• s.
• 1 1 1.
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;
•
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.•.. . . . .
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. . , . . - - - - • -2' ..•
. t'••
SAMUEL WEIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXVIII, NUMBER 19.]
I'UBLISIIED EYEQF SITITDAY NORNING.
Office in ..Yorthern entre Railroad Com-
Wny's IJuilding, north-west corner Front and
alnut :Creels.
Terms of Subscription.
One Copy per annum,ir paid in :advance,
. 6 if not paid within three
cionitis from commoneemeni of the ya•ar, 2On
411. C:lPom.istsi s 4Voicrsr.
To Subscription received (Or n less time than •ix
Unontbs; and po paper ta,ll lie ditmoatintied until 101
sirreitrages are paid, unless at the optional' the pub
•ieher.
it 'Money may be remitted by meal at the publish
er's risk.
Rates of Advertising.
square [6 lines] one week,
three week.
ench.ni.orquent insertion, 10
1 4. Ll2-itte.4l OW! week. 50
1 00
E 1522172
enell.4t2ll-e4oentingertion,- 25
Lorgorodoettiternent - m proportion.
A liberal diocount will be tootle to toorierly, half
yearly or yearly advertitere.wito are Ntriett) euofitied
to their bu%ioro•.
Drs. John & Rohrer,
1 -1 AVE associated in the Practice of Medi-
CHIP.
COI utni.ist. April im,lftrolit
DR. G. W. 1111FtLI.N,
TjENTM, Locust street, a few doors above
the aid Fellow•' !lull, Columbia,
Colombo., Alxy 3, I.
H. 111. PIORTIK,
A TTORNEti AND COUNSELLOR AT LAIL.
Columbia.
Collection*, I. romptir made, in Lanca.ter and York
Coungiea.
Columbia, Zia'
OM
J. W.
Attorney and Counsellor al Law,
ca-aszt:Lllcoizt,
Co lll Mbg 4 , r4.epleollrer
GEORGE J. SMITH,
WHOLESILE and Retail Bread and Cake
Baker.—Con.tatitly on hand a variety of Cokes,
too numerous to mcntion; Cracker.; Soda. N% me. Scroll.
wnd Sdamr•triAcuit; t.:exitectioliery, of every description,
/cc., e.e. I.OI•UST Sir mom
Feb. !,'SG. Iletarcets the Dank and Franklin House.
•
BROWN'S Esscnec or Jamaica Ginger, Gen
utac Article. Fur ion le et
In cCt i11t.W.1.1 7 . dr. nr.t.r,TITT , FA
Tardily Medicine dude. Odd FellOWie 111111.
July 25, 1N57.
SOLUTION 1W CITILITE - OF MAGNESIA,or
pQr
guttve Alt ientl NVltier.—Ttun plennunt medicine
which in highly . recommended sit n substitute for
Epsom nsim,riesdlitz Powders,
Ste.. roil be Obiltllled
fresh every day at Di. L. It, HEIDI'S Drug SIAM',
Front st. bg
JUST received, a fresh supply of Cam
Snuck Farina, mod Hire Flour. nt
trII,I,,,FITT'S
"amity Medicine Store. Odd Fellows' Hall, Columbia
Columbia. ;tiny :10, 1.?0:.
iILDIPS, LIMPS, LAMPS. Just received at
Herr', Drug Stowe., m new and Otoultfol lot of
■mpr oinfl eleacripliortf. '
May U. t 437. _
A LOT of Fresh Vanilla Beans, at. Dr. E 11.
IlereA Golden Mortar U rug Store.
Nlnv 2.1w17.
ASUPERIOR article of burning Fluid just
rr•rr!Vrd rrrll filr .lrfr ?o• II
ALARGB lot of City cured Pried Beef, just
reirelveiti lit LL btYtIAS.V.SoN's.
Columbia. ll+•eeomber
A NEW and fresh [at of Spices. just re
ceived ut 11.1•LY{WA t tON . A.
Collloll/111. Uwe
I'OLINTRY Produce constantly on hand an d
tar 11 "•11 D NI A. SON
HOMINY, Cranberries, Raisins, Fig; Alm
oual.. Nllsliout4, C. euttm Nut- 11,g• Junk rrretvrd
D.ML'TDAH L. f•or's.
D , e 90. 14i'
A SUPERIOR lot of block and Greta Teas,
IX Coffee und Choeolstr.jo•t revot veal nt
TI •VVIIANI
Corner Dr rIIIIII and 1.7111_ oil •t•.
T1er..20.1517
JUST RECEIVED. a !nautical assortment of
link in; The lirlidgiitiriers oTTd
New+ Derf.l.
Cpluitiblit, April 14. 195:.
EXTR.I Family and Superfine Flour of the
be,l brslocl. for rkle by II SUYDAM & SON.
113 ST received MO lbs, extra double bolted
41 Wel. witent Neal, at
20. 1 i:"A. If. SUYDAM It SOWS.
WEIKEVS Instantaneous Yeast or Baking
powder. for •ale by 11. SUrIM tlc :"()N.
FARR& THOMPSON'S justly celebrated Com
memAl and other Goldlotvt
ninritet—je*treceiveti. P. Stitt EINUFt.
Collrm W.I. A pril
WHITE GOODS.-4 full line of \\Tittle Dres%
Good', of e ry de cripuon.l aFt received. ut
July 11. 1K57. l'O‘billiSMlT
WHY should anypersou do without a Clock,
when they too be had for $1.40 tol °own rds.
at lIREIN ER'S!
April
QAPONEFIER, or Concentrated Lye, for ma
-13 king Sonp. I 111. L ik-uffirient for one lonrrel of
ftft soap, or tib,ior 9 lbs. Ho ee
Hurd Soup. r, thr
non. milli.. given sit Ilse I:nuittee for milking
Hard uud Plumy ,pipe. For tole by
EL WILLIAMS.
Cotornbin. Mnreli 31.11.155
ALARGE lot of Baskets, Brooms, Buckets
Itrugh.,. kc., for .tite byII StIVIMAI
TILE undersigned have been appointed
anent. roe the tute of Cook Co'. trI•TA
ell t PENS. warranted not to collude; in c
they almost equal the quill.
ATLOR 8 NiellON ALT/.
Columbia inn 17.7V7
D 11.: GRA'III'S E.I.ECTIIIC 011.. J mat tereiari.
Ire, , ls supply of MI, popular rrnled, , and for .51e
by • it %Vita.' ANIS.
May 10,ISMS. Eronl Sireel, Columbia, rm.
.--.
AI.A11“1 , , a Ranruneut otclopea.:1 11 •i 7, .. , 10.1 1 , 1.1 hf,
lcm hand and forted., ut Tlif/S. WF.L.: 4 11 . :1,
Mara, 12,1.57. No. 1. Ilich ,trees.
12121 41 P i g u O i ri u ,
o ß p l 11.3 „. 1;:
t h'S. ace, al .o, Fre.l,
THOMAS Wt.:LS(I'S
„Parch 21. ISM'. No. I. High Si reet.
ANKW lot of I) CAR. iiiRIKASINU
t)lLti.'r received at Om 'lore of the i.utiveedier.
a..WII.I.IAAIet.
From Sheet. enhonahin. rn
/11.ty 111. ram
_
7:1411.11RD ,AI.
1. 0111 i ri 11T1114111', ' Shoul d er , .
al and men. Pork, fur Rae by
Timm At+ W 1 7 .1.0 I.
No 1. High ntrert.
21nrch 21. 10.
c o ATS, Corn, Har i and other !g i d o `. :vs , k
ioAr`":ilsll,
ei rot , 'Zt. 14.57
A b BROOMS, to BOXEs cot E1L:. 4 1-; For
Z U sale cheap, by r. A PPOLD ac CO.
Chlurabia., October R 5, %WA.
A 91.7PEount ertic:e or P I "T
n ol ,
imr7 1 7hY
Pro' Sin" t
nl .r hia, 4
Cum
TN
May 10, 1F56.
TUAT RCEIV ND. a large avid Well
oOf OrUAlien. consisting pnfl ofNhan. Mar. Ciro;
Crumb, Nail, Hai and Teal. tic{ fnr 1./)
R. WILLIA
Front Meet Colurnhia. pa,
Alareh 44, '36
- - -
SUPERIOR ■riicle. eITONIC dPICE errrErts,
au stable for nowt Keepers, l %%ale twy
It. WILLIAMS.
Mai 10,114.141. Trani .ireel. Colombia.
vitEsn ET/tEitrAl. OIL, alwayp on hand. and of
X pale by R. Trtt.r.:A, MR.
May 10. ISMS. Front Slrert. Columbia, Pn.
TlUST•received,FßEsll C.43IPIIKNE. all 4 fur tale
el by WII.I,PA
1041 M. From Street. Columbin. ra.
"IDOOW-Ne*ahr„,mrdialgtr., showd.r.
rob. ri. •Br7'. 14..SOIDAM, &SON.
llvtrg.
Latter-Day Warnings
When legi•lntors k erp the law,
When bank diapetinc with bolts and locks,
Whet berries, whorile—rnsp—and straw—
Grow bigger downwards through the box,--
Ell2l
When be that selleth house or laud
Shows lcuk in roof or flaw in
When haberdashers choose the stood
Whose luitulow high the tiroudest
When preachers tell us all they Mink,
And party lender,. all they mean,—
When what we pay for ? tlmt we drink,
From real grape and colree•beatt,—
CZEI
When lawyers take what they would give.
When doctors give what they would tako.—
When city fathers cut to live,
Save when they fast for conscience' sake,—
When one that hoth a horse on sole
Shall bring hi. merit to the proof,
Without a he for every noil
That holds the iron on the hoof,—
IVhen in the usual place for rips
Our Eloviw are stitched with Special Care,
And guarded well the whalebone tips
Witere first umbrellas need repair,—
When CuLa's weeds have quite forgot
The power of suction to resist,
And claret-bottles harbor not
Such diinp:es as would hold your fist,--
NN - hron publi.hers no longer steal,
And pay for what they stole before,—
When the first locomotive's wheel
Rolls through the Iloosac tunnel's bore;—
Tilt then let Cumming blaze away,
Mid Miller's saint. blow up the globe;
But when you •ee that ble.ged day,
The order your aecewdott robe!
dattririe Monthly
Stick Together.
A EUYM Fox TUE I'm:.
VV/, 'midst the wrecic of fire and smoke
When cannons rend the chic, asunder,
And acme dragoons t%ith tpliekClling stroke
Upon the reeling regiment thunder.
The rank. close up to sharp command.
Till helmet's feather touches leather;
Compact, the furious shock they stand
And conquer, while they stick together.
When now. mid clouds of wo and want,
Our comrades' wails rise fast and faster,
And charging madly on eur trout
Come the black legions of Disaster,
Shall we present a wavering, bend
And fly like leaves before weal weather?
No! side by side. and hand to Mind
Well staid our ground and stick toxetlier!
God gave U 4 handc--one left, one right ;
The first to help ourselves, the other
To stretch abroad in kindly might
And help along our billing brother.
Then when you see a brother full
And bow Iris head beneath the weather,
If you he not n dastard all
You'll help him up, and click together.
The Duke's Jealousy.
Etarliara !milt a fa'coa's eye,
A ad a soft white hand hash /Urbana ;
Dcwu re—for to make you w•isl to die,
To make you as pale as the monittight or 1,
Is a pet trick of 13arbara'a!
Merrily bloweth the summer
But cold and eruct IS Barttnnt t
And I. a Duke, stand here like a bind.
Too happy,*l funk, if I am struck blind
By the quick look of Barbara!
Aye. SMreelt7loU . , you arc haughty now:
Time was. time wits, my Barbara,
When I covered your hris and brow
And bosom with kis.,es—faith, 'tis snow
That was all fire Men, Barbara!
For whom shall you hold Agnilta's ring?
Whom will you love next, Barbara!
Choose from the Court—your pope or the king?
Or one of those sleek-limheil fellows who bring
Rose-colored notes "for I- arbors?-'
Love the king, by all that is good,
Make eyes at him, sing to him, Barbara!
I think you might please his royal mood
For a month, and then—what then it he should!
Fling yea aside,Queen Barbara?
You might Me out thrre on the moor,
tlYhere Roue] died for you. Barbara!)
For the world. you know. wts little store
On beauty, and charity closes the door
On fallen divinity, Barbara!
But if his Illajesty grew so cold—
In the dead of night, my Barbara,
go to his chamber, Bate is bold,
And rd strangle him there in his purple and gold,
And My him beside you. Barbara!
7stii. olt .
Prom the Vablin University Magazine
My Brooch.
I have in my possession an article of jew
elry which cost me many an uncomfortable
twinge, though it was certainly not stolen.
Neither was it begged, borrowed, given or
bought; yet, looking at it, I often feel my
self in the position of the min in the nur
sery tale, who, baying peculated from some
churchyard a stray ulna, or clavicle, was
perpetually haunted by the voice of its de
funct owner, crying in most unearthly tones,
" Give me my hone." Now the ornament
that had unluckily fallen to my lot—l pick
ed it up in the street—is a miniature brooch:
set with small garnets in heavy antiqne
gold. It is evidently a portion of somebody
or other's great grandmother, then a fair
damsel, in a rich peaked bodice and stom
acher, and it heavy necklace of pearls ; her
hair combed over it. cushion, and adorn
ed with a tiny wreath—a sweet looking
creature she is, though not positively beau
tiful. I never wear the brooch (and on
principle I wear it frequently in the hope of
finding the real owner) but I pause and
speculate on the story attached to it and its
original, for I am sure that both had a sto
ry. And one night lying awake, after a
cr,verrazione, my ears still ringing with the
din of many voices—heavens how these
literary people do talk l—there came to me
a. phantasy, a vision, or a. dream, whichever
the-reader ahem to,egaidder it.
It less moonlight, of course ; and her
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 14, 1557.
very majesty was so powerful, that I had
drawn the •' draperies of my couch" quite
close to shut her out ; nevertheless, as I
looked on the white curtains at the foot of
the bed, I saw growing there—l can find no
better word—an image like—what shall I
say?—like the dissolving views now so much
the rage. It seemed to form itself out of
nothing, and gradually assumed a distinct
shape. Lo I it was my miniature brooch,
enlarged into a goodly-sized apparition ; the
garnet setting forth glimmers of light, by
which I saw the figure within, half human,
half ethcrial, waving to and fro like vapor,
but still preserving the attitude and like
ness of the portrait. Certainly, if a ghost,
it was the very prettiest ghost ever seen.
I believe it is etiquette for apparitions to
speak when spoken to, so I suppose I must
have addressed mine. But my phantom and
I held no conversation ; and in all I remem
ber of the interview, the speech was entire
ly on its side, communicated by snatches,
like breathings of an Aulian harp, and that
chronicled by me:
how was I created and by whom ? Young
gentlewoman (I honor you by using a word
peculiar to my day, when the maidens were
neither "misses" nor "young ladies," but
essentially gcntletoomen,) I derived my birth
from the two greatest powers on earth—Ge
nius and Love ; but I will speak more plain
ly. It was a summer's day—such summers
one never sees now—that I came to life un
der my. originator's band. lle sat painting
in a quaint old library, and the image be
fore him was the original of what you see.
A look at myself will explain much: that
my creator was a young, self-taught, and as
yet only half-taught, artist, who, charmed
with the expression, left az:curate drawing
to take its chance. His sitter's character
and fortune arc indicated too ; though she
was not beautiful, sweetness and dignity are
in the large dark eyes and finely penciled
eyebrows ; and while the pearls, the select,
and the lace, show wealth and rank, the
rose in her bosom implies simple maidenly
tastes. Thus the likeness tells its own tale—
she was an earl's daughter, and he was a
pour artist.
Many a. time during that first day of my
existence I heard the sweet voice of Lady
Jane talking in kindly courtesy to the paint
er as he drew. '• She was half ashamed
that her father had a4;ed him to paint only
a miniature ; he whose inclination and ge
nius led him to the highest walks of art.''
But the artist answered somewhat confused
ly, " That having been brought up near her
father's estate, and hearing so much of her
goodness, ho was only too happy to paint
any likeness of the Lady Jane." And Idu
believe he was.
"I also have heard of you, Mr. Bethune,"
was her answer ; and the lady's aristocrati
cally pale cheek was tinged with a faint
rose color, which the observant artist would
fain have immortalized, but could not for
the trembling of his hand. "It gives me
pleasure," she continued, with a quiet dig
nity befitting her rank and womanhood, •'to
not only make the acquaintance of the pro
mising artist, but the gond man." Ah, ate!
it. was a mercy Norman Bethune did not an
nihilate my airy existence altogether with
that hurried dash of his pencil; it. made the
mouth somewhat awry, as you may see in
me to this day.
There was a hasty summons from the ear],
" That himself and Sir Anthony desired the
presence of the Lady Jean."
An expression of pain, half of anger,
crossed her face, as she replied, •• Say that
I attend my father. 1 believe," she added,
"we must end the sitting for today. Will
you leave the miniature here, Mr. Be
thune ?"
The artist muttered something about work
ing on it at home, with Lady Jean's permis
sion ; and as one of the attendant's touched
me, he snatched me up with such anxiety
that he had very nearly destroyed his own
work.
" Ali I 'twould be unco like her bonnie
face gin she were as blithe as she was this
morn. But that canna be, wi' a dour fa
ther like the earl, and an uncomly wicked
wocr like Sir Anthony. llech sir, but lam
was fur the ',eddy Jean l"
I know not why Norman should have list
ened to the "auld wife el:lvens," nor why, as
he carried me home, I should have felt his
heart beating against me to a degree that
sadly endangered my young tender life. I
suppose it was his sorrow for having thus
spoilt my half dry colors that made him not
show me to his mother, though she asked
him, and also from the same cause that he
sat half the night 'contemplating the injury
thus done.
Again and again the young artist went to
the castle, and my existence slowly grew
from day to day ; though never was there a
painting whose infancy lasted so long. Yet
I loved my creator, tardy though he was,
fur I felt that he loved me, and that in every
touch of his pencil he infused upon me some
portion of his soul.—Often they came and
stood together, the artist and the earl's
daughter, looking at me. They talked, she
dropping the aristocratic hateur which hid
a somewhat immature mind, ignorant less
from will, than from circumstance and neg
lect. While he, forgetting his worldly rank,
rose to that 'which nature and genius gave
him. Thus both unconsciously fell into
their true position as man and woman—
teacher and lesruer,—the greater and the
less.
-
" Another sitting, sad the ministate will
be complete, I fear," murmured Norman,
with a conscience-stricken look, and ho bent
o'er me, his fair hair almost touching my
ivory. A caress, sweet, though no longer
new to me; for many a time his lips—hut
this is telling tales, so no more ! My paint
ed, yet not soulless eyes, looked at my mas
ter as did others, of which mine were but
the poor shadow. Both eyes, the living and
the lifeless, were now dwelling on his coun
tenance, which I have not yet described, nor
need I. Never yet was there a beautiful
soul that did not stamp upon the outward
man some reflex of itself; and therefore,
whether Norman Bethune's face and figure
were perfect or not, matters not.
" It is nearly finished," meehanically said
the Lady Jean. She looked dull that day,
and her eyelids were heavy as with tears—
tears which (as I heard many a whisper say)
harsh father gave her just cause to shed.
"Yes, yes, I ought to finish it," hurriedly
replied the artist, as if more in answer to
his own thoughts than to her, and he began
to paint ; but evermore something was
wrong. He could not work well ; and then
the Lady Jean was summoned away, re
turning with a weary look, in which wound
ed feelings struggled wilt pride. Once, ton,
we plainly heard (I know my master did,
for he clenched his hands the white) the
earl's angry voice, and Sir Anthony's hoarse
laugh ; and when the Lady Jane came back,
it was with a pure stern look, pitiful in one
so young. As she resumed her sitting, her
thoughts were evidently wandering, for two
great tears stole into her eyes, and down
her cheeks. Well-a.day ! my master could
not paint Meta I but he felt them in his
hoart. His brush fell—his chest heaved
with his emotion—he advanced a step, um ,
muting "Jean, Jean," without the "Lady;"
then recollecting himself, and with a great
struggle, resumed his brush and went paint
ing on. She had never once looked or stir
red.
The last sitting came—it was hurried and
brief, fur there seemed something not quite
right in the house ; and as we came to the
castle, Norman and I, (for he had got in the
habit of always taking inc home with him,)
heard something about " a marriage," and
Sir Anthony." I felt my poor master
shudder as he stood.
The Lady Jean rose to bid the artist adieu.
She had seemed agitated during the sitting
at times, but was quite calm now.
"F.trewelf," she said, and stretched out
her hand to hint with a look, first of the
earl's daughter, then of the :roman only ;
the woman, gentle, kindly, glen tender, yet
never forgetting herself or her maidenly re
serve.
" I thank you," she added, " not merely
for this, (she laid her hand on me) but for
your eompanion , hip ;" and she paused as if
she fain would have said friendship, yet
feared. " You have done me good ; you
have elevated my mind; and from you I
have learned what else I might never have
done, reverence for man. God bless you
with a life full of honor and fungi, and what
is rarer still, happiness:" She half sighed,
extended her hand without looking toward
him ; lie clasped it a moment, and then—
she was gone
My master gazed dizzily round, fell on his
knees by my side, and groaned out the an
gui,h of his spirit. Ilk only words were,
"Jean, Jean, so good, so pure Thou, the
earl's daughter, and I, the pier artist !"
As he departed, be moaned them out once
more, kissed passionately my unresponsive
image, and fled ; but not ere the Lady Jean,
believing him gone. and coming to catch the
precious likeness, had silently entered and
seen him thus.
She stood awhile in silence, gazing the
way he had gone, her arms folded on her
hearing breast. She whispered to herself,
" Oh I noble heart! Oh! noble heart I" and
her eyes lightened, and a look of rapturous
pride, not pride of rank, dawned in the face
of the earl's daughter. Then she too knelt
and kissed me, bat solemnly, ovea with
tears.
The nest day, which was to have been
that of her forced marriage with Sir Antho
ny, Lady Jean had fled. She escaped in
the night, taking with her only her old
nurse and me., whom she hid in her bosom.
" You would not follow the poor artist to
wed him 7" said the nur,e.
"Never !" answered Lady Jean. " I
would live alone by the labor of my hands;
but I will keep true to him till my death.—
For my father who has cursed me, and cast
me off, here I renounce my lineage; and am
no longer an earl's daughter."
So went she forth, and her places knew
her no more.
For months, even years, I lay shut up in
darkness, scarcely ever exposed to the light
of day ; but I did not murmur, I knew that
I was kept as you mortals keep your heart's
best treasure, in the silence and secrecy of
love. Sometimes, late at night, a pale, wea
ried hand would unclasp my covering, and a
face, worn i n deed. but having a sweet re
pose, such as I had never seen in that of the
former Lady Jean, would come and bend
over me with an intense gaze, as intense as
that of Norman Bethune, under which I had
glowed into life. Poor Norman ! if he had
hut known.
Alll this while I nerer heard my master's
name. Lady Jean (or Mistress Jean, as I
now heard her called) never uttered it even
to solitude and me. But once, when she
hid shut herself up in her poor cbsmber,
she est reading some papers with ensiles--
oftener with loving tears—and then placed
the fragments with me in my hiding place;
and so—some magic bond existed between
my master and me, his soul's child—l saw
shining in the dark the name of Nmrman
Bethune, and read all that Lady Jean bad
read. Ile had become a great man, a re
nowned artist; and these were the public
chronicles of his success. I, the pale reflex
of the face which Norman had loved—the
face which more than any other in the wide
world would brighten at the echo of his
fame—even my faint being became penetra
ted with an almost human joy.
One night Lady Jean took me out with an
agitated hand. She had doffed her ordinary
dress, and now changed the daughter of an
earl into the likeness of a poor gentlewo
man. She looked something like her olden
self—like me ; the form of the dress was
the same; I saw she made it scrupulously
like; but there was neither velvet, nor
lace, nor pearls, only the one red rose, as
you may see in me, was in her bosom.
" I am glad to find my child at last won
nut in society," said the nurse, hobbling in ;
thought the folks she will meet, poor au
thors, artists, musicians, and such like, are
unmeet cinupany for the Lady Jean."
"But for the simple Jean Douglass" she
answered, gently smiling—the smile not of
girlhood, but of matured womanhood, that
has battled with and conquered adversity ;
and when the nurse had gone, she t:.01; me
out again, murmuring. " I wonder will he
know me now 2"
I heard her come home that night. It was
We; but she took me up once more, and
looked at me with strange joy, though
coin-
Rled with tears ; set the only word- I heard
her say were those she had uttered once be
fore in the dim •ears past—" noble
heart !—thrice noble heart l" and she fell on
her knees and prayed.
3ly dear master'.--the author of my be
ing: I met his crew mire more. Ile took
me in his hand and hooked att me with a
playful emapassion, not quite free Crum emu
tiun.
"And this is how I painted it! It was
scarce worth keeping. Lady Jane.,'
"31 does.; Jean, I pray you ; the name
best suits me now, Mr. Bethune," she said,
with gentle dignity.
I knew my master's face well. I had seen
it brightened with the mast passionate ad
miration as it turned on the Lady Jean of
old; but never did I see a look such as that
which fell on Jane Douglas now—earnest,
tender, calm—its boyish idolatry changed
into that reverence with which a man turns
to the woman who to him is above all wo
men. In it one could trace the whole life's
history of Norman Bethune.
"Jean," he said, so gently, so naturally.
that she hardly started to hear him use the
familiar name, " have you in truth given up
all ?''
'• Nay, all have forsaken me, but I fear
not ; though I stand alone, heaven has pro
tected me, and will, evermore."
'• Amen I" said Norman Bethune. " Par
don me; but our brief acquaintance—a few
weeks then, a re IV weeks now—scents to
comprehend a lifetime."
And he took her hand, but timorously., as
if she were again the earl's daughter, and
be the poor arti:t. She, too, trembled and
changed color, less like the pale, serene Jane
Douglas, than the bonnie Lady Jean whose
girlish portrait he once drew.
Norman spoke again : and speaking, his
grave manhood seemed to Concentrate all its
subdued passion in the words :
"Years have changed, in some measure,
my fortunes at least, though not me. l—
once the unknown artist—now sit at prince
ly tables, and visit in noble hall , . lam
glad ; for honor to me is honor to my art
as it should lie," And his face was lifted
with noble pride. " But," he added in a
beautiful humility, " though less unworthy
toward man, I am still unworthy toward
you. If I woo you. I should do so not as
an artist who cared to seek an earl's (laugh
ter, but as a man who felt tl'at his best de
serts were poor, compared to those of the
woman he has loved all his life, and honor
ed above all the world."
Very calm she stood—very still, until there
ran a quiver over her face—over her whole
frame.
"Jean—Jean I" cried Norman Bethune.
as the forced composure of his speech melted
from it, and became transmuted into the
passion of a man who has thrown his whole
life's hope upon one chance, " if you do not
scorn me—nay, that you cannot do—but if
you do not repulse me—if you will forget
your noble name, and bear that which, with
God's blessing, I will make noble—aye, no
bler than any earl's—if you will give up all
dreams of the halls where you were born,
to take refuge in a lowly home, and be cher'
ished inn poor mnn's loving breast—then,
Jean Douglas. come."
" I will :" she answered.
He took her in his protecting arms: all
the strong man's pride fell from hisn—he
leaned orcr her and trept.
For weeks, months afterwards, nobody
thought of me. I might hare expected it;
and somehow it was sad to lie in my still
darkness, and never be looked at at all. But
I had done my work, and was content.
At last I was brought from my hiding
place, and indulged with the light of day.
I smiled beneath the touch of Lady Jean,
which even now had a lingering tenderness
in it—ware for me than for any other of bar
beat waiters..
$1,50 PEE YEAR IN ADVANCE; 82,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
" Look, Normnn, loot:!" she eni,), stretch
ing out to him her left hand. As I lay there
in, I felt the golden wedding, ling press
against my smooth ivory.
Nornian put down his brush, and came
smiling to his young wife's side.
"What: do you keep that still ? Why.
Jean, what a boyish job it is. The features
nearly approach Queen Elizabeth's beau
ideal of art, ;is site commanded her own por
trait to be drawn; 'tis one broad light, with
out a single shadow. And look how ill
drawn are the shoulders, and what an °nor
moos string . of pearls."
Jean snatched me up and kir, , cd
me.—
"You shall not, Norman—l will hear no
blame of the poor miniature. I love it, I
tell you, and you love it, too. Alt ? there."
And she held me playfully to my maker's
lips. which now I touclid not for the firct
time, as he knew well. " When we grow
rich, it shall be set in gold and garnets, and
I will wear it mem- time tut- husband V..C.t. , C ,
to remember the days when he iirt taught
me to love him, and in loving him, to love
all that was noble in man."
And then Norman—, But Ido not
see that I have any business to reveal for
thor.
I (lid attain to the honor of gold and gar
nets, and, formed into a bracelet, I figured
many a time on the fair arm of Jean Beth
une, who, se ben people jested with her for
the eccentricity of wearing her own like
ness, only laughed and said that she d'd
deed love the self that her hu , band loved,
fa- hi, S:1 Tie. SO years went by, until fairer
thing than bracelets adorned_ the arms of
the painter's wife, and she came to eve her
own likene , s in dearer type, than my
poor ivory. Nor her ornaments—my , elf
a mon g the vest—wcte ly put Ly ; and
at last I need to lie fa. tnomh.; unt,nichcd,
save by tiny baby fingers, n or and
then poked into the casket to see " mom
ma's picture."
At length there came a change in my des
tiny. It wits worked by one of those grand
est of revolutionists--a young lady entering
her teens.
- ":%Imarna, what is the use of that ugly
bracelet?" I heard one day. "Give me the
minature to have made into a brooch. lam
sixteen—quite old enough to wear one, and
it will be so nice to have the likeness of my
owe mamma."
Mrs Bethune could refuse nothing to her
eldest daughter—her hope—her comfort--
her sisterlike companion. So with many an
02) 2n9 charge concerning me, I was dis
patched to the jeweler's. I shut up my
powers of observation in a dormouso lilac
doze, from which I was only awakened I).} -
the eager fingers of Miss Anne Bethune,
who had rushed with me into the painting
room, calling on papa and mamma to ad
mire an old friend in a new face.
Is that the dear o!d minature?" said the
artist.
The husband and wife looked at me. then
at one another, and smiled. Though both
now glided into middle age, in that af
fectionate smile I saw ret ire the faces of
:carman Bethune and the Lady Jean.
"I do believe there is something talisman
ic in the portrait said young Anne, their
daughter. "To-day, at the jewelers's, I was
stopped by a disagreeable old gon tlo no3 n.
who stared - at me, and then at the miniature,
and finally questioned ate about my name
and my parents, until I, was fairly wearied
of his impertinence. A contemptible, ma
ed creature he looked ; but the
jeweller paid him nll attention. since, as I
afterwards learned, he wai Anti,owy
A—, v. Ito suce , :ede.l to all the estates of
his cousin, the Earl of —."
Mrs. Bethune put me down on the table,
and !cane l her head on her hand ; perhaps
some metoorie4 of her youth came tol er her
on hearing those long silent names. Het
husband glanced at her with a restle , s doubt
—sonic men will be so jealous u‘ er the light
est thought of one they love. Bat Jean put
her arm in his, with a look so serene, SO
clear. that be stooped down and kissed her
Yet scarce faded chcel,:.
GO my own wife—go and tell ou r laugh
ter all."
Jean Bethune and her child went out to
gether, and when they returned there was a
proud glow on Anne's check—she lonl,ed do
like her mother, or rather so like me. She
walked down the t-tudio ; it was a largo
room, where hung pictures that might well
make Inc fear to claim brotherhood with
them, though the same hand created them
and me. Anne turned her radiant cses from
one to the other, then went up to the at tist
and embraced him.
•* rather, I had rather be your daughter,
than share the honor of all the ElJtlgilVzSCF."
Anne Bethune wore me year after yoar,
until the fashion of me went by, till her
young daughters, in their turn, began to
laugh at my ancient setting, and—always
aside--to mock at the rude art of -4 grand
mamma's" days. But this wns ro‘er ill
grammatruna's presence, where still I found
myself at times; and my pale eyes beheld'
the f.tce of which my own had been a mare
shadow—but of which the shadow was now
left as the only memorial.
•* And was this indeed you, gra n drnam.
ma ?" many nn eager voice would ask, when
my poor self was called into question.—
•• Were you ever this young girl; and did
you really wear these beautiful pearls, and
lice in a castle, and hear yourself called the
Lady Scant" •
And grandmminta would lay darn her
[WHOLE NUMBER, 1,424.
ipectncle=, and lord: pensively out with her
ealm beautiful eves. Oh how doubly beau
fful they scented in age, when all other lore
liness had gore. Then she would gather her
little flock round her, and tell, for the hun
dredth time, the story of herself and Nor
man Bethune—lc:ming gently, as with her
p went-fecling she had now learnt to do, on
the wrongs received fr.nn her own father,
and lingering with ineffable tenderness on
the noble nature of him who had won her
heart, more through that than even by the
fascination of his genius. She dwelt often
er on this, when, in her closing years, he
was taken before her to his rest ; and while
the menu ry of the great painter was honrr
el on earth, she knew that the pure soul of
the virtuous man awaited her, his Lelorcd,
in heaven.
"And yo! . , grandmamma," once said tho
most inqui,ttive of the little winsome elves
whom the old lady loved, who, with mein
her hand, had lured Mrs. Bethune to a full
hour's converse about olihn days--"graLd
mannim, looking back on ymr ancient line
age; and would you not like to have it said
of you that you were an earl's daughter ?"
"No l•' she answered. " Say. rather, that
1 . was Norman Bctkunc's xvifc."
I waked, and foamt to:;self gazing on tho
blank white curtains fr,,m n•hence the fan
tasmal image of the Lady Jean had melted
away. Bat still, through the mystic stillness
4,1' dawn, I scented to //are a melancholy
ringing in my ears—a sort of echo of Gil
pin's cry, —"I ) , t—loit—lost Surely it
was the unquiet ghost of the miniature thus
b'•se.eching restitution to is original own erx.
" Ile , t thee, pertuil ed spirit :" raid I, ad
dressing the ornament that nag• lay harm
lessly on my dressing table—a brooch, and
ni+1111”:; inn:
" Peace ! Thotvzh all other means liavo
perhaps thy cle , cription goili t t; out into
the WI I rid a letter:: may procure thy hlenti
fic.lCion. IL, I have it—l will write thy
a ulia,h,grard:y."
flouter, it is done. I have only to add
that the miniature tray found in Edinburg,
in dugust, 1840, and 1611 be ;2,ladly restored
to the right on nor, le-t the unfortunate au
thor should be actin visited by the phantom
of Lady Jean,
A True Love, Story
We props° !Ll tell a little love story,
which is so pretty and romantic in its details
that we would suppoFe it a fiction hut rir
the 8001 talLiri u upon which Ire have ob
tained it:
Some fifteen nr sixteen years ago in the
Finterland a young man warned fling and a
young girl named \\'eenn loved each other
very hard and wanted to marry. A tight
nes.i iu the money market, however, forhado
tire inn uric; Sr', a f:er conki,lpring the ! natter,
the loser hissed his swee:l cart. swore a true
er's oath to come hark and marry her in
;-, , 00d time, and came to the United States to
See!: I ra fortnne.
Ire worked l;ke a fellow, and pros
pered; and 4fter eating op a good .F 11172 Ito
tics Lack (..n the wing-. of lore to Germany.
3)/t a tyr riVe ili , :ippoialment awaited him.
intended bride wa- 14-I.e!
She hail not taken —Quid p 1 en," or eloped
with it tinker, hut weary of her lover's lung
abseiß-e, and despairing. of his return, she
had, like the brute little sweetheart that she
was. set out for the United State , , deter
mined to find him, and enter into that united
state whith is the El Dorado of all true lur-
So the young, man crane hack to this
country on the ptohlie.wheels of love, and
with the additional celerity which the screw
propeller of anxious suspenre always im
part. lie sought his fair one everywhere;
many journeys he took, and much money
and much sleep he lust: but all to no pur
p tt , ct and he save up his Christine as for
et.cr lost to him.
lle came to New Orleanst and time, after
c ailing and petrift•ing, the lara-eurrent of
his first love, introduced hint to a frau:do,
as fair and sweet, perhaps, as the lost Chris
tine. Ile married her. and they went to
Texas, where they bettled and were happy,
Old Time csmtinued to trundle the years
around. Two fine children blessed the
union, hut a rad event folirAved in the death
of the wife and mother. Ever t:inec then, or
until reeenly the widower remained there,
proQe:uting his business and taking care of
his children.
Some weeks ago he came to this city on
business and whilst here found it necessary
itoge to eine:mat'. lie wej,t there, to stop
a few days. One night. whilst he te ns re
turning to his lodging , : from some place of
amo.ement, he was alarmed by femalo
Qcreams not far (1. Ile ran, with others,
to diQcorer the cause, and found that the
.creams proceeded from a girl about eight
years old. Iping helpless on the banquette.
, Sh e was badly but not dangerously hurt;
and in reply to the questions of the crowd,
:itate.3 that her uncle, with whom she was
living. had erne home drunk and violent,
enu•ing her, in her anxiety to avoid hint, to
fall out at a window.
As she was a German girl, the widower
!ling naturally felt intere,ted in her, and
plied her with all sorts of questions, as t o
her parentage, circumstances, .e. She told
him, among other things, that her mother's
first name was Christine. That aroused an
old memory, and stimulated fresh inquiry.
The girl gaco such information, finally, at
to learo no doubt in Ding's mind that her
mother was bis own lung lost sweetheart.—