Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds A head properly constituted can acthan happiness ever can; and common commodate itself to whatever pillows sufferings are far stronger links than the vicissitudes of fortune may place common joys.

AFTER MANY YEARS.

On a beautiful summer morning in the year 1846, the diligence, as usual, rolled rapidly over the well-macadamized road from Antwerp to Turnhout.

Suddenly the postilion stopped before a modest inn, and there descended a single traveler, whose entire luggage consisted of a leather bag he carried slung over one shoulder. He entered the public room of the inn, seated himself at a table, and ordered a mug of beer.

He was unusually tall, and seemed to be about fifty years of age, but would certainly have been taken for considerably older, as he was very gray, and his face deeply lined, had it not been for the elasticity of his step, his animated look, and his almost youthful smile. His bearing was proud, manly and commanding. His costume betokened him to be a well-to-do man of the middle classes, and would, probably, have attracted no attention if his coat had not been buttoned up to the china peculiarity which, to gether with his large meerschaum pipe, might have led one to suspect he was either a military man or a German.

"The bell has a good, clear ring, has it not, mynheer ?" she asked. "Such a clock as that is not seen every day. For twenty years it has gone just as you see it going now, and it has not been in the hands of a clock-maker during all that time."

"Twenty years !" sighed the traveler. "And where is the clock that hung here formerly? And what has become of the image of the Virgin that stood on the mantel? Gone, destroyed, forgotten, perhaps ?"

The old lady looked at the stranger astonished, and replied:

"Our Anna broke the image of the Virgin, playing with it when she was a child. As for the old clock, it stands in the next room. It is always too slow. You will hear it strike directly."

At that moment a peculiar sound was heard, that was evidently intended to be an imitation of the cry, "Cuckoo ! cuckoo!" An expression of delight illuminated the stranger's features, and, accompanied by the landlady, he went into the adjoining room to see the old clock finish its song.

In the meantime the two daughters of

The inmates of the house, after serving him with what he demanded, seem- the landlady approached the stranger, ed to give him no further thought, al- and fixed their big blue eyes inquiringly though his eyes followed each one with on him. a certain wistful expression that appear- He took them by the hand, and said: ed to say: "Do you not know me, then? "My manner seems very strange to not one of you ?" you, does it not? You cannot underSuddenly the striking of a clock greet-stand why the voice of the old cuckoo ed his ear. The sound seemed to affect should affect me so deeply. Ah! I, too, him unpleasantly, for an expression of was once a child; then my father came pain flitted across his features. He here on Sundays after the service, to arose, approached the clock, and looked at it, apparently lost in thought, until it had finished striking nine.

The landlady, observing something peculiar in his manner, also approached the time-piece and looked at it, as though she would discover what attracted the stranger.

drink his mug of beer. There I stood and waited till the cuckoo opened its little door; and I jumped and danced at its cry, and in my childish ignorance I thought it a wonderful work of art. And the image of the Virgin, that one of you destroyed, I loved, because it had such a beautiful blue mantle, and because the

little hands der the ice, at the risk of his own life The child to rescue you from drowning?"

"My parents often spoke of the time when I was near being drowned, but it was long Jan who got me out of the hole in the ice, and in the French times he

child reached out its toward me and smiled. of those days is now nearly sixty years old; his hair is gray and his face deeply furrowed. Four-and-thirty years I have lived in the wilds of Russia, and yet I remember the image that used to sit on was forced to go with the others the mantel, and the old cuckoo,' as into Napoleon's army. Who knows though it were but yesterday I saw them where he was buried, if he was ever last." buried at all? But, whether he was or

"Are you, then, a native of our vil- was not, he was a noble fellow, and peace lage?" asked Anna. be to his soul !"

"Ah, yes!" answered the stranger, in a joyous tone; but his reply did not produce the effect he anticipated. The girls only smiled, and seemed neither astonished nor rejoiced.

"But where is the old landlord, Joostens ?" he asked.

"Jan, you mean," replied the landlady. "He has been dead these fiveand-twenty years."

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed the stranger, "now you know me! I am long Jan, or rather Jan Slaets." And, as he did not get an immediate reply, he continued:

"Do you not remember the young sharpshooter, who was the best shot in all the country round, and who was envied by all the fellows, because he was so much liked by the girls? I am he,

"And his wife, the good Peeternelle ?" Jan Slaets of the Dries farm."
Also dead," was the reply.

"Dead! dead!" sighed the stranger. "And the young shepherd, Andries, who could make such pretty baskets ?" "Dead, also," replied the landlady. The traveler let his head sink upon his breast, and fell into a sorrowful reverie. In the meantime the mother went out to the corn-house and told her husband of their strange guest.

The landlord entered the room with a heavy, sluggish step, and awakened the traveler out of his reverie with the noise of his wooden shoes. The latter arose with outstretched arms and hurried toward the landlord, who took his hand coldly and looked at him with an indifferent air.

"And you, too, Peer Joostens, you do not recognize me ?" cried the stranger. "No, I do not know that I have ever seen mynheer before," replied the landlord.

"Is it possible ?" asked the landlord, incredulously; "but you must not take it amiss, mynheer, if I do not know you

for all that."

Discouraged by the landlord's appar ent determination not to recognize him, the traveler made no further effort to recall himself to his recollection.

"In the village there are surely many of my old friends who will not have for gotten me," said he, more calmly, as he rose and prepared to go. "You, Peer Joostens, were too young to remember me; but the potter's son, Pauwel, I am sure, will receive me as a brother. He will not have forgotten me. Do they still live at the Moor ?"

"Oh, there has been no pottery there for many years; it was burned down, long, long ago."

"And what has become of Pauwel ?" "The whole family moved away after their misfortune. Pauwel is dead, very

"Have you forgotten who dived un- likely. But, mynheer, you speak of the

times of our grandfathers. You will hardly find anybody about the village now that can answer all your questions, unless it is our old grave-digger. He can tell you all about all the people that have lived about here for a hundred years past, and longer."

"the birds that witnessed the plighting of our troth are dead, and their children salute the old man, who returns like an apparition of another age. And Rosa! the lovely Rosa! Does she still live? Perhaps. If she does, she is married, doubtless,' and has children--grandchildren, per

"Very likely, for Peer Jan must be haps," and a faint but bitter smile played more than ninety years old." about his lips.

"Peer Jan? Our grave-digger's name is Lauw Stevens."

"Thank Heaven," cried the stranger, joyously, "that it has spared at least one of my comrades!"

"Poor pilgrim !" he sighed, " a feeling akin to jealousy possesses thy bosom, as though it were still the spring-time of thy heart. The years of love for thee are long since past; but it does not mat

"Was Lauw, then, one of your friends, ter! If she only recognizes me, and mynheer?"

"My friend," replied the traveler, shaking his head, "I cannot say that exactly, as we were always quarreling; a love affair was the cause-I remember throwing him over the bridge once into the water when he came near being drowned; but that is now near forty years ago. Lauw will be rejoiced to see me again, I am sure."

He paid his reckoning, and, taking up his traveling-bag, bade the landlord good morning, saying that he hoped to be his guest very often in the future.

still remembers the happy days when we were all the world to each other, then I shall not regret my long journey, but, consoled and content, I will go to my grave, beside those of my parents and early friends.”

A little farther on, he came to a pothouse. He entered, and ordered a glass of beer. Before the woman returned from the cellar, he recognized an old man, who sat near the door, as motionless as a statue, his eye fixed on the ground. The traveler hastily moved his chair near the old man's, and, seizing his hand, said:

"Thank Heaven that you have been allowed to live so long, Baas Joris! Do you not know me? No! the wild boy who used to crawl through your gardenhedge and carry off your apples before

He walked on, silent and sad, absorbed in recollections of his early years, until he reached a little bridge that spanned a rivulet which flowed through the outskirts of the village, when suddenly an indescribable, almost youthful smile for a moment dispelled the sadness of they were ripe ?" his mien.

"Here, for the first time, I pressed Rosa's hand," said he, in a tone full of feeling. "Here, for the first time, our eyes made that confession that melts the heart and embraces the paradise of youth. Then, as now, the yellow iris. reflected the rays of the summer's sun, and the larks sang as merrily in yonder meadow as they sing to-day.

"Ninety-six," murmured the old man, without changing his position.

"Ah, truly, you are very old," sighed Slaets. "But, tell me, Baas Joris, ist the wagon-maker's Rosa still living ?"

"Ninety-six!" repeated the old man. At this moment the woman came with the beer.

"He is blind and deaf, mynheer," said she to the traveler. "It is useless to

“Ah!” he murmured, as he passed on, speak to him; he cannot hear you."

"Blind and deaf!" repeated Slaets in saw was never to be realized, until he despair. was aroused from his mournful reverie by approaching footsteps.

"You asked after the wagon-maker's Rosa," said the woman. "Our wagonmaker has five daughters, but there is no Rosa among them. The eldest is called Beth; the second, Gonde; the third, Annaken; the "

"That is not the family at all," interrupted Slaets, impatiently; "I mean the family of Kob Meulincks."

66

Along the wall of the church-yard came the old grave-digger, his spade on his shoulder. He bore the unmistakable signs of age and poverty, and his shoulders were much bent by a life of labor. His hair was white, and his face deeply furrowed; there was, however, still something in his aspect that denoted

Oh, they are all long since dead, strength and force of character. mynheer!" was the reply.

This intelligence went like a dagger to the heart of the poor traveler. He paid for his beer, and left the house in a feverish state, murmuring:

"Oh God, she, too! My poor Rosa dead, too! Forever and ever this inevitable dead, dead! Is there, then, no one left who will extend to me the hand of recognition-no one who will welcome me back?"

The traveler knew Lauw, his rival, at a glance, and his first impulse was to hurry toward him; but the bitter disappointment he had met with deterred him, and he decided to wait and see if Laaw would recognize him.

The grave-digger approached within a few steps, and, after looking at the stranger intently for a few moments, he began to mark with his shovel the outlines of a new grave. And as he worked on, and now and then cast a side-glance at the man who sat before him on the bench, his little gray eyes seemed to sparkle with a kind of malicious joy.

With a heavy heart and unsteady step he entered the village. On his way he passed through the burying-ground; arrived at a cross, near the middle of the cemetery, he stopped. The traveler, deceived in the expression "Here it was," he whispered-"here, of the grave-digger's face, was overjoyed before this image of the Saviour, that with the thought that Lauw would come Rosa gave me her word to remain true to him and call him by name. Instead and to await my return. We were over- of which, however, the grave-digger, after come with grief. On this bench fell scrutinizing him more closely, took from our tears. It seemed as though her the pocket of his ragged vest a dirty old heart would break when I hung around memorandum book, and, turning away, her neck the little golden cross, my last seemed to write something in it. pledge of love and fidelity. Poor Rosa! This proceeding, together with the triperhaps I stand now upon thy grave!"umphant expression of the grave-digger's Absorbed in these mournful recollec-face, so surprised the traveler that he tions, he sat down on the bench before arose, and, approaching him, asked: him. As he looked about at the graves, old and new, he thought:

"And my father and mother, doubtless, sleep in two of these, but who shall tell me which they are ?"

"What do you write in your little book?” "That is my business," answered Lauw Stevens. "You have stood for many a long year on my list; I at last make a cross opposite your name."

So for a long time he sat sorrowing "Then you recognize me?" cried the over many a bright dream, that he now traveler, joyously.