—■■■’ ■■ ■ ■-■ ■ ' - ''' " r ; •--. ' =—■■—-.--'-'■■■7-':r ■■" ■:.: ■ :
|fe VOL. 52.
:-.jSgk—=
poetical.
■/ yv -k ' ■
i r f^io.';.
*' >?,‘ •»*
, v ?f F'h k *~'~ri —t ~~
',< [FROM THE PHILADELPHIA AQE.J
jg; s
Cold blows tbo wind , the Heavens are gray
fj ireo-tops bow before the blast
, \Back, downward to the boarded past
, ivTho day—like ages—tadea away.
' 1 bear the winds and what they said.! •
.‘"''And nil the winds of autumn speak
‘ 1A dirge te me, an.d seem to wreak
Bspccial sadness on ray head.
Bat sadder than tbe'soi’.nila.ihey tell
■ .■ , ./ -On common days, is opuihut,floats .
"Around me now, with poignant notes,
■ v -That grieves mo with a laroweil.
' I hear it sighing through the A.r,
Vr : r * I hear it when the shadows lull,
' .sp Alone. I hear it most o( all,
, ' <And at the dead of night ’tis there.
bear it when the mornings shine,,,..
i’arowell! farewell!” nor o’ar deceives
'I , ' I hear it among the fallen loaves ~ ,
. ‘ .That knew her footsteps linked with mine.
■: '■fji?sl ; hear it when I dare to dream ~ .
Through any path that wo have trim,
I hear it in the emerald sod,
i ,i | < .£4'A l >d > n th<) immemorial stream.
it when the night distils , . , .
'&SS& Her patient cup for flowers and fruits ;
■ hear it in the gnarled tree-roots,
‘ t-’And in the autumn burnished hills.
V"S«!»
*f&X boar it in the landscape round,
, The green below, tlio bluo allovo ;
.i,Jf I hear it ns the voice ol love
y i‘ rfhat murmurs from the bellow ground.
’ 'X bear it as my spirt prays
‘ - .. Stay, tarry yet with me, nor go I
‘ ’Twill sling the tendereat nerves of woo !”
.■ Adieu I adieu I” is ail it saya.
Ilbear it in the daya to be, ~ ,
i ji, 1 ,. ,r Born backward on a monrpful wind— .
' ‘C,; Through all the days that droop behind
ln the all-in-all I see.
' , \b’^ uch P arti "K mak6 the h f* rt B row old,
’ And mine, , alas, is one of these i
And I am left tike autumn,lreep t-
leaves have dropt and left thein
cold.
- -W
'wJ-WYet am I not ungrateful potv, . ~ ,
• Nur thankless for the days that wore;
Vg And for the (more, I will bear
':\~y Whatever is lo come. *But 1/iou—
drops oT music—peace of dove—
\sp| The sweet events that form the hours t
Thy life a lengthened chain of flowers,
every breath a lint of "love !
‘ Jdmna
SttlKtllniMM.
: 4||ts' THE LAST PROIBiBR
\ CHAPTER I.
l- Leoni Do Forrest was a Wild, gay and
>4/ iy r o o«U ear t e d youth. Ilia father died when
was Imta’chilrt, and on him was lavised
the love that bis mother could bestow.
jr ßclrig an only child, be was sent to the
' schools, and when he had arrived at
'the age el . eighteen, a more talented
’y: man could not well be found. His
finally concluded to leaV'* her homo
" l ho cojiuVry, and go to NW-‘ York,
.■ : a'be Ybought Leoni could get a situ*
in Dpine,wholesale store, and be ah\e
■ r oarn ,ft 6°°'d, giving As soon as they
got settled, in their, new
Lephi..procured a situation in a
; c in Wil\iat|b fifteet, ( and commenced
- course in life., alter he had
there only. a. tow months, and hud
" his employer’s confidence an,d.trust
,>.; J Binliil companions induced him-, tp. drink—
’ vfo tasttf the pmsonous. Jiqui.d, Rvih y whose
''-witherlug. damning blight flip ..curbed the
' - I happiest homes, ■.darkened* the
- and cesolutid the.'toodoot hearts,
-wl lost liis situation. ahd. a while
\-V • ohiained another. He lost this, a/50 Vi; G r till
time he tried# and again ..kind lor
tune favored him. His mother gave hjm
and pious council, >w.ept n for Jiiin,
' 1 for him, and told hitin, with tear
, eyes and ’fatal ruin
- , *£hat awaited hitd if lie did hot reform, *Hi
i t «. 'promised her he would jpjd ,he mean it?
' He fell again. Hflyihg.loBt,)ii^ ; goofl name
* " " young heart sickened within him, and
, - 1 naught but words, such as ** He’ll never be
ll anything but a poor loafer! He’ll die in
! . 'thu gutter yet I’’ from lips that abould have
spoken kind words of encouragement. Ho
]gave up Hope, and, joined in a “ band of
ft JDiQßtrels,” he left his home to travel, west
and aonth. He was absent several years
. . during bis travels be did not forget his
' . v : Pg«d mother—that aged who. never
- forsakeß an erring and ainl'ul child, though
' ‘others may. despise* , . , :
, , '•!* , Leoniaat lastcajnq bp&e again. He or
; gamzed a band jh i,ho cjty , and night after
'V i lhe etraina of sweet music-and t(io
.enchanting harmony of their voices awoke
‘kuauy slumbering mrtidon’from her dreams,
v to'seek the moonlight lattice, and listen to
: Love’s -Serenade.”
• m I. • • * j
! ) Two maidens wore seated: side by - side;
-jA’ one bl'igh.t apmmer evening—aide by side,
bear ah.qheb Wind,pw, gaiing out in the air
lence and tfaijiuty 9/ r the .night. Fair and
VV*®K young they bjolji Were. One had al|' the
spirit and brightness in hoi- nature that t.hp
maidens of sunny Spain .can hoast' Ql;
' M brightness lingered ’mid hay. long , blaclt
SS tresses; brigbtneas.and beauty tinged, ijor
aw * lo * l warm obeek, poiited on t|ie red. lipji,
and reposed on her calm and spotless Brow.
Music was her voice, aqd her spirit gaaed
%SM out from tbo dreamy depths of her. dark
■’tfS' °yeS- She was Adeie Danvers. She was
■ 'mm an orphan. Rosa Clyde,, her companion,
yogs wa * exactly the reverse of her. Rosa had
' '"l® bright anburn hair, a fair complexion, blue
■: ■ vfXljl eyes, and, unlike her friend, possessed a
mß®! calm, qniet heart that never throbbed tn
mutinously with passion or with joy, bnt
ia **lSr lay alleot and calm in her innocent bosom,
*'"* waiting, as it were, till the.aephyra ot Lpv.e
Were watted oyer it to wake its changeless
pulses into life.:
; Did you know Leo 3)e Forrest had re
turned from the west > at last inquired
..Rosa.. ~,
. .Her companion Blasted, and the rich
blood crimsoned her cbi eks.
■ No! When did bo arrive 7 When did
you hear.so?
Kate Willis was here Ibis morning,, while
you were out, and she told me that she met
him standing on the. steps of his hnble’a
house. Shu said he .bowed, .end came
down to meet her—then he inquired how
all tho.girls were, and sail} he intended to
give them ail a, serenade, and let them
know he had. coma home.. ’
Rowrlid he look? Did ahe say. 7
: Oh, a great deal darker and older He’s
got a mustache now, so thick and black
that he looks fierce; and his hair is very
long.and.hangs in curls down bis shoulders.
:„. B .ba say how he was dressed. Rosa 7
■; ■'VlUhopvoibptly auenaod to.‘: -ya- 'l utJi
’ 1 ■ 1 ' a _i.j
'K-aWk
:WM
3M
plaid—coat, v«Ht and paota all alike—and
a pair of “ patent leathers, f ’ and a—lopg
gold chain qrqqpd.Jiia’ neck and a •‘Kos
suth hat';”, end-then be carried a cane too.
That’s all, ! beljeve. «
I Would like to see him, wouldn’t you
Kpsa f . 1>
Yea, I would, I wonder if ho drinks as
'much,a3 H.m did botore.be wept away 7lf
lie h'adn’tthat one fault, wouldn’t be be a
noble fellow 7
Bo you think so, Rosa 7 You used to
run him down iu every, way- Do you
.know Rosa, 1 think if he only would fall in
love with some real good girl, she might
in time persuade him to do, right?—rto
leave olfbia wandering life apd settle him
‘sell in some steady business? T think I
could doit?
It can never bo done,. Adelef Yda
might lr> but you would only ruin your
happiness forever ! Never —never think of
loving him, unless you would become a
drunkard’s wile !
You know aot't|ie powjurof woman’s lovo
Hoaa Cl,yde. Many a man might have been
saved from, tho drunkard’s grave if bis
borne had been made happy—many a roan 1
And any one like Leo De Forrest—so iqo
hlo, so kind, possessed of his knowledge
ahd pride-can be .wop to do aright. 1
wish; !'only had the chance to show what I
could dp. I wouldjiot do it in a day, or a
!week,‘ butijin time., I’d make his little
home-A place where .love and kindness
ald.iie bhoiilfl dtfell, I’d meet him always
with a smile 'and p kind word, and when
I’d only got him to stay at home one eve*
oing, I’d rouse bib ,slumbering ptide, I’d
awake again his olden.arpbition and point
him to a glorjous future and picture to his
mind a brilliant destiny. tell him a noble
name awaited him in the end 1 1 Oh, I known
be would apuru the .the- ‘false., friehds
around him, cast them off, and Anally rice
high above them all 1 „
As Adelo Danvers ..uttered these lust
words, sho- seemed us if inspired. A
strange, wild light shown from her eyes,
causing. her companion to guze upon her
with mingled admiration and wonder.. •
Rosa Clyde at length smiled, and gazing
carelessly out of ,11)6 window, said :
„, I would not iik? to risk my happiness for
sake.qf the triaj, anyway. However, you
may.Jbavo an opportunity one of these days
perhaps, to try tfto strength of your Ipvo on
your rutfO —that is, if he stays long enough
fn.the city., .
I shall not shrink from it, If ever it so
happens, Rosa. , .. .
.There,, jwss. pnpt,hfc'r silence. . Neither
wished to renew the conversation, and thus
they sat side .by aide, gazing out into the
ptiJl night, their t thoughts wandering in
widely different spheres. ,
CHAPTER 11.
Suddenly 'Rosa Clyde, drew back from
the window and whispered to her compan
ion : They are comiijg!. . . *• ~
The note a of a guitar came tinkling
.awoetlv on the air, and the two girls drew
together the blinds and awaited the seren
ade. The drop toned bell from the
told tbe midnight hour, and. a* the fast
stroke died away, the gato that admitted
info tbe yard was opened nolalewaly, and
one l>y one eight dark figures stole in p.pd
ranged thomsolvoa beneath the window's.
Suddenly there stole on the air a wild and
thrilling gush of the sweetest instrumental
harmony; it raised and fell, swelled out
long and shrill, and then died away fainter
and softer, until it sounded as though it
were far away in the distance ; then at last
while tbe listeners had almost hushed, the
beatings of their enraptured hearts it burs!
forth once more in a startling flourish of
roliun grandeur-, and died away like the
mournful wall of tbe wind on the rippling
sea.
Ob, how sweet! how beautiful ezclaitn
both girls at afiee.
The 'overture vyaa ended. Then came a
glee, sung by lair fine voices. A figure
now stepped out into the moonlight, , and
running his-fingers over tbo strings of his
guitar, sang in a rich tenor voice the fol
lowing
BONO.
Slumber hot. lady, slumber not long
Light on tne air floats the wanderer’s song;
For I've been roaming o’er land and o’er
; oea,
Faithful I come once more nnto thee.
Never again will I pari from thy side,
Gently I’ll whisper, “ Wilt thou be my
bride?”
Slumber not, lady, slumber not long,
Awake love and list to tbe wanderer’s
song.
Friends have proved false nnto me, lady fair
Time hap,.overwhelmed me with sorrows
jmdfcaije,.
Oft have in sickness and pain
Thinking my. hppie.L would ne’er see again,
Now I’ve 'returned. Jady .fair .from alar—
’Twas thy omile.dhat did guide, like a
\\ beautiful, gtar; ;
Wilt thou b'a my bride, gentle lady, are
iQIlg,.-, ~ - . .
And bid me no more ainjg the.wanderer's
song 7
C- . J..J . 1 11, *,s: .
The serenade was .ended, and one by one
those dusky forma glided silently away.
•As Leoni Do .Forrest turned to *> follow bis
companions..something fell In the grass at
his fept. Be raised it in his hand—it wiia
p hpuquot of choice flowers.:. Be glanced
Upward,.,aijd caught one glimpse of a fair
hand beird the sweet, wo.rrt, : GoDd-nighJ.
And then turned and departed with a glad
beajt. . . ■ ; ‘ .
, After serenading a few more, places,
Leoni bade his companions Good nighty
(by the wayj it was morning)—and sought
his bumble homo, flis mother had not yet
retired. The youth opened the door and
entered., . , T - ... ■ ' t > _
j.'jWhy doyoij sit up so late,, upttior? he
ashed, as be kissed her affectionately. .
. I was ; waiting lor you my sop, nod the
fond .patent smiled, lor heart was glad.
Why? ..... : > J
Because-her boy was not intoxicated.
Because. Reason beamed from those dark
eyes. Because bis form was upright, and
bis step manly. Because, in short, his man
hood was. pot debased, for.ho stood-befope
her as she prayed to see him—in the imago
of His Maker-rGodl
- Then they prayed together, and retired,
to rejit. , , « 4
The young man’s dreams were pleasant
that night, and that fond mother’s repose
was calm and untroubled. Love and Hope
had both begun their good work—Love. In
the bosom uf the wanderipg boy. and llopn
in the breast of that kind and indulgent
mother. v
The next evebin£, Leoni started out to
meet some of his companions. Be came
to a halt, on a corner, in one ot the princi
pal thoroughfares and leaning against a
tree, stood gazing at the busy throng pass
ing to and fr.o before him. • :•
He had Stood the/e, but a few moments,
ere a familiar voice appeared In the throng.
He it be Mis# Danvers? He
looked again *twas ‘her l inn moment- he
was b) her aide, and her hand was clasped
in bis. She was glad to see him. She in
quired a few things concerning bis travels,
and after a few compliments on both sides,
she passed on. Leoni stood And watched
her retreating figure,'Until it disappeared
from view, then ho gave a long sigh, and
;riuiuittiOi4 pul pVcdm* vq * i££b? 5Vr v/lx": j v*
u OUR COUNTRY—MAY IT ALWAYS BE RIGHT—BUT RIGHT OR WRONG OUR COUNTRY."
Some twenty minutes had elapsed, and
no familiar countenances passed before
him. He thought he would stroll farther
down the avenue, when lo I there came that
fairy lorm again !—Miaa Danvers was com
ing back. She was walking rapjdjy, for ft
was nearly nine o'clock.. She smiled as she
passed by. but did not pfjuse.. Lqoni knew
that she was going home—he wished to
speak a lew words to her., What hotter op
portunity wqpld ho have than tty,o present
.pnec?.j ’Ho hraitatecl a moment, and at last
startQdftiftcr.her. k few hasty strides, and
he was .by her side. . ,
Arei!yo.u bn yoiir way homq, Misa Dan
vers ? hp inquired.-* . , *.•»•.
The maiden smiled* walked a little slow
er, and yeplied, Ves, sir. :
.Shall I accompany you ? . * . i
, If you please I but 1 have only a few
blocks to go.
Side,,by side they walked on.and iu a
short time they were engaged, fa earnest
convuravtion. Lupin told .the I’tiir- girl of
many prices he hud visited while ho wua
t kway ; spoke of his troubles and disappoint
’ments, hs well as of the sucQessoa be had
met with, as though'she were his sister. In
fact, his nature.,- He bad no broth
er or sister of his own, npd she seemed like
somr near find dear friend to whoito he. could
relate all his, lyials and misfortunes,.and in
wbpth he could' trust. So be talked, on,
and she ‘.listened, always manifesting the
'same livol» interest in everything he said,
.while at times spme.'kind word of advice
or encouragement fell softly frgiJn her lips,
causing bis wild and boyish heart to throb
with gentle and'pleasurably emotions. At
length they arrived.at the gate, ore Leoni
w as hardly aware thqj ..had, .come so far
Hero they paused a momenteach thinking
there wuia something .'more that slionld be
said, but each not knowing what they should
say. ?
Won’t you corho lo t at length inquired
the maiden.
No I believe not, to night. Uis rather
Ute,now.
But you will call and see iis soon, will
you po.t?
I:sha(l, Adele; for my friends are so few
in Dumber—that is, my true friends —that I
know hoW; tp prize ope when wo meet.
jW A Tew tliure w orda woroAuterchanged be
tween them, and then they parted. . Looni’s
heart was light, as he bent |»is steps toward
his home. If seemed to him as though he
bad been (ravelling alorm-tfirough some si
lent and gloomy wood-,:wbwto all was dark
ness,.and-loneliness* He"h«d met with no
friend to point him the road to .the sunny
glades, the bright sunshine, and tjio ,bloom
ing flowers, until.at last, when,.-Hope had
fled, and Despair had almost clutched' him
in her bpby grasp, an angel form appeared,
and ; while bo. gathered , new strength, the
sunshine burst in upon , him, the darkness
fltjtw away, and sparkling streams ran danc
ing through the. fairest -glades of beauty,
while syren song birds chanted in bis ears
the wild entrancing mclml> of Lovo. Such
is.the dfeam of youthful hearts when first
they feel kove’a power.
CUAI'TIiE 111
Leoni De Forrest diet not forget his prom
ise to call on his yonng friend. Tbe follow
ing Sabbath he was there in the evening,
pnd omj other evening during.tbo »utne
week. .Time passed .on,and, Ufa. Visits at
length became reg.ular until Dapiiej Rumor
(old Mother Go«*ip—told wenjbmfy ibatthey
were engaged. they wow right.
Who knows/ Il«4 -Limoni De Forrest be
come steady ? . jßumor entf Uqbslp said that
hp bad not. Interested friends began,to ut
ter ominous prophecies concerning, the fu
ture late of this iniipcent. >.pnng couple.
Old maids ad crusty bachelors .all bid
something, to. predict. Some thought the
poor fellow would live about two years; ana
then die in the streets, while the wife would
of course go-to the County House. Others
imagined and supposed that the young man
would go off* with the Minstrels again, af|e>
he had become sick of the
state. A few morq (Uptight, this, and afew
more thought that, while a certain class
thought a vast ..deal about everything, but
didn’t exactly like to say anything
Advice, that wondrous thing which we
can always get so cheap, was given to the
maiden from all quarters. “ Don’t marry
him!” come tp her ears from.everybody’s
lips, and in the midst of it all, the young
lovers walked out one bright evening, and
were married. What a pity ! exclaimed one
to another. ' What a pity, she bis married
hiin!
But in a short found a situa
tion and wept to Work., .young wjfo
tried to encourage hini in every way, and
for a while, things went on comfortably
enough. But the young husband’s salary
was small scarcely sufficient for them to live
upon, and he became disheartened when bo
saw no prospect of Advancement. Again bo
bod recourse to that vile draught that often
before had .blighted bis moat brilliant pros
peels of success in life. Ho was discharged.
When b« came home and saw the pale, sad
ac.e of his young bride, conscience smote ,
bim and be sat down and wept long and bit
terly,
; Adelo threw her arms around his neck and
pado.,him cheer up and try again. She
pointed out to him tpje' course ho should
pursue, apd tojd bini though .all the world
forsook cling unto Bim
and share with him hi# f ate, jwbaiover. that
fate might Uo..:She .spoke of a‘future glo
rious and bright.fer him,and told him set
bo-would win a'good and:- noble’,nanpe:if ho
would abandon his ; worldly, pleasures and
touch not I ho- I jpoispopus .bowdl.tj.She .said
she was willing to toil to help him qn,until
he obtalnoda belter. paiary,jftnd.endure i\\
the little deprivations that lor a.time be
would bo subjected tp, .She,.,would not
complain, but, «h, she prayed for him to, re
form. and be a man among men. The young
husband promised he would, and she was
honpy. •; i • . ■ ;
j Header, Leoni De Forrest did not keep
that promise. Hp. went out day after day
and sought for; employment. He went to
his friends./; They would not aid him be
cause he had drank. .He went to strangers.
They did not want him~th9.y had hoard his
name before. .Be, told, jihem it* they would
give bjm N empi.oyinont,be.,would do right—
he almost, begged work for,the sake of 4iia
wife and.little bpbo.. The answer, was, No.
We do dot want any assistance at present.
And these were Wonl Men hern in a
Christian land I Men who pretended to be
'CbriKtia.ua themselves! human Ininga!
Spine of them feinted hy ties pi blood to
him who asked them not for money, b'* ask
ed theta not for did*. He. only asked for
work lliyd ho might earn inoney to purchase
the loved ones .bread. God in his own time
will judge them. ;
Heart sick, weary—almost hopeless, the
young man walked toward home, lost in. a
dream of 'mournful; bitterness*. Ho had
tried harder on that day than on any of the
proceeding-ones, although he was almost,
afraid at times to enter the large stoies, for
tear someone would treat him with-cold*
% dess, lor bo still-possessed a small*.'remnant
df pride amid his’poverty and
He had got about half way home, when ho
met one of his old companions.
Hallo! Leo, where- are you bound for?
Inquired Jack Tracy. You look as if you
bad lost all your friends.
v I believe I have Jack, for I have been all
over New York trying to find a alt nation,
»*UVU wuyiyJLw fQ
, CARLISLE, PA.. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1865.
and I am altogether discouraged, for I find
it-impussiblu to get anything to db.
Yes; I suppose icla.c But,why don’t you
go on the stage again ? 4 I call get you u
good engagement to. travel, if you want to
go. I’ve got one myself, and all we want
is a good tenor, to make our company com
plete. Will you take au engagement,
Leo 7 ».•?»’ *.
I cannot;, on account of my wife and
child. Besides, I’Ve loft the business alto*
gelher...
, Oh, that’s it. Well, let’s go and takoa
drink before wo part company, any way,
.Moybo we’ll not meet again very soon.
Oume along.
Leo hesitated* Then the Tempter whis
pered in bis oar,—one glass will do you
gnyd.,
Bo followed his companion in. Glass af
ter giubs they drank, and when they parted,
the young husband was intoxicated. Ho
vent directly borne, but his step wa«‘ un
steady, his eyes languid and dull, while a
simple Ijer disfigured his features.
He .staggered into the Hall, and fumbled
to find the door knob, making considerable
noise. ; Adle opened (be door, but started
back when she saw .her husband,; She said
nothing,to him whatever, but assisted him
to.,puli off his boots, and helped hint tp the
bed, bn which ho fell, heavilyh Soon.! ha
fell into a sleep. The young wife looked at
the supper, all untouched,,upon the table;
then, clasi ing her innocent babe'closer to
her breast, she sat down by the? bed side,
and wept bitterly., i . i T i he :wonduring .infant
looked up in its mother’s, face* and smiled*
while ttie shadows o night deepened, and
the twinkling stars came forth in- beauty
bright. Thu. evening breeze sighed mourn
fully ; the cricket chirped .its sad notes; the
clock ticked regular and monotonous, and
the young wife, kneeling in (hat calm hour,
prayed for her eiring hueb nd unto God.
Her husband, and the father, lay slumber
ing, tmcoDMious of what was passing around
,him, dreaming not of a wife’s loneliness,
her misery, or her.tears, , >«.
: ..Oh„ lonian! many are the -trials' tbpn
hast to jiindurgo-T-,trials the world knows not
of! And thou, dread terror—Rum! thy
poisonous power blasts many a happy beaYt,
and sirewa.the ashes of desolation over the
fairest gardens of blooming affection I
. When Leoni awoke the next morning, bo
experienced a deep fueling' of -shame —
•shame, with a crimsoned blush,;:t|nged bU
ebook, when be.came into the rboih where
bis young wife had breakfast alt prepared
for him. He looked toward the stove, and
there a nice plate,of,buttered toast and a
cup of tea was waiting for him. He sat
down at the table, after.he bad bathed his
flushed face ,and bqrbing brow; and Adlo
placed the fmornimg raoai before him, in*
qniring, kindly at the the same time—
How do you feel this morning, Leo 7« * -
1 -The young man looked up at her. H6r
forbearance and kindness touched f)io heart,
if or an instant ho looked down.*. His man
ly breast began to heave. A deep, long
drawn sigh came heavily forth; his lip trem
bled, whi.e bitter tears gushed forth front
bis eyes, and trickled.slowly, one after an
other. down his cheeks. He could not cat,
lor, the fountain pf. affection had been ten
derly touched, and its waters were troubled*
After,his anguish and remorse bud subsided,
he requested Adie tjoborae and «it beside
him. The young wife did as he desired ..
I have made you a gr«ut many promises
to .do right—have I not, Adle ?
Yes. my dear husband, you have,
Well, dearest, if I should make you one
more, could you believe me 7
Yes, Leo* I
.. God. Mesa you, ray own wife ! I will
‘prniiiiae.you, before God, Unit I will never
Again Viiiso to roy lips thu cup that holds
that poison which intoxicates and steals
away,' ray reason ! , I willshun it in every
Way,and strive to win good and noble
pume imakq lhoa, hspP.v J God hears
on I .yfhis is my lasl promise I.
. 'There was a solemn .allenae in that little
room r ..It Beamed as if the;Recordiug An
gelof the *Mont High had decoded from
above, and borne the glad tidings Mp,,to
other worlds—A'soul is saved from de
struction 1 > ,f, .. ..
They »at,’v7ith:'thd!r,. arras around’ each
other—their innocent babe between them—
filled with now and;- better hopes. The
darkness bad gone, and the light shone ;in
upon them.—lt was the light from the burn
ing beanie of an unseen world that pene
trated the chanilc midnight of their ; aoula
and bade them bo of: good .cheer. Theirs
was a happy, heme. although it was poor.’
Friends smiled when the young wife told
them her husband hud reforedraed. Som.e
laughed and rediculed the idea—others said.
Don’t you believe it till you see if. Not one
breathed in her ear a solitary word of cod
eolation, pr of hope.
Still she..believpd ; hor husband-still ahfe
strove to cheer him onward when others al
most scorned him—still she clffr% to him
when all the rest forsook him knowing well
that his brilliant tajenjf and bis slumbering
ambition, once fully, aroused Would carry
him onward, and onward, up the craggy
steeps of Fume’s high ragijjit,, until at U&t
be could look far buck, far .downward on
the path he bad trod, and side by side they
could atand together. aa Jhe aclmir
. ing world wove Fame’s green* wreaths of
praise, she’d twine them round bis .Weary
brow, and with him smile on those whom he
hud .rifled jar above Theirs would;*bo* a
glorious triumph—the victory of right and
resolution over contemptous and sneering
foes. . ... . '--I
Leoni De Forrest found one friend. Hw
did .not despise him because he had been
|oolish,pr unfortunate, hut did according to
the passage which some people ought tp
have continually' before them ; . Do ye alijo
unto others,as ye,.would that.others-shouid
do unto you,And Lepni began anew Hjbl
Ho rose higher and higher .in society f. his
gained wealth and farae-r-and nooU are hap
pier now than himself and his’faithful wife.
Friends thronged arond thorn, oven those
who had refused him aid -in his hour of
peed. He welcomed all alike, yet sought
not the friendship of any; living contended
within the limits of his own happy fireside.
Old maids and old bachelors bod grown old
and more crusty,<Dame Rumor and Dame
Gossip bad lost their teeth and wore wigs,
but still their tongues h«a not rusted on
thoir binges, and still they invented nu
merous stories that never hurt anybody but
themselves. Wo will leave them in their
■ happiness. }.*
young men shun the intoxicating bowl
Fly from it as you .would Irom the plague I
It you have promised to reform time and
again, and have repeatedly sinned, Don’t'
give up the ship I Find a new channel in
the oceanof Vile in which to sail—lake in a
good cargo of firmness and resolutions and
throw the rum over board—then spread
your canvas of hope to catch the gate of
fortune; stand linn at the holm, and yon
will weather the Dereest gale, you will out
ride the wildest storms, and anchor safely
at last*in n peacelul.port, il yhn stand bold
on your banner — The Last Pbouisk.
tt?“At a church where there was a call
for a minister, two candidates appeared
whose names were Adam and Low. The
latter preached an elegant discourse from
tha text—“ Adam where art thou ?’ In the
afternoon, Adatpfireaohed from those words,
“ Lo,hete am l.t’
CHAPTER IV .
THE WILL,
, The old lady who related the outline of
ithe following singular story, heard it told in
her youth, by .no means as a fiction, but as a
teal occurrence,
j She eyen ohco knew the name of tho .nor
thern family concerned in it; but that, with
the exact dates; she has now forgotten, if she
ever knew the latter, and. having never writ
ten down the story..she had no means .of re
covering .tbetiii.;.However, from her express
mention of a tight wig, worn by tho benevo
lent old heio of tho tale, we have fixed the
strange occurrence not earlier than the last
century..;,' ;r ,
the .end of a gusty October’ day,
about the year 1830. a barrister of . the Tem
ple was sitting reading, when .the opening of
the door, and the servant's announcement of
‘ gontlement,’ interrupted him. Hot r°sa to
receive his visitor, who proved to be,a perfect
stranger, i. -person of very gentlemanly, but
extremely old-fashioned appearance. He
was dressed in a grave colored suit, of antique
out; a neat, tight, gray wig, surrounded his
serious, and oven solemn physiognomy ; silk
stockings, rolled at the knee ; enormous shoo
buoklos of; gold ; a cane, headed with the
same metal, and a bruad-bnmmcd and un
cocked hat, completed bin equipment, which
was in fashion of the. last three years of
the Third, or tho first of his succes
sor. Haring stiffly'bowed,, in the exact way
Dreacgibed by the.e tiquotte of tho era to which
he seemed to belong, bo look .possession.of
the chair offered to him by his bust; and, af
ter a preparatory hem, thus began in a slow
and ‘ I think, sir.you are the
lawyer .employed by the S-- family, whose
property in Yorkshire,, you aro, therefore,
aware, la about to be sold.’
* I ..have, sir,' answered the barrister, 4 full
instructions and powers to complete the dis
posal of it, which, though a painful duty to
m0,.-must be performed/ ;/. •
i* It is a duty you may dispense >pth/ said
the visitor, waving his hand ; ‘the property
need not bo sold/.,
4 May I presume to ask, sir, whether you
are any relation *o the family? If, so,.you
must, ho acquainted with the absolute neCe?:
sity of selling it, in consequence of the claim
of another branch of the family, just return
ed from beyond sea, who, as heir-at-law,, is
naturally possessor of the estate, in default
of a will to the contrary, and who.desires its
value in money, instead of the land. The
present possessor is" unable to buy it, and
must tjiefeforei.depart:'
4 You are mistaken/ replied the old.gen
tleman, rather testily; you seem, not to know
of the.will of Mr. S 's great grandfather,
by which he not only left that, his real es
tate, to his favorite grandson, this gentle-,
man's father, but ; even entailed it on his
great great great grandson.' , . ;
‘ Such a will, sir/..said the barrister, 1 was
indeed, supposed »for many years to exist;
and, in virtue of it, Mr.; S- has, until
now, peaceably enjoyed the 'property ; but,
on the claimant's application, *A, renewed
.search having been madedfor sithpr the
belief proves wholly unfounded,. or it has
been lout or destroyed. Cabinets, chests,
every room inhabited and uninhabited, have
been ransacked in vain. . Mr. S has now
given up all hope of finding it; the sale is to
be completed in the course of next week ;
and the fine old place must pass into the
hands of strangers/
4 . Y« u are mistaken once again, young rann/
said the stranger, striking his cane on the
floor ;* I suy, sir, the will exists. Oo imme
diately/ continued ho, in an authoritative
tone ; * travel night und day. You may save
an old family from disgrace and ruin. In
the end room of the left wing, now uuhubit
ed, is a closet in the wall.'
* We haye looked there/ interrupted the
barrister.
• ‘Silet.ce, sir, there is a closet, I say. bi
that closet is a largo chest; that chest has i
false bottom, and underneath that is the deajd.
I am certain of what I say ; J saw the.paper
deposited there, no matter when or by whom.
Go*-you will find it woith your trouble. My
name, sir, is Hugh S ■■■■. 1, am not now
personally known to the proprietor of S-
Hall; bui.l &m his relation, and have his
welfare at heart. Neglect not to follow my
advice. ....
So saying, the; old gentleman, rose, again
bowed, and at the door put on fiis hat, in a
fashion that would have enhanted an elegante
of Queen Anne's day ;,mid sliding the silken
string of his cane un thq little finger of his
right.hand, -mr which,,tb'e lawyer had remar
ked a very fine brilliant ring; { descended
the stairs and departed, leaving the barris
ter in the utmost astonishment.' At first he
felt half inclined to consider, the whole as a
hoax,; then, again,. when he thought of the
old gentleman’s grave manner, and the inti
mate knowledge he must have possessed of
the house, to be able to describe the closet so
exactly in which the chest was, he could not
but believe him to be sincere. , „
At length, after much deliberation, : ho de
cided upon immediate departureand ar '
rived on the evening of the fourth day. at S
- Hall. Tho sale had been the only'
theme of conversation at every place he had
passed through within twenty miles of his
destination.; and much and.loudly was it la
piented, that the squire should'be leaving luo
house forever, and that poor Mr. John would
neverenjoy hist rights as., they persisted in
ci\ili n .K tho possession of the estate. On the
entrance into the mansion, ;signa of approach
ing ronmynl everywhere met his eye. Pack
ages»-filled the Hall, servants, with sorrowful
countenances, were hurrying about, and the
family were;lingering sadly over tho last din
ner they warp ever to partake of in their old
regretted home.
Mr. S. greeted his friend with a surprise,
which changed to incredulity, when the bar
rister, nonnesting his private ear, declared
the .renftm of bis appearance.
‘lt cannot bo.’ said he. 4 ls it likely that
no one should ever have heard of the hiding
of the deed but the old gentleman you men
tion ? Depend upon it, you have beep ds*
ceivod, my dear friend. lam only sorry you
should have taken so much trouble to so lit
tle purpose.’ '■
Tlie barrister mentioned the name of his
visitor..
‘ Hugh S !1 exqlairned the gentleman,
laughing, ‘ I have hot iv relation in the world
of that name.’
4 It is worth the trying, however,’ said the,
lawyer. ‘ ami wince I have come so lar, I will
finish the adventure.’ .. .
Mr. S ; seeing his friend so determined,
at length consented to satisfy him, and ac
companied him towards the apartmpn'tjie
specified. As they crossed one of the rooms,
in their way, he suddenly stopped before a
large full length picture. 4 For heaven's
sake.’ cried he,’ 4 who is this? 4 ,
4 My granduncle,’ returned Mr. S , 4 a
good old fellow as over lived. I wish with
all my heart he was alive now; but ho has
boen thirty years.’
‘What ni his came V
‘ Hugh S , the uuly ouo ot the family
of that name.’
‘ That is the man who cnltod upon me. His
dress,, his hat, his very ring are there.’
; They proceeded ;to the closet, lifted tho
false bottom of tho trunk, and—found the
debd I > ;
The kind old anolo was never again seen.
ARTEBIUS W4RD’S AUTOBIOCBiPHL
BT HIUBELF,
Ntt York, niar Fifth Avenoo Hotel, )
; Org Slot. J
Dr. Sir; —Yrs, into wiob you ask mo to
send you leadin incidents of my lifo so
you can write iny bpgrfy fo,r.,th.e papers, cam
dooly to hand. I hayo; no doubt that a arti
cle onto my life, gramraattyoally jerked uhd
properly punctooatod, would be a addition to
tho choiso litoratoOr oi the day.
I was bora in-the State of Maine, of pv.-
rents. As a infant I attracted a great deal
of attention. The nabers would stand over
my cradle for hours, apd say,:. “ Hovy brito
that littls’fapo looks 1 How much ha nose 1”
The young ladies would carry mo rouud in
thare arms, saying I was “ rauzzer’s: bezzy
darlin, and sweety ’oety ’ittle ting.” It was
.nice, though I wasn’t old onuif to appreciate
it. I’m a healthy old darlin now. :
I have alius"sustained a good moral karao
ter. 1 was never a railroad director in my
life- , .
Altho in early life I did not invariably con
fine myself to truth in my email bill, 1 have
bin gradouly grown rospseotabler and fespeo
tabler every year. ■ 1 luv my ehildreh, and
never mistake another man's wife for my own.
I’m not a member of any meetin house, but
I firmly belevo in, tncotin houses, and should
not feel safe to fake a dose of laudanum, and
lay down in the street of a village that
hadn’t any, with a thousand dollars in my
vest pocket. \ >
My tempermont is billions, .altho I don’t
ow* a dollar in the world.
lam an early riser. My yrifp.ia a Presby
terian. 1 may add that lam also bald bed
ded. I keep two cows.
. I live: in Baldinsville,. Indiany. My next
door ns.ber is old Steve Billina. 110 tell you
a (ittle story abimtudd Steve that will make
you larf.Ho jined the church lost spring,
and the mil)later said, “ You must go borne
now, .brother Billina, and erect a family.al
ter in your house,” whereupon tbs ogrejis
old ouns went home, and hilt a reglar pulpit
in his settia room. He bad the liners in his
house every four days. . :■
Xam 6C' (56) years of age. Time, with his
relentless eoythe, is sver bizxy. lie gathers
’em in— ho gathers ’em in. I keep a pig
this year.
I don’t think of ennything more, Mr. Edi
tin.
If you ohould give my portrait in connec-
tion with my biogrfy, please have mo en
graved in a languishing attytood, loanin on
n marble pillar—leavin my back hair as it is
now. '
Trooly yours.
, SLAVE PEN IN MASSACHUSETTS.
A Slave-irtiilingr Pi-ofessoi'-lilp In
■lai'vai'tl CoUegn.
A correspondent writing to a New York
contemporary (rom Boston, says : ,
Not long since, sometime last winter, I be
lieve, an individual, whoso travels had ex
tended as far as Charleston, South. Carolina,
discovered in that city an auctioneer’s old
block, from which, negroes were sold. He
procured- it; whether by'purchase or in tbs
way some Massachusetts.chaplains are char
ged with coming into possession of libraries
and pianos, whiolf ..they send home to their
families, is not stated, and amazed at his dis
oovery and possession himself, he resolved to
amaze others.;, Mooting's were announced to
be hold in tbs great public places in Boston,
distinguished scholars end eloquent speakers
procured, and the mass rushed to got a sight
of the horrible auction block. Little did
those speakers, and exhibitors, and crowds
imagine that ,the labor of travelling all the
way to Charleston, South Carolina, might
have been saved in the search of some relio
of barbarity, -by simply passing through
Charlestown, Massachusetts, to its northern
limits; that almost within sight.of Funeuil
Hall, and fairly in sight from Bunker Hill
monument if not tho.’slaVo block at least the
slave-pen still exists I Into what a Quaker
meeting could thpse excited and poisy meet
ings have been turned, had someone sudden
ly held qp.a piece of the old slave, pen built
op. Massachusetts soil, and still standing cn
fire, a monument of Massachusetts and New-
England guilt, and presenting in itsollf-khe
strongest motive to modesty and bumiiip-tion
in them, find to charity and forgiveness to
others guilty of the same sin, when they la
jneftt’ovec it And forsake itl
, Ani irresistible curiosity impelled me to
search out and see with niv own eyes this
strange relic, and humiliating as strange,
and setting off without a guide. I loom! it on
the outskirts of the; large, central village.—
There an ancient spacious and well
preserved house, set far back from the street,
in the centre of half a dozen acres of land,
with inside graveled walks loading to it. and
elegant trees embowering it and scattered
around the grounds, a handsome garden and
summer house, the works of the first owner,
lying back of it, while in the rear of the al
most princely mansion, end near one corner,
stands a house fer the domestics of the suc
cessive owners, who were gentlemen of
wealth and position..
The slave-pen,-which was just back of . the
house of tho domestics, baa been united with
it, add both now make one building while
the slave-pen remains unimpaired and entire.
Col. Isaac Ruyall was the owner of this es-
tate, with which an extensive farm was once
oouneotod. His father oamo from the island
Antigua, ’Where the son was born, who with
father'emigrated to this country in 1738. and
settled in Medford, whore the father died.
who was also a. Colonel, and n rich planter
and slave-holder in hie otro .island, and a
Tory whoa be came here.. The son was sim
ply a coward; ami,.uptm the outbreak of the
Revolution, fled to Halifax-, and thence to
England,, .tyheri he died in 1781. lie was a
slave trader on the coast of Afriun, and in
the South, till the time ho fled the country.
In 177 G ho wrote, from Halifax to his agent
in Medford, ns.follows;
. “ Eloase sellflie following negroes: Ste
phem and George, each cost £GO sterling,
and I would take £5O apiece for them. Ha
gar cost £35 sterling,'but t would take £3O
for her.; tgdvo for Myra £35, hut will fake
£25. .. If Mr. lienjuinin Halo will give $lOO
for her, which heofforod—ho may have her,
it being a good place. As to Betsey and her
daughter Nancy, the former may marry, or
take her freedom, as, she may choose, and
Nancy you may. put out to any good family
by the year.’
• Colonel Koysll did not forget tlio country
he bad made hie home, even after be bad de
serted it. and found another in England. By
bis will he bequeathed 2000 acres of land to
lay a. foundation for a professorship of law in
Harvard University, while the rest of hie
estate was confiscated. The proceeds of the
land were (eft . to accumulate till they were
sufficient to support a professor. The pro
fessorship bears his own name, every cata
logue proclaiming to the world that the great
est anti-slavery State in the Union educates
at this Very day her eons by the endowment
of a slaveholder and a slave trader, and the
proceeds of the sale of innocent men, women
and children stplou on the coast of Africa,
penned-in Medford, and sold again in Vir
ginia and South Carolina I So strangely are
things oonneoted, and so little has Massachu
setts and Wow England whereof to glory I
Times without number you have listened
to your preachers inveighing against the Ca
tholic priesthood,- and as often have you
heard from them mingled terms of commis
eration for, and censure of the “ ignorant
dupes” who blindly allow themselves to b«
” priest-ridden.”. At such times you have
been made to feel that you alone belonged tu
the true democratic church—the church
■wherein true freedom had; an abiding place.
How do you feel now;? How have you felt
for the whole period of the war lately termi
nated? , Were you " priest-ridden” or not?;
, You .are; avrarO'that nearly nine-tenths of
prahciiors were rampant “ loyalists.”—
You know that’overy town and village in kh«
North hud its Methodist preacher, whose sets
yioes wore,always at tha dieposal of a war
meeting—either to add fuel to the dead \y
flames of civil war or to top off with prayer
tha discordant cries for blood and murder of
ambitious demagogues and" thieving politi-1
ciansf ; Have you aver daied to ooatjiovori
buy uf your preacher’s politico.! propositional
Hare yon ever had the courage to suggest to
him the propriety of-oaoaiionally preaching
“ Christ and Him crucified,” instead of mat
ing political speeches, collecting the wages
of sin therefor, and loafiing around' street
corners with greedy anxiety for bloody new*
and sinful gossip ? Have you not tacitly fal
len in with bis- vengeful mood against ” trai
tors, and oried.for-war and destruction as
his edliQ, or else sunk your views both as citi
zens and Christians deep down in your own
hearts, prayerfully hoping for tha darkness
to pass away?' llnve' you or have you not
been “ priost-riddon ?” You either fell la
with Jour preacher in all his political view»,
and, under religion’s cloak, tried to excel
him in' the bitterness t f your hate of “ trai
tors” find person lion of •' copperheads,” or
you'sealed your lips and feared to remon
strate against the devil’s influences within
the church or to withdraw from it. Hava
you or have you not, therefore, been “ priest
ridden” —priest-ridjlan, too, as wofully a*
your preachers told you were the ignorant
Catholics ? -.
■ "And; even now, when hate has eaten itself
but and 1 revenge has spent itself, are you fres
to notand. talk—regardless of your “loyal”-
shoddy priesthood, whoso pockets are lined
with the wages of politics! service ? Wo do
not think so,-for many of.your pulpits still
give out soma-of the vapid loyal platitudes,
and your olmroli organs’ tha “religious
press”—almost excel in rabid .radicalism tbo
mqst malignant of the shoddy newspapers.—
As a single instance among many, we quota
the following review of the “ Life and, Spee
ches of Andrew Johnson,” from the Chrit
iian Advocate and Journal, one of your main
church organ).;, .. . .
Aarnuus Ward
“ Andrew Johcbon’s real life is yet to b«
lived ; bis real speeches yet to bo made. All
ho has done is preliminary, is more nothing
unless-' he ehali do something how. But
little’that he did before the rebellion' it
praiseworthy. Heidentified himself with a
ruling class, never speaking a word or doing
an not that;,bespoke the existence of real
principle iwithia him, 1 much less its potency.
He became a ! slaveholder,, though-ho knew it
was wrong ; vilified the abolitionists, though
he know they were right, ’which villifioation
he allows to remain-in this.,edition, though
h» strikes out his tirade against John Brows,
so much had his conscience grown. With
this lack ho was an earnest Union man, wil
ling from the start that slavery should aeasa
rather than that the-Union should die: That
courage served him well when the Union was
on trial. If ho will take tho new steps pro
vidence orders, that aourago will insure a fit*
ting crown. Whether he-will or no remains
to be seen.; His present course is dark and
perilous. Yet it may lead to safety. Had
he followed his predecessors views and made
amnesty and suffrage equal and universal,
all would bo well.. To such a conclusion the
authorized speeches oi this volume do not
point.- Wards spoken in midnight meetings
at Nashville look that .way, tint not nddrestei
as Senator or President. Two months will
show his real stuff. Wo trust it will provn
the strain, and muke him immortal. . If he
says to Congress, Admit those States only,
when they have made loyalty and suffrage
identical, he is safe. If be seeks to push
them on any other course, he will be hoisted
with his own petard. His accidental eleva
tion, as -in the case of Tyler and Fillmore,
will result in his everlasting degradation.
“ As a writer of orations nothing ean ha
less attractive. Neither Lincoln’s piquancy,
nor Sumner’s fervor, nor Seward's grace, nor 1
Webster’s waves of the sea aro here; neither
scholarship nor stasosmanship. It is earnest,
etraight-fonvard, vehement, with good sense
for its body, the style of a practical Ameri
can who has an object to gain and aims at
that alone." !
This is the kind of. stuff that is smuggled
into your-bouseholds by villainous politicians,-
to exercise a corrupting iefluenoe upon the
impressible minds of your children. Snake
like, it is glided into the company of saints
and apostles, and, eovired with the outer
habit uf eacrcdnoss, it goes straight to, thp
minds of youth, ns almost a part of the Sa
cred Volume itself. It.js time that good, un
suspecting Christian Methodists should be
told of this, so. that they may compel thoif
V religious” journalists to confine themselves
to spiritual things, or to banish the pernic
ious sheets entirely from their households.—
No doubt Mutbodists would strenuously op
pose, sending their children to the priie ring
or cook-pit to; be educated ; why, therefore
will they allow politicians to enter their own
domicils ovorw.Sunday—and that too, in dis
guise—to potion the young minds of their
children w.i)R politigifT^greJudipes; to teach
them to deify John Brown, tha traitor and
murderer, nnd to convert them to the odious
dogma ol Negro Suffrage? Will they net
| see to this evil at ones 7 —Patriot and Union.
KT" The man Fuller, who used Secretary
Harlan’s name to obtain money from the *J£r
tional Republican Committee,' after --
months imprisonment in the 0’ J '
been released without tr'-’
NO. 24.
A WORD TO METHODISTS.