SAMUEL 'WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXIX, NUMBE TUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING Office in Northern Central Railroad Cc tn p any's Building, north-west corner _Front and Ifraint4 'Terms of Subscription. o..se Copy per annum,' f paid in advance, I r 1101 plild withw ihree mouthefrom commencement °film year, 200 4=c,23.tes a Copy. No subscription I eceived for a less time than six mouths; and no paper will be di-coati/met/ arm: a❑ parrearages are paid, unless at the optional' the pub twits,. CT'Honey may be remitted by mail at thepublish Os risk. Rates of Advertising. I square [G lines] oar week, three weeks. each .uh.equentiasertion, ID 1 " [l2:ines] oar week three weeks, t tal 44 0111.11 i Jll+e•gaenll n sertion. 25 Laraeradeertiseniont.in proportion A liberal diricounl will ne iniole to win rterly, half. ...yearly. or yearly iilvertieets,wilo are strietl)eonfined t o term' Ouoineer. cltqtrts, The Silent Cable. The cable: the cable! When will it be able Tobreak thin tong silence of death? Whet if it be found That the poor thing in drowned, Attd cannot recover Ito breath? Or perhaps it keeps main, And pretends to be dumb, Just like the old crow• in the fable; It lakes gentle fluttery. And not 'snult and bantry, To make people cotnmunieuttle. But (the figure to ehnoge.) Ii need nut neem twang,: If this turn out a poor speculotioN Yet the cable mei frac!, Awl sfuste 'lkely to WI, Or go into, at le asst, Indeed, it had failed, Before the ships suited; , TwaS oompletely up."as we learn, When it left the Green We; Though it floated awhile, It soon proved a sinking convent. And sow we begin, Though ins "ships bane got ro nee it is really —ashore? Alas, for the cable: It will never be able To make boa ends meet any more. Well, it isn't much matter, For if it could chatter, To believe it we neer hod been able; For voice An:mho:, There's 11001111 g been nigh us That :tracker and tics like that cabte Besides, is it right Titus to work out of sight In fishing for strange information, By mysterious plunges, The way they got voneos? 'Ti. a species of derr-divin-ation. Yet, we honor the gents, Who bore the expense; They knew that iheir shares when they got 'ern, Represented. no doubt, Vhut would soon he paid out, And speedily go to the bottom. Mr. Field is a hero, And ',him Spero ,•pero'> serve very well for lur. 1110110. H Lns d rOpr td a lone liar; NVoiet the wire teaks a sign? For if it don't answer—it ought to. But hush! here it comes, And dius the word rutin: "Dear Jona•huu—will you excuse it? This delay in all wrong, Dot my pen is so long I'm but just finding out how to Hughes it." gthttinns. The Wife of Two Husbands When I first came to W"oodislee, I came as cnrate, for the incumbent was near ninety years age, and very infirm. I had a hundred pounds a year, and the little cot tage that is now in ruins, close by the old church to live in, and never dreamed to have done better. That would have been enough and to spare, indeed—without my good wife ; J ere and the four little ones of course, who % then were not in the question—for the place is not a dear one as to living. The Brent, which runs by our door, supplied me well with trout, and I was my own fishmonger. ,A knife and fork too, were always laid for gee at the squire's board, and 7 n Sundays +without exception, I was there to use them. The Sunday after poor Mr. Melville, the Did incumbent died, I was as usual at the Grange and as was natural, our talk fell on his loss and on the future vicar. "I have appointed one in my own mind," sold Bir, Markham; "and if he chooses to Accept tke living, as there is no reason ighabwar foe the delay, he will read himself o.n within the month or so—a young man pot over rich, s who knows the people here, And is well liked by them." "I fear then sir, he will not want a m ote, since the parish is so small?" j fear not Or rantley. We shall be sorry to lose you, although we hare seen so Pale of **eh other; but I will have you in my eye, be sure as will Key wife, in whose arty coracles come somehow more than they ,do in mine." And so we parted fur that time with a hearty handshake. 4h, what a wife that Mrs. Markham was! fait" blithe woman then, with auburn hair just dusted over with gold, and wear ing her thirty summers like a flower. She with her pleasant smile, was the fit messen ger to tell tan ere the month was up that I myself was the new vicar of Woodislee. She took as great delight to bring the news as I to haar wfba yicarge is yours," said she; "and may this please you Mr. Grantley, as it pleases kta. it was not with my will that it .was kept secret from you for so long, but you know tap husband loTes his kindly joke." 1 It was not likely after this, that I should become less their friend; nod indeed the Markhams and myself were forever together. Both as clergyman and familiar intimate, my intercourse grew very close with them indeed. I learned, with pains enough, even to join ther little concerts in the ball: I read with them old plays in winter evenings; and the vicarage was almost less my home than was the Grange. lam not sure that they did not choose my wife for me: if so, I have the greatest gift of all to thank them fur; and they stood both of them as sponsors to my eldest boy. About two years after I had been installed as vicar, I began to observe a great strangeness in Mrs. Markham. She grew absent, started when addressed—espe cially if by her husband—wasted visibly, and lost in part her pleasant looks. The squire did not see this: she had always a smile to greet him with, however she 'night look to others; and would watch him some times when he was not regarding her, with a concentration of affection in her gaze more intense than ever. Another change was this: the squire's fortune being very large, his wife had a most liberal allowance, and kept quite a little establishment of her own. Iler charities, besides those that were in common with his, were extensive. When any persons needed help beyond that which I wasjustified in giving, I had been accus tomed to apply to her as readily as to him; but now her alms at first diminished, and then altogether ceased. She parted under some frivolous pretence, with her carriage and ponies; and from being rather fastidi -0119 and choice in her attire, site came to dress with great simplicity, and almost ill, ' so that upon that point her husband rallied her. One night she was singing with us in the ball as usual, a favorite Scotch song of his, that she had sung a hundred times be fore, when her voice suddenly trembled, as though her heart was breaking, and she burst into a fit of tears. It was one of those exquisite melodies of Burns upon the domes tic affections; and Markham spoke touching ly to me afterwards of that excessive fond ness of his wife's for him which had so com pletely overmastered her. "If I were to be taken fruits her," said he, "I do believe dearest Jane would die." 91 50 ani Certainly to watch her anticipating his slightest wish, and listening to his every word as though it were to be his last, it might well seem so. Upon my venturing to remark to him that she was generally in by no means good health, and not in her usual spirits, he thanked me, and was nervously alive to this at once; and thinking a little company might cheer her, ho sent fur his maiden sister from the north to spend sime time with them—a quiet elderly lady, very excellent, but not in any way gifted as her brother and sister-in-law were. We two struck up an acquaintance very soon, and the squire was wont to make facetious allu sions to it which would have been embar rassing from anybody else. She soon filled up, in some measure, that position of Lady Bountiful in the parish which Mrs. Mark ham had abdicated—although I confess she somewhat lacked the gracefulness of her well doing—and evidently to that lady's satisfaction. It left her more to herself. and at liberty to retire to her chamber or elsewhere, as had now become her favorite custom. This combination, with the other peculiarities in her conduct, although still veiled from her husband's notice, did not escape the quick, womanly eye of Miss Markham. "I cannot think," said she, as we were taking a walk together about three weeks after her arrival; "what change has come over Jane. If we did not know herself and George to have been the moat loving couple that ever breathed, I should be inclined to think her an unhappy wife; and if I W ere not thoroughly convinced of foe badness of her late husband, that she I ras regretting his loss." I had never heard until that moment of Mrs. Markham having been a widow, and I expressed my surprise strongly. "Indeed?" said my companion, "I bad made certain that they had entrusted you with that revelation; but since you are aware of so much, you may now just as well know all." ••Mrs. Markham, whom you perceive, even at this time, charming and almost perfect. being, appears extraordinarily sensitive un suspicious of evil, was, as Miss Jane Raby, romantic to the last degree. She elopedfrom school at the age of seventeen, with an ad venturer named Ileathcote. I never saw him myself but I have been told that he vvas in youth extremely handsome, and gifted with some attractive but superficial talents.— After living together a short time in great unhappiness, so far as Jane was concerned. he deserted her, and sent her back to her friends. lie did not appear again fur years. Ile must nave treated the poor girl very brutally, to account for the horror and ab solute loathing which she entertained fur him. lie knew that she did so, and used that knowledge for his own profit. fie had openly boasted that "he had not married a milksop like her fur nothing, but for her money;" and the moment which secured to her her property, the very day on which she come of age, brought this harpy to her side again. She bought him off with ransoms. then and at many other times, as the civil ized nations of old time bought off the sav age. and with the like result—he became more frequent and extravagant in his de mands. When I say that he was a myete "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CliliAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY matic gambler and a drunkard, I believe tlsat I have mentione only his lighter foi bles. The relies of her original fortune only remained to her, when he required of her a blank chock to be filled up at his own plea sure. This, backed by her paternal uncle. and sole relative, in whose h o use s i n e was then residing, she steadily refused to give hi in; and llcatheote, uttering the most frightful threats, was obliged to content himself with a draft drawn by Mr. Rally upon his own banker fur a hundred pounds. lie drew it merely to save his niece, who was in an agony of terror from her husband's violence, and to get the man out of the house as quickly as possible; but as the matter turned out, this was the luckiest thing in the world. lleatheote altered 'one' upon the order to 'five,' sod the number 'loo' to •;500,' and so got the check changed by the commission of a felony. The next time that this fellow came for his merciless tax—which was soon enough—Mr. Roby had a policeman in waiting flu. !rim. "If," s.rid that gentleman, "you ever again at tempt to persecute my unhappy niece, I transport, you for the term of your natural life. You may thank her alone that I stiffer you to escape just purri , lnnerit this time.— [f it rested with me only—and luckily the proof of your penal crime does rest with me, and with no 'milksop'—you sh o uld be shipped off as soon as the law could ship you." Ileatheote hectored a g sod deal, and strive to obtain an interview with his poor I wife; but Mr. Roby was firm. lb; told hint ' out one hundred five pound notes, and en ; d o sed th e m in a cover, whereupon he wrote his own name and address to remind hint this compact, telling him that it was the Lot handwriting arid the last shilling of hi that ho should. see. The conditions of gift were, that the recipient should depart from Australia forthwith, and never set foot again in England. "'The fellow five hundred, the forged check, sir, is in my own possession, and if I ever see your face again, it shall be produced in a court of law—which penalty 'he other, there being no help for it, agreed to. licathcoate's brutality must have been something excessive to have trodden all traces of love out of a heart like Jane's; but he had quite succeeded in so doing. Al though she had n.rt consented to her uncle's threat being held over him—and happy was it that it did trot rest with her to use it—she could not but feel comfort front the event. Six months' experience of freedom did won ders in restoring her roses and lightening her heart of a sorrow that seemed likely to crush it altogether. She began to move about less like an automaton, to wear the smile of content, if not merriment, and to be in some sort like the Jane Baby of five years before. Then came s o me news which mode her serious and silent awhile, but could scarce have made her sail: Ileatheote was dead in the bush, slain by the hand of one of his own wicked companions. In at concealed pocket within his vest was fourall the roll of bank notes in their still unbroken cover. It had escaped the eyes of his mur derer, or the passing by of some honest set tlers had disturbed hint in his unfinished search. They forwarded the pareel to Mr. Baby, with a narration of the-e facts. A year after this event, it would have been impossible to recognize the spirit-bowed and fragile Mrs. Ifeatheote in the by no means inconsolable widow which she had then be crone. Thanks to her brief matrimonial career, sire was not rich, but beautiful and happy as you see, her now, Mr. Grantley, or rather as you did see her until within these l few moths. My brother married with the I full knowledge her former life, and has never had a moment's cause, as he says himself, to regret his choice." This narration which the kind hearted but misdoubting little old maid made pi• (want with various garnishments of her own in the way of flings at the foolishness of, young girls, and the futility of her early marriages, did nut much enlighten me as to I what was ailing poor Mrs. Markham, al- 1 though it increased my interest in her for tunes. Tier conduct towards myself re- I trained unaltered, or was marked by even, greater communicativeness. She put to me several hypothetical cases of conseience, of; which I could see no p o ssible bestir g on, herself, and begged me, its a clergyman, to, give her my best opinion en the sultiect.— She told me that she had often bewailed the; having no children, which 611.0 had once considered to be the sole blessing denied her; but that now she thanked God she was; childless. The horrible thought began to cross toe that my dear bencfltetress and firm friend was going out of her mind; and- that l M idea grew stronger, although rs. Mark ham shook her head at it, and hoped it might be no worse. She was as good a person as ever lived; but she had the weakness of her order, which somehow is always to think the worst that can be of all her sex. But when I had seen Mrs. Markham come out of the firwood, under the sandcliff, a little after sunrise one morning, and sire told me, pale as a spectre, and quivering in every limb, that she had only been to get an appetite fur breakfast; when she asked me at an other time for the loan of twenty pounds for a very pressing emergency, and begged roe to keep it secret; and when I coupled with these things her piteous endeavors, so transparent to myself and her sister-in-lair to conceal her unhappy condition at all ; times—a mark most significant of an un- settled brain—l felt quite sure of my pain ful cnrmise being but too true. I was even I debating how to break this horror to Mr. Markham, that reititslial measures might be resorted to berme it WA.: to. late, when a cireauwance occurred which changed my susiiieions iuto a certainty even still more terrible. It was on a Tuesday, in the midsummer, and the squire was gone to a meeting, likely to be a stormy one, upon education, at the neighboring town; Mks Aslark haw, ever de sirous ..f a little shopping. had accompanied him, atiol„I 6.td intended to have done so likewise, had not the illness of a parishoner suddenly prevented it. Ills case required certain aliments which was not within the seiiire of our resources at the vicarage, I walked down to the Grange, according to custom to request that they .night be sent to the sick man's cottage. Mrs. Markham was not within: but the beauty of themfter noon enticed me upon a terrace, the extremi ty of which communicated to the walled garden 'The gate was always kept locked, 1 k new , a nd only the squire and the head gnt•altier had the keys of it. Sauntering slowly along upon the turf, and drinking in the prospect dreamily, 1 had reached the trioreinity of the walk, nail was about to turn, whelk I heard the whispering of voices. I could not see who the persons were, for they Wei e behind the wall in the garden close below me. They had no business there, I k sew, and had probably come after soine' very choice melons of the squire's.— I made no scruple therefore of listening: but after the first few wor d s I felt as though I would hat e given both my ears rather than have done so. •'I tell you Jane, that now or never is the time. There is a heap of money in his desk to-day, which will go to the honk to martins.. Markham is away at itufrham, arid it will not kill him when he comes to find it gone." "Never!" said a dear full voice. which I hnew to be :klrs., “I will die first. I will go away with you your,,elr, be fore I would rob my husband." •'Your husband!" said the other with a sneer. "Pooh, pooh'. you need not be so squeatnibh for a few pound , , Fince yon arc in for :an ninny pennies already. Why you've made free LA hundred--" “Not a shilling, she interrupted %Theme mently—"lll4 0110 shilling haveyou touched of' his. My own luxuries, my comforts, the wants of UMFR own poor, have gone to sup p your profligacy; but nut one penny of his, heaven knows," "Jane," said the ruffian slowly, "take you good heed to what 1 say; I'll blow upon you and tell all to his face. I'll vary yen off.— I swear it, before los %cry eyes. What you have known of tie: hitherto is nothing to what you shall knew of me when you and I come to live together again.". I seemed to t see and fell thr. , ugh the well itself the shud der that rat, through that peer lady's frame at these words. If 1 had thought the worst of her, instead of hieing assured. it I then was, that her wicked husband Ileathe.de was indeed alit e, and persecuting her with a power more terrible than ever, my heart would not hate bled f,r her less painfully. my indignation itgain•t him would not hate risen higher; but as it was, my teeth were grinding in my wrath, and my stick was fiu rionsly gripped, as th.ittgh it were it swerd. Silently, like a thief in the night. I stole down to the wall, and setting my feet in some convenient crevices, peered cautiously above it. Bath Juddly had their faces turned away from ate; but I could see, risen on the man's back, scoundrel and coward were written. 11 is po.r wife's wrongs and goedness, nod all that I had heard or his brutality, swept over me in a sea of indig nation. Oh, fi,r one iptarter of an hour of my college days, before I had put en that ecclesiastical garb! Oh. to have given him ever so brief an example of that 'one, two,' in 'which I remember to have had seine skill, in the bygone time. My years and profes sion indeed, were qlrewly so fur forgotten that I rather wished he might just have laid his hand upen her in his rage. My stick was an ashen one, and would not have bro ken for same time, I think. Ile wanted to do it, I could see by the twitching fingers; the bowed and trembling, but still graceful figure—the appealing sobs, for whieb I could only guess the meaning—the young life withered and struck down in its joys by his cruel threats mid presence—they moved him not one jot. I dined not trust myself to look any longer, hut resumed my station at the foot of the wall. After it storm of menaces, met by almost hysteric expostula tions that grew fainter every moment, I heard him say: "You know where I am to be found, woman; and if what I demand does not conic to my hand within the next eight-and-forty hours, I come to this house as surely as you are my wife, and claim you." I heard a fall upon the ground, and knew that his poor victim had fainted; but I waited until the wretch—who heeded her no more than if she were a log--had left the garden and plunged swiftly into the copse that fringed its northern side, I ran in then at the open door, lifted Mrs. Mark ham from the path, and revived her at the spring which flowed hard by. She was afraid. on c o ning to herself. to lo o k up at me, taking me for Ileatheote; but I told her how I had walked in, seeing the gate open, and expecting to find her gardening, and how I feared the heat had been too much fir her. She was ice-cold, poor thing; but she murtnured—"Yes, the heat, it was the hest," as I supported her homeward op the lORNING, OCTOBER 2, 1858 hill. I pit, away immediately, and pretend ing a telegraphic ute,sage, packed up a lit tle carpet bag, drove down to the railway station at full speed, and arrived in time fur the up express, as I had hoped. On the next NVeduesilay at noon I was back again, and.at once took my way down to the Grange, Mrs. JLa•kham bad been very ill, I heard, and was now no better; the squire was even then at her bedside.— I sent for him on the plea of very urgent business, and he came down into the library at once. If I had not been in his own h ous e, and expecting to meet no other but himself, I would not have known Ills eves were swollen and dull, his gait tottering, and his features white and drawn like the face of a dead man. She had told him all: his first and only love, his true, de voted wife, the partner of six happy, hap piest years, was to be torn from him by another, and dimmed to a life of misery. "Crawley," said be, in a hollow unnatural tone, I have that to tell which will wring your heart, I know—it has already broken Ile had fallen into a chair like one whose. limbs refused to snstain hint, and the tears coursed dewn his cheeks unchecked and unconcealed. "Markham," said I. "I know all—every thing—nose, I think, than you can tell me. 1 , 1111 • agony is not for yourself, but fur your —for her, lam Nvel! assured. She shall not be dragged away. Be comforted. He shall never touch a hair of her head." llis despairing eyes turned towards me not without a touch of hope. I was about to speak further, when the front door bell mug gently. "Tile man has come," groaned the poor squire, as if inexorable fate had laid its hand upon his shoulder. "Show him in," said Ito the servant, for his master seemed to have lost all power of specen. For my part, I drew a hopeful au• gory from that delicate bell-ringing; a ruffian tlmt had nothing to fear would have pulled with both hand.. lleatheote slouched in with an insolent air, half sneak. half bully. "I don't want the parson to hear what I hate got to say to you," were his first word.. Mr. Markham, who kept his back turned towards him, waved his hand to me in a sign that I ,hould speak for him. "You May ask whatever you will," said I quietly. "I am aware of the object of your Coming; you want to extort the money from this gentleman, which you tried to pursuade another to steal from his own desk?" "Oh, she told, did she?" said the villain with a diaholieal smile. "It will be the worse for her. presently, that's all." "No, sir. she did not, if you mean your wife, Mr S. Ireatheote. Ay, sir," added l a , he started back, "we are aware of all that and very much more. Ton were overheard in the garden. There is more than one thing known. 'witnessed, Henry Llcatheote. of your old doing , , you are not aware o f." I saw Lim turn as pale as the pour squire hinn,elf. — Whether or no," said he after a little, "I shall have the money or I shall have my wife—who has committed bigamy —whichever that gentleman there pleases." 'That gentleman," .said I, as I observed Mr. Markham WIN about to speak, "is not to Le intimidated, month after month, as Mrs. Heatheote was, in supplying your bottomless purse. Nay. sir, your oath is not to Le trusted. I hold in my band a warrant for your apprehension, procured yesterday from Hampshire by Mr, Raby, upon a charge of forgery, the proof of which I now have with me. The conse quences are upon your own head, remember, and when you leave this house, it will be for a jail." "1 was quite prepared for this, sir," said the ruffian with a look of in•tescribable mal ice. "Mrs. Markham that was, will, how eter, accompany me to prison. Fine fund for the scandal of the county, that will be: and a good convict's wife she will make to me in my banishment without doubt." Mr. Mgrkharn writhed like one in torture upon his chair. NVe were indeed in the man's power, as he said, and toy journey into Hampshire had been of but little ser vice. Oae desperate course, however, which had been suggested by Mr. IZ:thy, was left to me, and I tried it. "Miserable man," said I sternly, "do you then dare to force us to extremities? You scoff at banishment,. but what say you to the gallows? you"— I strode up to the trembling wretch. and laying my hand upon his shoulder, whis pered aloud—"you murderer!" The sweat stood out upon his pallid brow, his knees smote together, and his hair seem ed absolutely to bristle up, so abject was his terror. "Mercy! mercy! I never found the notes," he mtzrmered. "No," said I; "but here is the packet"— and I produced it—"and red with the blood that still crie4 out ngainst you!" At the ..ight of this frightful evidence, the coward knelt upon the floor and covered his face with hi., hands. "Rise wretch—go!" thundered thesquire, who hnd risen up liken man returned to life from the grave. "Here is money—the sum that you demanded—take it. If ever iirain there eyes of mine light on von, t t s -ure as there is a sun in heaven, I hang ME The east-down, half-paralyzed Evre of $1,50 PER YEAR. IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE Mr. Markman seemed to dilate as he said these words; he looked like some incarnate Nemesis denouncing certain seng-cance upon the creature at his feet. It gathered itself up like a stricken hound, seized the proffered notes without daring to look up into the donor's face, and rushing out of the door and from the house, as though the ex ecutioner sras even then upm; his heels, sped away tinder the flaming e . ve of noun from Woudislee, for ever. Mr. Pathy's g,oess had been a trne one.— The pocket of Ifeatheote had been picked by one of his -tricked companions in the bosh, and be had mtirdered the thief for the purpose of reca% tiring the packet, in in which hope he had been rifled. This hat ing been found upon the 1 oily, had heed judged conclusive to identify it with his own remains, and fur these so ninny years lie had not dared to shim- himself in ci‘irzed part to gainsay it, but had Ihed the malt rauding life, of a bushranger. Tired or this, and having by a successful pillage ob tained money enough fir Iris transit home- Iwards, he had ventured back to England.— Finding his unfortunate wife well married and in such great happiness, his hatred of her was redoubled, and his determination strengthened to pertecute beret all hazards. Tim poor lady had neverbcfore hail strength of mind to reveal his existence, and now her confession, and the certainty of having to leave her beloved 3larkham for this drea d col husband, had brought her into the most dangerous state. She had prayed for death more fervently than any dying man for life; when, therefore, the squire had carried up to her the result of my interview with flcathcote—for lie did not needlessly dis tress her with the account of his new at rocity, and of the means whereby he had finally got rid of him—she was almost bc side herself with joy. Her gratitude to wards me was without bounds, and as she strove to raise her attenuated Conn her couch to receive and thank Me, tears choked her utterance. The squire was but little mare composed. With their mutual con tidence, which had been but this-ones broken quite restored, and their very life-blood, as it seemed, set once more flowing in their veins, it fell to me to wake them from their dream of new-found happiness, by remind-' ing them of the real position in which they stood. The reaction from the extremity of despair to the certainty of safety, had been too great to admit of any thoughts, save iiii those of unalloyed content. Good and Christian man as the squire was, the eir cumstances of Mrs. Markham being still the lawful wife of Henry Ileathcote—whatever that man's character might be—and there-1 fore making her continuance at the Grange impossible, hail never once occurred to him. The man having been thoroughly got rid of, and all idea. of personal annoyance at an end, Mr. Markham had dissociated her in his mind from all relation with her first husband at Once. The poor lady must have indeed thought often of the sad ease, lint had put it from her, probably, as something too horrible to be dealt with justly. Never tireless, she tvas the first to see the rightness I of the path which it wan ray duty as a clergy man to point out to both of them. If ever there was a case where spirit and letter I seemed at war—if ever one where innocent error secured to be more terribly avenged than crime itself—laeknowledge that it was this of theirs. My heart was wrung, fir theca to its core; but I had no glimmer of i doubt as to what was necessary for them to do. Tenderly, but firmly, I put it before I them; and before I had dime, Mrs. Markham i signed to me that it was enough. "I go," said she, "dearest George, at once, while I have still strength to travel." "The vicarage, madame, isof courseyour home as long as you please." "I thank you, dear Mr. Grantley, but I leave Woodislee," said she, "as far behind us possible, this very night." "And I„" chimed in the good little old maid, whom We had almost forgotton, she had been so silent a spectator—••and I with you, sister Jane, to the end of the world, if you will. She is my care, George, from henceforth, for I hate wronged her in my heart." The squire's grief was terrible to witness, but he made no opposition. Miss M a rkham had a small estate in a distant county, to which it vas arranged that the two ladies should immediately remove. Boxes were hurriedly packed, the travelling chariot ordered to the door; and, after such a leave taking as I trust does not often fall to the lot of mortals, the invalid was lifted in, in a fainting state, and borne away swiftly into the night. Darkly, indeed, it fell upon the Grange, where the widower was left mourn ing fur the wife that was still alive. Weeks and months passed by, but he would not be comforted. The sketch book on the table, the piano in the ball, the flowers that her graceful hand had tended in and about the house, the garden wherein she had loved to busy herself, her favorite walks, the very prospect her soul Lad delighted in, were robbed of all their charms for him at once. Tears, instead of smiles, sprang forth at the sight of them; horror was born of them instead of joy—skeletons of their former s ele o 4, wherefrom the glory had departed, and into which the life was no more breathed. As kind and as good as ever, his cheer fulness seemed quite to have forsaken him, and he was growing old at heart and grey on head apace. Mrs. Berdbcote—for she had reassumed her former name—never [WHOLE NUMBER, 1 ,470. wrote one line to him, nor lie to ja.tr; but his sister corresponded with the squire daily, and to recoil° those letters, and to talk with me and others who had kuown her of hitt departed wife, seas his sole pleaFure. It lea 4 smne two years after the separation of Mr. and M; s. Marl, haul, that I exchang ed my vicarage at Woodislec for the sum- Iner months, on account - of the B1C1.:11C85 of my elde,t chill, for a parish un the sea col-t, and, with much difficulty, I gut the squire to eccotopnny us. The novelty of the mode of lifc tuna steno wore somewhat lieneditting Limn , and long excursions on tho water Liza must umu,ement, persuaded him to tgloc them continually.— One evening, while lie was thus employed. I Iva , suddenly sent for from the beach, to see what could he done for a poor fellow who had fallen oil' the Ile was, the ine , senger told me, as we hurried along, a well known accompli,:e of tilt:smugglers in fc-(ing that part of the coast, and had met With this aVridellt, it was supposed, while signaling to SO!!) , _! Of them the approach of a revenue -cutter. A. little crowd had gat?: erect round hint on the shore, but not evitte ing that sympathy which is tomtdly felt among the poor in place:, of that sort for Nictims to the cool e L ws , Thoyll.l2, how ever, fornishrd him with a 'lmam s, and were giving him water. He WaS srceehles, a n d rwarecly :clod !de, they said; but a glance I • at his terrtil,2,l eyes er.. - I came up,convinced I me to t!..e, contrary. 21 . .Ingled as he was about the head, and altered by what ap peared to the to be the certain approach Of death, I recognized the wretched llcatheoto at once. He was borne, by my (Elections, to the nearest cottage, and a man on horse back dispatched for medical help, although I saw it could be o f tt;e avail. • I remained by his bedside all through that night, and it was a fearful one. When the doctor told bins that, without doubt, he was a dying man, I thought it would hate killed him on the instant. "I base done everything that is horrible, and nothing g , md my whole life long," he said. I gave him such comfort as I could with truth afford him, and urged him to penitence and prayer. llis murder, his felony, and whatsoever other crime he may have committed, did not seem to op press him so heal ily as his treatment of his poor wife. "An angel, an angel,"he repeat ed, '•and I was , a Lend to her. Markham, Markham, he will make her happy yet.— Poor Jane! Poor Jane!" were his last words. When, after his burial, I told the squire this, he was Arected to tears. "My hatred of that man," said he, "has stood between me and heaven, I believe; but I forgive him all." In twelve months' time from that forgive ness, he stood within this church upon the hill at Wundislee, and was married afresh unto Jane Ifeatheate by me. It was a hap pier day than any of us had hoped to see at the Grange again. 'lle only person who shed a single tear was dear little Miss Mark ham; but that is her way of expressing intense satisniction. Nut a villager was there who did nut reioice in their joy, front the ancient chn.k if eighty years, who kis . : sed the bride's hand at the door, to the lit tle school children who scattered flowers *be fore their fee;. There is very little else to Besides—see, there comes toddling up to us a little fellow - before whom nothing further must be said: IL pleasant looking, handsome lad, tvi;h the smile—the old sndlo that is worn again ti, , w--of Lis mother.— Once upon a time, I remember, she said that she was happy not to have him; but they were both gl.nl at the Orange, too, I think, to weleotne the young squire. The Crescent of Gold A :.r_•,,:: ron Lille.% NT?. Amnon the innumerable is/ands which stud the Mississippi, there are two of mode rate extent but of unparalleled fertility.— Wild oats grow there in abundance and without cultivation; the trees are loaded with cones of nutritionsnut•, and the bushes themselves produce in abundance fruits known under the name of sand plums.— This fertility attracts the elk and the wild goats which furnish the hunter with prey; in fine, the bays formed at intervals in the circumference of the two islands, are fre quented by myriads of white fish, whieb can be caught without any difficulty. Each of these islands bad, however Lut one inhabitant. The inhabitant of the Green Isle wag named Maki, and the one of the Round Isle was called Ratko. As their domains were but a short distance apart, they visited each other often in their bark. canoes, rind on plea , ant terms. Maid was the best hunter, and P.arko the most skillful fisherman; so they exchanged their booty with one another, and thus the com fort of bath was much increased. In short, their tasks were the same, their riches equal; both lived on the products of their island; both lived in a hut built with his own hands of turf and branches of trees; both had for clothing only the skin of the elk which they ha I killed, and us orna ment only the fathers of the eagle, or the dried grains of the box thorn, But it happened one day that Barko, in cutting up the fish that he Lad jurt taken, found in the entrails of one of them a half circle of gold, ornamented with stones of diirerent colors. A civilized man would quickly have recognized the crown of one those elegant combs with which the Mex ican woman then ornamented their head dresse.: but Barko had never seen anything like it. After having danced for joy et the
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