THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
44S 
JULY 12 
fitrrari) Miscellany. 
GEMS FROM POPULAR POETS. 
My name is J. L. Slosa, 
Of money-brokers I’m tbe boss. 
And a pillar of tbe churob I be, 
I pa88 around the plate, 
A pious look I cultivate. 
And I never, hardly over, use * big, big D. 
[ William Cullen Hryant. 
There is a boardlng-bouBO, far, far away, 
Where they have fried ham and eggs 
Three times a day. 
Oh, how them boarders yell, 
When they hear the dinner bell; 
Oh, how them eggs do smell 
Three timeB a day. 
[Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
A OU6HINO young damsel, Luclnder, 
Leaned out of the back bed-room winder, 
’Neath which her lov-ar 
Lightly picked his guitar. 
With no bull-dogs or shot-guns to hinder. 
[Longfellow. 
A hystericy creature. Deborah, 
Sat admiring the crimson Aurora; 
When a mouse in distress. 
Ran under her dress, 
She fainted and fell on the Ooor-ah. 
[ Walt Whitman. 
There was a young lady from Muscle, 
Run off with a feller named Russel, 
They came to this town, 
And were walking around. 
When our billy goat busted her bustle. 
[Henry W. Lonafellow. 
Now the swell in style arrayed 
Goes forth to promenade. 
But wilts 'neath the fervor of the sunbeam’s glance, 
And so do his collars and his Jackets and his pantB. 
[Shakespeare. 
Two beads with but a single thought, 
Two hearts that beat as one! 
Two pairs of Ups in suspense held— 
Two Uttle smacks—yam ! yum ! 
[John O. Whittier. 
Mart had a little lamp, 
Filled full of kerosene: 
She took it once to light a fire. 
And has not since benziue. [Tennyson. 
“ Oh, rich and rare were the gems they wore" 
Purchased at cost at the dollar store. 
[Tom jJfoore. 
-4--M- 
AN UGLY GIRL 
(Continued from page 430.) 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
THE INTERVIEW WITH THE HEIRESS. 
“ I am sorry to have distressed you by my vio¬ 
lence, Miss Gray," said Noel, earnestly. “ I ought 
not to have given way to it. I ought to have re¬ 
membered that it could do no good. However, I 
will relieve you ot my presence, only asking you to 
believe that I shall always retain a grateful sense 
of your ktudness to me during my 111 ness." 
“ Did I not owe you my life ?” she murmured. 
But this he would not hear. Her distrust had 
wounded him so deeply that he could scarcely for¬ 
bear reproaching her more vehemently than be¬ 
fore. To think that she could Imagine him guilty 
of such deliberate meanness w as more than he could 
endure with patience, and t-o know- that he owed 
all this to Clement Dunforth, the plausible scoun¬ 
drel, who, under the guise of friendship, had rob¬ 
bed him of her good opinion, galled him almost to 
madness. 
But he restrained himself, and, bowing with 
cold politeness, quitted the room. Cartsrorde was 
now so detestable to him. that he was Impatient 
to depart, lie still thought of its mistress with 
commiseration, but his pity was mingled with 
scorn <>1 the weakness that had rendered both her 
and Illlllau the easy dupes of a scoundrel; and he 
could not rest till he had written the fullest de¬ 
tails of the affair to Mr. Blenklnsop, and urged 
him to hasten home and take his ward under his 
guardianship. 
This done, he dismissed Jephson, having first 
arranged to leave the Park by an earlier train 
than he hud llrst decided on; but in two or three 
minutes Jephson returned, to say that Miss Caris- 
forde would like to see him before ho went, and 
would be In the library at eleven the following 
morning, 11 that, hour would suit him. 
In hts present mood, Noel felt very much dis¬ 
posed to decline the Interview; yet to do so 
m'ght be looked upon as a token that he feared to 
encounter his accusers, and, therefore, sent word 
that he would defer his journey so as to wait upon 
his kinswoman at the hour appointed. 
At last, her reserve was conquered. At last, he 
and Ada Carlslorde would meet face to face 
Could he help feeling a little excited when he 
knew tills ? 
And now the morning dawned on which Noel 
proposed t-0 quit, Carlsforde Park for ever. Few 
though the weeks had been since he first set foot 
within the noble mansion wlilch he then expected 
to call his own, he seemed to have gone through 
years of suffering and sorrow; for he hud not only 
learned to love, but been brought to acknow¬ 
ledge that he had made a sad mistake In bestow¬ 
ing his affections on one who had not valued the 
gift. 
How bitterly be felt towards Clement Dunforth 
it Is not easy to describe. lie could have lorglven 
him tor discovering that Hllllan Uray was Utter to 
be Ills wife than the heedless Irene; but he could 
not pardon the deliberate cruelty with which he 
had trilled with two young creatures solely to 
make his way by their means Into the good graces 
of a richer woman. 
Herr Rudolahelxn came In to bid him adieu 
while he was Idling over the breakfast, for which 
he had no appetite. 
“But we shall meet again,” the Herr said, 
briskly; “ for I shall visit London when I have fin¬ 
ished my work here; and then If you are still In 
the humor to expatriate yourself, why not go 
with me to my own country? At Hamburg I 
have friends who are In communication with 
many of the English colonies, and one or other 
of them shall most assuredly be able to further 
your views.” 
Noel gratefully thanked him, mentally acknowl¬ 
edging that he would ratner be indebted to this 
frank, genial foreigner than to his own country¬ 
man ; they parted; the German going to Inspect 
some old manuscripts In the possession of a gen¬ 
tleman In the neighborhood, and Noel proceeding 
to the library, where ho was Informed that Miss 
Carlslorde would Join him. 
He met Mrs Hurst on the way, and was detained 
for a considerable time to listen to her voluble re¬ 
grets at losing him—her hopes that he would take 
care of himself, and attend to all the rules for hts 
health which Dr. Monson had laid down—and that 
he would not suffer himself to be persuaded to go 
Into any very hot country, lest he should have 
sunstroke, nor Into very colds ones, as it would 
grieve her extremely to hear of Ills being frozen to 
death, or, what would be almost as bad, returning 
home minus his fingers and toes-a misfortune 
which, as she hart beon credibly Informed, many 
travellers hud met with, “ even to the nose, which 
must he so dreadfully awkward, you know,” espe¬ 
cially where that feature was such a nice-shaped 
feature as Lord Carlsfordc’s. 
With much difficulty he succeeded Ln extracting 
himself from the hands of his loquacious friend, 
whom he could not- shake off abruptly after seeing 
that tears—genuine tears—were In ber eyes. Mrs. 
Hurst had not been Insensible to the patient good 
humor and courtesy with which he had always 
treated her, and she ran after him to (he door of 
the library to beg that he would wear the knitted 
vests ot her own making, which he would find 
amongst hts luggage. 
But at last she left him. and, with his pulses 
quickening a little, he turned the handle of the 
door and entered the library. Miss Carlsforde was 
not there; but at the expiration of a minute or 
two, a full-length oil painting, that hung opposite 
the table ou which the Jewel cabinet had once 
been placed, swung aside, and then he saw that It 
concealed a door ln the oaken paneling, which 
now slowly opened. 
But It was Hllllan Gray, ln her simple black 
dress—with her hair brushed back from the white 
brows, on which he could have sworn that candor 
and Innocence sat enthroned—who entered, and, 
after a moment’s hesitation, advanced to greet 
him, 
A suspicion of the truth began to break upon 
Noel, but he did not speak. If ho had been tricked 
In every way, let the Ups ot this inscrutable girl 
avow It unasked; he would neither prompt her to 
the confession, nor assist her in making it. 
But Hllllan had watched his expressive face too 
often not to guess the reason why It suddenly 
clouded and his attitude became more hostile; 
and, raising her own alight figure to Its fullest 
hlght, she addressed him : 
•• I see, my lord, that you guess my secret at 
last, and that you think It Is time that you knew 
me by my rightful name, Ada HiUlan Carlsforde.” 
“ Pardon me, Miss Carlsforde,” he retorted, 
coldly, “If I.tell you that you have not Interpreted 
my thoughts rightly. If I permitted them to dwell 
at all upon a lady’s caprices, it has not been to 
marvel why she has concealed her name so long, 
but why she divulges It to me now." 
This was cruel, and HiUlan winced; hut she did 
not hesitate to defend herself. 
“ My lo d, I did not deliberately assumaflhe alias 
under which you have known me. Recall, if you 
please, the events of your arrival here.” 
“ Is It worth while to trouble you to enter on a 
lODg explanation?” Noel Interposed. “Everyone 
of those events of which you remind me does but 
prove that from the first moment of my coming to 
tills house I have been distrusted and—duped, l 
do not know why you have granted me this Inter¬ 
view, unless it Is to triumph over the gullibility 
which 1 have displayed.” 
Hllllan crimsoned, then grew deadly pale. She 
scarcely dared to look at her Incensed cousin; but 
when one furtive glance had shown her that he 
was as much agitated as herself, she took courage 
to make another attempt to exculpate herself. 
“ 1 tell you again, my lord, that 1 have never 
made a deliberate attempt to deceive you. Taught 
from my earliest childhood to consider myself so 
repulsive ln appearance, that I must never hope to 
associate with other girls of my age, and compelled 
to see that my dying father, even while he ac¬ 
cepted my attentions, could scarcely endure my 
presence—can you wonder that 1 shrank from any 
Intercourse with you and your step-mother ?" 
Noel did not answer, but she saw that he was 
listening. She had gained his ear, and this en¬ 
couraged her to proceed. 
“ You will remember, I dare say, that when my 
presence was requested at the reading of my 
father’s will, 1 hogged to be excused. From words 
that he had let fall during his illness, I had gath¬ 
ered enough to divine that his bequests were 
couched ln some extraordinary manner, and felt 
that the task of listening while Mr. Whltely read 
them would be a painful one, for which my grief 
and the fatigue 1 had gone through had quite un¬ 
fitted me.” 
** It was not pressed unkindly upon you, Miss 
Carlsforde,” she was reminded. 
“ True, and my proposal was agreed to that Miss 
Gray, the maiden sister of Mrs. Hurst—who had 
been with us during the last few days of papa’s 
lire—should act as my substitute; but when I 
spoke to her she positively and, as l then thought, 
rather harshly refused to take my place. It was 
mj' duty, she said, to go and learn the last wishes 
olmy dear father; and reluctantly 1 obeyed.” 
“ But l conclude that she dirt not bid you assume 
her name.” 
“Neither did I,” was the reply. “But when I 
entered the room, trembling and alone, afraid to 
glance at my unknown relatives lest 1 should de¬ 
tect the loathing with which I expected them to 
regard me, Mr. Whitley addressed me as Miss 
Gray. Before T could explain to him that he was 
under a mistake, Mrs. Estcourt objected to the 
presence of a dependent ln such a manner that I 
did not care to undeceive her just then; there 
would be time enough to do so when 1 could re¬ 
treat at once from the lady with whom 1 felt no 
destre to Improve my acquaintance.” 
Hllllan, whose tone had become a resentful one, 
here checked herself, and Ln a more moderate one 
begged Noel to excuse her If she had spoken with 
some Indignation. 
“Miss Gray and Mrs. Hurst,” she added, “are 
the sisters of my dead mother. Their love, their 
care, was all I knew In my childhood; they are 
still my best, because my most faithful, friends, 
and I cannot permit either of them to be con¬ 
sidered mere dependents.” 
Noel would not give an opinion on the act she 
was defending, and, Impatient at the silence that 
seemed to condemn her, she went on, rapidly: 
“ The will was read, and you, my lord, expressed 
your determination never to—to agree to the 
terms of It ln such a manner, that to say to you, ‘ I 
am the Ada carlsforde for whom you are neither 
expressing sympathy nor consideration,’ would 
have been Impossible.” 
“ I expressed my resolve too hastily; I acknowl¬ 
edge it,” said Noel. “ The dread of appearing 
mercenary, or of giving encouragement to the 
hopes 1 knew Mrs. Estcourt would entertain, made 
me forget all else. Whatever sounded ungenerous 
In my speech I have long since regretted, and I 
hope you will pardon It.” 
Hllllan Carlsforde partially extended her hand, 
but drew It hack when her kinsman showed no 
disposition to clasp It, and contented herself with 
bowing sUgttt.ly. 
“ 1 have a few more words to say, If I may detain 
yo" a little longer,” she told him. “ I should like 
you to understand why the mystification has been 
allowed to continue. Grieved that my father, Ln 
Ills love for me, should have Inflicted any Injury 
on you, I made the resolution to renounce all 
claims to the property, and follow Miss Gray, who 
had left Carlsforde that evening, and persuade her 
to take me abroad. How my night was prevented 
by the storm and the subsequent fall or the tower, 
you know. 1 could not go away while the life of 
my preserver was ln dauger, I preferred to let 
him know me still under the name of HiUlan, for 
while he regarded me as merely the niece of Mrs. 
Hurst, I knew my presence would not disturb him. 
It I have learned to think that to our friendship’’— 
and now her voice began to falter—" has been a 
mistake, the fault Is not mine.” 
“ Nor mine,” said NoeL curtlj-. 
“ Indeed, and yet—" Hllllan began. 
But he would not let her proceed any farther. 
“ And yet, as you have already hinted, you have 
been taught to doubt me, to think that while I lay 
here a helpless Invalid I employed myself In plot¬ 
ting and contriving mischief, ln your readiness to 
distrust me, you do not appear to have asked your¬ 
self—for what end?—what benefit could I derive, 
or wb.it injury uullct on you by such conduct ? It 
would only have been prudent as well as kind to 
put these questions to yourself before you so utter¬ 
ly condemned me,” 
“ I have asked inyself these questions repeated¬ 
ly," Miss Carlsforde murmured, “and could find 
no answer to them except-But no, my lord- 
no ; In that at least I have done you Justice. No 
one shaU ever Induce me to believe that It has been 
to carry out a paltry scheme of revenge that you 
have striven to humiliate me.” 
‘Then this is odb of the accusations brought 
against me? But no matter; I will not question 
you. Perhaps the solitary, friendless life you have 
lived Is some excuse for your readiness to think 
the worst of others.” 
“ Spare me your pity. If I have erred, 1 am 
sufficiently punished." said Hllllan, in low tones 
And as she turned away, Noel heard her sob. He 
took a step nearer, for her distress had softened 
him. 
** Miss Carlsforde, It would be folly for me to 
pretend that I am satisfied with the usage I have 
received at your hands. You have shewn your¬ 
self ln two characters—the gentle, generous wo¬ 
man, whom neither slanderous Imputation nor 
more direct assertions have ever brought me to 
doubt, and the coldly suspicious one who has 
watched over me—not kindly, as I Imagined, but 
to detect In me some excuse for the distrust she 
has suffered herself to be taught to cherish. To 
the Hllllan whose tears have been shed for my 
sufferings, I would fain say a cousinly adieu; but 
to the Ada Carlsforde, the kinswoman between 
whom and myself her suspicions have erected a 
stronger barrier than her father’s will, 1 have 
nothing to say but that she bus my good wishes.” 
He bowed low, and was leaving her—Heaven 
only knew at what a cost to himself l —when her 
uplifted hand arrested him. 
“ Answer me but one question ere you depart. 
Why did you bring Clement Dunforth here? He 
was not—he Is not—your friend, even though he 
may be mine. Why did you employ him to drag 
to light those follies I would have had forgot¬ 
ten?” 
“I have done neither or these tilings’” her 
pleading look constrained Noel to assure her. 
“ By no previous arrangement with me did he 
come here; and he, If there Is any truth ln him, 
can tell you that I should never have known that 
there was a secret lu your life, or that you had 
borne another name, U he had not recognized 
you." 
She started. 
“Then ln this at least he has not deceived me. 
You have known all along that I was your cousin, 
and your pretence of Ignorance has been cleverly 
assumed. Oh! shame on you, Noel Carlsforde! 
—shame on you to cheat me thus—to lure me on, 
and profess the most noble sentiments that you 
might, obtain the greater influence over me 1 Nay, 
I will hear no morel It wrings my heart to 
know that you are like the rest of the world- 
false—false I Why did you not take this hateful 
property when I first offered It to you, and let me 
hide myself from you forever ?" 
She ran out of the room, and Noel, alternately 
grieved and angry, rang for the carriage to be 
brought to the door, ln which he was to be driven 
to the station, it seemed cruel to leave her in 
this state of mind, yet to argue, to remonstrate 
with a woman who confessed that she had lost 
all faith in him, was a task to which he could 
not stoop, especially as It was no longer Hllllan 
the poor, but Ada the wealthy, to whom he must 
address himself. 
Yet how dearly he still loved her I how hatolt 
was to think that t he machinations of a scoundrel 
should have made her so unlike her gentle, gener¬ 
ous self! Was there no way of unmasking Clement 
Dunforth ? 
Apparently none; but ere Noel left the house he 
wrote a few lines to Mrs. Hurst, entreating her, ln 
the most urgent terms he could employ, to watch 
carefully over Miss Carlsforde until her guardian 
could arrive and relieve her of the responsibility. 
This done, with a. heavy heart he bade adieu to 
Carlsforde Park. He had come thither full of hope 
for the future; he wa* going away with every 
hope blighted forever—[To be continued. 
CONTENTMENT. 
miss a. a. c. 
I’ve sought for contentment in various ways. 
To cheer me in life's path along. 
But now I will seek It the rest of my days. 
Where contentment alone can belong. 
’Tis not in the gilded haunts of the great, 
Nor in costly palaces strong. 
Nor In vigils keeping, long and late. 
Where pleasure tempts the throng. 
But away from the busy cares of life, 
Surrounded by friends that I love. 
I’ll fly from all fretful, eager strife 
And a lesson learu from the dove. 
ORIGIN OF TWO POPULAR POEMS. 
Hood’s touching lyric, “ The Song or the Shirt,” 
was the work of an evening. Its author was 
prompted to write It by the condition of thousands 
of working-women In the city or London. The 
effect of Its production was foreseen by two per¬ 
sons, the poet’s wife and Mark Lemon, the editor 
of Punch. 
“Now mind, Tom—mind my words,” said his 
devoted wire; “ this will tell wonderfully, it Is 
one of the best things you ever did.” 
Mr. Lemon, looking over his letters one morn¬ 
ing. opened an envelope, Inclosing a poem which 
the writer said had been rejected by three London 
journals. He begged the editor to consign It to the 
waste-paper basket, It It was not thought suitable 
for Punch, as the author was “sick of the sight of 
It.” The poem was signed Tom Hood, and was en¬ 
titled “ The Song ol the Shirt.” 
It was submitted to the weekly meeting of the 
editors and principal contributors, several of whom 
opposed Its publication as unsuitable to the pages 
of a comic Journal. Mr. Lemon, however, was so 
firmly Impressed with Its beauty that he published 
it on December 16,1343. 
“The Song or the Shirt ” trebled the sale of the 
paper and created a profound sensation through¬ 
out Great Britain. People of every class were 
moved by It. It was chanted by ballad singers ln 
the streets of London, and drew tears from the 
eyes of Princes. Some years after the author’s 
death the English people erected a monument over 
his grave. The rich gave guineas, the laborers 
and sewing women gave shillings and pence. 
Sculptured on It Is the Inscription devised by him¬ 
self : “ He sang * The Song ol the Shirt.’ ” 
"The Old Oaken Bucket” was written fifty or 
more years ago by a printer named Samuel Wood- 
worth. He was In the habit of dropping Into a 
noted drinking saloon kept by one Mallory. One 
day, after drinking a glass of brandy and water, 
he smacked Ills Ups and declared that Mallory's 
brandy was superior to any drink he had ever 
tasted. 
“No,” said Mallory, “ you are mistaken. There 
was a drink which In both our estimations far sur¬ 
passed this.” 
“ Wlvat was that?” incredulously asked Wood- 
worth. 
“ The fresh spring water we used to drink from 
the old oaken backet that hung ln the well, after 
returning from the fields on a sultry day.” 
“Very true,” replied Woodworth, tear-drops 
glistening In his eyes. 
Returning to his printing office, he seated him¬ 
self at his desk and began to write. In half an 
hour 
" The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well,” 
was embalmed In an Inspiring song that has be¬ 
come as familiar as a household word.— Burlington 
Hawkeye. 
THE CAMEL. 
Mr. Palgrave. criticising the reputation that, the 
animal has for docility, remarks: “ If docile means 
stupid, well and good; In such a case the camel Is 
the very model of docility. But If the epithet is 
Intended to designate an animal that takes an in¬ 
terest lu Us rider so far as a beast can; that. In some 
way understands his Intentions, or shares them 
ln a subordinate rashion ; that obeys from a sort 
of submissive or half fellow-feeling with his mas¬ 
ter, like a horse or elephant; then I say that the 
camel Is by no means docile—very much the con¬ 
trary. He takes no heed of his rider, pays no 
attention whether he be on bis back or not. walks 
straight on when once set a-golng, merely because 
he Is too stupid to turn aside; and then, should 
some tempting thorn or green branch allure him 
out or the paih, continues to walk, on in the new 
direction, simply because he la too dull to turn 
back Into the right road, lb a word, he Is, from 
first to last, an undomestlcated and savage animal 
rendered serviceable by stupidity alone without 
much skill on his master's part, or any co-opera- 
tlon on his own, save that of an extreme passive- 
