t• •
..•
M a .4.- •
11A2t1M. WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 49.]
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licatry.
The Froward Rose.
A rose-bud said to her mother May—
'l am tired of this dowdy green array,
I will put on my new pink dress to-day;
"Far I know by the warmth of the fair sunshine
I shall hare n call from some triads of mine,
From Finch and Worn—those fellows fine.
.The sparrows twit me as they pass,
(Bat I care not for folks of that common class,)
I baud them say I was green as grass.
...They vi , it the Dandelions bold—
Ugly as sin and yellow as gold—
And that maiden lady—the Crocus old
.Bat I know their talk le all of me,
flo badly dressed inlay high degree—
I will let those vulgar creatures see."
"Be prudent, Rose," said the mother May,
'I have many n chilly and gusty day
When my child would. shiver in slight array
"The violet wears her robe of blue,
Homely in lemur* and dim in hue,
But her large leaves shield her from cold and dew
.The princely tulip, who loves the glare,
Flings out bin motley mantel rare,
But its velvet richuess is wawa to wear.
"The hyacinth stands on her stately stem,
.Crowned with her massive diadem,
And clothed with strength—you are not like them
"Fortran your robes as the satin sheen,
Such as is spun for the fairy queen
By Arache cray, where the lilies lean.
"So wait, my child, till my crescent moon
Shall wax a shield (or thy martial June—
Your stately bridegroom cometh soon."
Sealed with a kiss was this counsel mild,
i A l the mother turned from her (coward child
Tonnes where her younger blossoms smiled.
Nor came she back until doysprings nine
Had waked from as slumbers the plumed pine s
And called into being the Columbine.
Vainly she sought for the rosebud fair
She had counseled mildly and held in care,
.Shesaw but a blighted calyx there!
And the old brown bee—that drowsy drone—
"lunimed in his ear with his buzzing tone—.
"Your child is dead—you careless crone!
"What could the helpless creature do
In her ball dress frail—so fair to view—
When the cold rains fell and the wild winds blew?
"I brought ber a flask of my honey-wine,
I plastered her wounds with wax so fine,
But she salt away in a deep decline.
"She lieth low in her virgin bed—
Rhe will not hear her bridegroom's tread,
And Finch. and Trren forget the dead."
grstettiou.
Sister Madeleine
CONCLUDED.
CIIAPTYIt V
"From the time I discovered this pioture," ,
continued Madeleine, I lived almost exclu
sively in the turret chamber; there it was I
could commune with the being I was vowed
to love, and give form and reality to the
dreams that haunted my heart. Not con
tentwithithis mute study alone, I one day
c3arched the drawers of an escritoire which
stood in a corner of the room, and discov-
Aired two papers, evidently preserved by
,chance, for both were more or less torn
and crumpled. The first was in a female
thassd-writing, and apparently addressed to
him, at least I believed so:
"'I have wronged you, Monsieur,' said
the unknown correspondent; 'I have be
trayed the faith and love you reposed in me;
and when the power of revenging yourself
was in your hands, you came forward, not
do exercise it, but to save my husband from
=tin and dishonor. Generous friend, bow
can I ever thank you as you deserve to be
thanked! I seek not to do it, but f cannot
rest till I have implored your forgiveness.—
at is true that your .actions have proved it,
more them aserds can do; but in my dying
bour•the record from your hand will give
out peace, the assurance of it will console
•me for—'
."Sere the fragment ended. 'He has
toyed.' I said. But the letter is dated five
gears ago.'
"The .other was in a. manly hand, and
, seemed to be the draft of a letter. It ran
,hue:
"'I thank you for your friendly advice,
my dear Louis, but I cannot profit by it.—
Wont my early infancy, from the first hour
when I could feel, long before I could rea
*on or think, f experienced my mother's
coldness and indifference. I am not cur
prised, then, as you seemed to be, by the
fraud you have disoovered. Raving de
prived me of her love, what matters it that
she has taken from me soma of the broad
lands of the De Kerdocs, and given them to
my brother! Hear= knows I would gladly
exchange the richest acres in the wide globe
for some few of the words and looks of af
fection she lavishes on him.
"'You say this attorney may be bribed.
Then purchase the deed of him, Louis. and
used it to tee, that I may mane ail druid
of discovery. My pining infancy, my nn
cherished boyhood, the sufferings of my
later years, shall be sweetly revenged by
the destruction of this monument of my
mother's hatred to her son.'
"This was all that was written; but love,
that requires so little for its nourishment,
found abundance here. The neglected, un
loved child, the betrayed lover, the noble,
generous man—l needed no more than these
fragments of his heart's history, and pity
and sympathy came in aid of my new-born
passion. 'Oh! if love of mine,' I said, 'can
atone for his past sufferings, my whole life
shall be gladly devoted to this world'
"Once, and once only, I questioned Mad
ame Kerdoc as to this room and its former
inmate, but she repulsed my curiosity in
her usual stern manner, and I never ven
tured to resume the subject.
"Indeed her whole conduct towards me
was indicative of strong dislike; and but for
my recently acquired knowledge that she
had no love fur her son, I should have
thought her jealous of my new relation to
him; as it was, I could only suppose that
she visited on me a portion of the hatred
she felt against him. Of her youngest son
she never spoke; and it was only from the
mention of him in the letter alluded to, that
I knew of his existence.
"It was daring the summer following this
occurrence, when the weather was oppres
sively warns and close, that I was seized
with a feeling of feverish restlessness, a
strange oppression in breathing, a lassitude
of body and mind, a weariness by day, a
sleeplessness by night, for which I could
not account. It increased upon me daily;
and it was with difficulty I contrived one
morning, on receiving a summons from my
mother-in-law, to reach her room.
"She announced to me that my husband
would visit us in two days. With difficulty
her words penetrated my suffering brain,
and awoke a dim feeling of pleasure in my
whole being. Nothing short of this could
have roused me at all from the callous indif
ference to life or death which had invaded
every faculty. I contrived to answer her
intelligibly; and receiving permission to re
tire immediately, staggered back to my own
room. Arrived there, I bathed my forehead
with cold water, and the momentary relief'
enabled me to realize more fully the nature
of the intelligence I had just received.
"I should see my husband at last. The
dreams of months would be fulfilled. I
should win his love—l doubted not of that;
for a fond heart has confidence in its strength
of power and purpose; and I should never
be alone, or sad, or solitary again.
"Then I struggled—oh, how desperately!
against the torpid sensation that stole over
me afresh, dragging myself from place to
place, striving to rouse my old dead life to
being again—but it was all in vain; before
night 1 was raving with delirium. Even
then the came thought pursued me,'
and I strove to grapple with the hot hand
that burnt into my brain and heart. I have
a dim recollection of some one standing be
side me, and a my seeking vainly to speak
a word of recognition, and then of his van
ishing, I knew not when or how, and of a
long, long night of darkness suceeeding,
haunted by dismal spectres.
"At last my illness passed off; but the
slow return to health which followed was
protracted by regret that I had been pre
vented from seeing ray husband. After a
time my life returned to its old, dreamy,
solitary course—its one sorrow, my separa
tion from the object of my passionate love;
its one hope, that of being re-united to him
l ore long.
"It boots not now to tell what ideal pic
tures I formed of that happiness to come;
how every simple art by which woman
strives to win the heart .of one she byes
was pondered on and studied; how I sought
in all things to adapt myself to that charac
ter whose minutest trait I believed I had
mastered. In the meantime great events
had transpired in France; Napoleon bad
fallen', and lived, the shadow of his former
self, at Elba. Louis XVIII ascending the
throne, gathered round him many of the
brave soldiers who had joined the' Empe
ror's campaigns. Among these, the Mar
quis de Kerdoe and his brother were the
foremost. Their allegiance and love were
alike given to the monarch, and so well
known was their affection for the Bourbon
cause that they were immediately taken into
his Majesty's confidence, and sent abroad
on some delicate mission. They had only
recently returned to, France and rejoined
their regiments, when in the month of Feb
ruery, 1815, they announced an intention of
shortly visiting the chateau, and taking np
their abode with us for some time. This
intelligence roused the dormant faculties of
Madame de Kerdoe, and she insisted on
being led from room to room to watch every
preparation that was making for their ar
rival; while I shot myself up more closely
in my own apartment, nursing in secret, my
love, my expectation.
"It was a tempestuous afternoon in March;
the wild clouds were burled and tossed by
the violence of the wind; the leaflessbougbs
—for they had not yet unfolded their buds—
waved to and fro, and moaned in the stormy
air. I heard a horse hastily gallop up to
the entrance of the chateau, and my heart
throbbed faster, for I thought it was a mes
senger, perchance, to SIIIMIIOO the coming
of my husband. Presently a message from
Madame de Kerdoe summoned me to 'her
apartment; with trembling haste I rem
through the passages, bat es I amosehed,
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 2, 1859.
the door was open, and I could hear her
voice, raised in tones of angry reproach. I
stopped a moment, and she was answered
by a clear, manly voice, that fell like music
on my heart. I held my breath, and lis
tened, a new hope springing to life as he
spoke.
"'I tell yon, my mother,' I heard him
say, 'that this revolt could not be resisted.
The news that Napoleon bad landed in
France passed like an electric shock from
soldier to soldier; they insisted on marching
to meet him; we refused, the mutiny in
creased. and at last rose to such a height
that our only remaining chance was flight.
Even now we are pursued, for the soldiery,
in their mad rage, have sworn that one or
both shall die. Wo took different roads, ap
pointing to meet here. Heaven grant that
my brother may not have been overtaken by
the way!'
" 'Yon should not have left him,' said
Madame de Kerdoc, angrily.
• 'lt was in the king's service, my mother,'
was the respectful reply. 'I am the bearer
of n dispatch to his majesty, who has also
taken light, and I—'
"I would wait to bear no more, and I en
tered the room. My first glance fell on
Madame de Herder); and such was the agi
tation depicted on her face that I was startled
and alarmed. Without returning my greet
ing she said sharply, •Do you not see my
son, Rene, madame?'
"I turned. Before me stood the idol my
heart worshipped, the object of my solitary
dreams. Had I beard falsely, then? It
must be so. My brain reeled, my eyes
swam, and covering them with one hand, I
extended the other towords the beloved
stranger.
"'Gustave,' I said faintly.
"'I left my brother well, madams," was
the reply. have every hope of his safety!'
"I looked up bewildered. 'You then,' I
said, 'you are—?'
"'Rene de Kerdoe,' he said, with a low
bow, 'the brother of your husband, madame.'
"Something there must have been in my
faoe that startled and alarmed him, for ho
approached as if to support me, but I sprang
away from him and fled out of the room,
not to my own apartment—it was haunted
by the presence of him I loved, but into the
wild free air, where in nature's solitude, I
might hear the voice of my heart. Ines
since then I have watched beside the beds
of the dying; and in that fearful severing of
body and spirit, in the wild glare of the last
look, when the soul is parting, in the soli
tude of those pangs which none can share
and none console, when fur the Srat time and
the last man is utterly alone—l have fan
cied I saw somotbing of the agony in which
my soul was plunged at that moment—some
thing of the desolation which fell upon it,
as love and its familiar delusions were lost
and shrouded in the darkness and horror of
despair.
"But for me that transient passago was
not to open on eternity and its wondrous
glories; for me the solitude would not bo
peopled with new sympathies and kindred
spirits. I bad passed from darkness into
darkness like some deluded heathen, wrap
ped in dreams of heaven, and awakes amid
the maddening cries of despair.
CRAPS/ea Pt
"As I paced up and down an avenue in
the park there was no settled thought in
my mind save this one: 'The man that
I love is not my husband!' I could not fol
low out any chain of reasoning; I could not
see how the error had arisen; I could only
repeat these words. and suffer the torture
they entailed. How long I stayed there
I know not, but I was aroused at last by
hearing steps, and looking through the
slight barrier of shrubs that separated me
from the adjoining road, I saw Rene, de
Kerdoc leading a horse by the bridle. He
stopped a few paces from where I stood, at
a tree where four roads branched aid op
poiite directions; the main one being that
which led from the village to the chateau,
the others leading, one towards Nantes, the
other to Paris. Throwing the reins over
his arm, he leant against the tree, appar
ently expecting some one. After awhile
he appeared to grow impatient, for he
several times looked at his watch, and
listened for approaching "footsteps. At
length the distant gallop of a horse was
heard; it drew near in the increasing dark
ness, and pulled up suddenly close - to the
tree where Rene stood.
"'ls that you Gustave?' said the latter,
advancing a step.
"'Yes, yes,' was the reply, and as the
rider sprang to the ground they exchanged
a hasty greeting, as of two men who had
escaped some great danger.
"'Thank Heaven, you are safe, Gustave!'
I heard Rene say, 'why are you so late?'
"'The soldiers had sent messages on to
the neighboring barracks, and - taken pos
session of &very village on the route, so that
I was obligelfte come across the country,'
replied Gustave. 'I met a peasant but now,
who told znelieveiril were waiting here for
their. comrade to join theni, and had seized
every horse in the place for their use'
"'Do not stay,' then,' said Reno. 'Take
*tie animal. it is a good one, and the dis
patch I-bear, and , ride on to Nantes. where
you will reach the sea shore without; diffi
culty.'
'And you, Honer said his brother, as
be sprang on to the horse beside hint.
"I will follow you. Adieu, Gustave—
we Isbell mast again.
They parted. Gustavo permed the read
to Nantes; Rene stood watching his reced
it% form.
"'Mother,' I heard him say, 'surely you
will bless your son in death!'
"At this moment an old man approached,
in whom I recognized• the servant I had
conversed with in the turret chamber.
"'Monsieur Rene,' he said eagerly,
'there is not a horse.'
"'I know it, my good friend,' said his
master, interrupting him.
" `What will you do then?" asked the
old man, in a respectful but anxious tone.
"'Listen, Pierre,' replied his master, lay
ing one hand on his faithful servant's arm,
while the other rested on the neck of the
tired animal beside him; 'I must im-
pede my brother's pursuers at any risk,
and turn them from his track; his escape is
more important than mine.'
"'Well, sir.'
"'To effect this, and in order that my
mother and the young marquise may not be
alarmed, I shall mount this poor fellow,' he
patted the horse as he spoke, 'and take this
road,' and ho pointed to that leading to
wards Paris.
"'You will be overtaken, sir. That horse
cannot go another league.'
"'Probably,' replied Rene, 'bat then we
shall fight for it, and if I am not victorious,
I shall at least hinder them for awhile'
"'lt is certain death, sir; they are
numerous; they will pass over your dead
body to pursue your brother.'
"'Exactly; but they will pursue him on
the wrong road. Look you, Pierre, you
must go the chateau, and bid the youngest
and strongest mon-servants arm themselves
and join me at the old stone cross beyond
the park; then return here immediately,
and when our pursuers come up, direct
them to follow on my track, that—'
"'What are you telling me, M. Rene?'
cried the old man. 'I betray my master!'
"'Pierre, my good friend,' said the young
man earnestly, 'it is I who bid you do it, to
save my brother, for his mother's and his
young wife's sake.'
"Why should you die for him, M. Rene?'
said Pierre. 'lie has been--'
"'Silence, Pierre! Is death so bard to a
soldier?'
"The old servant turned round and obey
ed, for Rene's look and voice were those of
one who no longer asked, but commanded.
As he went hastily towards the chateau, he
passed so near me, that by putting my hands
through the shrubs I could have touched
him, and I heard him sobbing like a child.
Rene sprang on the horse, and as if moved
by regret followed after him. I could just
see him bend towards the old man and take
his hand; then he turned back, and as be
took the road he had previously indicated,
I sprang through the shrubs in time to
catch a last glimpse of him. He was going
to die, and I might not bid him alast adieu.
The sound of his horse's tread had scarcely
died away, ere I was conscious of a. stealthy
footstep approaching behind me, and before
I could escape, a hand was laid on'my'arm,
and a voice close to my ear whispered, •Do
not be frightened, good woman, I will not
hurt you. Tell me which way did the
horseman go who passed but now.'
"I looked at the man; he wore a military
dress. I knew whom he sought and why
he came. I might save Rene, then; I might
save the generous man who had risked his
life for his brother, the beloved of my heart
—I might save him—but my husband!
"I did not hesitate. I stretched out my
hand and pointed to the road Gustave bad
taken.
"'That way?' said the man, auspiciOusly.
'.Vill you swear to it?'
"I took from my bosom a holy relic,
and, showing it to him, kissed it, and re
peated the gesture. He seemed satisfied,
and retiring a few steps rejoined his com
rades. Presently one by one I saw them
pass before me, a troop of horsemen follow
ing the road I bad pointed out to them.
Even, then, I could have saved him, I could
have stopped them with a word, and have
left to Pierre the choice I had taken on
myself. But I would not. Another mo
ment, and it was too late!
* * * * * *
"I knelt before the altar which had heard
my marriage vows. The church was lit
by moonlight, and the shadow of the cross,
black and fearful, hung like a threat above
my head. I bad a heavy presentiment on
my soul. I knew my punishment was pre-
paring, that the sentence had gone forth,
and there was no salvation. I, who but a
few hours ago knelt before my Maker com•
paratively pure and holy, dared not now
to lift my guilty voice in prayer, for the
brand of murder was upon my soul.
"The chapel bell had tolled many a long
hour. and the church was growing dark and
dreary, when I heard the doors of the holy
building open heavily, and solemn and slow
the chant of the priests broke upon =year,
mingled with a wild cry of grief and agony.
That cry was the cry of a bereaved mother,
the chant was the service of the dead!
"Nearer and nearer they came; with
with mused measured tread, carrying some
heavy weight. I knew, oh! I knew who it
was they bore, to rest beneath the shadow
of the cross. I knew bow in the pride of
manhood he had been cut down to ,that
soulless thing I shuddered to contemplate.
I knew how ho bad died without word of
prayer or priestly blessing, and I knew who
was his murderess! I believe I fainted, for
when I ventured to look around me again,
the priests, the torches were gone; only the
dead was there. I had no strength to move
away, I leant against the pillar that bad
concealed me from observation, and, as ii
spell-bound, my gaze was fixed upon that
shaded form.
"Ines, it is madness to recall the horrors
of that night. It was passed alone, alone
with the ghastly dead! I was discovered
and borne away in the morning, and for
months I was a raving maniac. And yet I
was COOB6O us of my madness, of every
speotre that haunted my brain; they were
less visionary than those who -attended me
believed, for they were born of remorse,
and will pursue me to my grave.
"When I returned to a calmer state of
being another crime was laid to my guilty
soul—my mother-in-law was dead. She
had not long survived the loss of her only
son. I instantly announced my intention
of retiring into a convent, resolved to de•
vote the remainder of my days to prayer
fur the soul I had so fearfully hurried into
eternity. That task is nearly concluded,
Ines. Peace has returned to my tortured
spirit. These long years of penitence,
these ceaseless prayers and tears, have not
been in vain. The Saviour of sinners, that
blessed One who pitied the Madeleine of
old, will at last take pity on me.
"Twice only has my solitude been inter
rupted. Once when I was on the eve of
taking the black veil, a p• oposal was made
to me by some friends of my late husband
to:marry Rene de Kerdoe, probably with a
view to secure my dowry. Ah, how life and
youth, and love rose up with bewitching
glance again, and wooed me back to the
world! But the very love that had caused
my crime and suffering enablel me to
conquer. I would not that the man I loved
should take a murderess to his bosom; I
wonld not sully his soul's purity by con
, tact with my guilt: and I refused, and
I •
raised an eternal barrier between us by the
utterance of those solemn vows. It was
another expiation, for my sin! Then you
came, Ines; and when I heard you were
Rene's intended bride it was long before I
could pardon your happy destiny; but I
learnt to love you at last, and to take plea
sure in fitting another to contribute to hie
happinet-s, whose life I had preserved at my
soul's peril. Nay, more—for your sake, I
have unfolded the records of the past, and
revealed a secret that but for you had died
with me. If I hare succeeded in opening
your eyes to your husband's worth, if 1
have shown you how much he has suffered,
how much he deserves at your hands, and
love has been engendered in your heart as
you have read my tale, the end for which I
wrote it is answered. Ines, if you and
Rene are united in love, if you can look for
ward to years of joy and peace, purchased
by my sacrifice aid my sufferings, hallow
that future—reward those pangs by one
fervent prayer for the soul of Madeleine."
CIIAPTCA VII., AND LAST.
The tale was ended, and wearied by emo
tion I threw myself on the bed, but not to
sleep. My feverish heart could not be still;
and the remainder of the night passed like
a waking dream. Now I was consoling
Madeleine, now talking with Rene, fash
ioning sentences in which I could tell him
how changed 1 was, how deeply I loved and
revered him.
These thoughts of bow I was to be recon
ciled to any husband occupied me on the
following morning while I dressed; every
phrase I had arranged was revised and im
proved as I wandered in the flower garden
where I expected he would join me. As
the breakfast hour approached and ho did
not come, my thoughts passed through an
other edition suited to the altered circum
stances in which we were about to meet;
but my trouble was to little purpose. The
breakfast bell called me in; and with a
beating heart, and with a rose in my hand,
which I had gathered as a peace ofiering, I
entered the house.
One cover only was laid. Astonished, I
asked the cause. Tho servant replied that
Id. de Xerdoo had breakfasted ,early, and
was gone to Paris,
To Paris! and he could not possibly re
turn before the morrow, and would proba
bly be absent many days. I sat down and
tried to eat; it was impossible—l was sick
at heart. Had I offended him so seriously?
Row much I would have given to recall the
scene of last night! • Now it was too late.
He did not return for a week. The first
three days I was feverish. watchful and im
patient; for, the, last three sad and broken
hearted. On the seventh evening, just at
dusk, I beard a horse approaching up the
avenue. I felt sure it was Rum; I longed,
but feared to go and meet him. I was in
my own room, his miniature and Made
leine's narrative still before me, when I
heard his tread un the corridor. It was
hurried, but not eager; quick nervous steps
but not rapid bounds, such as I could have
wished to hear when he approached me. I
bade hint enter when bola:molted at my dco-,
but I did not look up at him; he thought I
was offended.
"Are you angry with , me. dear Ines," he
said gently. ;•fur leaving you so abril ptiy?
Indeed you had no eause.to he. r kap•
_plane was all I,eought."
I eould , have told him that my happiness
would have been bettor insured by his re
maining at home, beta faint "indeed!" was
al•I uttered.
"Yes," be continued, "I have discovered
whet your ingenuous nature could not •COD•
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
zeal. I have sought, (Heaven knows, Ines,
how sincerely!) to win your love. Believ
ing your hoart disengaged, I thought this
possible, despite the difference in our years.
But I have striven in vain; I know 'now
that you love another."
I made a hasty movement of surprise.—
Ere went on.
"Knowing this, Ines, I understand why
my presence was a restraint to you, why
you were so reserved with me; but you need
not have feared me my child, I know if
your young heart has loved, it is a lore
pure and innocent as an angel's might be,
and God forbid that I should reproach you •
for this. But my own Rae of mild, its
well as yours, Ines, requires that we should
part; for a while at least. I have made ar
rangements for rejoining the army, and fur
you I have found a home in Paris with a
lady who was an intimate friend of your
family, and will be as a mother to you; by
her you will be introduced into society, and
will, I hope, find in its distractions a cure
for your suffering heart."
I could nut answer him, my silent tears
were dropping like rain. Ile waited a Mo
ment, and finding I did not speak, added,
in a voice of tender pathos. "Although I
hare not myself seen this miniature nor
these letters, yet I am satisfied that it were
bettor you should not look at them so often
nursing your grief, as you bare done of la`e.
Will you seal them up and confide them to
me, dear child? The trust shall ben sacred
but as we got higher, the view opened eta..
der our feet, I saw that the streets were al
ready thronged with starers. Cooley was
very quiet, and when I waved my hat to
the people, he said snappishly, that this
was no time for such fully, and that he
thought I might think of better things than
how to amuse these gaping fools, who, he
dared say, desired no better fun than to see
us meet with an accident.
I had come up in the best heart, think
ing, indeed, nothing about the danger we
incurred; but as we drew nearer and nearer
to the top, and had nothing as it seemed,
belonging to this world near us, but that
straining rope, I began to see the peril of
the undertaking. What Cooley thought of
it I don't know—ho sat at the bottom of the
cradle, never looking out, though I told him
he would do better to keep his eyes about
him, so that he might grow used to the
height.
Good Heaven! what was this? Hero we
we were within a yard of the top project
ing coping, and still they were winding
away, without slacking speed, in the least!
I guessed in a moment that they mistook
our height, and that, with the great pur
chase of that windlass, the rope would be
broken when the cradle came to the block.
I sprang up, and clitnbcd hand over hand
to the coping. Cooley, too, sprang up and
followed me. lie, too, got up safe; and
still they went on, winding up, winding up,
till the rope sung again
..with the strain
there was upon it.
Then it snapped, and cradle, hauling
line, and the main ropo with its block fell
down. Thus were we two poor men left in
a most dangerous situation.
Poor Cooley was completely dazed with
affright, and the moment be got on the
coping, which was only a foot and a half
broad, he called out: "Where can I pray?
where can I kneel and pray? and so I said
very solemnly: "Sit down Jem, God will
hear us if we prey to him sitting down."
The color of his face was of a transparent
blue; and it was distorted and twitching, as
if he was in a fit. His, eyes were wild and
drawn into a squint, and he couldn't
steady but swayed his body backward and
forward, so I felt certain that he must topple
over.
"Come Jam, lad," I said, thinking to take
the fright off biro, "It's bad enough but it
can't be mended. Hitch up a bit, and put
your arm round the rod, may be it Will
steady you."
"Where are you? and where is this rod?"
he flaked in • very hollow voice, though he
was looking straight at Inc, and the rod was
only a foot or two to his left. By this I
knew he was gone blind with the fright, and
self-preservation said: Don't go near him;
but then I remembered his new wedded
wife, and that taking him all through he
was always a very decent fellow, and I
thought how I should liked him to have
done if I had been in Lis ease, so I deter
mined to run a bit of risk in his favor. Of
course I durst not get on my feet; but work
ing myself on my hands, I got to him; and
putting my arm round his waist, and telling
him as cheerily as I could to keep cool, I
got him with Mann:lround therm). It had,
however, sprung the stapling for five yards
down, and was so loose that it swayed with
him, and I expected to see him fall head
and heels down. and the rod tearing away
with him.
There was a great bustle down below;
people were rushing round tho yard and
pushing to get in, but as yet there was some
score of men at the foot of the chimney,
and 1 y close looking saw them put some•
ha ly on n board, and. carry him-;gently
away toward the engine house. One of the
men walked after with a hat in his hand ;
then I knew that somebody hadibeen hurt
by the falling cradle; and that it must be
poor Mr. Staming, as none of our men wore
tints. Not a face was turned up to us. I
learned afterward that our men were so
taken up with sorrow that so good a man
and so kind a master should be killed, that
for a while thsj bad never a thought about
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,506
us, and the people out:,ide imaglnel that we
had come down with the cradle, so thus •se
were left in total is:dation for full twenty
miuutes
While I was watching them lit loci, feeling
very sorry for my proor masrer, I wns star
tled by a wild laugh ft Jill Couicy, wiy be
gan making catcalls, and 2:olling as if he
was possessed. Then I l - ne , r, c , )nr:e
that he was gone mad.
Even now, I tremble when I t.f
place; it was lmrible t 0 I.2Cr thJ
shaft', black and sooty and 2., a•-.. at.d
scarcely less so to I cut-ido
flight of pigeons .4 . .7CepiDg ieund : canzid
°rabic less height than 177: wcre. Thon
Cooley—thank Clc ho was ro I,l:l7Cti th:.l;
ho could not see /II C--C'ZI/ed My 11,11/10 tL e
times, and I sat fah!). cringing in thend
that his sight might clear, awl with a chilt
ly grin and chewing with I,is to;.a:h he be
gan \corking him , elf t
I worked away from I,:m .-,s n, r . ,.':02.1 :Z
t could, with crery ~f roy Ii a 3 rland
ing on end. He f . :11n7,-el rourd
that horrid cophz, un,ld;.g to)ttL is r, 6
noi , ce, and then Leincs, crtne a secon tin e
to the rod, lie got an idea.
head that I was fallen f,r l,c 1.61'a,
lost a sense of where he 7.-as
this trying time. Th:_ , ,n ir:,d
Lis feet, but at the ti:k of wv ewn
eJuld not let tho poor fellow rush on cer
tain death withJu: one az,)re efil,tt; and I
cried out fur him to sit down, and he cow
ered down like a whiped dog, all trembling.
I suppose that it hod been put into Lis head
that I wak a dead man speaking, to him.
That morning ray wife had get a lettrr
from her titer in Canada, and aq there
were parts we could net make out, 1 Lad
put it in my p3ekr.:, OLI:
time keeper to read it f,.r me. It had a
scrap of uncovered pupa. at the battum:
and, by another good pr,videnee I happen
ed to have a bit of led lead pcnoil in my
pocket. I wrote , on the paper, ' tint us
down—Couley's gone trail;''
my tobacco box., and wa , , fortunate enough
to drop itjust at the feet of a couple of men,
who were standing by the engine huuso
door.
one, and believe me it is for your good I ask
it. Heaven knows, Ines, if by lawful
means I could make you free, I would give
my heart's blood to do it."
And I mine, I thought, to preserve my
bonds; but I did not say so. I took up tho
miniature and nre-sed it to my iipq.
"It would break my heart te part Is:ith
I said through my tears.
"And the letters?" he
"They are not letters, ma:it-it:tar. It i
history of your brother Gust:tier. :life, of
the Sister Madeleine, my lstnde.,,t, clearest
friend."
"But th;A picture," be said hastily•
that of her?"
"Oh no, monsieur," I answerel with en
thtisiasm; "it is that of a. young :Ind nol 20
man; you Ar i I nut wonder that I lore it
when you see the face."
I knew be was wounlel by my tone
but I dill not heel it new. I pla , N-3 my
hand on his arm and gni.le,l h;n.
the dusk to tbe crucifix. I pinPri the pic
ture in his hand. He I. lo
earnestly at me.
"It would be bViter 110 t, ro.ll:tip.: . La
"borne day you n/ig.lit wo , ll rya 1•::d
not done sn
"I shall never change ray opinion, mon
sieur," I said. "Yost n.1,:0b cur my co.:::
deuce; you shall have it entirely.
A sad, very sal lu tr crol.r.el his faze, t:
he crazed a in.raent after by nne
site delight. 01)1 who .7 .uhl d , uht the ex•
istenec of Heaven, .when such Lliss is grea.:
ed us on earth.
"Ines," lie sail trilterinrly, "is 614 true'
Are you not deceiving yourself; or m;"'"No, Rene, no'" I re plie I
lie did not, doul,t me now f.r I was t". 11
ed in his arms, my heart I,e nglintt
his, my eyes respridin7 to lii3 loo!; of lore.
"And your stranee eonduct the other
night?" he aske..l pneent'.v.
"Ab, none, I found Nfadrdeioe lisi
you, nod I feared---"
"That I had lured Mddekilie," lie anid,
"What, jealous, my Qvreet wife? And your
reSI "
".Madelekle 1 c, I_,:saL.l;ful 1.,
pietnro, that —"
"You srishPd to
so—was that it?"
ME
"Oh, Rene; I am rri a5l, rail r c.:41-
duct, so very much a.hatued! You do not
know how much wo owe Mudeleinc—all our
love. nll our happiness!"
"Well, you shall tell me the talc, love,
and Are trill reward her devotion by being
as happy ns we can. Is it not so, Ines?"
"Hush, dearest, we have another duty to
perform first."
"What is it, my !Sweet wife?"
I led hirn to the front of the crticifin, an,l
slid: " We must pray for her soul, Reer 7
Sister .3factelcine is dead!"
A Perilous Hour
I was apprenticed to a decoratire painter
but being of a bold, daring losing turn, I
ran array to sea before my timo Nra3 out.
After some years of kiwi:king about, I get
tired of a maritiron and bav;ng mar
ried and determined to stick to the shore, I
got work with a builder whose peculiar
line lay in erecting tall chimneys. I had
always a vary cool head and could ataxia on
elevatiuoe that made most men dizzy, and
so I wag goon a favorite hand with my
MEI
.1 NV-re