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. «3.4:: “a... “I... . i1 .v-.-.r 44%90‘F;-\7(’3:."1'«‘Zr< - y." ’ .-.'. ,--V_Vvvvv For Rosamond’s Sake. â€"â€"-â€"‘â€" During a summer'vacation in River- pmrt a certain important business af- tair took me frequently to the rail- Way station, where I sent and receiv- ed numerous telegraphic messages. At ' every one o,'f my visits I saw an old man whose sole business in life seemed to be included in sitting on abench on the railway platform. The man never amused himself with newspaper or book, but sat idly with his sun- browned hands in his lap staring into vacancy. The expression of the face was weak; the face of one who had bought in the battle of life and been defeated. I'rresoiution was in the pale blue eyes; irresoiution and the shadow of a wonder or surprise, such as is found in the eyes of those who have once looked on some great horror which they cannot banish from mem- ory; there was irresolution in the mouth, with its weak, tremulous lips; lrresolution in the hands, the long. thick-jointed fingers of which were nervously contracting and relaxing as if undecided between activity and quiescence. A small bouquet of fresh- ly plucked flowers was always on the seat beside the man; and the only change in his attitude was when he turned to stare down at the fiowars and relax the rigid lines of his face in a pale, fleeting smile. The silent, rigid figure soon became familiar to me; it amused and pain- ed. me at the same time. In the first place there was an air of loneliness about the man, and loneliness is al- ways pathetic in a human being. So far as I could see no one spoke to him, no one seemed to know him. Trains ar- rived and departed without bringing a change of expression to his placid, patient face, without bringing the clasp of a friendly hand or the stimuâ€" lus of a friendly word. The air of ut- ter loneliness was sad enough; but it was sadder to notice dullness and entire absence of hope or expectationl in his face and attitude. He sat there! passively in sunshine or storm,a use-l less encumbrance on the platform of the station. One day I covertly pointed him'out flowers gr'ow here; if so, they have escaped my prying eyes): " They grew in. hereâ€"in my gar- den l" he answered, staring meaningâ€" less at me. “ I am very fond of flowers," Icon- tinned. He sighed; then lost all interest in me. He leaned his head against the wall of the station, pulled his hat over his eyes and stared toward the line of the distant ocean. “ Are you waiting for a train l" I began again. "Yes." This word he uttered in a whispered voice. “ So am I,” I said, uttering a false- hood thnt pains me more now than it did when I first spoke it. ” Whom are you waiting for 3” he asked with a sudden interest and excitement. I “ For my sister,” I answered in desâ€" peration; then with sudden inspira- tion I added: "I have not seen her for many years. She also is very fond of flowers." " Give her that," he said, plucking with tremulous hands a white rose from the bouquet and handing it to me. " Give her that and remember,” he said with a sudden dropping of the voice, " that all women are as tender as white roses; a rough touch and their hearts break!" This happened years ago, but Ihave carefully pressed and preserved the old man’s gift. It lies before me as I write, it's sweet perfume outlasting its life; and ah I lddk at it I again hear the hushed, tear-stained voice of the old man repeating: ' "All women are as tender as white roses, a rough touch and their hearts break." \Vith swift passing emotions he ask- ed, curiously: "How old is your sister l’" " Eighteen." "Is she married i” " Not yet." ' ~"Don’t oppose her i" said the old man. in an awe-stricken voice. f‘Where her heart is let her hand go. Sister or daughter,” his voice trembled here. " they are tender things. To oppose them is to break their hearts and your own.” With a restless finger he pulled at his collar as if to loosen it. “ They cannot read your heart. and you cannot read theirs. And life is so short," he added reflectivcly, "and it is so weary waiting. Dainty heads droop, dainty eyes are filled with tears. (Ah me! but I have been cruel.” Shame and remorse held me silent, I would have given anything to recall my cruel curiosity; but brutal proâ€" phet that I was, my wand had touch- ed the old man’s heart, and the bitter Waters of memory were not to be re- strained. "I am waiting for my daughter," he band, and I do not mean to suffer from it. Charley Yartins once loved me, and Iwas a fool not to take him. Is he still rich and unmarried? Ihate the publicity of a divorce, but I do not intend to waste my life for the wretched thing I now call husband. " I do not know exactly when Ican come, but expect me at any time af- ter the receipt of this letter, and be prepared for me. My old room will be satisfactory if it is rehung. Ihate blue and I love pink. I am glad mam- ina. is not alive to see my misery; it would have broken her heart. I canâ€" not write any more now as the car- riage is waiting to take me to the opera, where I hope to temporarily ferrget my troubles, and so I' sign my- se . " Your ever affectionate daughter, " ROSAMOND.” The old man watched me with pain- ful eagerness while Iwas reading this brutal letter, and in consequence I carefully refrained from allowing my feelings to find expression in my face. - " She says she will come, does she not 2” he asked, in breathless sus- pense. “ Yes; she says she will come.” “ It is very painful waiting, and five years is a long time." “ But she will come l” I said to ban- ish" the clouds from his face. ” Yes, she will come," he answered with a smile, " she will surely come I” The summer, however, passed away and still she did not come. I daily visited the old man and was half pain- ed, half glad to note that his life was fading with the summer weather. He still resolutely watched on the plat- form station from morning to night, but each day touched him with addi- tional pallor, each day kindly helped to eifface the sorrow and pain from his weary soul. He. found apleasure in my company, even when we sat in silence side by side, staring out at .the sunlight. My waiting for an im- aginary sister aroused his sympathy and did what time was powerless to dogmake him regard me as a friend, which I hope and believe I was. I: know my heart bled for him. and that I neglected my work to give him the Larger share of my time. I know that he was grateful, though he never said a world on the subject. I watched with him through the waning sum-, mer, listening again and, again to the ! old story, to the old hopes, to thel old expectations, and I have always been grateful that he was not utterâ€"1 1y lonely when the end came. ! One morning in early autumn Ipaid ‘ my usual visit to the station and! found the old man in his usual place. I But he had cast aside, the old worn everyâ€"day suit of clothes, and was now attired in carefully preserved gar- ments that might have been fashion-i was a tall, handsome young woman with blue eyes and golden hair. She stepped daintil‘y to the platform and shook out the creases in the skirt of her rich travelling gown. Glancing calmly about her eyes rested on.the old man, and with a smile she placidly advanced toward us. - " Father l" The hand resting on my arm grew heavy, then relaxed; the old man stood upright for a moment, the light of happiness shining on his face; then his body swayed and fell back heavin into my outstretched arms. " Father 1" A smile came to the pale lips, one last glowto the cold, sightless eyes, and the shadow of death passed over the patient face, and chilled the lines of pain and sorrow into peace and rest. ‘ For Rosamond's sake! .â€"_..___.. FAMILY NAMES. It is curious how many family names are substantially like those of familiar things. Take, for instance, the seasons: There is Spring, also Winter, and if there is no Summer there is Summers, and though there may be no Fall there are Falls. Those that follow the months are: Jan., March, May. As to the names like those of the smaller subdivisions of calendar time. Day is well known, also Weeks: while, though there may be no such name as To-morrow, there is a family name Morrow. As for familiar things in nature, take for instance, Dew, Frost, Snow, Cloud, Storm and Gales, Raines and Halo. To family names like those of minerals it is easy to think of Flint, Cole, Rock, Stone, Garnett, Diamond and Jewell; and of metals, Gold and Silver and Steele. Ayer and Waters suggest the elements and Mould and Clay are not alike earth. As to things in the heavens, there is Moon and Starr, and of the compass, West as well as North. There is a considerable number of family names like those of colors, as White, Black, Green, Blue, Violet, Scarlett, Brown and Gray. Like names of various members or features of the body are Hand, Armes, Legg, Foote, Bone, Chinn, Haire,’ Beard, and there is also a family name Man. Like those of names borne by animals are: Bull, Bullock, Lamb, Kidd. Colt, Badger, Hogg, Hare and Wolf. There . .._.__...._.~___-._._.._._.._ .,, I ,. . Wm”. . . t0 the Station agent and aSked‘ said with a meaningless laugh, that “ Who is he V" landed in a sigh. “She has forgiven "A cranky! was the unsmpathetic me at last and she is coming back to me.’ - . "G' ° ' .- r stor ."= answer one m hls uppe y ‘ "I am certain she could not do a " Does he remain here all day l” lwiser thing." I said to break the pain- " He comes here before the first.fu] Si1_ence_ . train arrives and does not go away "she was eighteen five years ago until the last train has passed. His when she went away, and she is twen- dinner is in that tin can under the ty'three DOW." continued the Old man able thirty or forty years ago. Awhite ,‘are many family names thatare ex. rose was in his button-hole and the ractly like or Similar to things in plant bouquet? bBSide him was unusuau)’,life, or their productions, as, for ex- large‘ He received me with a smile lamplc, the name Plant, Rose and Flow. ‘ . ' ' 't h‘ ‘ , , glefilrxisoll? 85:11:13,513 evéfraStiw,’ b Is fer, Budd, Rice, Wheat, Oates, Cotton. “She is coming l" he said gayly; “I Berry, Bean, Plum and Cherry; Oakes, dwade its Iaé‘d my ,dI'feEilms alga“; 'Ashe, Pine and Maple. A familiar fami- come true. reamec 0 er an o ' , , . t my dear wife, and I “raked up as happy Ily name is that ,of Root, and hers _but as I wasn‘t interested I didn’t'pay seat." , - “Does he live here? He cannot be, a poor man to waste time in this, Way.” ’ 4 1 "He owns a nice little house, butl it is all falling into ruins through ne-g glect; all but the flower garden; that l he keeps in good order." "What is he doing here 7" “I don’t know.” " Has he no friends i” " He doesn’t seek for any, and does- n't win any. Life is too busy for! most people to worry about acrank."1 " Does he live all alone ?” “ Yes; and enjoys life as you see. There is some legend or other that in the past he was cheated and abused by those he cared for. Somebody was telling me about it the other day; much attention. There is something about somebody running away from him; going off with lots of money and jewels. They say the shock of being deceived by the persons he lov- ed most turned him crazy. He doesn't look though as if any one could love him. I look on him as a trunk that is wanting for an owner, and in my opinion the trunk is so valueless that it will rot before it is claimed." My interest was deepened by these fragments of a possible history; it may be that I was more curious than sympathetic; but I determined to probe inlo the heart of the lonely old man. ' On [my next visit to the station I wished him a "good-morning" in passing by. A fleeting expression of surprise came to his face, but he courteously returned my snlutation. . For several days "goodâ€"morning" given and returned was the sum of our conversation. Having advanced so far, I determined to advance further, and so one morning after the usual salutation I scared myself on the bench beside him and offered him a cigar. " Thank you, I don’t smoke l” he said quietly, carefully removing the bou- qiuet from the bench to his Lap. "You object to the habit 9" He stared at me for a moment with a perplexed frown on his face, as if it took time and labor to extract the meaning from my words; then said plat-idly and slowly: " No, I do not object to the habit. I used to smoke once, butâ€"" His voice sunk into silence and be into impassivity again. I tried exploration in a new direc- tion. ” Those are very handsome flowers; the white roses .are magnificent.” He glanced first at me, then down at the flowers in his lap. " Yes; the white roses are pretty, very pretty 1” He touched them light- ly with a rough finger; as lightly as a mother would touch her loved sleepâ€" ing child. The slight action was won- derfully eloquent. - ' "Excuse my curiosity, but do thesr with a childish delight in these tri- vial details. “ Five years ago, five long years ago, and all through my SEI- fishness. But how could I know the tender heart olf- a young girl, filled with love. Blue'eyes and golden hair, how could any one help but love her! But I opposed it, God forgive me‘, and she left me! It was a father’s van- ity, claiming all. giving nothing. As if she had no rights l I was cruel; but in my loneliness I thought it out: thbught it all out clearly, and so I learned my duty. I wrote to her ask- ing her to forgive me, and she is com- ing back, she is coming back.” He again tenderly touched the white rose. " I suppose she will find me changed ” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice, in painful contrast to the emotion ex- pressed in his eyes and manner. "Five years of loneliness and remorse are good breeding grounds for wrinkles. But she is coming back, as you will see." He had drawn a letter from the breast pocket of his coat, and after gazing at it with hungry, affection- ate eyes, handed it to me. I hesitat- ed to take it, but the eager, anxious proud manner of the old man conquer- ed my-not over-strong scruples.‘ "Look first at the beautiful hand- writing; she was the best scholar in her class, and always won the prizes But read it? You will see then that she is coming back." I Opened the letter ;. the handwriting was faultless; every i dotted, every t properly crossed. I read:â€" "Eather,â€"As the climate here is rather wearing on the nerves I will pay you a visit about which you are so unnecessarily excited. \Ve have agreed to let byâ€"gones, bc byâ€"gones, but as in letter after letter you ex- press the hope that I am happy in my marriage, let me settle the mat- ter once for all by telling you‘ that I am not happy. It is true that you opposed it and that I sloped and mar- ried against your will, but your op- position only aggravated me. I did not know my own mind, and had you calmly reasoned with me in place of acting like a hysterical, pleading wo- man you might have prevented me from making this one and hopeless mistake of my life. I do not blame you; I have long since agreed to forâ€" get the past; but when will fathers learn that they must govern their daughters through reason and nol through tyranny? " But enough of this: I have grown weary of my husband, and he has grown weary of me, and so Iain able to gratify your desire to see me. If I can live in comfort with you my visit will be prolonged indefinitely; but you know I always had a prac- tical mind; we must understand each other plainly. I do not come to you to do drudgery; as I reckon up you must have quite a nice little sum of money in the bank, supposing you have not squandered it. If you have this money we shall get on very lovingly and comfortably together. I hate pov- erty even worse than I hate my bus- as a lark. And cold weather is coming. g Look at the. crowds of swallows yonâ€"l der; they are gathering together be- fore they migrate. Rosamond was al- ways fond of, watching them. Ahl, I feel like a new man toâ€"day. Not-a touch of rheumatism. You younsiers' belong to a weaker race. \Ve old fol-‘ lows are immortal. But," he added,” with sudden sympathy, " we will norj desert you; we'll keep you company, while you wait for your sister." l Despite his gaiety I noticed that he had thp new habit of dozing momen-g tarily while speaking and then sud-i denly waking up with astart. The} pleasant morning turned into a chili,l cloudy afternoon and I hinted to him the advisability of sheltering himself from the biting wind. “ To-morrow; not to-dray. She is con- ing, and ilf she did not find me here, she would be terribly disappointed. Is, it ruining l” he asked anxiously. , “No, a few unseasonable flakes of] snow are falling; it will not last.:’ "I hope she brought a cloak With her. I hopeâ€"-" ' The doze was longer this time, and the breathing more labored. . “ It is almost too exciting," he said suddenly, “ But listen," he added Withi increasing excitement. "She is com- ing. Listen; what do you hear-l". “ The sound of an approaching train. But remember, she may not be in it i" " I tell you she is coming," he added, all a tremble. "Help, help me to get up. Where is the bouquet. You Will know her at a glance; blue eyes and golden hair; you cannot take _Rosa- mond for anybody else. \Vhere is the bouquet l” I placed it in his sh'aking hand. “Sit down and wait. Do not expect too much.” " She is coming I" he said with con- viction. " I must be the first to greet her. But if you please I will hold your a rm. [’in excilcd, very excited 1" He held my arm’ and stood near the edge of the platform, glancing in the direction of the approaching train, ev- ery muscle in his body.qnivering With excitement. It was with difficulty that I could prevent him from leaping on the track. When I think of it now I always recall the grey, and sky, the grey auâ€" lumn landscapeand the unseiisonable flakes of falling snow as the filling background to the picture of this lit- tle tragedy. _ i " Is it coming l" he asked impatient- l . y“ Yes, it will be here in a minute! See, there it is now." » " I see nothing; but I hear the bell. Thank God, it is coming at last. Tell me when it arrives; a cloud is before my eyes and I cannot see. It has no! stopped 2" "No, but for Rosamond‘s sake conâ€" trol yourself. \Vhat willshe say to see you so cxoiled ?" " For llosumond's sake! For Rosa- mond's sake I" The- train now (lashed up to and slop-peel before the station. Among llio last of the travellers to leave the car.» ._.._.,l .. ions Generals ought to do and point- are'Branch, Stein and Twiggs. Bird, Wing, Herron and VVrenn sugâ€" gest themselves; also Crane, Crow and Larke. Fish is a family name, and others that might be mentioned here are Haddock, Pike, Roach, Bass and Crabb. Family names suggestive of titles or rank are: King, Queen, Prince, Duke, Marquis, Lord, Baron and Knight, besides Pope and Deacon, Next take military titles, Marshall, Major and Sergeant; and peoples, Eng- lish, French, Welsh, Norman and Dutch; while among family names like those of countries there are Engâ€" land, Ireland, France and Wales. The ones that resemble buildings are: Church, Temple, Abbey and Tower. Another family name is House; anoth- er is Mills, and the name of Barnes is familiar. There is a family name of Shedd, and others are Post, Wall, Room, Roof, Rafter, Frame, Sills and, Hall, with Locke. Boldt, if not Bolt; and Key, also Yard, is familiar, and so is Garden, Gates and Pickett. Names like those of traveled ways are Street, Lane, Alley, Way, Rhodes. Young is a familiar name, and so also is Olds, Long, Short, Sharp, Blunt, Dull, Strong, Straight, Small, Stout, Little, Rich and Poor. Bliss and Paine and Hurry and Waite. There are many family names like implements, or of household or other articles of use, as Sickles, Mallet, Scales and Lamps, ickes, Couch. Broome, Needles and Shears, and Bell, Button and Buckle, Of names like those of articles of apparel there are Coates, Vest, Cuff, and like distances are Furlong and Miles. Pertaining to military things are names, many as Camp, Drum, Fife. Horn, Swords, Spears, Cannon, Gunn, Flagg and Banner; also, like those of natural features, as Lake, Forrest, Pond, Field, Marsh, Glen, Dale, Pool, Brooks, Rivers, Ba‘nks, Meadow, Cliff, Ridge. Many of the names here enumerated are those of men famous in history, many of them are borne by men .con- temporancously widely known. They are not hunted up, but set down as they Occurred to me. I don’t doubt that many more could easily be re- called by anybody Who should give his mind to it. â€"-â€".â€"â€"-._ CRITICISM IS 'EASY. We have come, they said to the great war critic, to offer you the command of the army. , \Vhy, really, he sit-postulated, I have not had the experience to exact- Ly qualify me for so great a responsiâ€" bility. Iâ€"â€"- . , For months, they urged, you have been emlaining just what the varâ€" ing out the errors they have made. Yes, yes. of course, he admitted, but that's different, you know. Of course, they knew, but the aston- ‘shing feature was that he should adâ€" mit it. DLERGYMEN Ill BATTLE. ONE MINISTER WON THE VICTORIA CROSS FOR .GALLANI‘RY. éeverul Famous Bishops Have Been Scull. era of the Queenâ€"11w Brave and Noble Father Brlndle. There are few ceilings so utterly opposed in the common idea of the work peculiarly belonging to each as those of a soldier and a. clergyman. ['t is, therefore. astonishing to learn that there are living to-day not one or two, or three. eminent clergy- men of the various churches, but many of them, who have actually, be-I fore they became pastors, served their sovereign "with the colours," says Pearson’s Weekly. The most important of such at the present day is, doubtless, the Arch- bishop of York, who has done duty with his old regiment as a lieutenant in India‘, and knows well what "rough- ing it" is. And it is to his credit that. even when his tastes lay in a military direction. it was prophesied of him by those who knew him. that, in that line his career would not be undistinguished. But the Indian army and his old regiment did not keep him; his leanings turned to more peaceful workI and he resigned his commission to become a clergyman. How many people know that the BiShop of Liverpool, the high! ~es- teemed and venerable Doctor IIqu was once a "soldier of the Queen ’3" Yelt'it is a fact that he was. Before the famous scholar and preiate had made up his mind to become a par- son, he took a fancy to ,military things, and joined the Cheshire Yeo- manry, with a commission as a cap- tain. He kept steadily at his duties in that department for a year or two; then milder counsels of friend: and changed inclinations of his own prevailed, and what the army lost the Church of England evidently gained. Dr. Harry Frank Johnson. the Suf~ fragan Bishop of Colchester, is an- other old army man. now risen to high honours and preferment in the church. This distinguished prelate can say even more about his mili- tary experiences than can either of his contemporaries above alluded to, fpr he has actually done duty on ac- tive service. Dr. Johnson can claim tic be an old Crimean vet%, and the lessons he learnt during that cel- ebrated war in the cold winter of Southern Russia haVe stood him in excellent stead many a. time in deal~ ing with various classes of men. trying and tried, who bavo come un‘ der his notice in church work. His regiment was the let Royal Dra- goons, in which he held a cornetoy. It has often happened that army chaplains on the field of battle have had, from force of circumstances, to become actual soldiers of the Queen, and to, undertake duties ofastronger nature, from a military point of view. than those that they agreed to per- form when they signed on for their work. Bishop Brindle, the eminent {Roman Catholic assistant-prelate to Cardinal Vaughan, is doubtless the most celebrated of these chaplains who have actually helped the British army on more fields than one. No man in any church is more highly esteemed by all classes of solo‘ diers to-day than is the bravo and noble Father Brindle, for soldiers do not forget his grand help to them on the battlefield in more instances than one. They will tell you how his work there has won for him Uhe D. S. 0. from the Queen herself; how he Wears the Order of the Medjidieh, given him by the Sultan for his brav- ery and goodness to the wounded; how the Khedive conferred upon him the Egyptian “Star”; and as to med- als for all sorts of service, both ao- tual fighting and aiding the wound- ed- and dying amidst the worst pos- sible dangers, Bishop Brindle could lend any one a few and not miss them. proud of two clergyman, one of whom got the V. C., and the other of whom ought to have had it, if ever any man on a: battlefield deserved it for bravery. It was at Killa Kliazi, near Cabul, that the Rev. J. W. Adams won the Victoria Cross for galâ€" lantry in going 'to the aid of two wounded Lancers and rescuing them from certain death, when under heavy fire. The grand army chap- lain had just before saved another Lancer, who would almost certainly have been killed. but the terrible dan- ger staring him in the face did not hinder him going out again to fetch in‘the other two. Adams yet lives to enjoy the Cross, the only clergyman who ever won it, or rather, who was ever “gazetted” to it. ' For there was, and is. another par- son who performed miracles of gal- lantry and courage at Rorke’s Drift. Amidst the terrible fighting and slaughter of that fearful day; amidst the burning rooms of the hospital; tending the sick and dying. and co- casionally lending a help himself in driving back the hordes of Zulus, through it all there moved the thin figure of “Parson” Smith, with his red beard shining and stiff, with his water-bottle for the wounded and dying, his instruments for the sur- geon, his hands ready for doing any- thing, offensive or defensive, that the officers and men might need. There were soldiers who had been in South Africa who cried “Shame!” and shed tears when they read in the papers that “Parson” Smith‘s name was not amongst those of the brave men who. for that day’s work, had been awarded the Victoria Cross. But, as one of them said to the writer ; “Never you mind, mister. ‘uVe know whether he gained it or not. even if he has not got it. God bless Iaim!" 4. And every soldier in the army is ~‘A