lot for chips, and they don't heat the oven well. I do wish, Seth, that we could have plenty of wood near the house; it's hard on the children to carry so much wood and water."

"Nonsense; it don't hurt 'em a mite! Sarah and me had it to do when father lived on the old place; we carried wood from the lots and water from that same spring, year in and year out, and I reckon I don't look broke down, do I? I allow to get up a good pile of wood when all the fall work is done, but don't, for mercy's sake, take harvest-time to grumble over your little inconveniences! It does seem, though, as if some women was born to complain, as the sparks fly up'ards. Jerusalem! can't that child be made to stop it's screamin' ?”

Mrs. Marvin, knowing by experience that words would avail nothing in any difference of opinion between herself and her very excellent but decidedly obstinate spouse, took the baby in her arms and silently proceeded to wait upon the tired workmen.

Hetty was not so prudent, however. Bewildering visions of the pretty book, with its fine engravings and interesting stories, were dancing through her mind, and she recklessly charged upon her father from another quarter.

"Oh, father, won't you please let us take a magazine like the one Mrs. Greene takes? It is just beautiful! It has such nice stories in it, too. I'll work real hard, father, if you will! There's a prize with it, too. Mary Greene said the agent told her—”

"No, no; I just won't! You needn't trouble yourself to repeat what the agent said. I'm poor enough now, without throwing away any money patterning after Mrs. Greene's extravagances. They're jest spoilin' their children."

"Well," piped little Tommy, "it's ever so much nicer over to their house than it is here, any way. They've got a wood-shed with lots of wood in it, and a swing for Georgie and Kate, and a well, and a cistern, and just piles and piles of nice books and papers with pictures in 'em."

"Yes," snarled Mr. Marvin, "and piles and piles' of reapers and mowers, cultivators and cornshellers, patent churns and washing-machines, clothes wringer and dish-washer, for all I know. That man spends every dollar he gets hold of in some new kink or other, instead of savin' for his His new fangled notions all come from

old age.

reading his pesky newspapers, and they'll land him in the poorhouse yet, see if they don't!"

"I guess," said John, the oldest son, a boy of sixteen, "I guess he's making money all the time, any how, for he's going to send Dick away to school this fall and let him get ready for college. I do wish, father, you would try some of his 'notions,' as you call them. Why don't you?"

"Because I don't set myself up to be any better than my father was before me! He worked on this here old place nigh on to twenty year, and earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, as Scripter commands, and I'm satisfied to follow in his footsteps."

"Yes," muttered John, as he rose from the table and walked hastily on to the porch, "yes; and you are satisfied to keep poor mother and all the rest of us at it too; kill her and let us children grow up dunces! I'd light out pretty quick if it wasn't for mother and dear little Hetty. It is too bad to keep her out of school for a drudge; she learns so fast, and is so bright and pretty." And, catching up the milk-pail, he hurried to the barnyard with a surly, dissatisfied look on his boyish face.

"Seth," said Mrs. Marvin hesitatingly, after the men were gone, the table cleared, and baby asleep in the cradle, "I don't see how in the world I can get along with the fall work without some help with my sewing. You and John must have shirts and winter clothes, and the children grow so fast it takes half my time to let out and piece down for them. I do wish you would feel as if you could afford to get me a sewing-machine. There was an agent here from town to-day who offers a nice one for forty dollars, and we could get it by paying five dollars a month. He said

Don't waste your

"There, there; that'll do! breath repeating the lying palaver of some witless popinjay who is too tarnal proud and lazy to work for an honest living, and so sticks on a paper collar and shirt-bosom, greases his curls, and sets out a salary, gulling just such simpletons as you into buying them clatterin', treadmill things! My mother never heard tell of such nonsense in her day. She was contented to work with the tools natur' provided. She spun and wove and sewed and knit for us all, and wa'n't too high and mighty to do her scrubbin' and soap-bilin', either! If she'd lived, she would show you what it is to work."

"Perhaps, Seth, if she hadn't worked so hard, she would have lived longer. You know she was young yet when she died."

"I don't know about that, Mary; I don't know. I reckon the Lord don't take none of us till our time comes. She was a good woman, mother was, and things didn't go very well with us after she died." And Mr. Marvin rose with a sigh, knocked the ashes from his clay pipe, and, laying it upon the clock-shelf in the corner, seated himself again in silence.

For some time no sound was heard save the "jog, jog" of the cradle, the clear monotonous "tick-tick" of the old clock, and now and then a long sigh from the corner where Mr. Marvin sat. He was under the influence of an unusual and strange presence; he was face to face with Memory and Conscience. Before such judges he was dumb Memory whispered to him to recall the patient, quiet, overworked mother, whose life went out early because of the lack of sympathy and love from the one to whom she had a God given right to look for it; she reminded him of the dull, heavy years that followed; years of careless neglect on the father's part, and indifference, if not positive dislike, on the part of the motherless children turned out to battle with the world as best they might. Then Conscience bade him look at the thin, white face before him, seamed with the hard lines of care and premature old age, and contrast it with that of the rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed girl he had promised before God to cherish and comfort so long as life lasted; and she asked him how he had redeemed his solemn pledge.

"The ghosts of forgotten actions

Came floating before his sight,

And things that he thought were dead things
Were alive with a terrible might.
And the vision of all his past life
Was a terrible thing to face,
Sitting with Memory and Conscience,
In that solemnly silent place."

They held a mirror before him, in which he saw himself as others saw him; as his God knew him; Is it any wonder if he shrank from the picture?

Blessed Memory! Faithful Conscience! Well are you doing your work! Slowly, slowly were they feeling the way to the blessed fountain where the waters of repentance had so long lain sealed; softly the barriers were withdrawn, the flood-gates opened, and the warm tides burst forth, washing

the world-calloused heart, melting all its hardness, and bringing from the neglected soil the sweet, late blossoms of penitent tenderness.

"Mary," said he suddenly, and there was a strange huskiness in his voice, "'spose we go over to neighbor Greene's a little while?"

"Why, Seth," she said, with a surprised, puzzled look, "I'd like ever so much to go, but I don't see how I can. I must get Tommy's jacket done to-night!"

"Let it go for this time, Mary; a visit will do you good. You look clean tuckered out."

Wondering at her husband's unwonted mood, and feeling almost sure there was a mistake somewhere, she called Hetty from her nook up-stairs, where she was reveling in the marvelous stories that were, to her, glimpses into fairy-land, bade her mind the younger ones, donned bonnet and shawl, and was soon cordially welcomed and snugly seated in the cozy little parlor at Mrs. Greene's. The sharp contrast between their own bare living-room and this pretty little nook gave another stroke to the already thoroughly-awakened penitent. Here were books, pictures, games, and toys for the little ones, a goodly supply of miscel laneous and solid reading for older ones, and in the corner, carefully covered, stood the pride of Mrs. Greene's heart-her sewing-machine.

After the weather and farm matters had been duly discussed, politics touched upon, and various items of neighborhood interest interchanged, there was a slight pause, which was broken, at length, by Mr. Marvin, who said, with a glance at his wife, and a little awkward hesitation :

"I say, Greene, if you go into town to-morrow for anything, I wish you would send that there agent down to our house to talk to the folks about a sewing-machine. I reckon I'll have to give in and get one for Mary; she's gettin' clean beat out with so much hard work." Then rising and walking the floor hurriedly, he continued: "I tell you what, Greene, something's got hold of me to-night that I don't understand! I've been thinking, and thinking, until I am jest about turned inside-out, so to speak. I've been seeing myself as others see me, and I tell you, I ain't one bit flattered. It's as if I'd seen myself in a lookin'-glass, as it were; and I must say I've made the acquaintance of a cantankerous, hard-hearted old curmudgeon! I can't hold out no longer, though. I don't know what ails me-gettin' con

verted, maybe! Anyhow, I'm going to turn over a new leaf; take care of Mary and the children, as I ought to, instead of grindin' 'em down to drudgery; try to do my duty as a neighbor and friend, and, perhaps, when I again look into the lookin' glass that Conscience holds up to me, I won't see such an ill-favored tyrant. There, there,

Mary, don't cry about it; sho, sho! There, now, I'm blest if I ain't cryin' myself, or else it's this pesky cold in my head!"

"And so he had learned a lesson

Which he ought to have learned before,
And which, though he learned it dreaming,
He will lose, and forget, no more!"

It was a sultry day in June, and we-that is, Frank and I were sitting by a great stone bridge on the banks of a one-horse mill-pond, fishing. By fishing I do not mean yanking fish lively-we had not yanked any at all as yet, but were waiting for bites. It was very exciting.

Frank was on the other side of the bridge and out of sight; but this did not prevent us from exchanging an occasional remark.

"Frank," said I, "this is delightful sport.

"Yes," he replied; "and the water seems to be literally alive with fish. But don't you think anything so exhilarating as this is hard on one's nervous system ?"

"Very likely," I responded. "Still, I guess we can stand it this once. I have already securely landed a fine bit of splatter-dock, and am waiting patiently for another piece; what have you got?"

"Ah," said Frank, "mine are expectations; like the little boy who was catching rats, if I get the fish I'm after, and two more, I'll have three."

Just then the cork of my line seemed to be troubled.

"Frank," said I, "I've got a bite."

"No! you don't mean it!" he exclaimed in astonishment;

Vol. XVII.-16.

and dropping his rod he came across to where I sat. "Let's look at it."

We waited in breathless silence.

"There he goes again-now you have himpull in !"

I gave the line a savage jerk, but it did not budge.

"Frank," said I, "it must be a whopper;" and then I gave a harder pull.

"Perhaps it's a whale," suggested Frank. Whatever it was, I hoisted at it until my rod seemed almost bent double; then something seemed to loosen up.

"Here she comes !'' I exclaimed.

With anxious faces we watched the water, until -a dilapidated piece of old hoop-skirt came to the surface, and then Frank burst into a hearty laugh.

"Well, well! that's a singular sort of fish."

"A new species—a capital prize," I responded; "and Frank-confidentially, you know-I believe there are more of them to be had about this place."

⚫ Carefully unhooking it from my line I laid it to one side, while Frank went back to see after his own tackle. Presently I heard him grumbling to himself.

"What's the matter ?" I asked.

"I'm fast in the mud," he replied with a growl; and then he said "blame it!"—at least, I think it was "blame it!"

"Perhaps I can help you." And going over to his side of the bridge, I found him tugging away like mad with his hooks in a lot of rubbish.

They came away eventually, but brought considerable with them in the way of mud and sticks and a piece of an old blue-glass bottle.

"Fishing," said Frank, "is not what it is cracked up to be."

"Perhaps your shadow on the water has an alarming effect," I suggested.

"Come, now," returned my friend, laughing, "I know I'm not very handsome, but I don't think my homeliness would scare a fish. What is more, I don't believe there's a single living creature in this pond to scare, and we are a couple of simpletons. Let us go somewhere else." "What! to fish ?"

"No; I'm tired of fishing."
"Where, then ?”

"See here," said Frank in answer, "I have got an idea." He kicked with the toe of his boot the piece of blue-glass bottle he had rescued from its watery grave.

"An idea? Impossible!"

"Well," he returned, "let us go and see them make glass; it is interesting."

"Very good; I am with you."

So we did up our lines and were about to leave the spot, when I paused.

"Frank," said I, "shall we take our 'catch' along with us?" pointing toward the dilapidated hoop-skirt and our other trophies.

"It does seem a shame to leave them behind,” he replied; "but the people hereabouts are very honest-no one would touch them if they laid there a week; so we can come back if we want them."

"That's so," I assented, "we can come back." And consoling myself in this manner, I followed my friend.

Our fishing-grounds were but a short distance outside of Salem, New Jersey, and it did not take us long to reach the town, which is a very sedate sort of place, as quiet as a church-yard, by which you may infer it is very grave indeed. Still, many boyish recollections are awakened in me by its landmarks, and I mentally wander back to the good old days when I went crab-fishing in the waters of its creek, or chased the unsuspecting robin, with a gun in my hand and wicked designs in my heart, across the adjacent peaceful meadows.

On leaving our rods and lines at the hotel where we were stopping, the landlord kindly inquired as to what we had done with our fish.

"My friend," said Frank, in a solemn voice,

"Well, what is your idea?" I questioned.

have any regard for your family-if you would not be stricken down in the flower of your man