In the youth of the heart, lire the glorious ray That was born of life's moraleg Hath fadod f way; Wmio the light Ungers yet In the eyeti that are dear, And the voices we love fltill remain with us here; While tiio wiurm blood leaps up, And the lorest resounds With the ti-osd of the horse And the bay of the hounds, Oh, ever and always, So long as w« may. ESEABURY’S * TRIALS-1 1 y LUCIB TO. WELSH. O aELL, now,” said (i) (U w Mrs. Beaman, Cv\ V J briskly, to the other V \ l/o 4 / members of tbe Sow ing Society, “after jloth enough. The biggest twin war walkin' the dishes, and the other twin was tryin’ to keep the baby from oryin'. He csrtainly is the fussiest baby I ever see. He yelled the whole endurin' time that I was there, bat his mother said she didn’t think he wee sick. JThen Johnny had the tooth ache, and he hollared most of the time, and Mis’ Beabury was just as patient with ’em all, and just os perlite to me, as coold be. I didn’t see the minister, for he was writing his sermon, but I did have quite a talk with her. Why, } they hain’t got nothin’ to wear, and no money to buy anything with. She. didn’t want to tell me, but it came out a little at a time.” Here she paused fox breath, and Mrs. Driscoll, a tall, gaunt woman with a little wisp of hair twisted into a knob on the back of ber head, mado a remark. “They must be awful shiftless peo ple, I think. I don’t believe she’s got nos acuity.” “That ain’t either here nor there,” retorted Mrs. Beaman. “They hain’t got no olothas, sure, and that’s more our business than whether they've got any faculty.” She could criticise the minister’s fam ily herself, but no one else shonld have the same privilege. “Well," she continued, “I went down to Claremont yesterday, and in to Clarke’s, where I always trade, they had i piece of goods that was a bargain. 'lt was a good heavy pieoe of twill, and 1 by taking the whole pieoe they let me have it pretty cheap. It oost considerable more than we in tended to pny, but I’ll make up the rest out of my own pocket" “Why, there’ll be a lot mere’n wa shall want,” said Mrs. Driscoll. “No, there won’t be, neither,” an swered Mrs. Beaman, “for we’ll make LET US LIVE BY THE WAY, a dress for every one of ’em, and & spenoer for Johnnie and a cloak for that yellin' baby.” And her glance swept triumphantly around the group. “Won’t they look kiud of queer, all dressed alike so?” ventured Mrs. Lane again. “I don’t see as they will. They'll look kind of nice and neat, I think.’’ Mrs. Beaman’s eyes were a trifle bright, and all her old friends knew what that portended. “She’ll bo gettm' mad in a minute,” they thought. “Then she won’t do nothin’. It’s her way or no way with Ann Beaman every time.” So there was no other dissenting voice, and the matter was considered settled. “We’ll cut and make ’em ourselves, and yon can come to my house and sow on ’em. You know the conference meets with us next month, and we ought to have ’em done by that time, so wo’ll have to work fast.” “What oc(lor did you say the cloth was?” asked Mrs. Driscoll. “It’s a kind of a dark plaid, and not really dark, neither. It won’t fade aud it won’t wear out for one while, 1 know. Now you all come to-morrow afternoon, anil we’ll begin. Mis’ White’s about Mis’ Boabury’s size, so wc’U fit that dress to her. The biggest twin is abont the size of my Reb&coa, so we can get that dress easy enough, aud we’ll make one a little smaller for the other twin. The rest of ’em we’ll have to guess at.” “I do hope the doth isn’t very bad, * ’ thought Mrs. Lane. * ‘Ann Bea man hain’t got no more taste thau a settin’ hen, aud I do think Mis’ Sea bury would hate to wear anything very homely.” She knew it would be of no use to argue with Mrs. Beaman, so she said nothing. A few weeks after this Mrs. Seabury sat by the window of her little sitting room trying to amuse the fretfnl baby. Perhaps if the baby’s mother had had less o*io and hard work the child would not have been so fretful. Even now her mind was filled with worry abont the children's winter clothes. They had literally nothing, and the climate of uurthern Vermont necessi tates something warm. “Oh, if we could only get out of debt, how happy we should bel” she thoughL Heir mind went back to that June day, twelve years ago, when she had married Mr. Seabary. How bright and fair everything had beau to them! To he sure, Mr. Seabury was in debt for his education, but they were young and strong aud could soon pay tho amount. Bat the children came fast. Then the minister lost his health and was unable to preach for more than a year. Tho terrible debt still followed them, and now, after twelve yeaTs, they were no more able to pay it than they ever had been. Mr. Seabury had no talent for mak ing friends, and his manner in the pulpit had become diffident and halt ing. Perhaps he was discouraged with hia fruitless struggle against fate. At any rate, he was thankful to get the ohanoe of preaohing In the little village of Danbar, although he knew his abilities were far beyond the capacity oi his hearers. Through nil these unfortunate years Mrs. Seabury's faith in her husband had never wavered, and she brought up her ohildren to venerate him. Her sod reflections were sud denly broken into by the entrance of Esther, tbs largest twin. “Oh, mother, mother I” she cried throwing herself at Mrs. Seabury's feet and bursting into tears. “I never can bear it in the world! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” And her epeech was choked by an agony of tears. 1 1“ Wluvt is it, Esther darling?” cried Mrs. Seabury, laying the baby on the loniige, regardless of its wails. “Tell mother all abont it, dear.” It was very unusual for Esther to break down. She was only eleven years old, to be. sore, but in wisdom and experience she was twenty. She could scarcely remember when the burden of tbe housekeeping hud not rested on her slender shoulders, while Hops, the smaller twin, had always bad a baby in her arms. “Tell me, Esther dear,” repeated the anxious mother. “Oh, mother, those awlnl dresses! We never oan wear thevj—we never cant AH last alike! And how the baby will look in a cloak of it! And poor Johnny has got to have a spenoer, and ilia snoh awral doth!” “Calm yourself, Esther, and tall me As we Journey through life T»*t us live by tho way, Let uk live in the thought That in mirth or lu sorrow Bos a strength for eaoh day And a hops for nrvc.ti morrow, With smilft* for the t uturn; Though tears for tho past, Aud joy lu tho hours That fly from ns fast, Ob, ever and always, So long as we may, Ae we journey through life Let us Uve by tho way what this is all about. I don’t under stand In the least.” “I went down *o see Bobcooa Bea man this afternoon,”sai*l Esther, con- ' trolling herself with a great effort “Her mother asked me to wait in the Sarlor a few minutes for Rebecca was usy. The diuiug-room door was open a little, and I could’t help seeing into the room. All the ladies who belong to tho sowing society were there, and oh, mother”—here Esther began to cry again—“they are making some clothes for us, andßebeooa was try ing on my dress. They are going to make ns each one, and a spencer for Johnny, and a cloak-for the baby, all off the aamo pieoe of doth, and here is a bit I picked up from the floor. Isn’t it dreadful?” It certainly was. As Mrs. Beaman told the laches, it was a plaid. The predominant color was purple, and there were lines of green, red and yel low, the yellow being the widest. One dress of it would have lboked strange, but the appearance of a whole family olothed in it would certainly bo strik ing. Mrs. Lane had told the truth when she said Ann Beaman hadn’t no taste. Mrs. Seabury look the sample in her hand. It was strong and fine, as Mrs. Beaman had said. Esther stopped cry ing to see how the cloth affected her mother. Mrs. Seabury possessed a quick im agination, and a keen sense of tho ri diculous which the long years of hard ship had not dnllod. Already she saw in her mind’s eye thf family- of five, clothed in that startling plaid, march ing into churuh. It was too much for her to l>ear. She leaned bank in her ahair and laughed and laugh£d. “Why, mother,how can you?” asked Esther, indignantly. “Why didn’t they make a coat for father at the same time? It would bn just as suitable for him as it will for you. Oh, have we got to wear them?” “I’m afraid we shall have to, dear. There really is no money to buy any thing else, and we cannot go without clothes. Wo must be thankful for what wo oan get.” She could langh no more, bnt woe just on the verge of tears. “If it wasn’t so queer I wouldn’t mind. Why didn’t they get somo plain color? Rebecca says her mother selected it. I didn’t stay to talk abont it—l couldn’t. Rebecca walked part way home with me, and she talked abont it all the time. Her mother paid for most of the cloth, and tho society is making it up. How could they do snoh a thing?” And poor Esther bnrst into tears anew. “Rebecca thought we’d lie pleased,” she added. Mrs. Seabury bad collected ber scat tered wits during this laet speech of Esther’s. “Esther, my dear,” she said, “this certainty is a cross for ns to bear. But we must try to think of how little con eeqnenoe clothes really are. Tbe ma terial is strong and warm. It will make ns comfortable clothing and wc must woar it.” “I don’t see why,” said Esther, re bcllionsly. “You can wear your old block droHs and wc children cau stay ' at home.” i “It never would answer,” replied : her mflther. “Mrs. Beaman and the | other ladies have meant to bo very ! kind to ns. We must consider their j feeling*. How hurt they would be if we refused to accept the present which has cost them so much, in time and expense! dome, Esther,' you must help me in this matter. The other ohildren will taka it in the way that yon do. If yon accept ths gift cheer fully, and as if you were pleased, they will do the same. I shall depend up on yon to do this.” “I will, mother, I will!” replied Esther. “And above all things, do not let papa suspect that there is anything peculiar abont the clothes, for it would grieve Mm so.” Esther’s example was of so much' value that not one of the ohildren made any complaint when the new garments were brought home and tried on. When the doth was mode up it looked even more startling than it had in the sample. The girls’ dresses, even little Nannie’s, were made jnet like their mother’s, with straight, plain skirts and short- vaisted bodices, which buttoned in front. Such frocks had been worn by ohildren when Mrs. Beaman was young, and she saw no reason for making these in any differ ent fashion. Her own daughter’s was after the same style. No one knew how hard it was for Mrs. Seabury' to leave her house ar rayed in snch a garb. But it was a great deal harder for her to see her ohildren made so conspicuous. There was no trace of her unhappiness in hex’ face, however. Her struggle had been a silent one, in the solitude of her chamber, aud no one knew that there had been a struggle. It was indeed a fantastic procession, | for the cloth had held out wonderfully ' well, and Esther and Hope had short ' ospes to wear with their dresses, while little Nannie had a long pne with a hood to it. The capes were Hoed and wadded, and were really very oomfort abte. Mrs. Beaman had felt that the crowning point waa reached when she found pieoeu enough to make a os? tot Johnny in addition to the spenoer. The parsonage was about a quarter of a mite from the ehuroh, and the Sea bury family had traversed nearly half the distance when a carriage drove up behind them. “Herbert, ’ Herbert, do see those qnaer looking people,” said the lady who was one of the occupants of the carriage to her husband. “They are all dressed iu the same kind of doth. They must belong to eome institution, or perhaps they are strolling players, and dress in that way to attract atten tion. Do stop and ask them something. I want to see thsir faces.” The gentleman, who wan much older than his wife, smiled indulgently, and' drew in his- horse beside the little group. “Can you tell me the way to Mon trose?” he anked courteously. Mr. Seabary tamed to reply. “Why, John Heebary, can this be yon?” exclaimed the gentleman, hold ing ont a friendly hand. “Yon don’t know how pleased I am to see yon againl” “And I to see you,Professor Dawes. Ada,” turning to his wife, “this is Professor Dawes, whom I knew so wall at college. You have often heard me speak of him.” To save her life Mrs. Seabury could not repress toe burning flash of morti fication which rose to her cheeks ae she acknowledged Professor Dawes’* kindly greeting and replied to that of hi* wife. “What will they think of ns in these grotesque clothes?” she thought. “Oh, they wilt oee that John has not succeeded as a preacher, and they will think I have been a drag on him aud kept him from advancing. No woman who would dress herself and hor chil dren like this could be any help to a j minister.” While these bitter thoughts passed through her naiad Mrs. Dawes had. been surveying the little family with ! kindly eyes; all the amassment had died out of them. “A conference to-day,” said the pro fessor, turning to her. “What do yon ■ say about going in for a while? We can do so perfectly well, us our trip is one of pleasure aud not of business. Our time is our own to spend os we please.” “I should like to stop, very much,” returned his wife. “Then I will drive on and meet you again at the church,” said the profes sor. “I remember that John Seabury,” said Mrs. Dawes. • “He was in college when we were first married. You ex pected great things of him. Why is he bnried up here?” “He is doing good work here, doubt less,” returned her husband. “Well, I think he could do more of it in a larger place, where he would re ceive more salary. What a beautiful face Mrs. Seabury has! The children are very pretty, too. Did yon notice the largest one, the girl with the big black eyes?” “I didn’t look at toe childroa very much,” replied her husband. “Were they not dressed rather queenly? Is that the fashion now?” “Oh, you dear, foolish man, of course it Isn’t. Oan’t you see that they have hod a donation party or something, and all those clothes have been given them? They are obliged to wear them, bnt don't they hate to? You ooold see it in every faesaeven to the baby in tlie carriage. It's too badl” Her remarks were cut short by thoir arrival at toe church. Mr. Seabury wa* pleased to intro duce his old professor to hia brother ministers, many of whom were not college men. It plaoed him on a dif ferent footing among them, and ffave him new life and confidence. When it was hie tarn to address the meeting everyone was surprised at his elo quence. Daring the intermission fear lunch, all the ladies, even Mrs. Beamon her self, felt a little doubtful of the suita bility of the purple plaid for the min ister’s wife. There certainly was something incongruous in her refined face and ladylike figure combined with that cloth with the crado coloring. As for Mrs. Seabury herself, all thoughts of ber attire hod passed from her mind. She was engaged in con versation with Mrs. Dawes, and the time passed very pleasantly for both. After lunch was over the professor and his wife went oh their way again, with many good-bye to the minister aud h»s Joseph-coated family. “Isn’t it fortunate that we happened to go through Dunbar to-day?” said Mtb. Dawes. “And bow lucky it was tbat Mr. Seabnry’s family had been presented with those clothes! If they had not been dressed so qpeerlywe shouldn’t have noticed them. Then we should't have stopped at the con ference, and heard Mr. Seabury speak. And wo shouldn’t have known how his abilities were wasted here, and yon Wouldn’t have had the opportunity of helping him.” “I help him, my dear?” exolaimed the astonished professor. “I never dreamed of each a-thing, although it is a pity he should not' have a larger field.” “I know it hae not occurred to yon, bnt it has to me, and that ie the same thing. Mr. Merton, who edits the Ohrietian Messenger,'is going to resign in the spring to go to India. Hie wife told me so. Ana you are going to get his position for Mr. Seabary, who oan write bfentifal sermons, but oannot preach them very welL I know all about it, for lbs. Beabury told me. and this idea came into my mind at once. You will do it, won’t you, Her* bert?” “Well, well, Idou’tknowl” saidher husband, dubiously. The plaid dresses wont to ohnreh every Sunday all winter, and appeared at the suppers and entertainments given by toe' society. Long before spring it was painfully evident to every one that those garments had been a grievous mistake—to every one but Mrs. Beaman; apparently she admired the work of her hands as much as ever. “I declare,” said Mrs. Driscoll to Mrs. Lone, “it mokes me ashamed every time I see that circus procession marching up the broad aisle at ohnreh. If Ann Beaman ever gets us in snoh a box as that again, I guess she’ll know it!” In the spring the town was electri fied by tbe news that Mr. Beabury had received a very flattering offer to edit the paper of the denomination. The salary was so large aa to seem mirac ulous to these simple people. There was no question about Mr. Seabury** acceptance. Os oourse ho umst take it. Such ohances oome only once in a lifetime. If the people were surprised, bow much inure so were tho minister and hie family! They little knew how im portant a part the plaid dresses had played in the matter. As soon as it was decided that they would go, Mrs. Beauum marched bold ly bp to the parsonage. “Mis’Beabury,” said she, “I gaess I made a mistake when I bought that cloth. Tt really wan’t just what I thought 'twas, come to get it home. I gnettH you hated to wear the things, and I don’t blame yon any. Ton have looked mighty queer.” “Mre. Beaman,” answered Mrs. Beabury, “what you did was out of toe goodness of yoni- heart. You real ized our necessities and tried to fill them. I have always appreciated the time kindliness which prompted yon. The particular colors of the cloth were of little moment." Mrs. Seabury hesitated a moment, then continued: “It wouldn’t be quite honest for me to say that I liked the garments or that I really enjoyed wearing them or seeing the ohildren wear them; fiat I never have lost sight of the foot that your intentions were of the very best. “Well, now,” said Mrs. Beaman, heartily, ‘Tu glad you don’t bear me no ill will for making yon all look like a menagerie. I guess those things won’t do to wear down where yon ore goia’, though. So, if yon’U jnet get all ths clothes together, I’ll take ’em home and color ’em so you’d never know what they had been.” Mrs. Beaman was as good as her word, and the twins rejoiced in dork blue dresses, while Nannie and Johnny appeared in brown. Mrs. Seabury's gown came home a fine black, warranted never to grow rusty. Mrs. Beaman had no equal in the county when she onoe began to oolor. The baby’s little cloak was left un touched, for he had fretted himself into a better world some weeks before, and the uncouth garment was always a most pTcciuna possession to Mrs. Seabury. Every summer Mrs. Beabury and tbe ohildren make a visit to Dunbar, span cling most of their time with Mrs. Beamon; and the minister’s wife never regretted the courage with which she faced her trial.—Waverly Magazine. SCIENTIFIC AMD INDUSTRIAL ‘ Students and physicians In Berlin can now avail themselves of a newly founded circulating library containing only medical books. Ths swallow has a larger mouth, in proportion to its rise, than any other bird. He needs a scoop-netqnontb, for he does all his feeding on the wing. Place a snake on u smooth surface, as a polished table, and it makes no headway, because it finds no resist ance on the smooth surface to aid it in pushing ahead. An attempt to acclimatize ostriches in South Russia has proved success ful. Ths ostriches born in Rossis ore much less sensitive to cold than the imported ones, and their plumes are equally good. Major William J, Davis, Secretary of the Louisville (Ky.) School Board, I has sold his oolleetion of fossils to the j University of Californio for 915,000. - Major Davis. sacrificed ths mognifi cant collection to pay his debts. ! With the essistenee of the latest I machines, a pieoe of leather eon be , transformed into a pair pf boots in i thirty-four minutes, in which time It : passes through the hands of eixty ; three people and through fifteen ma chines. A new X-ray tube, with adjustable cathode, shows that the exeot posi tion of the cathode enormously affects the penetration of the rays, e change of a third of an ineh giving a range of penetrative power from the highest to none at ell. The wave lenth of Botengeu rays, according to Prometheus, he* been ascertained by Dr. Fromm, of Munich, to he fourteen million* of n millime ter, or about seventy/five times small er than the smallest-wave length