El VOL. VIII. THE PEOPLE'S JOURNAL.... TUBLISBED EVERY • Tnuns.D.sr DIORNING, BY ADDISON AVERY. • Terms—ln Advance: One copy per annum, $1:00 Village subscribers, , 1.25 . TERMS OF ADVERTISING. I square, of 12 line , or less, 1 iniertion, $0.50 ‘• " 3 insertion,, 1.50 every subsequent insertion, :25 Rule and figure work, por sq., 3 insertions, 3.(!O Every 5 till:eqiieni insertion, 1 column. one year , • I column, six utotiths, 15.110 .I.l.tiiiiisrators' or Executors' Notices, ...2.G0 :Sheri:Fs Sales. per tract, '1.50 Profession - II Card: not exceeding eight lines ir,erll'd for $5.00 per annum. MI letters oil business, to secure at 1- should be addressed (post paid) to the Publisher. A"-oclrtt Vortrp. YOIIITr AGAIN An old man sits in a high-backd • Before an open door, IVliitc the sun of a Summer's afternoon Falls hot.; cross the floor. And the drowsy tick of the ancient . clock Ilas notched the hour of four. A-breeze blows in. a breeze blocsout, from the scented summer air; And it flutters now on his wrinkled brow, And now it lifts his hsir, -" And the leaden lids of his eyes droop down And he sleeps in his high-backed chair. The old man sleeps. and the old man dream, Hi. head droops on his breast, Ilia hand. relax their feeble hold, And bill to his hip in rest— The old man sleeps. and in bleep he dreams, And in dreams again is blest. The years unroll their fearful scroll, lie a child again; A mother's lone: are in his'ear, And drill acro:,l his brain; clunws gaudy Innterilies rar dLAWu the rollidg plain. Ii p;u.',:. , the wild ro,e iu the woods, And ga•hors eg!antine. And holds the golden butter cups lieue:ith his sister's chin; An I angle. , in the meadow brook Wnh a bent and naked pin. Ile kiiters down the grassy_lane, And by the brimming pool, And a sigh r.ir : ipe,l hi parting lips A, he heirs the bell for school; And wishes 't were lever nine o'clock, And the morning never full. \mother's hood pressed on his bead, lkr is on his brow -1 :dimmer breeze Wows in at the door, 'With toes of a - leafy bough, Ind inj boy is a tybite-haired man again, And his eves are tear-tilled now. THE OTHER SIDE-A TALS OF EIITTONS BY LIXY.ELLEN GUERNSEY k he that raleth his spirit, than ho h a et.v lbedlifast was just over at the par- Fmage ; the table was cleared away, the chairs . set back, and Mrs. Ashton in a neat, morning dress, with a pretty little cap on her pi etty, little head, wi..l standing withher arm over hor tall husband's shoulder, looking at the mot:ling paper. And as fine!looking a pair they were, as you will be likely to see in a summer's day. The Rev erend Clement Ashton was indeed d to be the handsomest man in the parish, and that with good reason ; whether ho had any ideas of his own on the subject, was entirely his own affair. lie was not the least bit of a dandy, however, though he always dressed with perfect neatness and taste, and his brown whiskers and abundant curly hair had never been st..en t disordered within the memory of man. Mrs. Ashton as she was styled by the parish—Christiana, as her godfa thers and godmothers named her— Crissoy, as her brothers and her hus land called her—was not usually re gal ded as remarkably handsonie. Her features were not very regular, and she was nut very fair ; but her eyes so bzight and clear, her figure so elas tic and trim, her abundant hair, and above all, her frank, easy manners, and the expression of sunny, 'good temper and perfect openness, which lighted up her face, made most people consider her a very attractive woman Every one in the parish liked her, from the ttvz old black people who sat in the warns corner near the stove in church, and always came around to get their dinner at the parsonage on i.iclays, to Mrs. Dr. Rush who was by far the grandest lady in the parish, and the two :Slims Laden who were at first highly offended at the young minister for going off down to Phila delphia to get married, as if no ono tai liarddollar were good . enough for Islr. and Mrs. Ashton had been married about six months, after an eagagement of almost three years, durin g which time they had corres ponded vigorously, but had seen very littl e of each other ; for Mr. Ashton. % . vas an assistant in an overgrown par ish in one of our larger cities, and could seldom be spared ; and Crissey was a teacher in another great city where she supported herself, and help ed by her labors, to educate one of her T11:E,. - - - . - : - .. -. PI:OPLE".S 'brothers for the ministry. It was not till this'brother had finishd his stud ies, and was placed On an independent footing, that she consented- to be mar ried: "George cannot support himielf:eri 7 . tirely," she said, in - answer to the re monstrances of her lover ; " he is not strong enouglibio labor as many of the young men,liis . classmates, do, and:he needs my help. I know that be has talents which will make hiM eminently useful in the calling he has chosen ; know, too; that if he attempts any more than ho is doing, his health will fail, and he will be discouraged. You must content yo - urself to board a while longer with your good friend Mrs.' .Bicketts, Clement." MEM Alit] to this resolutiOn she steadfastly adhered despite Clement's persua sions and those of George himself, who was very much distressed at the thought that his sister's marriage should be Put off on his account. Un der these circumstances, the lovers-did not see much of each other, - and'ihoy were finally married without Crissey's having once suspected her husband of an infirmity of temper. She had suf fered much on discovering that such was the case, and felt inclined, some times to wish that she had never been disenchanted ; but she was a wise woman ; she knew her- husband's .in trinsic excellencies and strength, as well as his weakness, and altering an old maxim to suit her purposes, she resolved both to endure and to cure. "What do you set about to-day ?" she asked, as Mr. Ashton, having ex hausted the paper, arose from the sofa corner. Visiting," replied his reverence: " I must go up to old Mrs. Balconib's and see the Juncoes, and try to pre- . vail on Phil Taggart to let his children come to Sunday School once more. Then I have to administer the com munion to poor Maggy Carpenter who is much worse again, and if I have time, I shall get into the omni bus and ride out to the Mills to see the girl Miss Fowler mentioned to me yesterday." " What a round !" exclaimed Cris say. "Y,ou will never get home to ditmei at two o'clock. 1 think I will put it off till six, and run the risk of beinff thought stuck . up,' like poor cousin Lily." "What do you mean 1" " Why, you know they always dine at six to suit the Doctor's arrange. One day Lily called about Soma society matter, on a lady - who lives not a hundred miles from her street, about five o'clock in the after noon. The lady herself came to. the door, and Lily was about entetiug when she thought she perceived a smell of roast meat in the hall, and said very politely, But perhaps it is vuur dinner hour ?' merit , - o, indeed !' replied madam with indignation. '\Ve don't dine at this time of day ; we are not so stuck up " "Poor Lily !" exclaimed Mr. Ash ton laughing ; " what did she say 7" "Oh ! she did her errand, and re tired, of course. There was nothing to be said." Mr. Ashton turned to. go into the study, and as he did so, his foot caught in the carpet, and_ he was nearly thrown down. Crisaey started in alarm, but he recoyeredlimself, and said pettishly enough -1 do wish you Would have the carpet fixed. I have stumbled over it twenty times in the course of a week, I do believe." " I thought Annie had fixed it," re turned his wife with perfect mildness. " I am sure I saw her at work there. The door must pull it out of place, I think." " Oh !. of course, there is some ex cellent reason for its being out of order. It seems to me that, with all your ingenuity, you might find 'some way-of making it- more secure." 110 turned. into his study, shutting the door after him with, rather un necessary fordo, and Mrs. Ashton re turned to the fire and arranged her work basket for the day, with some, thing of a cloud on her-fair face. She was not long undisturbed ; for Igr.. .Asliton's voice was soon heard calling her in impatient tones. She sighed, but aroso and entered the next room whore she found, het' husband standing before his bureau, partly dressed, and with shirts, cravats, and handkerchiefs scattered about him like a new Itihcl of snow, while his face wore an ex pression of melancholy reproach; at once painful and' slightly-ludicrous. "-What is •the matter?" she asked "Oh ! the old story. Not a button where it ought to be! not a shirt ready to wear ! I do not.mean to be unreasonable," he . .continued in an agitated voice, as bolumbled over the things t to the manifest disorder of the clean linen, " but really, Crisseyi think you might see that my clothes DEVOTED TO THE .PRINCIPLES OF DEMOCRACY, AND THE DISSEMINATION OF ,SIORALITY,• LITERATURE, AND NEWS .. • COUDERSPORT; POTTER COUNTY, PA., JULY 26, 1.85. are- • - oider . .: I for rwould do more than that for yOu_,-. but here I am delayed,- and. put to the 'greatest in couvenience,because„ you cannot sew on these buttons ! Y should really. think that a little of the time yott spend in writing to George and Hen•-• ry, • might as . well. -be bestowed won me." . • This ; address was delil'ered in a. tone andmitnner,of Mournful . distress, which might, have:been justified, per haps, if Mrs. Ashton had . picked his. pocket as-he was going to church. "What is the matter with this shirt ?" asked Crissey, qUietly exam ining one of the discarded garments. " It seems to have allthe buttons in' their places ; and this one, too, is quite perfect ; and here is another. My dear husband, hew many shirts . do you usually wear at a time ?" " Oh ! it is all very well for you to smile, my love, but 1 do assure you, I found several with no means at all of fastening the wristbands. We had breakfast late, and now I shall be de tained half an hour when I ought to be away. I know yen mean'well,.but if you had served a year's apprentice ship with my mother before you were married, it Might •havo been all the better for your housekeeping." . ."It might have. prevented it alto-. gether," thought Crissey,' but the ught was repressed in a morheut. She picked up and replaced •the scat tered apparel, folded the snoWy cra vats, warmed her husband's overshoes, and saw that the beautiful little com munion service, presented by a lady - of the parish, and consecrated to such sufferers as Maggy Carpenter, was in readiness. _Before lie left the house, ..Mr. Ashton had forgotten both his fretfulness and its cause. He kissed his with, and thanked her for her trouble, and proposed that she should send for Lily to spend the day with her, and strode away with his usual elastic step and pleasant face. Crissey watched him from the door till he turned into the next street, and then wont back to the fireside, and to her own reflections. This fretfulness and tendency to be greatly disturbed at little•matters was almost her hus band's only fault . . ' He. was .self-sacri ficing- to the last degree, faithful and indefatigable, as an apostle almost in his professional labors, iberal to a fault, and in his administration of par ish matters, wise and conciliating to all. He could bear' injuries, real in juries, with the greatest patience, and was never known to harbor resentment. But with all these good qualities Mr. - Ashton had one fault—a fairlt which threaten( d to disturb and finally destroy • the comfort of his married life. If his . with, by extravagance or bad manage .meat had wasted his income, and in volved him in difficulties, it,is probable that he would never have spoken an unkind word to her ; but the fact of a button being missing or a book being remeved from its place, would produce a lamentation half indignant and_ half pathetic, which rung in CriSsey's ears, and made her 'heart ache long after ' Clement had forgotten the circum stance altogether. Strange as. it may seem, Mr. Ashton had never thought of this habit, of which, indeed he was - hut imperfectly conscious, as a fault. He thought, indeed, it was a pity he should ho so sensitive, and sometimes said that be wished he had not such a love for order and symmetry, for then he should not be so often annoyed, by the diSorderly habits of other people. He said to himself -thatlit was one of his peculiar trials—that even Crissey, perfect as she was, did riot come up to his ideas in this respect; but that his I peculiar trials, as he was pleased to call them, ever became trials to other people, he did net imagine. He had indeed remarked, in spite of himself, that Chri;tiana's face was not as cheer ful, nor her spirits as light, as when they were married, and ho regretted that the cares:oflousekeeping should weigh so heavily upon her; but noth ing was further from his thoughts than that anything in himself could have produced the change. - • • His first visit ,this morning was to old Mrs. 13alcomb,- a venerable' lady, • the mother of two of his most esteemed parishioners, and grandmother and aunt to half the' parish beside. She was quite helpless as to walking, though' she could sit' up and use her hands; while . her mind was as bright as ever. -The Balcembs were plain, unpretending:people, who went very little into What is called • Society, but interested themselves greatly is all church • and benevolent 'enterprises, missions, SUnday-Schools, relief socie ties; and so forth; and one of the daughters, a young woman of fine tal ent.and warm piety,' was at this 'time engaged, in. the Olean mission. .Mr. Ashton was .conducted into the cheer ful.:sitting-roomi where he- found'the old . lady alone, seated beside the open coal'fire, itt herldrge easy -chair con- . _ ... • .., • . .... .„ . . . , ,„ , r . .. , -:.." 1 ' ..... _.. _ ....., ... •:, 1.1 4 ' - - - - 1 . . t rived by her sons for her especial coa veni'ence, with a reading and writing desk attached, • which could be remov ed at 'pleasure, lb 'make. .room .for .a work-box or basket. Mrs. Balcomb 1 3aiafarrieus . knitter and needle-wo man, and kept all the 'children of the family in stockings and mittens. She was knitting at the present time, and only suspended her work long enough to shake hands with the. minister.. "And how do you find yourself this cold morning?" asked Mr. Ashton, • taking a sent near the old lady. "Oh! very well,'! . replied the old lady cheerfully ; "very well . indeed, thank God. I often wish. that you, who are obliged to be up and about; could' feel as well as I do, sitting here. I do assure you I enjoy myself very much." "No doubt you do," said the minis ter, picking up the ball, which had . escaped from its basket. "Hall were of as cheerful a 'spirit, the woild might go on much better. -- "But, what have you been reading since.l saw you.?" • • "Why, I hardly know. I have look ed through a variety -of things which the children' have brought me, and• I have .read the hooks your wife sent, and the newspapers. - Then we have had two long letters from my grand daughter Julia, and they are always very interesting. They would be, you know, even • if they wore from strangers, and so much the more from our own dear children." "Of course," assented Clement. "And what does Julia say? Does she seem happy ?" '•Oh ! yes, veryhappy and contented, and thank God, very well. They have a great deal to do, of course, and many inconveniences to put up with, but they are devoted to their work, and live only- for it, and for each other. It was hard. for mo to feel willing to part with Julia, Mr. A'shton, even for the work to which she was going, and if I had not felt perfect *confidence in Richard, I never should Lave consented. ha\e known him from his baby hood, in his father's house, and &tr. his college career, and I may safely say, that he never," by any little indul gence of selfishness or fretfulness' brought a cloud over the face of any one connected with - him." - Mr. Ashton fell .into a reverie at these words, which made, him rather inattentive to the old lady; but-he was roused by her asking— " And how is your dear wife, Mr. Ashton? I hope she keeps her health and her good looks !". "She is very Well," said Clement, revoveringhimself, "and desired to he remembered to you. She is coming up to see you in a few days." "I theuv.ht, the last time I saw her, she did not look quite as ' . -bright and cheerful as usual," _remarked Mri." l Balcomb. ' , You must take care of her, my good friend; it is a great deal fir such a young creature to leave friends, and go into a strange place, and amongorangers, ifshe has every-: thing made as easy for her as possibly., :You will excuse. me for .speaking seb plainly. I'm an old woman,yousknow;: and you young men seem to me almost like boys; even though you are in orders." "I have thought, myself, that Crissoy was not quite as cheerful as formerly," replied Clement. "I . supposed it might be owing to the pressure of her -new cares, and to her being, as you say, among strangers. She is used to care, however, in her school. I hardly think it can be that. Perhaps it is natural that she should lose her elas ticity of spirits as she grows older." "Not at all, Mr. 'Ashton, returned the old lady, "not at all. lam older than almost any one in the parish, and I don't believe there is a more light hearted person in it at this moment. Well, my dear, it is not my affairs, perhaps, but again I tell you; take good care of your pretty Wife, and don't let her .get the habit of looking sad. It's a hard one to get . ove'r, can tell you, when once it becomes fixed." - ' Mrs.: Balcomb pauSed,. and otlier members of the family . comingin, the conversation turned to other things. Mr Ashton left the house, pondering pretty deeply on all he had heard, especially on what Mrs. Balcomb hid said in regard tor her granddaughter's husband':-- "He never brought a cloud on the face'of any one belonging to him." "He felt that tha same could not be said• of himself. Crissey's face as she stood at the door when he -went 'out; was almost sad., To be sure, it was very annoying, to be delayed, and find things,so _out of order, but then, he need not have said sti'much about it. 't was probably an accident, for Crissey was really very careful; an other time he would bear the incon venience in silence. He visited Phil, who was finally MEM Main . . perstidedto,let his children • cense' to . ' Sundar.schoel, : .called .at. the Jones; and-then . proceeded, to s,lr.,Q.arpen tor'S, whore he was . to 'administer the Communion. Maggie gerpenter was an only-daughter, and had been 'a beautifill, and. very fashionable' girl: She was, engaged to be married to an of ieer in the army, and the time set for theivedding Waa not far off, when she went -to make a short visit in a distaut.city. Something went wrong —the train was run into by another ; engine from .behind. Many were killed'at once; othersi.lingered a few dais in horrible tortures; and a few carried home to-their friendsitelplese and disabled fbr life. Of this . number was Maggie Carpenter. The beauti- . ful, healthful girl, returned to her father's house to spend the rest of her days in helpless_ confinement, and . almost unintermitted sutering. Of course the marriage was now out of the question. Captain - Mannera was almost frantic at first, but he was not. one of those men whose emotions last long. It was not reasonable or right. he thought, that he should be expected to spend the remainder of his 'days in solitud_e,for really there was hardly a possibility of Maggie's- ,recovery, besides, his father and mother wished hina-to marry, and his duty to them required it, and so, after a hardly decent interval, he wooed and won a fair Southern heiress, who was vis iting some friends in Harddollar, and the wedding had taken place only a few days since: Mr. and Mrs. Ash ton were not much, surprised to hear that poor Maggie was much worse; and so Par , did Mr. Ashton carry his indignation at the gallant captain's heartlessness, that ho left town ex pressly that he might not be called upon to perform the marriage core .mony. • . "Maggie will never get over it, never!" said Crissey,Vrhile indignantly 'freeing her mind' to old Mrs. 130- comb. "Oh, yes she Will, my dear," replied the old lady. "At first she will feel it greatly, no doubt, but by degrees, her oyes will be opened to the fact. of his being a most heartless coxcomb,, as I always knew he was;' said grand-7 mother in a parenthesis, 'and then in spite of herself; she will begin to de- spise him; and let me tell you, my dear, a little • hearty . contempt is the best curd in the world for a disap pointed affection.", "How is :Maggie to-day?" asked Mr. Ashton of her maiden aunt, who met him in the parlor. '• Shp is more comfortable," replied Miss Kenny, "but she has had a dread ful time. That miserable fellow, John Manners—l could see him hung with all my heart." • " Not see.him hung 7" '..Why, no, not exactly; but hanging would be. too good for him. 1 did not mean that she should hear any thing • about the wedding, but that meddling Miss Laden and her sister, came. in to see her, and when I was out of • the. room, they tuld her the., whole story." "What in -the world could have been their .object ?" "Oh, Heaven knows ! To hear them selves talk, 1 suppose. But will you come in 7—Maggie is waiting for you.' Mr. Ashton entered the sick room. Maggie was lying on a low French bed, partly sustained by pillows, protly resting :ori her father's arm. The outline of her face was as beautiful as ever, though the fine features were sharpened and' worn by pain and sor row, Her eyes Were very lam), and almost unnaturally clear and 7bri g ht, but, amid all the expression of pain and weariness, there was a most lovely aspect •Of resignation and patience, more lovely than any perfection of_ form or color. Maggie had found, in the midst of misfortune and grief, what she had never known in her prosperity, arid . felt herself happier than on -the morning of that day when, expecting td return to the bri -dal feast, she had set out .all uncon sciously to meet her fate. • . The room was bright and cheerful; the windows were filled with flower ing plants, 'and some Chrintmas deco-' rations surrounded the •mirror •and pictures. Everything -- was arranged to look as -little like a sickroom an possible, and with success, fur the . well filled book-cases, the lovely land seapes on- the walls, and the . pretty 'furniture, gave the- apartment the aspeCt of •a pretty little iltudy• A small round table, covered with a white cloth; 'and • a• hassock, . were placed near the bedside for the use of . • Mr. Ashton conversed for ':a few 1 minutes with nargaretand her friends, and proceeded ,with I the holy ordi nance. Tie was ; not the man to preach suelzi,.a: service: . lightly; the night before the . 'regular admrnrstra tiou of the iacr • ament, . was almost always a sleepless ; one to him; :hat he newel felt so ,deeply .its solemnity and divine tenderness as when he. was.,, Called • upon •to 'celebrate it at the bedside of •some M , such sufferer as ai : . )., gm The service proceeded, and after the p,}ayei ii. of consecration were ended; •the'holy"elements were. ministered to those-attending• and then to the sick person. Maggie's face as , she' received•the cup was as the face •. of an angel. As COloridge.beautifulli' says, the\ fear of God, which passeth. Understainling, .lay, upon.' it like an untroubled moonlight." Mr. Ashton turned - towards 'home with his Mimi and heart full of all that lie had soon and felt:. 119 said' very little during dinner, but when the . table ,was removed, and he sat • down in his dressing-gown and Slippers be fore the open coal fire, he related to his wife all the events of .the day,' describing with all the enthusiasm of his earnest nature„ Maggie's patieace and holy resignation, and ended by, saying-L Certainly the religion of Semis has power to sustain and console his die.' ciples under all trial; and misfortunes.' Except the loss of t a butten,'ro .plied crissey, seriously. 'That is a, miAbi•tune which neither philosophy, nor 'religion can enable one to sustain.' The Reverend Mr. Ashton started as though a pistol had been discharged at-his ear. . . Why, what do you mein, Crissey 1' 'Just what I say,' returned CrisSey. With the same sobe - rness. 'Yourself, for instance ; you can endure with• the greatest resignation the . loss of friends and fortune; I never saw you ruffled by rudeness or abuse from others or show any, impatience under - severe pain; but the loss of a button from, yOur shirts, or a nail from the carpet, gives you a perfect right to be unreasoriable;' , uekind, and—l must say itunchristian.' • -Mr. Ashton 'arose and walked up and down the room in some agitation. I did not think, my love,' lie said at last, in a - trembling tone, 'that you would attach so much importance to a single hasty word.' Perhaps I spoke, too quickly; but even if it were so, did we. not promise to be patient with each other's infirmities ? I am. sure • I am very glad to bear with—' Mr. Ashton paused; he was an" eminently truthful man, and upon con sideration, he really could not remem ber that he had ever had anything to bear from his wife. . ' If it were only once, my dear hus band, I should say nothing. about .it; but you do not seem to be the least aware how the habit has grown upon you. There has not been a day this week in which you have not .made my heart ache brsome such outburst, of f. etfultiess.' Mr. Ashton was astonished; but as he began to reflect, lie was still more surprised to find that his wife's accu- . cation was quite true. One day it had. been about the front door mat; the next about a mislaid review, and-then about a loSt; pair of gloves, which after all %sere found in his own pocket. lie felt that it was all true; and as his conscience brought forward one in-_ stance after another of unkindness—: real unkindness—he sat down again, and covered his face with his-hands. _'But that is not the worst,' ceniin ued CrisiSey, becoming agitated in her turn. .1 fear—l cannot help fearing —that I shall be led to feel as I ought not towards you.. I fear I shall in time lose the power of respecting my husband, and when respect • goes, Clement, love does not last long. This very moment I . found -myself wishing 1 had never known-you.' . thissey burstyinto ; tears; a very unusual demonstration for. her; and Clement, • springing up, once more traversed the ,ro . om once or twice, and then sat down at his wife's . 'side. Christiana,' he said snourufullY, 'is it come to this I have deserved I feel that I have—but to lose your. respect, your love—my punishment is greater thin I can bear, Crissey!" "It was but the thought of a mo• ment," replied Cristiana; checking her sobs ; "but I am frightened that the idea should ever have entered my mind. If I should cease to love you. Clement, I should die. I would rath 7 or die this moment." "God forbid!" ejaculated her hus band; clasping hor in his arms. — "put why, my dearest love, have- you neVer told rne of this before?" . "It is neither a grateful 'nor a gra. : .: Cious office for a wife to repreveher husband, or a woman her paster,".'te pli e d Christiana, laying her hind on his shoulder; "and if 1 had not been. left alone hare all day(' think I should hardly have got up the courage now. But if you are not . angry, I am glad that I have told- ion all that was in'my heart; for, indeed, 'my aear, it has been a sad; achiag heart,. this lorig uncluded on on page = B No. 10.
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