A. M. RADIBO, Editor• and VOLUME XXXIX, NUMBER 39.] THE COLUMBIA SPY, TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION $2.00 per year, If paid In advance ; six months, If not paid until the expiration of the year, $2.113 'will be charged. Sr.voLz Coriss No paper will be discontinued Until all arrear ages are paid, unless at the option of the editor RATES OF ADVERTISING: EIGHT LINES STALE NARE A SQUARE. Ilvvl2 ml2ml3ml6mllyr 1 Sqr. I $l.OO I $1.50 I $2.50 151.00 I $5.00 I $3.00 I $12.00 l a l 1,1 ~ 111 ~ ~— .I 1.1 4.00 I ' 6.00 I 9.00 I 12.00 I 18.00 IZUM P. • . .01 - .11 I .1, I P. _l,ll ..00 4 Col. I 8.00 I 12.00 1 15.00 1 Col. 1 12.00 1 15.00 I 20.00 1 25.00 1 35.00 I moo I I moo Doubfo the above rates will be charged for dis play or blank advertisements. Advertisements not under contract, must be marked the length of time desired, or they will be continued and ebarged for until ordered out. - Special Notices 25 per cent. more. 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Office, on Second Si., adjoining Odd Fellows Hal, Columbia, Pa. TA. MURPHY, . PHYSICIAN A: SURGEON, Columbia, Penn'a. '- Dr. M. is a graduate of the University of renn'a, and was a student of Dr. John L. Atlee. Sr., of Lancaster. Office—Corner of Walnut and Second Streets, in the room formerly occupied by Doctor Dev lin. [may2'6B J Z. HgFFER, DENTIST. Nitrous Oxide Gas administered in the extrae Lion of Teeth. Office—Front Street, next door to R. Williams Drug Store, between Locust and Walnut Streets Columbia, Pa. Ti 'HINKLE, . PHYSICIAN ai SURGEON; offers his professional services to the citizens of Columbia and vicinity. Re may be found at the. ,oillee connected with his residence, on Second street, between Cherry and Union, every day, • from 7t09 A. M., and from 6 to BP. M. Persons - wi6bing his services in special cases, between ' these hours, will leave word by note at his office, 'or through. the pat office:' • HOTELS. IXTESTERN HOTEL, VY: 9, 11, 'l3 '&l5 CORTLANDT STREET, . • YORK .t.443-ms•r-E. " C°NTTNENTAI,,," THIS HOTEL IS PLEASANTLY LOCATED, , between the Stations of the Reading and Colum bia, and Pennsylvania Redheads, FRONT STREET, COLUMBIA, PA Amphi accommodations for Strangers and Trav elers. The Bar is stocked with CHOCE LIQUORS, And the Tables furnished with Tr F the IN best DLEY fare. UP T , Columbia, April 20, 1867.7 Proprietor. FRANKLIN HOUSE, LOCUST ST., COLUMBIA, PA. This iS a first-class hotel, and is in every respect adapted to meet the wishes and desires of the traveling public. MARTIN ERWIN, Proprietor, F RENCH'S HOTEL, - On the European Plan, opposlte'City Hall Park New York. it. PRENCIC Proprietor. MISFILER•S HOTEL, West ;%Lancet Square, Iteadiuu Renn'a. EVAN" IiISH.LEE., Proprietor. EXCHANGE HOTEL, MOUNT JOY, PENN A. First-Class Acconunoclations. The Cheicest Liquors at Lilo Bar. ALEX. D. REESE, Proprietor. MALTBY ROUSE, . . BALTIMORE, MARYLAND. This Motel has been lately refitted with all the pecessnry improvements known to hotel enter prise and therefore offers first-class accommoda tions to strangers and others visiting' Baltimore. A. B. MILLER, ,' • Proprietor. RDUCATIONAI. [Chartered with Ample Powers.] L EBANON VALLEY COLLEGE! FOR BOTH SEXES. The WINTER TERM commences on MONDAY JANUARY 6th, 1866, _ - , The great success which has attended this In stitution, has necessitated the erection of addi tional buildings, and, with these increased ac commodations, superior advantages are afforded. Each branch is thoroughly taught, and students are exercised so as to comprehend each part of the subject. The Professors and Tutors are com petent and skillful. The range of study is wide, embracing all the branches of a PRACTICAL, SCIENTIFIC CLASSICAL and ORNAMENT AL EDUCATION. re..SPECLAL ADVANTAGES FOR LADIES, particularly in MUSIC and the ORNAMENTAL BraTiOIICS. CHARGES MODERATE. sciad for a Catalogue addressing REV. T. VICKRO'Y, A. M., President, dec. 7, '6 -U. Annville, Lebanon Co., Pa. rIOLUMBLA.- CLASSICAL- INSTI ; TIITE, prepares Boys for College, Business, or Teaching, and affords Girls a thorough Course in the Ornamental as well as the Solid Branches of a complete Education. The Spring Term opens on the 6th of MARCH. For Circulars address REV. H. S. ALEXANDER, Principal, feb , l6-tfl Columbia, Pa. C.4_73127M'T ORGANS, &c. ED WARDS, -LEE & CO.'S NEW BALTIMORE. ORGAN ! THE BEST MANUFACTURED, Combining In one INSTRUMENT all that is VALI7ABLE IN OTHERS MORE PERFECT, , MORE DURABLE, And Less Liable to Get Out of Order. „zZr- CALL AND SEC TEEM! AT SHREINER & SOg'S, Agents for Manufacturers, FRONT STREET, COLUMBIA, PA dec. 21, '67-tf. ESTER'S CABINET ORGANS dc. MELODEONS, Voiced with a rich, mellow, solemn, and wwer ful choral tone, remarkable as a close imitation of the Pipe Organ. These instruments are as ready to respond to the touch as a piano. The cases are highly ornamented in external finish, and the instruments are warranted to give satis faction. ANDREW TELLER, Agent,- No. 129 North Front Street, mar. 21, 'Ca-tf.) , • - COLUMBIA. PRICES - REDUCED ! PAPER. HANGING •AT IO CENTS PER PIECE. Special attention given to 'the correction of damp walls. All Orders left at No. t'',24 Locust Street. (front room, Second iloor,) will be prompt ly' attended to by t.l-I.lj BUSINESS• CARDS PRINTED AT this °Moo as low as VA; Der thousand. STEIEIZE! EMI 25.0 35.00 00.00 20.00 Teachers; if throughout your duties, Ever faithful you would be, Not by words, but by your actions, 'Teach in all sincerity, Youthful eyes are on you gazing; YoUthful hearts your thoughts receive; Eagerly they catch your accents, _ Eagerly your words believe. Then beware ! lest by your actions, Untrue principles you teach, And forget not you must 'ever Strive to practice what you preach. BERKELEY HALL. Author of " The Ashlegs," "The Golden. Lion," The Beaufort's," " The old House on the Hudson," dc., " We're going to have a storm," gruwled the master of Berkeley Hall; es he paced to and fro in front of the old stone mansion, looking up ruefully at the muss of murky clouds that were gathering above him, and listening with displeasure to the wind as it wailed mournfully amid the leafless trees in the park. "Darn it, I never made up my mind to go out on any particular day in my life, but it was sure to rain—never! I wonder if it rained when I was born? I expect there was a devilish big Squall." Perhaps it will rain wheal die; if it don't, they'll have a shower when they're on the way to the grave with me, I'm sure. Old Dick Berkeley couldn't leave Berkeley Hall but what it. will ruin—rain—rain —ha ! ha! ha "What are you laughing at?" inquired a handsome, black-eyed girl, (who had ap proached unobserved,) laying her hand on his arm. " Laughing! Was I laughing, you young ,rogue ! , let me sAe—so it.a - h , derttctri.ni'mw3-w - the &Aloe ~,,,d,eXp ect'MY nephew here to-day, and I intend ed to ride down to the village and meet him; but this storm will prevent me, and he will have to find his way alone." "Bat I might go," exclaimed the filar girl innocently; "Pomp can saddle Lightfoo t,and I will soon be ready ! I don't care about the storm, and I would like very much to be Captain Berkeley's guide; it would be so , roniantic t you know." " You would like to be Sir Charles Berke ley's guide!" These words were hissed in her ear, and the proud dabghter of Richard Berkeley swept past the startled girl with haughty tread; her costly robes trailing the ground. " What mean you, shameless minion," she demanded, and hot' eyes flashed as she confronted her. " Has my father no ntafe servants to do his bidding ;, or do you wish to show your brazen face to my cousin ere he arrives at - the Hall P Wench ! I bluzlt for you, if you have no modesty yourself! Methinks Sir Charles would think himself highly honored, should we send a waiting maid to escort hint hither. Don't stand glaring at me with your gipsy black eyes. Go at once to my chamber, and be ready to dress my hair when I come. Dream of romance there !" She waved her jeweled hand im periously, and the terrified girl departed, weeping bitterly. " By Jove ! you have almost broken . her heart," said the old gentleman, as he gezed after the weeping girl. "You are too hasty, too passionate, Blanche; and I have a great mind to be angry with you. I am positive May meant no harm, and I do not like to see her ill used." These words were spoken reproachfully. ' "I intend that she shall know her place and keep it," replied the haughty girl.• "She is my waiting maid, and if she dare disobey me I will discharge her from my service, and she must find another home where she can be happier, and Another mis tress who will exchange places with her occasionally. _Tam mistress of Berkeley Hall, and I have a mind to bid her depart immediately." , - "Indeed,. Mistress Berkeley," sneered the old man, really angered at her lack of feeling. "You may bo mistress; but darn my buttons if Dick Berkeley isn't the master: Tell her to go,' and I'll coun termand the order—if I don't, may I break my neck at the next fox hunt. 'I am monarch of all I survey ; my right there is none to dispute.' My quotation will apply well'in this case, I fancy. Ha! ha! ha! You didn't imagine I was familiar with the poets, .did you The cheeks ofthe proud girl crimsoned with rtige lint] while she bit her lip to con ceal her mortification, .her fingers work* nervously amid the folds-of her silken robe. She made no reply, but gazed down at the ground, staniPing spitefully on the grass with her foot. ," Listen to, me," . resumed the old gentle man, authoritively. "My brother's son, Sir Charles Berkeley, is - coming here, and I shall 'expect you to condact 'yourself like a sensible' girl in his presence. He is a Captain of the Royal Guard, and he has just returned from India. He detests fashion able fripperies, furbelows, and flummeries, and is in many respects like his Uncle Dick ; God bless liim for that! I want him to feel proud of his cousin ( Blanche." The young lady smiled. Sho manifested more interest iu her father's words. " When you aro presented, I don't wish you to enter the room enveloped in satin and lace, and loaded down with all the family jewels ; for he wouldn't like that. March in just as sensible girls do in America ; without 'ny affected sliow, plainly, though-neatly dressed ; and - as you extend your hand, say: t How do you do, cousin Charlie ?' He'll like that. Any goml 'nate red', sensible per son likes it: That's the Yankee: Custom ; although there is a class- of people in 'the land of Brother Jonathan,- called 'Codfish Aristocracy,' 'who attempt , , to ape all the fools in John Bull's doininion - , thereby ren dering themielves ridiculous to every per son 'who is fortunate enough to possess common sense. I've been through the 'United States, ' and although I love Old W. H. a .BASSTT. . ~ - .... . . ._ . . ' . ...,..../ .. . , . . . --.... , ;.,.. ~., ...... . , ..., . • .., - :-: . ~:,... _ ... ~ .. . '3.r.';- L."' ,:,•.:. .'f.:, , ,,. ::::;,•;_ , „ ~ !.:;r ';,'„'-..., : ;,'''-, ......_•,„ :4 ; • ;..4:,.. . ,(4 . • r . -.,,,,,, ff .., •. ~,,,:.:,::. f: : :-, , ,,' ' .'..;,,:;, 4 " -.,... ,:. - 4 :•::::--J. , 2'.! ''''`'., 7 -.4. "-- -' , .V.-. -Z.-;,. ~ . , • . , - . 4 ''''''''''-',":.-:,yfz:. .. - - - . - -- N . ''',-7tr- ';', :,: i: : : :t - ,i. •_::_ ::. ': , ' • . ' - 110 V" . .1.,': . "• . , .. . . . . ' '' " _ ' ' , ,•;•• ' „ . :,',..• Oeicrttll gottry. Practice What You' Preach. FINLEY JOITZ:SOIst Tell me not of garbled sermons— Elegance of thobght and style, Heard from out your modern pulpits Man from error to beguile. Eloquence may charm the fancy, Summon an admiring crowd, Who surround the gifted preacher, With their praises long and loud; - But if God's appointed servants Would their hearers' conscience reach, Leading them to paths of wisdom, They must practice what they preach. Parents, it your tender . oilbpring You would lead iu ways of truth, Shielding them from'the temptations That surround the paths of youth, Count as vain your time worn maxims, And, to make your teachings sure, Guide them not alone by precept, But example, Justand pure. For, to shelter from the tempests Sin's dark clouds would east round each Tender flower of your protection, You must practice what you preach. o)riqin4 sfory. BY L. AUGUSTUS JONES " CHAPTER 1. TIIE 11A141A-THE STitiOSGEIL COLUMBIA; PA., SATITRIDAY - i. MORNING, -MAY - _ 9, 1868. England best, I love the hardy grip of a Yankee's band, and Ids bonest,_ Elow.d'ye do ?' "- - "Then you think the American people possess accomplishments superior to our own ?" " No, I didn't say that l I won't acknowl edge it, either. lam half Yankee, myself, you can detect it in my speech—everybody does. I said I liked the Yankee grip, and their honest, 'how d'yo do - ;' that's what I said. -I'll—bless my heart ; the ruin is falling. Let us go in." The master of Berkely Hall walked slowly up the walk to the mansion, while Blanche followed closely behind him with queenly tread. What a contrast between father and child. A plainly attired man without a particle of false pride, and a bold girl, dressed like a princess, scorning all ,who were not her equal in birth and sta tion. Richaid Berkeley often wondered why. his slaughter was so much, different from all the rest of the family; wondered why she inherited none of the gentleness of that mother who died in giving her birth. " One word more," said Mr. Berkeley, when they entered the hall. 1 " You must be kind to May, hereafter; I will not have her abused. When you wish to discharge her, inform me of your decision. Remem ber what I have - said." Ho left her, and catered the library, While Blanche tripped lightly up the stairs to her , chamber. She found May sitting by the window, gazing with tear-dimmed eyes at the black storm clouds, us the wind drove theta across the bosom of the sky,. Her hands were clasped together, and tier lips moved as if in prayer. Her attitude *as expressive of grief and dejection ; and Lady Blanche looked at her scornfully for many moments ere she ad dressed her. " What are yeti moping there for?" she inquired. May started. " Did you speak, mistress ?" " Yes ; I asked why you were moping there?" " I am not moping, I was looking at the dark storm clouds, and wondering if be yond them there is a home of peace for the broken-hearted, a place where the weary spirit can find eternal rest. Do you think there is, mistress?" "I am sure I don't know; come and . dress my hair. Put down the windows; I am afraid the draught of air will give Inc a Blanche reclined languidly on a sofa, while May proceeded to' obey her order. Yes; there is rest, eternal rest in Heaven," she murmured half aloud : " the soul within us longs for something that cannot be found on, curtli; and we must seek it beyond the grave—undying love, immortality-L:everlasting, life, peace and love that lives forever." How strange and solemn these words sounded to Blanche; but they found no re sponsive eoho in her proud heart, where all the holiest feelings slumbered in darkness. , " Mistress ; I am dressing your hair for the last time," said May mournfully ; and ittiger.4 7 lleibliha!'n:a' t1;.?y' 41 ") hi; teil the . shining braids. "What mean you, girl," inquired Blanche. "I am going away." "Ah i and where are you going, pray ?" " I know not where I shall find a home: I shall seek it among strangers. I am young and strong, and I will not be do pendent on any person. lam going where I shall be treated with kindness." "Are you not used kindly here?" "I am not, mistress," replied May with firmness. " Yell, cud you alone abuse me; I have determined to bear your taunts no longer: I shall leave Berkeley Hall to morrow." " Very well ; I think I can find another waiting maid 'without much trouble, although, I must acknowledge you dresS my hair better than any girl I have ever had." May had always been her attendant since she was twelve years of age. When they were both children, Mrs. Laratnie, the French governess took care of them. No person but the two mentioned ever linger ed Blanche Berkeley's glossy hair. " Have you told my father you are going 2" " No, mistress ; I have not: I--" "You may go and tell him now: he is alone in the library. Matters better be ?settled before my cousin arrives. You may go now." May paused a moment, thinking what she would say. Having collected sufficient firmness to sustain her through the inter view, she moved towards the door. She paused just as sho bad laid her hand on the knob, for above the howling of the storm, loud voices could be beard without, Mingled with the clatter of horses hoofs, and the harsh grating of wheels on the pebbly road. " Sir Charles has arrived," exclaimed Blanche, and she ran to the window to gaze out. May was soon beside her. There stood the carriage, splashed with mud, with the strangers trunk strapped on behind ; the fiery steeds pawing the ground as though impatient to dash away again; the servants shouting and bawling as they hastened to and fro ; while the rain fell in torrents, and the wind swept in fitful gusts about the Hall, rattling the shutters clam orously. In the midst of-all this tumult and ex citement, a young man wearing the. ma fortriof " The Guards," sprung from the carriage, exclaiming as he ran up the steps, "How are you, Uncle Richard? Don't come out in the rain !" - - . Blanche and May had caught a glimpse of his lace, and Blanche said as the carriage rolled away, "-Ile is very handsome, isn't he May?" • " I think be is," replied her companion quietly. "NOw assist nie'to dress; for I • am anx ious •to • go down and - see this mighty champion who has been•in several battles. When I saw him last I was but twelve years of age, and lie was a tall boy, with large hazel eyes, curling chestnut hair, eight years my senior. Now lam eighteen, and he is twenty-six. I hated him then I wonder if I shall hate him now :1" " I hope not, mistress.", " Well, we shall soon see, said the vain beauty, as she looked at her form in the large venitian mirror, before which she Was standing. •low do I look, May ?" " Queenly, my lady." "I would like very much to wear the pearl necklace, and the tiara of diamonds that belonged to my mother; b ut my father said I must not wear any of the family jewels. -'How hateful be is at times." - :Nifty made no answer, hut turned to the window, gazing 'out sorrowfully, thinking how soon she would bid adieu to the home that bad been hers for many years; the home where every object on - which she chanced to gaze bore the look of an old familiar friend. • Blanche glanced once more at her dross, to make sure everything was in order ; then she glided towards the door, saying as "NO - ENTERTAINMENT SO CREAP AS RR/LAING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." she went out, "You may put everything in order, May ; when your work is done you can have the remainder of the day to your self." The door closed behind her, and May heard the rustle of the costly silk as the imperious girl fluttered down the stairs. "Every one is happy but me," she mur mured; "but I tun all alone in the world. How dreary and dark is - life when the lieart has nothing to love." She bowed her head and wept; while the wind whist led shrill about the casements, and the dull patter of the rain drops on the glass made everything more desolate. CIL&PTER H TLIE I‘IEETING IN THE LIIIIIARY—JEALOUSY. When Blanche entered the library, her cousin rose to' receive her, and be was pleased, (as her father had said he would be,) when his fair relative went up to him, saying, as she extended her hand : " How do you do, cousin Charles? you are wel come at Berkeley Hall." " 'Thank you, thank you, cousin Blanche ; it is a long time since we met. I remember well how you looked when I saw you last; you was a little girl, with short curls hanging on each side of your cheeks, and I was an awkward boy, just hateful enough to tease you all the time. Many a quarrel we had, didn't we? How changed you are—how lovely you have grown ; while I have become old in early manhood. lam bronzed by the burning sun in distant climes; scarred and disfigured by sabre cuts—and my heart has lost all its former joyousness." These words were spoken tremulous and low, and Blanche noticed the shadow of melancholy that overspread his features. Ire parted the hair that clustered thickly on his brow, saying, "That scar came from a sabre, cut; and I brush my hair down into my eyes to hide it sometimes." Blanche shuddered as she Icioked at it. "An ugly looking mark, isn't it coz?" he said, smiling. "Yes," she replied, " it is." "And still 7 am proud of it," said the young officer: "it luoks better there than it would on the hack of my head." " Ha! ha ! ha !" roared his uncle: " that's a good one, Charlie, my boy ; always face the music! Darn my buttons! I'm proud of you. Bless my soul; you're a Berkeley every inch of you—back of the head—ha! ha! ha! May I break my neck at the next fox hunt if I don't tell old Wellington what. you said." Blanche and her cousin were forced to laugh in spite of themselves; fur the old gentleman's mirth seemed infectious. Blanche sat down beside her cousin, and when Sir Richard's boisterous mirth subsided. she inquired, "Dow is uncle floury, and my nunt ?" " ny father enjoys emeellent health, but my mother is ill. They are both at Brigh ton, but I intend to meet them in London when I go to join my regiment." " 6 And how long will you stay with its?" " Five or six days: I cannot stay longer, although I might wish to, for my time is .11,4 tn y tr . 11,7 . What an ii.Tlpleasa .r nt - li tTr'yoilnelliT": 7 should choose any profession rather than be a soldier." " I love the soldiers life, cousin I3lanche. We have cares, trials, sorrows, dangers, and disapointments to meet, the same as other men, but we have our joys and pleas ures besides ; true, we may have a multi tude of perils to encounter, death may menace us on every hand more often than it does others %rho have chosen peaceful vocations, but if we fall, there is something glorious in•the worts, Ito died like a hero, fighting for his Country." "Bravo," chimed in Sir Richard, clap ping his hands. "Glorious privilege! That's where men have the advantage of women ! Darn my buttons! I think I would prefer dying for my country to breaking my neck at the next fox hunt." Charles Berkeley frowned. Ills uncle was carrying the joke too fur he thought. " Charge, Chester charge I On, Stanley on ! Marmions last words, so Scott says. .1 am familiar with the poets, you see, Charlie." " You have written some yourself, haven't you, uncle Richard ?" " When I was young I scribbled some. I wrote Sonnets,Madriguls,and Love Ballads. You shall see a volume of my poems be fore you leave us, but you must promise me you won't laugh at the author." " Laugh—l certainly shall not; I promise you." Sir Richard suddenly became meditative: he forgot his guest altogether; for youthful memories bad been awakened. Blanche was silent, and an embarrassing pause ensued. Charles went tothe window, looked out a moment at the dreary prospect which was cheerless and uninviting, and then tur ning smack:sly around he said abruptly, " There was another little girl here when I was at the Hall long ago: where is she now ?" "Do you mean May Wallace, the gipsy woman's daughter? she is my waiting maid now." " Waiting maid !" He repeated her words as if astonished. " Certainly ; there is nothing strange connected with—" He did not wait for her to finish the sentence, but interupted her by saying, "I thought she was a gentleman's daughter; I am sure I could detect nothing vulgar in her manner when she was a child, and time must have improved her. I thought she was a companion of yours—an equal." Blanche did not like the manner in which Le inquired about, May, and she would doubtless have said something to injure her, had Sir Richard been absent : fortuna tely be had been listening, and he spoke manfully in May's behalf. " I didn't tell you about May, did I," he exclaimed, brightening. "I would have told you when you was here before ; but I suppose it slipped my memory: mAtter, I will tell you now." , A sigh escaped Richard's lips, long drawn, and convulsive, as though it came struggling up limn ambng, olden memories that, clustered around his heart, and then he resumed " The Lady Madeline died when Blanche was born; I suppose you know that, Charles ?" " :Yes ; my father told me when I was a child." " When she died, her babe was given to a gipsy woman whose name was Wallace. Efer Inisband was connected with a roving band who wandered about the country, and ho was seldom at home. They lived In a small cottage that stood on the border of my laud, and the gipsy -paid his rent punctually at the end of every quarter. Mrs. Wallace was an intelligent woman, possessing accomplishments that - were foreign to her associates; accomplishments that few can boast of. She had a hatred for the gipys, and she tried in vain to get her husband to leave them, and abandon his worthless profession, but lie would not: he was bound by a solemn oath, and he did not dare to break. it: Sirs. Wallace had a babe: it was born two days liefore Madeline; s, and my child was given her to nurse; my family physician left tci-take care of the mother and the two Infants. After Madeline was laid in her grave, I resolved to go to America for Berkeley Ball was lonely to me. Every object:an which I gazed seemed_ to remind me of -the gentle being who bad made my home co happy. She I,V:IS the sunlight and joy of my existence; and when she died, dal - I.:Wks was around nie,and my heart died within me. In memory .I can hear her gentle voice CVO.' new—in my dreams she stands before me, robed in spotless white, with angel smiles upon her pure brow ; and When lam sitting alone in this dim old liljrary, in my arm chair, when youth ful •OLions :u•e dancing before my eyes, and the twilight is deepening around me, fancy she is with me; I start to my feet sontet.ntes, thinking her hand is resting on my la:4d, just as it used to %%lieu she would 5aY,:....."1ck, are you tired?"' i:hard Berkeley's voice sounded, huslat . : his emotion choked his utterance, an several moments ,'elapsed before he could proceed. " Dt,n't think me foolish, Charles, for lam growing old and childish : I cannot hide my fci:lings as I could in my youth." The young officer sympathized with his uncle,-he pitied him for he knew tlio old man's' grief was sincere, and utuningled with affectation. "I.Ve all have our sorrows in this world, uncle '(Richard," he said kindly ; "and m ento.'y's;fingers oft times makes sad music on our heart strings. Go on with your story lam impatient to hear more about the little : gipsy." " There remains but little to tell, Charlie. I wont to America, leaving baby Blanche with ,)Irs. Wallace. I was absent two years, : and when I returned I hastened home to see may child. Singular as it may appear, I couldn't tell which of them was mine when they were both led in to me, dressea in /teat, white short gowns, with blank hair eurlints about their faces, and their iuguish oyes looking up in mine. Mrs. Wallace laughed when I asked, Whitilit of these black little gipsie , . is mine r " " "This one,' she replied, pointing to tilt: one rho stood nearest, "This h, Blanche.' Well, I took Blanche home with mu, and I tried to amuse her in every conceivable manner, but in Yilin. I hail to send her back again to Mrs. Wallace. I called every day to see her, sometimes staying the whole afternoon, until at last the children began to love me. r made them presents of toys nearly every time I visited the cottage, and all their timidity vanished: they would go with me without hesitation, and cry if a day passed without their seeing me. Three months passed away. One afternoon Mark Wallace, the gipsy, came to the Hall and told me his wife was dying. Together we hastened to the cottage, but sho was dead when we arrived. The coroner came—physicians were sammen ed—at,d an inquest was held. Mrs. Wulla,:e died with disease of the heart— this NN:o . the verdict of the coroner's jury. Mrs.- % 'allaco was buried beside Madeline, r . :-;.' :,:... ,_:- ' , 4 t......v i 5r.k5,..1,309:pb t ,?e, ‘‘.lltl she Aq -,,PS:T „ The gipsy left little May with hie. ' Take good care of her until I return ;' these were his last words at parting. Eighteen years-110, I 11111 wrong. Six teen years have passed since I saw him last, and I have endeavored to do my duty, waiting for his coining. May is a girl he will be proud to own if ever he comes to claim her.” "Then yon have not heard front him since he went away, tuiele Richard ?" "Not a word : he is dead I think." " Doubtless," said Charles Berkeley thoughtfully. " Would you like to see her 't Shad I send for her, Charles?" "1 troold like to see her: I wonder if she will remember me." Sir Richard was about to ring, when Blanche exclaimed hastily, " I will cut/ her! she is at her work, and I hope cousin Charles will excuse my absence for a short time : I wish to fix her up so that she will appear respectable, at least. /Don't be im patient, you shall see her soon ;" and Blau:Ale left the apartment. "I wonder why he is se anxious to see her, the low- born, vulgar thing," exclaimed the haughty girl; and jealousy, mingled with rage, thtslied from her dark eyes, :IS with hasty step she ascended the stairs that led to the door above. Blanche opened the door suddenly causing May to start. As she looked up, some thing fell from her hand. blanche darted forward and caught it up. Her face was livid with rage as she seized the frightened girl by the arm, and she shook her fiercely, exclaiming, ^ How came you to have this, wench ? have you broken open my cscritorio Did you in tend to rob me of my dead mothers miniature when you leave Berkeley Il:dl? Speak minion Is your tongue paralyzed ?'' "'..No mistress ; you frighten me. I did not think it any harm to look at the picture. I have often done so before." "You wished to steal it, girl ! you have often hoard me say the diamonds with which it is studded were of great value; au,} as you are going away, you thought to ~.. tat eit with you. Why this confusion— an, why did you start like a detected thief if your intentions were honest, dropping the miniature the very moment I entered? your person shall be searched, strietly searched previous to your etlepartu re ; I doubt not but what your theft has been large.' "Oh ! do not he so cruel," cried May, bursting into leat'S " I only Wished to loot: at it a little while, and then I would have put it back again. Have I not had charge of your parse, and your jewels tOr years; and have I ever stolen anything from you ? You hate me, Blanche licriteley, and yet, you have no cause. lam innocent—l defy you to accuse Inc of one single deed that will bring the blush of shame to my cheek ! I scorn the accusation you have made, and no language could express ray contempt for my accuser." Steadfast and firm was tile innocent girl's gaze, and the naughty 11 11 glillj l ed btifore it. " Perhaps I atn mistaken," she faltered : "I may have been too hasty. Sir Richard bade nte sinnznon you. Jre wishes your presence in the library. — "Is your cousin with hint," May asked. "Yes ; and as it is my wish that he may not be ashamed of you, I give you the privilege of selecting a dress front my wardrobe. I trust you may make a good selection, and not array yourself in queenly robes, thereby rendering yourself ridicu lous, and perhaps making moo blush for your vulgar taste." " You shall have no cause to blush, lady Blanche," replied :I‘l4ty : " I shall wear a plain white muslin dress, one that I pur chased with my own money. I have no desire to exhibit myself in fitskionable attire.'' Blanche bit her lips, and turned to the window to conceal her vexation. " Where do you get money to buy dresses," she inquired with a sneer. . "Prom the lady Blanche Berkeley, my mistress," replied May ; "but I 'earn far more than I receive."• - .‘ " You are a saucy - wench," returned Blanche, and I disgrace myself talking to one so low ! Dress yourself, and come down without delay : do you hear ?" " I am not deaf," May answered, laugh ing ; and Blanche, now fully enraged, dash ed front the chamber, fearing to trust her, anger nay longer. ' • " Oh ! the hateful, low thing ! How dare she answer me - thus," exclaimed , Blanche, pausing ere she descended the stairs, to give vent to her rage. "'Tis my father fault; for ho is con tinually petting her mid making her Costly presents. She must.leave Berkeley Hall, and I 10:11 give him no':rest: until he promise§ 'to sold her away : both of us • . cannot live under the same roof." She ran down the stairs, her costly robe rustling behind her, and when she entered the library hor face was wreathed with Charles looked up, inquiring, "Isn't May corning? Did you-tell her I was hero, cousin Blanche?" Blanche frowned. " She will be here presently," she re- plied ; " but if I had known you was in such haste to SOO her, I would have brought her with me, covered with dust Ind dirt es she was." This reply did nut please the young officer over much. lie looked sharply at his cousin a moment, and then said with considerable spirit ; " She would have been none the less welcome. The warmest, the most cordial welcome that I ever received, was from the Countess of Lands mere, after returning from a long ride, spattered with mad from head to foot. I Was the bearer of important dispatches from the Count, and I did not intend to present myself nntil I bad changed my garb. Her ladyship, having heard of my arriv ii, nt once sent a messenger after me. I accompained Irian home without delay. When ushered tutu her presence I began to apologize for the sorry plight I was in, but she interapted me by saying : `You arc a soldier, and your excuses are not needed. Welcome, Captain Berkeley P Sire bade me sit down, and rang for refreshments: and after passing a pleasant hour, I de parted. She had no false pride, and r have none either, thank God? May would be as welizanc to Me, covered with dust and cobwebs, as though she was arrayed in satin :old costly laces. lam plain Charlie Berkeley ; rig better with epaulettes on my shoulders, than I would be in the unitbrin of a common soldier. Oh! uncle Dick, what fools people sometimes make of themselves, don't they ?" "Yes," answered the old gentleman, " that's a fact." Bobby Burns vv rule: •' What though on homely faro we dine, Wear Leaden gnly an' a' that,: luols their silks, aa' knaves their wine, A nian's a Man Jur a' that !" " Now I don't say every person who wears silk is a fool, nor is a man a knave because ho drinks wine ; but tho rhyme is appliable oft times. I'm familiar with the poets, you see. May I break my neck at tho - next fox hunt if 1 don't think ; the f Sin!, girls are at her age; but I'll wager tell pounds against live, she has the kindest heart, and the sweetest smile of any girl in the country." Words wort II writes thus: "Jler eyes like stars of twilight fair, Lilco twilight's, too, her dully /lair A dancing sprite, :111 image gay, haunt, to startle, to waylay." " Look out, wy boy ! She will steal your affections without your knowing it; and you can't help loving her, do what you will. Do you know I sometimes think she looks like Madeline; gentle, loving Madeline who is in heaven." There WILS a low rap on the door, and Sir Richard whispered as he passed his nephew to open it, " Watch her close, and see if she hasn't the family likeness." Blanche heard the words, although they were not intended for her ear. Iler cheeks paled, and her lips- quivered as thought a sharp pain had touched her heart. A sigh escaped her, and then she turned her dashing eyes upon Charles Berkeley who was awaiting May's appearance. CIIAPTER 111 MWrWM ' OMDIMIEMMT=Mrni There stands a. neat little cottage, almost hidden front the travelers gaze, beside the road that leads front liampton to London, having a garden tilled with flowers in front of it, a high hedge enclosing it around. A quiet, pleasant, retired spot, just far enough away from the bustle and dm of the " Great Metropolis" to suit any person who loved the beauties of Nature better than the gilded pomp and gorgeous display of wealth, or the sickening scones of wretch edness and misery that one is forced to be hold in the busy thoroughfares of London. A high-barred gate opened on the road side, and a narrow walk, strewn with peb bles, and bordered on either side with box wood, led to the house. The cottage front was covered with ivy up the eaves ; while around the rustic porch, Clustered in con fusion, morning glories; climbing roses; and honeysuckle; all entwining their deli cate tendrils together as they clambered up the columns, or hung downward in les tooltti, gracefully, about the entrance. A young man is standing in the parlor before one of the open windows. He is gazing up at the clear unclouded sky above him, and there is a dreamy look in the depths of the large dark eyes, as though the spirit within is trying to pierce the un known space beyond, and read the inys- tories that are hidden there. The brows are slightly arched--the forehead broad and high, with wavy locks clustering around it—the nose slightly Roman in its cast—the mouth delicately curved and ex pressing- firmness—the chin small and round as a girls. The wide collar is un buttoned at the throat, and thrown back, eXpuShig the round white neck, while the black silk 'kerchief is tied Lira large bow, the ends hanging carelessly down, giving the wearer a boyish appearance. Arthur Melville is twenty-one years of age; twenty-one on this bright summer morning when lie is introduced to the reader. Ile is an author ; and already his list "Novel" has been published. It received some severe; very severe criti cisms from reviewers, who had read a page here and there when it first "CURIO out," but the book sold well, and his publisher issued a second edition. Arthur Melville heeded not the critics who commented on his first work, bat ho sat down to write again, saying to himself, " The book has been published—it has sold well—and why shall not another? Critics are a poor, snarling pack, at best; and they manage to gain a miserable subsist ence by raking amid the productions of other men's brains, trying to find some thing that they may condemn. When a young author's first work is published, they gather about like a drove of half famished rats, gnawing and squealing around the prize, and after mutilating what they cannot understand, they crawl back to their holes again to watch for another victim. I leave' the intelligent reading $2,00 Per Year, in Advance; $2,50 if not Paid in Advance. public to pass sentenc(ron my works, and I am content with the verdict they render. They read, and they can best tell what pleases them. .What a low, sneaking set these half-starved critics are! Ha! ha! ha! I would not wish to,be one of them !" * . s So Arthur Melville sat down and wrote again ; wrote through March, April, May, and June, and on the 10th of June, his birthday, he rolled up his MSS., for he was ready to start for London with it. " Father in Heaven I grant me success, for I trust in Thee," exclaimed the youth as ho gazed upward. "I am poor and friendless; but I go forth knowing Thou art with ine. Thou bast given mo these high desires,' these immortal longings; Thou bast tilled my heart with a wild, burning thirst for fame ; and oh ! grant that toy dreams may be realized! When this form is slumbering in the cold grave, may•nzy name still live when I um gone." How fervently this prayer was uttered; and the dark oyes still looked up to heaven, while the hands were clasped firmly on the heaving breast where thrilling emo tions were awakened. "Dreaming again, my boy; dreaming again," said a gentle voice beside him. He turned quickly. " No, not dreaming, mother: I was pray- ES "Praying, Arthur; for what?" "Praying for God to grant me success praying that Ho might guide me, and guard me while I struggled and toiled for fame—praying that my name may live when this poor body is mouldering away to dust. I always ask His aid, His bless ing whenever I undertake anything." "That is right, my son ! God never for sakes those who put their trust in him." Arthur Melville bent down and kissed his mothers cheek. " You /MVO made me what I am," ho said kindly, "sued I, hope you will live to be proud of me." "1 ton proud of you now, my son I" Her looks confirmed her words. "But you shall be prouder still, mother dear," be exelaimed hopefully. "I shall rise above my fellow-men ! Something within me tells me this. I will toil and study herd until I win wealth honor, and fame! I will laugh at the cares of life-4 will trample beneath my feet all its dis appointments—and armed with an am bition that adyersity cannot. crush, with Hope pointing me onward with her magic wand, I will climb Fame's high mount, and Her trumpet voice shall herald forth lily llama unto an admiring world." 'sr " God grant it. may be so, Arthur; but you know not. what a weary struggle is before you. Youth is full of bright hopes; and Life's pathway seems strewn with flowers. When we have grown old we can look back into the past through memory's glass and see the graves where our early hopes lie buried—we can see the flowers withered and dead by the wayside—we can feel the thorns rankling and festering in our aching hearts. Few, very few, my son, ever say at the end of Life's pilgrimage, I 'Alava inceolriplisllctl4lV.J.. slesireclriny, 'brightest = tiro , 'reatlEted, - -iiiiil=,l4. die content." "True, mother ; but many faint by the wayside. The first great sorrow or dis appointment crushes them, end they strug gle no more. There are some brave hearts that misfortune cannot crush; some mighty minds that triumph over all that opposes them, and such a heart, such a mind is mine : nothing can make me yield but death." A proud smile curled the thin lip, and the tire of ambition glowed in the depths of his dark eyes while he spoke. Mrs. Melville smiled: it was a prowl smile, such as is seen only on a mothers lips, when she gazes with admiration on an only son, while ho speaks of the brilliant destiny that awaits him in the future. Mother and son were both silent for several moments. Arthur glanced at his Crutch. "It is time for me to start if I intend to reach London to-night," he remarked. " nos Lydia washed my linen coat ?" "Yes; I will bring it to you ;" and she left the room. Arthur put on his hat and began to pace to and fro. Mrs. Melville soon returned. lle took the coat, threw it carelessly over his arm, put on his hat, and then said : "Now for London l Is ray MSS. in my valise?" " Yet 4 ; I put it in very carefully myself." " Good-bye, mother I shall not be ab sent over three days." " Good-bye, lily clear boy I" sobbed the old lady. lie stooped and kissed her; then taking his valise, he left the cottage. Mrs. Mel ville watched him as he strode down the pebbly path—she saw the gate close be hind him—and then the hedge hid his manly form from view. " May God bless him !" murmured the fond mother as she turned from the win dow. "ILe is like his father—so full of life and ambition—so manly—so fearless—so beautiful." R * . With a rapid step the young author went on his way. Ills heart was filled with hope, and joyous anticipation, and although he had nearly twenty miles to walk ere he reached the great and bustling city, the distance did not seem long to illlll. Ile was /I lover of _Nature; and his gaze rested ad miringly on every beautiful object that adorned his path. To his ear there was music in the murmuring stream let and the whispering breeze ; and every hill, each grassy vale that he passed, seemed gemmed with radiant glories, fresh and pure from the Creators hand. The births were singing sweetly—the sun shone brightly down; the bosom of the blue sky was clear, and unelonded—while afar off, as mile after mile was passed could be heard the mur mur that arose from the great city. The sun went down amid the gorgeous mass of purple and golden clouds that skirted the western horizon, and the twilight was fast rendering objects dim and indistinct to view, when Arthur sat down ell a fragment of broken rock by the roadside to rest his wearied limbs. For nearly an hour he sat, lost in meditation, and the stars came out on the bosom of the sky, the moon arose, and Arthur Melville heeded not the flight of time, for his mind was wandering in dreamland, far away, while enchanting visions charmed his mental gaze. Dream laud! Glorious dreamland! What fairy scenes we oft times behold while dwelling there; what happiness and joy is ours while we in imagination stray amid its flowery paths; but the awakening bids our joys to vanish, our hopes to depart, and we sigh when they are gone. Oh ! how bliss ful it would be, could the weary heart for get in this fant.tstic realm all its bitter woes and sorrows, and dwell forever there, to wake no more. • a • Life's dreams, like lifo Itself must end. Arthur was aroused from Lis reverie by the rumbling of wheels on the bard road. Ile started to his feet and listened. A earring.° was upproachin,g; it was coming [WHOLE NUMBER, 2,015. from London. Arthur took up his valise and started on his way. He had proceeded but a short distance when loud shouts greeted his ear, and the cry of, " Murder ! Help! Thieves !'° was heard, and the vehicle suddenly came to a halt. " Some poor traveler is attacked by high waymen," exclaimed the youth; and throwing his valise from him, he started in the direction from which the sound Caine. A man came running towards him at full speed, and as soon as he beheld Arthur, he cried, " Hasten—for God's sake! They are killing my master and mistress!" "Back with me, cowlird !" exclaimed Arthur. " Here; I have two pistols—take this one and use it !" The man grasped the weapon, and turned back without hesitation. "Help! Help!" The cry was fainter than before. As Arthur neared the spot where the carriage stood, he saw a villainous lookine,' ruffian holding in the terrified and-spirited horses. `• Fire at that fellow !" ho exclaimed. His companion leveled his weapon and fired. The abet took effect; for the villian let go his hold on the bridal, and ran off, yelling, "I am wounded! I ant wounded ! Run, Bill—for there's help cinuite—let go the old man att' save yer neck!" The villian who was intent on robbing the travelers, heeded not his companion's warning, and in a moment Arthu was upon him. Grasping the villain by the collar he dragged Will backu - ard•out of the carriage, and placing the muzzle of the pistol to his car, he demanded : " Who arc you ? Down on your knees, and remain there until I tie your hands ! If you stir, or make an attempt to escape, I'll blow your brains out." "Let me have the pistol, young man," said a gentleman who sprung from the carriage.- "I'll stand guard over the scoundrel while you secure him. I know not how to thank you for your timely aid. If I had not been a fool, I would not have left - London without my own weapons." slrthur handed him the weapon. The coachman came up with a strap. "Let me fix 'ho," said the stout fellow. " buckle 'inn up so 'e can't move his 'ands. Steady, my tine fellow ; steady : me ['other arm if 'ee please, till I make it fast bu'ind yer back. was sheriff's man once, an' many a good lookin' gentleman I've tied in my day, haffore mat chin' em to New gate. There—now yer comfortable, an' if you'll be so hobligin' has to mount the box beside one, you shall ride Wl' my master Me me to Lun'un. Won't that be nice, 'My 'earty cove?" "tip with him on the box without de l lay ; for I must turn back and carry this villain to Newgute," said the gentleman ; and then turning to Arthur; he inquired: "What is your name my brave youth'?" " Arthur Melville." The gentleman started; and our hero could see he was agitated. " Arthur Melville'!" he repeated the name; gazing steadily at him. your father living?" "My father ,died' several_ years_ago, in have no onvbut...My- mother "Ah r ire gazed down on the irouml. and sighed heavily. " Where, was yon going when my cries for assistance reacht./ you ?" "I was on my way to London.", " What—on foot?" " Yes sir ; T have no other means of con veyanee.” The gentleman smiled. "You shall with me," he said : "jump in here besii me." "My valise is lying by the roadside ,t short distance from here : I threw it dm , .1 when I started to ,your assistance. I wlt got it and join yon in a tnoment." The coachman by this time had assiste.l the surly highwayman up to the box, an-: the gentleman, who was waiting lot Artfl:, naked the lady in the coach if she was mu , li frightened ? " Frightened ! No more than you were," she replied curtly. " But wko is this bray, young man that came to the rescue? lilt,• is poor, we must do something to better hi, condition." " His mune is Melville, Arthur Melville; and he shall not be forgotten by me. 'Melville! That name again! I irate the sound of it, for it has been the cause of all my misery. Speak it not again in my hearing, Lord Clifford, for I shall hate him if you do; hate hint whom I have no muse to hate." Agnes ; say tio more, for here h Comes.' " Would to God I could hush the beating of my heart 1 Oh ! I would giro all—" "Silencer" he commanded Inn cely, grasping her wrist as he spoke. "I will hear no more." The lady leaned back against the cushions and said no more; but her eyes dashed as she shook off her husband's grasp, and a half stifled moan escaped her lips. Arthur came up. Lord Clifford said in a husky voice, "Young ntan, get in here beside me." He obeyed, and the driver cracked lib, Whip as be turned his horses heads towards London. TO BE CONTINUED The rower of the Heart. Let any, while sitting down, place the left leg over the knee of the right one, am( permit it to hang freely, abandoning all muscular control over it. Speedily it may be observed to sway forward and backward through a li mi ted space at regular intervals. Counting the number of these motions for any given time they will be found to agree with the beating of the pulse. Every one knows, that at fires, when the water from the engine is forced through bent hose, if the bend is a sharp one, considerable force is necessary to overcome the tendency. Just so it is In the case of the human body. The arteries are but a system of hose through which the blood is forced by the heart. When the leg is bent, all the arteries within it are bent too, and every time the heart contracts, the blood rushing through the arteries tends to straighten them; and It is this effort which produces the motion of the leg alluded to. Without such pe culiar demonstrations, it is difficult to con ceive the power exerted by that exquisite znechanism, the normal pulsations of which are never perceived by him whose very life they are. The Human Stomach. A lecturer, enlarging on the subject of diet, said recently: Soup, fish, flesh, oil, vinegar, Wines, pastry, ices, confectionery, fruits, and minor ingredients of conflicting chemical qualities, are among the materials thrown in. Stir these things together in a vessel, and which of us would not sicken at the appearance and odor? Yet at a dinner party they are alicrammed into the stomach, there to ferment and generate pernicious, gasses. Truly man is fearfully and won derfully made. :I\7o other creature could exist on such diet. It would kill a gorilla in a month. It does kill, though more slowly, thousands of that high and mighty variety of the human race, commonly called gen tlemen.
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