El
othq.
OUR. CHILDHOOD•
IIY GEOILUE D. PRENTICE
'Tis sad—yet sweet—to list on,
To the soft wind's gentle swell,
And think we hear the music
Our ehildhood knew so well;
To gate out on the even '
And the boundless fields of air,
And feel again our boyish wish,
To roam like angels there!
There are Many dreams of gladness
That cling artiund the past:—
And from the tomb of feeling
Old thotights come throb Ling
The forms we loved on dearly,
In the happy days now gone,
The beautiful and lovely,
So fair to look upon,
Those bright and lovely maidens
Who scorned so formed for bliss,
Too glorious mid too heavenly
For sueh a world as this!
Whose soft dark eyes seemed swimming
In a sea of liquid light,
And chose lochs of gold were streaming
O'er brows so sunny bright.
Whose smiles were Dim the sunshine
In the springtime of the year—
Like the changeful gleams of April
They fcllo't•ed evetx,tear ! •
They hare passed—like hope—away—
All this loveliness has fled-- j
Oh I many a heart Is mourning
That they aro with the dead.
And yet—the thought is sad'ulug
To muse on such as they—
And feel that all the beautiful
Aro passing fast away!
That the fair ones whom we love,
Grow to earl loving breast,
Like tendrils of the dinging vine,
Then perish whore they rest.
And can we but think of these
In tho soft and gentle rTrlng,
IThen the trees are waving o'er us,
And the flowers are blossoming!
For we know that'winter's coming
:With his cold and stormy, : sky—
And the glorious beauty around us
Is blooming but to die!
dui 6ult.
SOMETHING ADVANTAGEOUS ;
OR, A FAMILY MOAB
I once attended a very poor old man, of
name of Jcirdan, in his last illness. I call
him poor, yet ho was not in want, and had a
bout him the comforts of life. When he was
near his end he said to me :
'Doctor went to know the truth from you.
I am not in the habit of being flattered by the
world. There was a time indeed, when it
fooled me to the top of my bent ; but that was
long ago. Do not flatter me, but toll me your
real opinion. Shall I soon die, or shall I yet
linger a brief career in a world I am quite
willing to be done with ?'
'You de,ire me,' replied I, 'to be candid
with you, and I will. You are on your death
bed.'
grow soon shell I be immortal V
'That I cannot say. But your hours, as far
as-human experience can teach mo to predict,
aril numbered.'
He was silent for a few moments,' and a
plight spasm crossed his face.
eiVell,'•said be, 'it is the lot of all. 1 have
lived long enough.'
'ls there no friend or relation, Mr. Jordan,'
eard I, 'to whom you would wish to send ?
Tin are hero as yru have often told me, quite
alone in lodgings. Perhaps you would like to
revive some old recollection before you leave
be werld.'
'Not one,' he Bald.
'Aro you so completely isolated V
, Most completely. I have tried all vela
ions and found them wanting. But still I
have remembered them, and made my wilt
It is now between the mattress and sacking of
this\bed, and hl% Shaw, the only honest at
toruey I have ever met with, and who resides
in Lincoln's Inn Fields will carry my milieu
flow into affect. I was rich once in early
life. How dark a day!'
'What day?'
''To-day.' How dark and misty it has come
over, doctor 1'
Isis Bight was going fast, and I felt certain
that it would requiro but little patience and a
stool leacrifice of time, te ice the last of 'Mr.
Jordan.
!Yes
. ho continued, 'speaking in odd "spas
ModiOfashien, 'Yes I was rich, and had many
a crawling sycophant about me, many smiling
faces at my.board ; but there came a reverse,
and like fair. flowers and,a sudden frost, my
friends hid their heads. I Wee nearly desti
tute, and• believing that the s tie of blood would
be'stritins enough,to bind me in my distresses
to"those'with whom I olahned kindred, and
Who had' been delighted to Claim kindred with
me, I went to them a visitor:
'Awl , ,
'And failed as you say.; -They,drolipottfrom
mo olio by ono. Promo retioomborod slight of
fmccs ; some were never at home, some re
ally thought I must have beOu dreadfully hit.
„ -
provident ; and Until thOy were convinced
had not been, 'could not assist me. Doors
were stint In my face—windOW blinds pulled
down as I passed. I was shunned as a peSti•
lence—my clothes were in rags—my step fee
ble from long want of cctmmon necessaries;
and then an old school companion died in the
West Indies and left mo twenty thousand
pounds, which I received through the hands
of Mr. Shaw.'
'A largo fortune. And relations?'
'Heard of it, and were frantic. I disappear
ed from them all:, From that thy to this
they have never heard of me. Do you love
wild flowers ?'
'Wild thin-ars 1' •
'Yes. Here are herbs, just from the teem
ing garden. Look, too, how yon cherub
twines them in her hair ! The s treams flows
deep to eternity!".
'Mr. jordati:`.sir,' I cried, 'Mr. Jordan do
you know me r ,
'Come hither, laughing, gentle spirit,' he
said. 'Bring with you your heap of floral
gems. Yes, I know this is the sweet violet.
Mary, my Mary ! God knows that I loved
It was a strange thing at that moment, but
the blind of the window, which I had drawn
up to the tap, came suddenly rattling down
and the room was quite dark ; I raised it
again and then turned to the bed ; Mr. Jordan
was a corpse!
What a remarkable change had in those few
moments come over the old man's face ! The
sharp lines of ago had all disappeared, and
there was n calm, benign expression upon the
still features, such as in life I never saw them
El=
. 41 restless spirit is nt pence,' I said as I
felt for the will where he told me it was
placed, and found it. It was merely tied up
with a piece of red tape, anti addressed to Mr.
Shaw, 20 Lincoln's Inn Fields„ so I :resolved
to trust it to no other messenger, but to take
in hand myself. I told the landlady of the
House that her lodger was no more. and that
she would no doubt h ' imediately fr n
his solicitor ; and then . •
'Well Mr. Shaw,' I s fter I had nu n
tioned to him the manner of Mr Jorilans
death 'here is the will, L sir. . I presume I have
nothing further to do than to thank you for
your courtesy and bid you good evening.'
'Stay a moment,' he said. 'Let me look at
the document. Humph ! n strange will. lie
leaves the form of an advertisement here,
which is to be inserted in the morning papers,
calling his relations together to hear the will
read.'
'lndeed.'
'Yes. Well, I shall, as I see that lam 'ri
med trustee, do as ho wishes. He states that
he is very poor.'
Why he spoke to me of £20,0001'
'Did he realy ? A delusion sir, quite n de
lusion, £20,000 Ile had that amount twen
ty•ftve years ago. But, sir, as you have at
tended him, and as I happen to know that he
had a high opinion of you, I should like
you ns his friend to aid me, as it were, in
the future proceedings connected with this
will'
'ln which there is a mistery, oh, Mr Shaw?
A little—perlinps a little bit of post Inortern
revenge, that is nil which I tun not now nt
liberty • to disonnt upon. But I will take care
to coincide with you, and I shall hope that
you will follow an old friend to the grave.'
I promised lat much,•Aind duly attended
the funeral. a lt was a quiet walking affair,
and from the manner of it I felt quite con
vinced that there wits no funds to make it
otherwise. A mound of earth marked the
spot, in the little church yard at Barnes,
whore Mr Jordan slept the sleep that knows
no waking. A drizzling rain came down,—
The air was cold and eager, and I returned
home from the funeral of Mr. Jordan about
as uncomfortable as I could.
The next day the following 'advertisement
appeared in the morning paper, and caught
my eye as I sat at breakfast.
If any of the relations of •Mr. John James
Jordan, deceased, will call at the office of Mr.
Shaw, 20 Lincoln's Inn Field, they will hear
of something advantageous.
I made up my mind to call upon Mr, Shaw
during the day, and about three o'clock reach
his chambers; or rather reached the stair-,
case leading to them, and There I had to stop
for it was boseiged by mon and women, who
were all conversing with great eagerness.
, What can it moan Y' • said one old woman ;
I'm his aunt s and of course I speak for my
Ned!'
but bother your Ned,' said a Irian ;
'he har.lly belongs to the family, I'm his bro.:
tiler. Think of that Mrs. Dean!'
'Think of what.? yo two legged goose
IPA Poli 1' said another man ; knew him
very well - I'm his cousin. Ilil:oa I—what's
this, who are you ?,
A woman in tattered garments, but who
still, looked like a beautiful one, stood hesita•,
tingly at the foot of the stairs,
*ls this Mr Blm's?' Elio Enid. *Hush Mary
himilt I 'don't, 'my '
.1 . 'But I'm hungry tinfill7 ; said little girl;
' who was holding byLardful of her dreEs.
Urii*:t4[l,a' *stirillklo
'Oh, Mary, 'do not dear; wo shall. soon
go hole. Hush, dear, hush! Is this Mr.
astir's? • •
'Yes,' (mid a fist woman ; 'and who 1+ you,
11111 i
saw nn adrertisemcnt. lam his sis
terQrnce'sonly -child. My name is Diary
Grantham—, This is my only . child.
She—
she is fatherless and has been so for many a
day,'
'What,' eriera man, you the, Mary that
he broke his heart about ?'
'Broke his fiddlesticks' said the fat woman.
•he was fifty when he died '
'Broke his heart for me asked the poor•
looking woman with the child. 'Good God,
do I live to hear that?'
'You had better go up to the solicitor's at
once,' whispered I. Come b will show you
Ms door.'
I made a way for her through the crowd of
persons, nod we soon reached the chamber
'Here is another of Mr. Jordan's relations Mr.
Shaw,' said I. 'I find that you have had quite
a levee'
have, indeed, doctor. You must come at
twelve o'clock next Monday, madam, when
the will of Mr. Jordati 44 ivill - b - e reTad by me to
all around.'
'I thank you sir.' She was about to leave
the chamber when I interposed.'
'Pardon me, madam,' I said. 'But as I
was the only person with Mr. Jordan nt the
time of his decease, I wish to ask you a ques
tion. If I mistake not, your name was the
last that passel his lips. Mary, my Mary,'
lie said, `God knows that I ',Ned you !'
She sank into a chair and burst into tears.
'You, then.' I added, 'Are the Mary whom
he loved. Ah why did you not, if you can
weep f r him now. reciprocate the passion ?'
I did love him.' she cried, .God knows, and
he is now with his God, ho knows how I
loved him. But evil tongues came between
us, and we separated. Ife was rrmligned to
me, and I was wearied by entreties and tears
until I married another. She who has turned
me from him, mol severed two hearts that
would and should have been all the world
to each other, confessed the sin upon her death
bed.'
'Who was it ?' said Mr. Slin4.
'llis mother ! From no ether source could
I hove believed the talcs that I was told. But
I aid not then k HOW enough of the world to
think that there were were mothers who could
malign their own children. We were sepera
ted—my husband died, leaving mo that last
little ono of many. We are very. very poor—
no one will help us—an acquaintance showed
me the advertisement, and urged me to come
—it was a false hope. But I find there nre
strong arms and brawling tongues below that
I cannot contend against.'
'Never mind that.' said the solicitor, 'it Pt
my duty to rend the will on Monday, rind as
a relation, it is your duty to attend at the
same time. I tell you to hare no expecta
tions.'
I saw Mr. Shaw try to slip some money into
her hand, and I saw acrimson flush come
over her face as she said, t 'We can still work,'
and then fearing that she bad been harsh to
one who wished to be kind, she shook his hand
in both of hoes, and said, 'God bless you, sir;
I thank you from my heart.'
Bang, bang !,eanle to the door of the chai n ber, a Minute 'after Mary left, and upon its
being opened, a man of about five or six and
thirty made his appearance.
'Something advantageous!' he gasped, for
he was out of breath ; what is it?—Give it to
me ? how much ? Good God, don't lot any
body else have it. I'm his youngest brother,
give it to me.'
'lf you will attend here at twelve, on Mon
day the will will be read.'
Bang, bang, bang!
, l'm thoroughly besieged,' said Mr Shaw
'Now, madam, who are yoti?'
'Something advantageous,' screamed a inns
oulino looking woman •I'm a relativo—what
is it--:como on my dears. Here's my five
daughters and my baby—coMo along.'
iße off with you,' cried the youngest broth-
',Did you speak to me, you wretch,''said the
lady, and she planted a blow in his face that
made him reel again. 'Take that; I know you
aro a sneaking hound, you used to be called
the chimpanzee in the family, you poor scorch
ed up looking hundle'of cat's meat.'
Several moro arrivals now took place, and
poor Mr. Shaw was fairly bewildered. Sounds
of contention arose on the staircase. Shrieks
from family combatants came upon our ears,
and finally, I advised Mr.
,Shaw to paste a
placard on tne outer door of hispf§e..e; on
which was written—
erhe will of Mr. Jordan will bUrend hero on
Monday next, at twelve o'clock precisely.
The riot gradually subsided. The evening
come on, and•all the relations of tho deceased
hriti been gone. Mr. Shaw • and Istipped
gether, and I promise Ito be with him punct
ually at,twelvo o'clock on Monday, for I . was
curiens ne any body could be to hear the Al
read, and at all events, anticipating n bust,-
ling scene upon the occasion.' I wa's not doom
ed to be disappointed.
It is a, habit of Mine rather to be too carry
than to too late, and in the present instance
efotind kit most useful one, for I. really 'al
most doubt if I should have gOt into the ohm- I
hers of Mr:AShaw at all if I had teen later
than I was. I had fairly to push Mrs. Mary
Grantham in &spite a vigorous opposition,
and a man stopped my own entrance crying—
'Who nre you ? what relation are you V
This grandfather's, uncle,' said I ; 'and
you dont make the way there I'll pull the nose
nil your flice.'
It was well that Mr. Shaw occupied livery
spacious chamber, or otherwise he could not
have accommodated one half of the persons
Who came to the reading of the will, and never
in my life did I see such malignant looks pass
from one to' another ns shot from the eyes of' ,
the relations. I Was a most pitiful picture
of human nature.
.Ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr.
,Shaw;
ahem ! ahem 1'
There stjts - rt death like stillness.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' I am commissioned
to read 3on the—the—what shall I call it—it
.is hardly a will—of the Into Mr. Jordan. No
certainly ought not to ho called a will, prop
erly speaking, it is a testamentary'--
'Read, rend, read!' cried a dozen voices.
'Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am glad to
see you are all in respectable mourning.'
'Except one,' said the younger brother
there's his Mary that ho was so fond of. Oh,
dear me, she only comes to see what she can
get.'
Mrs. Grantham burst into tears. There was
a little shabby piece of black crape upon her
arm, and another upon the anti of her child.
'I could n,t, she said ; 'I dould not do more.
God help me ; I hail not the mear\s.'
'Read, read !' cried all the voices •
'Ahem,' said Mr. Shaw, rending; 'I John
James Jordan, being very poor, and having in
vain called upon every relation I hove in the
world for assistance, mid found none, have to
state that my heart was filled with bitterness
and uncharitablenesS towards them But still
I think they are not dead to all feeling ; and
this being my lost •will and testament, I de
sire that my debts, amounting to the sum of
one pound three shillings no cightpcnce, be
paid for!hwjL out of my estale; that my fune
ral be strictly private in Barnes' churchyard,
where I• last parted with one whom I loved, but
who has gone abroad, I nm told ; and to that
one of my relations who. wAll erect a tombstone.
I bequeath'— •
'Hark ! will you ?' cried one; be quiet. Go
on—yes, yes, Oh ! you wretch, where's your
feclirus ? Go to the'—
'Really. Indies and gentleman,' said I,
is most indecorus.' l
(.
bequeath,' continued Mr. Shaw, 'my dy
ing blessing and forgiveness.' 0
Mr. Shaw then folded up the will, and pu
it in his pocket, keying—
.l wish you all good morning, ladies and
gentlemen. I sold the few ~clothes and other
matters he died possessed of and paid for the
furieral,_ and his debts; being myself minus
ono shilling and fourpence, which I hope some
of you will pay.'
It is quite impossible by any words to fairly
depict to the reader the appearance of Mr
Jordan's relations at that moment. If the fa
bled Gorgon's head had suddenly appeared,
and transformed them all to stone, they could
not have leoked more completely paralyzed
and panic stricken.
'A tombstone.'
'A tombstone,' said Mr. Shaw. .11 small
one would not coat much- You could put on
it a suitable inscription. Here lies,—
'Lies here—neier mind,' said the brother
'Never mind. that's all, is it ?'
'You aro a humbug,' said the masculine
man to Mr. Shaw, and was old stupid Joi:
dart.'
'Ge to the deuce, all of you, shouted.anoth
or, 'a tombstone, indeed.'
Mr. Shaw was wiping his spectacles.
'Ladies and gentleman, allow me to add'—
'Oh, stuff, stuff ; brother. A tombstone in
deed, 1 shan't stay another moment. An
old thief I wish a tombstone had been down
his throat. Come on. It's a do.'
'But, ladies and gentleman
They were quite deaf to the remopstrances„
of Mr. Shaw, and in a few moments the 06116.
bers -were quite clear, with the exception of
Mrs. Mary Grantham, who was sobbing bitter
ly. She then rose and looked at me hesita
tingly. Then she looked at Mr. Shaw, and
she seemed to be struggling to say something.
She placed her, hands in 116. bosom, and drew
forth a ring' tied , to a- black ribbon, and then
with a convulsive effort, she spoke—.
0 11)1a—this ring—it is my only veinal°
possession. It was- given to me thirty years
ago by him whcOoved um. I have (flung to it
in pain, and sorrow, in difficulty wity'ilt vas.
I have never,parted with , it. I . Seemed.tO be
not witeltreeparate4, Orem him . while I had" it
pear my heart. But noW, great..distress for
cos me—to—to part wih it Will—will nei
ther of you, gontlernon,,buy It of me? .1
shrink from its going into the hands of utter
strangers.' '
• glumpl, !' said Mr. Sbai . aro a
o)uple of sowreigns.'
She took the money, en then, afterone
long lingering look, and n Arvent kiss at the
ring, she laid it on the table' rind tottered from
the place. I was about to follow her, but Mr.
Shaw held mo'bnok.
, lfold I hold said.
You're a brute, sir,' said I. 'Take your
bonds off me ; I will buy the ring of you and
give it Luck to her. It breaks her heart to
part with it, I see.'
'I shan't part with it,' he said ; 'you are a
very hasty mile, doctor.'
I Was very angry, and bounced out of the
office: looked eagerly about for Mrs. Grant
ham, but could not , see her. I walked hur
riedly across the square, nr.d as chance would
have it, I went in the same direction she did.
My first impulse was to speak to her, and my
second thought was to follow her, and see
where she went. She crossed Holborn, and
traversed somb of the lung streets that head' in
the New Road, where she arrived nt last, and
finally paused at a stone mason's yard.
I could have shed tears nt that moment, for
now I felt why she bad parted with her cher
ished ring. She stayed about a irtirtrter of an
hour at the stone mason's, and then she came
out and walked slowly away. I did not follow
her further, but went iutu the mason's yaril,
and said to him—
'Did that lady give you an order I'
'Why, yes, sir, such n ono as it was. She
tiro got me to do a stone for two pounds, and
she's paid me. I'm to meet her at the church
yard at Barnes', to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock, with-it, and put it up. It's only to
have on it the name of John James Jordan,
and under that, 'God bless him.'
I walked with a sort of mist before my eyes,
and it was nn hour before I recovered my coin
posure. will meet her,' thought I, 'at the
grave - of her last love, and I will le a friend to
her if she has - never another in the world. She
shall have her ring again. if I force it from the
lawyer. She shall have it. I'll go•and get it
DOW at once.'
I suppose I looked in a very tolerable pas
sion when I got back to Mr. Shaw's chambers,
for be got Lehind a table when he saw me, and
said—
`Come, come, no violence.'
'Hark you, sir,' said I ; 'you h re got the
ring. There's your money. Give it to me di
rectly, sir. Mrs Grantham, poor thing, is go•
ing to morrow morning, nt bine o'clock, to
place a stone at the grave of Mr Jordan, and
I intend to be th( re nod give her bee ring.'
'Oh, very well. Bother the ring—l don
want it. It ain't worth half the money I gave
for it. There it is; don't bother me.'
I took up the ring, and then put down two
sovereigns, and casting upon him a withering
look, which to tell the ft•oth be did not seem
much to care about, I,left the chambers.
'this
A' soft, damp, white mist covered up all ob
jects, and made the air uncommonly raw and
chilly, as on the following morning, just as the
clock of the church at Barnes Chimed the three
quarters past eight, I entered Om churchynri,
The first thing I then did was to fall over
somebody's grave, for I was looking for Mrs.
Grantham instead of minding where I was
walking ; awl then a vice ss.id— •
'There you go again, as violent as usual,
doctor,' and in the dim'Amist I saw Mr. Shaw,
the solicitor, to my .greta surprise.
. I wzs going to say something, but at that
moment i was nearly knocked down again by
somebody brushing past me. A gleam of sun
shine came out, and the mist began to clear
away, when a most singular scene presented
itself. A few yards off was the grave of Mr.
Jordan, and kneeling by it was Mary. his first
love, with her child be her side. Mr. Shaw
stood to my left, and at his feet there knelt a
respectable looking young man I recollected as
Mr. Shaw's clerk.
'Good God! Richards,' said .31r. Shaw, 'is
that you? What is the matter?'
'Oh, sir.' said Richards, have come to ask
your forgiveness. The spirit of my poor old
father stood• at the bedside all night. Oh,
God 1 Oh, God l it was • dreadful ; and I knew
what it was for. Oh, sir, forgive me.
,I peep
ed into the will while you went out to dinner
-:-.lllr. Jordan's will—and—and I went round
to all the relations, and sold the sooret for two
pounds apiece, and—and—'
Mr.ilitew gave a jump that astonished me.
'Doctor, doctor ' he shouted, 'for God's sake
run down the London road and bring the man
with the 'gravestone. (RI, good gracious! Oh,
curse you! Richards! Ha, ha, ha! Oh I bless
you fore prudent stone Mason ; you shall go
well paid for this job ! Hip, hip,—hurrah
thought to be sure that Mr.
,Bhaw must
have gone mad. There was a man looking o
ver the railing of the churchyard with •a spade
on his shoulder, and to him . Mr. Shaw said :
Viveesineas for that spade.'
The inku thought he watilumd, pnd tried to
run awe, but ho dropped the epode, and in
another moment Mr. Shaw's coat was off end
ho was digging away like fury.
•Where's the .stono ?' he cried; bring the
stone. Thet's right 1 Poke it in—prop it up!
That'- the thing—all's right'
, Lor I' sold the stone mason, ns he li(tcd up
his hands, 'look there!'
(Concluded on 2d column of 8d Tinge.)