disease. He determined to stay in the 
house through the night lest any accident 
might occur which should interfere with the 
favorable turn he hoped for. He would not 
suffer Mrs. Merritt to leave the room, fearing 
the effects upon her of a knowledge of the 
catastrophe, until he went down and induced 
the undertaker to remove the remains at once 
and have the funeral from his house, and in a 
short time the room was cleared, and the 
ghastly relics of the unfortunate owner left 
Stony Brook Farm for ever. 
Meanwhile Patience had fallen into a sleep 
and as hour by hour went by and midnight 
passed without any unfavorable turn the doc¬ 
tor’s hopes began to rise, and as the dawn 
appeared be awoke the sleeping nurse and 
made the glad announcement to her, that the 
patient would probably recover if good nurs¬ 
ing and perfect quiet could restore her. 
Then he cautiously informed her that Bart¬ 
lett had lost his life with bis barn, concealing 
the horrible details of the story, and cautioned 
her strictly to guard the knowledge of it from 
the unhappy girl and promising to return in 
an hour or two with some assistance for her, 
he departed. 
Thus in an hour a hitherto peaceful valley 
was overwhelmed in wretchedness. The neigh¬ 
boring farmers the next da}', gathered in 
little knots here and there and discussed the 
various versions of the story which floated on 
the atmosphere of gossip which envelops a 
rural locality. 
One man alone was not abroad that day, and 
absented himself from the funeral ns well as 
from the gossipy gatherings. Hestaid within 
doors, his chin resting in his hands, his elbows 
on his knees, his face haggard, and his eyas all 
bloodshot, and bleared, fixed steadfastly upon 
the floor. 
The whole night he had remained in this 
position. The morning had broken, but the 
lamp still burned and the sun was high when 
his old mother came into the room and shook 
him, telling him the cows had not been fed or 
milked; and put out the light. He rose with¬ 
out a word and went in n dazed way to the 
strble and milked the cows and fed the stock. 
Re shook his head when his mother urged him 
to eat and again resumed his old position. He 
was not thinking. He was stupefied by ter¬ 
ror, He feared some terrible retribution too 
from which ho saw or hoped no way of escape > 
and so prostrated mentally was the man by 
the knowledge of bis guilt, and his fear that 
it was all known or would soon be discovered, 
that had a messenger of death appeared to 
him he could have made no effort to escape. 
And so he passed the day. 
CHAPTER XXI. 
Early in the morning after the fire, George 
Bates saw the Stony Brook Farm cows wan¬ 
dering in the pasture, unmilkod, and uncared 
for. Consulting « it,h His sister he determined 
to take care of them, aud sent Jabez to drive 
them up to have them milked. He then put 
them out again and sent Jabez to inform Jonas 
Pratt, who had now the legal control of the 
stock, of what he had done and offered to care 
for them, if he so desired, until he could take 
charge of them. 
Jabez returned with the pitiful Btory: “The 
man’s clean dazed,” said he. “ He says they’re 
not his oows; he hez nuthin’ to do with ’em. 
The man’s crazy, I swan to gracious; an’no 
wonder.” 
So George Bates, in pursuance of his agree¬ 
ment with the dead man, and urged by his 
sister, as a service to the sick girl, continued 
to care for the cows and gave such advice as 
he could to the hoy who still remained to care 
for what was left of Stony Brook Farm stock. 
The day of the funeral was a sad day for 
everybody. Every person seemed to feel that 
day that there were things in this life that 
were unaccountable, and to have a glimpse of 
an unseen influence which controlled human 
affair-i, and of some power above and beyond 
them to which they were amenable. The gen¬ 
eral conscience was troubled as in periods of 
great public disaster and there was no need to 
proclaim a day of public mourning and hu¬ 
miliation, because every person, young and 
old, was penetrated deeply with such a feel¬ 
ing. And when the good minister who a few 
days before bad unwillingly and doubtingly 
married Patience to Jonas Pratt, and who 
had never forgiven himself for his share of 
that business, shed bitter tears as he traced 
this catastrophe to that unhappy marriage, 
and spoke of the evils and wickedness of self¬ 
ishness and the cultivation of an ungoverna 
ble temper, and the retributions which follow 
wrongs of whatever kind inflicted by one 
upon another fellow creature; and referred to 
the pitiable condition of the patient and too 
obedient and unoffending girl, who lav' even 
now on the brink of the open grave before 
them, and prayed fervently and earnestly for 
her recovery, the great crowd wept with him 
and sobbed as with one impulse, and echoed 
the pious prayer of the good man that God 
would be merciful to her. And when all was 
over and he announced that he would hold a 
revival meeting in the church that evening, 
in the hope that great good might come out 
of this sad disaster, every one determined in 
his or her mind to be present, 
Aud when, after darkness had wrapped the 
valley and the hills in its shroud and the day 
had died quietly away, aud the gentle moon 
had risen over the eastern hill3 as a messenger 
of mercy and love and a3 significative of the 
forgiveness which is promised to repenting 
men, the wretched Jonas Pratt crept forth 
ficm his hiding place and walked abroad. 
And he walked on and on with a hurried step 
until he unconsciously reached the church and 
the burying-ground where the shadowy stones 
and monuments glistening and gleaming in 
the bright moonlight, appeared to him as 
messengers from another world, and he re¬ 
coiled as from a sudden blow. He would have 
fled but he heard the long-forgotten strains of 
that pathetic hymn “ China,” as they welled 
over the monuments from the meeting-house, 
and bis power to flee was arrested. He crept 
nearer; he crouched under the open window; 
be drank in every word of the prayer which 
followed and he listened, conscience-stricken, 
as he heard the words of the text given out 
with firm but gentle and loving tones, “ When 
the wicked man turnetb from his wickedness 
and doeth that which is lawful aud right, he 
shall save bis soul alive.” How these words 
pierced his soul, already tormented with 
fear and dread; how they went like a 
sharp arrow to his sleeping conscience 
and awoke in it a knowledge of the great 
wroDgs be had done aud for which bis soul 
warned him he deserved a retribution more 
severe than that which had fallen upon his 
dead neighbor. And he crouched down lower, 
even to the ground; falling upon his knees and 
pressing his burning brow upon the cold damp 
grains as he listened to the words which fell 
from the preacher’s lips. Ob! there was no 
help for him. Not a man in that church was 
so bad as he. But as he listened be heard 
something about the chief of sinners being 
forgiven ami of sins red like crimson being 
made like wool, but on this condition only a 
man should do what is lawful and right; 
should make restitution to his fellowmen and 
then appeal for mercy which was free for the 
vilest of our race. And a great resolve was 
formed within him. He would restore what 
he had robbed; ah, how could he! How could 
he restore to that suffering, perhaps dying, 
girl, the peace of which his falsehood and his 
baseness had robbed her. How restore to life 
the neighbor whom he felt he had partly 
helped to his destruction and whose bloody 
and mangled body appeared to him whenever 
he shut his eyes. He would do bis best. He 
would see a lawyer on the morning aud undo 
as far as he could the mischief he had done. 
He would go at once and see his wronged 
cousin and restore to him his stolen inherit¬ 
ance: he would show how he had by false¬ 
hood and trickery inveigled a weak and help 
less girl aud had even worked upon the miser¬ 
able disposition of the father so that he should 
force her to the wretched sacrifice, and so he 
would set her free, pure and nncontarninated 
by his wicked trickery, and release her from 
her bondage. All this he would do and then 
he would surrender himself to justice aud sub¬ 
mit himself to the righteous punishment which 
was his due. 
Yes; ha resolved. And he raised his right 
hand and vowed he would perform his prom¬ 
ise. It was lawful and right to do so, and he 
would save at least his soul alive. And he crept 
homeward; threw himself upon his bed and 
worn out with his long misery, but relieved 
by a strange and unwonted ease of mind, he 
fell into the first restful sleep he had enjoyed 
for vears. 
The following day he rose before the light, 
foddered his cattle, prepared the breakfast ) 
awoke hiB mother, nearly upset her slender 
reason by kissing her, a thing unknown to 
her, and long past her remembrance; attend¬ 
ed upon her duriDg the meal, and went direct 
across the dew-laden meadows to the Stone- 
house Farm and asked for Lawyer Bates. To 
him he unfolded hia history and his intentions 
and insisted upon the instant drawing of such 
papers as would effect his purposes, including 
a trust-deed of all the personal property to be 
held for bis cousin, Barley Merritt’s use, and 
a petition for a divorce and the annulment of 
his marriage with Patience Bartlett od ac¬ 
count of his own fraud and deceit. 
The papers were made without delay; exe¬ 
cuted in due form and, with the exception of 
the deed of the farm and an explanatory 
statement and confession, drawn up and 
signed and witnessed, which he intended to 
take at once and deliver to bis cousin and beg 
his forgiveness, were left with George Bates, 
whom he constituted his attorney for procur¬ 
ing the annulment of bis ill-starred marriage. 
Then he felt such peace as he had never before 
experienced; a calm fell upon him; and such 
a love to his long ill-used and neglected and 
helpless mother came into his softened and 
chastened heart as he had long ago forgotten. 
It was nature released from a prison house 
and from bonds and chains; a touch of the 
nature which makes the whole world kin, 
but, more than all, makes us love and revere a 
parent. 
His old mother he conducted to his sister’s 
house, leaving on his way the key of his house 
as a representative of all hia property with 
George Bates, as hia lawyer; offered him pay, 
which was gently but firmly refused, and the 
same evening took his passage on the lumber 
ing, rattling milk train, slow as a snail 
to him and for his purpose, on the way to seek 
his cousin in the Michigan woods. 
(To be Continued.) 
AUSTRIAN La DIES. 
Ladies of high birth are wonderfully' ca¬ 
pable, owing to their excellent system of edu¬ 
cation. "Whatever they may be called upon 
to do—from cutting a dress to making a salad 
—they are always ready. Young ladies with 
titles and fortunes are sent to famous milli¬ 
ners aDd dressmakers, where they serve a 
regular apprenticeship, and remain until per¬ 
fectly able to cut and make any garment. 
An Austrian lady that cannot swim, or 
does not know how to ride well, is an excep¬ 
tion. Needlework of every kind, even to the 
making of lace, is part of every young lady’s 
education. There is no smattering of any¬ 
thing; whether she learns the piano, or to 
draw, she learns it thoroughly. If she has no 
talent at all for on art—which is seldom—she 
lets that art entirely alone. Her pedestrian 
accomplishments put ladies of other countries 
quite to shame; her efforts of memory are 
another source of wonder to us. The wonder¬ 
ful memory which enables Austrian girls to 
repeat sometimes the whole of “Paradise 
Lost," or an entire drama, comes from prac¬ 
tice begun in babyhood. 
Every day the girl is expected to learn a 
poem or a page. She often does it while mak¬ 
ing her toilet: and at last, from habit, a poem 
requires but a single reading, and it is stowed 
away in the memory safely. As linguists 
they are famous. This, too, comes from 
learning when very young As the Court 
language is French, learning it is compulsory. 
Even servants are expected to speak both 
French and German. It is only among the 
nobility and higher classes that one finds 
these accomplishments. 
The burgher’s daughter will not conde¬ 
scend to the learning of dressmaking and 
cooking, which the titled lady can do without 
its reflecting on her social position. And so 
the young women to whom such knowledge 
would be of practical benefit are inefficient, 
while all the ladies at the Court have at their 
fingers’ ends the power to do anything. 
Cooking is not neglected. 
The Austrian lady of station is acquainted 
with every detail of the cuisine. A story is 
told by Viennese ladies of another, who, hav¬ 
ing neglected this branch of her education, 
allowed, at a great dinner-party which she 
gave, two dishes of the same color to be 
served in succession, a fault for which she 
was hardly to be forgiven. The princesses 
of the royal households attend a course of 
lectures from a chef entirely upon the order 
of serving, 
Young ladies do not learn the art of cook¬ 
ing at cooking clubs, or from public lessons, 
and they rarely learn in their own kitchens. 
It is the custom to go to some great house— 
the house of a princess, or to a very rich 
banker’s—where there are famous chefs, by 
whom they are taught. When a chef engages 
to^cook for a nobleman, he stipulates that he 
is to have the privilege of teaching as many 
young ladies as he chooses. These young 
ladies need not even know the mistress of the 
house, and they make their arrangements 
with the cook only. 
for Worartt. 
UONDCCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
A LOCK OF FLAXEN HAIR. 
I have a lock of flaxen hnlr 
Wrapt In a tiny fold- 
’Tls Imardcd with a miner's care, 
’Tts dearer far than gold. 
To other eyes of little worth. 
Yet. precious unto mine; 
For once, d> ar rhlld. In life and health. 
It was a lock of thine. 
The numbered hours pass slowly; 
Days, weeks and months depart. 
And still the vaennt place remains 
Unchanged within the heart. 
The lonellne 0 8 Is still the fame, 
The same great want Is there; 
While memory loves to brood upon 
The simple lock of hair. 
The cold winds seem to sigh more loud; 
When shades of evening fall; 
The clock with more impressive sound. 
Ticks louder on the wall; 
For now no artless words I hear, 
No smiling face I see, 
No tones of childish mirth break forth. 
So dear to home and me. 
’Tis past, 'tls gone, Uke some strange dream 
That Ungers with the mind; 
Some pleavant scene of happiness 
The heart hath left behind; 
An atom from the fading dust. 
A relic of the past; 
That rells of transient hopes and joys. 
Of things that could not last. 
’Tls all that now remains of thee, 
Light- of our home and hearth; 
While sadly pass the silent hours, 
And dBrk the days come forth; 
Yet stlU I keep it for thy sake, 
And guard it with fond care. 
And oft I view, with throbbing heart 
Thy simple lock of hair. 
TO THE YOUNG WOMEN READERS OF 
THE RURAL. 
MARY WAGER-FISHER. 
The impulse of youth is nearly always gen¬ 
erous, and one thiDg in particular that per¬ 
sons of experience knoic to be akin to hope¬ 
lessness, it not absolutely hopeless, young 
people are very apt to regard as not only 
possible, but probable. I refer to the refor¬ 
mation of habits after twenty years of sge. 
Young women not infrequently become at¬ 
tached to young men of dissolute or unworthy 
habits, and consent to marry them under the 
belief that they can and will win them from 
the error of their ways. The power of affec¬ 
tion and of devotion is very strong, but it is 
so rare that a wife makes a sober man out of 
a drunken hushand, that It is hardly worth 
the mention. Moreover, the man who can, 
and does not, break off from a ruinous 
habit for his own sake, and at the dictate of 
his own sense of manliness, is not worth the 
reforming. No one but persons who have had 
experience with the philanthropic work of 
trying to reform men and women appreciate 
the difficulties in the way and the appalling 
discouragement of the undertaking. It is 
true, however severe it may appea r, that peo¬ 
ple who haven’t it in them to help themselves 
do not deserve help. And it is equally true 
that when a man seems bent on going to rain 
without itev reason therefor, except that he 
lacks moral sense or moral stamina, the soon¬ 
er he gets there and out of the wav the better 
for society. It is further true, that no voung 
roan but a fool of the first order will get 
drunk, and a young woman who marries a 
man whom she has reason to believe drinks, 
belongs to that long category of women who 
are fools, in that they greatly over estimate 
their own strength and influence. 
It is an awful thing to be the wife of a man 
who comes home drunk, or from a drunken 
spree. No amount of love for a man can 
make a life l’ke that desirable. But the diffi¬ 
culty lies in making a girl .conscious of her 
fate when she is about to marry a drinking 
fellow, because she loves him. She invaria¬ 
bly argues with herself, “1 will reform Aim." 
She expects and hopes to do with him what 
no other woman has been eble to do. not even 
his own mother, and what a man will not do 
for his mother he is uot very likely to do for 
his wife. 
The happiness and’stahility of married life 
rest entirely upon character. Love wears 
out when there is no longer real virtue to feed 
upon. The old saying that. “ beauty is but 
skin deep, w hile virtue goes to the bone," find? 
no fuller exemplification than'in marriage. 
Sterling character is the corner am* keystone 
of happiness and satisfaction in married life. 
Agreeable manners and an agreeable person 
are very desirable, and love is essential; but 
with all these there must be the added quality 
—the saving grace—of good moral charact 
