SEPT 8 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Citnwi). 
ONLY A MINER. 
Tremont is a pleasant little village over¬ 
looking the “Western Sea.” Everything 
there, is rough and stony,and even the inhabi¬ 
tants are to all appearance as rough and stony 
as their native rocks. But underneath those 
slaty fields lie the rich reins or motal, and in 
those rough hearts is a vein of human feeling 
and Christian charity, far, far purer than 
much that passes as such in the fashionable 
worlds, where tinkling bells daily summon 
rich dowagers to church in their gorgeous 
chariots. 
The children of Tremont were tripping light¬ 
ly to school after their holidays, along the 
hard slaty paths. It was, indeed, with no 
“creeping like snail unwillingness to school” 
kind of motion on this occasion, as all were full 
of expectation, almost of joy, for they %vere 
to have that day a new mistress, one whom 
they all knew, and who had, in fact, been one 
of themselves. 
Margaret Powel had been born in Tremont, 
where she had attended the school, first as 
pupil, then as pupil-teacher. Thence she had 
gone to college, and a vacauey having oc¬ 
curred, she had been appointed mistress down 
there in her own native village. Her father 
had worked there, man and boy, in the mines 
for upwards of forty years, and he still con¬ 
tinued to follow this same occupation. The 
children, therefore, all knew Margaret. Their 
memories of her were pleasant, and hence 
they tripped joyously to school, where they 
admired their new mistress, who, in their 
eyes, was "certainly as learned besides be¬ 
ing as pretty as a princess. When they, 
therefore, returned home at midday, many 
were the exclamations of “Isn’t she pretty !” 
“Isn’t she nice I” and so on, among the 
youngsters. 
Many others besides the school children 
were in love with Margaret, for she had 
budded into womanhood since she had left 
Tremont, and uow her beauty had taken the 
young men by surprise. For some time Mar¬ 
garet found it far from agreeable to have so 
many admirers, but by dint of good manage¬ 
ment, by the falling off of these who felt they 
had “no chance,” and through other circum¬ 
stances, her circle of avowed adorers became 
reduced to two—Joseph Tregear and Tom 
Polglaze. 
Both of these young men were receiving 
good wages'in the mines, and had opportunities 
of rising to higher positions as inspectors, and 
so forth; both, too, were steady, and had saved 
a little money. It was long, however, before 
Margaret herself mado it known which of 
them she preferred; in fact, so farasthatgoes < 
neither could for a long time boast of the 
smallest favor. Other girls called Margaret a 
flirt, but in this they wronged her. The sim¬ 
ple fact was that Margaret, not yet tired of 
being her own mistress, endeavored so to order 
her ways that neither Joseph Tregear, Tom 
Polglaze, nor any other suitor might have the 
slightest reason to be jealous of a rival. 
Tregear, however, had the good sense to see 
that neither he nor Polglaze was nearly so well 
educated as Margaret, and he well understood 
that it is a bad omen when the husband has to 
look up to the wife in the matter of learning. 
He accordingly bought books aud became an 
earnest midnight student. In fact, he tried 
in every way to render himself Margaret 
Powel’s equal. 
Tom Polglaze, however, loves! the fair teach¬ 
er not a whit less than his rival, but he was 
formed in a rougher mould. He scarcely no¬ 
ticed the change in Tregear; but, if he did not, 
Margaret Powel did, and she was highly grati¬ 
fied by it. 
“Joseph,” said she to him one evening when 
he came to ask her to take a walk, “you seem 
much changed lately; you are as little like a 
native of Tremont as myself.” 
“In what way, Margaret?” 
“You have lost that twang, and you seem 
to know something about the great world. Do 
you study?” 
“Yes; 1 sit up every night to read, or to 
work mathematics.” 
“Why? What do you want to be? A clerk?” 
“Margaret, T study only to be more like you; 
I love you—will you—” 
“There, Joseph Tregear, you study to be 
like me? 1 am sure I never set you the exam¬ 
ple of talking such rubbish. Ah, ah! Good¬ 
bye!” 
So saying, off she tripped into the house, to 
his intense discomfiture. 
But was Margaret any the more happy than 
the lover she had left so disconsolate in the 
street.? That evening her parents noticed a 
great change in her, but could not discover the 
cause. She did not talk, nor take any food, 
but soon retired to her own little room, com¬ 
plaining of a headache. 
“ Do I love him ?' she muttered when alone - 
“ Poor fellow ! he studies hard for my sake— 
to be more worthy of me, I suppose he calls it. 
Ah, Joseph ! why did I leave you so abruptly? 
What a giddy, worthless thing I am !” That 
night she could not sleep until she bad decided 
upon a future course of action. 
The next day. being Saturday, Margaret 
spent at home in household cares, which she 
shared with her mother, but she scarcely spoke 
a word all day. Iu the evening she went to 
the draper’s and bought a few ribbons and 
other little articles, for there was some object 
now iu beiug pretty. 
On Sunday she appeared in church dressed 
with more than her usual care, and she may be 
forgiven if she was not quite so attentive to 
the sermon as she should have been, for there 
at a distance sat Joseph Tregear, looking at 
her with his great blue eyes, making her blush, 
and inspiring her with the desire of sinking 
through the floor. 
On leaving the porch, after dismissing her 
flock, Margaret found Joseph Tregear and 
Tom Polglaze pretending to read the inscrip¬ 
tions on the tombs. At the sound of her step 
Tom raised bis head and advanced with a 
friendly nod, whilst Joseph remained still, 
but fixed those great blue eyes on her. 
“ Good morning, Tom,” said she indiffer¬ 
ently; “how are you ?” 
Polglaze was replying as they neared Tre¬ 
gear. when Margaret stopped. Tregear still 
held back, trembling in his heart and appre¬ 
hensive of his rival. Margaret, however, was 
so apparently calm that he was beginning to 
think her heart as hard as her native rocks, 
when, nodding an adieu to Polglaze, she very 
naturally and very quietly put her hand on 
Tregear’s arm aud said : 
“ 1 am very sorry I kept you waiting; I can 
now only spare you half an hour for a walk.” 
It was the first time she had ever shown a 
preference, and Polglaze now knew that he 
too was “out of the race.” His face changed 
to an ashen hue. and he tottered off with de¬ 
jected looks, but with clenched fists. 
Tregear squeezed the small hand that had 
been so unexpectedly put on his arm, and led 
Margaret away for the promised walk, which, 
it need scarcely be said, was unconsciously 
lengthened into an hour. 
When Margaret once more arrived under 
her parents’ roof it was not alone that she 
came. Heuceforth, another had also a right 
to join her there. 
Tregear knew the price that must be paid 
for Margaret's love. He knew that Polglaze 
would not give her up without a contest. Nor 
was it long before the battle was commenced, 
for that very evening, as Tregear was leaving 
the house of the Powel’s he was attacked by 
his rival. With him it was but a word and a 
blow. 
“ Joe Tregear, you’ve crossed my steps and 
now I’ll bo revenged on you l” 
So saying, Polglaze struck a blow which 
would have felled an ordinary man. But 
Tregear was quite a match for him, aud the 
two fought long and desperately, until sepa¬ 
rated by the rural policeman, who threatened 
them with legal proceedings. 
Of course Margaret was one of the first to 
hear of the battle. Distressed beyond meas¬ 
ure she went to her lover’s parents, where she 
found him in a most, unpresentable condition. 
A few words soon explained the position of 
affaire, when Margaret burst into tears and 
blamed herself for showing her preference so 
stupidly. 
“ Margaret," replied her lover, “do not 
take it to heart. I’d rather be fighting him 
again than to see your tears.” 
“ Let me alone a minute. Let me overcome 
this, ” 
“Yes, dear heart!” said Mrs. Tregear 
“don’t ye take on in this way. These tinmen 
are regular vitbere; but this Tom Polglaze is 
the greatest fighter that ever I see.” 
“Yes, Margaret, that’s true. I knew that 
the day I gained your love I should find an 
enemy. But cheer uu, cheer up ! I fancy he 
will not attack me again in a hurry, for I 
know he does not at this moment look a bit 
handsomer than I do. ” 
And so saying, he laughed the matter 
lightly away, until Margaret too began to 
smile through her tears. 
On the following day, when the two rivals 
went to the mine, their appearance caused 
many jeeriug and contemptuous remarks, for 
the tinmen were in hopes of goading them on 
to renew the battle. Polglaze had, however, 
found an adversary worthy of his strong arm, 
and was not so ready to strike the first blow 
as he had boon the night before. He contented 
himself, therefore, with doubling his fists 
and saying that the time of vengeance 
would come. 
Months passed away, however, Tremont 
recovered from its uuwonted excitement, and 
matters took their usual course. The mines 
were worked, old seams were used up, and 
new veins opened out: but, though the battle 
had not been renewed, Joseph Tregear and 
Tom Polglaze had not yet shaken hand 
This caused Margaret no small anxiety, for 
down there in the bowels of the earth an un¬ 
seen blow with a pick might destroy the hap¬ 
piness of her life. She often begged Tregear 
to leave the mines, but he said he had good 
prospects of being appointed engineer’s as¬ 
sistant. and as for Tom Folglaze’s threat— 
why, be had not the slightest anxiety on ac¬ 
count of that. 
At length a new shaft was to be opened, and 
the two young men, being the steadiest hands 
in the mine, were selected for the operation- 
There they toiled together for a few weeks 
without exchanging a word, and there they 
were alone, far from any other workman. 
Margaret was wretched, but to all her suppli¬ 
cations Tregear still said that he had no fear. 
In her distress she spoke to Polglaze and asked 
him to shake hands with Tregear. He re¬ 
fused, but he pressed his rough hands to his 
temples and said. “I loved you then, I love 
you now, as much or more than Joe Tregear.' 1 
A day or two after that both men were 
again at work together, and silent as death in 
their solitary shaft. They were suddenly 
startled by a falling stone. A few lumps of 
earth then came tumbling down, and the 
whole shaft seemed to tremble. 
The works were giving way. The two men 
looked at one another for a moment with 
blanched faces. It was the first time they had 
looked into one another’s eyes since that fatal 
day, except to dart fatal glances of scorn and 
hate. They ran to the kebble and gave the 
signal to be drawn up. They were touching 
one another noyr, their hands almost clasped 
together on the rope, Their very breath 
seemed to intermingle. It was terrible after 
such a course of hate to be brought together 
under these circumstances. As they were both 
shouting to be drawn up the rope tightened 
and strained, but the kebble would not move. 
More earth now fell, but still the kebble re¬ 
mained at the bottom of the shaft. Whilst 
shouting louder and louder for help the terri¬ 
ble truth flashed through their minds that 
there was only one man at the windlass, and 
that he alone was unable to raise them both, 
and all this time the shaft was trembling and 
earth and stones falling. 
As they stood there in the kebble. their bod¬ 
ies and hands touching, aud glancing into one 
another’s eyes, the awful thought came to them 
both in an instant that one of the* must die- 
must die to save the other—his enemy ! 
One of them must die—but who should it 
be ? 
They again looked at one another, and there 
was an eternity in the glance. Then one 
of them let go the rope and dropped out of the 
coble, which immediately began to rise. 
Who was it ? The willing martyr was Tom 
Polglaze. 
“Tell Marg’et,” he shouted, as the kebble 
rose above his head, “tell Marg’et I did it to 
save her pain—to save you whom she loves; I 
forgive you! but be sure and be good to-” 
The shaft gave way, and nothing presented 
itself to Tregear’s gaze but a mass of slate and 
rubbish. Tom Polglaze was in eternity, as no¬ 
ble a soul as ever died for any cause that is 
dear to man; as devoted as any martyr, as 
generous-souled as any patriot—though only a 
poor miner. 
It was long before Joseph Tregear and Mar. 
garet Powel recovered from that shock. They 
mourned the brave dead as a brother, and a 
neat little stone,overlooking the village church¬ 
yard, long afterwards reminded the tinmen of 
Tremont of the noble deed of self-sacrifice of a 
hero who was one of themselves. 
WHAT IS IT i 
Among the articles in my cabinet is a fungus 
growth which resembles a toad-stool, on the 
face of which is a drawing representing a small 
house with rail fence on either side, and a few 
evergreen trees near. The toad-stool was sent 
to me from an acquaintance in Minnesota, 
with the following facts concerning it: "This 
drawing is the true representation of a house 
on an island in Minnetonka Lake,Minn., occu¬ 
pied by one Frank Halstead, who was stuilious- 
ly employed in constructing a steamer of his 
own invention, aud for the furtherance of his 
plan, built the house and dwelt aloue in the 
isolated spot. After years of laborious " toil 
and study, he launched his steamer, but it was 
a failure, aud. overwhelmed with disappoint¬ 
ment, he drowned himself near the spot of his 
solitary labors.” Such is the story as told to 
me. The drawing is executed with a pin, and 
is very good and true to the original, I am 
told. I have thought it more than likely that 
some of the Rural readers might be familiar 
with these circumstances, and l venture to 
hope that this communication, the object of 
which is of great interest to mo, will not be de¬ 
void of interest to others, and I hope to read 
something concerning it some day, as I eager¬ 
ly search my Rural for the good things it al¬ 
ways contains. EVA ames. 
A TRUE AND LOYAL FRIEND. 
When Peter the Great was in Holland he 
was told of a man then lying in prison who 
had been twice put to the torture to induce 
him to reveal the names 'of those who had 
been engaged with him in a conspiracy against 
the government, but the torture had been in¬ 
effectual. On the last occasion he had suffered 
almost the pains of death, but had not fal¬ 
tered. The Russian monarch became interest¬ 
ed in the man—or, we might say, he became 
curious—and he went to see him. He was ad¬ 
mitted to the conspirator’s dungeon, where he 
found a frank-faced, noble-looking man, of 
middle age, belonging to the bumble class, but 
very intelligent and well educated. 
The Czar conversed with him for a time,and 
at length asked bim bluntly why he had held 
out so stoutly against the tortures. “What 
could have induced you, under such dreadful 
penalty, to shield men who were equally im¬ 
plicated with yourself ?” 
“Sir,” returned the prisoner, “can you keep 
a secret?” 
“I think'I can.” 
“Do you not know?” 
“Yes, I know I can.” 
“And so can I!” And with this answer he 
supposed the interview would end. But not so 
Peter, having conceived a great admiration 
for the heroic man, felt that he would like 
such a friend, and, having made himself 
known, he asked bim if he would be willing to 
go with bim to Russia and be to him a true 
and loyal friend. ‘ You will allow me to leave 
you whenever I shall feel that you are no 
longer my friend V the prisoner said, plainly. 
“I give yon my promise to that effect.” 
“Then, answered the man,” if you can pro¬ 
cure my liberation from this place, I will go 
with you, and I will serve you so long as I 
can do so with honor to myself.” Peter, after 
much effort, procured the man’s liberation, on 
condition that he would take him out of the 
country. They went to Russia in company, 
and the story goes on to say that the attendant 
thus strangely picked up remained with Peter 
while he lived, honored and trusted to the 
end. Several times the Czar'offered to give 
him a title of nobility, but he would not accept 
it. “I wish to serve yon without creating en¬ 
emies,” he said, “and I can only do that while 
I retain an humble station.” 
Fig 635. 
for lUonint 
CONDUCTED BY MISS RAY CLARK. 
THE HARBINGER. 
When the rain or sunny days 
Clear the fields and woodland ways 
Of the snow; 
Only where some great drift stood. 
Or within the thickest wood 
Still It Ungers loath to go,— 
Then I leave the town behind, 
Every day roam till I find, 
Blossoming, 
By old fence and forest through. 
White and dainty pink and blue 
Hepatlcas, first flowers of Spring. 
Even though you may have heard 
Song of robin and blue-bird 
Weeks hefore; 
Still the wintry winds may come. 
Fields and wood grow chill and dumb, 
Snow he-spread the land once more. 
But when you these flowerets see 
You may know the days will be 
Pleasant then; 
For In nature’s calendar 
These dear flowers the true sign are 
That the Spring is here again. 
Chester Wood. 
-- 
ABOUT WOMEN, 
Miss Julia E. Ward, the former prineipa 
of Mount Holyoke Seminary, was burned out 
in her California home a day or two ago. 
Somebody has been bright enough to say : 
“L&ngtrv and Gebhardt—the Lily of the Val¬ 
ley, and the Valet of the Lily.” 
