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