x*' .iksKt’i.hs uns j iatlMo wiahvte :rao* oal <ji } ';,‘i.-'; '•.- md BSkfna -*• . ..-' inotT hiaosi Uu) t;» :;;v, •.{nil.a *» nc<l Tv.frrrrrj-r .1 , ••' ••-•£? . or.MM.'rrurr,,-, vli-if/-, M .7 Cm. nJUff m*£lf *ikf f;r.?i ,k**>feotj i'.;':'vf-Jftua-(IO'iIi 'ln ■rttefee^nVkwiw^ohMngt.’ 1 o*i \ ’d**?** r : • : ■ ’ .., ; BB'iyvtixU'Sr - . ~',.V V heard*gen : 1 .' •'■'■ ... AstbetwlUgbviionr«-tmt«n y - --- 1 Pleading with a soft oadoloTf v ■:• .< • Urging, him to be a man, > .. ■• •; Bbtnnto : /, ' Though, with lows wdTd-qnlte as ready, points she oaHhebtlier duty. f ' ; *'Strlvei/my.dear T tobeaUdy; M : ■- WhaVa a lady# it tometbing ■ Made of hoops, and silks, and alrg, Used todecoratethepatfor, . 1 Like thefency rags and chair*? la it one that wastes on-norels -j ;Every feeUngih&tis human? Ifttstpla tobialody,,, •Pis not this to be a woman. Mother, then,' unto yonr daughter Speak of something higher far, Thau to.be inere fashion's lady—■ “ Wooqan ’Ms the brighter slar. If ye, in your strong affiaoLipn, , • , toheatrae.man, . tfnrge yoUrdaughter nd less stronger 1 To bribe and bea woman. I: Yes, a model • Or that ligbt and perfect.bsanty, Where tbe xpihd, and soul, .and body, ' Blend to work out life's great duty— Be a woman—nought Is higher ’On tbe glldedllsL of feme; • On the catalogue oi /lrtnn ■ There’s no bright* r, b jllir name. Be a vomin-oa to duty. Raise the world from all that's low; Plaoe high In the social heaven Virtue’sfair and radiant bowl Lenditbv influence to each elTort That shall raise our natnro human; Be not fashion’s glided lady— Be a brave, whole sooled, true woman, Why She Merer Married Chaney. “ Would you like to hear why I never married Charley ?” “Of all things!” we cried. “I sup pose you know we all thought at one time you were goingto marry’ him?” “ Yes; and I thoughtso, too. He had In fact, asked me to be his wife, aad I said, “I will tell you; Charley, wheth er it is Yes, or No, when I. meet you at singing school, next week;” but, in my own mind, I was already resolved that it should be “ Yes.” Mrs. Gilbralthe paused for a moment at this point, and, havfng rapidly wound and unwound the yarn of her knitting ball, said abruptly : “Ididn’t go to singing school that night, and I never saw Charley alone, after he asked me to marry him.” “How strange!” we all exclaimed: “ what could have happened ?” “ This is what happened,” said Mrs. GalbraUhe—“ but it is rather a long story, and withal has a ghost in It”— There was a general cry of “ No mat ter;. tell it anyhow !”• and Mrs. Gal braiths wound up her yarn, once for all stuck the knitting-needle through tbe ball energetically, and began, us fol lows : We were farming folks, as you all know; and used to helping our father out of doors, we girls, (that Is upon a pinch) aa well as our mother, in doors; audit ( is now more than twenty years since, at the close of a rough March day, my sister Rose and I were left alone in the woods, to tend the. sugar-kettles.— Used to the fields and the woodlands from childhood, in sound health, and with courage and spirit enough to fur nish forth half a dozen of your modern young ladies, we were not in the least afraid. It was not, therefore, fear, nor the shadow of fear, that made us call out “Don’t be away long, father,” as, standing up in the old wood-sled, he drove his two smart grays up the hill that rose abruptly above our sugar camp thence along the freezing ridge, toward the sunset, and out of sight. So far from the experience of fear were we, that wo even felt a good deal of. exhilaration, at first, in being thus isolated from the village lights aud the tumult of the big road—the shadows be- 1 ing glorified by the shining of the red , olouds over the sunset hills, and the sol- I itude sweetened by the twitter and stir 1 of the birds among the branches, the low of the home-going cattle, and all the cheerful hum and clivt ter from the home • steads round about. Every thing fused into adreamy atmosphere of poetry, and our imaginations were just sufficiently quickened to set our thoughts flying in that trifling, honey-bee fashion that ex tracts no poison even from poisonous things, but sucks up delight from all. Resides, we had no expectation of being loft thus alone very long—may be, the pight would hardly have settled down before father would come, bringing oqr shawls, pur luncheon, and great news, perhaps, iuto the bargain dor young folks are always expecting great news. The cows were to be milked, the grays were to oared for, the sheep to be foddered—then, there was wood to be cut and split for the morning, with some other light chores of a house hold sort, aud tlieu the supper to be eaten—and that was all. Why, all of it would not take an hour! We almost wished father might be detained in some way agreeable to himself, so that we might not only have time to exeoute the tasks set for us, but also work out some special achievements on ojur own responsibility. At any rate, we would make the most of the time we had,, and set to work with right good will, crowd ing the furnace under the great black Iron kettles with dry sticks and strips of hickory bark, till the long, white flames and the red sparkles, forcing their way through the rude chimney and every orauuy and crevice of the arch, ran in a glittering stream toward the tree-tops, apd made all the sheltered valley shine pga.in. Fora while the merry and eager voices made no pause; the hands were busy, and the hearts were young; and so the shadows crept from hillock to hillock, reached from branch to branch, and wove a net-work of darkness through the woods before we were 1 aware; but, by and by, the sticks were;! exhausted, the flames fell lower and lower, changing their red sparkles, to a bluish-white, licking the black sides of tha kettles aud the gray bed of the ashes, and ever and auon quite Bwal lpwei up by ,tke clouds of Bteam that rose from the boiling sap. The talk became less merry, and a zpoment’B silence now and then inter vened, if it, happened that a bat came out of blB house in the, old stub by the brook-side, ahd sailed with alow and flabby wing'about ourheads; or if some QWI started ail the echoes with his sol emn cry. The laughter was a little forced, and the ckeerfuldess forced, too, as we begau saying to one another, ‘•'•Father will come soon-!” and, “What in there to be afraid of?” Why, noth ing, to bo sure: we were not afraid in the least 1 ! Haa we not penetrated into every,'farthest corner of the woods again and.again, in Bearch of nuts, ; mosses, and strange flowers? and had we ever encountered anything more formidable t&an-some hunter, with dogs and guns, pr a stray cow or colt, perhaps? Cer tainly not; and we were.not afraid—not in the least! : ’■.‘A. few feet from the furbace where the kettles were set, aod facing it, stood a small, rough shed called the camp house whioh protected, u's from the snow and rain,.and warded oil* the winds; when we tended the fire of nights. This hut was composed mainly of plankß and clapboards —the remains or a tumble down house on the hill side, jppt, across tkVbrook, and known to ua and to the neighborhood as "Thatcher’s Cabin”— but eked out yearly as the need came roundj With blts of carpet, oldquUtsand coverlets brought from the homestead, and returned to it when thosugar-mak ingwftsover. . : We girls could not .remember when this cabin was inhabited; but we knew that two brothers named-Albert and Thatcher Blagsden, had at one time lived there, and that the younger, Al bert, had died there. Hints; had come td us of strange Wises having been hei ar 4 about the place, aud of strange sights haying been seen there, too ; but tbe wiser sort of people among us traced all. rumors of this sortidlreotly to supersti- and earthed them in thedarkness of ignorance; and as we had l neither seed nor heard anything remarkable in any bf our mWy visits to the old house, we adhered to the opinion of the; water.; sort.* We Had, to .be Bure.exparienceda vague and shadowy apprehension some: ; times, when we shoved open the creak ing and sagging door, and found 'selves, within the* four desolate walls, that looked all tho more ghostly for the j wooden pegs, rusty nails, and decaying; shelves sticking, loosely here and there. Then,*, the ‘ bats inV thby! .’the j swaUows ; among fhey/aftgrs, and the. long, :pale grasses sprFhgihg.upb'etween j the suhken ; and broken stones of the hearth, .had f made upononr minds a dpepirand-peculiar impression/! More than thls, we badseen for ourselves pftrt of" a ;} ChinS-hoWlj'i thait had-been. pjg ged up by some workmen lwW"wferd| quarrmg *etone in the neighborhood ' "■ ' - .irf 1 ' f" 1 - 1 3.0 L) ’ : w -’ • • r "— -i. t\- - ’-- '* ■* - ■" ' J. ‘•t'.'Sl 'C- at the cabin, i-and we ; altely, that some horrid suspicions of poisoning wer? connected ■with this ® Jjf the ; bright'flames fell, our 1 spirits fell, too: and after a time we gave up all pretenseof gayety, and seated with-, in the camp-house, remained, somcj-, times for. minutes together, quitestlU. Once or twlce,Boee tried to rally me by asking whether 1 was not. thinking of Charley, when the silence on my part was longer than usual; batthe sugges tion failed oflte usual effeot, andTbe eame, at last,'' strangely oppressed, as wlth the premonition of some dreadful thing. v<- The night had become cloudy as it deepened, and the wind now and. then 'made rough sallies among the dead drifts of leaves, prophetic of rain; but the weather still. hesitated between freezing and thawing, and it would have been hard to guess whether snow or rain were the likelier to'fall.' As yet the freezing went slowly on; and though the sap dropped still from the sugar' trees, it formed long icicles as it drop ped ; while In tbe brook—or run, as we called It—that wound along more open ground, the ice was melting and break* ing up, and startling us with a sharp; twinkling sound, now and then, though we knew very well what it was all the while. Patches of ragged and orosted snow lay here and there at the foot of some great tree, and here and there among the sheltering roots of some southern exposure, knots of violets and other early wilding nest led among the dead leaves. Everything seemed uncertain thatnight; sometimes the moon,broke through theolondsand shone out in full splendor, and then tbe clouds as suddenly closed over her. and all was thick darkness again ; and the uncertainty helped to produce a watch fulness that was In itself akin to fear. But In spite of the haunting shadow that oppressed me, I knew that I was thinking more or less about Charley Stanfield ail the time; and, in my imag ination, I pictured what would be his anguish, supposingl should fail to keep my promise and stay away from tbe singing school, never suspecting that my picture was all painted with the colors of truth. I dwelt, however, a good deal upon the brightsideof things; and again and again the narrow walls of our little hat widened out into a beau tiful chamber, and the dull coverlet at the entrance shone in my eyes like some royal curtain, finely dyed. In my girlish foolishness, partly, I had said “ No ” when Rose asked me if I was not thinking of Charley; and partly, perhaps, thatsometbing—l know not what—kept me from caring to talk of him. “ What if he should not be there! what if I never should see him!” These unwelcome thoughts kept strik ing me like sudden stabs. Two or three times, as we sat thuß to gether, Kose had asked me, “ What was that?” and I had answered as often, “ Only the wind.” But at last she arose, and stepping outside the camp-house, stood in a listening attitude. “No; it isn’t the wind,” she said, in low, earnest tones, “it’s a footstep.” '.Then, It’s father coming!” “No; it isn’t his step—-besides, it is not in the right direction.” “Where is it, then?—but I almost know it’s father!” “It’s somewhere close about Thatch er’s Cabin, and who would be there for any good purpose , this time o’night!” I laughed: “Who would be therefor a bad purpose? There is nothing there, unless it be an owl, or bat, roosting on the pegs.” “Who would be there? Albert’s ghost, perhaps—do you dare go and see ?” “Yes; but I don’t intend going—the ice is all melted in the run, and we should get into the water.” “It isn’t the water that I am afraid of,” says Kose. makimr nn fnrhhAr pro tense of courage; “step out, and hear for yourself—lt sounds nearer.” I did step out: and there was the foot step, sure enough—orush ! crush 1 through the deep heaps of dead and frozen grass, and just as Kose had said, close about Thatcher’s Cabin, which was not more than a stone’s throw ofiT. “ We are standing in the firelight,” I said, “ where the thing, whatever it Is, can see us: let us go in.” “ 80-ho! you think there may be a ghost, after all!” And then Rose proposed that we should walk up the hill and toward the house, in the hope of meeting our father, “ who must be coming by this time,” she said. I readily accepted the suggestion ; and hand in hand, we proceeded, tread ing lightly at first, but gaining cour age, as we slid over the ground ana lengthened the distance between us and Thatcher’s Cabin, until finally, when we had reached the summit of the hill, and saw the laue between the meadows stretching homeward before us, we be gan to be quite ourselves again, and even to make believe that we haa not been afraid. We did not meet father—did not even hear his coming footstep; and so kept on,.growing braver all the while, until the light of the candies, shining through the windows at home, quite re assured us; and, ashamed of our cow ardice, and saying to each other that, after all, we had probably been fright ened by some cow that had chanced to stay behind the rest in the meadow, we turned and retraced our steps, never, once pausing to look dr to listen by the way. Qn the Bummit of the hill, between the meadow and the sugar-camp, and a little aside from the main path, there grew aclump of papaw bushes, sothrif ty and thick that) one might hardly pass through them, and considerably higher than a man’s head. These bushes were just breaking into bud, and the air, soft ening every minute now with the ap proaching rain, was filled with their heavy and almost sickening odor. Per haps it was Bimply to show how fearless she had grown that Rose said she would gather-some of the branches. “O, no, Rose!” I cried In terror; but I only heard the rustle of the parting bushes, and almost Instantly the gaunt figure of a man appeared, dragging Rose like a dead weight behind him. She was just reaching to break the branch over her head, as she afterward told me, when she was seized and held in UiQ a hands of some man, or monster, as in an iron vice; that a confusion of horrors filled her brain and froze her blood; thatshe felt herself sinking—and that was all she knew, until she found herself lying with her head on my knee, . and a mortal man bending over her, apparently as much frightened as her self. “ I didn’t mean to scare you so awful; I wasjustinfun! Come now, stand up; can’tyou? Try! Try, for mercy’a sake! I’ll stay in the camp aud bile sap all night, if you’ll only get up and walk ! What a devilish fool I was for to leave & woman’s weakness out o’ my calcerla tionl” Then the man fell upon me. “ Blame ye, Marth’.” he said, “h&in’t ye got no feelin’ into ye? Down onto your knees and pray, and make it powerful loud, too! Say, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” br something ’nother. 1 ! Then to Rose again, who had opened her eyes by this time “O, sissy! you’re a»comin’ to.aln’tye? a cornin’ to, beau tifull Nowl’ll hold ye Up, and you just kind o’ pertend ye stand, because, ye see, I didn’t mean for toßoareye, be yond a reasonable p’int, and I never was so took aback, dog-gort me if L was!” The feeling of guilt, and the protesta tions of innocehce,mihgled as they were seemed ludicrous, and Rose could not help laughing, before she could speak, and, that helped her back to herself; perhaps, mpre than anything else; ana though she told the fellow she would neyer'forgive him, she suffered him to raise her to her.feet r and afterwards to assist her along the-rough ground and down the hill; and directly all three of us wereaeatOd-within the camp-house, and with the genial glow of the furnace fire wrapping ns about* , We. had, of course, ;recognized our strange gueat before this, and I need only,*# here that hisname was Ephra im Warts, and that he was oneof those lying vagabondsof which almost ever£ neighborhood has some specimen. He -was;.ln fact,-sogood-fornothingscrea ture as to almost have forfeited iiis real name, apdfldhehad come to be known, far and hear. & Dong Efe. His mother Once said of him, in shame and sorrow, that If Ephraim ever did a goodthlnglt was simply by mistake: and this was probably the only time he had been called: Ephraim in pa&ny years.’: ; •. For myself, I .cish 'iidt think he was Altogether destitute of good impulses, 'nor that he was quite inoapableef speak ing the trath, bat certain it is that his ;Ci ln : :3 thfeapL- • Slkl oti&qion, 3ie seeped—to get*tjjip best tfc«e wM in bjin—to.KeJWghtenfid j into eameetnessjhntlmayhavegiveh him more credit than hedeservedj-in s * deed,;lt te no# unlikely that hiß’efoftj inf his own wicked'im^hS ; HmL -Ifrimipressed'-ine. j npntiyv jst theome f to change ths whole bonne' of mfc 'futjdre life. There 1 , re uttdnedy et Jbu| one hlgntbetween .this andthegreatone of all—the. nigh t upon which! .wa&to eee'Charley. If theft had been micro [time, the impression might haVe died but!; or I might, upbn ‘ Inquiry, have discovered on how Slight afoundatiohof fact the terriblebugabpo was set. up.. But there were certain things goingto show lf not probabßKy,inihecase; andupontbese my frighfenedfancyjfastened,, and ail the rest went for nothings So let it-gd: ltwas Just $8 it Wat;- f - Epbriimadmltted now that he had fpr some time-waiked about in the vi* iednity of-Thatcher’S; Cabin; in*the hope of knd' that, lathr, he jh&d followed us, mid concealed himself' in- the papawbuehes for the sameend. He, however, professed greatsorrow for his wicked jest; and lie certainly gave evidence-of contrition by works meet for repentance. . He set to chopping, in the first place; then he mended the' fire, and with so good effect as to light the woods all around the camp, and drive'the steam from thesugar kettles away up the hill side, where it lay tumbling under and over, like a sheet In the wind. After this he wentallabout the camp gathering the-sap; : which he emptied from the sugar-troughs into buckets, and brought and poured into the hogs head that waited by theftrrnace-side to receive it. He artfullymlngtedpleasanttalk with bfef work, and we, simply listening at first, by little and little joining him ; and at last, feeling in part forgiven, he seated himself as near, perhaps, as lie dared, and proceeded to work out the remainder of; his pardon by the con struction of a skimmer, useful for re moylngdrift-leaves from the sugar-ket tles. He had brought a bundle of Willow wands from the brook-side, with his last bucket of sap, and these he asked, us to assort for him, which we did, and returned them to him oneby one,-when he wove them upon a forked stick, making in the end an ingenious and handy contrivance. As he gained our confidence he began to play upon our feara anew, and re peatedly dropped his work and listened, exolalming: “Strange th’ ole man doesn’t come! Hope no accident has befell him!” and such like. “Whatshould happen him?” said Kose, at last, turning sharply upon him; “ some neighbor has probably come in and detained him,” “ Possible 1” said Efe, pursuing up his mouth wisely ; “ but other things Is possible, too—a body never knows what’ll happen, nor when it’ll happen. Them scan*’ls into the barn is high, and it’s mighty ticklish Work getting out fodder in pitch darkness; besides, th’ ole man hain’t got as sure a foot as what he had twenty years ago.” And having given time for these sug gestions to enkindle our fears to the ut most, he wouid ask if we thought the “critter” crying on the next hill-side was an owl; and' when we answered “ Yes,” he would shake his head, and say that it sounded to him as If it was a human “ critter,” and he wouldn’t swear that he believed it wasn’t!— “Woods is serrry, anyhow, this ’ere time o’ night,” said he; “and hang me if I’m a-going to leave you till th’ ole man comes, if ’tain’t afore day light.” “ I hope we should see nothing worse than yourself, if you should leave us,” said Rose, at last, vexed with his proph ecies of evil, and still remembering."nis late misconduct. “ You may make light o’ the danger,” replied Efe, speaking solemnly; “but if you knowed, some things that is to be. knowed, you woaidn’t be hired to stay into the woods at night, ’special into this particular woods.” “And what of this woods worse than another?” asked Kose. He waved his skimmer, now com pleted, mysteriously in the direction of Thatcher’s Cabin, with the single ex clamation “Haunted.” “ Did you ever happen to see a ghost about there?” asked Rose, gayly. “Let me tell you,” he answered. And coming inside the shed —for the rain was beginning to fall now—he asked whether or not we had ever noticed a wild sweet brier that grew on the next hill side, twenty yards or so beyond Thatcher’s Spring ? Certainly; we had gathered flowers about it many a time—what of it ? “0, nothing particular; only you have trod onto the bones of Albert Blagsden as ofn as you’ve gathered the posies— that’s all.” There was no mound there, we re membered perfectly. “Of course not; but there’s a holler into the place of a mound! When the grave Bunk in, nobody filled it np.— Thatoher was gone the Lord knows where; and who was there to care for a dead boy in a strange land, I’d like for to know! But as to the brier-bush, I seen it planted myself by the young girl Albert wasa-conrtin’ at the time be was pißoned!” Poisoned!—was Albert Blagsden poi soned? Why, we had never heard of it. “No, and there's a good many other things that you never heard of nuther I reckon; it ain’t expected that big things will be knowed by little folks!” And Efe peered out cautiously, Bay ing directly, in undertone, “What was that?” We heard the same tinkling sound we had noticed early in the evening, and supposed it to be the breaking and sliding of the ice. “ ’Tain’t the ice, mor’n I’m the ice!’ said Efe. “I've heard that noise afore!” Bo had we, many a time. “Go, if you dare,” said Efe, “and Bee what it is! Go, if you dare; and Bee if you don’t find a holler j ust by the brierbush, as I have told you ! And see, too, when yon get there, if that noise don’t appear like as if it come up out o’ the holler! To-night ain’t the first time I’ve heard it; Lord bless my soul, I wisht it was!” He spoke with such earnestness that we turned to look in his face; and if be was not sincere, he certainly simulated sincerity with good effect. We listened attentively, and could' hear the ice cracking and breaking up— great cakes of it swashing away to gether. “Ice or no ice, go‘if you dare!” said Efe; and then affecting more courage than we felt, we made torches of hickory bark to light us on the way, and set out —crossing the brook on the rough sand stones that stuck up through the ice and water. The rain was falling steadily, but not very fast; and with often whirl ing our torohes round and round we kept them alive, and proceeded, peering cautiously about and talking loud and fast, to keep down our fear. We had fiassed the spring, crushing the tender eaved mint that wa8 shooting up about it,and filling the air with fragrance; had passed the loose heap of stones that had once been the chimney of Thatch er's Cabin, and'were within a dozen yards of the brier-bosh, when once more we gave our torches' a.whirl that sent the names flaring far and wide.— All at once, we held onr breath and stood still, arrested partly by the shape orshadow—whichever it was—drooping oyer the biier-busbi ; partly : by the moans that seemed, sure enough, to be coming up from the very Bppt designa ted as Albert's grave.' «, “It is the snow caught in the hrierr, and the winds going,: through them/! , said Rose.. “I will not be frighteneda second time at nothing!’.!And cut ting clrcles in tbe air with hertorch, and holding it high aboVe her head, she moved forward. “ Whatareycru ?” she called out; “for I nin 1 determined to know!" i i- v ;j At that, the shadowy - figure, that seemed to have been Borpeningj itself behind the bunch of briersj lifted itself slowly, and stood ereotl ii, -r Xt wasa woman, or In-woman’s Shape, at least. We couldaee the haggard face; the grizzly hair, clinging -wet . about the shoulders;;- the ments, flapping!!! the -wind—and we waited.to see' nojnore. bat, dropping our torches, fled through the darkness,, leaving all the hill side, with lts dread* fulheab of rulnsj slidlngibaokward! as> fast as it could 1 slide. ;>ltW v:i, Rush 1 crash 1 1 we'wentthrorigb the ’ moist ground,'and.titn tenderspltjespr mint about thq' ; ohpked'!and.Bt4|'nant; aprlngb-daah 1 splash 1 We wentambhg the rough stones and broken ice, and mush of snow and water In the brook; osslui | -lifste •eq sir. 77 T' ' 1 1 ... ... 'sl. 'll/-.. .• ■ linmx-Tf. yfannjiat si .9ogi os itOCudo PA. WEDN^paX ,?>ii ::,a! ' •Xi ,sofllq ofeiA-jd: al tigroggb) tangldd looteuid meftt, ll ftifd' bead to.feet BSWlthagU&flifl.- avn l-- i; to & JieQfcoß^H f U -h’lieve; now! ” ‘said Long. Efei’j ?* Andt rwLflft eo»W ; ye.do Jtojluiow£j?, ; i : - gokeiTanil punched the flje, -dry stlekrof hickory and beec&WDOd; thb ffie fur^ee^was/Mrly.choked- He.“wasn't afeard J ,, “but the light would b^'klndo* na girlfljf 1 And ib h@ ’made the chimney rpar again, till the -sparkles- ran -iipWasd lh blood-red streams* and- bits of flame, broke off and went wavering ri put npon the darkness llke wiDge of fire, : . r 'He' tried but could not brave it out,iahd after Aw'd or three tall* urea, from hiß pocket, ex amined the priming, cooked it? and then tbe shed again i. -saying,; aa he placed the weapon, pn_ .aahelf at-hie elbow, that he must not’ forget tbat' he had ladies to-perfect, even if he had ho fears for himself**- 1 - ‘‘ Why, did yon never tell about tbe ghost until now.?” Bose asked, taking it 1 for granted that, there wasja ghost. * “ 'Cause,” replied the young man, wiping the sweat-drops from bis fore head, i*il'm such a liar I knowed no body ’d b’lieve me, if I did -tell it I’ 1 “ fiuppose yon teli the .truth now,' and nothing but the truth,” said Hose; “ and in the hist place, was Al bert wicked, or why does hlsghost come back?” - .*? Wicked I ” eriedEfe. “No ;-he was the best boy that ever lived, I reckon; just turned of nineteen when he was plsoned, and as pretty as a girl! He used to sit at home and read books, and think to himself .like, while Thatcher was hunting with his dogs and gun.” And then he Said, as if the words were being wrung from him : 11 It was one of my 'tarnal big lies, for what I know, that was partly the cause of hiß death. I'd take aii the t’others onto my soul quicker, If I could only just be red of this'ere one.” v AS he eald'this, he cautiously pulled dowd the coverlet that ourtained the open front of the shed, and fairly hid himself away within Us folds. “ But. what made you tell suoh a dfcory?” “Story! Xord-a massy; it was a full growediie! But if I could tell you what made me tell it, I'dknpw a heap moreha what I do; it's enough for me to know that I’Ve been a doin' things no better eversenee.” And then Efe got back to the begin ning of tbe matter. But how the broth* era had happened to be, Uving alone in the cabin he could not tell; he was only a boy himself at the time, add hadn't much curiosity; buttbelie and the ghost —he Could tell us all about them And setting the axe up between his legs, and clutching the handle in his double ■hands, as if to get support for his weak ness, he. began : “It’s fifteen years ago now, I reckon, that I happened ope night to bo crossing this bit o’ woods;-1 was, in fact, (for I might as well tell the whole truth) on my way home from yourgov'nor’s barn, where I had been stealing apples; my hat was chuck fall of ’em, froze as hard as bullets, for the night was cold as Greenland—the oldest Bottlers couldn't remember when zero had been at such a pitch. My way didn't lead, in p'int o' directness, by Thatcher's Cabin ; but seeing a bright light at the window, I cut acrossed the hill,.and went in— partly from cur’osity, I reckon-anyhow I went; and everything I seen there that night is into my mind yet just as plain aa a pietar’. aUMtofe**'* e*»—. brown and shining, hung onto hooks agin’ the chimbly; the pewter-plates on the shelf in-the corner; the bimoh. of quails, tied by the legs and hung head downwards, by the winder; the big biturfc doff they called Wolf; tbe bed be hind the door, with the buffalo-hide onto it for a quilt; the China pitcher, with a kind of a cas’le painted onto one side of it, that hung on a peg in the wall; the dried punkin, hung in yaller strips like so many half-moons, along the j ice; the rabbit and coon-skins nail ed out fiat, aod looking like so many bats clinging to the wall—o,l remem ber every thing! ■ “Thatcher was making a bird trap, which he did by tying sticks into a sort of coop like, with leather strings, and Albert Bot in the chimbly-corner, on a low, wooden bench, readinginto a book that had part o’ the kiver tore off. He read by the fire-light, for Thatcher had the taller candle all to himself; and as he stooped, his long hair kep’ a failin’ down into his eyes, and the color of’em wasa kind of a blue-gray, like a flint. He was sickly like, and Thatcher tole me he hadn’t eat a mouthful aii that day; bo I give him some of my frozen apples, and tole him to whet his appe tite onto them. “He thanked me as though I had done him the biggest favor in the world, and sot a row of tem up along the hath, and when they thawed, eat them with as much relish as if they had been rea sons. Then he asked me where I got ’em, and said he wonld like to have some more. “ Then Itole him —Lord, how I wisht I hadn’t!—part o’ that ’ere big lie I was speakin' of. I Baid I got ’em of a widder-woman that lived, a piece.;be* y ond Dr. Stanfield's, and that she would sell a bushel of ’em fbr two bits. In the first place, ye see,'l wanted to play,4im a trick, and sent him tramping on a fool’s esran'd, ’cause there wasn't any sich winder-woman as I represented; and, In the next place, I wanted to bring in the name o' Stanfield, just for to see how he'd take it. for I had heard talk at home, and knowed it was thought among the neighbors, that he was in love with Joan Ramsey, Mrs. Stanfield’s young sister, wholived with ’em, and was as purty as a lily. I had no objection to the girl’ special, but the Stanfields was a proud, high-headed set, Charles Joseph into the bargain, and I was agin’ ’em all; and I kind o’ liked Albert, and didn't'want jhim to marry into ’em.” “I don’t know what you can say against Charles Joseph. I am sure,” in terposed Rose in my benalf; for all my heart strings were quivering, and I could not speak for myself. “I don’t say nothing agin’ him; but if you want to hear the story, let me tell it as it was, will ye? There’s bad blood into ’em—bad blood—thar's all I have to say ” Then he went on: ‘‘Mrs. Dr. Stanfield held her head above the best about here, I can tell you, them times, and was, iu fact, as ambitious ns Old Nick himself. Joan was a good deal younger, and a good deal better. I reckon, and she wob in love with Al bert, certain.; but folks Baid the match would never come off—not while Mrs. Stanfield had her bad wits to work with. She lost ’em afterward, and good enough for her! “ They was rich, the Stanfields was, themdays; and Albert Blagsden wasn’t worth no more than the shirt on his back; and that makes some agin’ a fel ler/ye know, with the, best o’Tfplks,; •Anyhow, they .fell in love—what ever that is—these two young Cretan, ana kept on meeting iu secret, after Mrs. Stanfield had refased Albert the house, and was only the more determin ed to have one another. “This'waa the state o’ things, as re port went, when I tole Alberfabont the widder-women and her apples, “ He didn’t seem -to mind my men tion, o' the Stanfields; so I thought I’d apply the pincers' agin and bring in the young woman hereelf; tol&him if he wanted to kill two birds with one.stone, he had better, go for the applet the next evening, for Juan was to be at the wid dex’s house '.then, as I had heard her say; accidental. His' face' flushed up now red as could be,, but after a minute he gatheredfcouragelike, andasked per ticular just Where the wldder-womau lived, and how. to go there. -He would try to find the place in a day or two, If itwasn’ttoocold. 1 • , Thatcher looked up from his trap; with a sly wink in' Hfeeye. ’ r “ ‘ I guess; you’ll fihd it to-morrow*, celdor no cold,’ skid he; and then he said, looking round the little room, 4 Shouldn't wphder .had'to put a wing onto thecas’!© before long.* “Then he laughed, hut Albert did n’ t. jlne. 7 ; -“.Directly I spoke up, &ndtol&whatX had Been, with my X.tapped ; on. .the Chtoal‘mtcilier hai2glhg ; i>y: the jamb, aijdsajdl, I seenJoan..screened •by thb' lhat rioha the • meader^extlhel>betoi' t ift T in]llrtbfa' fell: one day;nud hand’ ittosomebodywho 'was waiting; and whbpaiA forjttffth coin tbok t h ~ “Thatcher laughed aginj -hearty ’hb Oouia , be l “ and said-Xwas a knowing youth, orsomethihglike that. I hadn’t seen no such thing; but I had heard tell C; r yrr~v Tj -idl saUu'nco^ Jlitft when' jmd thattheyisP«Ltq g?t qaUfcrt f&BSr! mUk: battheifeitJ'madeapUw u-i^a “ Albert didaS feaa\Ms about him; »&, attaiajiUle, JtfMtfiP his book, laia ifctfdjrai.on.tnA stone hath beside toiivAna. 'iftt.'ft, J9SS M# 16 looking lito thejflMuj ",,; s l<> . “ Thatoher took bis gun o£fthehpo%» above the chimblydlfeoUyyaoidbbotvea it.to me, seeming mightyprondbof iJt, J thought.' There would-basnow before morning, by the-look -of the mooD, he said; Bnd he wouldmakeafatuObsdaj of It with that brown' intetresaof'Ms' and then heaaked-me if .I.wonld jjipo him, andhelp bimout,. M<Uhg;saC Al bert.and h|m difin'thnnbthe eamakind o’game. i r:r.r,l ..’..V: ‘ , “I said I’iibe on hand, bright .and airly,and-then Igotnpdogoawayt and as I opened thedoor;the wind slid in like angel o’ awful —and Albert looked up and Saldi-I bid a very cold waik to take; vyOuldn’ tXatay all night ? He wouldlie by tbe fLte. and give me his pillerl V'V “ Something kind o’, shot (hrpn&fc me when he said this, and I : liaa ifc.on the end o’ my tongue to telthim that t had been just fooling about the wldder and the apples; but lnstead o’ that, I dropt my eyesands'nbaked out.' ,J !l ' 11 “‘Then, I may depend on seeing yon in the momiDg?’ Thatcher'called after me. .. j - ,jy “ ‘As if yoiTcqaldn’t always. on m 6! ’ said ?I ; u and X -cbnnfeea pay bead down iota* mycoat aoHar> and. streaked it across the meadow-toward home. I “ ,J ‘ It was Bnowing some, a’ready, Bhre enongh, and before I reached our cow paster, the ground was., coated .pretty fairly; and thinking ofthq TabbiE-faffnt on hand, I forgot ail about mylie, axid went to bed in high splrite. . , “ The next morning the coldest spell that ever was knowed, sot in. There was just snow enough to track a rabbity but no more ; and all the Sky wis' like one great gray sheet ofiee. The/sun had no more warmth ln hiin than ayal ler dog, and I thbhght jny hahda .would a-froze while I toddled thO gattie: thtfy rattled like stlcks>it they chanced, to knock together, and fhejints cracked, and the biood;Btartedand froze up agin like blubbera. I said it wasn’t much eold, though, when our folks asked me; and as soon as Pd swaliowed my break' fast, cutand run; Thatcher wasmend ing his Shoes when I got to the cabin; and when this waadohe, he pht a lining of sheep-skin in ’em, and theh.he made me take inine' off and lined then* the same way; then hispowder-horn must be tinkered, the trap Daited, game bags mended up, and I'dohifckuoww’hat all, so that it was nigh -onto noonday when we BOt out—m 6 with the trap onto,my back, and him with his gun onto, his shoulder and his dogs between hia legs. “Albert stayed behind, as we ex pected ; he said may be he should go for the appleß that afternoon; but any how, he would be home before we was; and nave a rousing Are waiting for-us. The last I seen of him he was looking after us from the door, and his big dog ItckingthetfanfTthathung flo'wn beside * l< Come, Wolf! come!’called Thatch* er; but the dog sot himself pinmb up right, and stared at us just as if he said 'No;' and even when Albert forced him out of the house, he would not follow us. butonly crouched back and whined, ana looked up inthefaceof bis master, piti ful like. sick boy I Thatcher cried. ‘Well, let him go with you, if he likes* may be you’ll need some protection !” . . , “A famous day we made of it, sure enough—Thatcher and me together— and It was nine o’clock that night before we got outinto the open fields, on otto way home. The wind cut like a knife, and we trampt ahead, and didn’t speak for twenty minutes, I reckon. jTbe moon was full, the sky clear now I ,‘and we could see everything high about as well as If it had been day. We crossed this very stream, half a mile below.here, and I remember seeing where the ice had been cut for the qattle to drink; and fust as we riz the hill beyond, I noticed that there was no light at the cabin winder, and I said I was afeard Albert hadn’t kep’hispromise, andcom&home In time to have a fire for us; and till then I don’t think I had-thought of him all day. “‘I am afraid that girl’ (meaning Joan, I suppose) 'will play ,the deuce with him yet!’ Thatcher said—adding on the instant, in a changed and cheer ful tone, ‘O, there he Is now!’’ Then he called out, “Hurry up, you rascalf Where’s that great fire you promised to have blazing for us?’ “Albert neither paused nor made an* swer, though we saw him pTaih as we seen each other, and : heard his steps breaking throngh the frozen crust of the snow. Oar feet felt like stones tied to our ankles now; but we hurried, stump-i ing them along as fast as we could, and gaining on him considerably. “We were, in fact, within twenty, yards of him, when X cried otit, “Hello! how did you leave the widder-woman?’ and, ‘Have you got any apples?* '“He hasn’t been for the apples,? Thatcher said; 'he has b£en for milk. Don’t you see the pitcher in his hand ?’ “Just then Albertturned around, and we seen his fcice as plain aa could be;, and yet we couldn’t tell whether he yaa dead or alive, for he was whfteasa street; add didn't look noways natural; but for all that we knowed it Was him. '“Good heavens! the boy is sick! eried Thatcher; and he run for’ard to overtake him, but divil a bit did he get any nearer. At last he stopped, out o’ breath; and there Albert Was, just the same distance ahead. rJEIe was : a,little out of humor now. was, and said: ‘Very w4fl, hdy; we are not S‘q l anxious to jine ydu as* you seeni -to think: bo go yourowngaity And with that, he fell toa slowerpace; and then Albert turned and looked hack again, and his face was the pltifulest and pain-, fulest sight that ever sot.me all of a tremble; I Baid, though, 'l’ll ran' and catch up with him, for if he’s alive he’s mighty sick;’ and so I Bet-off lick ety-split!” “’Twasn’t no use—l couldn’t get a* nigh him! He didn’t seem :i t6 run, but he just kind o’glid and slidyihnd kep 1 - precisely the.. same .distance. boforei us. At last I stopped, my legs fairr iy shaking under me; and'says T , to Thatcher when he come hp, uays’l*: 1 ‘ That ’ere thing is no mom Albert than I am. It’s Albert’s ghost, and the boy has had foul ; play/somehow.or Mother,’; “ 'Now don’tyon be helping him out! withiiis tricks,’ said Thatcher. 4 Don’t yoU see the pitcher? Ghosts don’t carry' pitchers, that ever I heard of.’’ 1 “ I still persiated that it was.a ghost., “'Nonsense!' said Thatehpr. ; ‘Don’t; you hear him drumming oh theTpitchl - That’s an old hablt of his.’ ~ ' ' “ I listened, and did hear the dmal ming; but I said then, and saytiiow* wasn’t like .any. sound I. evericard afore; ow of a sound. ’ “Wolfwas trotting l right al<mg-be side him, and itseemedtome hedooked like a shadder, too;. ElrstX called iiimp and then I whistled gild right along over the snow, never turning his head. Then odf dogs,;they, slunk back and crouched tilT theft bef-j lles-fairly drug on theground.’'l never Been the like., . : i » a ! odl “ 'Come! —you,have .succeeded, in' frightening the'dogsfat fhymtep'eityiii Tnatcher: ' bo Btojrand’teli da hhw'Voft' have prospered. Has' toother; Btanneld relented, say.?’ on -w ;hj “At that name, there was sn.ch.ai dreads ful moan name bach to. ns .as yon nevpr heard, and then the thing,' or sKadcUr,. or lVwaa“ iregSn 1 th w'avSFana ’ stagger, andJußttherC where thehtiern, bush is,it fell flat:onto,-the gnoWrdndi we Wjent j iight along j witbiin. a > fe,w foot, of.it, anu.heard the dramming .on. the pitcher, and theidreadfdrm6arui,‘'ahd seed therddg iatid ‘as' plain as could be, .veJ “ ‘ He win soon give it up now! ’ said Thatcher* laughing* and knoekisgthe clods, from our beelsi we opened *he . door.andjwentini.Thaflrewassjnol-. ; dering low on the heatb**and;th.e. rpotoi was too dark td'see [any thing at, firsts but there.was the sametooens thatlhfi shsdder badwadeoutsider -isis-s “Wepnnohed np.theembars, andalh era, end begantoumblingi and,whining as if he wes telUngAhe that evCrwa*- vTi'biO " ol enolsolh “I raked open the uoalsHQAK,iawifl ; throwed some chips that was lying in the comer Into the red heap, and in a '•T* , '£r.:*r : rv yr-T ' -tilUllUZ.* lr n rIVIAAOdi VIjV SfD .:C;, & :l 1869;: ;s aras Sft r ♦ • ■ T-._ - ■ ■ <T 1 sth'e> bh&elflißeamppanatherb hung tifeflhißajflicheEoiuußpegatEfci’ WtoSllkelis ffthey : was* loose lb' their goCketr.-eiiwßjitißtraighttot&aWiridet' ItokLthaenaw, and Wolf beside him. anq lJcßuMn*t tell which nf ’em was fh'e’ gbaSadra P : We llftexJ bim Tip’ and put tbeiwb piUare under hfs be cUdn/t-uotioe nor seam to knaw .ah, ihough Thatcher was calling him ell the whlla by bis naiue, andaatlDghlm.lf he cohmh’t speak': 4 w “ 7 .'! 1 f l*!‘ Oh.i'tny BMlhfer !-tny good lHtle brotheri’he Woulicry, again and again; Jhe is froren; to;death, .and it is all: my ffoisl.",! might have hnowed. better than to let hUrpgo/sd'slckly,'aha the day : s6'bitter cold:- He. will agaib., 'O, my brother ; my brother. -I have killed him !’ ~.:i . “Them ha wonld fall to coa?:ipg, as though He h‘ad been a eick baby, ana-in the end.' break down and ory llke a woman.' . heart was, fit to-break whe»-;T seen him, :and more than all when I heard him: blame himself; and, if I coold only have had the manlinees to speak onh J d think I conld have been comparatively happy; bnt as It was, the gates <if bell seemed to be resting on me, add crashing thrOnghand through me. “ The room' was cold as it cduTd be, for the winds whistled through the chinks, between tbe logs; and hoping ho would opjne to tf we could only get him warm,T buxieda greatstone in the bed of cdals; and Thatcher wpapt it up ln' his waistcoat and laid It against the Cold .feet; , bnt they-was past being warmedagln In ..this world. Then we tot the .whisky flask and ; poured a few ropa Ink spoon, and when he had swallowed It his eyes kind o’ settled themselves; ’ and bis month stopped trembllni fbr a little spell, and he made % slgn that he wanted more air. hiated ,np the winder,, and there be wad a lying in the snow i net tbe toe as be was on the bed, ana I could hear him dramhiin’ on the pitcher, though there: it hang right afore me agin the chimbly. “ 1 Alore a.r—more air,’ said he, un der breath; and, I looked round quick, ahd seen he was a-dyln’. 'Oh, Albert!’ skid 1., I Wanted tosay, ‘Forgive me!’ hot somethin’- hild me back, and l didn’t say it. . “.All at once tbe door .was dashed open. and In rushed Joan Bamsey. “'lb He alive yet— iß He alive?’ she cried; and, before we could give answer. She . was, leaning over the pillar and had him ut her arms, never minding us,and she seemed as much dead as him —so pale and terror-struck—for a time; but when he oeased throwing his arms about and began to loot at her so wlsbful, she beseeched Thatcher to fetch the doctor, 1 but’ not :Dr. Stanfield,’ she cried; ‘ oh, not him 1’ “Glad enough todo anything, ! ofler -6(1 to go; bnt Albert signed us not to bring any doctor. . It oouldn’t do him any good, he said; and then be whis pered something to Joan that set her tumblin' like a leaf. ‘“Then let me die, too! let me die, t00,.’ she oried, wringin’ her hands to gether. “ ‘You will sooq come,’ he said, smil ing; 'and we shall be together in that beautiful country where nothing can part us any more.’ And then he pull* ed her close to her and whispered agio, bat Jr c&tched a word, now and then, enough to Bhow that he was askin’ her to keep something to herself. At last, he said, Bpeakin, quite aloud, and witn Is thelast favor I shall ever ask : do you promise ?’ If ‘God help me! I am in an awful StritT ‘ sobbed Jtian; and then, see ing the wishful eyes growin* fairly fast to ilers, she answered, 'Yes, I promise. l "His hand nestled in hers, and Bhe held him close, as if he had been a baby, her tears droppin’ like rain on his face, and ner long, bright hair seemin’ Jnst of itself to find his neck, and to fall ail round him, as. if to keep back the ene my,'now so close. " I never seen suchapurty sight; but iteeemed to me as if it was sacred like. arid went away, and, leanln’ my beau agin’-tbe: jamb, cried like a good feller. Andyefc, what I had heard him say lusted up them gates that had been a,crushing into me. I didn’t know wliy/hut I didn’t feel so awful guilty, iM 'He breathed easier now, and his pulse eame so reg’lar that we began al most to hope, and Thatcher and me went intothedoor-yardtoseeifwecould make out w~bat sort of thing was a lyin’ there in the snow; and, U you believe it, there Wasn’t nothin’ there—not even a ahadder. The snow lay all smooth and white where we had seen the thing,and there wasn’t so much as the print of a baby’s foot in it. I believed then, and I believe now, that Thatcher knowed we had seen a ghost, for be shook his head, saying there wasn’t no hope, and went right into the house. " Joafl lifted her Unger—he wasgoing to sleep ; a minute, and he was asleep, sure enough, past all mortal waking. "Death had slid under them bright locks somehow, and chilled him clean to death; but I don’t, for the life of me, see how he could do It. " Thatcher couldn’t bear to have him took away from him; and so heww burled in the door-yard—the grave-dig gers selectin’, by chance, the very spot where we had seen the strange Aggers ailyld’ in the snow. “ Many a time I’ve seen Wolf watch ih’ by the grave, and couldn’t tell whether it was him, or whether it was the t’other thing t. “But to finish my story. Joan Ram sey died within ayear, of a broken heart folks the proud Bister 1 : Mrs. Stanfield, who had been a-getitm car’usfor a good spell, went clean Crazy soon after : and Charles Joseph went off 'tb coilegb ptetty soon; so there w : as a I general breaking lip. The old Doctor j lost practice,--got down-hearted, and leasingtbe place, went away, somesaid, to.travel la Africa; but I reckon.no* body knowed where he went. Anyhow, nope of’em'a ever been seen since, but the hopeful Charles! I say hopeful, be cause, there ain’t no doubt into my mind but that he helped his wicked old mother to pison Albert Blagsden. It was never talked open much 1 the evi dence agin’ her bsm’confined chiefly to the Doctor’s hired man—a feller that drinkefi. some, and.wasn’t always the trustwflrthiest." ; ' 1 "Tfjff name was Rlohatd Scofield— was called. He had good, hard sense whehhe w&eh’Viniliquor;-and I, for one,allowed he knowed what he was talkin’ about, when Albert’s deatb-was In questions Anyhow, he told one story stiady, drank or sdber, and this Was the waylt•rufi’.^rthe amount of it r •* "Hewashead man like.oh the Stan-i field place; andused to drive Mrs, Stan-' field’s carriage sometimes, When the. Doctorwasoff professional; and it hap j pened that he had. been< driving some*: I ’erea on the hay Albert went for the I apples. -They were just turnin' in at the homo he- used to say—When* they Saw Albert goin* by, knd lookin’ almost frozen; ana; that, greatly to his surmise—for he knew how she hated, the boy—Mrs. Stanfield called to him* in a very tender way, tocomeinaud get warm. He? looked surprised, and hesi tated at'first;. but‘flhe smd so much, and said it in sosweet a.way, that-he finally tookitheinvitatidniandwentih—hdpin T ,‘ nodoubtfinhisheart/toßeeJoan. when hacome to the Are, hß..anffeied dread fully r for JaiSf.flngera.were; nearly frozen stiff], out Stanfield, made as if he was'frozen 1 to r death, and' oallih’ Ohdiiea, in one of hie 1 daredevil humore that day,gave him the him. to fetch her a small, greenish bottle: he'WOTld fin'd U[ poa-j talried somethin’ thkf would begood for thpirpobr-yeungifTiand.r.;; ,c- ,■■■>• yYfibprlett Joseph waan’tmUch given to; m^ndln^Ws;mother ;• but act this : occp-,. elani'e'rwtotjairjJght,ah4, did heij bra-; uß what-toe stuff rattier'deiilrea fo ex-; pemiWiitr^Mlxid^ldon f feaay be knowed the : bottlej bemayhave l thcrnghpitwakSamaritanwlne, for any tMrigplktttw; but Iknovrthis, thathtr the*: atbiygnm; ing©tieYil,i& went aa< mUclpagin! bins mother; and" I kuowutbetfi Siauficlde; baofcas tfstyfto tchowsdvgl-alfc and they hare. gbtbadbl6o<riflto i Wl “ hj-wj gj*. A>ny howp Mra( Stanfield-poured l staff oat of the bottie ln fr Dlck'iold—and tfrafci sfee Ikaoweid of nothin’- else - thafct out&s if liewfiffftirfconfc 1 and as if she was doin’ every thing pbi?' alble to save him. Now, it wasn’t thought by Blok that Albert was any- iX dlio wfceih te zwalleied themMWiiei-snd l then bo eeebJlUegir wasja.golo.bad with, him, tte ate»rf l Jlft l t9W; i for tbillie hfeardhlmsay toJOahthathe'waa sore as-to daeJp'&f! A&Achrf wasn't frbz •eh.’f andaK?oralltEe\re3t, heshauldnot -mtndtf it w»a onlyJbe.means ofmakip 1! aU friends onee more., ..-■. .■> ,v ““Dldk’saidthStMrs. Stanfield fairly groWed ! bltiek -lri the- face, pourin' tie. J»3t. drops of the: staffed tor thebottle with, a,will,'and almost jfarcin’.AU)ett to a waller ’pm,. Bhe said it would mate him Bleep ■ that'he might shlyer a spell at first, hut that 1 when‘ho comer out of it all ha would hejustas well as ever. : .“Andiisqre enough,: heidid begin Jo 1 shiver and'lremhlea’moataasoon as he had swalleredthe last drops; arid then Mrs. Stanfield" paid the mediclnewas workin’. beautiful,:andtordered Dick, to get-AJbert into the:Carriage, and-drive him homensfastsh possible. ‘ He must go Jo -belli* she said,; ‘ and never stir till Ibe-next mornin'.’ 3 ■ “ Dick,: of coureef, ■as he' was dt reeted;-but Albert‘gotworse aU-the dray home, and wa3 soon past apeakinj ao, when he hadcarriedhimlnto thehouse and tumbled ,bim on the bed, he went baok aa fast, as be could 1 go, and told Joan that he believed the worst would come toi the worst -before another sun was up. . ■ , “ Dick tole," togjlhat when hi made the fire hbxtmoruin’ he found tlje green bottle all Crushed' np, as if somebody had sot their foot onto it; and lie al ways tole that he believed It hild rank plaoh, and that Albert come to his end In no regular way. : .. “Folks ussd to whisper these dark hints froin one to another; but they wasn't paid respect to, because Dick was so much 1 give to liquor, and because the Stanfields stood high, may be. “He used to s»y he wouldn’t like to have Mrs. Stanfield's apron-string round his neck, if sh,e was an eqlmy-qf his’n; thatshe was mighty oiever- to him, but that there.waa preoioua good reason fordtl—thatif he was a mind to tell all- he kdowed to Thatcher Blags den, she mlghti'fierhnps, swing higher than her own yet! Thatcher never thoflght anything wrong, though; and ndbody had the heart to put ana pLqlon Into his head. ..." Then the Stan fields. fell right away -with - suoh trouble—Joan dying, you see; DP old. woman losin’. : her mind; . and the" Doctor, whom every one liked; failin' out o’ practice; and gettin’ down In the mouth generally—that the sUrmisesTvas hushed np and left 'to die out. But there was lots o’ things float in’ about them ttlmes; I' forget Jem half. It wss tpld, I know, that Joan Ram'sey refused to have her Bister come into her dyin’ room, and there was them that thought she wasn’t out of her head, nurther 1 And then, after her death, it was give out that it was grief that was preyin’on the mind of Mrs. Stanfield; but there was them thatßaid it was memory I Anyhow, she got sq bad before long that she had to be took loan asylum; and th'old Doctor, all broke up in parse and sperit, went off, and he was not heard of for a good many years. “ And, by the way, Dick Scofield went off, too, all of a sudden ; and the next thing that was knowed of hitn, he was the owner of a plantation down the river somewheres, and It was hinted round that the place was bought with hushmoney. “But one thing I forgot. .There was a Chinabowldng up close by Thatcher’s Cabin, one day, by some fellers that happened to be - quarryln’ there -for gtoner .and. Dick always hild that that wafflD6-very uuwt win uau « u « y»ovu into it! But that went agin’ his story more'n for it —how it got there was the question, However It was, I seen the bOWI myself, and remember It-had some blue Aggers onto one side of it. I don’t know what they was, now ; but, anyhow! don’t like the looks of ’em. Well, too evenin’, when Albert had been dead about three months, I hap pened to Bee, as I was drivin’ the Cows home, Thatcher Blagsden dlggln’ jnst baok o' the cabin. There was a kind of mystery, after Beein’ them shadders there, that always drawedmy eyes that way; so I dumb onto a stump and looked sharp, and directly I seen some thin’ hoverin’ about, him that looked like a woman; so I cat across the field and dumb into the fork of the mulber ry that used to stand In the gully Just above tbe spring. I thought may be he was takin’ Albert up, and If he was, I was bound for to Bee him 1 But no 1 he was only plantin’- out a brier-bush, at the head of his grave, and the crea tur that. I had seen hoverin’ abont waa Joan Ramsey; and I knew that -she had brought the brier-bush, 'cause they only growed in one place in the neigh borhood, and that was In Dr. Stan field’s hedge. That was abont the last time Joan ever went abroad, I reokon ; anyhow, I never seen her after that, I sot in the crotch o’ the tree long after she went away,' hbpln,’ Thatcher would see me and call' to me; or conle where X was; but he didn’t do nnther one, : but just come round to the cabin door, and seemed to kind o’ fall down onto tbe step. Then he sot the grnbbin’-hoe up between his legs, and leanln’ his head unto it, appeared like he was thinking to himself. “If he seen me he didn’t let on; any how, he was kind o’ stern, and kep’ to himself, and didn’t seem to want to see folks, after Albert’s death. He didn’t hunt no more, but give away his dogs, all but Wolf; (I got one of ’em, worth ten dollars, too I) and just left his gun on the hooks over the ohimbly till It rusted. Imightjustaswell’ahadthat, but somehow, most fellers are careful abont what they give away, even in the Bhailder of the deepest affliction. - - He uBedto lie sometimes, half a day- at a time, on-; the grass by the grave-side, with Wolf close, by, and ,his arm round, his neck; may be—for ho seemed to think more 'o that dog than be did of any; human critter —and whenever you, seen one you seen t’other. “ I used to heat hints about the cabin being haunted, but it was always talk ed in a smothered way like, and then I was a’moet sure to be sent out o’ .the; room; youngsters always are jou know when visitors reach the interesting p’lnt 6’ things. ;. - “Well, as I said afore, Thatoher didn't seem .to see me, but kep’ stiddy in, one spot, his head restin’ on the griibbin’ hoe, and Wolf orouchln’ at his Feet. 1 : “-‘Hello the house!’ I called, but neither 1 of lent stirred; and so I drop! from the crotch, to the ground,and took, to my heels: and-whon I got to the hi(i-top I looked hack," and there they was jret--uhaster and dog—just as still; as two stones. “ I never seen Thatoher no more; he moved away party soon, bat where, no body ever knowea. A' post and rail fence waa found round the grave; one d»y,,the cobip-door ehained up, andjthe, fire out in the chimblv—but, bark 1 d6h’£ you hear somethin'?” And adz ing the pistol at his elbow, Long- Efe pushed aside tbe curtain, and peered; out. .-- .. . ! : -1 " . .:■ , , A, footstep was now distinctly heard,, coming down the slope, and, the next moment the flaring light of the furnace showed us tbe cheerful, ruddy, face wet were so anxious to see—that of our fa ther, to be sure. , .... i ' In answer to our inquiries aa to what had detained him, he told us. that a' crazy old woman had come straying into Jbe house an hour or: two. past, frightening the younger children, so that he could not come, away and.leave her there, but had been' obligedtofind herrlodglDg at 1 the village tivern. v- And; indeed, ahehad looked, fright ful enough,' bc.Bald— her dress towand bedraggled, bp handsand face scratched, and bleeding,'and her drenched gray hairsalf tangled with Briefs. ° T: ' At this point, .Efe Jbent down and whispered in my ear in a manner that .was meant to express' much-.Sorrowfiil tenderness:- “Charles,-Joseph's crazy old mother cameback again, no doubt;: and it was, her-you seen at Albeit!®, grave to-night. Dick’s'stogy must have , been all true,- that’s a fact; yes,;it most': of!” : 'Mi True, or false, I didn’t goto thbolng ing -sohool,-as I told -you- before; 1 and Charley was tooproud to seek me out; and Well, -I;wonder if he ever married?. HsnurlairoKor'oiSah, A correspondent of the Journal, of JgricuUuTe.sayt he finds his. day loam ground increased; .more,in nessbytha.useof eight bushels of "salt: to one buahel'of plaster to ihe acre than: from the appllofiionof'atilqMamafihre. Otherh hive heenequally he'n'efttted'by the application. Perhaps 'a 3 jhdioious mixture of both would secure the best results. •ni io abioV/' t-.i» ; hn ~1, -I-,- . -,,:.l ,fa'r-T. V' >■■ IDlixs utfou;; Uov? ei *!d xi 'f k * ! pTORY; ?: ' a ; 1 .My la Hunt. t am’ a! *Qrove* ni 3iKlT HVe miles away upbhfhe .Wtttdrrt prairie.-.Thers-waßnU a when \famoved; there* my wife .andf'and now weJiavep’t many, neigh- ‘ boW;; though' ‘thoaS~We 'have Are 1 gopd HOn® day, about temyeara lwent of cattle—fine creatures as I ever ) s&w. I was to buy some dry goods and grace* trie* before*! canafe backhand above hll, « dolt for opr ybufigest Dolly;'she bad ■ufsver ba4 ; astoradoU.df her own, only j^herag_babie^.berjnQtbexirigdeber. ' Dolly could talr of nothing blse, and Weht ao’wh to tfcrveiygate to calbafter me to ablgone." Nobody buta; parent can understand .bow-full my mind was of that.-toy,.aDd liQWr when the cattle .‘were sold, ithe first, thing, I hurried off to bey Dolly’s doll. I found a large onej WithAyea that-would open and shut when you: pulled a wire, and had it wrapped up Jn a paper and tuck* ed it under my arm; while I had the parcels of calico aha delaine and tea and sugar put up: Then; late as it Was, T startedfor home. Itmightrhaye been more prudent-to stay until morning, bat I feit anxious to get baok, and eager to hear Dolly’s prattle about her doll, I was mounted on a steady**goihg old horse of mine, and pretty well loaded. Night set in before. I was a mile from town, and settled down dark na pitch white I was in the middle of the dark* est bit of road I know of. I could have felt my way, though I remembered it so well, and it was almost that when the storm that bad been brewing, broke* and pelted the rain in torrents, five miles, or may be, six, from home yet, too. . 11 I rode onlas fast as I could, but all of a sudden.l, heard a little cry like a child’s voice. X stopped short and lis tened—X heard it again. X called and itAnswered. 1 I comdn’tASek thing ; all was dark as pitch. I got down ahd felt about in the grass—called agalnt.and again answered. Then I began to wonder. I’m nottimid.but t was known to be a drover and to have money about me. It might be. a trap, to catch me unawares and rob and murder me. I am. not superstitious—not very ; but how .could a real-child be out on the fTalrie in speh anlght,atsuch an hour? t might be more than human. The bit of coward that hides itself In most men showed itself to me then, an d I was half inclined to run away, but once more that cry, and said I: “ If any man’s child, is Anthony Hunt Is not the man to let 1C die." : I searched again. At last I bethought me of a hollow under the hill, and groped that way. Sure enough, I found a little dripping thing that moaned and sobbed as I took it in my arms. I called my horse, and the beast came to me, and I mounted, and tufcked the little soaked thifag under my coat as well as I could, promising to take it home to mammy. It seemed tired to death, and pretty Boon cried itself to sleep against my bosom. . It had slept there over an hour when I saw my own windows. There were lights in them, and I supposed my wife had lit them for my sake, but when I got into the door-yard I saw something was the matter, and stood still with a dead fear of heart five minutes before I could lift the latch. At. last 1 did it. and saw the room full of neighbors, and my wife amidst them weeping: When she saw me she hid her face.— “Oh don’t tell him,” she said, ‘fit will am iixuii ' “What Is it neighbor?" ' And one said, “Nothing now, I hope — l what’s that in yourarms ?7 “A poor, lost child," said 1. “I found it on the road. Take it, will you, I’ve turned faint,’.’ and,l lifted the sleeping thing and saw the lace of my own child, Hy own Dolly. It was my darling, and none other, that I had picked up upon the drenched road. “My little child had wandered out to meet “daddy” and the doll, while her mother was at work, and whom. they were lamenting as one dead. I thank ed Heaven on ’"" f knees before them all. It is not m hof a story neigh bors, but 1 think of it often in the nights, and wonder how 1 could bear to. live now if I had not stopped when I heard the cry for help on the road, the little baby cry, hardly louder than a squirrel's chirp. That’s Dolly yonder with her mother in the meadow, a girl worth saving I think (but then I’m. her father, and partial, may be) —the prettest and sweet thing this side of the Mississippi. TDe One Day In Seven. The one day in Beven is the day of rest. And the question rises—what is rest? If only sleep or inactivity, that want Is already provided for. Nearly a third of our time is thus Bpent; more than a third with most people In sleep and refreshment. The seventh day is in addition to all this, and its observ ance is probably the oldest customer in the world. The Hebrews In their early history are referred to as men who al ready recognized the Sabbath or rest of the seventh day. Its observance is en joined upon them, as the pontlnuation of an old Institution, not the commence mentofanew. The day of rest Is in 'tended for the relief of our powers in their activity. In a word, it is repose by (the change of mental occupation, not the cessation of all employment. The Christian, and the good man of every faith; finds rest ty release from the dally cares,of theworking day world, and tne turning of the mind and thoughts in a different direction from the daily rou tine. The person who is interested in the rellgiouß and benevolent employ-. .men ta proper to the first day of the week, ■may be as much occupied and engaged on that day as on aoy other, ana still rise refreshed upon the second day, feel ing that he has enjoyed'an interval of repose. ... The repose of Sunday is an escape from the monotony of our daily lives, and in the. consciousness that it Is not only a privilege but a duty on that day to aismisS alt business and all mercena ry cate for the morrow. He who mu demands thejday, and duly values; it, ; rises above the sordid. conditions and requirements of labor. He Is% prince for one day. He is indeed, better than a prince. He is a man relieved by the merciful goodness of the Creator from the sentence, “By thp sweat of thy brow sbalt thou eatbpead.” TheBdn day rtstls the riebest rewardjof labor; the best and most certain wages of in dustry to those who. appreciate the the privilege and., know how to improve iC The , rest of Sun day - Is the 'comfort of, hope. The niah. who thinks and who believes for gets bis mortality, and rejoices In the lighVof the promise o{ an undying life. He is ennobled by manumission from the-ordinary conditions of existence, and earrieswith hlm from his Sunday rest new strength for week day struggle. If the Sunday rest were deigned to be ah addition of one seventh more-to'the third'of the ‘tlmr which nature exacta : for physical recuperation,* we might dispense with thesdtt on that day—as too many idq, by dosing away its hours. [But Slunday. is the day for rest for the live mfin, and he who Bleeps Is dead for thetime- Sunday is a cheerful, property spent, on ennobling, strength ening day, and bo whowouldeecularize : it would rob os of jour best inheritance. The Onondaga Giant.' The Onondaga petrified turns but to be 'only arudely sculptured statue, thb wort: of a Canadian stonecutter possessed with the mania that be was a second Mi-- chael Angelo, and attempting to embody bir ideal of StV Psnl ; in-sandstone.' H© worked iu.seoret, and the fruit of hlaLabors. waiiwiy revealed on hb>-deathbed.taa,frl*; low badrepderedhim k'U?d ofificea during;his sickngg?., The confidant. of making useoftbie statue To a hoax on hJa nelghbofs',. which ■hw‘did Il*Ht;;Beemrl 1 l *Ht; ; 8eemr l ! jWith 'complete success. *H© buried it In then discovered It at the'proper time and inthe proper, manner to create the Impres- Bion that it was a great Curiosity, 'i. l-.-rjii gprhce Up. - . ' If you get a moment tospare, spruce up; put tEfargate'on’ite Tilnge?; put a ifttlepalntdiithe picket fenoayou bnllt last 1 year; trtin up about the.dooi-yard; make’Hooey afndtrivltlng. ■-.Bamt-Bay l you can’t find time to attead to .these. thltlgi. : uTfidfiot »,‘ybd h'ave'nd right to be STovinly. Your wlfe and children will be happier, your farm will Bellfob more money in thd market,: be worth more t(>yott' , at : h'6me, lf you de vote an odd nonr how and then to sprucing np. cH | jDfit'U ; suSS&c&^i! •" TiW) QpnaLU. ADVinrnroro 7-cgnt« * liao tar thy grat, and 4 lniec* r : - 3 l .*£«■: fl j i.'i)~C3 ; rwaia; i P"” < -Infeiidini ■*nn«n i fiW[‘*id H‘'.-.31*103 . . Exaentojn'..otloM. iS> .-Aitmß»i«ti«tone troupe—-.........-.. M» - ' ■ > ( . * V? 1 * 1 - Une *> r Bit; ©RA2JT TAM TO TABS. ;p£iiii7iH r.SiW Htm front Lading Btflaih Uetb Paper. ’'Fram/the CiDclimaU fecmtrieTcittl cfetiil. General Grantaeamed to be a necessity to the Repnblioari pkrty when he was uqaril jnouiJy nominated by [the .representatives of tbatj party.in Convention assembled for th& Presidency. Ho could have gotalonfe jvery well as General - ComojajjdtDg tbp Armies,'but the party could nofgetulong well wiihodtblmla thePraald'ehllal cam paign. . Upon becoming President, the Gen eral seems to*hare had a fuir'aod’ clear appreciationof thoiudeoeridencft .ot bis position. So ho e made up the Cabinet, ,not of distinguished Republican poHtlolsns, but of bis personal friends. They , were-all rather Republicans tban‘otherW»ee“ but the 'Cabinet was [fearfully:.and. .Wonderfully tnado. The charge .has been made that Cabinetappblbtmetfts occurred becausethe gentlemen appolntedbadmadp presenter to G%boral Grant. 'We'did not believe those preamts bad iriy'influenoe'wlth the Presi dent. They ought to have bad an .Influence and it should have prevented the appoint ments. It happened tbat several among the valued personal ;friends of the President gave him money,, and that ha, careless and Indifferentas to that, placed them, high In offloe. Notonlylnregard to bis Cabinet, but throughout the country,'the President displayed tho vividness of bis remem brance and the keenness of his gratitude to bia,.personal-friends. When we come to count.np tho-relativeshe baa appointed to office, they .are not very numerous. But he has appointed personal friends and the friendsor friends and thefavorites of relatives to a degree that is notercditable to hissagap xly as a maii of the people. In hla announce ment that he did not intend to have a policy in conflict with tbq will of the people he seems' tphave been entirely .sincere, His conduct in office has given testimony of the strongest kind to that effect Whatever may have been:bis shortcomings, he has not b<Jsti*burderiod with a polloy. So easy Is hebn tbadotlesbfbls office that he has abundant leisure, Wblob be spends at the seashore and on the mountains, r BOMB TTiAIN* TALK. Somematters, however, seem to demand the.Berlons attention of the ;Pretldent* ■ He has fust received a load warning of the perils by friends—the. dangers of family In 1 flnenoeb-rand the exceeding great hazard of familiarity with New York sharpers;:.ls this part of the country the influence of the has been absurd and in jurious. In New. York, we find a Mr. Cor bin, Itnown long ago in the Washington lobby aria In Wall street ak a shrewd end aoßcropuTons operator, who, a few months since, assumed the position of broiher«ln< law or the President, and -began presently to speculate* in that relationship. It was his stock-in-trade. It gave him lamlllarity with Gouldand Fisk, the most übtoriona of the Wall street gamblers. He assumed to be able to control appointments In New York. There: U toomuob reason-to-behCve that he did control some of them—perhaps that of Gen. Butterfield among others. When the President passed lb rough New York, as be was in the habit Of doing on his excursions, he was the gnest of bis brotber-in law ; and this was entirely nat ural and proper, for Mrs. Corbin is*his sister, who is mostllke him, and who has more- influence over him than any other memberof his family. This was Covington gossip before she was married, and her in fluence was felt here In important appoint ments previous to that event. VIiOUOHINQ WITH A ÜBIFBri. ' Falling to get bia brother-in-law criirimU** ted in a Wall street speculation, .Corbin's next proceeding would, of course, be to in fluence Mrs. Grant-to alloVblm to make a little money for her. If the President and bis wife dabbled a little In stocks and gold at the BUggedtion and under the direction of their broths? in law with a brown stone front residence, evidently they wereptes ently apprised tbat the transaution was not so distinguished by innocence as It bad been represented to them by their brilliant and persuasive relative. SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. - Meesengera to- Washington, PennsT I"** 1 "** nla, and arguments: '*oula,, and tjrj.fiw luak, meant somethiug more thanthat any association of the Pres ident and his family in Wall street speca latfonsjwas a simple, ordinary business affair. If the President was in, he took care to get out, and is quite possible that the elaborate effort to use him, hod its influ ence in causing the peremtory order that he gave, as be says in the-Bonnor letter, for the sale of gold. AND BOUTWBLL TOO. While tho bulls were at work with tha President, the bears seem to have had tbe Secretary of the Treasury in hand, and gave him a floe dinner with tbe view of plying him with overwhelming arguments why he should sell gold and crush oat the rascals. TheseLWere reformers In the sane sense that the late reformers In HamiU ton County were so. They were quite os wicked as Flak' and Gould, Corbin or But terfield. They were in another ring, that was all- Their game was to steal as bears Instead of os bulls. Now we hope that in all this the Presi dent will learn one useful lasson. It is in brief: that not only is govern ment played oat In monarchies, bat that fathiiy influence will not serve any good purpose with a Chief Magistrate; that in bis position all families of honest people must be on the same footing; that the Grants are not in the least better than other folks because he is President, but are raUter to be discriminated against; that bis per sonal friends most be jadged by their fit ness rather than-their friendship. If he can learn this leason speedily, and give evidence of his increase of knowledge, the people will be swift to forgive the errors although committed; but If he remains In this particular a dull scholar, the,degree, of popular impatience that he must encounter mag at least surprise him a good deal. Tbe Tyranny of Politics. Mr. Henry L.Dawes was for several years at the head Of the House Committee, on Elections. ■ He knows, therefore, all the coarse of proceedings In contested eleotioa cases. Apparently, the character of these proceedings does not please him. He baß taken occasion to give his views upon this subject to the oonotry by yesterday contri buting to the American Social Science As sociation, now In session, in this city, a paper; “On Procedure in Contested Elec tion Cases.” 'ln this matter it is evident that Mr. Dawea speaks as an authority, we may say as an' expert. As a contributor, too, to the deliberations or such an Asso ciation, it is plain that he.would drop the partisan and become the publicist. He has done so, and has enabled the .country to, peroelye the working of onr polities in a new anddeplorahleiisht. j For the possible information of some of our readers we will state that when Con gress meets, the Committee ODlEleotlons iu : the House is appointed, like all other oom-. mittees,.wUh a preponderating' proportion ofitlie majority pattyj This year'ft com prises eight, of whom six kre .Republicans and two Democrats. Thererosea to be a code of law which governed this Committee The House, however, dispenses with it at pleasure, by resolfUlom The resalt of this reckless action Mr. Dawes states as follows; “All traces of a judicial character la that© proaredlngs are fast fading away r and the precedents are losing, all sanction., .. JSaoh i case is oomlng to be a mare partisan strag* gl©. ; At the dictate of party majorities the 1 Committee' l mist •fight ■ not fbllov, the latV : and the evidence, and he will best meet the; expectations ttf Dis appointment who can put upon Ihe : becord tne best reasons 1 for 1 the ooprse thus pursued. Instead of treat*. Jog to the merits of thelrrespecUvd;caMo,,.* the principal dependence of DOth.pajrtles is upon their private interest among as, and 1 it is scandalpusly notorious that weare as. earnestlycanvassed to attend in favor of the opposite side as if we were wholly self elective; and nol bonnd to act by the prim clples of Justice, but by the discretionary impulse of our own inclinations; nay, it fs well known that In every contested election case many members in -this House, who are ultimately to judge In a kind oi Judicial ; capacity between the competitors,, enlist themselves as parties in the contention, and take uptfn themselves the partial manage-. mentof the very business upon which they should determine with the strictest impar tiality.” ; . ' In other words, Republicans are 1 bluntly Instructed to ooodtlnaH Repnbllcsns'wbo choose topontest the election of their com petitors. The effect of this UDScropolona partlsaushlp has been to multiply contests on the pretexts. Kprimafa* eie .case is not made ohtln many Instanoes. . Within eight years past there have, heen Sixty elections of Congressmen contested. The casetf or twenty more now lie upon the table of the Committee. Honorable Repub* . pcans.laat winter, in Washington, protest ed to ns,’ with aDgry expletives, that-the ‘ V6te! which unseated Hon. Mr Swllxier/br' Missouri, and Hon. Henry D. Foster/of ' Pennsylvania, patting Hon.; Mr. Anaer • shn and Hon. J”6hn Covode in their plaoev, was a.moustroua outrage.. ■ - . _ .- 1 It,is.dne. tossy. that a majority of the Cbmmictee on Elections reported adversely : to Messrs.- Anderson and Covode; A mf / norlty o/that Committee, oomposed entirely . of carpet-baggers, presented, however, pri-- vate letters from Governor Geary,' orPenhi‘ sylvania, and Governor Fletdier of Mis souti, saying, respectively,- that Mr., An " dertoU sud Mri Covode were “ loyal’, men ! likstosee in.” Oa'the" ■ strength of thaseiprtvate.letters a-mfljority; bf24ooin.on©instanc«and3oointhe,othar l ‘ was set aside, tfio bfifiqrlty mdn admit-. - ied. £bohnvinoed were'tbe House that MA 1 ' : Switalea waswrengly.treated thattheyvoCßd..' ’■ him his salary without giving him his seaL r. Thak.’noweven’onJy'cameouvofmeTriaa-; y Thus, fi*om The Fifth r trlot-salaries .were drawn byi.two men^ v . Every bth&r contested election cara inyolves ir . ; eqbwiDjostioe.■ Ir they are rightly dedded " ’ it is accidental. They can ind mnstlyir'. * all are, wrongly, ana knowingly wrongly, > decided, at the dictate of party- canons,— Evening Republic, N. Y. i. ; 'B|s3 ■gMSUMraPtin* thb xonan.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers