1.. r. BLO4N, Zdit:oi• VOLUME 20. (teitti 43ndrq. AUTUMN W 2 SID 11. "rig now the period of the pa timing year.. When pensive Contemplation love!, alone, In the dim woods to wander. and to hear The melancholy music, and the moan Of autumn wind*, in many a mournful tone, gifting the dirge of the departed time. When the fair Alayumeen, from her flowery throne }lung charms o'er nature's solitude sublime. And every living thing looted forth in fife's gay prime The tongue of time Is in each falling leaf. • his footstep In the Woodland lone I see; The solitary song of winds. tho' brief. A tale of ruin tells, proud man, to thee ; Of beauty blasted in the grave, to he The wreck of all that thou host rear'd in pride; When o'er thy relies, salt and silently, . Lone desolation shall in gloom preside; • • Whilst ever beats creation's pulse. and rolls time's:dark tide I love lite. Autumn, for thou sland`st alone, . . . I u all thy gloomy grandeur, Illte some vast Old castle, In decay, whose glory !n gene— t moulderin memento of the past; A I love to listen o thy tnournful blast, sounding like MIMIC in those ancient Or like the voice of burled years, when cast From those lonely, crumbling, time-worn walls. On which time's silent, solitary footstep falls. I love to linger In some lonely spot, When mystic Autumn's winds are howling tho' ' The desolate forest and deserted cot, . Like savage wolves, when they their prey pursue; And fancy shrinks from the teri tic view, Of the lone sea-boy, on the boundless main, Toss'd on a plank, and shrieking hl when To friends and home he nc'er shall see again; \tithe round him, roaring roll the ocean's billows blue Ohl it were Sweet in some dim cloistered isle, Crumbling away, to wander silently; And listen to the low winds there awhile, Like spirits in Valhalla's halls of glee. 1111 ngl ing in their mysterious revelry; Or in some shady grove, with flowers o'ergrown, Toeatch the gentle breeze that, with a free And fragrant breath. speaks with a lender tone. Of blissful moments In the past forevergone: Ilut,Autumn, with a melancholy voice Thou Fponkest to the soul of man, of all That bids his heart to grieve or to rejoice. For there's n knOtt in thy leaves that fall; A sermon in thy sadness, that doth call ' ❑is spirit to repentance—for in thee I There arc a thousand emblems of his pall, ' A thousand emblems of his destiny, To warn him of the present and futurity. eljoitt 31!itirttlaint. [From Cufley's Lady's Book.] THE STEP-MOTHER, I= Tnr. villagers of N- 7 .we1l remember the sad morn •iug when the bell tolled.for the death of Emma, the once beautiful, lovely. and beloved wife of Judgo Allston.— Many a face was shadowed. many a heart was in mourn ing on that slay; for she who had gone so early to her rest, hod endeared herself to many by her goodness, gen tleness, and the beauty of her blameless life.' She had been declining for a long time, and yet she seemed to have die() suddenly at last, so difficult, so almost impos sible it was for those who loved her to prepare their hearts for that fearful bereavement, that immeasurable loss : Mrs. Allston left four children—lsabel, the eldest, an intellectual, generous-hearted girl of seventeen, not beautiful, but thoroughly noblellooking; Frank, a fine boy of twelve; Emma, "the beauty," a child of-seven, and Eddie, the baby, a delicate infant, only about a year old. Judge Allston was a men of naturally strong and quick feelings, but ono who had acquired aremarkable control over expression, a calmness and reserve of manner often mistaken forlianteur and insensibility. "lle was along with his wife when sho died. 'lsabel, wearied with long watching, hairlain down for a little rest, and was sleep ing with tho children—and the mother, even in tho t hour, tenderly caring for them, would not thatthey dhotild bo waked. The last struggle was brief, but terrible; the spirit seemed torn painfully from its human tenement—' the immortal runt its way forth from imprisoning mortsil-i ity. Yet ho, the husband and lover. preserved his calm ness through all; and when tho last painful breath had been pritted'out on the still air of midnight, ho'laid tho dear' head ho had been supporting against his breast, gently down on the pillow—kissed the cold. damp fore head and mill lips of thelovo or his youth, and then sum moning an attendant, turned away and sought his room. where alone, and in•darknoss, ho wrestled ' with the an gel of sorrow—wept !the swift tears of his anguish, and lacerated his heart with all the vain regrets and wild re prOaClion of bereaved affection. But with the coming of morning, came serenity and resignation; and then he led his children into tho silent chamber where lay their mother, already clad in the garments of the grave.— There too ho was calm—holding the fainting Isabel in' his arms, and gently hushing the passionate outcries of Emma and Frank. Ile was never seen to weep until the first earth fell upon the coffin, and then ho covered up his face and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Allston was not !aid in the village church-yard, but was buried, at her own request, within an arbor, at the end of the garden. She said it would not seem that she was thrust out from her home, if the light from her own window shown out toward her grave; and that she half-believed the beloved voice of .her husband, and the singing of her daughter, and the laughter of her children would come to her, when she lay, with her favorite flow ers about her, and the birds she had fed and protected building their nests above her in the vines. When the stunning weight of sorrow, its first distrac tion and desolation, had been taken frOm the life and spir it of Isabel Allston, ono clear and noble purpose took complete possession of her mind. Sho would fill the dear place of her mother in the household—she would console and care for her poor father—she would love yet more tenderly her young brother and sister, and bind up their bruised hearts,"so early crushed by aflliction—sho would ho n mother to the babe, who had almost fell the bosom which had been its first resting-place, grow cold against its little cheek, and hard and insensible to its "waxen touches;" now that the voice which had hushed it to its first slumbers had sunk low, faltered and grown still forever, and the kind eyes which first shown over its awaking—the stars of love's heaven—had suddenly darkened and gone out in death. j. After this, it was, indeed, beautiful to see Isabel in her 'borne. There aho seemed to live many lives in one.— She superintended all domestic affairs and household ar rangements with admirable courage and jndgment Her father never missed any of his accustomed comforts, and her brother and sister wore an over neatly dressed, and well taught and controlled. But on the babe she lavish ed moat of her attention and loving care. She took him to her own bed--she dressed and bathed, and rod him, and carried him with her in all her walks and rides.— And she was snort richly rewarded by seeing little Eddie hvcome, from n ti . exeeetlingly small, fragile infant, a well sued, blooming boy, not stout or remarkably vigorous in deed, but quite healthful and active. Tho child Was I. ls sionaldy fond of his "mamma," as Ito was taught to - • I r -- - 1. 7-, .. , , • , ..• - . .. , f E • ‘ .:.....,.. .11 . ..:, ~,,, , 4 . , 4 . 2.P. .. 4 1q7E '..!' r ; r q r ' 4 rl ^r . ir' r 1- ,• . • , .. ~•. ~. . • , - .• `.., - .... . . •. --, .- ,_. ,•,„ .., ~.., ~ , , , „ _. _ . . ..,.•• , . 0 ...F• „ - • • . . • ;1' r .',i , call Isabel. Though rather imperious and rebellious to wards others, he yielded to a word from her, at any time. At evening. she could summon him from the wildest play, to preparZ him for his bath and bed. and afterward would twine his little arms abont her neck. and cover her cheeks" lips. and forehead with his good-night kisses, thou drop his sunny bead on her shoulder, and fall as t eo p, often with one of her glossy ringlets twined about his small, rosy fingers. At the very break of day, the lit tle fellow would bo awake—striding over poor Isabel, as sho vainly strove for ono hour's brief, delicious doze— pulling at her long. blank eyelashes and pooping undoti the drowsy lids, or shouting Into her half-dreaming ears his !coniferous "good morning!" And Frank and Emma found ever in their sister mother ready sympathy, patient sweetness, and the most affectionato counsel. They were never loft to feel the crushing neglect, the loneliness and desolation of orphan age; and they were happy and affectionate in return for all dear Isabol's goodness and faithfulness. Yet were they never taught to forget their mother, gone from ihoni —neither to speak of her always with sorrow and solem nity. Her name was often on their young lips, and her name kept green and glowing in their tender hearts.— Her grave, in the gardcn.arbor—what a dear, familiar place! There sprang the first blue violets of spring-- there blowod tho last pale chrysanthemums of autumn— there soot sabbath-hymns and prayers were repeated by childish voices, which struggled up through tears--there, morning after morning, were reverently laid bright, Ira grant wreaths, which kept quite fresh till far into the hot summer-day, on that shaded mound—and there. innn incrable times, wail the beloved name kissed in sorrow ful emotion, by those warm lips, which half shrank as they touched tho cold marble, to likb her lips wheri they had last kssed them Thus passed two years over that bereaved family— over Judge Allston, grown a cheerful.man,' though ono still marked by great reserve of manner—over his noble daughter. Isobel, happy in the prefect preformanco of her whole ditty--:-and over the children, tho good and, beautiful children, whom . an angel-mother might have, smiled upon from heaven. • It happonod that this third summer of his widowhood, Judge Allston spent more time than ever before at the city of B—, the county-seat, and the place where lay most of his professional duties. But it was rumored ; that there was an unusual attraction in that Town—ono apart from, and quite independent of, rho claims of business and the pursuits of It was said that the thought ful and dignified judge had sometimes been aeon walk ing and riding with a cohain tall and slender woman, in deep mourning, probably a widow, but still young and beautiful. • ° t At length, en officious, family-friend came to Isabel, and informid her, without much delicacy or circumlo cution, of the prevalent remora; thus giving her the first inkling of a state of affairs, which must have a serious bearing on her own welfare and happiness—her &it in timation that she might soon be called upon to resign her place to a stranger—a ster-mothert This had been her secret fear; to guard against the necessity of this. she had struggled with grief and weariness, and mani fold discouragemonts—had labored uncomplainingly, and prayed without ceasing for patience and strength. Palo and still listened Isabel, while her zealous friend went on, warming momently with her subject: Com menting severely on the heartless machinations of "the widow," who; though only a poor music-teacher. bad sot herself. with her coquettish arts, to ensnare a man of the wealth and station and years of Judge Allston. Isa bel was silent; but she writhed at the thought of her father, with all his intellect and knowledge of the world, becoming the dupe of a vain, designing woman. NVlieri . her visitor hud loft, Isabel flew to her own room, flung herself into a chair, and covering her face with her hands, wept as ratio had not wept since the first dark days of her sorrow. Isabel had grown up with n deep, pe culiar, prejudice against step-mothers; piobably from knowing that the childhood and girlhood of her own idol ized mother had been cruelly darkened and saddened by tho harshness and injustice of a step-mothet; and now, there were bitterness and sharp pain in the thought that those dear children, for she cared little for herself. must bo subject to the "iron rule" of an unloving and alien heart. But sho soon resolutely calmed down the tumult of feeling, as she would fain keep her trouble from the chil dren while there still remained a blessed uncertainty.— Yet she slept little that night, but folded Eddie, her babe, closer and 'closer to her breast, and wept over him, till his light curls wore heavy with her tears. Tho coat morning, which was Tuesday, while Isabel sat at lireakfast with the children, a letter was brought I in, di'ected to her. It was from her father at El—. Is- I ribel trembled as she road, and at the last grew very pale and leaned her head on her hand. l As she had feared, • that lettereontainecl a brief and dignified announcement of the approaching marriage of her father. There was no natural embarrassment exhibited; there was no apol ogy made forthis being the first intimation to his family of an event of so great moment to them; such things wero not in his way—not in character. Ho wrote: "Co- cilia Weston, whom I have new known nearly two years, and of whom you may have heard me speak, is a noble ' woman, the only ono I have ever seen whom I consid ered fully competent to fill yonr dear mother's place.;—., • • We are to have a strictly private wedding. on ' Saturday morning next, and will bo with you in the evening. 're you, Isabel, My dear child, I trust I need give no charges to show towards Mrs, Allston, from the first, if not the tenderness and affection of a daughter, the rospet and consideration due the wife of your father. This, e t least, I shall exact from all my children, if it bo not, as I fervently hope it will be,' given willingly and gracefully." . . When Isabel found strength and voice to road this let ter or her father's aloud, the unexpected intelligence which • it contained was received with blank amazement and troubled silence: This was first broken by the pas eionate and impetuous little Emma. who exclaimed, with flashing oyes and gloaniing teoh, "I won't have a now mother! 1 won't have any mother but Isabel. I hate that Cecilia Weston, and I'll toll her so, tho very first thing! I won't lot her kiss me, and I won't kiss papa if he brings her hero. Oh, sister, don't ask her to take off her thingS when she comes, and maybe ehe'won't stay all night!" "Hush, hush, darling!" said Isabel, "I think it prob-1 ahlo you will like her very much; I hoar that sho.is a very beautiful woman." "No, I won't like her! 1 don't believe she is pretty at all; but a cross, ugly old thing, that will scold me and beat me, and make me wear frights of dresses, and may be cut off my curls!" This last snoring picture was quite trio much for 'Beauty,'' and she burst into tenni, covering her ringlet led head all up with her inversed pinafore. Frank. now a tall, noble-spirited boy of fourteen, was calm and manly under those trying circumstances, but expressed a stern resolve, which ho clinched by an im pressive classical oath, never, never to can the unwel come stranger "Mother." "Mrs. Allbton" would be po lite;- "Mrs. Allston't would bo sufficiently respectful, and by th a t name, and that only, would ho call her. Isabel slid nothing, but inwardly resolved thin herself to addroes the young, wife of her father. During this scene, little Eddie, who only understood enough to perceive that something was wrong, some trculdo brewing, ran to his mamma,-and hiding his face SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 24, 1849. in her lap,, bogiin to cry very bitterly, and despairingly.— Bat Isabel soen reconciled him to life. by administering saccheirine consolation from the eingar.bowl before her. It was, tinnily. with saddened and anxious spirits. tho little affectionate family circle broke up that morning. With the bustle and hurry of necessary preparation' the week passed rapidly and brought Saturday evening. when the Allston,. with a few family friends. were await ing tharrival of the Judge and his fair bride. Thew were not many marks of festivity in tho hand some iming-mom; there was somewhat more light. perhaps. and a few more flowers than usual. Isabel. who had never laid off mourning for her mother. were to-night a plain black silk. with a rich lace cape. and with rose-buds in her hair; Emma was dressed in a light blue barege, with her pet curls floating about her waist. . • At length rather late in the evening, a carriage was hoard coming up tho avenue, and soon alter Judge AU. Eton entered the drawing-room, with a ;dont lady lean ing on his arm. Shrinking from the glare o light. and with her head modestly bowed. Mrs. Allston entered more as a timid and ill-assured guest, than ris the now , ly appointed mistress of that elegant mansion. Isabel advanced immediately to be presented; offered her hand . alene,*but that cordially; made some polite enquiries concerning the jburney, and then proceeded to assist the bride in removing her bonnet and shawl. She then called Emma, who advanced ishpy, eyeing the enemy askance. She extended her hand. in *a half-defiant manner; but Mrs. Allston, clasping it in both of hers, bent down and kissed her, smiling, as she did so. on the loveliness of her face. The lilood shot to the very brow of the child. as sho turned quickly and walked to a distant window stoat, where she sat, and looked out upon the garden. It was a moonlight ight, and she could see tho arbor and the gloaming of le white tombstone within. and she wondered sadly I her mother, lying there in the grave. know about this woman, and was troubled for her 611- . drett's sake.* • Frank was presented by his father. with much appa rent pride, to his young stop-mother, who looked search ingly:. though kindly into his handsome. yet serious face. It was some time boiore Isabel found the opportunity closely to observe the person and manner of her father's bride. Mrs. Allston was, as I have said. tall, but would not have boon observodly so, horhaps, except for the ex treme delicacy of her figure. She was graceful and gen tle in her movements—not absolutely beautiful in face. hut vary lovely. with a most winning smile. end a sort of earnest sadness in tho expression of her soft, hazel oyes. which Isabel recognized at once as a spell of deep petrol; the spell which had enthralled the heart of her thought ful and unsusceptible father. She looked about twenty five, and did not look unsuited to Judge Allston, who, with the glow of happiness lighting up his face. and sparkling from his fine. dark eyes, appeared to all far younger and handsomer than mast. 4 Isobel felt that her father was, not entirely satisfied with the reception which his wife had met from his chil dren; but ho did not express any dissatisfaction that night or ever after. ft was-a happy ciroumatanco for Isabel, in her em barrassed position, that the next day was the Sabbath, as going to church and attending to her household duties absorbed her time and attention; thus preventing any awkward tete-a-tdes with one whose very title of step mother had arrayed her heart against her in suspicion and determined. though Unconscious. antagonism. On Sunday afternoon. ,about the sunset hour, Judge Allston had been went to visit the grave of their mother; but this *Jabbed. evening, I need hardly say, ho was not with them there. "How cool and shadowy looks that arbor, at the end of the garden. where Miss Allston and the children are! Lot us join them dear Charles," said Mrs. : Allston to her husband, as they two sat at the pleasant south window of their chamber. Judge Allston hesitated" a moment. and then said, in a low tone. "That arbor, dear Colicia. is tho place whore my Emma lies buried." Tho young wife looked startled and somewhat troubled, but said nothing. On"Mondoy, Isabel, after showing her step-mother over the house, resigned into : her hands the house keeper's keys, with all the privileges and dignities of domestic authority. - Day after day wont by, and Isabel proservad the same cold; guarded manner toward her stop-Mother, though she often met those soft, hazel oyes fixed upon hor.- with a half-pleading. bokf.reproachful look, which she found it difficult to resist. Frank end Emma still remained shy and distant, and "the baby," constittitionally timid, would scarcely look nt tho stranger-lady, who sought in an anxious, ill-assured way, to win its lovUland con fulonco. As little Eddie shrank from those, delicate, in viting hands, and clung about Isabel;she would clasp him yet closer to her heart, and kiss his bright head with pas ■ionato fondness. -On Friday afternoon, Mrs. Aliston's piano arrived. This was a groat event in the family. for Isabel did not play, though she sang very sweetly. and Frank end Em ma had both a decided taste for mut. Mrs. Allston was gifted with a delicious Voice. win h she had faith fully cultivated, end she 'played wth both skill and feeling. All the evening sat Judge Allston, axing proudly and tenderly upon:the performer, and list ring with all his soul.. Isabel was charmed in spite of her fears and pre judices, and the children wine half beside themselves with delight. IThe next morning, as she came in from her walk, hdaring music in the parlor; Isabel entered, and found her stop-mother i playing and singing the "May Queen," with Emma clog° at her side, and Frank turning over the loaves of the music. The touching words of the, song had already brought tears, and when it was finish bd. Mrs. Allston suddenly dashed off in a merry waltz, and presently Frank was whirling his pretty sister round and round the room, to (Mao wild, exhileratininotes When the play ceased, "Oh, thank you, mother!" said Emma, going up to Mrs. Allston. In a moment, the step-mother's arms wore atteut the waist, and her lips pressed against the lips of the child. That name. and the glad embrace which followed, struck the foreboding heart of Isabel. Iler eyes involuntarily sought the face of Frank, and she was not displeased to remark the low ering of his brow and the slight curl of his lip. But the evening of the very next jay, Isabel, on enter ing the parlor, found Frank alone with his beautiful step mother, sitting on a low ottoman at her side, as she half reclined on the sofa, and leaning his head against her knee, while her soft, white lingers were threading .his wavy. luxuriant hair. Isabel, giving one startled glance at the two, who wero chatting pleasantly • and fumiliary together, crossed the room, seated herself tit a table, and took up a bock. Presently, Frank rose, and came and stood by her side. She looked up and murmured, with a slightly reproachful smile, ••Et to Bute." The boy colored, and soon after left the room. Thus the days ware on; Isabel feeling her treasurers - wrested ono alter another from the fond and jealous hold of her heart: sorrowing in secret over her loss, and still pressing her mothers holiest legacy, her child, doer little Eddie, closes and closer to her breast. Ono afternoon, when the hour came for their daily ride. she missed the child from her room. After looking through parlor, kitchen and hall, and calling through the garden, she sought Mrs. Allston's chamber, from whence ea she knocked at thO door, she hoard the sound of sing ing and Jaughtor. "Come in I" said a light tnusica I laroNW'Jklap-drj , voice. She opOed tho door hastily, and there sat little traitorous £ddid;'in hiejtep-mothees lap. playing with her long; submit 'ringlets. while she sung him merry sedge sad AUWltiri-thymes., "Eddie!"exciaimed Isobel. somewhat she "yon susirccome with mamma e snd be dressed far' ati el" "No. no." cried the perverse child, "I don't want to' rather stay with my , pretty new mamma. and hoar hotlsing about "Lillie 800-peep." "No, my dont:lon must go with your sister." said Mrs. Alhdon, striving to, set the littlo fallow down. Isabel ad vanced to take him, but he buried his face le his step mother's lap. end screamed, "Go away, go away; I love this 'mamma hist—l won't go to ride with foul" Pale as death. /sated. 'iorned hurriedly and passed from the nam e '. :She almost flow through the house and garden, to the Arbor, to the - grave of her mother. There she flung herself upon the-turf, tied clasped tho mound. and pressed horipoor. wounded heart against it, and wept aloud. "They haie left me!" she cried; "I am robbed of all love. all eoinfoit; I am lonely and desolate, Oh, mother, mothail" • Whilo anti aka lay, sorrowing with all the bitterness of a now boreavoinent, she was Monied by a deep sigh, and looking tip,' behold Mrs. Allston standing by her side. Instantly she sprang to her feet, exclaiming. "liavo I then'tio refuge? Is not even this eppt sacred, from officious,and unwelcome intrusion'," "Oh, forbear, I entreat:" exclaimed Mrs. Alliton, with a sadden gush of tears. Pray do not spark thus to ma —you do not know me. I seek to love you, to bo loved by you-4bn; is all my sini • Isabel was softened by those tears, and murmurod some half-articulate apology for the passionate feeling which she had exhibited. '.Dear Isabel," said her step-mother, "will lyou hear my little hist*. and then judge whether I have erred in assuming tho relation which I now hoar towards you?" - Isabel bowed her head in assent. and Mrs. 'Allston seated hermit In the arbor; but Isabel remained standing. with a firm-set lip and her„arms folded. "I roar." began Cecilia, "that your father has not boon as commanidativo and confidential with you as ho should have been. I hoard from him this miming. with much surprise. that ho had told you very little concerning me and our first acquaintance. lie said that you nover monied, to wish,for his confidence, and ho could not thrust it upon you. I know that you must wonder greatly how your beloved father could choose a woman liko me— poor, and without station. or high connections." "No." replied Isabel, coldly; "on tho contrary. I won der most that you, so young and richly endowed by na ture, could prefer a man of the years and character of my father. I know not what there is in him for a beau tiful woman to fancy." "Ah. Isabel," said Mrs. Allston, lookingup reproach fully. "I noverfmuseisd your father. It is with a wofthior deeper. holier feeling that I rogerd him?" Isabel eat down on the rustic seat near her step-mo ther, who tifintinued, in a low but fervent tone. "Yes. Isabel ; I fors your father, dearly Joie, him; ho is the only man I have ever loVed." "What."excleimed Isabel; ."were you not, then a widow when you married him!" "Why no, doer. , Why did you supposo it?" -"I heaniao—al least, I heard that you were in deep monenitier - :wpm, telatt for my mother," replied Mrs. Allmon, with a qmverinklip; "yet.- until now. I have not boon out of moillritiog for many. many roars. I, hare soon mush sorrow, Isabel." Tho warm-hearted girl drew nearer to her step-mo titer, who after a brief pause, continued— ..My father who was a lawyer of S—,died whip , I was ijuite young=a sellool girl, away from home; already pursuing with ardor the study of music. Ito left my mo ther very little besides the house in which sho lived. My only brother, Alfred, a noble boy. in whom our best hopes wore centered, had pilfered college only the year I).2fore father died., Then it was that my mother, with the comr age °retract heroine and the devotion era martyr. rosolired to remove neither of her children from their studios, but by her own unassisted labor, to keep me at my school and Alfred iu college. "She opened a large hoarding house in s—, princi pally for gentletnon of the bar; and, almost from the first, was successful. I remained two years longer at school, when a lucrative situation was offered me. as a teacher t f music, in the family of a wealthy southern Senator.— I parted from my mother, and dear Alfred. and went with the Ashtons to Georgia. There I remained. year after year, ever toiling cheerfully in the blessed hope of returning North, with the moans of restoring my beloved mother to her former social position, -and of freeing her from toil and caro for the remainder of her days. This was the one constant desire of my heart—the one greet purpose of my life. I thought not of pleasure--I cared not for distinction. or admiration, or love. I though only of her; my patient, self-sacrificing. angel mother." Hero Isabel drew . and laid I her hand in that of herstep-mcither. who pressed it gently. sho contin ued— rother Alfred, iminedietely on keying °liege, corn: men .ed the study-of law. 1 shell ever fee that he con fined himself too closely and studied too intensely. lb* Ear tuition was delicate. like his father* and. after a year or two: his health, hisser vigorous, b•gan to fail.— Mott er finally wrote to me that she was uzious about him; though, oho perhaps her afretion for tho hero ed one made ,her needlessly fearful. Yet I was !star ad, and hastened homo some moot s boron, my engagement had expired. I had then been absent fire yeaas; but they had aeon Mother and Alfred once in that time. when they had met mo on tho sea-shore. ..It was a sultry afternoon in Augmt when I reached, 1 ghatl never forgot how wretchedly long and weary seamed the last rim miles, and how eagerly I sprang down tho carriage stops at last. I left tny big gage at the hotel, and ran over to my Mother's houso alone. 1 entered without knocking and wont directly to my Mother's little private parler—the room of the house hold. I opened the door Very gentl,i., so as to surprise them. At the first glance Ithought rho room was emp ty; bat on looking again, I saw somr ono extendod on the fontilliar, chintz-coxered sofa. It was Alfred, asleep thero. I wont softly up and looked down upon his face, Ohl my God, what a change: It was thin and white, sane a small red spot on either cheek. Ono hand lay half buried in his dark, chestnut curls, which alone pre served their old beauty, and that hand—how slender and delicate it had groWn, and how distiAt was overy blue vein, oven the smallest', As I stood thero, heart.wrung with stiddon grief, my tears fell so fast on his face that he awoke, and half-raised himself, looking up with a botvil dared expression. Just then, dear mother came in, and we all embraced one another, end th4nked God out of the overflowing fulness of our hearts. Asl looked at Alfred thou, his eye was so bright and his smile so glad—so like Ow off smile—l took courage adain; but ho enddettl) turned away and coughed slightly—. l mt such a cough:— It emote upon my heart like a knell. 3- "When I descended from my chamber that evening, after laying aside my traveling-dress. I found a gentle man. a stranger. sitting by Alfred's side reading to hint. in a low. - pleasant voice. ,That- stranger. I•ubcl. was your father—.Alfrod'a Yost. wait beloved friend. "1 will not pain your heart by dwolling on our great sorrow, as we watched that precious life, tho treasury of many hopes end mach tiwc, passittgaway. Ilfith the fa i • ding and falling of the loaf, with tho dy he died!" - - Here Mrs. Allston pausod.litud cover her hands, while tears ell I slowly them and she wept not alone. At length she "I have since felt, that with poor Al kiss, the chill of aloaath,entered into dear for she never was well after that nigh sorrowed bitterly fur that only son, so go Ural. sho said she wished to like' for my was that meek wish—vain wore any love I I the constant goisivul ploraing of my sou er of lite. Bto failed and drooped daily year. she. w laid beside father, and very Sho died. end left me alone—alone in th Oh. how Oen, door Isabel. have I, like with that exceeding bitter cry of the orph er. mother!' i Here Isabel flung her arms around ho iand• pressed her lips against her cheek. "In all this limo," pursued Cocilia,-"am and consoler.' was the early friend of my nu erous patron of my brother—your -father., when the first fearful days'of my sorrow and he came to we in the loneliness and de life, and strove to give me comfort and coo mo at list that lie needed my love, even tl poor crushed heart—then I felt :hat in lovi; I might hope for happiness ever more. loving him—in becoming hi+ wife. I hav happiness to those near to hint, end darken their home. I em.'indced. miserable:" "Oh. do not say act—do not say so!" sic "You have won all our hearts. Have 1.4 the children aro drawn towards you—.even my babe? I have not yet called you by her not know that I can so call you here, but I foie you. andwp all be very happy; 1 help. •kialdly frotiono.” cow to another!" - "Alt. my door girl," replied Mrtt. Allston! smile. "I do not ask you to call mohy a pan, sicreditoss and dignity;—only loco ( mo ai l mo—lean upon my heart, and let mo be to 11 or sister." Tho evening had coma, and Mrs. Allstonl the children worn assembled in the pleasant fi waiting the return of Judge Allston from la Abel was holding little Eddie on her knee. had already repeatedly begged pardon for ness, and was as full as ever of his loving debt Cecilia was, as usual, seated at the piano, pl unconsciously, every now and then glancing I out of the window into the gathering daritne sat down tho baby-bay. an 1 going up to her. you play the 'MI Arm-chat!' fur MI "If you will sing with me," replied Cooilia The two began with voicas somewhat troll they sang on till they came to tho passage— •l've sat an I watche I her, thy by by. 'While ho•r eyes grew dim"— here they both bruit, down. Cecilia rose and would her arm about Isah . el's waist, and Isabel leaned her head on Cecilia'a shoulder, nud they wept together. At that 1111111011 i. Judge Allston en tered. and after a brief pause df bewilderment, advanced with a smile, and clasped them both in ono embrace.— lie Reid not a word then; but afterward, when he h tde Isabetzood-night, ut the foot of the stairway, he kissed her more tenderly than usual, saying, as Ito did 40, "God bless you. my daughterl", EFFECTS OF WHITE ASH ON RATTLE- SNAKES We find tho w following carious account of tho . cf'i•cts of the boughs of tbo trite tt.sh upon rattlesnakrs. in an cx chango papt;r; but am unable to fix upon its author or lo cality. • Sometime in the month of August I went , With Mr. T. Kirkland and Dr. C. Dutton then residing at Portland, to the Motioning for the purpose of shooting deer, at a place where they ivere in the habit of coming to * the river to feed, on the moss attached to the stones .in the shoal water. We took our watch station on an elevated part of the bank, fifteen or twenty yards front tho water.— About an hour after we had commenced our watch, M r stead of a doer. we discovered a rattlesnake; which, as it appeared, hirl left its don in the nicks behoath us, and wag advancing Immo n'initooth narrow sand beach to wards tho water. It occurred to mo that an opportunity now offered to try 'rho virtues of the white ash leaves. Requesting the gentlemen to keep, in my absence. e watch over our object. I went itnmetlibtey in search of the loaves; and on a piece of low ground, thirty or forty rods from the river. 1 soon found, and by tho aid of my hunt ing -knife. procured, n small white ash and sugar-maple sapling, eight or ten feet in length, and with these wands returned to the scene of action. In order to cut tab re treat to his den. 1 approachod the sea e in hje rear. As soot* as I came within seven or eight feet of him, ho quickly threw his body into a coil, elevated his head eight or ten - Mellor, and brandishing his tongue, give note of preparation for combat. 1 first presented the whito ash, placing the leaves upon his body. Ho in stantly dropped hie head to the ground, enfolded his coil rolled over upon his hack, writhed and twisted his whole body into every form but that of a coil, rind 'appeared to bo in great anguish. Satisfied_ with the trial thus far made, I iai white ash. tho rattlesnake irnmediutely righted ai himself in tho Samolmenacing attitude as before od. I now presented him the sugar maple. in a moment, striking Ilia head into n tuft of kali all the malice of tho mutter fiends," and the next caned and lanced again, darting his whole Ion; effort with the swiftness of 'arrow. After repeating this several times, I again clt fare, and presented him with the white ash. I disOly doused his peak, stretching Minipill 'en in the sane mattner..as at the first application then proposed to try what effect might be profit his temper and ceurage, by a little flogging white ash. This Was administered; but, irate sing hint to resentment, it served only to i troubles. 1 As the flagging grow severe. the snake stitch his hetitt into the sand as far 0 . 8 he coult seeming desirous to bore his way into the earl himself of his unwelcome visitors. I Being nevi convinced that the experiment n 1 factory one. and fairly conducted on both deemed it unnecessary to take his life after h. tributed so - tnuch to gratify our curiosity; and leave of the rattlestake. with feelings as frion. as these with which we commenced our a • with him. and left hint to return at leisure to h Tux LAST lb lIII 7 f T.—an , =---tirsit on t the Delewaro, end was n mighty fisher. Ho ed with a degenerate son, who manifested no forhis father's interesting pursuits. One day mice gave out entirely in the bitterness of his tion—"Cmse me, Tont. if mita° not gettin ! , fectly worthless; you'll neither hunt nor fish; I j -, 1 if I don't sew d yips to school!" Finn is CrtiOAao.—There was a large lire - aturdsy night, WO destroyed the Milliner nom of Miss Patterson; and the Warehoui 11 mitten. 7Neit. ,157 and 169 LAri street, about $5,009, of which about one , half was insurance. $l5O A YEAR in advaUc•. ng of the flowers, We l frequently hear individuals complain that they find it impossible to got any thing to do—that for theta all the avenues of trade are closed—and that therareparticularr Iy unfortunate. inquire somewhat closely, and the tact. will be found with themselves. 'They lack energy—they expect that fortune will come to them—they are Constall.6 tly wondering why they are not as lucky as some Mend or neighbor—forgetful that while complaining and pu rling themselves—they never make& vigorous efretta trial of fortune backed by industry and presevereica.—. All men are liable to vicissitude, to disaster; and Wfail ure in enterprise. But the true man, the indivadal who enjoys the blessing of health should never despair: He may foil to.day, to-morrow, this year or next—but let bins persevere, and sooner or later fortune will become more kindly, and his efforts will realize e proper reward. but the folly of the idle and listless, is to suppose that a_ livelihood is to be obtained without energy er_effint..... They look around caltny and quietly, see the greater per. lion of nsinkind buisily employed, some at easy ,n 4 rElter4 at irksome oecurat'ons, and continuo to wonder how it is that they con find nothing to do. Ent the truthi is they are not disposed to do any thing. This employ: , ment is rather arduous, that Is full of hazsrd, i third is not sufficiently genteel. a fourth will bo duly considered ? nail so from dny to day the golden opportunities are per/ witted to pass by. The longer they remain Idle tht fi•ebler,beeentes their industry. Better do i nn,- thiog better try any enterprise that is honest, ltan remain look ing on murmuring and complaining. Plover despair— never abandon hope—never relax effort. The world ii toll of chances—now avenues for enterprise are constan tly starting up. in this country especially there is sores. son to remain depressed in soirlts for a long period of time. Every adversity should teach a lesson of experience, ercy mishap in trade and speculation, should serve as a new wa g and guide with. regard to our future conduct. and this should be made available for the time to come, The rich of one year, are often the poor of the next. while the poor-man of to day, may, if he only continue honest, tem perate. active 'and industrious, be among the affluent itt a few Years hence. ,c 1 her faro with rs h )r ti tg4rs. 1 coutinued-: red's last, dying mother's heart: • Though she and ho beau- Oto. Yet vain nil care—vain with the Giv- •-and within a nenr to Alfred. wide) world!— you. cried out a, 'Oh. moth• •top-mother. chief advisor ! (her, tho gen 'lsabel. And had gone-by, rolation of my ?rage—telling o love of. my ig him and his ati! if lin brought un d tho light of aimed liabel. Isot seen, how little Eddie. name—l do an. and will t.l d by Gods with a sweet o of so much d confide+ in , u is an old- As appropriate to the subject we may remind the reader of a well kuown anecdote of the celebrated Frederic the, Great. We give it from memory. A gallant youth. anxious to servo under that distinguished monarch. left his home in the interior of the kingdom. and directed hie steps Mwarde Berlin, On his way he put up at an inn. end there met with two gentlemen to whom he was an ! . known. The elder of the two. struck with his appearan ce fell into con seri.* lion with hint. and inquired the object of his visit to the , capitol. The young - aspirant for fame frankly announce/ that hi l e motive was to-servo under the banners of Frederick. Ike greatst monarch in Europe.— The stranger asked particularly what friend he had at Court to promote liji snit. The youth showed a number Of letters of recommendation. which the stranger instantly perceived to be from persons of little influence in Berlin. He pointed out to the adventurer the difficulty of obtain- Mg a sititatjan ea eagerly sought for by the young nobles of the kingdom, and advised him to forego his journey. The youth modestly bat firmly expressed his determine. nee to make tho oft.nt, remarking that if ho should suc ceed,' his M ,jesty would not find a more devoted soldier in his army. Seeing him resolute in his purpose, tho elder replied—" Well, my young friend. since you are de termined upon the matter. I will add a letter to those you already possess, which you may be of some service to yon." Tne totter was accordingly written. The youth expressed his acknowledgment for the favor thus con ferred, and they parted. The young man proceeded to Berlin, and reaching that city prdsented his letters, ,with the exception of the ono heffiad received from the stran ger, and which he had accidentally mislaid to the Corn mantling °dicer. He was received with politeness. but after remaining for.sonto time, his suit made but little prozress, and ho beg in to despond. One morning on arranging his trunk, he found the inirsing letter. It , in stantly rekindled the foiling fi res hope. end determined to make another trial, he hastened once mere lathe Corn. ' mending Officer. With groat difficulty he obtained an audience, and was received with marked colditeei. The moment, however, that thd letter was presented; the whole scene was changed. The officer exelaimed--."Why was not tine letter pp:Senn:el before? It is from his Ma jesty! 'You have asked au ensign's commission. The King cornmeal me to unite you a lieutenant.". We leave the npplicatis s to the readeVl—Cor. Lehigh Regis ter. !sabot, and mile -parlor, office. Is- Tho child 'is naught'. Itstrations. .ying hull- Inpattently lesbot .aid— MEM titOlii, but Tut:Ett—Pt.tar Tares.-1 desire to call the attention of our tirmers—particularly_ those residing in villages or closo neighborhoods, to tho inportance of planting tree aas means of pruniting boo t h, Not o nly do t rees a dd greatly to the beauty of a place, but Iney ahio purify the air, The Greeks planted trees in all their low i a and and it' is said by historians, that in Catch* in Lobes, they wore so numerous indeed that - the streets were hardly dieerdablo in con_equenco of the immense mass of. foliage by which they were overhang—every passage andally-way being !Morally arched with trees. and bathed in the cooling influences of their deep and refreshing shadows. Ido liope,slr. Editor, that You yo:Mr correspondents will not fail, frequently, to imprcso tho imporance of Naming trees. for ornament as prelim ace. uputithe minds latour farming friends. Let every Man who this season owns a homestead. or a rod of uneccupied sod, plant at least one tree, For my own part intend to practice what I preach. and so plant wheueyer -and wherever I can find an opporiuniq , and chance. Any of our forrest trees Will flonritish well and vigorously. if carefuily !Nut plated. Persons tv:to can do so witty con sult their own t isle in selecting; there are many kinds o szidigetio i tt, trees, both deciduous and evergreen, which haven b.rotiful scenery. T -Germantoron Telv is by the, nil placed describ e lanced moment I at cult uged his p immc his bock. It tcav od upon with tho d of you irons() his rim Tun Minicsr 51as.—We never know a modest man who wasn't beset with misfortunes. The timidity of a woman excites interest. her blushes admiration. Not so with the modest man. The modest man is both sills and awkward; he is in a constant nervous flurry criticisingly boating a retreat. Officious tanderss troubles him dreads fully and yet no other kindless will reach him. ;is is neversoon banding old ladies down to dinner. or tinging a bell, or snuffing a c'smile. or carving a chicken. Ob. no! The modest man has a tormenting habil of fancy 4 ing himself the objeerof general notice, the obverted all of observers: When girls - . giggle they are laughing at him; when another whispers oho is commenting at his looks, or words, or dress, or when two old ladies are dig. s ing family matters, or a.few stonily old men are shaking their heads over the state of the nation. he, imagines hie faults andfolliea are the occasion of their serious looks. 'try ftem., thrust it, and rid Inn ft sails- idea, we End con- o we took In, at tenet Unititanco a bank of TH Ttlollllo4lr3 IN ave Wzrz.—A scientific paps s7is, let a vessel sailed east round the world. and arrive.. in port on Thursday. according to tkeir reckoning. Oi the following day let the crew land; th i ey will find it Thur. • 41,rwahore. On tho next day let them board a 'cwt.', which has just arrived troll% a cruise - round the world. sail ing inn %festally direction. and they will !main Arnrl'Ttingl en board that ship: It is thus possible to find three Thins, days in; one week. • as plngu• reeilection em's pati morlifica- I toho'per ba hang- I•t Chicago • establish !: of R. P. Total lova covered•by Tr nor., No nnoo.—•To •ea this° mirk % tivo brother. .nri old mortlon aunt of 80 years, holding eAtteitv 19 cle4 viso ••tvaye nit 1 moan!!" to keep it ;voting' maiden from marrying the moo 'he loves. - NUMBER 28. TILT.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers