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Then the reopen gsther home from the grey end misty moresâ€" Oh, hoppy no the apples when the south winds blow !â€" Then the reapers gather home. nnd they bear upon their spoon Love whose face is like the moon's fellen pale among the spheres With the daylight}: blight upon it u the sun sun In moot do mom, my love, ut the binding of the than", In the up” hmut told: u the Inn link: low, When he omhud pub- no dim with the arm of {men lava. Al the rupou ling mum: in the mellow lave met us ln the esohsrd are the corn hsd adhered plumeâ€" Oh. heppy ere the epples when the south winds blow ! Gweet ss summer deys thet die when the months ere in their bloom, When the peeks ere ripe with sunset, like the tusels of the btoom . the heppy hermit fields es the sun sinks flint u summer dsys thst die, lesdng sweeter ‘ each to eschâ€" Oh, hsppy ere the spples when the south _ winds blow ! All the bent was full of feeling ; Love hsd ripened into speech, me the up thst turns to noon: in the velvet of the powh, 'In the hsppy harvest fields es the sun sinks M In summer days tint die M. the ripening of the oomâ€" Oh, hlppy ere the tpples when the math winds blow! Sweet u loven' fickle «the sworn to (aimless meld: tonworn , When the musty orohud brosthes like a. mellow Love left an :1: the dying of the mallow autumn 0h, huppy no the upplel when the south winds blow ! When the skies no ripe sud ruling, like the colors of the lanes, And the taper: his: and put at the binding of Idntu {Ar-on buglea blowing soft und low the respers sungâ€" Oh, hsppy no the spples when the south winds blow 1 Sweet as summer in the blood when the heart is ripe sud young, Love is sweetest in the dying. like the sheaves ‘ he lies unong In the hsppy honest fields us the sun sinks WALTER BRADLEY’S SECRET. film-re he could do no harm; but it was a dreadful misfortune to his wife and son. When Asa Bradley was sentenced to the State’s prison for life for the double crime of forgery and manslaughter, many people_ said that a winked men was now “ f ammhis son,” {altered thv’boy. vith averted lace. / Six months afterwards, Mrs. Bradley died, and the friends of the family asked, “ What will become of poor Walter 1’" Will Wallace Ilanwy, in Harper's Magazine. But this little burst of sympathy was all “ rWalter” ever got of them; and w en the boy was sent to the alma- house, it was agreed that the place was enough {or the son of a convict. or five years earsthe almshonse was Wal- ter’ a only ome. Then the overseers of the poor informed him that he must be “ bound out, ” and earn his own living You as he was( (he was scarcely thir- neeJ’ alter had a stout heart, and 1t ed only this sudden send-ofi' to rouse his latent sense of inde ndence. For the first time he realiz his pos1- tion clearly and found his native pride. He deolargd with spirit that he would no longer be beholden to pauper help, or would render pie uper service, and with this resolution e went his way to fight the battle of life alone. V “Ihopo you ai'n't no way connected with Asa Bradley, who killed Thomas 1mm,” He little knew the difficulties he would have to meet and conquer. After apply- ing in vain at several places in town, he went to Rockland, a thriving factory vil- lage, and spent three days 111 a frmtless scorch for work. Weary and discouraged, he finally met a farmer who wanted aome__l_1_olp in_ hip hayingu “ I’ll Qork for fou'oheap, and hard, too," said the boy. with a brightening 0,9: "'That sounds well. Where do you live ?" “ I came from Stony Brook." “ Come a little nearer. I want to take I mld lookinto your face.” alter approached the wagon for' m- spectlon. ‘ You look willing, at any rate. What's your name ?" “_Walter Bradley, sir.” misty eves? 0b, hippy m 1 wind. blow ! drinking horn Over luppy huvest fields as themsinks the shena- In the huppy hmut fields .5 the sun sink! 0 ' ' “ Than-nu can. nut behind. Whoa unnunl wound In Lehman sllund The Syria: damull to lumen: M- “to In unoronl amm .u n nummor'l d.y_.j’___ low. links low. Adonls. the IpplOl when the south " Well, thot'l nnlnokyl I wont to hire a good likely boy. not a son of "â€"- Then came a long embarmainf silence. “ Well. I knees on the who a I won't “ Well, I guess on the whore I won't hire you," said the farmer, reflectively. “I know you ain't to blame for what our father did, but I guess I’ll look a ittlo iurther.” And starting his horse, he_wss so_o_n_outol sight. Poor Walter! A sharp pain shot through him as he recalled afresh how hard and unjust the man’s decision was, and his own lriendless condition. But at length his elastic spirit took hope again, and he walked resolutely on to the next village. Here he was more fortunate. A placard with “ Boy wanted ” was conspicuously displayed in the window of a large dry-goods store; and he applied for the situation. His open, manly face made a favorable im ression on Mr. Lewis, the merchant. an he agreed to take him on trial for one week. Walter was active and faithful. and gave perfect satisfaction. But Mr. Lewis chanced to hear that he was “ the son of the forget and murderer, Asa Bradley.” and when the week was out. he coldly bold Welter he could look for a place elsewhere. The boy took this dismissal grievous- ly. Knowing as he did the reason, it touched him like a death- chill. Was he to be crushed through life for inheriting a name loaded with disgrace ? The thong ht filled his soul with bitterness, and prepared him for the stern, almost fierce, determination which followed. This tainted name should no longer be a hindrance to him. He would discard it forever. Walter's maternal grandfather was Gilbert Henshaw, a man whose charac- ter was above reproach, and to be called after whom would be an honor to any descendant. Henoeforth he would be no more Walter Bradley, but Gilbert Henshaw. He would go where he was unknown, and the secret of his old name should be revealed to no one. More than three hundred miles he traveled on foot, begging food b the way after the little money Mr. wis had given him was gone, and often at night having on] the damp ground for his bed. He reac edthe boundary line of Ohio, and at once began anew the weary search for employment. One warm summer evening he en- tered a field. and found rest and refresh- ing sleep in a heap of new-mown bay. The sun was far above the hills before the tired, footsore boy awoke. Old Mr. Gardiner and his man came out with forks_ in hand to open the hay. " J iminy I” excl-aimed Abei; “ it here ain’t a boy asleep, and I came near a- pitfllipg my fork_ right into him_ !’_’ ' Waltér 6pened His eyes and looked wild 39d frightened. “ What 956 you here for ?" demanded Mr: 9851mm mm. A “ Iâ€"Iâ€"I am going to Ashburbon, to try and find work. I hadn't any place to sleep, or any money, and laid down herejor the yight.” "You won’t'get work in Ashhurton. The mills have shopped," said Mr. Gar- dine:, in a mpllifled voice. “ Do you know an one who would like to hire a boy ? ’d be glad of even a small job, for I must either work or starve.” o' “Well," said he kindly, “go in and get some breakfast, anyhow ; and if you're a. mind to, you may stay here to- day, and I’ll try you. What’s your name ?” The farmer gave a sharp look into the box‘yqqta ““Gilbert Heushaw,” replied Walter, with a reddened face. He toiled faithful] all that day, and did so well that 01 Mr. Gardiner de- cided to keep him a week; and when the week was ended, Mrs. Gardiner had found him so obliging and useful in the house that she said to her husband: “ I think we better keep this boy till the harvesting in over. He’s very handy, and will save us a great many steps.” Weeks and months passed. Gilbert was happy in his adopted home. and the comfort and plenty around him made the long autumn like a continued holi. day. Old Mr. Gardiner and his wife grew more and more attached to him, and their kindness to him was unfailing. One peculiarity in the boy, however, puzzled the worthy couple and piqued their curiosity. Gilbert never alluded to the East, and never would tell directly where 0 came from, or if his parents were dead or alive. But they were con- siderate enough not to press him, and preferred to think that he had some sad reason for his silence which involved no blame of his own. When winter came the Gardiners were less inclined than ever to let Gilbert go. He stayed with them, attended the vil- lage school, and worked morning and evening,‘ taking care of the cattle: One day Mrs. Gardiner was looking over a large mahogany box which con- tained valued family relics. She took out an ambrotypo, and after gazing at it long and tender-1v, she said to Gilbert, who gap near, with much emotion; “ This is the picture of my only broth- er, Thomas Iding. 110 came to n dread- ful death. A wicked man, named Asa Bradley, murdered him.” That his best friends, his benefactors who or nllthe world had in his need given him employment and a homo, Gilei-t'a knees shookVnnder him. He gasped for breath, and his face looked wild and white. “Yes," responded Mr. Gardiner; and the matter was settled. “The jury brought in a verdict of manslaughter,” she continued, “ but it was murderâ€"deliberate murdm' I" “ Iâ€"I don't feel very well. I guess I will go out.” And hurrying from the house the dpoor boy, overwhelmed with horror an distress, wept to the barn and sat down alone. “Why, Gilbert, how pale you are! What' 13 the matter ?” Ihould rove, utter I", to be the solar. are by a father'l crime. was too much. How would they feel if they knew the)V were harboring the son of their brother a murderer ? It seemed as il he must fly from the place at once-fly to the ends of the earth, hunted by a paternal ban. But calmer thoughts returned, and he suc- ceeded in quieting the tumult of his leelings. To run away would be a sus- picious and cowardly act; to confess who he was could do no possible good. There seemed to be nothing lelt for him but to seek to atone, as tar as possible, for his father's crime by self-sacrificin devotion to those whom that crime h ao terribly afflicted. He could do this, though he should never break to them the dread secret of his real name and kindred. Winter and spring passed, and sum- mer came again. One morning, as Gilbert was teturnin from the post ofllce, he saw a man ri ing up the street whom he instantly knew to be Peter Harrington, one 2! the ovlerseers of the poor in Stony Brook. Great was his consternation. If Mr. Harrington should recognize him, and reveal that he was the son of Ass Bradley, and had lived five years in the almshouse, all his present hopes and happiness would be at an end. euickly turned his face away, and stood caning over the railing of the mill-stream bridge, gazing intently into the water. Mr. Harrington stopped his horse. “Boy,” he said, pleasantly, “which road must I takgipg go to Aahtgurtop if" No answer. Gilbert seemed not to hear him. “ I say, boy I which is the right rogd to Ashburton ?" Still no reply. “ Can’t you speak, or don't you know ?" touching Gilbert’s shoulder with the handle of his whip. Still Gilbert neither moved nor spoke. “ He either can't hear, or won‘t hear," muttered Mr. Harrington, as he started his horse and rode on. Gilbert stopped to call on a sick friend, and an hour later reached home. As he entered the sitting-room, the first person he saw was Peter Harrington, in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Gardi- ner. With a crimson face and wildly- beating heart he slipped out by the nearest door. As Mr. Harrington had merely glanced toward him, he hoped he_had escaped recognition. But Gillian-t was'mistaken. Hardly had the door closed after him when Mr. Higgingtgn pkgd, in Inlay surpfiselr “ Is that boy, Walter Bradley, living with you ?" “That lad’a name is Gilbert Hen- shaw,” replied Mr. Gardiner. “He has Irenfivigh us oler a_year.” “Ha, ha, be! You Have been well duped. He is the son of Ass Bradley, Ego killed your brother. Thomas mg." “Impossible !” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. _Gard_ine_r, simultapeoualy,_ “ It's a factheraiated Mfiiflarfin - ton. _“1_ knqw _ alter Bradley: well; 6 was in the ulmshonse 8 long time. Over a year ago he disappeared, and most people thought he’d gone to sea. 80 he has pusmd himself of! on you as Gilbert Henshaw? . A pretty bold push, I call it." As may be supposed, Mr. Harrington left the Gardiners greatly disturbed in mind. Their astonishment upon learn- ing that they had befriended a son of the dreaded convict, Asa Bradley, secured overpowering. “ Husband," she said, at last, “Gil- bert has lived with us over a year, and all that time he has evidently tried his best to be a good boy. We have caught him in no wrong-doing; and have seen no signs of a bad disposition in him. He has been industrious and faithful. All we can charge against him is that he came to us under a i also name. He has been an outcast once; it would he cruel to send hjm_adriit again. .I‘ffit him_stay." “ That’s just my mind I” exclaitfied Mr. Gardiner, fervently. “ We have no children, and it may be that God has given us this be . We will not turn him away {or his {at er'a sin.” cast an anxious look into the faces of the old people, but no trace of any reve- lation was visible. They were even more gentle and tender toward him than they had ever been before. Five years passed. Gilbert lived, happy and beloved, under the roof of the good old Mr. Gardiner and his wife. He had attended school, and received a good education in the ordinary branches. Hie benefactors had no cause for regret for taking the friendless youth to their home and hearts. “ It came hard to payr the interest on the mofigage,” said . Gardiner in a “ I underétund now why he never al- ludes to his past life, and will an noth- ing about his arenta," said 1'. Gar- diner, reflpgtive x. “ And this exfilsins why he turned so white when I showed him brother Thomas‘ picture, and told him he had been murdered by Ass Bradley,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “ Well, wife, this boy's father took the life of your brother, and it's for you foggy whatye shall do__with hiqn.” Mia. Gardiner was silent a tow mo- ments. Gilbert rushed down stairs, shooting the alarm, and in a moment every sleep- er was awake. The family worked va- liantly to at out the fire, but in vain. A fresh w ml was blowing. and in half an hour the house and all the out-build- in a belonging to Mr. Gardiner were in m nu1 The good old man and his wife were homeloéb. One night. Gilbert suddenly awoke, and was startled by a strange glare of light. Through his window he saw the ohns and poplars outside glowing lurid red. He sprang up, and hurriedly raised the sash. The shed was on fire, and tho flames hm] just seized tbe_1mnse._ _ v‘uvy for his father's sin." hen Gilbert _cagne‘ in tqdinper, he} hollow fiono, ‘ md now we hasn't o plwo to by out heads." H (1...: â€"€‘I “mu-{An ” “nun-odd “- A “God will rovide, ” reapo ndod Mn. Gardiner, tryn ng for his upfko to was her own ominous. “ You have me left to you,” aid Gil- bert, tenderly. “ I am stron to work. am} you gball pgveryan} wh' 9 I. live." A'portion o! the furniture had been saved. This Gilbert removed to o little uusaiuted house ofi'eted by a neighbor, an the old couple were as comfortable as oitoumetunces you)d_per_mit._ U A month leter the Iollbwing letter was received: “ anxn Gunmanâ€"If the boy who called himself Gilbert Henshnw is with you, or you know anything of his where- abouts, please inform him thathis greatn uncle, Joshua Bradley, has lately died in St. Louis, without family, and has left no will. By law he is one of the heirs to the property. I regret your loss by fire, and believe me “ Trul your friend, “ 1mm Humxo'rox.” The next do Gilbert started for Stony Brook, on was absent two weeks. Then again his happ face brightened the o_ld_people’s hump e home: _ “I liavé news {or you," be "which will give you both pain 9199111.“? ‘ “ Give us the worst first, and the bet- ter 1931:,"8aid Mrs. Gagdingr, alpijipg.“_ WI. JOB”, D“ I“ JILL Dc URI. “In U1, ”mu-u”. “ I have a secret to divnlg e which will distress and eetonish you. In all the time I have been with you, I have never told you In real name or parentage. I am not Gil ert Hanshuw. I amâ€"" “ We know who you are l" exclaimed Mr. Gardiner. “ You are Welter Brad- ley_, spn _of Asa Bradley.” _ _ 'A' look of utter aétonishment over- sprgad Gilbert’s face. How bad they fathomed his secret? “ Mr. Harrington told us all about yog the: young ago,”_said Mrs._Gardiner= ' “ And 'yon have given nie a home, and love, and sympathy, knowing all this time I was the son 01 your brother’s murderer I” said Gilbert with moisten- ing 9308- - “ Dear boy,” returned Mrs. Gardiner, fondly, “we could not. drive you from us for your father’s sin 1 You have been a constant comfort and blessing to usâ€" ghe ehjld of our old age, given as by the “ And I shall not forget your generous kindness and true love. My share in Uncle Joshua’s estate is five thousand dollars. We will build a new house on the old site with our money,” said Gil- The worthy pair looked at him in de- lighgod wonder. “ No, ours. What is mine belongs to youâ€"to my second parentsâ€"who made my hapless, forsgken life hagpy again." “Your monéy, my boy,” they both said. 'In a few months a oommodious house was erected where the former home of the Gardiners had stood, and the old couple moved into it with their “ son.” Gilbert gained a right to his adopted name b making application through form of aw, and he is now a prosperous farmerâ€"a generous, noble-minded man â€"in whom the unfortunate and destitute always find a friend. â€" Youth'a 00m- pam’on. It was in 1866. Bismarckâ€"then Count Bismarckâ€"was returning from the alace, where he had been to see the .ing. While passing through the large street of Berlin called Under den Linden, and near the place where Hoedel and Nobiling have since attempted the life of Emperor William. he suddenly heard a shot fired close behind him. He turned sharplg round and saw a young man who, wit a smoking revolver, was aiming at him. He strode at once up to the man and seized the arm that held the revolver, while with his other hand be grasped the throat of the would-be murderer, who had had time to pass his wea n on to his left hand, and now fir three shots in quick suscession. Bismarck felt himself hurt in his shoul- der and in one of his ribs ; but he held his furious assailant fast rill some so]- diers came '0 and took hold of him. Then Bismarc walked home at a brisk ace and reached his own house long efore anybody there could know what had happened. The countess had some friends with her when her husband on- tered the drawing-room. He greeted all in a friendly manner, and be ged to be excused for a few minutes, as e had some ur ent business to attend to. He then wal ed into the next room where his desk stood, and wrote to inform the king of the accident. Having at- tended to this duty, he returned to the drawing-room and made one of his lit- tle standing jokes, ignoring his own un- punctnality, and saying to his wife: “ Welll are we to have no dinner to- day ? You always keep me waiting." He sat down and partook heartily of the dishes spread before him, and it was only when the dinner was over that he walked up to the countess, kissed her on the forehead, wished her in the old German way, “ Gesegnete Mahlzeit!" (May your meal be blessed l) and then added; ‘j Y_ou see I_a_m quite__well.” ed as follows in 1876 : France. 84,687,- 92l.400: Prussia. $229,852, 875; Italy, s2.000,000,r00 ; Russia, $1,254,810.000; Spain. 82.650.000,000; Turkey, 8927,- 000,000; Great Britain, $3,884,852,720. These are the heaviest debts, and they bear hardest on Turkey, Itsl , Russia and Spain. While some of t e debts may have slightly decreased in the last twq yeers, others‘hgve greatly increased, two years, others have greatly increased, as in the cases of Russia and Turkey. She looked up at him: “Well." he ooxitinued, “you must not be anxious, my child. Somebody has fired at me; but itis nothing, as you see.” â€"Blacko wood ! Magazine. The p_1_1blic debt of Europe wag divid- Bismarck’s Courage. Life’s Welt Window. We elem! el lite'e weal window. And think 0! the deye thet ere gone ; Remembering the coming ennui. We toe must remember the morn ; Bul the Inn will eel, the dey will oloee, And en end will come to ell our woee. A: we weioh the western mmonle. Reviewing our happy youth, We mourn (or its venished promiee 0i honor, nmhiiion, end truth But our hopee will fell end pride deeey. When we think how soon we mueipeee ewe]. We eteud et life‘s weet windows. And turn not udly ewey, To watch our ohildren'e heel The noonlide of epuhling dey ; But our sun muet not, our lipe grow dumb, And to look from our windowe our children come. Still looking from life'- west windowe; And we know we would not ogein Look forth the eaten ietiice, And live over oil life‘e pein ; Though life's sunlight be briliiont, its Inn-0t is sweet, Since it brings longedJor rest to our wen-y feet Item 0! Interest. Object of interestâ€"To swell tha principal. Cheap out-of-door breakfastâ€"A roll on the grass. An experienced boy says it is a mis- take that misfortunes never come shin- gle. Agricultural fairs are making and havoc among pop com and red lemon, ado. The papers speak of a men who has “ turned up missing.” In other words, he was found lost. Moore cOuntyfiN. 0., has twen - eight gold mines. six silver mines, eig t copper mines and ten iron mines. The were called “ tin " is on]? a wash of tin over sheet iron. As we I 11139 ht we speak of plated ware as being silver. The seven colors of the rainbow are violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red. The three primary colors are red, blue and yellow. We gain nothing by being with such as ourselves. We encourage one another in mediocrity. I am always longing to be with men more excellent than myself. â€"Lamb. George Lewis, a London la or, has such an extensive business that 's stafi of clerks and emplo ees number 250 and his receipts are ,000 a year. The Duo de Laragnois, a French nobleman of the lust century, had his first wife’s body reduced to a small oom- pass by some chemical process, and wore 1t set in a. ring. Sparrows in search of building mate- rial will, we are told, tear up door mats. Yes, and if they keep on, by next spring they will be pulling our front door bells and asking for our stair carpets. An inquiring man thrust his finger into a horse's mouth to see how many teeth he had. The inquiring horse closed his mouth to see how many fingers the man had. The curiosity of each was fully satisfied. 85,000. Soon a husband turned up to claim the custody of the child and the money. Afterward another husband came, with an insurance poli of 85,000 in his favor on her life. Bot men had parted from her years before, but were ready to profit by her death. TREASURE T3073. Somethin I've found on my way o_ugh_earth ”:9”; Mary Haley, a up osed widow, was killed in Steubenvil 9, Ohio, by a rail- road accident. Her baby was left to the care of her brother, who sued the rail- The Suez canal is ninety-two miles in length. It is not broad enough in some places to let two vessels pass, and many aidings have been made for this purpose. Vessels measuring 430 feet in length and drawing twenty-five feet nine inglges hagepaseed througlg. Miss osborne’s Restored Scale. The New Haven Palladium says: “Miss Lucy A. Osborne, of New Mil- ford, whose scalp, right ear, and art of the right cheek were torn off in Se tem- ber, 1874, by machinery in whic her hair caught, and who has since been at a New York hospital, is now at home. A new scalp has grown upon her head by the grafting thereon of minute bits of skin. The pieces were contributed from the arms of the hospital surgeons. The total number of pieces used in this operation is 12,000. One of the surgeons contributed from his person 1,202 pieces, and another gave 865. The ap- pearance of the scalp now is similar to that of a healed wound. Of course, there can he no growth of hair thereon. The eyes still present a sli htly drawn up earance. The wonndso the cheek an car have been neatly dressed, the former leaving scarcely a scar. In the first of the grafting process bits of skin the size of nickel ieces were employed, but not with success, and at the suggestion 0 an English surgeon much smaller pieces were substituted, and with exce lent results. )Mias 0|. borne in now twenty-two yearp old." A storekeeper advertises thirteen mnnds of sausages for a dollar. That’s .03 cheap. Something of nine untold, Brighter than gold ; Something more hit than the tint 0! morning glint; Something more sweet than the song 0! feathered throng ; Somethilfilthlt lovelier glows In queenly rose ; Somethifimore a sliding by for on on right Btu - Something I o eriIhâ€"how weft? Words cennot tell. Somethingâ€"oh, can yon not gneu? - Then I confess. Some one has ntd " Love in blind; ” Yet do I and, Deep in the bent of my love ' My treeenre ttove I