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[lt is not often that the Irmo of Stephen A. Douglas is
connected in our minds n lilt literature, or au) thing out
side of the fierce contentions of the political arena; but
Lee is n poetical etilndon n Islets is credited to him.]
BURY ME IN THE MORNING
DT STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS
fury ma in the morning mother—
let me have the light
Of one bright day in my grave, mother.
Ere you leave me alone nit!. the night,
Aloe in the night of the grave, mother,
riga thought of tenible fear,—
And you V. ill be here alone, mother,
And stars MB be shining hero;
So bury mo in the morning. mother,
And let me have the light
PI one bright day on my grave, mother,
Ere I'm alone uith the night.
You tell of the Fivior's love, mother,
I feel if in my hemr—
But oh! from this beautiful world. mother,
'TN hard for the young to part;
Forever to part, when here mother,
The soul is fain to stay;
For the gravo is deep and dark, mother,
And heaven teems for away.
Then bury me in the looming, toothier,
And let the have the light
Of one bright day on my grave, toothier,
Etc I'm alone with the melt.
VTR WONDERFUL HOUSEMAID.
BY MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE
' bet I know somebody that's a
great deal handsomer than she," ex
claimed little Nell Summers in a lively
tone, as she tossed her building blocks
into a basket, pell-mell, and climcd in
to the lap of her uncle Herbert. "Miss
Kate Odell can't begin to be so beau
tiful as our Ellen."
" And who is our Ellen?' asked Mr.
Lincoln, as he toyed with the child's
sunny curls; "and how came little
Miss Nell to know what her mother
and I were talking about ?, We thought
you were too busy with your fairy cas
tles to listen to us."
" And if I was busy, couldn't I hear ?
Tt takes eyes and hands to build cas
tles—not ears—don't you know that,
Mr. Uncle ?"
"If I didn't I do now;" and he
roguishly pinched the small snowy
ones that lay .hidden behind the long
ringlets. "But tell. me little niece,
- where and who is that beautiful crea
ture that rivals the belle of the season
in charins, according to you ?"
" Why, it's Ellen, our Ellen, and
she's up stairs; I suppose."
"But who's Ellen, and what does
she here ?"
Why, the maid, and she
_sweeps and dusts and lays the table,
and waits on it, too, and does every
thing that maids always do, and a
great deal besides, for mamma never
has to think any more, and -George
Jind. I don't have to cry over our les
sons.
" l wonderful maid, indeed," said
uncle Herbert, in au incredulous tone;
Ifaney Miss Odell wouldn't be scared
if she knew who her beautififi rival
was. But limy came she here?"
Why, mamma hired her, as she
does all her maids; and unless she gets
married, we shall always have her, for
I know she'll never do anything bad."
"A paragon, truly—this Ellen ; pray
explain mamma ;" and Mr. Lincoln
turned to his sister.
" I cannot," said she. " I can only
corroborate what sell has told you.—
Ellen is a maid who has lived with me
a fortnight only, and yet iu that time
has won my heart completely. in per
son—but as you stop to tea, you will
see her, and you can judge yourself if
she does not rival, and fairly, too, with
the brilliant belle of the winter. In
manners, she is a perfect lady; she has,
too, exquisite taste and a tact in the
management of household affairs that
I never saw equalled—"
" Tell him how sweetly she sings,"
interrupted the little daughter. ' " She
sings me to sleep every night, and I
always feel, when I shut my eyes, as
if I was going right up to heaven !"
" Bravo, Nell. A very angel of a
housemaid she must be. I long to see
her;" and he laughed in that peculiar
tone which seemed to say, " you're tel
ling me but a humbug story." .
" You'll laugh the other side of your
mouth," said Nell, earnestly, n n:on't
he mamma, when he comes to see her?"
"I shouldn't wonder," answered her
mother gaily; "indeed, if he had not
as good as owned that he had lost his
heart to Miss Odell, I should not care
to give so young and enthusiastic a
man a glimpse of my pretty maid.—
But list, I hear her gentle tread."
The, door of the sitting-room was
opened, and there glided into the room,
with a step light as a fairy's, a young,
slender, but exquisitely graceful fe
male. The single glance' which Her
bert directed towards her, as she en
tered, Oiled his soul with a wondrous
vision, for beauty sat enthroned - upon
.every feature of the blushing face.—
'The fair oval forehead, the soft, dark
eye with its long, drooping lashes, the
,delicately chiselled nose, the rose-tinted
cheeks, the full scarlet lips, each items
.of loveliness, were blended in so per
-fect anct complete a Union, that one
felt, as he gazed upon the countenance,
as does the florist when he plucks a
half!.blbWn moss rose—Heaven might
have made it more beauteous still, htit
this suffices.
There was a little embarrassment
visible in her attitude, as she found
herself unexpectedly in the presence
of company, but only for an instant
did she yield to it. Recovering her
self hastily she said to Mrs. Summers :
"Did you decide, ma'am, to have
tea an hour earlier than 'usual ?"
It was h simple question, but the ac
cents thrilled thC* young man's heart,
and he thought to himself, if there is
so much music in her voice when she
speaks only as a servant to her mis
tress, how heavenly it might be in a
lover's e , ar; an from that time he did
not wonder at little Nell's remark
about her songs of lullaby.
" We did, Ellen, and you may lay
the cloth at once. Illy brother will
stop with us."
Intuitively delicate, Herbert seemed
all the while busy with his little niece,
and did not once look towards the
beautiful domestic during the moments
that elapsed ere the tea was ready, yet
111
WILLIAM LEWIS, Editor and Proprietor
VOL, XVI.
he stole many a , furtive glance at her
through the golden curls of his little
vlaymate, and when she glided from
the room, he felt as , though the sun
shine was driven front his path.
" Isn't the more beautiful than Miss
Odell, say, uncle?" whispered _Nell, as
the door closed on her. "Didn't I tell
the truth when I said I knew some
body that was handsomets than she ?"
" Indeed you did," said Mr. Lincoln,
earnestly. "She is nearly perfect."
" I wish you could see her with her
hair curled, uncle. Once or twice,
when we were up stairs alone, she has
let me take out her comb, and such
long silky ringlets as I made by just
twisting it over my fingers—oh, I
don't believe von ever saw any so
beautiful in all your life I I teased
her to wear it so all the tine, but she
shook her head and combed them up
into braids again, and said curls and
house-maids didn't look well together;
and when I asked why not, she said
I'd know when I grew older, and then
two or three great tears stood in her
cycs and I do believe, uncle, Aio cries
some nights all the time, for her eyes
look so red some mornings. Ain't it
too bad that such a handsome girl
should have to be a maid ?"
" Yes, by my soul it is," said the
young man, warmly., "Do tell me ;
sister, her story. There must be some
romance in it. She has not been a
menial all her life."
" What I know, I can tell in few
words, Herbert. When Bessie, my
last maid, gave notice of leaving, she
said she could recommend a substi
tute, and I, not being very , well,
thought I would sooner trtist her than
run the risk of going clay after day to
the intelligence office. She said a
young girl, who, with a widowed mo
ther lived on the same floor with some
of her friends, had applied to her for
aid in obtaining a situation as maid,
and she thought, that what she had
seen and knew of her, she would suit
me exactly. 1 was somewhat startled
when I saw her, for though Bessie had
told me how beautiful and lady-like
she.was, I was not prepared for the
vision that met ine-to tell the truth,
An a most unhusiness and unhouse
keeperly way, I engaged her at once,
without inquiring as to her abilities or
her recommendation. She won my
heart at sight and she has won my
head since, for she is not only thorough
in the performance of her duties, but
executes them with a taste and judg
ment, I have never seen excelled by
any matron. If the clay is cloudy,
when you enter the parlor you will
find that she has so disposed the win
dow hangings, that the "most will be
made of the sunlight; if it is sunny,
she will so arrange them that a gentle
twilight seems to shadow you. She
is, indeed a perfect artist in the ar
rangement of every thing, studying
and combining effect and comfort.—
I feel with you that her lot has not
always been so lowly. but there is a
certain respect that she inspires in one,
that forbids close questioning. I in
cline to the opinion that she and her
mother have been sorely pinched for
means, and that finding needle-work
an inadequate compensation, she has
chosen to work out, as by that means,
while she earns more a week, she
saves her board-from out their scanty
inc6me, and has time to rest. But
here is papa and herself with the, tea."
As soon as they were fully seated,
and the cups bad been passed, Mrs.
Summers turned gently to the maid,
as'she waited beside her chair, and
said, in a low tone, " we shall need
nothing more at present." Quietly,
butwith visible pleasure, she withdrew;
and as the door closed on her, Herbert
exclaimed :
" Thank you, sister, for sending her
away. I could not have borne to see
so ladylike a creature wait upon me.
It seemed clownish in me to sit for a
moment while she was standing. In
good sooth, if I had so fair a maid, I
should be democratic enough to ask
her to cat with mc."
"And tints wound her self-respect.
No, brother, she has chosen for some
good reason her meniel lot, and I can
see would prefer to be so regarded.—
All I can do, till I eon further win her
confidence, is to make her duties as
little galling as possible. But come,
sip some of her delicious tea. it will
give you inspiration to compliment
Miss Odell to-night.".
" Miss Odell go to—France:" said
the young man, hastily. " A painted
doll—good for balls and parties, but
no fitter for life in its realities than
.Nell's waxen baby !"
" beginning to laugh the other
side of his mouth, isn't he mamma?"
exclaimed the little girl. "I knew
he'd love Ellen best.".
Herbert blushed, and Mrs. Summers
adroitly changed the conversation.
The housemaid was not alluded to again
till an hour after tea had passed; when
George, the eldest of the family, a
bright but somewhat capricious boy of
twelve, rushed into the sitting-room,
exclaiming eagerly:
"Mayn't Ellen stay in to-night.,
mamma, and go out to-morrow eve
ning?"
" Certainly, if she chooses, my son."
" But she don't choose, and , that's
the trouble. I ya n t her to stay, and
she says she can't because her mother
will be . so anxious about her."
"But why do you wish her to stay,,
George ? You certainly have no com
mand of her or her time. Pray, what
do you want sho should do ?"
" Why, I want her to show me how
to do those horrible hard sums in the
back part of the arithmetic, and I want
her to tell me how to conjugate that
awful irregular French verb, alter—l
wish it would (Pier into France where
it belongs—and I want her to hear my
Latin and—"
" Turn into a school-ma'am, after toil
ing as maid all day. No, George, no
—I have been very grateful to Ellen
for the assistance she has shown you
in your studies, but I cannot allow her
leisure hours to he so sorely invaded,"
interrupted his mother, while her broth
er held up both hands in much amaze
ment; for, to tell the truth, since he
had seen the maid, lie was preriared
to believe everything wonderful of her,
and would not have been surprised to
hear that she knew as many tongues
as Burritt himself.
" Verily," said he gaily, " this passes
all—a housemaid, and hear your Latin
lessons What else does she know ?"
" Everything," said George earnest
ly. " She can talk French better than
monsieur, and la belle Italian tongue—
oh, how sweet; it is to hear her read
and sing it ! I tell you, Uncle Herber,
she knows the most of any woman I
ever saw, and if you was a knight of
olden times, you'd do battle for her
beauty, and reseueler from the slavery
of that old despot, poverty !" and the
boy's eyes flashed, and he drew him
self proudly up, as though he would
have grown a man that moment and
shown his prowess.
" Bravo, George !" exclaimed his un
cle. " She needs no more valiant
knight than her youthful page promi
ses to be. Should your right arm ever•
be wounded in the defence of your
queen of beauty, advise me of it, and
I'll rush to the rescue." The words
were lightly spoken, hat there was a
meaning deeper and more divine in
volved in them than the speaker would
have then cared to own, even to him
self
The boy went to his lonely lessons,
the front door closed on Ellen, little
Nell was snug in the snowy couch
whither the maid had borne her with
kisses and music tones, and then Mr.
and Mrs. Summers and the brother
went forth to the brilliant ball room.
But with all its light, splendor and
gaiety, it had no fascinations for Un
cle Herbert. his thought were with
that beautiful girl, who had come so
like an angel to the household of his
sister. and when at an early hour he
wi thdrew, a nd gaining his couch, threw
himself upon it, it was only to dream
of tournaments and visored knights
and queens of beauty, and the loveliest
of them all, and the one that crowned
his brow with the nnfading
wore the same peerless face as did
'Lilco the housemaid.
Mrs. Summers had rightly conjec
tured the reason why one so gilled
had become a menial, though not for
many weeks did sir: learn the whole
story. It was briefly this The father
of Ellen, Mr. Seymour, had been a
prosperous merchant in a neighboring
city. Wedded to a lovely woman,
wealth flowing in upon him with a
heavy current, a beautiful child to sport
on his hearthstone, life fur some years
glided by like an airy dream. All the
riches of his own and his young wife's
heart were lavished upon Ellen, and as
she grew up lovelier in person than
even her infancy had promised, so she
grew beautiful in mind and soul, the
idol of the family altar.
She was in her eighteenth year when
the first blow struck them=the long
and fearful illness of the husband and
}labor. A mere wreck of himself,
physically and mentally, he was at
length pronounced convalescent, al
though perfect health, the physician
said, could only ho bartered for in a
sunnier clime.
They sailed at once for Italy. A year
had been passed in that beautiful land,
a delicious and eNhilirating one to
them all, for the step of the invalid had
grown steadier each moment, his eye
wore its wonted brightness, his cheeks
their glow, and the pride of mind sat
again enthroned upon-the noble brow,
when, like a thunderbolt from a cloud
less heaven, there fell a second blow.
The mercantile house, in which he was
head partner, had fhiled—ay, and
failed in such a way that, though in
nocent as a babe, his name was cover
ed with infamy. , It was too much for
the spirit not yet strong. Poverty it
could have borne, but disgrace shiv
ered it entirely. He lay for seine
months in hopeless lunacy, never ra
ving, but only sighing and moaning,
growing each day paler and weaker.
But ho passed not so away. When
the last hour of life drew near, his
darkened soul was light again, and he
tenderly counselled the two dear ones
who had hung over him so faithfully,
and bade them be of good cheer, for
though wealth was gone, the unspotted
honor of the husband and father should
be yet shown to the world. Then
commending them to the All Father,
with a hand clasped by each, their
sweet voices blended in holy hymns,
he passed away. A. grave was hol
lowed out for him on classic ground,
and the snowy marble wreathed with
affection's chaplets a few times, and
then sadly the mourners turned away,
a proud ship bearing them to their na
tive land.
Where were the crowds that had
flocked about them as they left its
shores ? Alas! the widow and her
child found none of them. Alone, and
unaided, they were left to stein the
torrent of adversity. Theirs was a
trite story. One and another thing
they tried to do, but the obloquy that
rested on the dead man's grave followed
his living darlings, till poverty, ht its
most cruel sense, pressed heavily upon
them.
" Lot us go where we are unknown,"
said Ellen, passionately, yet mourn
fully, one evening, as, after .' futile
search for employment ; she returned
to their humble lodgings, and bu'ried
her weeping face in her mother's bo
som. " They'll kill me with their cold,
proud looks. I'd rather hcg my bread
of strangers than ask
. honest employ
ment of these scornful ones, who tram
ple so fiendishly upon our sacredgricfs."
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, APRIL 3, 1861.
. -PERSEVERE.-
And they gathered up the remnants
of their treasures, and silently, secret
ly, lest the shame should fly before
them, went to a lonely home in the
city, where we find them. There they
readily procured needle-work, and all
they could do for their fingers beauti
fied every garment that pased throiigh
their hands. But the song of the shirt
was soon the only one they could sing.
Night brought no rest to the weary
day, and though twenty, in,stead of the
twelve hours' of the Bible Were spent
in toil, they were famished and frozen.
"Mother," said Ellen, one evening,
as the "hour of midnight found them
still at work. " this is too much for WO
man. I shall sew no longer."
"But what will you do, darling ?"
and Mrs. Seymour wept over her pale,
thin face; " shall we starve r
Mothef," there was resolution in
the tone now, " mother, I shall hire
out as housemaid ; attempt to
dissuade me, my mind is determined.
It is as honorable as this T -I shall earn
as much if not more than now; I shall
save my board; I shall have my nights
for rest." She pleaded till she won
at last , a tearful consent, and entered
the service of Mrs. Summers.
His sister's house had always been
a second home to Herbert Lincoln, but
DOW it seemed dearer than ever. Their
tea-table, in particular, seemed to have
a fascination for him, and at the end
of a fortnight, he had shaped so many
cups of Ellen's fragrant tea, that Mrs.
Summers declared she should certainly
present him a bill of board,: And though
in all that time he had not exchanged
a dozen sentences with the beautiful
maid, it was but too evident she was
the magnet which attracted him.
Business now took him - out of town,
and three weeks elapsed ere ho re
turned. As he was hastening from
the depot, turning a corner, he espied,
coming as it were to mptd, him, the
fair girl of whom be had dreamed every
nignt of his absence, and beside her,
little golden-haired Nell.
. "Uncle Herbert," cried the child,
and embraced him passimmtely. •‘ Oh,
I'm so glad you've come home. We
missed you so much." •Then freeing
him from her arms, she 6aid, graceffil
ly, " and here is dear Ellen, too, ain't
you glad to see her again ?"
Ellen blushed, but theyoung man
so courteously extended his hand to
her that she could not refuse it.
" I am happy to see Miss Seymour
enjoying this beautiful day," said he
in low gentle tones as respectfully as
if addressing:t queen_ 2'-. 464 ,,
"And I am happy to see Mr,-Lin
coln looking so well," responded the
lady, with a quiet dignity, and she
passed along.
" Bat where are you going, little
neice ?" said Ilerbertto sell, detain
ing her a giomont.
" Oh, to she Grandmamma Seymour,
she is a sweet lady, too. Ellen took
me there once, and it made so happy
that mother lets me go now whenever
she does," and she tripped away.
Herbert walked - rapidly to the first
corner, then - turned and deliberately
retraced his steps dud followed the two,
till lie learned the street and number
of Ellen's home.
That night as lie carefully examined
his bureaus, it occurred to him his sup
ply of linen was quite too deficient,
and forthwith he purchased a goodly
sized parcel of the raw material, and
at an early hour the next day was
knocking at the door of the dilapidated
house which he had seen Ellen enter.
Through vaultlike halls, and up rick
ety stair-cases he wended his way till
he found Mrs. Seymour's room. The
beautiful and saintly face of the wid
owed mother fitscinated him as agra
pletely as had the daughter's, and with
a reverential tone he opened his er
rand. While she inspected the linen,
and made inquiry as to the particular
way he would have it made up, his
eye glanced eagerly over the room.—
The exquisite taste of the housemaid
was visible everywhere. Geraniums
and roses• smiled hi the winter sun
beams that crept so lovingly into the
narrow casement; the white muslin
that draped them hung in folds grace
ful as snow wreaths; pencilings as rich
almost as mezzotints, hung upon the
walls; the rockers were cushioned
with rose colored muslin; hits of cloth,
gorgeous in hue as autumn leaves, wo
ven into matts, relieved the bare floor
of its scanty look; a guitar leaned un
der the tiny mirror, and a few costly
books were scattered in an artist-like
way hither and thither, wherever the
rambling eye would wish to see pinned
some beautiful thing.
" This is Tuesday," said Herbert;
" can I have one by Friday ?"
Oh, yes, sir, and sooner if you de
sire it."
Not sooner, unless you steal hours
from the night, and your weary looks
seem even now to say that you have
done so."
" It is the lot of the seamstress," said
the lady calmly but sadly.
The young man could not trust his
voice, to reply, and hastened away.—
lii his office he gave way to his feel
ings: " She, the beloved and the beauti
ful, toiling in menial service, and that
angel-like mother sewing for her liv
ing. It shall ho so no longer. Thank
God for riches," and be seized his pen
and inscribed these words on a slip of
paper, " an honest debt due your hus
band," he enclosed bank notes for five
hundred dollars, and addressing the
envelope to Mrs, Seymour, of
street, dropped it into the post office.
Could he have seen the grateful tears
that stole down the widow's cheeks,
and heard her sonl-touching prayers,
as she received it that evening, he
would have realized the full force of
the text, "It is more blessed to give
than to.receive."
" Oh, that it were Ellen's evening at
home," said she, " thank Heaven, I may
. :,.--2,.....- ..2
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4 c,: ~.,:e., ••,.„.
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have her all to myself, again. With
this sum in hand, we can be comforta
ble, without tasking ourselves as se
verely as heretofore.. My beautiful
child shall be no longer a menial."
Impatiently she awaited Friday eve
ning, for then Ellen would surely be
with her again. But that eve came
and went, and she was left alone. A
sudden and severe illness had attacked
Mrs. Summers, and when Herbert en
tered her house on the
sent
of the
same day ho had sent the generous
gift, he found it full of sorrow. Tho
physicians only shook'their heads sad
ly, when asked if there was any hope,
and when the loving ones gazed on
the white face of the sick one and
marked the intensity of her agony,
they turned away with fainting hearts.
Now, the full beauty of the housemaid's
character was developed. Instinctive
ly, they gave up all to her. She di
rected the attendants, she soothed lit
tle Nell, curbed the wild grief of George,
and spoke so sweetly to the mourning
husband and brother, that the spirit of
faith seemed in their midst. To the
sick owoman she was in very truth a
ministering angel.
No hand so softly wiped her brow, so
tenderly bathed the aching limbs, so
gently rubbed the .cramped fingers, so
deftly smoothed the pillows, so strange
ly sweetened the healing draught,
brought such cool 'drinks to the hot
lips, and such delicious food to the
starved palate. Her presence seemed
to beautify the sick room. Under her
loving ministration, it assumed a beau
ty that was almost divine. None knew
whether it might be the gate to Para
dise or to a brighter life on earth, but
all felt that whether the path of the
pale one was heavenward or here, it
was flower-crowned.
Day after day, and night after night,
found the fair nurse beside her patient.
Paleness gathered on her cheeks and
lips, but the same sweet smile played
there; lassitude quivered on her lids,
but the same hopeful look beamed from
the eye ; the limbs trembled with wear
inea!, yet obeyed the faintest whisper
from the couch. The physicians looked
on in wonder that one so delicate held
out ,so long under such heavy tasks,
and whispered one to another, " under
God, she is the healer."
And when the crisis came, when
Mrs. Summers lay there so deathly
that only by pressing a mirror to her
lips the fluttering life could be seen at
all ; when husband brother, children
and friends had stolen softly away, un
able longer to restrain their cries, that
young girl tarried still, motionless,
almost- breathless, silent her prayer:,
going upward.
Oh, how clear she was to them ,all
when again she appeared in their
midst, and said in her own low, sweet
music -tones, "You may hope."
" Bless you, bless you, faithful one !"
exclaimed Mr. Summers, as he wound
his arms around her. " Henceforth,
you are one of the treasures of our
household, the sister of my. adoption.
Come hither, Nellie and George, and
thank her. - Under Heaven, you owe
to her your mother's life." Little wet
faces were pressed to hers, and pas
sionate kisses brought fresh roses into
her cheeks. Then a manly hand—oh,
how its pressUre thrilled her nerves—
grasped hers ; and a full, rich voice
murmured, " our angel, sent by God."
On a bright and glorious morning,
in the mouth of roses, a splendid equi
page drove from the city mansion of
Mr. Summers. It held a tinnily party,
the wife and mother still pale, her
convalescence sadly retarded by the
fearful illness that had smitten her taco
idols; George and Neily, puny, though
out of- all danger; the lovely Ellen, no
longer maid, but cherished angel of
hope and love, thin and white, too,
with her winter and spring's nursing;
Mr. Summers, his fine face all aglow
with chastened joy, and Herbert Lin
coln, looking as though a lifetime, of
happiness was crowded into a moment.
It was the first long drive the phy
sicians had permitted the invalids, and
they knew not where they were going,
at least, none but Herbert.
Ellen had declined going
" I have seen my mother so little of
late," said she, gently, "I think I must
spend the holiday with her."
But they said no, and promised; if
~she would go with them then, they
would leave her with her mother on
their return, and she should stay with
out limit of time. How lovely she
looked, as consenting at length, she
came to the carriage in her summer
array. Herbert thought lie had never
gazed on so exquisite a maiden in all
his life, and longed with a frenzy he
had never felt before, to fold - her to his
heart; the shrine which had been sa
cred to her from the first moment of
meeting.
" What lovely home !" exclaimed
Ellen, as leaving the main road, they
branched off into a splendid avenue,
lined with graceful elms, and came in
sight of a small but elegant mansion,
draped with rose-vines, and embower
ed with rare shrubbery, "I trust it
holds happy hearts."
"Yes," said Lincoln, warmly, "that
it does, and we will to-day share their
joy, for it is here we are to stop."—
Joyful eNclamations burst from them
all. It seemed like a beaming of light
in fairy land, that beautiful place, to
those senses so long pent up in the
chambers of sickness.
They were ushered into a parlor
that seemed the abode of the Graces,
so charmingly were beauty and utility
blended. A moment they waited ere
the rustling of satin announced the ap
proach of the lady, to whom they werp
making so unceremonious a call.
She entered, and in a second Nellie
Summers was clasping het round the
neck. "Grand-mamma Seymour, the
furies did come to you, as you told me
last week perhaps they would some
time. Oh, lam so glad:"
TERMS, $1,50 a year in advance.
Mr. and Mrs. Summers
_stepped for
ward and grasped her hand; but Her
bert and George, where were they 7
kscream from ellie announced them.
Pale and passionless Ellen lay in their
arms. She had not seen her mother,
but tier oyes had caught sight of a
small Greek harp in a pillared niche,
her own father's gift, and sold by her
when they left that proud city of
scorn. Memories so many and sad
had unstrung her nerves. Joy seldom
kills, though. When awakening from
her swoon, she met the tearful eyes of
her mother, she felt assured there was
some blest mystery to be told.. It was
all soon explained. Herbert and Mrs.
Seymour bad become fist friends in
the past winter—be had cheered the
lonely hoUrs of Ellen's absence—he
had learned her story and assured
himself that foul wrong had been (Toile
her husband. Employing the best
counsel in her native city, he bent all
his own energies and talents to the
cause, and sifted the matter 'to its
very root, and triumphed, too. The
fair name came back fiurer than ever,
and the wealth with it, too; the
wretches who had blackened the one
and stolen the other, cowardly fleeing,
instead of making manly confession.
" I have to thank Mr. Lincoln for it
all," exclaimed Mrs. Seymour, at the
close of her recital, "and I have to
pay him yet," and she glanced arch
at him. "Bills should be settled, even
amongst friends."
Herbert hesitated a moment. Then
be knelt beside her. " I have no mo
ther," he said sadly. "Be as one to
me, and I am repaid a thousand
times."
She threw- back the raven locks that
clustered on his noble brow, and im
printed there a calm, sweet kiss.—
‘,‘ My son," said she solemnly," "I
adopt you into my love; Ellen, receive
a brother." But Ellen was gone.—
They caught, however, a glimpse of
white muslin in the green shrubbery,
and she was followed, not by both,
though; Mrs. Seymour had, indeed,
risen, but a sudden thrilling pulse in
her warm heart checked her, and she
resumed her seat.
Herbert hastened out and found her
under the shadow of an old elm, on a
bed of moss, with her lap full of rose
buds. Seating himself beside her, he
whispered to her willing ear, long and
passionately, his heart's adoration,
and with a radiant look of joy, led her
back to the house and to her mother's
knee.
"As a brother, Ellen will not own
me," said he, "but when I asked her
if coma day,. not very far away, she
would call me by a dearer name, she
was more willing. Our hearts have
long been one—bless, mother dear, oh,
bless the union of our lives!"
How Not to Correct a Fault,
"Well, Sarah, I declare ! you are the
worst girl that I know of, in the whole
country !"
"Why, mother ! what have I done ?"
"See there ! how you have spilled
water in my pantry! Get out of my
eight; I cannot bear to look upon you
—you careless girl!"
"Well, mother, I couldn't help it !"
This conversation T recently over
heard between at mother and her daugh
ter. Mrs. A. the mother, is ft very wor
thy woman, but very ignorant of the
art of flunily government. Sarah, her
daughter, is a heedless girl, of about
ten years old. She is very. much ao
cnstomed to remove things out of their
proper places, and seldom stops to put
them in again. On the occasion re
ferred to above, she had been sent to
put water• into the tea-kettle, and had
very carelessly spilled a considerable
portion of it upon the pantry floor.
After the above conversation, which,
on the part of the mother, sounded al
most like successive claps of thunder
on the ears of her daughter, Sarah es
caped, in a pouting manner, into an
adjoining room, and her mother wiped
up the slop in the pantry. •
Well, thought I, my dear Mrs A., if
that is the way you treat your (laugh
ter, you will probably find it necessary
to wipe after her a great many times
more, if you both live. Such family
government as hero set forth seems to
MO to be liable to several serious objec
tions.
The reproof was too boisterous. Chil
dren can never be frightened into a
knowledge of error, or into conviction
of crime. It is their judgment, and
their taste for neatness mid order,
which need training, and not their ears.
It was too unreasonable. The child
was, indeed careless, but she bad done
nothing to merit the title of "the worst
girl in the country." Children are sen
sible of injustice, and very soon find it
difficult to respect those who unjusily
treat them.
It was too passionate. The mother
seemed to be boilingover with displeas
ure and disgust ; and under this excite
ment she despised her darling
ehjld—
the very same that, in a short time af
terward, when, the storm had blown
by, she was ready to embrace in her
arms, as almost the very image of per
fection.
It was inefficient. Sarah retired, un
der the idea that her mother was ex
cited for a very little thing, which she
could not help. Thus she blamed her
mother, and accjuited herself.
If you have great talents, indus
try will improve them; if moderate
industry will supply them. Nothing
is ever denied to well directed labor;
nothing is ever to be attained without
it. Remember, a roan's genius is al
ways in the beginning of life as much
unknown to himself as others—and is
only after frequent trials, nttended
with success, that he dares think him
self equal to' the undertaking in which
those who have succeeded, have fixed
the admiration 2f 01 mankind.
The French Gpvernmet and Arneri.can,
ga.illardet, the rails correspon
dent of - alp Cowrie/. des Etats
and who also, by his articles in the
Paris Presse, contributes very mate
rially to the formation of public opin
ion in France relative to. American af
fairs, Writes as follows to the Courier :
‘.E T?rance saw with sincere and'unan
imous regret, discord appear in the
bosom of a confederation which is in
part its own work,• and whose power
is necessary to its interests. The wish
es of France were favorable to a recon
ciliation. and to the Union.. The Em
peror Napoleon openly expressed his
wish to Mr. Faulkner, and has abstained
from saying or doing anything which
could encourage the separation of the
South, despite the advantages Which
such a separation promised to the come
merce of Europe in general, and to
that of France in particular. But to
day the division of the Union is ac
complished; and at the moment when
the Confederate States of the South ap
ply themselves to enlarging:the freedom
of their ports to foreign industry, the
North restricts the entrance to its har
bors. While those lower their tariff,
these raise theirs., It is the slave
States who show theraselves progres
sive, and free States who Shosethow
selves retrograde.,The Ameriean - peot
ple, which so ractical, may . under
stand that Europe shOuld be a little
like itself, and go whither'its interest
call. The Southern Confederacy, by
prohibiting the slave. trade, as fore
stalled the moral opposition of Europe.
There will be. in America only five
more-free ports. fox us. This is What
the Republicani-of the North 'should
not forget, if it ie not already too late.
The .3lbniteur says:the new tariff should
be one of the first sacrifices made to
their reconciliatt, with the South;
otherwise Europ . will end by seeing
only a fortunate. went in a separition
which she at grit' deplored ; and it will
become not and right but a duty for us
to recognize the independence of the new
Confederacy.".'
NO, 41,
A letter from Guerero, Mexico, tells
something of a now Saint, who is cj '
Ling a, great excitement at Mier, about
ten miles distant from that place. It
says:
" Fancy a man, about sixty years of
ago, very dark and vulgar looking,
with a long white beard reaching half
way to his waist, grey moustache and
hair, with a hat of the old high Crown
ed, broad brim Mexican style black
wool, a coat of striped sack-cloth, pants
of the same, a dirty white shirt, open
down the bosom, sandals on a pair of
very dirty feet, tied with' strings com
ing up between the toes, and you have
a personnel of a man who wields a rod
of iron over about 2,000 human beings,
and they following him and kissing
his feet and hands, and firmly believ
ing him to be the God of Hosts.
I was with him all clay—took sup
per with him and had some conversa
tion with him. I asked him about
peace in Mexico and the United States.
He said there never would be peace
again, in either country, u4til the
world was destroyed. His mode of
doctoring is curious. His medicines
are atjua ordientp' and water. He
rubs it on the affected parts while the
patient is kneeling. He has performed
seine astonishing cures, and supports
the people who aro with him. He
buys beeves, divides amongst them,
gives them clothing, and supports
them entirely, Where the money
comes frora I do not know; but I do
know that he supports them, and at
an enormous expense. This is no hear
say' what I have said. I have seen,
and unless I had, would not believe."
Never burn kindly letterf. It is so
pleasant to read them over when the
ink is brown, the paper yellow , with
ago, and the Mud that traced ti)
•
friendly words, lie folded over the hearts
that prompted them, - under the green
sod.
Above all, never lutra love-letters.
To read them in after years is like a
resurrection of one's yOuth. The el
derly spinster finds in the impassioned
offer she foolishly rejected twenty years
agd, a fountain ofrejuVeneseence. Glan
cing over it she realkies that she was
once a belle and a beauty and beholds
her former self in a Mirror much more
congenial to her taste than the one that
confronts her in her dressing room.
The "widow indeed" derives a sweet
and solemn consolation from the let
ters of the beloved one, who has just
journeyed before her to the far off land,
from which there comes no messages,
and where she hopes one day to join.
him. No photographer can so ViVldly
recall to the memory of a mother, the
tenderness and devotion of the children
who have left her at the call oflfeav
en, as the epistolary outpourings of
their filial love. The letter of a true
son or daughter to a true mother, is
something better than an image of the
features; it is a reflex of the writer's
soul.
Keep all loving letters, barn onl.rtbe
harsh apd cruel ones, and in burning,
forget and forgive them.
A BAD 'NIGHT.—.4 gentleman WSW
once dining with a friend, when a most
dreadful storm arose. In hopes of
abatement, the entertainment was pro
longed to the latest hour; but at length
it was over and the storm showed no
signs of ceasing, but on the contrary,
grew worse and worse. The hest in
sisted upon his guest's acceptance of a
lodging for 4 night, in view of the
impossibility of reaching his, home.
The guest complied, but in a few
minutes was missed frem th© parlor.—
In Indian hour he veappeared, drenched
with rain.
" Where in Heaven's name, have
you been I" asil.ed the host; viewing
the singular looking object, which
looked like a dog around the paws and
a weeping willow about the head.
" said he, quietly shaking off the
water, If I have 'been at home to tell
my wife, that, as it was such a bad
night, I should not return."
ge - Mr. Brown, you said the defen
dant was honest and intelligent. What
makes you think so—are you acquain
ted with him ?"
" No, sir, I never seen him."
" Why then do ynu come to such a
conclusion 7"
" Cause, he takes ten newspayers and,
pays for than ii adeaxee;"
Affairs.
A Mexican Saint
Old Letters.