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Off NEVER. LET AN UNICAND WORD.
,Oh . , never let an unkind .word
Fall from those lips of thine,
Per harshness serves but to divide
Loves golden chain divine;
And as the rose which onco 'tis pluck'd
We never can'restoro;
El° the fond heart thus sadly crushed
'Will cling to us no snore.
Wo often kill earth's fairest flowers
By some unkind neglect;
Then waste our time in useless tears
For what we might expect.
Oh, sweeter far to gaze upon
The faces of the dead,
han upon those dark, sombre' Souls,
From whom all love has fled.
cilaut
THE . UNEXPECTED RACE.
BY SYLYANUS COBB, Jll.
, In one of the larger towns of Worcester
county, Massachusetts, used to live a clergy
man, whom we will call Ridewell. lie was
of the Baptist persuasion, and very rigid in
his ideas of, moral propriety. lie had. in his
employ an old negro,
named. Pompey, and if
this latter individual was not so strict in his
morals as his master, he was at least a very
cunning dog, and passed in the reverend
household for a pattern of propriety. Pom
pey was a useful servant, and the old clergy
man never hesitated to trust him with the
most important business.
Now it so happened that there were, dwel
ling in and about the town, sundry individ
uals who had not the fear of the dreadful
penalties which Mr. Ridewell preached about
before their eyes, for it was the wont of these
people to congregate on Sabbath evenings
upon •a level piece -of land in the outskirts of
the town, and there race horses. This spot
was hidden from view by a dense piece of
woods, and for a long while the Sunday even
ing-races were carried. on - there without de
tection by the officers, or others who might
have stopped them.
It also happened that the good old clergy-
Man' owned ono of the best horses in the coun
try,' This horse was of the old Morgan stock;
with a mixture of the Arabian blood in his
veins; and it was generally known that few
beasts could pass him on the road. Mr. Ride
well, with a dignity becoming his calling,
Stoutly declared that the fleetness of his horse
never afforded him any gratification, and that,
for his own part, he would as leave have any
other. Yet money could not buy his Mor
gan, nor could any amount of argument per
suade hbl., to swap.
• The church was so near the good. clergy
man's dwelling, -that he always walked to
meeting, and his horse was consequently al
lowed to remain in the pasture.
Pompey discovered that these races were
on the tapir, and he resolved to enter his mas
ter's horse on his own account, fey he felt
sure that old Morgan could beat anything in
the:Shape of horseflesh that could be produ
end in that quarter. So, on the very next
Sunday evening, he hid the bridle under his
jacket, went out into the pasture, and caught
the horse; and then rode off towards the spot
where the wicked ones were congregated.—
Here he found some dozen horses assembled
—and the racing was about to begin. Pomp
mounted his-beast, and at the signal he star
ted. Old Morgan entered into the 'Spirit of
the thing, and came out two rods ahead of
everything. So, Pomp won quite a pile, and
before dark he was well initiated in horse-ra
cing.
• Pomp succeeded in getting home without
excitin g any suspicions, and he now longed
for theSab bath afternoon to come, fur he was
determined to try it again. He did go again,
and again he won ; and his . course of wicked
ness he followed up for two months, making
his appearance upon the racing ground every
Sunday afteTMon as soon as' he could, after
"meeting Was out." And during this timt,
Pompey was not the only one who had learn
ed to love the racing. No, for old Morgan
himself had come to love the excitement of
the thing, too, and his every motion when
upon the track, showed how zealously he en
tered into the spirit of the game.
But these things were not always to re
main a secret. One Sunday a pious deacon
beheld this racing from a distance, and
straightway went to theparson with the alarm
ing intelligence. The Rev. Mr. Ridewell was
Utterly. shocked. His moral feelings were
outraged, and he resolved at once to put a
step - to the wickedness. During the week he
made many inquiries, and he learned that
this thing had been practised all summer, on
every Sunday afternoon. He bade his par
ishioners keep quiet, and he told them that
on the next Sunday he would make his ap
pearance on the very. spot, and catch them in
their deeds of iniquity.
On the following Sunday,, after dinner, Mr.
Ridewell ordered Pomp to brine..
up old Mor
gan and put him in the stable. The order
was'obeyed, though not without many mis
givings on the part of the faithful negro.—
As soon as the afternoon services were closed,
the tivo deacons and some others of the mem
bers 'of the church accompanied the minister
borne with their horses.
• "It is the most flagrant piece of abomina
tion that ever came to my knowledge," said
the indignant clergyman, as they rode on.
• "It is, most assuredly," answered one of
the deacons.
"Morse-racing on the Sabbath!" uttered
the minister.
'"Dreadful 1" echoed the second deacon.
,And so the conversation went on until they
reached the top of a gentle eminence which
overlooked the plain where the racing was
carried on, and where some dozen horsemen,
with a score of lookers-on, were assembled.
The sight was ono which chilled the good
parson to his soul. He remained motionless
...V. 60
... 76
... 60
WILLIAN LEWIS;
VOL. XII.
until he had made out the whole alarming
truth, then turning to his companions:
"Now, my brothers," said he, "let us ride
down and confront the wicked wretches, and
if they will down upon their knees and im
plore God's mercy, and . promise to do so no
more, we will not take legal action against
them. 0, that my own land should be dese
crated thus!" for it was indeed a section of
his own farm.
As the good clergyman thus spoke, he star
ted on towards the scene. The horses of the
wicked men were just drawing up for a start,
as the minister approached, and some of the
riders who at once recognized "Old Morgan,"
did not recognize the reverend person who
rode him.
"'Wicked men!" commenced the parson, as
he Caine near enough for his voice to te . heard,
"children of sin and shame--",
"Come on, old hoss," cried one of the jock
ies, turning towards the minister. "If you
are in for the first race, you must stir your
stumps. Now we go."
"Alas! 0, my 'wicked --"
"All ready 1" shouted 'he who led in the
affair, 'cutting the .minister. short. "And off
it is!"
And the word' for starting was given.—
Old Morgan knew that *ord too well, for no
sooner did it fall upon his ears than he stuck
out his nose, and with one wild snort he star
ted, and the rest of the racers, twelve in num
ber, kept him company.
"Who-oa ! who-oa-oa!" cried the parson, at
the top of his voice.
"By the powers, old fellow, you're a keen
one!" shouted one of the wicked men, who
had thus far managed to keep close by the
side of the parson. "You ride well."
"Who-ho-ho-ho-o-o who-a-on I" yelled the
clergyman, tugging at the reins with all his
might.
But it was of no avail. Old Morgan had
now reached ahead of all competitors, and
he came up to the judge's stand three rods
ahead, where the petrified deacons were stand
ing with eyes and mouth wide open.
"Don't stop," cried the judge, who had
now recognized Parson Ridewell, and suspec
ted his business, and who also s'tw at once
into the secret of old Morgan's joining the
race. "Don't stop," he shouted again; "it is
a two-mile heat this time. Keep right on,
parson. You are good for another mile.—
Now you go—and of it is!"
These last words were of course known to
the horse, and no sooner did Morgan hear
them than he stuck his
,nose out again and
again started oft The poor parson did his
utmost to.stop the bewitched animal, but it
could'net he done: The • More be struggled
and yelled, the faster the animal went, and
ere many - moments he Was again at the start
ing point, where'Morgan now stopped of his
own accord. There was a hurried whisper
ing among-the wicked ones, and a succession
of very curious winks and knowing, nods
seemed to indicate that they understood.
"Upon my soul, parson, said the leader
of the abomination, - approaching the 'spot
where the minister still sat in his saddle, he
having not yet sufficiently recovered his pres
ence of mind to dismount, "you ride well.—
We had not looked for this honor."
"Honor, sir!" piped Itidewell, looking up
blandly into the speaker's face.
"Ay—for 'tis au honor. You are the first
clergyman who has ever joined us in our
Sunday evening entertainments."
sir! I joined you?"
"Ila, ha, hal 0,-,ou did it well. Your
good deacons really think you- tried to stop
your horse; but I saw through it LI saw how
slily you put your horse up. But I don't
blame you for feeling proud of Old Morgan,
for I should feel so myself if I owned him.
But you need not fear; I will tell all who may
ask me about it, that you did your best to
stop the beast; for I would rather stretch the
truth a little than have such a good jockey
as you are to suffer."
this had been spoken so loud that the dea
cons had heard every word, and the'poor par
son was bewildered; but he soon came to him
self, and with a flashing eye, he cried:
"Villains! what mean you.? Why do ye
thus --"
"Hold on," interrupted one of the party,
and as he spoke, the rest of the racing men
had all mounted their horses, "hold on a Min
ute, parson. We are willing to allow you to
carry off the-palm, but we don't stand your
abuse. When we heard that you had deter
mined to try if your horse would not beat us
all, we agreed among ourselves that if you
came we would let you in. We have done
so, and you. have won the race in a two-mile
heat. Now let that satisfy you. By.the ho
key, you did. it well. When you want to try
it again just send. us word, and we'll be ready
for you. Good bye 1"
And as the wretch thus spoke, he turned
his horse's head, and before the astonished
preacher could utter a word, the whole party
had ridden out of hearing.
It was some time before one of the church
men could speak. They knew not what to
say. Why should their minister's horse have
joined in the race without some permission
from his master? They knew how much he
set by the animal, and at length they shook
their heads with dcubt. a
•
"It's very strange," said one.
"Very," answered a second.
"Remarkable," suggested the third.
"On my soul, bretlfren," spoke Ridewell,
"I can't make it out."
- The brethren looked at each other, and the
deacons shook their heads in a very solemn
and impressive manner.
So, the party rode back to the clergyman's
house, but none of the brethren would enter,
nor would they stop at all. Before Monday
had drawn to a close, it was generally known
that Parson Ridewell raced his horse on Sun
day, and a meeting ,of the church was ap
pointed for Thursday.
Poor Ridewell was almost crazy with vex
ation; but before Thursday came Pompey
found out how matters stood, and he assured
his master that he would clear the matter up;
and after a day's search ho discovered the
astounding fact that seine of those wicked
men had been in. the habit of stealinr , Old
Morgan from the pasture and racing him on
Sunday, afternoons!. • Pomp found out. this
much, but he could not find out who did it
As soon aS this became known to the church,
the members conferred together,and they
soon . cOncluded that under such circumstan
ces a high mettled horse would be very apt
to run away with his rider when he found
himself directly upon the track.
So, 'Parson" .Ridewell was cleared, bat it
was a long while before he got over the blow,
for many were the wicked wags who delight
ed to pester him by offering to "ride a race."
But Ridewelj grew older; his heart warmer,
awl finally he could laugh with,right good
will when he spoke . of his UNEXPECTED RACE.
THE DISHONORED SISTER.
Chester Read was a young man of violent
and excitable temper ; but, as we often find
in violent and excitable persons, he had a
warm heart. He was generous and whole
souled to a fault, and notwithstanding the
violence of his temper, he had many warm
and sincere friends among whom I was proud
to count myself.
Ilis father was 'a man in humble circum
stances. He had contrived, by denying him
self many of the luxuries of life, to gain his
son a collegiate education, and by his own
exertions the son had completed his course
of study, and chosen the legal profession.—
His talents 'were of the highest order, and
all who knew him pictured for him a brilliant
and useful career. Ile was many years my
junior, and had studied for a year in my office,
which increased the esteeth I had Jong cher
ished for him. Not often did his violent tem
per disturb the harmony of his relations with
his friends, for he was a true man, and when,
in his cooler moments, he saw that he 'had
done wrong, he had the courage to acknowl
edge his fault. lie was always fofiiven; and
perhaps his friends had learned to humor his
failing, for, as he became more intimate with
them, the occasions which gave so much pain
to him and them, grew less frequent.
-lie continued to reside with 'his father at
the South End, more, I think, because he
loved his home, than because his father lived
in a. style suited to the taste of a young man
of intelligence and refinement. ne " was
wholly devoted to his father, of whom he of
ten spoke in the most enthusiastic terms.—
lle was sensible that hiS'father had . made a
great many sacrifices for his advantage, in
which his mother and sister had cheerfully
shared- for• bis sake. ,
Elinor Read, his 'sister, was a sweet girl,
entirely unselfish in hor relations with those
about her. She would have considered no
deprivation too great for her to bear for her
brother's sake ; and Chester was as much de
voted to her as if she had been the maiden of
his choice, instead of a sister. When he had
any money to spend Upon the theatre, or a
ride into the'country, Elinor was his compan
ion, His evenings :were spent at home, for
he preferred the society of father; mother,
and sister, 'to the charms of these' who fre
quent the drawing rooms in which he would
always have been a afelcome guest.
I had often called at the house of Mr. Read
and was always impressed by the p erfect unan
imity of feeling which,pervaded the happy
circle. I was always pleased to go there ;
the atmosphere of the place seemed so pure
and exalted;
In some of my latter visits, I generally
found there a gentleman who was introduced
to me as Captain Presby, of Philadelphia.—
It did not take me long to determine the effect
of his visits. I saw Elinor blush, and I al
ways saw him by her side. It was • under
stood that they were engaged, and I wished
them in my heart a prosperous voyqge over
the often stormy seas, of matrimony.
Captain Presby was a man of wealth, and
boarded at the Exchange Coffee House, then
the first hotel in the city. Fie was wealthy,
and seemed to have no other object in remain
ing in Boston than the prosecution of his
suit with Elinor 'Read. Mr. Read and'Ches
ter seemed pleased with the proposed match,
for certainly no man could have presented a
fairer promise of the future.
For about a year and a half he continued
to wait upon Elinor, and the gossips had ceas
ed to talk about it.
One day Chester Read came into my Office,
as he frequently did—it was the first day of
June, and. I shall never forget it in this world.
A single glance at his expressive face told
me that something unusual had occurred. A
volcano was in eruption tdthin his bosom.—
His eye was more truly the mirror of his soul
than that of any . man I ever saw. It was
bright and flashing now. It seemed to bo
kindled with a preternatural flame. I shall
never forget how he looked as he walked into
my office with a slow and solemn step, and
took a seat near the window. He did not
greet me •with his usual cordial salutation;
neither did he take up the morning paper and
rattle off a volume of smart talk, as he was
wont to do.
A change had come over him. Ile was not
in a passion,
as when in his violence he raved
and stormed like a madman. It was not a
mere ebullition of anger that had conic over
him, to subside like a summei shower, when
the sun comes out to deluge all nature with
light and the sky seems an hundred fold
bluer from the contrast with the black clouds
that have enveloped it. It was nothing of
this kind that stirred the soul of Chester Read
down in its deepest channels. It was not a
fit which would evaporate, leaving him peni
tent and subdued.
I was astonished at the change which had
so.suddenly come over him. I had seen hiui
the day before, rosy and blooming, tho very
picture of health. 'To-day he was wan, pale,
and.baggard, his flashing eye was sunk deep
in his head, and his lips looked more like
death than life.
I felt sad and anxious as he sat there in
terrible silence. He said nothing; he did
not even glance at me. Had I wouned him?
No, an insult would have produced on him a
battle of rage, and then blown over.
Busying myself about my papers, I did
not von tura to disturb that tremendous silence
—it was a silouoe botlx tetrible and tremou-
HUNTINGDON, PA., FEBRUARY 4, 1857.
By A RETIRED ATTORNEY
dous. Ho had -not come to my office for no
thing, and an event of no ordinary circum
stance was about to occur.
He sat, apparently stirred by the most ter
rible emotion. The muscles of his face were
contracted and expanded, and his unusually
expressive features were disfigured by eon : .
tortion. I waited patiently for the denoeu
znent of the tragedy, for his part was not a
Comedian on this occasion.
At last, with a sudden and violent effort,
he sprung to his feet and shouted, rather than
said—" Docket!"
lie was always particular, notwithstanding
our intimacy; to call me Mr. DoCket; 'but now
he seemed to spurn the courtesies of civilized
life, and to court the lawlessness of the sav
ape-.
Well, Chester, what is the matter ?" I
asked as calmly as I could,-for I was much
excited by the peculiar circumstances of the
occasion.
"I am mad, Docket ?"
I almost believed him.
" T hope not," I added, trying to smile.
"-Don't- laugh at ine I" said. he sternly.
"By no means, my friend. I hope nothing
unpleasant has occurred."
"Unpleasant!"
The word seemed to hiss from his lips. No
tragedian ever made such a point. Forrest
was a tyro in acting, compared with the fear
ful reality of performance.
"Tell what has happened, Read. If I can
serve you, no one knows better than you how
much I desire to do so."
" Forgive me, Mr. Docket," said he, in a
gentler tone, as he grasped my hand,•and a
tear sprung from his sunken eye. "I have
felt like cursing all mankind; but you are
my friend."
"I am ;- be calm, Read."
" Hell has let its minions loose upon the
earth!" he exclaimed. with frightful energy.
" One of them has been to my father's house,
and stole the lamb from the flock."
"Elinor?" I asked, shocked at the disaster
which his poetic expression had partially re
vealed.
".Elinor," replied he, sinking into a chair
and weeping like a child.
"Is it possible! Captain Prcsby—"
"Is 'a villain !" he shouted, springing to
his feet again, with so much force that the
floor shook beneath him. •
" Where is he now ?"
-`# Can it be. that Presby was a-villain?"
"Pled! Fledl like Cain, with the curse of
God - resting upon him!"
was not willing to beliereit; . but_ with
streaming eyes,, Chester .Read told me how
his sister suffered . ; how her cheeks had grown
wtin and pale ;" how the angels of her heavenly
nature seemed to - have fled from her.
Misery and shame were her portion. The
villain had chine his work. His promises had
been lies. lie had dee'eived her. He had
never intended to make her his' wife, and
when ho had accomplished his hellish pur
pose,, he had fled from the wreck he had made.
I shared the indignation of my friend. I
wondered not that ho was moVed-that all
the' world seemed blank and dark, and that
all mankind looked like demons to' him - I
knew.how fondly he loved that sister; I knew
the treasure of affection in his great heart,
and I joined with him in execrating the deed
and the villain who had done it.
" Docket, there is a God above us, who
will not permit such a deed .to go unpunish
ed, evenin this world of sin and woe," said
he, vehemently.
I tried to reason with him, and endcrEvor
ed to get him: to take a more Christian view
of the sad case. He laughed like a maniac
in my face, and swore to wreak his "ven
geance upon the destroyer. In vain I tried
to soothe him. — He would hear nothing
which interfered with the terrible wreaking
of his vengeance which he proposed.
•" But, Read, you should think of the fu
ture in store for your sister. Your first pur
pose should be to obtain justice further."
•
"Justice for her?" he asked, pausing in
his wild ravings.
" Certainly ; We compel him to make
her his wife.
" He, is a 'villain I" replied he, more mod
erately but the suggestion was not without
its force upon his mind.
"No matter make him marry her. Savo
her good name."
He a g reed with me, and for an hour we
discussed the means of bringing about this
desirable consummation. We agreed' to pro
ceed to Philadelphia, without losing a day's
time. I succeeded, after this arrangement
had been concluded, in restoring him, at
least to an appearance of self-possession.
That day we started for Philadelphia; hut
then it was not so easy a matter to go there
as it is now, and the journey required three
days. On our arrival, I commenced a vigor
ous.- sotirch for the wretch who . had made
such havoc in the family of my friend.
This was an easier task than I had antici
pated, and I soon found that ho belonged to
a wealthy and aristocratic family, and was
anything but reputable ; indeed, his absence',
from home was caused by a discreditable of
fair in his native city, which compelled him
to keep out of the reach of certain outraged
parties. He . had been a lieutenantrin the
army, from which ho had been discharged
for disgraceful conduct.' His title was entire
ly gratuitous.
I. found him and loft a note for him to call
at the hotel where we lodged. I gave no
names, and had some doubt about his com
ing.
ho came, however, and was shown to my
room. I had sent Read away when ho was
announced, so as to allow me an opportunity
to make terms with him.
Docket,' said he, taking my hand; '1
am glad to see you.'
It may be your gladness Ntill suffer a
shock when you learn the object of my mis
sion.'
Not at all, my dear fellow.'
The outrage you have committed must be
atoned for.'
Outrage—eh ?'
Of course I refer to the matter of the
Read family.'
' Of course you do. Fine folks—beautiful
Editor and Proprietor.
girl! I went there to amuse myself, passed
myself off for. a puritan, and , came sway
when I got ready.'
I was astonished at the impudence of .the
fellow. I never saw anything quite as cold
blooded, and I was disposed to turn him over
to the tender mercies of the outraged broth
er.
You area villain, Mr. Presby!
Suit yourself, my dear fellow,' said he
smiling. Words are but air, and if you
feel any. better for it, you can apply such
epithets to me as you please.'
But I demand satisfaction'
Exactly so. I don't like to be hard about
these things. ]le reasonable, and I will
meet you half way. Call it five hundred dol
lars and I will do it.'
I could hare kicked the villain from my
presence. for, his cool effrontery. How little
he valued female honor I Five hundred dol
lars, for a lost character ! Five hundred dol
lars for the misery poor Elinor had endured,
and was to endure m. the future.
That will not answer,' I replied with con
tempt. •
Couldn't give anothei dollar.'
Money will not settle the affair.' -
'Eh?'
Money will not settle it,' I repeated.
What the devil will, I should like to in
quire ?' he asked, with a show - of real sur
prise.
. You must marry her.'
Marry her? Pon my soul, that is cool.
Marry the daughter of a small trader in the
puritan city of Boston? That would read
well in the newspapers! and the villain actu
ally laughed in high glee, at what . to him,
was a supremely ridiculous proposition.
It will sound better at the judgment'
Never was there—don't know anything
about it.'
You will know.'
It was rather a queer mission for a lawyer
to be on—preaching to the vilest of sinners ;
but I felt it then.
' All right,' replied ho whistling a popular
821
'ln one word you must marry Elinor
Bead, or your life shall pay the forfeit.'
am a dead shot,' he replied ; 'have
fought three duels, and killed my man every
time. No, no; not to be scared with the
smoke of gunpowder. But, my dear Docket,
I, have an engagement ; I can't stop any
longer ;-will,zettle this business at any time
—give you five hundred, or fight you, as you
elect.
He sauntered towards the door, but,at
that .monicat Chester Bead bolted into he
room. He Lad been listening - , to the last
part of our colloquy, and his fiery nature
would not let him keep his promise to wait
my summons.
' You are a. villain I' gasped be, and. I never
heard such an emphasis . of tone and expres
sion as his heated 1,,100d imparted to the
word.
`,Suit yourself," replied Presby, cooly. -
'Chose, on the instant I Will you marry
her or die thundered the outraged brother.
I will chose, on the instant; I will not
marry her l'
Then die, cursed of God and man I' hissed
from the teeth of Read, and before I could
clearly. comprehend his purpose, he drew a
pistol from his pocket and fired !
The ball crashed through the brain of the
villain and he fell dead upon the floor.
I was appalled by his horrid crime—crime?
Let Heaven judge it. Vengeance had done
its work. Elinor was revenged.
I have only space left me to say that my
friend was arrested for the murder ; that for
weeks I watched over him, till lie came to
his trial. The killing was clearly proved, so
was the terrible provocation. To my sur
prise the jury brought him in ' not guilty'—
for the jury had souls.—Perhaps the circum
stances of his trial and acquittal are still re,
membered by some of my readers.
The villain's work was done, surely. -
nor . Read died after, a year of anguish, and
the grave was a place of sweet rest and shel;
ter from , the cold world's obloquy.
Chester was a changed man after that.
lle practiced law for a few years, but his set
tled gloom undermined his health, and he
followed his lost sister to the grave, in the
thirtieth year of his ago.
;it •
33Y C. N. WILLIAMSON.
"Oh I he's nobody but a printer," exclaim
ed Miss Ellen Dupree, a flittering and fopish
girl to ono of her female, frionds, who was
speaking in terms of praise and commenda
tion of Mr. Barton Williams, a young, intelli
gent printer_
"Well, iliss Ellen, you seem to speak as
though a printer was not entitled to respeeta
bility. I hope you will explain yourself,"
replied Miss Mary Creasman. .
" Well, I hope you will excuse me. I do
not think it becoming for a young man who
has to work for a living to try to move in the
society of those who are his superiors. And,
moreover, he might win the affection of a
girl superior to him in worth and-rank; and
then do you think her parents would be pleas
ed; I know I would rather be an old maid
all my days than to marry a poor printer, a
man who has to toil day by day, and then,
Oh ! think Of being ranked among the poor I"
winked out Miss.Dupree.
"Then you think that they are beneath
you ?"
" Yes, nia'a-m, of course."
" Both in world and intellect, too, I sup
pose, do you?"
" Yes, everything."
" Are you superior to a Franklin, to a Black
stone, a Gambell, and many other eminent
men who - were printers? Or do you believe
your intellectual powers soar above those of
a Greeley, or a Willis, and many other dis
tinguished printers of the present day ?"
"Oh! now and then you may find a respect
able one; but they are few and far between.
As for Mr. - Williams, I do not think him a
Franklin, or a Blackstone, or anything else
much."
"Nor do I considor a Franklin or a
Blackstone either; but I do think him a. very
intelligent, handsoMe young man, and I ex
pect to treat him as such."
"Well. I expect to consider him
• beneath
my notice." _
Dupree, •
" Now, Miss I think you Ought to
reflect upon what you are saying, and have
some respect for my feelings. You know not
what you may come to before yen dia.". •
"Well, I don!t,think I will ever • coMelo be
the wife of a Printer; or anybody rho biie to
labor ; nor do I - intend to countenance such,
either:" . .
Miss drospilan - remained silent, for some
time., while her face reddened. with indigna.-
lion—Mr. Williams was her lover, ara a very
good. looking man he He' was of Orchz•
nary size, .fair complexion, dark hair, • and
whiskers jet black, , and a high prominent
forehead, lively and intelligent in conversa
tion, and fluent and affable in his address.
NO. 33.
A gentle rap was beard at the door, and
the servant immediately announced Mr. Wil
liams-
lle entered the parlor, and. Miss Crossman
arose and introduced them.
"Miss Dupree, Mr. Williams." ~
Miss Dupree affected to be polite, she res
turned a slight bow, and coolly said
" Good evening; sir."
Mr. Williams and Miss Cross Man eonverst4.
freely, mostly on literary subjects, upon which
both were, well posted; and of . course they
entertained each other pleasantly, while . 11:IisS
Dupree sat as though she was in despair, now
and then giving a lazy nod to anything said
to her. Mr. Williams has gone, and MiSs
Dupree turned to Miss Crossman and said
" Mary, I am really astonished at you.—
You are certainly in leve - With that fellow.
Well you may do as you like, but I can as-:
sure you, I'll never condescend to keep com
pany with a printer," mumbled Miss Dupree.
-3fiss Dupree took her leave; and Miss
Mary Crossman was left to think of love, and
matrimony, and future bliss:
`Ten years were past. A man and. his wife
were seated before a 'blazing fire. The even
ing was extremely cold, and the wind blew
fierce and keen. - Yes—and the editor of the
Was housed with his wife in their
stately mansion, furnished in the finest style,
and lighted brilliantly with costly chandatiers,
They were the parents of four intelligent and
interesting children. It was about au hour
after sundown, and the bell had rung:for tea.
A rap was heard at the door, and upon open
ing it, there stood a woman, pale and deject
ed, apparently not far from the grave. She
had with her three ragged children, shiverins
with the cold. The gentleman and lady ask- -
ed them in to the fire.
"Sir," said the poor woman, "will you be
pleased to give me a little money to buy some
bread for my hungry children. My husband
has been drinking for the last three weeks,
and left me without a morsel to eat for these
poor innocents or any fuel to keep them warm,.
and they weep bitterly."
" 'Where ,do you live, ma'am," said the gen
tleman.
''ln the garret of the Phoenix Hotel, sir."
" How long has your husband been addict
ed to drink?' asked the gentleman's wife.
"About three years."
"Madarne," rejoined the generous editor,
"I am really sorry for you, and of course,
shall bestow upon you such charity as you
'deserve. Will . you relate your misfortunes?"
"Minn is a sad story. I was brought up
in affluence; my father was a wealthy - Mer-E
chant in Chatham st.; my husband was also
rich when we were married. We took a tour
to Europe and returned home and we lived
happily for two years. Mr. Brooks was a
gay, fashionable young man. He spent mon
ey freely, and he lived extravagantly. Three
years more, and he was considerably on the
declining ground, and. finally by high living
and unnecessary expenditures of money, we
were dispossessed of our home and reduced
to abject poverty, and then my husband took
to drinking, and now I am a beggar with
children dpending upon my success for a
living. And such I beseech you inliehalf of
my poor little children to bestow upon me
such charity as you feel diSposed to grant."
Her story was soon told, and met a kind
response from a generous heart.- The lady
of the house recognized the poor woman, but
she did not feel disposed to' make herself
known,' but ushered them into the dining
room, and sat, down with them to a hot sup:.
per.
“Madame," said the lady, "what was your
maiden name?"
"Ellen Dupree."
"Ohl Ellen have you come to this?"
The poor woman was so overcome with
gratitude and surprise that she could not ut
ter a word. She thmight hers a familiar
voice; she had. heard it before, but she could
not remember when or where; and after a
long time she-murmured—
past;
butl think I have known you in times past;
but I cannot remember your name."
"What is your name my good. lady?"
"Mary Crossmau was my name when I
knew you."
" Mary who ?"
"Creasman."
"My God. Who is your husband?"
"Ohl he's nobody but a printer."
The poor woman remembered being intro
duced, before her marriage, to Mr. Williams,
and she remembered, too, how cold and in
diferent she treated him on that occasion.
Yes, "nobody but a printer," went like a
dagger to her heart. That printer was her
benefactor and friend. Young ladies you
marry an industrious and intelligent (printer)
man, and become wealthy in your old age,
you do well, but if you marry a vain foppish
dandy,. of the codfish. aristocracy ,and non
co epos mentis order, and should be brought
from affluence in youth to beggary in your
old age, you do worse..
Remember that ladies, and make the proper'
improvement.—N. I: Exp. Mess.
se—toy running into the drug store with'
a dipper in'his hand:—" Doctor, mother sent
mo to the i 3 hoticary pop quickeen biases, cos•
bub's sick as the dickens with the picker
chow, and she wants a thimble full of pony
gollic in this din tipper, cos we ha'n't bot a;
gottle, and the kint pup's• got bine witters
iu't. Got any 2"
The jails of Union, Centre . and Potter
counties were all lately vacant—no evidence
however thattlicre arc no persons in those
counties who should not be in jail or some
other fastness.
ip : .V'A - Western editor puts up on the door
of his sanctum—" Lady visitors are request-
ed to go to the devil when they wish to ob
tain nu interviow with the editor.
rs";4_,."l say, neighbor Hodge, what are
you fencing that pasture for? Thrty acres of
it would. starve a cow." "Right" replied
Ilodge, "Piga fencing it up to keep the cows
out."
At a late hour on Saturday night last,
a stranger in Harrisburg was knocked down
and. robbocl of a pocket book containing WO.