THE SORROWS OF AMOS BARTON. not learned to decipher that terrible handwriting 307 rebelled against his black clothes, until he was merely a pretext for removing Mr. Barton, in put them on, when he at once submitted; and Shepperton to his own brother-in-law, who was told that it would be naughty to mamma not to order that he might ultimately give the curacy of Dickey had Mr. Carpe's wish to reside at Shepperton was It roused some bitter feeling, too, to think that now, though he had heard Nanny say that mamma cheeks, and wide open blue eyes, looking first up known to be wanting one at all near a new position. Shepperton, and he at length I would come home again to-morrow, and say he of seeking another curacy must be set about withbox. He stood close to his father, with great rosy Amos was obliged to renounce the hope of getting had been a good boy and let him empty her work-out loss of time. After the lapse of some months, Still, it must be borne; and the painful business thinking he and Chubby would play at that when county. The parish was in a large manufacturi at Mr. Cleves and then down at the coffin, and resigned himself to accepting one in a dista The burial was over, and Amos turned with streets and dingy alleys, and where the chiarez his children to re-enter the house-the house would have no garden to play in, no pleasant faro they got home. where, an hour ago, Milly's dear body lay, where the windows were half-darkened, and sorrow seemed to have a hallowed precinct for itself, shut out from the world. But now she was gone; the town, where his walks would lie among houses to visit. It was another blow inflicted man. on the terms broad snow-reflected daylight was in all the Amos and his children must leare Sheppertor. rooms s; the Vicarage again seemed part of the common working-day world, and Amos, for the at his departure: not that first time, felt that he was alone-that day after thought his spiritual gifts pre-eminexx I have to be lived through without Milly's love. his recent troubles had cult ever So the time wore on till it was May again, and the church was quite finished and reopened in all its new splendour, and Mr. Barton was devoting himself with more vigour than parochial duties. But one morning-it was a very fine morning, and evil tidings sometimes Eke u fly in the finest weather-there came a letter i to lis Mr. Barton, addressed in the Vicar's handwriting Amos opened it with some anxiety-some C other he had a presentiment of evil contained the announcement that Mr. Care resolved on coming to reside at Shemer that, consequently, in six months from tar Mr. Barton's duties as curate in the pas be closed. Oh, it was hard! Just when men become the place where he most va where he had friends wie where he lived close to M from that grave seemed like a second time; for Amos a on the material link between His imagination was 1T TL. stimulus of actual pervention dren," said in he い to bed, that she might have a good night's rest before the fatigues of the morrow, he stole softly out to pay a last visit to Milly's grave. It was a moonless night, but the sky was thick with stars, and their light was enough to show that the grass had grown long on the grave, and that there was a tombstone telling in bright letters, on a dark ground, that beneath were deposited the remains of Amelia, the beloved wife of Amos Barton, who died in the thirty-fifth year of her age, leaving a husband and six children to lament her loss. The final words of the inscription were, "Thy will be done." The husband was now advancing towards the dear mound from which he was so soon to be parted, perhaps for ever. He stood a few minutes reading over and over again the words on the tombstone, as if to assure himself that all the happy and unhappy past was a reality. For love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the dominion of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish. Gradually, as his eye dealt on the words, "Amelia, the beloved wife," the waves of feeling swelled within his soul, and he threw himself on the grave, clasping it with his arms, and kissing the cold turf. "Milly, Milly, dost thou hear me? I didn't love thee enough-I wasn't tender enough to thee but I think of it all now." The sobs came and choked his utterance, and the warm tears fell. Only once again in his life has Amos Barton visited Milly's grave. It was in the calm and softened light of an autumnal afternoon, and he was not alone. He held on his arm a young woman, with a sweet grave face, which strongly recalled the expression of Mrs. Barton's, but was less lovely in form and colour. She was about thirty, but there were some premature lines round. her mouth and eyes, which told of early anxiety. For Patty alone remains by her father's side, and makes the evening sunshine of his life. "DE VELLERS MIT DE TROTTIN NAGS POOLED OOP TO SEE HIM BASS." (Drawn by W. Ralston.) In his Bestimmung des Menschen Der Fichte makes pelieve, Dat ve brogress oon-endtly In vhat pehindt ve leave. "De shparrow falls ground-downvarts, "O! vliest dou droo bornin' vor'dts, Und nebuloser foam, Shoost ash dish vordt vent outvarts, Hans dinked he saw a vlash, Und oonterwards de dable He doompelt mit a crash. Und to him, moong de glasses, Und pottles ash vas proke, Mit his het in a cigar-box, A foice to Breitmann shpoke. Denn Breitmann see a biece of chalk De von dat Schnitzerl fobricate (Try dis in de cavallrie). "LIKE AN APPLE FROM A SHLING, AFAY HANS BREITMANN VENT." (Drawn by W. Ralston.) Dat ish, de Deutsche Aertzte, For Breitmann alvays says, De Deutschers ish de onlies Mit originell idées. Der vas Doktor Moritz Schlinkenschlag, Dere vas Strobbich aus Westfalen, Who mofe all eart❜ly ills Dat ish, mit de exscepdion For von who trink from Rhein. Ash der Teufel vonce deklaret, Vhen he taste it on a shpree, Dat a man, to trink soosh liquor, Moost a porn Silesian pe. So dey all vent los at Breitmann, Mit her olt vis sanatrix, Boot eash doktor shvore he curet him, Und de rest vere taugenix. |