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LIST OF GRAND JURORS for a
Court of Quarter Sessions to be held at Huntingdon
In and for the county of Huntingdon, the second Monday
and 11th day of April, A. D. 1859 :
Joseph Cunningham, farmer, Cass.
James Chamberlain, inn keeper, Warrlorsmark.
Wm. Daughenbaugh, shoemaker, Brady.
George Eby, farmer,
Shirley.
James W. Galbraith, farmer, Shirley.
Samuel Gregory, farmer, West.
David Hicks, Esq., blacksmith, Cromwell.
Wm. S. Hildebrand, carpenter, Huntingdon.
Elisha B. Hissong, potter, Cassville.
Adam Keith, farmer, Tod.
George Lamp, farmer, Porter.
John Munnick, farmer, Dublin.
William Miller, farmer. Henderson.
Rudolph Neff, farmer, West.
George Rudy, farmer, Jackson.
Martin Shank, farmer, Warriorsmark.
Washington Stewart, farmer, Franklin.
Jacob Sharp, mechanic, Brady.
Thomas Strickler, plasterer, Huntingdon.
George Walker, carpenter, Alexandria.
Adam Warfel, blacksmith, Brady.
John Whittaker, sr., gentleman, Huntingdon.
Daniel P. Knode, farmer, Porter.
John Armor:, farmer, Barree.
TRAVERSE SURORS-71MT STEEL
John Baker, Esq., mason, Shirley.
Peter M. Bare, clerk, Union.
Charles Bowersox, Shirley.
Israel Baker, farmer, Tod.
David Barrick, farmer, West.
Hiram Brown, farmer, Springfield.
James Condom, laborer, Brady
Thomas Covenhoven, farmer, Barren.
Isaac Cnrfman, farmer, Tod.
John Carver, farmer, Barree.
Henry Cornpropst, Huntingdon.
Isaac Donaldson, laborer, Hopewell.
James Duff, mason, Jackson.
James Entrekin, farmer. Hopewell.
Alexander Ewing, teacher, 'Franklin.
Perry 0. Etchison, shoemaker, Cromwell.
A. W. Evans, merchant, Cass.
Benjamin Fink, farmer, Cass.
Samuel Friedley, farmer, Henderson.
Jacob S. Gehrett, potter, Cassville.
Caleb Greenland, farmer, Cass.
John Gayton, farmer, Union.
William Glass. carpenter, Jackson.
Jacob Hight, farmer, Brady.
Moses Hamer, farmer, Walker.
Robert Henderson, farmer, Warriorsmark.
William Huey, farmer, Dublin.
John liagey, farmer, Tell.
John S. Henderson, laborer, Shirley.
Daniel Isenberg, farmer, Shirley.
John Resseiring. farmer, Springfield.
John Morrison, farmer, Shirley.
James. McCartney. farmer, Henderson.
Charles G. McLanghlin, blacksmith, Shirley.
Robert Morrow, farmer, Dublin.
William Miller, farmer, West.
Henry Myers, blacksmith. Shirleysburg.
Richard Newman. manufacturer, Franklin.
David Parsons, farmer, Tell. •
Thomas F. Stewart, farmer, West.
John Shaffer, farmer, Morris.
David R. Stonebraker, farmer, Jackson.
John Shaver, Esq., farmer, Shirley.
George B. Weaver, farmer, Hopewell.
John Weight, farmer, Franklin.
Caleb Wakefield, farmer, Brady.
John Westhrook, Huntingdon.
William P. Taylor, Carpenter, Clay.
TruivERSTI surtor.s--sEcoND
Jacob Barnet, farmer, Cass.
Daniel Beck, blacksmith, Morris.
J. S. Berkstresser, merchant, Carbon.
William Conch, farmer. Barree.
Valentine Crouse. innkeeper, Brady,
Nicholas Cresswell, gentleman. Alexandria.
Henry S. Dell. farmer, Cromwell.
John Driff, farmer, Jackson.
Levi Evans, Esq., J, P.. Carbon.
E. S. Everhart, boss, Huntingdon.
Abraham Fultz. carpenter,
Brady.
Isaac Gorsuch, blacksmith. Cromwell.
Robert Greon, farmer, Oneida.
James Gwin, gentleman, Huntingdon.
David Grove, merchant, Huntingdon.
John Mist, farmer, Barren.
Richard D. Heck, farmer, Cromwell.
David Householder, laborer, Walker.
-Solomon Isenberg, blacksmith. Morris.
- John Ingram, farmer, Franklin.
Henry Jamison, grocer, Brady.
John Knode, farmer, Henderson.
John Kiney, farmer, Franklin.
John Love, farmer, Barree.
A. J. McCoy, miller, Franklin.
Isaac Martin, farmer, Porter,
John Montgomery, mechanic, Brady.
John Morrow, farmer, Dublin.
lames Magee, farmer, Dublin.
Wm. Oaks, farmer, Barren.
Thomas E. Orbison, merchant, Cromwell.
John Shoop, Jr., farmer, Union.
Valentine Smittle, farmer, Toll.
Levi Smith, farmer, Union.
'George Wakefield, farmer, Shirley.
Milton Woodcock, grocer, Carbon.
March 23, 1859.
TRIAL LIST FOR APRIL TERM,
1859. FIRST WEEK.
Andrew Patrick, Jr. vs. Eby, Cunningham & Herr.
John Savage, vs. Smith & Davis.
William Curry vs. Jona. McWill iams.
Jacob Crisswell vs. R. Hare Powell.
Leonard Weaver vs. IL &B.T.R.R. & C. Co.
John Garner vs. John Savage.
Clement's heirs vs. Jno. McCauless, et. al.
.James Wall vs. Jona. Wall.
.Glasgow & Bair vs. Caleb Brown.
•Saml. Caldwell's admr. vs. B. X. Blair & Co. ~
john B. Weavers, Ave vs. Jacob Russia,.
Peter Etnire vs. Jno. Shope.
SECOND WEEK.
Bokor, Bro. & Co. vs. A. P. Wilson.
Jno. P. Brock vs. John Savage.
Jacob Russlo vs. Jno: T. Shirley.
Margaret Hamilton vs. James Entrikeu.
;Valentine Crouse vs. G. W. Speer.
Fleming Holliday vs. IL &B. T. It. R. &C. Co.
Eph. Ross vs. Wm. McNite.
David Foster vs. James Entriken.
Kirkpatrick & Son vs. Wm. Hays.
Jos. Kinsel's admr. vs. Cristain Price.
Bell, Garrettson & Co. vs. Isaac Sharrer.
David Rupert vs. Frederick Schneider.
Jas. Sartou for use vs. Nicholas Schank.
Wm. Weaver vs. Entriken & Drhero.
D. Houtz, Assignee vs. Jno. Y. Hay.
Samuel Doran vs. James Pattison.
Tams, Jones & Co. vs. Jas. Entriken,Garnishee of
Jno. Doughrty.
Ann McMullin vs. Wm. McMullin.
Same vs. James Pindley.
Huntingdon, March `28,1859.
BUSINESS MEN, TAKE NOTICE!
It you want your card neatly printed upon envel,
,epes, call at
LEWIS' BOOK Afil) STATIONERY STORE.
DIARIES FOR 1859,
For solo -at
LEWIS' BOOK AND SrATIONERY STORE
BLANK BOOKS,
.or VARIOUS SIZES, for sale at
LETVIS' 2OOK AND STATIONERY .SrO.RE.
ALMANACS FOR 1859.,
For sale at
LEWIS' NEV7I3OOIC. & STATIONERY -STORE
INKS.
A. A superior article of writing Trlke for sale at
LEIVIF BOOK AND STATIONERY STORE.
QCIIOOL BOOKS,
Generally in use in the Schools of.the County, not on
hand, will be furnished to order, on application at
LEIVIS' BOOK ANDSTATIONERY STORE.
ONEY.
Every man who receives or pays opt money,
shout have l'eterson's Gbisnterfeit Detector—fqr sale at
LEWIS' BOOK AIVD STATIONERY .STORE.
ifISGOOD'S Series of &thool Books,
For sale at
LEWIS' BOOR & STATIONERY STORE:
.THE PRESBYTERIAN PSALMIST.
± A collection of tunes adapted to the Psalms and
alymns of the Presbyterian Church in the United States
of America, For sale at
$1 60
76
1 insertion
' $ 25....
2 do. 3 do.
$ 37 1 / z *. 60
75 1 00
.... 100
1 50
1 60
Era
ir.srr,s , BOOK STORE.
. 2 00
3 00
WILLIAM LEWIS,
VOL. XIV.
tittt
While beauty clothes the vertile vale,
And blossoms on the spray,
And fragrance breathes in every gale,
How sweet the vernal day!
Hark! how the feathered warblers sing,
_ 'Tis nature's cheerful voice;
Soft music hails the lovely spring,
And woods and fields rejoice.
How kind the influence of the skies,
While ehow'rs, With blessing fraught,
Bid verdure, beauty, fragrance rise,
And ds the roving thought;
0, let my wond*ring heart confess,
With gratitude and love,
The bounteous Hand that deigns to bless
Each smiting field and grove.
That Hand in this hard heart of mine
Can bid each virtue live;
While gentle showers of grace divine,
Life, beauty, fragrance give;
Oh, God of nature, God of grace,
Thy heavenly gifts impart;
And bid sweet meditation trace
Spring blooming in my heart.
a ti.td 5 tug.
HESTER GRAEC.A.ME;
-OR
ONE WOMAN'S LIFE
"Every face is either a history or a proph
ecy." I think that of my friend Hester Gra
hame, both ; for I studied it many years
since, and each year proves the truth of my
reading.
Hester was born in a little wooden colored
house half way up Red Mountain, in a town
and county known to all tourists. The father
and mother of this child did not possess, to
any considerable degree, that thrift and en
ergy which characterizes most Yankee far
mers ; for they were always in trouble. No
body's cattle had such a genius for running
away ; no other fences fascinated the winds
to such an extent as did theirs; and it was
certain that they were always a little too late
for any good fortune that befell their neigh
bors. They bad been blessed with many
children, but as Mrs. Grahame, said, " No
body was ever so unlucky with their chil
dren as Job and her." So, when little Hes
ter was born, they were but three boys left.
If you were ever in a house where the arti ,
cle most needed could never be found; where
the person most depended upon was never
ready ; where the neighbors knew much bet
ter than the parents where the next meal was
coming from, you can form some idea of the
influences that surrounded the childhood and
girlhood of one which I am endeavoring to
tell you.
Schools and churches were not so common
then as now; and by the time Hester could
walk the four miles that lay between her own
hill and the one upon whose top the school
house was perched, the poor inefficient mother
had fallen into a decline, and before the child
could spell the word death, the mother knew to
the fullest extent its wondrous meaning. Of
course there was no more school for Hester.
She must see to the house—must take care of
father and brothers; and her natural quick
ness and energy coming to her aid, in the
course of a few months, she did far better
than her mother had ever done. So all her
daily work was done well ; but when she
looked down upon the lake bathed in the
glory of sunset; when she watched the grand
old mountains as they threw off their robe of
mist and stood alone against the sky, there
came longings to that child's heart for an
other, a broader life—one that should be so
beautiful as that smooth lake—as great and
self-reliant as those moveless mountains.
They were not altogether vague yearnings,
either ; for as the years gave her strength and
judgment she saw that she must contrivesome
way to know snore and so .do more than she
could now ; and the how to do it was soon de
cided.
One day after the house-work was done,
she went out and , picked up a basketful of
the large raspberries that clung to the side
of the mountain. This time she did not
make them into pies, but walked to the near
est village and tried to sell them. I do not
know about faint heart never winning fair
lady, but sure I am that faint heart never suc
ceeded in selling berries ; and poor little Hes
ter was almost discouraged •as she knocked
at the door of a, substantial-looking house,
and asked the old gentleman who opened it,
the oft-repeated question. She thought he
was pleasant-looking, and while he went to
ask his wife, peeped timidly into the large
entry, and then into the room beyond—al
most screaming with delight as she savr,
long, deep shelves lined with books. By-and
by the r Id gentlemen and his wife catne.be,ck,,
and when the latter bad examined the ber
ries after the manner of steady house-keepers,
concluded to take them. " But the price.—
What would the little girl ask!" No one
knew less about the price than the little girl,
they might give her what they liked.
This amused the good old . man ; and. he
soon found out that the child wanted the
money to buy a book with ; and after a few
more questions, he told her that he was Mr ;
-Center, the minister, and that he would pay
her for the berries and gime her a book be
sides. Never child climed Red Mountain
with a lighter heart than did Hester that af
ternoon ; the stern heights above her seem
ing to smile their congratulations as she held
up the long coveted treasure. But it must
not be opened until :the supper was ready,
until the milk-things were washed.. 'Then
down upon the broad, flat stone that served
for the door-step, she spelled out the title of
Mr. ,Center's present.
It was that old , book, the -" Pilgrim's Pro
gress," and not until the long summer twi
light was .ended did she lift her eyes from its
pages. It was hard work for her to read, she
had to spell many words, but still she gath
ered somewhat of the meaning, and before
Saturday night, sho closed the covers with a
tear, as she thought, " I have no more - to
•
read."
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When the Sabbath came, she thought if
she could go to the village for a book she
could surely walk there to church ; so, pre
vailing upon one of her brothers to accompa
ny her, they started, and very much to his
astonishment, Mr. Center saw his little
brown-eyed friend, walk into his meeting
house.
After service he came and spoke - to her;
and upon the next day his well-fed nag ram
bled to the foot of the mountain, where Mr.
Center dismounted, and left the beast to his
own pleasure, while he climbed the rugged
pathway you thought so picturesque last
summer.
The child Hester had finished washing ; so
she sat down with him and fold him some of
her dreams and plans—he listening kindly,
and promising to befriend her. Of course,
Hester's father did not object. Alas ! Job
Grahame's dharacter is told only too clearly,
when I say he was never known to object to
anything except a deficient supply of cider
and tobacco. So this arrangement•was made,
Mr. Center would lend her books, and if she
found anything very difficult in them, he
would explain. He proved as good—ix fact,
much better than his word, for, besides the
faithful teacher, he became the warm, earn
est friend, and many times said, proudly, as
he marked his pupil's progress, or watched
her expressive face, "Hester will make her
way in the world !"
And from that hour Hester's true life be
gan ; from that hour,- whatever drudgery,
(and there was much,) whatever of care and
anguish, (and she had many a bitter hour,)
came to her, she had this one consolation—
she could leave it—lose it in her books. Mr.
Center (blessed be his memory !) kept a firm,
steady hand with her. Dearly as she loved
reading, the Grammar and Arithmetic must
be learned first; passionately as the child's
heart asked for poetry, it was given but spa
ringly—oftener some earnest, strong prose
that made the girl look down deep into
herself, and grow strong, because she had
to be so strong in order to understand it all.
No book-worm was she either. If the
"Midsummer Night's Dream" made her a
little discontented with home care and rough
ness, then from the very same volume would
be found a passage elevating any life, how
ever humble, so it was well lived.
Being a poet, being famous, Mr. Center
told the eager, ambitious child, was of little
value, so that one was a Christian, and did
their work well ; not stopping to murmer be
cause it was not their liking. So the years
went by, and it was well that he did so, for
before she was a woman life grew to be a
hard thing for her.
A village had grown up at the foot of the
mountain, just on the shore of the lake, and
its public house pesessed great attractions
for Job Grahame and his eldest son. He was
the brightest of the three ; and poor Hester's
heart sank within her when she found that
she could no longer depend upon him ; that
night after night the two would return from
a drunken carouse, and only arise the next
morning to betake themselves to the scene of
their last night's degradation.
That is not a pleasant time to remember ;
it makes the tears come to Hester's eyes now
when she recalls how earnestly she used to
pray for one quiet hour, when with Milton
or Shakspeare, she could dream by herself.
But I am so glad to say she did not neglect
what the selfishness of others threw upon
her. She planned, she asked advice, and in
the autumn the barn held nearly as much as
when old Grahame mismanaged the farm.—
And there were still leisure minutes, and ev
ery one was improved, so that once a fort
night she trudged down the mountain to her
teacher. Once, as she was reciting a lesson,
she chanced to look up, and saw, sitting at
the other end of the room, a man whom she
did not know, and whom her teacher care
lessly presented as "My nephew, Mr. Brown
low," and then asked the next question.
When the lesson was finished Paul opened
the door for Hester, as he would have done
for any woman, she thanking him by a lit
tle bend of ,her head ' • and before she had
walked a mile she had forgotten his existence
in the fascinating pages of "Martnion." b.
deep sigh, as she reached her own door, told
that she thought there was a long distance be
tween the book and milking cows.; but the
smile never left her face as she did all her
work that night, for she was young, and youth
makes not much of stepping over the line
which separates fact and fancy.
A few days after, as she was picking - up
some chips in the door-yard, her deep sun
bonnet pulled over her face and her thoughts
with Lady Clare, a voice at her side startled
her by saying, -"Good evening."
She looked up hastily, and saw Mr, Brown
low. The "good evening" was returned ;
and then the gentleman, taking a book from
his pocket, said, "My uncle says you are fond
of reading, and as I was noming this way I
-thought I would bring you something new."
" Oh ! I am so glad 1" was the eager, joyous
cry, and Hester let fall the chip basket, and
taking the book, seemed completely absorbed
in its contents.
Mr. Brownlow smiled. He did not know
what to make of this young girl; but being a
patient man, he seated himself upon a log,
and looked lather.
Thirty-five years badpassed aver Paul
Brownlow's head—years in which he had en
joyed more than most men do in his lifetime.
Inheriting a large fortune, he had not known a
single ungratified want until a few months be
fore, when he had trusted his property in a
speculation that failed and ruined him—if a
man can be ruined by losing his money. But
he was no weak boy to shrink and shiver at
what life gave him , ; so he entered a lawyer's
office worked bard, and the week he :was at
his .uncles saw him admitted to the bar—be
ginning at so late an hour the struggle for
fame and livelihood which many men earn, if
they can at all, before that time.
When he was a rich man, many mothers
had paraded their daughters before him, and
rumor had many times coupled his name with
that of the reigning belle ; but none of these
women had power to move him. Indeed he
had sometimes 'distrusted his own ability to
love. He had looked around his quiet, luau-
-PERSEITEkE.-
HUNTINGDON, PA., APRIL 6, 1859.
i rious library, with its old books, its fine
paintings, and beautiful statues (every one of
which his own taste had collected in his for
eign tours,) and said that one room had more
charm for him than any woman's face, how
ever beautiful, or woman's heart, however
loving. If he had thought so when ease and
luxury were his, how much more when toil
and poverty stared 1 -im in the face ! -
He was not a great man. but he had a good
heart, and that strong will and perfect perse
verance, which mean almost genius. One
quiet month he had resolved to pass at his
uncle's ; after that he would count each day
as lost that did not advance him a long way
upon his upward road.
He was a little interested in his uncle's ac
count of Hester, and her earnestness as she
recited a prosaic lesson in Latin Grammar up
on that first day of their acquaintance rather
pleased him, As I have said, she did not re
member him long, but he watched her climb
ing the mountain, 'eyes bent on book, yet just
as secure of foot as a mountain goat, and could
not help smiling it little to himself to think
that his eyes would follow her so persistently.
He could not help thinkinc , of her long after
the winding path concealed her from his view ;
and in the two or three days that intervened
between that first meeting and his call upon
her he surprised his good uncle not a little by
asking him if he did not wish to send his pu
pil Hester some books. Mr. Center replied
that she came after her booki when she want
ed them, which reply made Paul ask, "How
often ?" "When she gets time," was the an
swer •, whereupon Mr. Brownlow thought he
would do a very kind thing if he carried her
one. So the afternoon I have told you of, he
started with a volume of Woodstock, and du
i ring the course of his hard walk, he came to
the conclusion that he was doing a decidedly
foolish thing. He changed his mind after he
heard the joyous exclamation, and saw the
bright eyes sparkle as she took the book, and
all this time he was seated upon the old log,
lookinc , at Hester. If the. pages had been
open before his own eyes he thought he could
not have told more clearly what she was read
ing, for flushing cheek and ever changing eye
told him how imagination possessed itself of
the fascinating story.
I think Hester must have felt his gaze, for
she looked up after a time and seemed to be
aware of her incivility.
"I am very sorry I have left you sitting up
on the stump so long. Won't you walk into
the house and rest you ?"
'Paul thought he could not stop, but found
he could stop long enough to find out her opin
ion of "Marmion ;" and as she told him, he
did not fail to notice the freshness of her ideas,
even of her forms of expression. She had not
read the book—she had lived it ; she was no
unmoved spectator ; in very deed and truth
she had acted her part in these deeds of char
ity: At length, with a half -smile, she resum
ed her long neglected employment of chip
picking, her quick sense of the rediculous tel
ling her that particular moment how amusing
it was for a barefooted girl like herself to pass
so much time amidst the stately revelry of
palaces, with knights and high born dames
for her companions. Paul saw it too ; and al
together she was much too honest and noble to
think herself lowered by her surroundings, he
could not help pitying her as the quick blood
crimsoned her cheek when she saw him glance
almost unconsciously at her bare brown feet.
Timidly, yet most earnestly, for she was very
thankful for the book, she pressed him to stay
and share their supper of bread and milk, and,
wondering at himself, he at last consented.—
Poor Hestr, she has never forgotten how hap
py she was that her father and brother were
sober that night. It was not the last bowl of
milk he drank in that little house, for month
after month went by, and still he dallied at
his uncle's • and when autumn came he could
no longer deny that Hester Grahame's smiles
and words were the dearest things on earth to
him ; that to have and hold that simple girl,
would be the most precious possession that
life would give him. For the first time in his
life he found a part of himself :which he could
not master. And how was it with Hester ?
She has told me since, amidst tears even, that
no summer of her life was like that; she has
told me Mr. Brownlow did almost every thing
toward making her what she Afterward be
came ; how he taught her, read to her, ,and
more than all, saw what none had seen before ;
that by and by this young - girl would find
in herself a power of utterance that Would
place her high in the world of authors. She
has told me how a sense or rest came to her
through him ; how his ealinnessstrongthened
her, and that his keenly felt Appreciation be
came the dearest part of her life. And yet,
close :to womanhood as she was, she did not
dream that she loved Paul Brownlow other
than as a friend. She had read of love and
of lovers ; but it was a grand thing for poems
and for plays, suited to gallant knights and
courtly women, but it was altogether above
her simple life. And Paul saw it—saw that
she was free and .unrestrained in her inter
course with him as. she would have been
with a dearly loved brother ; and to his hon
or be it spoken, not by word or look did he
try to draw away the screen from the pure
heart. He could not marry her then ; (oh,
how he longed for the money that he had
thrown away upon himself) he had only his
brain and his hands; he could not tell yet if
there was force enough in them to support
himself ; and Hester - herself was fastened at
home, for her father had been growing infirm
all summer, and now scarcely over left the
house. It was very hard for him to leave her
there. He saw what her life must be, and
ho longed to take her in his arms and give
her rest and leisure by his own toil ; but he
could not do it then. "At least," he said, "I
can wait one year before I tell her ,this she
does not dream of." So one nighthe walked
; up the mountain and tried to say" Good-bye"
simply, .as friends say it; but he made a poor
dissembler, and if Hester had mot been so un
.conseious, if she had not -trusted him so en
tirely, he never would have kept the promise
he made himself. He would have taken her
little form very close to his heart, and in wild
words, such as he, calm man, never thought
of before, would have told her what she was
to him. But her simplicity checked him ;so
I' -
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he only told her that he should write to her
very often, should send her books, and think
of her many times each day. He told her
how his letters and her answers would pass
through his uncle's hands ; then released the
bands that had been hidden in his, almost
ever since he came, and pressed his lips to
the brow that he hoped would lie on his
bosom for many a year ; then went away ;
and many white hairs mingled with his dark
locks ere he saw Hester again. The parting
was not to her as it was to him ; for she was
young and never thought but he knew best.
He said it was right for him to go; that took
away the sting for her; still she was very
lonely. She did not try to disguise the fact
to herself, and many places whose beau
ty attracted her were shunned because they
brought to her so many memories of him.—
The letters came and went, almost the•only
events of her life. The minister was old and
feeble, and did not try to teach her now, so she
worked on herself, learning more each day
than the student of many a college does in a
year. Her tact and diligence did much on
the farm; so that matters were rather looking
up with them, when her oldest brother was
attacked with fever, and after weeks of suf
fering, died.
While she was watching him, her old friend
Mr. Center, died by reason of years, and
when she found time to - think, she mourned
his loss deeply ; but not for many years did
she know that with him she had Lost the great
blessing of Paul Brownlow's love: Upon the
same day that Mr. Center was seized with
paralysis, a letter came from Paul to Hester,
telling her that he was obliged to goo France
for a client, that -he was succeediWg in his
business as he had never dared hope he
should, and then in words as true and manly
as a great love could make them, he told her
what she was- to him, and besought her if
she could indeed love him, to wait and trust
him until he could take her to the home that
would certainly be theirs at last.
But Hester never received that letter. It
was probably overlooked among the mass of
papers Mr. Center, had accumulated ; so that
Paul waited and waited, and still no answer.
Then from different European cities he wrote
and wrote again, without ever receiving one
word in return, and by-and-by he thought
her dead ; and the weary heart that man car
ried about for many a year proved bow dear
she had been to him. I have no power to
tell you how Hester toiled and hoped through
all the years that lay between her and the
success which was at last given her.. While
her father lived she knew she could not leave
home, but she never lost sight of her aim ;
and, as summer after summer, she taught the
district school, she denied herself dress and
many little luxuries any other woman would
have called indispensable, in order to buy
good strong books that would help her to
mould herself, until her character should be
somewhat in unison with all noble, beautiful
things. She called no work beneath her.—
Anything she could find she made her hands
do, and withal, there was not a better daugh
ter or sister in New Hampshire.
Of course, there were moments of sadness,
almost despair ; but she noted God's disci
pline with the hardy mountain pine near her
own door, and said, " So He deals with me ;
it is hard, but I can bear it." Full well she
knew that she loved Paul Drownlovv--that
knowledge came to her with the sickness of
heart that followed the cessation of her let
ters—but she did not repine, although her
eyes were very dim, and her lip quivered
painfully as she tried to be brave, and tell
herself, " That the love would he very bles
sed if God had given it • but so long as He
withheld it, He could make up for it wholly,
entirely."
And so her beautiful youth passed.; and
when the infirm old father died and one
brother married, Hester took the other, who
was partially insane, into the city with her,
and with her brain and a few manuscripts,
attempted to support herself and him. She
did not know how much her peons and sto
ries were worth ; but she could not help ho
ping that the words she had prayed over so
earnestly, and felt so keenly, would not fall
.entirely unnoticed by her fellows. That city
life is too painful for me to write much of.
If you have ever haunted publishers' offices,
beseeching them to give you work, not for
fame, but for daily bread, you can tell about
it; if you have never done it, bless God that
you have no such bitter experience to remem
ber. As Hester was unknown, tno sketches
and poems, although accepted, were not often
paid for, and when she found no money came
from them, she procured sewing, and mana
ged to do what Thomas Carlyle says is the
first problem of all philosophy—" Keep soul
and body together." Day after day she sew
ed, and waite patiently her time, which came
at last; for her 'poems began to be copied,
and one day she received a letter from the
editor of a popular newspaper, offering her
steady work and good pay.. ew that her
books are the fashion, she thinks with sad
ness of the first money that gentleman paid
her, for she sees the childish look with which
her helpless brother regarded the bright fire
she dared afford that night. She knew not
all the agony of that upward ascent until she
stood upon the summit,
Very soberly, very earnestly . , she did her
work—God never losing her from his care for
one single day • for no hand but hers ever
ministered to her brother's wants, and every
evening she sang the simple hymn which
would Alone persuade him to lie quietly in
his :bed. There was no great variety in Ijes
ter'.s life; but still she persevered, and at the
close of every year she .might have said, "I
am gaining—nearer ray end than I was
twelve month since I" and the day ,came when
she lived comfortably, and allowed herself to
rest now and then.
And all this time Paul Brown,low was in
the same city, about his own business, their
paths never for one moment crossing. Ile
had not forgotten Hester—his love for her
keot his heart young and pure, and many
times he drew back his band from a selfish
act, for he felt those pure eyes upOn him.—
Life gave him very much of success. He
came from Europe, and found himself famous
for the skill with which he had managed au
Editor and Proprietor.
NO. 416
lintricate law question • but almost every
evening he thought, "Life has given me all
but the treasure I valued most—that was not
for me." But God was very good to these
two lovers. One Christmas day a friend
handed Paul a little volume saying, " Here
Brownlotv, is your Christmas present," The
book chanced to be Hester's poems. Paul
read many of them, and liked well their
quiet, tender beauty. It was as if the heart
of the writer was opened tp him ; he saw how
it waited, suffered, conquered, too, at the last;
noted its wonderful acquaintance with nature,
its earnest sympathy with truth, its loving
faith of invincible will. Then ho read a de,
.scriptive, poem, stopped at the last line in per=
feet amazement. Who wrote this book? Ho
remembered one such day, one such scene,
in his life, and—Hester Grahame was very
near him. And that line was certainly an
allusion to himself."
The book was thrown down, and be went
from his room, hunted up his friend, and in
a few words obtained the information he wan,
ted. He sought Hester's quiet, secluded
home—more than ever solitary on this Christ,
mas evening, for out of it she had followed
the dead body of her brother not many hours
before. She - sat by her west window, and as
the servant opened the door Paul saw , again
the face which was dearer to him than aught
else upon earth. She knew him directly, and
held out her hand ; but when I tell you that
she is now Paul Brownlow's wife,- you will
not doubt his right to the kiss which he cer
tainly took. They had been long parted,
these lovers ; they had loved more than most
men and women do, and yet, by God's grace,
they had been able to stand alone, to do each
their life-work well; and you can understand
why, as they sat together, they spoke no pas
sionate words—why silent caresses and mur
mured thanksgivings were their only signs of
betrothal. They had nothing to wait for; so
on the morrow they were married—and you
know, now, why Paul Browillow loves his
wife so much—why, when you turned the leaf
down in the volume of " Woodstock," he told
you, "You may do it in any other book of
mine, but not in that," for that was the first
book of his that his wife's fingers ever touched.
I heard him ask Hester, one day as they
sat,very close to each other, " if she was con
tent ;" and when she said, "Perfectly con
tent ;" I knew they were the clearest, words
he had ever heard.
Etiquette,
The following rules of etiquette are laid
down by a Southern journal :,-,
Ist. Before you bow to a lady in the street
permit her to decide whether you may do so
or not by at least a look of recognition.
2d. When your companions bow to a lady,
you should do the same. When a gentleman
bows to a lady in your company, always bow
to him in return,
In giving them publicly, the Albany Atlas
and Argus makes the following timely and
truthful remarks :
Nothing is so little understood in America
as those conventional laws of society, so well
understood and practiced in Europe. Ladies
complain that gentlemenpass them in the
street unnoticed, when in fact, the fault
arises from their own breach of politeness.—
It is their duty to do the amiable first. It is
a privilege which ladies enjoy, the choosing
their own associates or acquaintances, N 9
gentleman likes to risk the. "cut" in the
street by a lady through a premature salute.
Too many Indies, it would seem, don't know
their.trade"of politeness. Meeting ladies in
the street, whom one has casually met in
company, they seldom bow unless he bows
first; and when a gentleman ever departs
from the rule of good breeding, except omit
sionally by the way. of experiment, his ac
quaintances do not multiply, but he stands
probably charged with rudeness. A lady
must be civil to a gentleman into whose com
pany she may casually be placed ; but a gen
tleman is not upon this to presume ppm an
acquaintanceship the first time he afterwards
meets her in the street. If it be her will,
she gives some token of recognition, when
the gentleman bows; otherwise he must pass
on and consider himself a stranger. No lady
need hesitate to bow to a gentleman, for he
will promptly and politely answer, even if he
has forgotten his fair saluter, no one but a
brute can do otherwise ; should he pass on
rudely, his character is declared, and there is
a cheapyriddance. Politeness or good bre.ed,
ing is like law—" the reason of things."
THE liSSCRIPTIOI ON ."HE TOMB or Mas.
JACKSON, WRITTEN BY HER HUSBAND, THE
HERO AND STATESMAN.-" Here lies the re
mains of Mrs. Rachel Jackson, who died the
22d December, 182$, aged 61 years. Her
person pleasing, her temper amiable, and her
heart kind. She delighted. in relieving the
wants of her fellow creatures, and cultivated
that divine pleasure by the most liberal and
unpretending methods. To the poor she was
a benefactor ; to the rich an example ; to the
wretched a comforter; to the prosperous an
ornament. Her piety went hand. in hand
with her benevolence; and she thanked her
Creator for being permitted to do good.
being so gentle, and yet so virtuous, slander
might wound, but could not dishonor. Even
Death, when he tore her from the arms of
her husband, could but transport her to the
bosom of her God."
J 1 When the fierce winds of adversity
blow over you, and your life's summer lies
buried beneath frost and snow, do pot linger
inactive, or sink cowardly down by the way,
or turn aside from your course for momenta
ry warmth or shelter, but with a firm step
go forward, with God's strength to vanquish
trouble, and to bid defiance to disaster. If
ever there is a time to be ambitious, it is not
when ambition is easy, but when it is hard.
Fight in darkness, fight when you are down,
die hard and you won't die tit all. That gel
atinous man 'whose bones are not even mus
cles, and whose muscles are pulp—that man
is a coward.
Giro NO PAIN. _Breathe not a sentiment,
say not a word, give not the p . nvession. of
the countenance that will offend another, or
send a thrill of pain to his bosom: :We are
surrounded by sensitico hearts, which a word,
a look even, might fill the brim with sorrow.
If you are careless of the opinion of others,
remember that they are differently constitu
ted from yourself, and never by word or sign
cast a shadow on a happy heart, or throw
aside the smiles of joy that linger an a pleas
ant _cow? ten aace.
. .
"GENTLE WOMAN EVER KIND.."—Dr. Kano
relates that when, one day, worn out with fa
tigue, he turned into an .esquimaux hut to
get a little sleep, the good-natured hostess of
the•wigwam covered him up with some of bei
own habiliments, and gave him her baby for
a pillow.
sr. No doubt there is room enough in the
world for men and women, but it may be a
serious question whether the latter are not
taking up more than their share of it just
now.