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ing to sea again could have pleased him so Mrs. Bennet saw much to be grateful for in much.
its manner; in her own inimitable way, she So it was settled that at Christmas Joe dilated on the satisfaction it must have been should come back for Tilly.
to Captain 'Lisha. When the engagement became known in " It's just what he was forever a-sayin' town, there was great wonderment about it. he'd like, to be buried in the sea, and espeHow did the acquaintance begin? What cially to be washed overboard; if I've brought the New Yorker to Provincetown? heard him say so once, I've heard him a
But Tilly and her mother kept their secret hundred times, and the Lord's took him at to themselves, and not a soul in Province his word, and I don't believe there's a haptown ever heard a word of the red stockings, pier spirit anywhere than 'Lisha's is, wherever which was much better for all parties con- | 'tis he's gone to.” cerned.
In the Provincetown way of thinking, The wedding was to be on Christmas- Captain 'Lisha's death was no reason why day. But two weeks before that day, there Tilly's marriage should be deferred, but swept over Provincetown harbor a storm the rather why it should be hastened. It took like of which had not been seen for half a place, as had been planned, on Christmascentury. The steeple of the old church fell; day. the sea cut new paths for itself here and The next day when Tilly and her mother there among the low sand-dunes, and washed bade everybody good-bye, and went away away landmarks older than men could with Tilly's manly, tall, kindly-eyed husband, remember; great ships parted anchor, and everybody said, “ What a Providence !” and were driven helplessly on the rocks, and the I make no manner of doubt that Joe and light-house swayed and rocked like a mast Tilly got on quite as well together, and in the tempest. In the middle of the night were quite as happy as if they had known the storm burst with a sudden fury. At its each other better and taken more time to first roar Captain 'Lisha sprang up, and consider the question of marrying. said,
“Martha, this is going to be the devil's It may not be foreign to our story to add own night, I must go up into the light, I that after Joe had been married a week he can't leave her alone such a storm's this.” | recollected to send to Miss Henrietta Larned,
From the dwelling-house to the light at the Menthaven Hospital, a newspaper house tower was only a short distance; the containing the announcement of his marrocks were shelving, but a stout iron railing riage. When Netty read it, she exclaimed protected the path on one side. Whether in a low voice: Captain 'Lisha failed to grasp this rail and “ Good! Good !” slipped on the icy rocks, or whether he was “ What is it ?” said Sarah. “Who's marswept off by the violence of the gale, could ried now ?” only be conjectured, but in the morning he “What put it into your head it was a did not come back. As soon as the storm marriage ? ” said Netty: had lulled a little, Mrs. Bennet crept cau- “I don't know," said Sarah, "your tone, tiously across the slippery path-way, and I suppose." climbed the winding stair to the light. In Netty read the notice aloud. a short time she returned, with a white hor- “ The very girl !” cried Sarah.
" What a for-stricken face, and in reply to Tilly's cry queer thing!" of alarm, gasped :
“It's perfectly splendid !” said Netty. “ Your father's gone!”
“What a nice husband Joe Hale will make! After the first shock of the death was over, And now we'll tell Clara Winthrop !"
A GLIMPSE OF YOUTH.
MAIDEN, I thank thee for thy face,
I met thee on the crowded street-
And then I thought, as on I went,
The youth upon the child shuts down;
So, every little child I see,
Toward every brave and careless boy
What was it, when thy face I saw,
Ah! little maid-so sweet and shy Building each day thy fair romanceThou didst not dream a youth passed by, When I returned thee glance for glance!
For all my youth is still my own,-
Help me to bear it, Christ !—I know,
This hour, what their fury made Thee bear !
Was thine, when they mocked thee dying there,
And the merciless slayers howled below. VOL. XV.-23.
Could they have given such a roar
As shakes the walls of this fearful place?
The sound, and tear me not, for a space-
Hadst thou not, Jesus, in the throng,
Some one to pity thee? Drew not nigh
To look on thy face and help thee die ?
Thanks! thanks! dear Lord, who hast heard my call,
Who hast remembered me! Thanks for one
A rose !--Could I look long years on the sun,
O fierce ones, cease to gnash your fangs,
An instant, while I meet his look!
Let me see the face of one that can brook,
Oh, might I win, come life or death,
His soul to seek me in Paradise !
I see the roll of your angry eyes ;
Ye shall not stir, till I clutch yon rose
And hold it against my dying heart !
Now, lions, hasten! fulfill your part-
BIRDS AND BIRDS.
their varied songs.
Among our own birds, What is that legend of Mrs. Piatt's poem there is the song of the hermit-thrush for about the bird in the brain ? Birds are per- devoutness and religious serenity, that of haps the most human of creatures, and I the wood-thrush for the musing, melodious should not be surprised if told we all carry thoughts of twilight, the song-sparrow's for more or less of them in our hearts and brains. simple faith and trust, the bobolink's for I have seen the hawk looking out of the hilarity and glee, the mourning-dove's for human face many a time, and I think I have hopeless sorrow, the vireo's for all-day and seen the eagle; I credit those who say they every-day contentment, and the nocturn of have seen the owl. Are not the buzzards the mocking-bird for love. Then there are and unclean birds terribly suggestive? The the plaintive singers, the soaring, ecstatic song-birds were surely all brooded and singers, the confident singers, the gushing hatched in the human heart. They are and voluble singers, and the half-voiced, typical of its highest aspirations, and nearly inarticulate singers. The note of the pewee the whole gamut of human passion and is a human sigh, the piping of the chickadee emotion is expressed more or less fully in unspeakable tenderness and fidelity. There
is pride in the song of the tanager, and | liar guttural call has none of the character vanity in that of the cat-bird. There is of a song. It is a solitary, hermit-like sound, something distinctly human about the robin ; as if the bird was alone in the world, and his is the note of boyhood. I have thoughts called upon the fates to witness his desolathat follow the migrating fowls northward | tion. I have never seen two cuckoos and southward, and that go with the sea- together, and I have never heard their call birds into the desert of the ocean, lonely and answered; it goes forth into the solitudes tireless as they. I sympathize with the unreclaimed. Like a true American, the watchful crow perched yonder on that tree, bird lacks animal spirits and a genius for or walking about the fields. I hurry out- social intercourse. One August night I doors when I hear the clarion of the wild heard one calling, calling, a long time not gander ; his comrade in my heart sends far from my house. It was a true nightback the call.
sound, more fitting then than by day.
The European cuckoo, on the other hand, II.
seems to be a joyous, vivacious bird. WordsHere comes the cuckoo, the solitary, the worth applies to it the adjective “blithe," joyless, enamored of the privacy of his own thoughts; when did he fly away out of this brain ? The cuckoo is one of the famous
“I hear thee babbling to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers." birds, and is known the world over. He is mentioned in the Bible, and is discussed by English writers all agree that its song is aniPliny and Aristotle. Jupiter himself once mated and pleasing, and the outcome of a assumed the form of the cuckoo in order to light heart. Thomas Hardy, whose touches take advantage of Juno's compassion for the always seem true to nature, describes an bird.
early summer scene in one of his books from We have only a reduced and modified a cluster of trees in which “ the loud notes cuckoo in this country. Our bird is smaller, of three cuckoos were resounding through and is much more solitary and unsocial. the still air.” This is totally unlike our bird, Its color is totally different from the Old which does not sing in concert, but affects World bird, the latter being speckled, or a remote woods, and is most frequently heard kind of dominick, while ours is of the finest in cloudy weather. Hence the name of cinnamon-brown or drab above, and bluish- rain-crow that is applied to him in some white beneath, with a gloss and richness of parts of the country. I am more than half texture in the plumage that suggests silk. inclined to believe that his call does indicate The bird has also mended its manners in rain, as it is certain that of the tree-toad this country, and no longer foists its eggs
does. and young upon other birds, but builds a The cuckoo has a slender, long-drawn-out nest of its own and rears its own brood like appearance on account of the great length other well-disposed birds.
of tail. It is seldom seen about farms or near The European cuckoo is evidently much human habitations until the June cankermore of a spring bird than ours is, much more worm appears, when it makes frequent a harbinger of the early season. He comes
visits to the orchard. It loves hairy worms, in April, while ours seldom appears before and has eaten so many of them that its June, and hardly then appears. He is gizzard is lined with hair. printed, as they say, but not published. The European cuckoo builds no nest, but Only the alert ones know he is here. This puts its eggs out to be hatched, as does our old English rhyme on the cuckoo does not cow blackbird, and our cuckoo is master of apply this side the Atlantic :
only the mere rudiments of nest-building.
No bird in the woods builds so shabby a “ In April Come he will,
nest; it is the merest make-shift,—a loose In flow'ry May
scaffolding of twigs through which the eggs He sings all day,
can be seen. The past season, I knew of a In leafy June
pair that built within a few feet of a country He changes his tune,
house that stood in the midst of a grove, In bright July He's ready to fly,
but a heavy storm of rain and wind broke In August
up the nest. Go he must."
If the Old World cuckoo had been as Our bird must go in August too, but at no silent and retiring a bird as ours is, it could time does he sing all day. Indeed his pecu- never have figured so conspicuously in litera