041 P
1
SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 15.]
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY HORNING.
(*cc in Northern Central Railroad Com
pany's Building,north-westcorner Front and
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Larger ndvertisement• in proportion.
A liberal discount will be made to quarterly, hall-
yearly or yearlyntivertisers,who are strietlyconfined
to their bui.ineas.
Drs. John h. Rohrer,
IV E associated in the Practice of
.Nedi-
Hctne.
Col umbin, April Igt.lWi-t I
DR. G. W. MIFFLIN,
DENTIST, Locust street, a few doors above
the Odd Fellow.' flail, Columbia, Fa.
Columbia. May 3. 1856.
H. M. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
Columbia, Pn.
Collection!, f romptly made, in Lancaster and N . M.':
Countiex.
Columbia, Ma'
MEM
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
crlizifinaluca, Pea..
Columbia, September ti, laitid
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESALE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Constantly on hand a variety of Cakes,
too numerous to mention; Crackers; Soda, AN ine.
and Sugar Biscuit; Confectionery, of every description,
he., be. I.OCt7ST :cm NET,
Feb. 2,%56. Between the Bank and Franklin House.
BROWN'S Essence of Jamaica Wager, Cm
uine Article. For sole at
McCORKLE & DELLETT'S
Family Medicine Store, Odd Fellowe' Hall.
July 25, 1857.
SOLUTION OF CITRATE OF MAGNESIA,or Fur
gative Mineral SVater.—This pleasuin medietur
which is highly recommended us n substitute for
Epeom Solis, Seidlitz Powders, he.. vita be olitatitrd
fresh every day at Da. E. U. MERE'S Drug Store.
Front st. (p 2
JUST received, a fresh supply of Corn
Stara, Farina, nod Rice Flour. at
MeCORKLE h DELLETT'S
sramily Medicine Store, Odd Fellows' Hull, Columbia.
Columbia. May 30, 1432
T l AMB, LAMPS, LAMPS, Just received at
flerr' , Drug Store, a new uud benutziul lot of
Lamp• of all dear ripttons.
May 2.1:457.
A LOT of Fresh Vanilla Beans, at Dr. E B.
lier!%4 Golden Mortar Drug Slore.
Colntel.", May 2.1,57.
ASUPERIOR article of burning Fluid just
received nod for 1-ale Ly 11. SUN'DA & SUN.
ALARCH lot of City cured Dried Beef, just
rereived nt It. SUYDAM & sox',
Columbia December 20, 1.5 G.
A NEW and fresh lot of Spices, just re.
ceived at . H. SUYDAM Lt. POWs.
enlomlun. Dee 20.1,4511.
POUNTRY Produce constantly on hand and
for •nlc by 11. SUYDAM & SON.
HERIIINY, Cranberries, Raisins, Figs, Alm
onds, Walnuts, Cream Nuts, xe., just received
11. suvolos & .ON7s.
=
A SUPERIOR lot of Black and Green Teas,
Coffee and Chocolate, Just received ni
11. ALt DAN SOreit
Corner of Front and UlllOll
=MEM
TIIST RECEIVED. a beautiful assortment of
61:11, Ink Stolid+, ot the Ileadquarter4 and
New• D e pot.
Callimbni. April 18, 1537.
VXTIIA Family and Superfine }lour of the
.11,/ best brand. for ssle by II SITYDANI & SON.
'FIST received 1000 lbs. extra doable bolted
Buckwheat Neal, at
Dec.2o. 185 a. 11. SUYI3/01 & PON'S.
WEIKEL'S Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
Powder. for ..rde by D. SUYDAM & SON.
FARR & THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Com
mercial nod other Gold Peo'--the best in the
market—just received. SHREINER.
Columbia. A prit t2R. 1"55.
WHITE GOODS.---A toll line of While Dress
Goods of every description. just received. at
July 11, 1t.•57. FONDERSNIITH'S..
WHY should anyperson do without a Clock,
when they can be had forSl,soand pwa rd s.
• SHREINER'S?
Columbia, A pril 29.1555
QAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for ma
k.) king Soup. 1 lb. is voffirient for our bowel of
Soil Soup, or 111. for 9 11+1. Ibird Soup. Full direc
tion.; will be given nt the Counter for making Son,
Hard and Fancy Soups. For sole by
R. WILLIAMS.
Colombia. March 31,11;55.
A LARGE lot of Baskets, - Brooms, Buckets
Drußlies:, &e.. ? for *We by H. SUYDAM & SON.
HARE undersigned have been appointed
agent. forthe sale of Cook & Co'.G ETTA PF:ti-
HA PENS, warranted 'lot to corrode; in e laslietty
they utmost equal the quil S l.
AYLOR & AteDON:ALD.
Columbia San.l7. r 57
E GRATH'S ELIECTRIC 01. ./u.t receivel.
D
Ireoh kupply of ibis popular rem.‘d
V. 11.1. y, :Ind lA for ..ulc
It
Front Street, Columbia. Pn._
r`V
May 10,1856
AE LARG nFsoruneni of Rope., nil size• nod lengt
on hand and forma,: in THOS. WELSH'S.
' March 19, 1957. No.l. Iligh tire et
MOOTS, SHOES, GROCERIES, al.°, FITAII
niturmag Fluitl,Just opener' ut
THOMAS WELSH'S
No. I. High Street.
March 21. 1857
NEW lot of WHALE AND CAR GREASING
AILS, received at the ,tore of the vulivcriber.
R.:WILLI A MS.
:PAY 1.0. I SUL Front Street. Columbia. I",
DRIED Extra nod Plain num.+, Shoulders
and mese Pork, for rate by
THOMAS WELSH,
No. 1. High street.
Mnrrh 21. 11R51:
OATS, Corn, Hay, and other feed•. for Fnle by
- THOMAS WELSH.
'Morph 21. 'QS,
20DOZEN BROOMS, 10 BOXES CBEESE. For
sale chenp, by B. F..A IPP01.1) & CO.
' Columbia. October 25, I Fstl.
A SUPlallOrtiarticie of PAINT OIL for ...ale by
WILLIANIS,
From Street, Columbia, Pa.
ivlay 10; Ifso
JUST a . Inure and selected vnnety
01113ru•liee. (.01141.1111F In purl of Shoe. (lair, Cloth.
Crumb. Nail, liar and 'len!. Brueltep, and roVealeby
R. WILLIAMS.
Frani xireei Columl.iii.
March
4SUPERIOR article ofTONIC SricE BITTERS.
suitable for Hotel Keepers, for sale by
R. WILLIANIS„
Front strenst. Columbia.
10.1531
FRESII ETHEREAL OIL, alwny. on bnnd. and ro
Pale. by R. WILLIANI.S.
a • 10.1a56. Front Si reel. Colombia. Pe.
Tl.liT rer;eived, FRESH CANIPHEINFI. and fib/ .ale
J by R. WILLIA.NIS.
May 10. IQSO. Troni Street. Columbia. Tn.
1000 iiurrZresZl7,iffuorre:!.li!ahmye end Shoulders
Feb 21,15L7. n. SF IrDANt, & sox
E'grtry.
BY LYDIA. A. CALDWILL
DEM
The year grows splendid! on the mountain-steep
Now lingers long the warm and gorgeous light,
Dying by slow degrees into the deep
Delicious night.
The final triumph of the perfect year,
Rises the woods' magnificent array;
Beyond, the purple mountain heights appear,
And slope away.
Ell
The elm. with musical. slow motion, laves
flis long. lithe branches in the tender air;
While from his top the gay sontello waves
Iler scarlet hair.
Where spring fan hid her violets 'neath the tem,
%%Imre Sulniner'i fingers oped. fold after fold,
The odorous, wild, red rose's heart, now burn
The leaves of gold.
The loftiest hill, the loveliest, flowering herb,
The fairest fruit of season and of clime,
All wear alike the mood of the superb
Autumnal time.
Now Nature pours her last and noblest wine!
Like some Mechanic beside the singing streams,
Reclines the enchanted day, wrapt in divine,
Impassioned dreams.
But where the painted leaves are falling fast,
Among the vales, beyond the farthest hill,
There sits a shadow, dim, and sad, and vast,
And lingers still.
And still we hear a voice among the hills.
A voice that mourns among the haunted woods,
And with the mystery of its sorrow fills
The solitudes.
For while gay Autumn gilds the fruit and leaf,
And cloth her fairest festal garments wear,
Lo, Tune, all noiseless, in his mighty sheaf
Binds up the year.
The mighty sheaf that never is unbound!
The Reaper whom our souls beseech in ram!
The loved, lost years that never may be found,
Or loved nobs!
BARRY CORNWALL
The rain is falling
The wind is loud;
The morning is hiding
Behind n cloud;
The stars are scattered
By dawn of day;
But where is my lover?
Afar—awnyl
The east k brighter;
The wind is still;
The sun is rising
Beyond the hill;
It cornetli—it shinetlg
The dawn is day;
And the step of ray loverf—
It cctncs this way.
Alt. the sky,—it changeth,
The rain,—the sun,
As the hope that we cherish
Is lost or won.
What care for the shadows,
If hearts be gay?
What use in the summer,
If friends decay?
The bloom of the seasons
Will come, will fly;
And the heavens Win alter,
We know not why;
But the mind that we temper
To our domain;
And the truth of the Spirit
Should conquer pain.
gthrtixritz.
How The Old Love Fared
One morning the sun shone gloriously
from his blue home in the skies athwart a
few pale yellow clouds. Then its rays fell
disheartened and cold on some two or three
hundred yards of murky atmosphere, beneath
which lay a 'rising town.'
The streets were something narrow, and
the 'houses wore curiously jammed, and had
a permanently blackened look; but what
they lacked in size and beauty they compen
sated for in number. Seafaring men stood
talking in groups at the corners of the cros
ings. Every pair of trowsers in the place
was more or less daubed with tar; and some
of those who wore them were fine stalwart
specimens of the Saxon race, with bullet
head, bull-dog neck, handsome sun-burnt
face and crisp flat yellow curls. Small boys
of five years old wore their fathers' sou'wes
ters.
One jostled another as he passed along
the street; another young'un was climbing
up a coast wall, in sort of fly fashion, insert
ing his toes in invisible chinks, and holding
on by projections not to be discerned by or
dinary eyes. Ile fell snore than once, and
from a fair height too: but rose nothing
daunted, and doggedly recommenced the
ascent. They all wore a reckless, self-reli
ant air, and were, I suppose, of the' proper
stock to make British sailors. Even the
less respectable of the women who were
wrangling among the men, differed strangely
from the faded worn-out objects who are
daily placed before the magistrate in our
London police courts. Their laughter was
loud, their voices deep, their limbs massive.
Very virile indeed they looked and were.
Further on to the right, some stupendous
works were in course of construction. Thews
and sinews were to be seen there, such as
only England produces, toiling doggedly and
perpetually. Steam engines of various forms
and uses, were (oiling also after their fashion
—here to pump water in, and there to pump
water out. Besides these, there were some
hundreds of big horses dragging enormous
loads, calmly, as if' they were quite used to
the engines, and cared less than nothing
about their noise. They were of the sort of
animals foreigners are so much smitten with
when they see them in the dray-carts in
London, very carefully tended; many of them
were gaily ornamented with ribbons, plait
ing of hair, brass s,ettings, and the
October
Song
Prom Ilomehold Words
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 17, 1857.
according to the taste and ability of the man
who looked after each particular horse.—
The works themselves were well worth an
examination. The workers were pushing
out groins and breastings which must have
astonished the sea as they gradually forced it
out of its old landmarks.
It happened more than once that it had
in the night time arisen and revenged itself,
and that in a few hours the labor of months
had been swept away. But the next day
saw men calmly setting to work to repair
the damage with double care, and replace
the wall with fourfold strength. More than
a score of broad acres were already redeemed
from the salt waters. Here and there
might be observed thoughtful looking men
standing, watching keenly and with con
tracted brows the progress of things.
Standing rather apart, with folded arms
and a profoundly discouraged air, a young
gentleman was likewise gazing round him.
He was broad-shouldered, rather under sized
but not ill made, and muscular. He had
full bltui eyes, a quantity of hair of a tawny
red, a large mouth, garnished with a set of
capital teeth. Naturally his smile was con
stant, bright and jovial; but now it was con
siderably overetst. He walked up to one of
the contractors with the air of a man who
has made up his mind for a last effort.
'Then you do not see any prospect of em
ployment for me, Mr. Langford?'
'No, I do not indeed, Sellon. You see,
Reuny manages it all, and ho has the cash.
That place would have just suited you, and
you would have done the work far * better
than Ranney's nephew. It's not the right
man in the right place, Stephen. But the
man is in the place, and right will not turn
him out, while might keeps him in. I'm
very sorry for it Stephen; but it cannot be
helped.' •
'Well; good-bye, then, Langford. I shall
be at Wendon on Sunday.' They shook
hands and parted.
It was Sunday in the old town of Wendon,
and the cracked bell of a large church was
clanging forth its invitation to the people to
enter its opened doors. It was an old church
—you might tell that, by its strange, high,
lumbering pews, which no devout young Ox
ford curate had yet swept away. The win
dows were cobwebbed and dusty, with here
and there a pane of stained glass in quaint
pattern; these were distributed with perfect
irregularity. These windows looked on to
the becks of gloomy houses, and on to worn
grave-stones, where the forefathers of those
who now stood there, slept. Long, tangled,
sickly grass twined about the grave -stones;
one or two were ornamented with marigolds
and oyster shells. Some trees of smoke
dried green slowly grew and slowly decayed
by the side of the old church. The bell-ropes
hunginto the body of the building, and a stove
reared its unsightly pipe in the centre, sup
ported by iron bars, which radiated from it
in every direction. The church wardens
were already seated—or, rather, enthroned
in canopied pews, and looked down with
contempt natural to officials on the rest of
the scanty congregation. They were sub
stantial shopkeepers, and had every right to
do so. The pews at the side were of an extra
height. Their seclusion sometimes promoted
intense devotion—sometimes great levity. A
few school girls shclterd their whisperings
in these depths, and some aged and not
very reputable or handsome looking old
men in coifs and caps were thinly sprinkled
higher up.
Just before the confession, a pretty, dark
eyed. girl glided down the aisle, with a rath
er conscience-stricken air, opened with some
difficulty one of the doors, and hid herself
immediately in the very highest pew; there
she knelt down to say her short prayer.—
Within just as much time as suggested the
idea that he had lingered outside in order
not to appear together, Stephen Sellon en
tered, and seated himself in the adjacent
pew. The two behaved very well during
the service, taking only stealthy, innocent
glances at each other, and even these at
long intervals; but when the sermon was
read, and the benediction said, the girl re
mained a little longer than usual on her
knees, and Stephen was waiting for her
when she rose.
They walked silently together out of the
church and turned on to a broad walk,
shaded by trees, which bordered the river on
which the town stood. As they got further
and further away from the departing con
gregation, Stephen being an enterprising
youth in all he undertook, possessed himself
of her hand, and put his face under her bon
net in such fashion that he could not choose
but look at him. And he looked long, but
not apparently 'ntking himself the happier
ihr so doing, for at the conclusion he gave a
great sigh.
'Margaret, my darling, I've no good news
for you. I've been up to the dock works;
but the place Langford hoped to give me is
and there is no chance Of another
opening. They don't want young, untried
hands there, and of brains there is plenty
and over. These are hard men, Margaret;
they might have given me a trial'
'But, Stephen,' said the girl, and her
voice faltered a little as she spoke, 'you
know what you wish cannot be. I cannot
leave my father, ho is aging sadly. I think
his poor eyes are growing dim, and now ho
would rather hear all his beautiful music
played to him than do it himself; and my
idea, Stephen, my great hope is, that I may
be able to take his pupils for him.'
'You would do it well, Margaret, you
have such a wonderful knack of managing
people.'
Margaret smiled, and in her smile there
was a peculiar mocking expression, which
seemed like a ripple about her mouth. She
became grave again.
'You don't know how hard I practice at
nights, and how I treasure up his instruc
tions. If I can induce one or two families
to let me take his place, that will do much.
And then, when he is so old he can work
no longer, I can still support him as he has
been accustomed to live. He has worked
fur me, it is fit that I should work for him.'
'But, if I could get work near, you need
not leave him, Margaret, we could marry
and all live together.'
'so, Stephen, we are too yoling to fetter
ourselves with such uncertain prospects.—
Alone we may struggle, and if we fall we
fall alone, and drag down no others; but
were we married, and your employment so
uncertain, cares would come on us more
quickly than we could meet them. Believe
me, we are best single.'
There was no selfishness about the young
fellow, and yet, man-like he could not for
bear the answer, 'Margaret, you think
more of your fathe" than you do of me.—
My young life—' he stopped abruptly.
'I should be no good wife to you, Stephen,
if I failed as a daughter; so do not press me
more, dear Stephen. God knows lam sore
ly tried already,' and the pent up tears
came at last.
Then Stephen inwardly called himself
many frightful names, of which unmanly
wretch and brute were the least severe; but
he only said audibly:
'I know it Margaret—forgive me,' and
the words were hardly out of his mouth, be
fore he was forgiven, I suppose, for the
hand was again placed confidingly in his.
He continued, 'The worst is yet to come,
Margaret; I have undertaken to work my
way out to India, and the Captain has pro
mised to get me engineering work as soon
as we arrive. It is no degradation,' he said
stoutly. 'I did hope to have begun higher
up; but I've never shirked work, and I'll
show that a gentleman can do as good a day's
work as any one. I've toiled with dust, and
dirt, and oil, and what not, and I'll do it
again. I know my trade thoroughly, the
lowest as well as the highest part of it; it's
only to begin over again, and I'm young
and strong.'
'Yes, it's all true,' said for Margaret,'
and these few words were all she could
shall not forget you, Margaret; it may
ho twenty years before n we meet again, but
even then, I shall be yours only'
Margaret smiled, but this time it was a
poor, vain, struggling smile,
'I shall be old and faded then, Stephen.'
'lt does not matter,' he returned, with a
steady, loving gaze. 'You may be old and
faded, worn and shriveled; but you will be
more to me than any other woman.'
Here they turned their steps back to the
church.
'Well, Stephen, I bind you by no promise;
we will follow the promptings of our own
hearts,' she said.
They walked on silently for a little time.
'We must part now, dear Stephen.'
I sail to-morrow, Margaret.'
They stood and gazed sadly on the grave
stones; there seemed nothing but an atmos
phere of dampness and decay around them,
only the warm love and young hopes in
their breasts; but these triumphed, even in
the sorrow of the hour. He held her in his
strong arms for one last caress, and then re
leased her. In another minute he had gone.
And so they parted with wrung hearti,
fearing, as many young lovers have feared,
that the hour-glass of time, or the scythe of
death, would stand between them in this
life.
Stephen Sellon pulled his hat over his
eyes, and bent his steps towards the little
inn, where his worldly goods were packed
ready for transit, in a depressed and remorse
ful state of mind. He was miserable enough,
and though he bit his lip?and clenched his
teeth, it was hard work to keep the tears
from starting. It was in vain that he inward,
ly exerted himself not to feel this wringing
pain at his heart: that he repeated to him
self, at first mentally, and afterwards aloud
for greater effect, that hard wise saying of
Queen Elizabeth. 'Time will comfort us, and
why not do for ourselves Time's office?' Na
ture, not manhood, was uppermost. His
dinner was dispatched, and then he lighted
his pipe, crossed his legs, and gazed moodily
into the fire. He folded his arms tightly
across his chest, thinking of her. Then he
opened the window, and leant out with sonic
romantic idea that the wind would waft her
breath to him, or that the same moon should
look down on both. Ile had not naturally
a genius for self torment, quite the reverse:
but in love a man will do such things. In
his mind's eye he beheld her as his wife; and
again, he saw ber fretted and worn, strug
gling for her father with adverse circumetan
ces and sinking quietly, but surely, while
his arm would be far from her.
Then an organ-boy added his mite of tor
ture, and commenced Angiol'd'amore, a
song he had often heard Margaret sing; he
turned away as if ho had•heen stung. It
suggested unfaithfulness, and he tried to re
call her actual words. No TOW lied been
given, though
from
had been implied. So,
being driven from the window by the organ,
he returned and faced his friend, the fire.
watching ring after ring of pale bloc smoke
ascend, until he fell into a sort of doze, then
started up, looked at his watch, got his lug
gage together, and hurried off in time to
catch the night-train for Town.
Ile got into an empty second-class carriage,
placed his carpet-bag under his head, spread
his plaid on the seat, stretched himself out
at full length, and, tired in body and mind,
fell asleep, and woke in London. The sharp
morning air, the murky atmosphere, the
huge pile of houses, broke on his eyes as Ile
yawned and shivered with that uneasy, un
washed sensation which a night's traveling
generally leaves. There was not more time
than sufficed to swallow a cup of hot coffee,
and reach the South Eastern terminus for
the down train to Folkston°.
Three days from that time Stephen was at
Marseilles, and was engaged there nt sea
man's wages to work under the engineer in
the Peninsular and Oriental steamship Ara.
It sailed, and ho sped on his way; if his
heart was heavy, his spirit was good; his be
lief in Margaret's faithfulness was very con
siderable; his belief in his own as amazing
ly firm,
It was perhaps a dozen years after this
that a lady warmly clad in silks and furs,
walked down the principal street of Wendon
one winter's day. She carried a small roll
of music under her cloak, and stopped at
one of the large cloistered houses that
flanked the cathedral in their well-bred
gloom and stillness. She rang the bell, and
was quickly admitted into the drawing room.
She opened her music, laid aside her wrap
pings, and revealed the face of Margaret
Meriton. Pull, gay, handsome and careless,
with a bewailing drollery about the mouth,
and a rather masterful eye. Presently the
door was opened, and a tall and wilful look
ing girl, with a pair of flashing blue eyes,
almost ran in. She would have embraced
Margaret on the spot, but the latter drowned
the effort in her own significant way; she
laid her hand on the young lady's shoulder,
saying:
'Well, Cecile, how is the voice, and how
have you progressed with the song?'
'O, Miss Meriton, papa says I am hoarse,
and that I have a cold; but let me try.'
For myself, I think it an undoubted fact
that school girls pay greater attention to
lessons received from masters than from
their own sex; and I make no question that,
when the enlightened and platonic nature of
'the age admits of youths being instructed by
female professors, the converse of the propo
sitionl will hold good. At the same time,
I there is another fact to be placed against
this, as has always been the case with every
fact since the world began; and that is, that
, a woman of a certain age, who has self-con
trol, and has cultivated' her rowers of fasci-
Ination, can, if she choses to do it, acquire an
influence over young girls which almost
amounts to idolatry on the one side, and
against which even a lover can hardly hold
his own. So, Margaret Meriton, who liked
to be charming, and was necessitated in her
character as music teacher to eschew flirting.,
made herself particularly charming to her
pupils, who all adored her after the fashion
of young girls. We may also suppose, if
we like, that she thought a little of poor
Stephen, and for his sake did not wish to
lose her skill in the art of being delightful
for want of practice. So the two sat down
and proceeded very amicably for some time,
At last the fantasy seized Margaret that
Miss Vereker should repeat a certain passage ,
a given number of times, as a penalty for
falling short in the mode of performing it.
The young girl's spirit did not bear this
burden very meekly; first her pride rose,
then mortification did battle with pride, and, ;
lastly, the spirit of sullenness descended ,
and utterly paralysed Miss Vercker's vocal
powers. A decided pause ensued. Marga
ret, smiling to herself as the altered intona
tion fell on her ear, turned round, and met
such a blaze of indignation on the pretty
face as (we are sorry to record it) made her ,
smile a great deal more. Then she com
menced the song herself. The refrain was:
"Better trust all. and be deceived,
And weep that inlet and that deceiving.
Than doubt one word svhich, if believed,
Had lilsased thy lire with true belies nia."
She sang it deliciously, and in so doing
forgot, or seemed to forget, her pupil, her
I home, and her father's people. The inexo
table spirit of music spoke to her of other
things; and, as her fingers wandered over
the keys, her face grew very wistful, almost
sad, and she no longer remembered even to
tease Miss Vereker, who was affected like
Saul, in so far that the mutinous demon was
in some sort charmed out of her, and she was
pondering how she might best descend from
the pedestal of pride, and make submission
to Margaret without losing her dignity. The
song was finished, and both dime back to re
alities. Margaret did not care about con
quering herself, but was wondrously fond of
conquering other people; so she devoted an
instant to Miss Vereker, and having ascer
tained by an almost imperceptible glance
that young lady's state of mind, she proceed
ed to apply the actual cautery. She took
the song, and gave it to her, saying very
sadly, 'Until to-day, I always sang that song
with pleasure, Cecile, but you have joined
it to. a less pleasapt memory; I hope that
you will like it better from this time than I
shall;' and she bent over it, and wrote on
the margin, 'Revolto.' Cecile Vereker gave
a convulsive gulp; but before she could utter
the words of contrition which hung on her
lips, a youth of seventeen years, the fac
simile of his sister, entered hastily. 'May I
see you borne, Miss Meritnn? I have stayed I
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
on purpose,' he added in a boyish, pleading
I=3
Margaret was arranging her shawl round
her shoulders, and she did this very deliber
ately, bending down her head, while an
amused smile played about her lips. Mean
while the boy eyed her as if he lunged to as
sist her, but refrained, lest he should meet
with a repulse. Possibly some memory of
former rejections aided his apparent modera
tion. Then she looked up and gave him her
hand. 'No, I thank you, young George; a
poor music mistress hardly needs an escort.
Good night, Cecile.'
The lad followed her to the door and wore
a provoked look on his handsome young face;
we dare say that young George grated on
his car. Ire returned to his sister, and re
garded the fire. 'She is too handsome to
walk alone. I wish I were a man, Cis, and
then I would marry her.'
This new view made Cis deliberate a lit
tle. The result was favorable. 'That would
be very nice, George, and then I need not
take any more singing lessons of her—at
least, unless I liked the song particularly,'
she added, as her eye fell on the word Re
volte.
Margaret gave two more lessons on her
road, and then walked quickly home, and
safely, too, in spite of young George's fears.
Her father, a poor gentleman in the first
instance, became poorer still; an amateur
musician, ho was constrained to make his
pleasure minister to his necessity. His
health, as we know, (tiled him more than
his fortune; for as Margaret had said, so she
had done, anti in the matter of a daughter
he was certainly a much to be envied man.
When she returned, he was sitting in his
chair by the fire, thinking long of her, as
the Scotch say; in her eyes he looketl, each
time she came back, more gentle, feeble and
shadowy than before. She busied herself
about him buoyantly and pleasantly, as
was her wont.
In quickly told tales like this there is no
room, as there is no need, to detail the course
of each day which went to make up her life.
Margaret Meriton was fast growing rich. I
don't mean that she had amassed landed
property, but she had, for many years, been
liable to income tax. (All English hearts
will feel fur her and with her in this re
spect.) Work was it law and a necessity,
but she did her work easily; it suited her,
and her gains were sufficient to support her
father in great comfort. She was, more
over, much liked by the families around;
her unflagging gaiety of spirit, her quick tal
ents, and splendid voice, made her a welcome
addition to every society. No tidings from
Scllon had ever reached her—yet, in spite 1 ,
of it, she grew happier, handsomer and stout
er; she was not a-weary because he came
not; and indeed, presented no resemblance
to the Marian of of the ,floated Grange.
Ten years from the time we last portrayed !
her she entered her fortieth year. It was a
winter evening; there had been a driving
shower of sleet and snow, with a keen, bitter
north wind; the foot passengers in the street
were whipped, blinded, and at last cowed by
it, and retreated into their houses; the house
less poor betook themselves to alleys and
doorways for shelter. The skies were sul
len and lowering. and a dense mass of pale
gray to the north-west afforded every pros
pect of more rough weather. Ido not think
any one could look more comfortable or
handsome than Margaret Meriton, as she
sat making the hot coffee in the snug study
clad in rich garments of sober hue, as befit
ted her age and purse.
Her father was still alive, and was seated
in the self-same chair. His head was very
white, and quite bowed on-his breast and
his long thin fingers beat time restles-dy.—
She spoke only a few words to him now and
then, and they were caressing, and such as
might have been used to a child. At last
she settled herself in her own lounging chair
cut open a new book, and was soon deep in
it. Gradually the new book found its rest
ing-place on the floor,•and Margaret reposed
calmly. There was a rumbling of carriage
wheels close to the house, and then a halt.
But there was no magnetism in the air to
warn Margaret of any one being near her,
more than that gentle shadowy man whom
she had tended for so many years. Then
a footstep in the hall, and hand on the door.
Even the seven sleepers awaked at last, and
when the door opened Margaret started to
her feet, fully prepared to deny that she
had been otherwise than wide awake. She
heard a deep voice say, 'I know the way,'
and then came a face bronzed fiery red, full
blue eyes not altogether strange to Margaret
—at least she had seen much in her dreams
mass of hair, beard, moustache, and
whiskers of a hue which wa4 pale only be
side the face.
AU this surmounted a figure huge in every three or four dollars or so. It was clear
way, but especially in breadth. Margaret that the gentlemen in black had been luring
stood wondering, and the figure stood won- him on by the best of tle:oys—success at
doting also. Like the Ancient Mariner, 'he first.
fixed her with his glittering eve,' and :1.5% he 'Let me see something for my money.—
performed this operation lie drew off wrap- Here's a stake of two dollars, and I cwkw!'
ping after wrapping, and at length stood con. But he spoke now in a very faint treble in
fessed as Stephen Shelton, weighing at least deed, and looked penitently at the cards.
sixteen stone. Ho was not a tall man, so ; Again the cards were shuffled cut and
appearances did not assist him on that score. , dealt, and the 'plucked pigeon' staked his
Then the blue eyes danced with amusement, last dollar upon them.
the white teeth showed themselves, and a I 'The last button on Gabe's coat, and I
hearty. full and sonorous laugh broke the er—er— No I'll be hamstrung if I do!'
'Margaret, do you not know me?' lie ;as I ever heard, he rose from the green
stepped forward and kissed her, at first light- b oar d,
ly on her cheeks and thou putting her back, ; The apartment was very spacious and on
with another glance and another laugh, he the ground floor. There was only this one
followed up that kis+ with many others, and gaming table in it, and not many Ina/Ts-on
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,420.
they came so fast and warm that Margaret
had not really presence of mind to resist.
'I ascertained you were still Margaret Mar
iton, or you would not hare seen we heq to-
Is this your father?'
She led him up to the old man gently.
`Speak tenderly to him, Stephen, he is
quite childish now-' Something in the cub
dued, womanly tone of' Margaret's voice
gave Stephen a choking sensation; however,
he cleared his throat and shook hands with
Mr. Meriton.
The poor gentleman looked up, with his
wan apprehenive smile. 'You'll be kind
to Margaret, sir, you'll be kind to her;' and
then he rambled on incoherent]
Margaret had not forgotten how to blush,
and at this random speech of her father's
the blood rushed up in torrents to her hair
roots. leaving a transient crimson on her
throat and neck. Apparently this enchan
ted Stephen; he rubbed his hands, and arran
ged his tawny beard and sat down and watch
ed Margaret as she poured out coffee for him,
with the bright, cheerful, trusting look of
twenty years before.
'Ah, Margaret,' be continued, laughingly,
I swore that were you faded, worn, and
weazen, I would still be true; but you hove
not fretted for me—you have not the assu
rance to pretend it. Am I absolved from my
oath?'
Margaret raised her eyes with a malicious
glance signifying, El lit Bride!
'Yes, I know,' he added, surveying rather
ruefully his own ample person. 'We have
both much to forgive.' There was no expla
nation asked, for none was required they
both felt uncommonly happy.
Shall we leave them so? Ah, young lov
ers! would you believe it possible that that
happy, handsome, comfortable looking wo
man is Margaret Meriton, who a score of
years before, was condemned to separation.
uncertainty, and work for her daily bread:
or that good man, so jovial, frank, and port
ly, should be the exiled lover. Take courage
—`men die, and the worms eat them, but not
for love.' They had each done their duty,
not sadly and sternly, but merrily and well,
and their tree of love blossoms, though late
in life. Pcrhaps,onc of the things we love
best to see, is the gentle, grave beauty of
some autumnal flower, which gladdens our
eyes when the summer has fled, and the un
kindly drip of the winter rain is at hand,
and the sky is ashen gray, and our mother
earth brown and lifeless.
Taken in and Done For
It is the boast of the bloods of Arkansas
that they are born with skins like alligators
and strength like bears. They work hard
and they play hard. Gaming is the recrea
tion most indulged in, and the gaming
houses of the western part of Arkansas have
branded it with an unenviable notoriety.
•One dark summer night, sonic years age,
I lounged, as a mere spectator, through
the different rooms of one of them, watch
ing the various games of hazard that were
played. Some of the players seemed to set
their very souls upon the stakes; their eyes
were bloodshot and fixed from beneath their
wrinkled brows, on the table, as if their Cs ,
erlasting weal or woe depended there upon
the turning of a die; whilst others, the fin
ished blacklegs, assumed an indifferent and
careless look, though a kind of sardonic
smile playing round their lips, but too
plainly revealed a soft of habitual despera
tion. Three of the players looked the very
counterpart of each other. not only in face
but expression: both the physical and moral
likeness was indeed striking. The other
player was a young man, a stranger, whom
they call a 'green one,' in this and many
other parts of the world. His eyes, his nose
and his whole physiogncnm• scented to pro
ject, and to be capable of growing still long-
'Fifty dollars more,' lie exclaimed, with a
deep drawn breath, as lie threw (Inwn the
12111
Each of hi. opponent , : turned up his card
coolly and confidently: but the long-vi-aged
hero laid his stake before them, and, to the
aslohishment of the three professionals, won.
'Hurrah: the luck has turned, and I crow'
he cried out in an cestacy, and pocketed the
cash.
The worthy trio smiled at this. and re
commenced the play. The green young man
displayed a broad but silent grin at Ids good
fortune, and often took out his money to
count it over, and see if each piece was good.
'Here arc a hundred dollars more,' cried
the sylvan youth, 'and I crow.'
I take them,' said one of the trio. The
youth won again. and 'crowed' louder this
time than he did at first. On went the game;
stakes were lost and won. Gradullly the
rouleaus of the 'erowce dwindled down to
He lost this too. and with as deep a curse