The globe. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1856-1877, November 05, 1856, Image 1

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- From the New York Churchman
Darkly the winter day
Dawns on the moor:
How can the heart be gay;
Who can endure ;
Ste the sad, weary wight,
Wanders from noon to night,
Shelterless, homeless quite"!
God help the Poor!
Now tlig red robin here,
Sits on the sill;
Not e'n a grain of bore
Touches its bill ;
So with the houseless poor,
AVand'ring from door to door,
Seeking a morsel more!
Lord, 'tis thy will!
White is the virgin snow,
Bitter the more;
See those starved children go,
Wretched, forlorn !
Feet without shoes or hose,
Backs without warm elothe3,
Strangers to calm repose—
Why were they born ?
See thationc, aged man,
Snow white his hair;
Mark his sail visage wan,
Deep his despair,
Craving the rich man's food,
Owner of many a rood.
Lord, thou art always gond,
Hear his heart prayer:
Yonder a woman goes, .
Ragged and old,
Barefooted o'er the snow,
Famished and cold;
'Tow her poor children cling
To her side, shivering,
Chickens beneath her wing
Both she enfold!
Fast falls the t•leet and rain,
' 'Slowly they go,
By forest side.. sheltered
Wailing their woe;
City street now they
here "they roam will and free,
Canat thou say "no?'
Night spreads licr Fable wing,
Where can they lie?
fs . nrrivws" like theirs intt-t brhig
Tears to the eye;
Full the cloud torrent fall,,
Down they must lie in hall 4, I
x:adi to his maker calk,
"Lord! let me die!"
Ye wl oily tar heavens
Givedrem yOur store;
"rwil,l neer make your tr,' , .tiures less,
Atm,t,' make them more:
ror he that gives cheerfully,
;01.1 loves so tenderly,
(live to them—pray with me,
Clod help the poor.
Frein the Lancaster Intelligencer.
is It Zv fill'all be Right iiii the 21..lor.ning:,
When the of thfi-hoo-rt of
And the springing step grow slow: "
When the form of a cloud in the, blue al»ve, . ,
Lies dark on the path below ;
The song that he sings is lost in a sigh,
And ho turns where a star is dawning,
And lie thinks, as it gladdens biA heart and his eye,
"It will all be right in the morning:'
When "the strong man armed," in the middle watch,
From life's dim deck is gazing,
And strives, through the wreck of the tempest, to catch
A gleam of the day-beam's blazing t
Amid the wild storm, there hard by the helm,
lie heeds not the dark oceawyawning,
For this song in his soul not a sorrow can 'whelm:
"It will all be right in the morning!"
When the battle is done, the harp unstrung,
Its music trembling—dying
'When his woe., ;ire unwept, and his deeds unsung,
And lie longs in the grave to be lying, •
Then.a voice shall charim•as it chatmed before, .
Iletad V:ept or waited the dawning;
They do love therefor ayc—l'll be thine'mt tif yore wilt all be right in the me aint
tied 5.4)f0ji1.
" Wait a MOM eat, grandma, ljustwant to
run out, and say good-bye to Daisy;", and the
sweet face,-set in a frame work of bridal-hat
flowers, looked a moment through the open
door, 'and then vanished, .before the lady, in
her Quaker 'satin and White muslin cap, could
reply. '
Vitat, isn't Elsie here !" The question
er was a young, fine looking man, and there
was something peculiarly attractive
,in the
smiling -of his dark expressive eyes, as they
swept / the room with a single glance, and
then lighted-on the old lady.
" She's just run. ,out, Alden, to bid Daisy
good-hye., You know .it wouldn't do to go off
without seeing her, old nurse,, any, how. Ev
eryithing'spacked, istet'it?"
'" Yes, tual the carriage is 'waiting ;" and,
as the young man. spoke, a tide of, gleeful
laughter rolled up to their cars froM the com
pany below stairs. The old lady, did not,.
mind it. She'etime close to the newly-made
husband, and laid her hand on his:Shealder.
"Alden,",she said, very ,earnestly,„"now the
honrhas wine for our parting, 1, can think
of many things 1 want to say to you, and"
ought to have done this before. - But it's too
late. -- noN‘v; Oh, Alden, you will he very ten
de of my darling, won't you ? You. will
never forget hoW she has been watched .and
cared for, (Vniay be too much,) and how she
has never' khewn a .harsh word in the home
whence' yon are taking her
The oldlady's Veice . Was pleading, almost
to sadness, and her , eyes were full of tears ;
but dimmed as they were, she saw the look
of beautiful tenderness that flashed into the
young Man's expressive features. •
" Do not fear to trust me, Mrs. 'Williams,"
he said, solemnly taking both her hands in
his. "fier happiness shall be the one great
aim of my life. The love, that has watched
over, the tenderness that has guarded her
girlhood from the very shadow of .evil,.shall
be-increased a hundred lbld in the home,to
which I:,take her ;" and had you heard. those
eloquent tones, and seen the look,which ac
companied them, you would have predicted
a joyous wedded life for ,Elsie, :Raymond.
"I do believe
,you, Alden, my boy," an
swered the old lad-;, fervently. . "But some
times yoTa may find Elsie a little impatient,
or selPwilled... I don't like to say it, for her
heart'S always in the right place,; only you
know how quick and impulsive. -she is, and
. don't bear contradiction, for I s'pose she's
a spoiled child."
Who's a spoiled child ?"•asked a - voice so
sweet it would-liars thrilled your heart like
$1 GO
1 iiviertior.' 2, do,
•: do.
a sudden out-break of harp-music, and the
graceful figure of the girl-bride sprang into
ihe room.
Rubens ought to have seen her at that-mo.
ment. With her blue, sparkling eyes, the,
half blush gathering into her soft cheeks,
and the arch smile breaking over her lips, as
morning sunshine breaks into the. heart of
mountain roses, she was just the vision of
outward, joyous earth-loveliness that his soul
would have delighted in. Her white hat
with its loopings of lace and ribbon, and her
rich traveling dress, harmonised with the
rare, English creaminess of her complexion,
and altogether she looked to the loving. eyes
that now rested on her, so bright, and spark
ling and happy, that they forgot everything
but her beauty.
" Grandma's been saying bad things about
me," said the bride, with a pretty pout, that
any young husband would have thought worth
a dozen kisses. "Now, Alden, don't you let
her frighten you one bit, for I'm going to be,
just the most loving, obedient little wife in
the world, and never do a thing you say I
musn't, as long as I live."
" I shan't say 'musn't'.very often, darling,"
answered the young husband, stroking te
curls that fell out of the little hat. " But
come, Elsie, we shan't be in time for the cars.
Say good-bye to your grandmother, quick."
"I'll be a good girl, indeed I will," whis
pered the trembling lips, as they' drew up to
the grandmother's ; and the smiling face was
dim with tears.
" God bless you, Elsie, my child !"
And. her husband hurried her away.
Elsie Raymond's future must tell the story
of her past. Both her parents lay under the
spring grass before she had learned to know
them, and so she went to her - grandmother's
heart and home. There, only sunshine lay-,
over her life. The tender, indulgent grand
mother forgot there must come an hour when
the clouds would rise, and the great life Storms
descend upon the flower that grew- up in such
beauty at her hearthstone.
Elsie had one of those fine, rich, impulsiVe
natures, that especially require judicious
training. This she had never received from
her grandmother, and the under-current of
self-will and pride in, her nature had gained
depth and, force, which, in her early girlhood,
only revealed themselves in her impatience
of mild reproof, or contradiction.
But usually she was so laving, so gentle,
so transparent—and, as I said ; her fatura
must tell her past.
Two 3.-ears had gone swiftly, happily by.,
Mr. and Mrs. Raymond sat at their breakfhSt.
mine-that morning.- -
plia,fiees, of taste and luxury, was one of those.
rare home-genis, that , only an artist can ap-.
But the little wife, behind the silver coffee
urn, in her fawn colored morning gown, with*
its tassels of blue silk, was, after r,all, the
crowning beauty of the sweet home-scene.
" Alden," said. Mrs. Raymond, as shepass
ed his second cup of coffee, "wthf.t you just
put down that paper, and listen to me a mo
ment. Yon know that party you promised
me, almost a year ago. Well, I've decided
to have it next week. It's just the season for
it now, and we'll make it grand effort to have
it pass off well."
If Mrs. Raymond had. at that momenflook - -
ed narrowly. at her husband's.face, showould
have seen it grow pale at the mention. of the
" I , in sorry, Elsie," he commenced, moving
restlesSly'on his chair.
" Noiv don't," interrupted. the - little, wife.
quickly, "don't, Alden, say one word against
the party, - fox I've quite set may heart onzhax- 7 ,
ing it. , 1. told the Campbells, and the' Wild
mans about' it, more than two,weekS 'ago, s 9
I should.'die o with shanie to postpone it."
" You Shouldn't have mentioned it to them,
without consulting meifirst." " Mr. Raymond's.
tones were cold' and severe for the first time,
but his wife would have. forgiven them, had,
she guessed. the anguish thatlay, at his heart. was her face flashed with anger.,
"Really," she answered, "I was not, until
this morning, aware I was you,
Mr. Raymond; for the subjects I might choose .
to select for conversation , acqimin-.
tances. Once, for all, what is thereason, you
refuse me this party ?"
"I, do hot, refuse it, Elsie, I only.ask you
to delay it."
" And, 1 viitht and, gqii/ have_ it, next week,
or. never. I cannot see why you wish me to
postpone it, unless. it be because you know
the delay will greatly annoy ,me."
The young man's pale. face flushed with the
paiii her words, had occasioned him„ "Elsie,"
and his voice Was , quieter,. and sterner than
before, "you cannot move me by these.accu
sations because you know as well as do" I,
there is no truth in them. I have some heavy,
payments to meet this week, and. that alone
was the reason. of my requestingyou.te defer
this matter. All I have to' say is, you will,
he quite as likely to accomplish your wishes
by presenting them in a less dictatorial man
It was very unfortunate for Mr. Raymond
that he added to his explanation that last re
mark • for now that he assigned a motive for -
the delay, his wife's heart had begun to sof
ten toward him, but that last speech harden
ed it again.
" I don't believe a word of what you're
saying, Alden aymond," she answered, push
ing back her chair, and bursting into a flood
of passionate 'tears. "If' the money had
made any difference, you'd have told me be
fore this late day ; and it's only because you
want to mortify me now' before the world,
that you're so stingy this morning. I wish.
I was back again in my old home, with grand
ma, and dear old Daisy, who :wMild never
have spoken to me the harsh,. cruel words
that you have just done. I wish IWas Nck.
there again, and that' I had never kfi it for,
and that I had never seen you, Alden, Ray
And springing from her seat, the lady 'burst
out of the room, and her husband made no
effort to detain her. Ile only leaned his
head on his hand, and groaned. deeply. It
was the last drop in his, cup of bitterness.
1: ,- ; 4 .
,ti \. . •,.. 6 . i ts- , , , ,,..
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~' '.:..:`,.,... • . ii,i ,
,75.' •
An hour later the' young merchant was
walking up and down his counting-room,
with. restless step, and haggard face..
There had come a sudden revolution in the
mercantile world, and his house was one of
the first to feel it. "There is no chance to
sail clear of this, that Lsee," murmured the
young man, as he struck his forehead. "A
few weeks, and we must all sink. - I shall be
a ruined man, and Elsie--" his face worked
fearfully a moment, and then he resumed,
"There is no way to raise the - Money,- unless
stared anxiously all about him, as
though he feared the terrible secret which lay
behind that "unleSs" might have revealed it
self, though it had never crossed his lips ;
and for the first time in his life, his face wore
a look of cowardice and guilt.
" Yes ; I could get it so," he said, leaning
his head on his hands ; "and if. our aflairs
should happen to take a favorable turn, - I
could repay the note before anybody was the
wiser ; if .not," and his voice grew hoarse,
"the river or a pistol shot could: settle it all."
" Elsie's little property's all swallowed up,
too. God knows .1 meant to secure it to her,
but there was no help for it, and were she to
know this she'd hate me worse than ever, and
maybe I can win back one of the old ove
smiles to her sweet lips if—" he did not fin
ish-the sentence.
"Elsie, you can give out the invitations for
your party next week. There is the money
which will defray expenses," and Mr. Ray
mond placed a; note for a thousand dollars in
the lap of his wife. -
It was dinner time, and Elsie had had all
the morning to reflect on her conduct at
breakfast, and bitterly had the young wife
reproached herself for the niikind words she
had., spoken. But her will was unsubdued
still, and when the footsteps of her husband
rang through the hall, the old pride mine
back to her heart, the morning curl to her
rosy lip, and she thought to herself, "Alden
shall speak first."
And he did; and that generous deed of his
overcame - at 'once, all the pride 'and self-will
ofthe ( really loving wife.
She Sprang up quickly, and wound her
white arms around her husband's neck, while
tears of remorse and tenderness swept ,doWn
her face. "Oh', Alden,"'she said, "forgive
me, forgive me for the cruel words I said this
morning. I have been so sorry for them. I
do you better than - all the world beside,
and I would not leave you - for a - thousand
orandniethers. - Say just once' to me ,`Elsie,
1 forgive you,' and I - shall be so happy."
Ile drew her bright head" to 'his • bosom,,
and: he - rained clown kisses on her sweet brawl,
2s - 1 - 1675117, -- MST - C — ,ol.lce and forover - f fargtve
you, but I hate beeiryory weak, and I have
,much, this - morning. Let me lay
my head "in your lip; and see if I shall nut
feel better, while you talk to me."
. ,
And Elsie sat• there
,a long time, running
her little dimpled' fingers through the thick
brown eurlS'of - her 'husband, and laying her
cool lips 'every few moments to his fevered
ferchead, Chatting to him in. her sweet hum
ming-bird style, ~of • her party, • and what a
delightful,would . he ; dreaming little
of the darkness, and. sin, and shame,
teas drawing cloSer' and closer to their thresh
hold I
it was late morning after the party.„ It
had been as the young wife had predicted,
"a brilliant affair. "
And now she•Waiked through the elegant'
confluiton of Tier parlors, and. thought what
glances of admiration had followed her, during
the evening, and how proud. Alden'would be
when she recounted to him the compliments
which the guests had bestowed upon their
"beautiful lleStess ;" and how she had inad
vertently heard. Mayor Hamlin, who was
pronounced the mAt• artistic judge in the
'city, ca. 11 he - "the rare blossom of the'feSti
val." But these pl6asant dreamings experi
enced a rude interruption. • „
Two rough-looking men entered the'parlor,
and inquired`if - liir:•Raymond was in.
"No, ' answered his wife; surprised - and
startled.' "lle went to the store this morn-.
One of them replied, with a. significant
look around the rooms, that he was not there,
they had just come from his store.
"I have not seen him since," Nvas Mrs.
Raymond's laconic rejoinder; and after Con
ferring together a moment, the two men left
the room.
The lady sank down. upon a sofa, and
covefed her face with.her hands., They were
policemen; she could not disguise from her
self this fact, - and a vague, terrible fear took
possesSion of her soul.
A few moments later, and her husband
stood before her, wild, pale, haggard.
"Elsie," he asked hurriedly, "has there
been two policemen here after me ?"
"Yes, and I told them you were at the
store. "Oh,. Alden"—she could not finish
the sentence, for he 'rushed from her, out in
to the hall, and up the stairs like a mad
man. -
Elsie's heart died within her, and it was
only by grasping the cushions of the sofa,
she prevented. herself from. sinking to the
floor. She feared—she knew not what, but
the next moment the woman's heart of Elsie
liuymond awoke within her... Alden; her
husband, was suffering, it might• be he was
in disgrace and shame, and who should stand
by him, and where should he find comfort
and strength, but in her?
She sprang up, and though her limbs
shook like a reed beneath her, and . her face
would not be whiter when it lay under the
coffin plaits, she went straight' .out into the
hall, and up the long stairs to his room.
The door was not locked, and she•opened
it without knocking. • What a scene for the
bliio eyes of Elsie Raymond l Her husband.
stood in the 'centre of the room, with a pistol
pointed at his heart. ; Ono minute more, and
she had been too. late. •
With one loud. shriek. she rushed to his
side:, with one blow of her-small, white hand,
she struck the heavy pistol. to the floor, and
with a wild, sad_cry springing.from her pale
lips, "Saved, saved, Aldeu;'. she• wOund.• her
arms about.him.•••
The desperate• man put- her ,away.
"Saycd," he cried, hoarsely, •"saved to ruin,
degradation, to worse than death. Leave me,
Elsie, and let me do the deed now."
But she came back to~him, for she would
not be put away. "No, no," she answered,
and her pale face shone almost like an angel's,
with its beautiful wife-tenderness, "did you
think, Alden, your Elsie would leave you
now, when your arms have sheltered her so
long ? Did you think she would not follow
you through suffering, and shame, true and
loving to the end ?"
"BUt not to prison, Elsie, not to prison?"
HiS head dropped as he said it.
"Yes," she answered, drawing closer, and
the light of her soul was shining in her eyes,
to prison, to the gallows, to death, Alden !"
And then he took her in his arms, and:
while his heart was wrung with deeper agony
for her than for himself, he told her all.
'And Elsie learned, for the first time, of
the threatened collapse in her husband's bu
siness, and of the utter inipossibility of his
meeting the expenses of their late party with
out—he whispered the words—"hc had fora- .
ed- a' note
,for two thousand dollars !" He,
hoped to pay it, and- so elude discovery, but
matters grew worse, and lie could not raise,
the money.
" And it was for me you did it, Alden; be
cause I spoke those cruel words ! Oh, God
help me ! lam to blame, not you 1" cried
the heart-broken wife.
But before her husband could answer her,
she had sprung from her -seat, and a great
hope had dawned into her face.—" Alden,"
she cried, "it was I that ruined, it is I that
will save you. I am-going. to that man whose,
name you forged, and I will beg, pray, any
thing, till he promises to spare you."
" Elsie," and her husband shook his head
mournfully ; "his heart is a hard one."
"No matter, I will find my way to -it. I
will not let_him go till he has promised to
save you. ray'Gd, Alden, while lam gone,
pray Him without ceasing, to be with me !""
She pressed one long, loving kiss upon his
bowed forehead, and left him.
Mr. Ilolburn, the millionaire, was slowly
pacing up and down his long, narrow office,
with his hands behind him, as was his' cus
Ire was a dark, stern-looking man, with
deep wrinkles set in his forehead and thin
fate,• and altogether, it ' was not one that a
little child; or a heart yearning for comfort
and sympathy would have been drawn to
ward. _
" Strange, strange," muttered the million
aire to himself,- "that a young man of such
family, ct - ccupying such ti,position on 'change,
,A - iad_ , slipuhibnyo_
(lone - trirs - Thing. W-hat-a sensation 'twill
create ! Gave that - splendid party last night,
Mr. nolburn's monologue was suddenly
interrupted by the entrance of a lady. She
made her ingress unannounced, and putting
her long veil aside, revealed a face hardly
yet ripened into full womanhood, yet very
touching in its pale, mournful loveliness.
"I am Mrs. Raymond," she said eagerly,
"and you now know for what I have come.
Oh, sir ! will you not spare my husband?"
" Madame," said Mr. llolburn, partially
recovering himself, "it is a very painful duty
to refuse you, but Justice must have her
course. The offence is so palpable—."
But Elsie had sunk down at the man's
feet, unable to stand. "0, sir," she cried,
clasping her hands, while the tears rolled
down her sweet face, "do not say that If
you ever had a mother who sang you to slum
ber in her arms, or a sister by whose side
you knelt in prayer, or a wife whose head
slumbered on your heart, by all that you
have ever loved and cherished, have pity up
on me, I pray you—have pity upon my hus
band, and spare us both from a life that will
be worse than death !
" There will come a day and an hour when'
you will be glad that you listened to my prayer,
and oh, as you hope for mercy at the ' judg
ment, show it to me now !"
And the man looked at her, as she knelt
there in her mournful beauty at his feet, with
her shining curls lying about her tearful
face, and his heart was touched.
" I am sorry for you," he said, " but • Ma
dame, your husband has been greatly to
"It was L It was my fault," eagerly in
terrupted Elsie. " I instigated him to the
act by my folly and extravaganCe. Do not
accuse him, let the shame, as was the sin, be
mine, but oh I you will not kill us, will you?"
The stern heart melted. Mr. liolburn
raised the young wife gently, and whispered:
" Mrs. Raymond, I will prosecute the thing
no farther. - Your husband is safe."
A half hour later, Elsie burst into the room_
where sat her husband. " Look up, Alden,"
she cried, exultingly; "I have saved yciu!—
I have saved you 1"
But this sudden joy, after those hour's Of
exquisite suffering, was too much even for
the man's strong physical endurance, and as
the glad words died on Elsie's lips, her hus
band dropped senseless to the floor.
A week had passed. It was 'a soft star
bright April evening, the closing of 'one of
those days that conic 'up, golden wanderers
from the Tropic, and shake hands with 'the
mouth's gloom, and chill and mist.
Alden Raymond sat in his large easy chair;
in the pleasant room where we met him at
breakfast, and Elsie sat on the chair ariia—
She looked. very charming and very happy
too, albeit there was a deeper, more' subdued
beauty in her whole face, but you would have
loved it.better than itll the sparkle of the old
"And so, Alden," said the little wife, run
ning her fingers thrthigli her husband's hair,
" oyandm.a, writes she will be with us next
month, as soon as May brings the clover wind
to her bed-room Window. I aiii - so glad, and
now your business has turned out so favora
bly, we .shall be very happy. I Cannot thank
God enough when I think of it!"
_Alden drew his arms round the slender
waist. . • *.
"Nes • darling, the worst is over now," he
answered.• 01 business is on a properous
footing again ; thank God, as you say ! I
have this afternoon paid Mr. holburn. all
that debt. We should be very happy, if it
ta, ,4
were not for that one terrible memory, Elsie ;"
his head dropped on her shoulder.
The wife put down her rosy lips to his ear,
and whispered softly, "Don't think about it,
dear Alden. It was all my fault, not yours,
you know, and what a lesson has it been to
us both. We will never quarrel again."
And Elsie kept her word, and when her
grandmother returned home from her happy
visit she said to Daisy, with tears in her eyes,
"I have no fears for Elsie now; she is the
best wife in the world, and she has the best
husband, too."
So Elsie Raymond's first quarrel with her
husband was her last one.
A. Princess Selling her Soul
We copy the following story from the Court
Journal:—The utmost interest has been ex
perienced in the fashionable circles all over
the continent by the publication of the bro
chure of the Princess de S., which, printed
at first in small numbers and for private cir
culation only, has • gradually spread itself
throughout the aristocratic and religious co
teries of Europe. It is now exactly a year
since the young Princess Eleanore de S., in
the prime of her youth and beauty, a young
wife, adored by her husband, and much be
loved by her family, died suddenly at the Ho
tel de S., in Paris, and was buried in great
pomp at Pere La Chaise, where a splendid
monument, by Lechene, recording her age, .
her lineage and virtues, has just been put up
by her disconsolate husband. In spite of the
high position held by the Princess, and from I
her great wealth and beauty having become
the observed of all observers, there has al
ways existed an extraordinary feeling of
mystery in the publio mind with regard to
the circumstances of her death. The sudden
determination, taken immediately after the
event by her mother-in-law, of retiring to a
convent, greatly increased the doubt and won
der spread around the whole affair, and now
this pamphlet comes to fill us with a deeper
amazement than we can well bear. The
pamphlet is printed in German, .and in it the
whole life of the :.princess is set forth. A
child of immense imagination and power,
left at an early age an orphan with the con
sciousness of beauty and the command of
boundless wealth, finding herself suddenly
transported to her guardian's old castle in the
Hartz, was not likely to enjoy either content
or happiness ; and here her temper grew so
wild and. untraceable, that after repeated • ef
. fr, t v4-p, c ! ..7
sable to send her to he trained into rule and
discipline by seclusion in a convent. The
child was placed beneath the surveillance of
the superior of the Sacre Occur '
in the Rue
de Varennes, where she could be better
trained to habits of obedience than elsewhere.
But, alas ! this first experiment proved total
ly abortive. Three unsuccessful efforts at
escape were folkwed by a decided attempt to
set . fire to the furniture of her room where
she was confined ; and the governess, fearful
of the effect of such example on other pupils,
and weary Of the task of taming this wild,
vehement spirit, reluctantly restored. the
young lady . to the care of her guardian. A
conseil de janzille was held, and it was resolv
ed to send the culprit, now no longer a mere
child, but a fine, high spirited girl of fifteen,
to England, to complete her education, with
the hope that the conviction of being thus
alone in a foreign country, dependent upon
her good behaviour to ensure the kindness
of those about her, might have the desired
effect. The young lady was accordingly
placed at —,at Hammersmith, and for a
time the hoped for change seemed to have ta
ken place iu her temper. But, after a while,
it appears that the bursts of violence to which
she gave way, and the fits of depression
which succeeded, became so alarmin g c , as to
cause serious fears for her health. Letter
after letter was despatched to her guardian
from the young lady herself, begging to be
taken into favor, declaring that the climate of
England was weighing her to the earth, and
the discipline of Hammersmith breaking her
heart. For some time the guardian, acting
with the prudence' he thought necessary,
suffered these complaints and supplications
to go on ; but at length, moved by one of the
letters more heart-rendino; than the others,
he allowed his anger be . 'melted, and de
termined on fetching his ward from the place,
where she declared, in the strong language
she was wont to use, she was damaging both
soul and body and hurrying both to everlast
ing perdition. The Prince de S. arrived at
Hammersmith one Sunday morning. The
lady commissioned to be bearer of the news
reported to have seen her on her kness alone
in her room praying, with a most fearful ex
pression of countenance, and, on being in
formed of her ' guardian's arrival, she had
uttered a most unearthly shriek and rushed
down the stairs like one possessed. The
guardian was much pleased with her prog
ress and improvement, and brought her back
to Paris triumphantly, as a specimen of the
good training of the ladies of Hammersmith.
There was, indeed, no token of the old in
domitable spirit left within her. She was
silent and subdued, submissive to all, and
only urgent in her supplications never to be
left alone or in the dark. She to whom re
ligion had hitherto been a subject of derision,
changed suddenly to practices of the most ex
aggerated piety, but always persisted in
maintaining that it was useless to lay any
plans for her welfare, for that she should die
before she was 21 !
The Princess, in the brnchtire, says :--` Even
when she became the bride of my son Leon,
she would insist upon every arrangement be
ing made with a view to this early death,
which seemed to prey on her mind for ever.
It was not till the young couple had been
married for some time that, by dint of mater
nal care and solicitude, I managed to wring
from her the confidence of her direful antici
pations ; and judge of my dismay witcn she
coolly told me she had sold herself to the
Evil One, and she would be claimed before
she had reached the age of 21 ! She confess
ed that her despair had been so great at be
ing exiled, that, wearied with incessant pray
Editor and Proprietor.
. _ .
ers to Heaven and the saints for deliveraned
without effect, she had at length addressed
her vows to the' powers of darkness on the
very Sunday morning when her guardian
had arrived,. and the annfouncement of his
preseneas evidently the token of the ac
'c'eptance of that fearful vow.' It seems that;
'in spite of - every efre and counsel, despite of
the : constant watching and wise teaching of
the Abbe Dupauloux; nothing. could turn
aside the- ?ke fixe froth the."mind;of ‘flo
Princess Eleanore ; and, although every ex
treme of dissipatioh . ,and excitement were
tried to divert her thoughts .she gave way to
a settled melancholy, and died. j„Ast=two dayi
before the completion of her 21st year, sud
denly, and in her chair; full dressed for a
ball at the Ministre d'Etat. The pamphlet
has caused the deepest impression on the
minds of all who have perused it, and the re:
tirement from the world of the Dowager
Princess de S., for the avowed purpose of
praying for the soul of the Princess Eleanore,
has added to the terrible effect of the tale,
which FOCITIS more like a dark legend of the
middle ages than an incident of yesterday ;
but is, nevertheless, perfectly true for all
NO. 20.
Every man should do his best to own a
home. The first money he can spare ought
to be invested in a dwelling, where his fam
ily can live permanently. Viewed as a mat
ter ofeconomy, this is important,- not only
because he can ordinarily build more cheap
ly than he can rent, but because of the ex- ,
pease caused by frequent change of residence.
A man who in early life builds a house for a
home for himself and family, will save some
thousands of dollars in the course of twenty
years, besides avoiding the inconvenience
and trouble of removals. Apart from this;
there is something agreeable to our better'
nature in having a home that we can call
our own. It is a form of property that is
more than property. It speaks to the heart,
enlists the sentiments, and ennobles the pos-'
sessor. The associations that spring up
around it, and the birthplace of children—
as the scene of life's holiest emotions—as the
sanctuary where the spirit cherishes its purest
thoughts, are such as all value; and when
ever their influence is exerted, the moral
sensibilities are improved and exalted. The
greater part of our happiness in this world is
found at home; but how few recollect that
the happiness of to-day is increased by the
place where we were happy on yesterday.
and that insensibly scenes and circumstances
gather up a store of blessedness for the weary
hours of the future ! On this account we
do all in our power to make home
attractive.—Not only should we cultivate
such tempers as serve to render its inter
course amiable and affectionate, but we
should strive to adorn it with those charms
which good sense and refinement so easily
impart to it. We say easily, for there arc
persons who think that a home cannot be
benefitted without a considerable outlay of
money. Such people are in error. It costs
little to have a neat flower garden, and to
surround your dwelling with those simple'
beauties which delight the eye far more than.
expensive objects. If you will let the sun
shine and the dew adorn your yard, they
will do more for you than any artist. Nature
delights in beauty. She loves to brighten
the landscape and make it agreeable to the
eye. She hangs ivy around the ruin, and
over the stump of a withered tree twines the'
4raceful vine. A thousand arts she praeti,s,.
.4,,urruritt,' trio , n•sm ann plea - settle mina.-
Follow her example, and do for your Self what
she is always laboring to do for you. Beau
ty is one of God's chosen forms of power.--
We never see creative energy without,some-.
thing beyond mere existence, and hence the
whole universe is a teacher and inspirer of
beauty. Every man was born to be an ar
tist; so far as the appreciation of beauty is
r:-Little said is soon amended.
-cr,a,f'Keep your shop, and your shop will
keep you.
te—Liberality and thankfulness arc the
bonds of concord.
Liberality is not giving largely, but
giving wisely.
V2F-It were no - virtue to bear calamities if
we did not feel them.
Just praise is only a debt, hut flattery
is a present.
ngl..Let reason go before every enterprie i
and counsel before every action.
ma,z.Every bushel of wood ashes, applies
to the corn crop, is worth one dollar.
,EGY"Why is a cowardly soldier like butter ?
Because he is sure to run when exposed to
DS-Among the advertisements in a late
London paper, we read that "Two sisters
want washing."
Ite-The onion, it is said, destroys the at=
tractive power of the magnet. It has tho
same effect with young ladies.
ner."Miss Brown, I have been to learn
how to tell fortunes," said a young fellow to
a brisk brunett. "Just give me your hand
if you please." "La I Mr. White, hoW slide
den you are Well, go ask pa."
TUE WISE( OF A VETERAN.—"Dash it, Sir!"
said a poor old Major, on hearing the amount
of the retiring allowances of the Bishops of
London and Dublin, "I wish I were an officer
on half pay in the Church. Militant."
se - A young man in one of our western
towns, has patronized the fine arts so far as
to buy a picture of the Temptation of Adam
and Eve. So one asked him if it was a chaste
picture ? " Why, yes," he said, " chased by
a snake."
e.." Thanks!" muttered our bachelor
friend, "no more women in heaven—they
can't get in. Their hoops are so broad they
will have to go the broad road! None of
these fashionables can ever crowd through
the narrow gate.
ltla” A "stuck up" sort of genius entered
a shop in Philadelphia, and turnin g up his
nose at seine apples in the window, exclaiixt- -
ed :
" Are those apples fit for a hog to eat 2"
‘ , l don't know, try them and see," was the
reply of the shopkeeper.
Ur on. Dowx ?—ln going on hoard a Misr
sissippi steamboat the other day, Mr. Jones.
met Mr. Smith—" Which way are you going
Smith—up or down ?"
" That depends on circumstances. If I
sleep over the boiler, up—if in the cabin,
Beautify your Homes
Bonnet on the shoulders
Nose up to the sky ;
Both hands full of flounces;
Raised a la Shang high;
Under skirts bespattered,
Look amazing-neat :
All your silks get "watered,"
Sweeping down the street !