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and lonely way she had gone up there, no hat that shaded her face. So much Miss one would care. Her brother would say, Dora took in with one swift glance; then “ Poor Dora!” and think how he could best the false hope with which she had propped invest the money she would leave, and his up her spirits fell from her, and left her wife and daughters would be glad. And desolate; so desolate that she lost her selfthey were the nearest to her now. Then control, and, sinking on the floor, she lowher thoughts again wandered back to the ered her head on her hands and burst into lover of her youth. Where was Charles a passion of grief. Hungerford? Was he still true to her? If The stranger stood over her for a few minanywhere on the wide earth, was he then utes irresolute. Then she said in a low, clear thinking of her and longing for her pres- voice : “I am sorry for your disappointence, even as she thought of him that even- ment, but • Charles' may yet come. Pering, and longed for him? And why should haps he is out for a drive, and has been he so persistently dwell in her mind that detained longer than he expected, or he is evening ? Could it be possible that out from sailing and contrary winds have kept him the distant past he was coming to her again, from you." —that he was near her?

Miss Dora made no reply. The stranger Miss Dora leaned over the balcony, and walked forward to the railing and stood looked down into the tree-embowered town, there for some time, while Miss Dora conand into the deserted streets. There was tinued sobbing; but at last she said : “My no moon, and the twilight was growing dear young lady, you must not give way to dusk; but the sky was crowded with stars, such grief. It is late, and you should return and by their uncertain light Miss Dora per- to your friends." ceived a dark-robed figure gliding up the "I am not a young lady!” broke forth avenue that led to the church. She looked Miss Dora. “ I am old, ugly and despised ! again, and saw nothing. Perhaps her im- If my Charles were in one of those sail-boats agination deceived her, and she had seen coming to the shore, do you think I would only swaying branches. Her gaze grew give way thus? If he were in the uttermost intense, and her heart beat fast. There was limit of Africa and was still my Charles I the figure again! She could follow it with could not grieve. I have no Charles. He her eyes, now in the open, and now in the went away years ago, and will never come shadow. It drew near the church, and back. I have so thought of him to-night, fitted out of sight under the balcony. Miss and so longed to see him, that when I saw Dora raised her head, and turning toward you down among the trees and heard your the open door of the tower, listened breath- footsteps on the stairs, I thought that at last

I lessly. She looked only into blackness, God was going to be kind to me.

It was for little clouds were hovering about the only a foolish fancy of a forlorn woman ! sky, and even out on the balcony objects And again she bowed her head and cried, were indistinct. There was a sound of foot- but less fiercely than before. The stranger steps on the stairs. Though not a courage- took her by the hand and said quietly but ous woman, she felt no fear. Though not a authoritatively, “ Get up!” And Miss Dora superstitious woman, there was but one arose and stood beside her. thought in her heart.-Charles Hungerford. Look!” said the stranger, pointing toThe footsteps came up the stairs, through ward the sea. “ The shadows of the clouds the tower room and paused inside the door- lie on the waters in long, dark lines, and way. Miss Dora waited. The new-comer here and there a star glimmers, on a wave. waited.

That snow-white line is the coming of the Then Miss Dora leaned forward, and billows that rock the boats far beyond. whispered into the darkness, “Charles ! ” There are but a few boats now, for the others

The figure advanced; came out on the bal- have, one by one, dropped into the quiet eony. It was a woman dressed in a long, cove where it is safe to land. These ride straight, dark gray mantle, and a broad up and down with the swelling tide, while



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the pleasure-seekers that have left them are form, of color, of expression, of character, of making their way over the beach into the intellect, of spirituality, each lovely after its town. Here below us you see the steep kind.” roof and yellow walls of the minister's A moment's pause, and then Miss Dora house. The wife has been walking among spoke. “I have no beauty of any sort. her flower-beds until their colors faded from Even in my youth I was no

pretty, but I her sight; and now she sits by the window was not an ugly girl. Some of my companfrom which streams that red gleam of light, ions, not as good-looking as myself, are now and inhales the fragrance of her tuberoses, living in happy homes of their own, while and waits for the return of the minister, who I-_" is with the fisherman's wife, lying sick in Here she stopped abruptly. the little whitewashed house that stands “ And you said despised ? ” questioned the treeless and flowerless on the bare sands stranger. near · The Cove.'

“ Yes !” emphasized Miss Dora; “I said Miss Dora's sobs were hushed, and she despised!was listening quietly. She wondered at this “I cannot quite understand," said the rambling way of talking, but the burst of stranger thoughtfully. "Poverty often reconfidence she had given her companion had ceives unmerited contempt, but you

did not somewhat relieved the tension of her mind. say “poor.' I have never known any one

“Over there," continued the stranger, despised merely for being old and ugly.” "stands the light-house. The keeper lighted “I am not poor," said Miss Dora. “I am the lamps two hours ago, and now he sits not very rich, but I have more than enough comfortably in his cottage, smokes his pipe, for my needs. My money is all that gains chats with his wife and plays with his little me what I have. It gives me a hold on sociones, while the great lantern burns steadily ety, but even there I am of no importance. overhead. By and by he will go up to his for my individual self my acquaintances lonely night watch. The red shaft of light care nothing. And yet I call them friends! from the minister's window will brighten For they are all I have. I am invited everythe narrow path he must tread from the where, but I am of no consequence. I live gate to the house door. The great beacon in my brother's family, and I call it home. on the light-house column will send its I have a best room and pay a high board. broad

rays far out over the wild sea, where My brother looks upon me as a woman who the ships are coming up from the verge of has missed her chances in life, and is of no the ocean.

And the soul of the fisherman's further account. My sister-in-law endures wife will pass beyond all human thought. me politely. My nieces regard me as a ridThe faint strains of music we catch now and iculous old maid, still desperately clinging then come from the hotel, where the feet of to some of the pleasures and hopes of youth. the dancers are treading merry measures. They covertly laugh at me with their young And fitfully the wind brings to our ears the companions. Did I not say rightly that I sounds of the noisy quarrels of the poor am despised ?” children down at • The Cove.' •Old, ugly “ And what of Charles ?” and despised !' How old are you?”

“Charles! Oh, yes, I mentioned him to This abrupt question startled Miss Dora, you. He was the lover of my youth. I who was attempting to follow her compan- stood on the pier and saw him sail away to ion's wanderings over sea and shore, but she England. We were to be married on his replied at once, "I am thirty-eight.” return. He went into Germany, and from

“ And at thirty-eight you have exhausted that time I have had no tidings from him. life. Nobody is old until life is emptied of I was twenty-two years old when I bade him all it contained.”

farewell—sixteen long years ago.” “ Mine is entirely empty."

“ That is a real sorrow,” said the stranger " It is a question whether there is any in a more sympathetic tone. “ If you could ugliness in nature. There is the beauty of know that he had died and always been



faithful to you, it would not be so hard to the pressure of age; I have no settled home, bear. And, in all these years you have not but it is not my nature to crave home life ; been able to root this old love out of your I seek influence in other channels. 'I see heart?

certain truths so clearly that I feel impelled Miss Dora hesitated. Then she said proclaim them to others. Thoughout quietly: “I have not loved him all these this wide country I preach these truths in

I years. I think I forgot him for a time. I my own way. Only this day I came to have had but one offer of marriage since, Drooge, and to-morrow at this hour I shall and that I could not possibly accept. But be far away. I came up here to be alone I have known two men, either one of whom for a short space, and I found you. Hark! I would have preferred to Charles, had they The surf is breaking on the beach with a loved me.

It is only within the last few noise like thunder; the clouds are driving years that I have grown to feel what Charles wildly across the sky; the wind whistles and I were to each other, and what a treas- shrilly through the open windows of the ure I lost in him.”

tower; and the owls are fluttering to their In truth then,” said the stranger, resum- perches behind us. Let us go." ing her tone and manner of gentle author

Without a word the two women left the ity, “ Charles is not Charles. He represents balcony, descended the stairs, and coming to you all that you crave of love and home, out into the avenue, passed under the trees. and being made of importance. Charles is for a moment they regarded each other. a sentiment."

This last glimpse revealed to the one only Miss Dora made no reply, but she was the rigid outlines of a long straight mantle, not offended.

and a broad hat; and to the other only the “The wind is rising,” resumed the wavy lines of curls, ruffles, and floating stranger. “ The white heads are showing laces. Then the stranger said in a low soft themselves on the tossing waves, and the tone, “Good night.” And Miss Dora in a surf strikes noisily on the sands. But low soft tone replied, "Good night.” louder sound the angry voices of the boys; Over and over again in her own room a troop of them must be on their way into Miss Dora heard the words of the stranger, the town, when mischief will surely follow; and her own replies. She felt neither shame for the good old minister complains that nor regret that she had spoken thus frankly. he has little influence at • The Cove,' where Something had stirred in her heart, and imthere are only houses, not homes. Some pelled her to respond to the stranger's will, women have homes given to them, others and to look into her own heart as into a make homes for themselves; and to oth- glass ; for she was not accustomed to selfers the whole world is home. Those analysis, but rather to dressing her thoughts trees far over there, thrusting their sharp and feelings in flimsy sentiment. The tops above all the others, are Lombardy pop- stranger's talk did not now seem rambling lars. At their feet stands a house in which and inconsequent to Miss Dora. Lifted a woman is striving to be happy, and is above the earth on that lonely watch tower grieving herself to death. She does not she had been lifted out of her cramped orbit know it is because she is in the wrong place. into the everlasting mystery of the starry And the whole world is before her where to worlds, the mighty sweep of the tempestuchoose ; no tie binds her there. Look! the ous winds, the awful sound of the rolling sea is growing black, and the foam looks billows, and the gathering darkness that ashy when it crests the breakers.”

shut all into the fearful night. And Miss Dora looked out on the turbulent through all shone the humanly-lighted bea

Her pulses were beating quicker; her con on the light-house top, and the clear heart throbbed; but there was nothing she stream of lamp-light from the minister's

window. In her unlighted room Miss Dora After a pause the stranger again spoke. could see the bare white-washed cottage; “I am older than you, but I cannot feel the house under the Lombardy poplars ; the


could say:

cheerful family at the foot of the light that her old friends treat her with distinchouse; the yellow house with the steep roof tion. She no longer has to hang on the and the scent of the tuberoses stealing into outskirts of society, and wait for notice. the open windows. And, suddenly, she Her brother made a trip to Drooge to conheard the sound of the minister's voice be- sult her about the marriage of his youngest low her own window. He was expostula- daughter. The nieces are proud of Miss ting with the rough boys, whose din had Dora's affection. Elsie did not become run through all Miss Dora's reflections Mrs. Morley, and she is a frequent guest at mingled with the strains of ball-room music, her aunt's, and regards her with a sort of and the dash of the surf on the beach. envy. For Miss Dora has grown plump and

Direct from Drooge Miss Dora went to a rosy; the crow's feet have filled out somedull inland town where there lived an old what; the dull eyes have brightened; the school friend, alone and poor. This lady had mouth is no longer drawn down at the corpassed her life in sick-rooms. Now those ners, and the hair is still pretty, for the she had nursed were all buried; the con- fading gold of the curls is brightened with sumptive sister, the paralytic mother and threads of silver. brother. Miss Dora found her as bright and Charles Hungerford never came back to cheery as if life had been a long holiday; Miss Dora, nor is it likely now that he ever and, with no mention of the church tower, will. It is no matter. She has forgotten she said to this friend, “Let us make our- him. selves a place in the world!”

But she has not forgotten the woman she In one of the prettiest residences in so strangely met in the church tower. Then Drooge, about midway between the church Miss Dora was glad that they were unknown and the light-house, has Miss Dora been to each other. Now it is the dearest wish living with her friend for some six years. of her heart to meet this woman once more The two are usually spoken of in town as face to face. When she is in the city she “the ladies,” and everybody knows them haunts the lecture-rooms. And yet the from the “most influential man down to stranger did not say she ever appeared on the smallest boy at “ The Cove.” Nothing the platform. Her words were : “ I preach of any importance is done in the town with- these truths over this wide country in my out consulting them. The over-worked min- own way." She has not since been to ister is glad that they have taken some of Drooge, and no one there can recall any perhis labor out of his hands. The rough boys son who answers to Miss Dora's description. at “ The Cove" are no longer the terror of And although Miss Dora saw little else of the town. But it is in the houses at “The the woman on that night but a long mantle Cove” that Miss Dora has her pleasantest and a broad hat, she feels sure that she times. She has always felt that she had the would at once recognize her by voice and ability to create a home. And now besides manner. But either she is mistaken, or her her own, she has created many homes; for, companion of that night has not again come whether it is due to her pretty, airy way, or in her way. because she dresses so handsomely to visit Every Sunday Miss Dora sits in her pew them (for she is Miss Dora still), for some at church and listens attentively to the reason the women do not resent her efforts prosy sermons of the good old minister, for giving them a better culture.

whom she holds in the highest respect. But Miss Dora is very busy, and very happy. she knows that the message from heaven And having made herself an important per- came to her on that starlight night up in sonage at Drooge, she finds with surprise the church tower. Marian Stockton.

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generation was wont to stow away so many of THERE are mourners going about the streets

his hopes and fears, we have no means of knowlamenting the decay of poesy. One would imag- ing ; but is plain that a personage who has the ine, to hear these people talk, that the last poet power claimed by this one of putting us in comwas about to be gathered to the dodoes in the munication with all the poets and authors that limbo of extinct bipeds. A brief sojourn in the have lived on the earth for two hundred thoueditorial rooms of a monthly magazine would sand years is to be respected if not feared. And dispel this gloomy apprehension. Other branches it would seem that a journal which is able to give of manufacture may be dull, but the poetry

us every month one or two fresh poems from business never was more brisk. The sad-browed such star contributors as Milton and Homer, postman stoops a little lower every day under would easily get an enormous circulation. It is, the burden of song that he brings up the hill. perhaps, an imputation upon the intelligence of From all parts of the land these tender missiles the readers of SUNDAY AFTERNOON to assume come flying at the editor's head, till it often that any of them are destitute of this periodical; seems to him that every several hair is a harp- but we hope to be pardoned for presenting a few string, and he dreams of iambuses, and walks in

extracts from the latest productions of these imanapests, and talks in rather bronchial trochees. mortal bards. Whenever the nightmare seizes him it takes the

Milton is perhaps the most frequent contributor, shape of the frequent and too familiar female of

and it will be seen from the specimens that we the pterodactylic variety who has pens in her fin- shall produce that his lyre has lost none of its gers and wings on her toes, and who will make rattling glibness, and that it has gained a certain verses wherever she goes. To him the notion that unearthly twang since he entered upon “spirit poetry is dying out in America is sufficiently ab

life.” Here are two stanzas from a lyric entitled surd. In the midst of his perplexities, he often

“ The Bright Side of Life:" finds a certain relief, however, in thinking of "There are two sides of life, the bright and the poor Mr. Alibone, and wondering how that hard- dark, working man would feel about his Dictionary Both painted and shaded with artistic art; of Authors, that he toiled so long to make com

The good and the bad in each life is depicted, plete, if he knew how many poets there are in

In colors that fade not, as have been predicted; the land whose names are not in his Dictionary,

Each person's an artist, with more or less skill

In painting their lives by the power of will; and probably never will be!

Would you have a fine picture with no shadings But even admitting that the croakers were in

strife, the right, there would still be no reason for anx- Be happy, and look on the bright side of life. iety. A device has been discovered by which the aggregate genius of past ages can be utilized by Are often mere trifles, could the mind comprehend;

** Among the vexations that come to mankind, the present generation. We have not only the

The dictates of fashion oft stern and demanding, work done by all the great poets of the past dur- Make slaves of mankind most truly debasing; ing their life-time, but the writing medium puts All forms of mind culture must be moulded to suit us into immediate communication with them. The demands of Mrs. Grundy – her claims nono and gives us every day their latest productions. dispute. Thus the immortals become regular contributors

Such conceptions of life bring contention and strife,

And shut out from view all the bright side of life." to the journals of the period; Parnassus is placed, as it were, on tap, and whenever the me- Notice the Hebraism in “artistic art," and the dium is disposed to hold up his dipper we get a freedom from the trammels of earthly versificafresh draught from Helicon.

tion, exhibited in such rhymes as “ dark" and We have been favored by some unknown friend “art," "demanding" and "debasing." Here is with a number of copies of a journal conducted another stanza from the same poet in much the by a “spirit circle," whose contributions are same vein: given to the printers by what is truthfully called

“ If each one would cease to pander “ mechanical writing," through the mediumship To the spirit dark in deeds; of David Jones. Whether this is that Davy Jones Cease to use the tongue of slander in whose "locker" the gallant tar of a former

Sowing tares and poisonous weeds;


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