FETCHING WATER FROM THE WELL. Early on a sunny morning, while the lark was singing sweet, Came, beyond the ancient farm-house, sounds of lightly tripping feet. 'Twas a lowly cottage maiden going,--why, let young hearts tell, With her homely pitcher laden, fetching water from the well. Shadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the quiet lane, And the breezes of the morning moved them to and fro again. O'er the sunshine, o'er the shadow, passed the maiden of the farm, With a charméd heart within her, thinking of no ill nor harm. Pleasant, surely, were her musings, for the nodding leaves in vain Sought to press their bright'ning image on her ever-busy brain. Leaves and joyous birds went by her, like a dim, half-waking dream; And her soul was only conscious of life's gladdest summer gleam. At the old lane's shady turning lay a well of water bright, Singing, soft, its hallelujah to the gracious morning light. Fern-leaves, broad and green, bent o'er it where its silvery droplets fell, And the fairies dwelt beside it, in the spotted foxglove bell. Back she bent the shading fern-leaves, dipt the pitcher in the tide, Drew it, with the dripping waters flowing o'er its glazed side. But before her arm could place it on her shiny, wavy hair, By her side a youth was standing!-Love rejoiced to see the pair! Tones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the morning breeze, Gentle words of heart-devotion whispered 'neath the ancient trees. But the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not to tell: Life had met another meaning, fetching water from the well! Down the rural lane they sauntered. He the burden-pitcher bore; She, with dewy eyes downlooking, grew more beauteous than before! When they neared the silent homestead, up he raised the pitcher light; Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of wavelets bright: Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of him she'd bear, Calling every burden blessed, if his love but lighted there. Then, still waving benedictions, further, further off he drew, While his shadow seemed a glory that across the pathway grew. Now about her household duties silently the maiden went, THE JINERS. She was about forty-five years old, well dressed, had black hair, rather thin and tinged with gray, and eyes in which gleamed the fires of a determination not easily balked. She walked into the Mayor's office and requested a private interview, and having obtained it, and satisfied herself that the law students were not listening at the keyhole, said slowly, solemnly and impressively: "I want a divorce." "What for? I supposed you had one of the best of husbands," said the Mayor. "I s'pose that's what everybody thinks; but if they knew what I've suffered in ten years, they'd wonder I hadn't scalded him long ago. I ought to, but for the sake of the young ones I've borne it and said nothing. I've told him, though, what he might depend on, and now the time's come; I won't stand it, young ones or no young ones. I'll have a divorce, and if the neighbors want to blab themselves hoarse about it, they can, for I won't stand it another day." "But what's the matter? Don't your husband provide for you? Don't he treat you kindly ?" pursued the Mayor. "We get victuals enough, and I don't know but he's as true and kind as men in general, and he's never knocked any of us down. I wish he had; then I'd get him into jail and know where he was of nights," retorted the woman. Then what is your complaint against him?" "Well, if you must know, he's one of them plaguey jiners." "A what?" "A jiner-one of them pesky fools that's always jining something. There can't nothing come along that's dark and sly and hidden but he jines it. If anybody should get up a society to burn his house down, he'd jine it just as soon as he could get in; and if he had to pay for it he'd go all the suddener. We hadn't been married more'n two months before he jined the Know Nothin's. We lived on a farm then, and every Saturday night he'd come tearing in before supper, grab a fistful of nut cakes, and go off gnawing them, and that's the last I'd see of him till morning. And every other night he'd roll and tumble in his bed, and holler in his sleep,' Put none but Americans on guard-George Washington;' and rainy days he would go out in the corn-barn and jab at a picture of King George with an old bagnet that was there. I ought to put my foot down then, but he fooled me so with his lies that I let him go on and encouraged him in it. "Then he jined the Masons. P'raps you know what them be, but I don't, 'cept they think they are the same kind of critters that built Solomon's temple; and of all the nonsense and gab about worshipful master and square and compasses and sich like that we had in the house for the next six months, you never see the beat. And he's never outgrowed it, nuther. What do you think of a man, squire, that'll dress himself in a white apron, 'bout big enough for a monkey's bib, and go marching up and down and making motions and talking foolish lingo at a picture of George Washington in a green jacket and an apron covered over with eyes and columns and other queer pictures! Ain't he a loonytick? Well, that's my Sam, and I've stood it as long as I'm goin' to. "The next lunge the old fool made was into the Odd Fellows. I made it warm for him when he came home and told me he'd jined them, but he kinder pacified me by telling me they are a sort of branch show that took in women, and he'd get me in as soon as he found out how to do it. Well, one night he come home and said I'd been pro posed, and somebody had black-balled me. Did it himself, of course. Didn't want me around knowing about his goings Of course he didn't and I told him so. on. "Then he jined the Sons of Malter. Didn't say nothing to me about it, but sneaked off one night, pretendin' he'd got to sit up with a sick Odd Fellow, and I never found it out, only he come home lookin' like a man who had been through a threshing machine, and I wouldn't do a thing for him until he owned up. And so it's gone from bad to wus, jinin' this and that and t'other, till he's worship minister of the Masons, and goodness of hope of the Odd Fellows, and sword swallower of the Finnegans, and virgin cerus of the Grange, and grand Mogul of the Sons of Indolence, and twoedged tomahawk of the United Order of Red Men, and tale bearer of the Merciful Manikins, and skipper of the GuildCaratrine Columbus, and big wizard of the Arabian Nights, and pledge passer of the Reform club, and chief bulger of the Irish Mechanics, and purse keeper of the Order of Canadian Conscience, and double-barreled dictator of the Knights of the Brass Circles, and standard bearer of the Royal Archangels, and sublime porte of the Onion League. and chief butler of the Celestial Cherubs, and puissant potentate of the Petrified Pollywogs, and goodness only knows what else. I've borne it and borne it, hopin' he'd get 'em all jined after awhile, but 'tant no use, and when he'd got into a new one, and been made grand guide of the Nights of Horror, I told him I'd quit and I will.” Here the Mayor interrupted, saying: "Well, your husband is pretty well initiated, that's a fact; but the court will hardly call that a good cause for divorce. The most of the societies you mention are composed of honorable men with excellent reputations. Many of them. though called lodges, are relief associations and mutual insurance companies, which, if your husband should die, would take care of you and would not see you suffer if you were sick." "See me suffer when I'm sick! Take care of me when he's dead! Well, I guess not; I can take care of myself when he's dead, and if I can't I can get another! There's plenty of 'em! And they needn't bother themselves when I am sick, either. If I want to be sick and suffer, it's none of their business, especially after all the suffering I've had when I ain't sick, because of their carryin's on. And you needn't try to make me believe it's all right, either. I know what it is to live with a man that jines so many lodges that he don't never lodge at home." "Oh, that's harmless amusement," quietly remarked the Mayor. She looked him square in the eyes and said: "I believe you are a jiner yourself." He admitted that he was to a certain extent, and she arose aud said: "I would not have thought it. A man like you, chairman of a Sabbath school,-it's enough to make a woman take pisen! But I don't want anything of you. I want a lawyer that don't belong to nobody or nothin'." And she bolted out of the office to hunt up a man that wasn't a பலர். MY LOVE.-W. F. Fox. I have a love, a bright-eyed love, With dimpled cheek and winning smile, Her heart is light, and warm, and true Her voice is low and soft, as ever She stands a queen in form and grace, While the witchery of her charms No flower of earth is half so fair As my dear love to me, No voice is half so sweet to hear Nor full of melody; I'd rather live an hour with her This dark-eyed love of mine, |