Song of the Silent Land, Into the Silent Land ! Ah 1 who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand, | Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, Oh, thither, Into the Silent Land ? Into the Silent Land ! To yon, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beanteous souls | The Fature’s pledge and band ! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand Bhall bear Hope's tender blosssms Into the Silent Land ! ~Longfellow, AOA. rie Jos | VOLUME XV. She was so fair, with her golden hair And her beautiful eves of blue, Hditor and Proorietor. CENTRE HALL, CENTRE ‘ ’ CO., PA., THURSDAY, APRIL 1 8.00 PRISE SES in Advance. Sr s———— RRS FATTO. NUMBER 15. i What wonder that 1, in passing by, ! Tarried a while to woo ! Oh, bright the day of that spring-time gay, And merry and young wore we, | many times before he had grown old i enough and wise enough to ask it, { The reader will remember that the i condition of life in which one is brought up will, unless life be made positively unhappy, be natural to him. He will { remember that Robert had had the i chance to learn little of any other life than the one he led. He wns thrown with travelers; to journey long and | widely was natural to him, We must not think that Robert was loss aoute than other young men, al. { though he had never put his slowly. formed conclusion into words until that | night. * She makes a business of traveling. { Why # And behind the fair face that looked {up at him in the gathering twilight, | | with its wealth of love and tenderness { that had always been there for him, was the secret; for he began to feel—to know-—that there was a secret which he | i could not fathom. i “Robert!” DP Brine. | " Yes, mother." i “Do vou know what day to-morrow TTT | will be " ** The twelfth of Qotober.™ Shadowing a Shadow. «How old sre you “Twenty-one to-morrow, mother." Yobert Gaines had traveled with his! She made room by her side for her mother ever since he could remember, | son, and asked with the air of one who | His first childish memory was of the | has something to tell which she shrinks | stormy Channel passage from England | from telling: to France. { “Did you never wonder why we| He remembered putting his little soft | travel about constantly? Why we white hands together to say his evening | bave always journeyed prayers) he remembered his kindnurse, | «I have wondered, mother; I was i his lovely bat sad-looking mother | thinking of it not a minute since. standing a little apart from them and | Why?’ gazing down upon him with a wealth of | «Jt is time vou ‘should know. It is | love shining in her eyes and lingering | time you should begin to help me. We around her lips. | may succeed better when we can work | As he remembered that he was fright- | together.” i ened at the noise of the wind and “1 shall always help you, waters outside, and thought how differ- | mother” . : ent it was from home, he must have had “I know it, Robert, bat vou must then a memory of home. But later | know all of my life. I was born in | that mem ry had faded away into the London, as was your father. He was anknown aud forgotten blank of in- | wealthy, and so was I. He was engaged fancy. His earliest memory, as a boy | iy a business which continues under his aud as a man, was of the stormy Chan- | name to the present day; a business | vel passage from Eagland to France. | which earns a sum of money each year There was a break in his memory after | which is larger than I dare mention to that. you. You would be more than amazed Probabiy only the markedly strange | gt the income from your father's wealth events of early life abide with us as | I manage the business, although almost memories. Later he had seen great! entirely by correspondence. mountains, which he knew, years after- “ When we were married, however, ward, must have been the Alps. i the business was of much less import Coming down the years, his memory | ance, Your father had only one clerk | showed him events more snd more | then, a man by the name of James | closely connected. They had spent an Watson—a man I always disliked. He | entire year journeying over England ; | lived with us, and I fancied he would they had seemed to avoid the usual | pe glad to make trouble between my | routes of travel, and to visit the poorest | husband and myself. I was high- and most untidy towns. | spirited; your father was quick-tem- A year of this, and then a long jour- | pered. How it commenced I have never | noy with only the shortest of prepara- | heen able to remember, but one night | tion. He had grown old enough to | gt supper a slight dispute grew into a know that the long voyage bad taken | quarrel, and the quarrel into a fierce | them to Australia. And yet they! tumult of shreats and denunciation. At had remained there only one week, | last your father seized his hat, shouted coming back then to continue their | back the threat that he would never travels in another part of the world. | come back again, and rushed for the Mrs. Gaines’ journeys had always door. Five minutes later James Watson | seemed peculiar to the few friends she | said he must go with his master and made while on her travels. To the boy | glso left the house. who had grown up to manhood by her | «J went to bed that night sorry for side, tha idea of pecnliarity and strange- | what had happened, for I sincerely ness had been of slow growth. He had | loved your father, and I know he sin- never had other instructor than his | cerelv loved me. mother, but his studies had not suffered. |