NEW-YORKER 
0®T. 4 THE RURal 
fitcnuij Miscell;uuj. 
THE WORLD FROM THE SIDEWALK. 
Did you over slaml in the crowded street, 
In the yrlaro of the city lamp, 
And list to the tread of the million feet 
In their quaintly musical tramp f 
As the surging- crowd go to and fro 
’Xi8 a pleasant sight, I ween, 
To mark the figures that come and go 
In the ever-cbaiudiiK scene. 
Here the publican walks with the sinner proud, 
And the priest in his gloomy cowl, 
And Dives walks in the motley crowd 
With Lazarus, cheek by jowl, 
And the daughter of toil, with her fresh young 
heai't, 
As poro us her spotless fame, 
Keeps step with the womuu who makes her mart 
In the haunts of sin and shame. 
How lightly trips tbo country lass 
In the midst of the city's ills ! 
As freshly pure as the daisied grass 
That grows on her native hills. 
And the beggar, trio, with his hungry eye, 
And his loan, w'an face and crutch, 
Gives a blessing the same to the passer-by 
As he gives him little or much. 
When Time has beaten the world’s tattoo. 
And in dusky armor dight, 
Is treading with echoless footsteps through 
The gloom of the silent night, 
How many of those shall be daintily fed 
And shall sink to slumbers sweet, 
While many will goto a Hleeploss bed 
And uever a crumb to cat! 
Ah, me ! when the hours go joyful by. 
How little we stop to heed 
Our brothers' and sisters’ despairing cry 
In their woe and their bitter need ! 
Vet such a world as the angels sought 
This world of ours we’d call, 
If the brotlierly love that, the Father taught 
Was felt by each for all. 
Yet a few short years ami this motley throng 
Will all have passed away. 
And the rich and tho poor and the old and the 
young 
Will he uudistiuguiehftd clay. 
And lips that laugh and lips that moan 
Shall in silence alike bo sealed. 
And some will lie under stately stone, 
And some in the Potter’s Field ! 
But the sun will lie sliining just as bright 
And so will tho silver moon, 
And just such a crowd will tie here at night, 
And Just such a crowd at noon. 
And men will be wicked and women will sin. 
As ever since Adam’s fall, 
With the same old world to labor in, 
And the same God over all. 
[ Chic wo Tr i bune .. 
m POLLY’S NET. 
CHAPTER VII. 
“PARTING Id SUtil SWEET 30HKOW.” 
Pr was the stli of August, anil, as la usual at that 
time ot the year, the station ot the Great Northern 
Railway presented a scene of bustle and animation 
at the hour oi the departure of the northern ex¬ 
press, and the porters were rushing here and there 
with plies of luggage of all sorts; servants In and 
out of livery were hurrying' hither and thither in 
search of their masters and mistresses, of tickets, 
of luggage, ol' vacant, seals In the carriages, many 
of which were full, or “ eugaged,” 
At the door of a saloon carriage three or four 
people were Standing looking on the confusion 
around them with the cairn self-satisfied air of 
those who had surmounted their difficulties, and 
could afford to stand idly, aud look at other people 
surmounting theirs. 
This group consisted of four persons, two of 
either sex; and the quiet, ladylike attire of the 
two women, aud the respectable appearance of the 
men, i ne of whom wore the dress of a Highland 
gillie, easily stamped their position In life as be¬ 
longing to the upper class of servants. In effect, 
the young Scotchman wns a confidential servant 
of Lord Sholto's; the other man was Ids lordship's 
valet; while the two women were Lady Sholto’s 
maid and Miss McLeod’S; the former a pretty, 
jiii/uanio Frenchwoman, the lat ter, Collins, a more 
staid, steady Englishwoman. 
“ And wliat does your young lady say to the Earl 
not coining with us, Mrs. ftollingV” said McCormlc, 
the Scotchman, pleasantly. 
“ She says nothing Mr. McCormlc; but 1 suppose 
she thinks the more,” said Collins. “Shedid not 
seem to care much at first what dresses l packed, 
until his lordship said he would follow in three or 
lour weeks.” 
“That’s very unlike mademoiselle,” said Lady 
sholto’s maid, laughing. “ she Is always si co¬ 
quette, that it is quite a pleasure to make her toi¬ 
lette, 1 should think. Now, intludl Is not like her; 
l don’t think she oaves much, • Anything you like, 
I.lsette,’ she says. 1 MUford does not notice so 
long as 1 look nice.’ ” 
“ Few men do, Miss L.lsette,” said McCormlc. 
“Yes, lew among mun autres AtujiaAs,” she an¬ 
swered, laughing; “but the men ot my country 
always look, and that is why the French ladles 
understand toilette so well. Ah! there Is milord.” 
McCormlc started, and went hastily forward to 
meet Lord shot to. who had Just entered the station 
with his wile and sister, Doth attired In the most 
becoming of traveling costumes, 
“Ahi Mccormlc,”said his lordship, carelessly. 
“Is all arranged ?’’ 
“All Is ready, my lord,” was the respectful 
answer. “ This Is the carriage.” 
“Ah! a saloon, with an Inner compartment,” 
said his lordship, in a tone of satisfaction. “ That 
Is capital! Of course you have forgotten nothing, 
MeCormlc, such li question is a superfluous oue 
for you. Have Lord Ivor and Miss McLeod ar¬ 
rived?” 
“ Not yet, my lord,” „ ZZZ . ' 
“ It would be very awkward, and,” Ida added, 
glancing at her watch, “they have only a few 
minutes now.” 
At this moment Lord Sholto’s voice outside was 
heard exclaiming: 
“Here you are, young people; I thought you had 
entered Into a conspiracy to miss the train.” 
"No, Archie was loyal and would not,” said 
Jean, laughing. “ I begged and entreated him to 
do so, but In vain.” 
“Archibald, that young woman will give you no 
end of trouble,” continued Lord Sholto, laughing. 
“If l were engaged to her, I should not let her go 
to Scotland for three or four weeks without my 
supervision and authority.” 
“But I have yours,”said Jean, laughing; “is 
not that enough ?” 
“My supervision, yes; but r have no authority, 
you see,” laughed his lordship. “You look bent 
on mischief, and you are certainly arrayed for con¬ 
quest. That is a most bewitching costume.” 
“So Archie has Just told me,” said Jean. “I am 
glad It gives satisfaction. II you would like the 
address of my tailor, It is Ulster House, Connaught 
Street.” 
“ Many thanks. I shall not rail to make use of 
It.” 
Jean's costume, which suited her admirably, was 
a skirt of kilted tweed of a soft brown color, a 
closely fitting Norfolk Jacket of the same material, 
aud a quaint, deerstalking fiat of the same shade 
as her dress, under which her sweet face looked 
charmingly bewitching and piquant. 
“ You have Just a minute and a half to take leave 
In,” said Lord Sholto, In a moment; “which leaves 
Jean just half a minute to get Into the train. I 
will be considerate enough to turn my back on 
you, Ivor.” 
The Earl laughed as he thanked him with 'a 
slight bow; he had been standing silent during 
the merry war of words between his brother-in- 
law and Jean, and hts handsome face was a trifle 
graver and paler than usual. 
“I wish you were coming, Archie,” she said 
softly, as he held her little gloved hands close 
pressed in his, looking down at her from his tall 
bight with a gravity which was almost prophetic, 
as If he foresaw the terrible, sorrow their separa¬ 
tion would bring upon them both. 
" 1 wish so too, my darling,” he said, gravely: 
“but, you see, 1 cannot. Be a good child, Jean,’ 
he added, half-serlously, half-laughlngly, “ Don” 
get Into auy scrapes while I am not there to get 
you out, and write every day, love.” 
“ Yes, without fall,” Jean said, earnestly, then 
with a touch of her Irrepressible gaiety, she went 
on : “ You won’t mind ir I send you a post card 
sometimes, Archie, You would ruin me In stamps 
otherwise ’” 
•• Jennie,” he said, reproachfully, “ don’t youjeare 
at all—.sometimes I think you don’t care lor me 
one bit. I feel utterly miserable this morning—as If 
some foreboding ol evil to come were hanging over 
me; while you-” 
“ Shall I slay, Archie ?’’ she said, softly. “ Aunt 
Margaret will be glad to keep me." 
“ No, no, my darling. I am not so selfish,” he 
said, quickly. “ Go and enjoy yourself.” 
“ You are overtired,” she said, gently. “ Let 
me stay, Archie, 1 don’t, like to leave you like this.” 
“I’m a fool, 1 think," he said, Impatiently, “l 
let my love make me very foohsli where you are 
concerned, Jennie.” 
“ Time is up, Ivor, very sorry,” said Lord sholto 
smilingly, over his shoulder. 
“ You must go, love. Good-by,” said the Earl. 
“ Take care of yourself, and don’t fall to write; if 
you miss a day, 1 shall think something has hap¬ 
pened.” 
“Good-by, Archie, dearest and best,” she said, 
with a sudden tenderness ot voice and gesture; 
and. regardless of the crowd around them, he 
strained her to his heart in one passionate, hurried 
embrace, and Jeanle’s sweet eyes filled with very 
unwonted tears as she sprang Into the carriage, 
and Lord Sholto, with a hurried handshake to his 
broilier-ln-law, followed. 
The doors were banged, last farewells exchanged, 
and the northern express glided out of the station, 
and the last glimpse Jean McLeod had of her jinnee 
showed blrn standtng bareheaded as he watched 
the train and saw the last ot the bonnte lace he 
loved so well framed in the carriage window. 
When they met again, the shadow ol a terrible 
trouble had fallen upon them both, and Jean’s 
llgm heart was “fit to break” with a sorrow 
which she had brought upon the life of the man 
she loved more than life Itself. 
The long, wearisome journey—long and weari¬ 
some, no matter how many contrivances you can 
devise to shorten Its length and lessen Its weari¬ 
ness-was over at last, and Lord Sholto’s party 
arrived at Glossin, which was the nearest station 
to Sholto, where the carriages and Highland ser¬ 
vants were awaiting them, the miter ready to 
greet ‘thelaird’ with great delight, while Lord 
Sholto’s spirits rose high at the thought of being 
once more in his native land. 
At Glossin, too, they met several friends and 
acquaintances, a ud the officials at the little station 
were having a busy time of It, between travelers, 
luggage, and hampers, and were all In full activity. 
*• \reyou not glad to be here. Ida?” said Jean, 
whose eyes and cheeks were radiant with her de¬ 
light and pleasure at being once more In the •• land 
o’ cakes" which she loved so well. “ Florence, 
don’t you smell the heather ? Oh I my dear coun¬ 
try, bow I love you; there Is no country In the 
world like you!” 
And the day came to Jean McLeod, when she was 
ready to curse the day on which she set foot hi the 
land. 
sholto was nearly fifteen miles from the station, 
lor it was situated in the midst ot wide-spreading 
moors and hills, and Lady Sholto and Ida, already 
wearied with tlielr journey, were In no humor to 
share Jean’s raptures at the wild, rugged scenery 
through which they passed, and wore uo little 
pleased at Sholto Hall rising like a haven of rest 
In the distance. 
The house had been built according to a plant 
made by tbe late lord; and lor although within it 
was everything that could be desired, without; It 
presented a strange mixture which surprised those 
who beheld it for the first time. 
The view from the windows, over hill and dale, 
was a lovely one, the valley Just beneath the hill 
was well cultivated, and the river rolled on swiftly 
through wooded banks; there was a small space 
of green pasture land, and then the hills and 
moors, the mountains of dark heath, the purple 
bloom of the heather, the roar of the distant 
waterfall. 
Jean stood at her window for sometime drinking 
in the loveliness ot the landscape as It. lay flooded 
In golden light; but as sbe gazed tbe sunlight 
laded, a heavy black cloud hovered over the scene, 
and then a great sudden thunderclap burst over 
tbe castle, and sent Jean, white and shuddering, 
back Info the center of the room. 
“ la It an omen,” she said, aloud— 1 “ Is It an omen? 
Oh! if sorrow la to eome to us, let the greatest 
share be mine, and spare Archie.” 
And when Coffins came up a few minutes after 
she found her mistress struggling with an hys¬ 
terical passion of tears, which she could only 
account for by the thunder and the over fatigue 
of the last two days. 
CHAPTER VIII. 
LOST ON THE MOOKS. 
“As for you, Mr. Blair, I don’t think anything 
In the world would Induce you to give up a day’s 
shooting.” 
“ You could make me do so easily,” said Andrew 
Blair, quietly. 
It was a glorious day In September, about six 
weeks after the arrival at sholto Hall, and Mias 
McLeod and Mr. Blair were standing together on 
one of the terraces berore the castle, passing away 
the few minutes which elapsed between break¬ 
fast and the departure of the shooting party for 
the moors. 
Mr. Blair was a late addition to the party at 
.Sholto Hall; he had arrived about a week before, 
having been for some time at Blair Gates super¬ 
intending repairs, restorations and renovations 
which demanded, or which he chose to Imagine 
demanded, his own personal supervision. His ad¬ 
vent at Sholto had given very general satisfaction, 
and Jean, especially, had hailed it with delight, 
for she was tired of the visitors at sholto, and Lord 
Ivor had not yet been able to leave town; lor, de¬ 
tained at first by parliamentary business, he had 
afterwards been kept by the Illness and death of a 
college friend to whom he had been greatly attach¬ 
ed ; he was expected almost dally now; but mean¬ 
while Jean had declared hersolf ennuyee a maurir 
and desperately In want of some new excitement, 
and this Mr. Blair’s arrival gave her, for she took 
unfeigned delight In his society. 
“Could I?” said Jean, laughing, in answer to 
his assertion that she could easily keep him from a 
shooting expedition. “I douhtlt; If I asked you 
to stay at home to day and read Tennyson to us 
poor, deserted woman folk, would you do so? ” 
“ No,” he answered, promptly; •• but If you ask 
me to stay at home, and read tc one of the woman 
folk, i will do so with tho greatest pleasure.” 
“ An excuse, a base subterfuge," said Jean, with 
scorn tul laughter. 
“Try me,” lie rejoined, quietly, and tho dark 
eyes went to hers with au expression ot passionate 
admiration, under which Jean’s brown orbs sank. 
She was looking lovely as the morning itself in 
the prettiest of flowing white morning-dresses with 
a profusion of lace and rose-colored ribbons about 
it, and a rose in her bosom, and looking down at 
her Andrew Blair felt Ills heart beat with a fierce, 
longing desire—fiercer more Intense than ho had 
known yet—to make this woman his wife, to 
possess her rare loveliness for his own, to press Ids 
Ups to the tender crimson mouth, and to feel her 
little clinging hands In his. 
“ Do you like Tennyson, Mr. Blair?” Jean said 
demurely, 
“ Not so much as the man whose poem you are 
carrying Id your hand,” he said, quietly. 
“ Owen Meredith ? Do you not really ? I never 
heard auyone who had the courage to confess to 
such heresy,” she said, gaily. “ I admire your 
bravery and would emulate It if I could.” 
He stretched out UlS hand and took the book 
from her Angel’s, opening It at random. 
“ I)o you remember thesej words,” he went on, 
immediately, and read: 
“ ’ And I know that all is hopeless, 
And that which miuht have been 
Had she only waited a year or two 
Is turn’ll to a wild regret, I know, 
Which will haunt us both, whatever the scene 
And whatever the path we go.’ ’’ 
Jean was silent. In a moment Mr. Blair con¬ 
tinued : 
“ And this one,” he said. Listen : 
“ Away, away, the dream was vain. 
We moot too soon or meet too late; 
Still wear, aB best you may. the chain 
Your own hands forged about your fate, 
Who could not wait. 
“ * What! you have given your life away 
Before you found what moat life misses ? 
Forsworn the bridal dream you say. 
Of that ideal love whose kisses 
Are vain as this is." 
As he concluded the lines he dropped the book 
on the grass at their feet and covered his face 
with hts hands. Jean’s face paled ; It was not In 
her nature to hear, unmoved, the passion In his 
voice, the unutterable pathos of his broken tones. 
There was a moment’s silence. 
“ Forgive me,” he said then. In a lighter voice. 
“ l have no right to ohtruile my misery into your 
bright young life. What are you going to do to¬ 
day?” 
1 really don’t know,” she said, t rying to speak 
carelessly, but with a softer tone in her voice 
which his Jealous ear quickly distinguished. “I 
am so lired ot sitting at home That I am hatf-to- 
cllued to walk over to Glenholme and sketch the 
ruins of the old church there.” 
“ it is a very long walk,” he said, turning away 
his face to hide the sudden gleam of triumph 
which flashed Into his dark eyes. “ Quite six 
miles.” 
“ Seven miles, Lord Sholto says. I am a capital 
walker." 
“ May I meet you and walk home with you ?” he 
said, In a low pleading tone. “ It will be getting 
late for you to return alone If you go unattended ; 
surely you will not refuse me such a pleasure,” he 
added, entreatlngly. 
“ 1 do not think I need trouble you,” she said, 
hesitatingly and hurriedly. 
“ Trouble! It will be tbe greatest pleasure. Ah \ 
surely, Miss McLeod, you will not refuse me such a 
crumb of comfort?” 
She stood hesitating, her eyes fixed on the 
ground and her little hands nervously clasped to¬ 
gether while she restlessly turned round aud 
round her Angers the flashing diamond ring which 
Archibald had placed there some months ago, In 
token of the engagement Into which she had so 
freely entered. 
He glanced down on the Uttle Jewelled hand. 
“ All! he said, suddenly. “ I forgot; forgive 
me.” 
Jean's fair face flushed; something In his tone 
stung her pride. 
“ If you really care lor It, and It is not much out 
ol your way," she said, a Uttle coldly, “ I shall be 
very glad to have your escort home." 
“ Thank you,” he said, gravely and quietly, and 
his tone was eloquent of gratitude. 
“ We’re off, Blair,” said his host’s voice from a 
lower terrace. “Are you coming with me to-day 
or not ?" 
“ I am coming," he shouted back. “ When will 
you start lor your walk, Miss McLeod?” he added, 
hastily, as he attempted to fasten lffs pouch, but 
bis fingers were so very unsteady that Jean, un¬ 
conscious ot a dozen pairs of eyeB regarding her 
from below, volunteered her assistance. 
“ Directly after luncheon,” she said. 
“ Thank you. Good-morning.” he said, and be¬ 
fore Jean had guessed his intention he stooped 
and kissed the little white fingers on which the 
diamonds gleamed, and, turning, went hastily 
down the terrace steps to join the sportsmen, 
while Jean, a little angry, a Uttle pleased, a Uttle 
touched, for no woman Is Insensible to the devo¬ 
tion of any man, whether she loves him or not, 
went up to her room to ponder over Mr. Blair's 
words, his strange agitation, and his evident de¬ 
votion to herself.— To be continued. 
ORIGIN OF THE NAMES OF STATES. 
Maine was so called as early os 1623, from Maine, 
In France, of which Henrietta Maria. Queen of 
England, was at that time proprietor. Popular 
name—The Lumber or Pine. Tree State. 
New Hampshire was the name given to the ter¬ 
ritory conveyed by the Plymouth Company to 
Captain John Mason, by patent, November T, 1829, 
with reference to the patentee, who was Governor 
of Portsmouth to Hampshire, England. Popular 
name—The Granite State. 
Vermont was so called by the Inhabitants in 
their Declaration of Independence, January 10, 
1TT7, from the French verd mom, the Green Moun¬ 
tains. Popular name—The Green Mountain State. 
Massachusetts was so called rrom Massachusetts 
Bay, and that from the Massachusetts tribe of In¬ 
dians, to the neighborhood of Boston. The tribe 
is thought to have derived its name from the Blue 
Hills of MUton. “I have learnt,” says Roger 
WllUams, “that the Massachusetts were so called 
from the Blue HUls." Popular name—The Bay 
state. * 
Rhode island was so caUed to low, to reference 
to the Island of Rhodes, to the Mediterranean. 
Popular name—Little Kliody. 
Connecticut was so called from the Indian name 
of Its principal river. Connecticut, is a Mocheakan- 
new word, signifying long river. Popular name— 
The Nutmeg or Free Stone State, 
New York was 30 caUed to i«w, to reference to 
the Duke of York and Albany, to whom this terri¬ 
tory was grauted by tbe King of England. Popu¬ 
lar name—The Empire or Excelsior State. 
. New Jersey was so caUed to l r>64, from the Island 
of Jersey, on the coast of France, the residence of 
the family ot Sir George Carteret, to whom the 
territory was granted. 
Pennsylvania was so calledin 1681 , after WUUam 
Penn. Popiffar name—The Keystone State. 
Delaware was so caUed to 1703, from Delaware 
Bay, on which it Ues, and which received Its name 
from Lord de la Ware, who died to this bay. Popu¬ 
lar name—The Blue Hen or Diamond State. 
Maryland was caUed in honor of Henrietta 
Maria, Queen of Charles I., In his patent to Lord 
Baltimore. June 30th, 1632. 
Virginia was so caUed to 1584, after EUzabeth, 
the virgin Queen of England. Popular name—The 
Old Dominion or Mother ot Presidents. 
Carolina was so caUed by the French In iStH, in 
honor of King Charles IX., ot France. Popular 
nameot South Carolina—The Palmetto State; of 
North Carolina—The Old North or Turpentine 
State. 
Georgia was so caUed to 1T32, to honor of King 
George ll. 
Alabama was so caUed to 1814, from Its principal 
river, meaning Here me rest,. 
Mississippi was so called to isoo, from its west¬ 
ern boundary, Mississippi Is said to denote the 
whole river, i. the river formed by the union of 
many. Popular name—The'Bayou State. 
Louisiana was so called to honor of Louis XIV., 
of France. Popular name—The Creole State. 
Tennessee was so called In 1TH0, from Its principal 
river. The word Ten-as-se Is said to signify a 
carved spoon. Popular name—The Big Bend 
State. 
Kentucky Was so called in 1192, rrom its princi¬ 
pal river. Popular name—The State of Dark and 
Bloody Ground. 
Illinois was so caUed to 1809, from its principal 
river. The word Is sala to signify the river of men. 
Popular name—The Sucker or Prairie State. 
