WWl= Zo
TOWANDA:
IXWombat) Morning, 3nig 18, 1849
(From Blaelrwood's napalm.]
DitaIDEIVII:
TIE VLLAGE WOWS STORY. -
BY MADAME D'ARBOUTILLC
- (CONCLUDED.]
The child remained quiet upon its grandfather's
knees, and showed neither pleasure nor fear.
44 Will you love mel" said the old man.
The child raised its head, but did not answer
"Do you hear? I will be your father."
" I will be your father," the child gently repeated.
" Excuse him," said his mother, " he has al
ways been alone. 'Be is very young ; the presence
of many, persons intimidates him. By.and-by, my
lord, he will understand your kind words."
But I looked at the child; I examined him in si.
lence. 1 recalled my former gloomr4apprehen
siods. Alas! these apprehensions now became a
certainty; lip tetrible shock experienced by Eva
Meredith during! her pregnancy had fatal come
quenses for her child, and a mother only, in her
youth, her love, and her experience, could have re
mained so long ignorant of her misfortune.
At the same time with myself, Lady Mary look-.
ed at the child. I shall never forget the expression
of her cout.tenance. She stood:erect, and the pier
cing gaze she fixed upon little William seemed to
read his very sot t As she gazed, her eyes spark
eled, her mouth was half opened, as by a smile—
she breathed short and thick, like one oppressed by
great and sudden joy. She looked, looked—hope,
doubt, expectation, replaced each other on her face.
At last her hatred was clear sighted, an internal cry
of triumph burst from her heart, but was checked
ere it reached her lips. She drew herself up, let
fall a disdainful glance upon Eva, her vanquished
enemy, and resumed her usual calm.
Lord James, fatigued by the emotions of the day,
dissmissed us and remained alone all the evening.
Upon the morrow, after an agitated night, when
I entered Lord James :s room, all the family were
already assembled around him, and Lady Mary
had little William oil her knees: it was the tiger
clutching its prey.
"What a beautiful child!" she stud. " See, my
lord, these fair and silken locks! bow briliant they
are in the sunshine l But, dear Eva, is your son
always so silentl does he never exhibit tbe vivaci
ty and gaiety of his age 7"
"He is always sad," replied Mrs. Meredith.
" Alas ! with me he could hardly learn to laugh."
"We will try to amuse and cheer him," said
Lady Mary. "Come,' my dear child, kiss your
grandfather I hold out your arms, and tell him you
love him."
William did not stir.
".Do yon know how i Harry, my love, kiss your
uncle, and set your cousin a good example."
Harry jumped upon Lord James's knees, threw
both arms round his neck, and said, " I love you,
uncle !"
" Now it is your tam, my dear William," said
Lady Mary,
William stirred not, and did not even look at his
grandfather.
A tear coursed down Eva Meredith's cheek
"Tis my fault," she said. " I have brought np
my child badly." 'And, taking William upon her
lap, her tears fell upon his face : he felt them not,
but slumbered upon his mother's heavy heart.
"Try to make Williaife less shy," said Lord
Lord James to his daughter-in-law.
• "I will try," replied Eva, in her submissive
tones, like those of an obedient child. " I will try;
and s perhaps I shall succeed, it Lady Mary will
kindly tell me how she rendered her son so happy
and so gay:" Then the disconSolate mother look
ed at Harry, who was at play near his uncle's chair,
and her eyes reverted to her poor sleeping child.
murmured; "we have both been very un
happy ! But I will - try to weep no more, that Wil•
Liam may be cheerful like other children."
Two days elapsed, two painful days, full of se
cret trouble and ill-concealed uneasiness. Lord
James's brow was care-laden ; at times his look
questioned me. I averted my eyes to avoid an
swering. On themoming of the third day, Lady
_Mary came into the room with a number of play
things for the children. Harry seized a sword, and
- ran aboUt the room,.shouting for joy. William re
mained motionless, holding in his little hand the
toys that were given to him, but did not attempt to
nse them ; he did not even look at them. '
" Here, my lord," said Lady Mary to her broth
er, "give this book to your grandson; perhaps his
.attention will be roused by the pictures itcontanis."
And she led William to Lord James. The child
Was passive ; he walked, stopped, and remained
like a statue; where he was placed. Lord James
opened the book. All eyes turned towards the
group formed by the old man and his grandson.
Lord James was gloomy, silent, severe; he slowly
t imed several pages, stopped at every picture, and
looking at William, whose vacant gaze was not di
rected to the book. Lord James turned a few
more pages; then. his hand ceased to move ; the
book fell from his knees to the ground, and an irk-
come silence; reigned in the apartment. Lady
Mary approached me, bent forward as to whisper
in my ear, and in a voice loud enough to be heard
by all—
" The child is an idiot, doctor !" she said.
A shriek answered her. Eva -started up as it'
the had received a blow; and seizing her son,
whom she pressed convulsively to her breast—
"ldiot!" she exclaimed, her indignant glance
flashing, for the first time, with a vivid brilliance;
" idiot !" s'he repeated, " because be has been stn.
happy all his life, because . he has seen but tears
!Ince his eyes first opened ! because he knows
net how to play like your son, who hasalwayobad
, 1
"y-wound him ! Ah ! madam ? ycu insult mister._
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tune ! Come my child !" cried Eva, all in tem.
" Come, let us leave these pitiless hearts, that find
none but cruel words to console our misser&
And the unhappy mother carried off her bojla
her apartment. I followed. She set William down,
and knelt before the little child. "My son my
eon !" she cried.
William went close to her, and rested his head
on his mother's shoulder.
" Doctor !" cried Eva, "he loves me—yoe see
he does! He comes when I call him ;he kisses
me! His caresses have sufficed for my tranquili
ty--for my sad happiness! .My God ! was it not
then enough? Speak to me, my son, re-assure me !
Find a consoling word, a single word for your des
pairing mother! Till now I have asked nothing of
you but to remind me of your father, and leave me
silence to weep. To day, William, you must give
me words! See you not my tears—my terror!
Dear child, so beautiful, so like your lather, speak
to me!"
Alas! alas! the child remained motionless',
without a sign of fear or intelligence; a smile only,
a smile horrible to behold, (littered souse his fea
tures. Eva hid her face in both hands, and re
mained kneeling upon the gniund. For a long
time no noise was beard save the sound of her sobs.
Then I prayed heaven to inspire me with consol
ing thoughts, such as might give a ray of hope to
this poor mother. I spoke of the future, of expect
ed cure, of change possible—even probable. But
hope is no friend to falsohood. • Where she does
not exist her phantom does not penetrate. A terri
ble blow, a mortal one, had-been struck, and Eva
ereeith saNivell the truth. •
From that day forwards, only one child was to
be .seen each momlbg in Lord James Kysington's
room. Two women came thither, but only one of
them seemed to live—the other was silent as the
tomb. One said, " My son !" the othernever spoke
of her child ; one carried her head high, the other
bowed hers upon her breast, the better to hide her
tears; one was blooming and brilliant, the other
pale and a mourner. The struggle was at an end.
Lady Mary triumphed. It was cruel how they let
Harry play before Eva Meredith's eyes. Careless
of her anguish, they brought him to repeat his les
sons in his uncle's presence ; they vaunted his pro
gress. The ambitious mother calculated every
thing to consolidate her success; and, whilst
abounding in honeyed words and feigned consola
tion, she tortured Eva Meredith's heart each mo
ment in the day. Lord James, smitten in his dear
est hopes, had resumed the cold impassibility which
I now saw formed the foundation of his character
Strfotly opurteons to his daughter-in law, he had no
word of affection for her : only as the mother of his
grandson, could the daughter of the American plan
ter find a place in his heart. And he considered
the child as no longer in existence. Lord James
Kysington was more gloomy and taciturn than ever,
regretting, perhaps, to have yielded to my impor
tunities, and to have ruffled his old age by a pain
ful and profitless emotion.
A year qiatoed ; then a cad day came, when
Lord James sent for Eva Meredith and i signed to
her to be seated beside his arm-chair.
1, Listen to me, madam," he said, ""listen with
courage. I will act frankly with you, and conceal
nothing. T ant old and ill, and must.;ange my
affairs. The task is painful both for and for
me. I will not refer to my anger at my son's mar
riage.; your misfortune disarmed me—l called you
to my side, and I desired to behold and to love in
your son William, the heir of my fortune, the pivot
of my, dreams of future ambition. Alas! madam,
fate was cruel to us! My son's widow and cr
phan shall have all that can insure them an boners-
We existence ; but, sole master of a fortune due -to
my own exertions, I adopt my nephew,
.and look
upon him henceforward as my sole heir. I am
about to return to London, "tie my affairs call me.
Come with me, madam—my house is yours--1
all be happy to see you there."
Eva (she afterwards told me so) felt, for the fimt
time, her despondency replaced by coinage. She
had the strength that is given by a noble pride: she
raised ber head, and if her brow Was less haughty
than that t of Lady Mary, on the other hand it had
all the dignity of misfortune.
"Go, my lord," she answered, ago; I shall not
accompany you. I will not witness.the usurpation
of my son's rights ! You are in haste to condemn,
my lord. Who can forsee the future ! You are in.
haste to despair of the mercy of God!"
" The future," replied Lord James, "at my age,
is bounded by the passing day. What I would be
certain to do I must do at once and without delay."
" Act as you think proper," . replied Eva.
turn thither with your grandson, William Kysiog
tim ; of that name, his sole inheritance, you cannot
deprive him ; and though the world should know
it but by reading it on his tomb, your name, my
lord, is the name of my son !"
A week later, Eva Meredith descended the stairs
of the hotel, holding her son by the hand, as she
bad done when she entered this fatal home. Lady
Mary was a little behind her, a few steps higher
up : the numerous servants, sad and silent, beheld
with regret the departure of the gentle creature
thus driven fienithe paternal. roof. When she quit
ted this abode, Eva quitted the only beings she
knew upon the earth, the only persons whose pity
she had a right to claim—the world was before her,
an immense wilderness. It wa4 Hagar going forth
into the desert.
ThiB is horrible, doctor !" cried Dr. Batnab's
audience. "Is it possible there are persons so ut
tedy unhappy! What! you witness all this your
self'!"
" I have not yet told yon all," replied the village
doctor; " le#ne get to the end."
Shottly after -Eva Meredith's departure, Lord
James .went to Londrin. Once more my own mm.
ter, I gave np all idea of further study; 1 had
enough learning for my village. and in haste I yet
turned thither. Once pore I sat opposite to Era in
the Buhr white house, as I had done two yeas
be
lure. But how greatly had intervening events in-
1=:12
PUBI•ISIiED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT IQ)V,9ANDA„,,BRAIFORD COUNTY, PA., BY. B. O'MEARA GOODRICite
INEZEM
lin
creased her misfortune ! We no longer dared to
talk of the future, that unknown moment of which
weall haveao great need, and without *Web our
present joys appear too feeble, and oat miefoannes
leagyeat.
Never Aid I witness grief nobler in hs
calmer in ihrinteasity, than that of Eva Meiedith.
She forgot not to pray to the God who chastened
her. For her, God was the being in Whims lands
am the springs of hope, whei
tinct. Her look •of faith rear
child's brow, as if awaiting thi
her prayers invoked. I cane,
genus patience 01. that mottle
who listened witlout understanding. [cannot tell
you all the treasures of love, of thought, of ingeni
ous narrative she displayed before that torpid bite!.
ligence, which repeated, like an echo, the last of
her gentle words. She explained to him heaven,
God, the angels ; she endeavored io make him
pray, and joined his hands, but she could not make
him raise his eyes to heaven.' In all possible shope.s
she tried to grvo him the first lessons of childhood ;
she read to him, spoke to him, placed pictures be
forehis eyes—had recourse to music as a substitute
for words. One day, making a terrible effort, she
told William the story of his father's death; she
Doped, expected a tear. The child fell asleep
whilst yet she spoke : tears were shed, but they fell
from the eyes of Eva Meredith.
Thus did she exhaust herself by vain efforts by a
persevering struggle. That she might not cease to -
hope, she continued to toil; but to William's eyes
pictures were merely colors; to his ears words
were but noise. The child, however, grew in stat
ure and in beauty. One who had seen him buffer
an instant would have taken the immobility of his
countenance for placidity. But that prolonged and
continued calm, *hit absence of all grief, of all tears,
had a strange and sad. effect upon us. Suffering
must indeed be inherent in our nature, since Wil
liam's eternal smile made every one say, "The
poor idiot !" Mothers know not the happiness con
cealed in the tears of their child. A tear is a re.
gret, a desire s a fear; it is life, in short, which be
gins, obe understood. Alas! William was con
tent with everything. All day long he seemed to
sleep with his eyes open; anger, weariness, imjia
tienc.e, were alike unknown to him. lie had but
one instinct—he knew his mother—he even loved
her. He took pleasure in resting on her knees, on
her shoulder ;he kissed her. When I kept him
long away from her, he manifested a sort of anxie
ty. I took him back to his mother; be showed no
joy, but he was again tranquil. This tenderness,
this faint glimmering of William's heart, was Eva's
life. It gave her strength to strive,lo hope, to wait.
If her words were not understood, at least her kiss
es were ! How often she took her son's head in
her hands and kissed his forehead, as long and fer
vently as if she hoped her love would warm and
vivify his frozen soul! How often did she dream a
miracle whilst clasping her son in her arms, and
pressing his still heart to her burning bosom ! Often
she angered at night in the village church. (Eva
Meredith was of a Roman Catholic family.) kneel
ing upon the cold stone before the virgin's altar,
she invoked the marble statue of Mary, holding her
child in her arms " 0 virgin l" she said, " my boy
is inanimate as the image of thy Son ! Ask of God
a socil 6 for my child !" •
She was charitable to all the poor children of the
village, giving them bread and clothes, and saying,
to them, " Pray for him." She consoled afflicted
mothers, in the secret hope that consolation would
come at last to her. She dried the tears of others,
to enjoy the belief that one day she also would also
cease to weep. In all the country round, she was
loved, blessed, venerated. She knew it, and she
offered up td Heaven, not with pride bat with hope
the blessings of the unfortunate in expunge for the
recovery of hereon. She loved to witch William's
sleep; then hejives handsome and like other chil
drr it. For an instant, for a second perhaps she for
go; and whilst dontemplating those regular fea
tures, those golden Locks, those long lashes which
threw their shadow on his rose-tinted cheek, she
felt a mother's joy, almost a mother's pride. God
has moments of mercy even for those he has con
demned to suffer.
Thus passed the first years of William's child
hood. He attained the age of eight years. Then
a sad change, which could not escape my attentive
observation, occurred in Eva Meredith. Either
that her son's growth made his want of intelligence
more sterling, or that she was like a workman who
bas labored all day, and sinks at eve beneath the
load of toil, Eva ceased to him.; her sold seemed
to abandon the teak nisdeetaken, and to recoil with
weariness upon itself, asking only resignation. She
laid aside the books, the engravings, the music, all
the means, in short, that she had called to her aid;
the grew silent and desponding; only, if that were
possible, shrewss more affectionate than .ever to
her son. As she lost hope in his cure, she felt the
more strongly that her child had but her in the
world ; end she asked a miracle of her heut—an
increase of the love she bore him. She became
her son's servant—his slave; her whole thoughts
were concentrated in his well being. If she felt
cold, she nought a warmer covering for William ;
was she hungey;it was for William she gathered
the fruits oilier garden fo r
she suffer from fatigue
for him she selected the easiest chair and the soft
est cushions : she attended to her own sensations,
only to guess those of her son. She still displayed
activity, though she no longer harbored hope.
When William was eleven years old, the last
phase of Eva Meredith's existence began. Re
markably tall and strong for his age, he ceased to
need that hourly carte required by early childhood;
be was no longer the infant sleeping on his moth
er's knees; he walked alone in the garden ; he
rode on horseback with me, and accompanied me
in my distant visits; in skeet the bird, although
wingless, lift the ,!Lesii misfortune was in no
way shrieking or painful to behold. lie weed ex
ceeding beauty, ailentimmaterallyealso—iliswyes
expressing nothing but repose, his mouth ignorant
I=
Dinetwarrso* now Ain gvAirraLP
lESTIS
of a stru:le: he rata not awkward, or disagreeable,
or importunate: it was a niind sleephik betide
yours, asking no question, making no reply. The
incessant maternal care which had served to reco
py Mrs. Meredith, and to divert her- mind (mei
dwelling on her sorrows, becamethiteeragary, and
she resumed her seat at the window, whence she
beheld the village acd the church steeple--eL that
same window where bad so long wept her
husband. Hope and occupation successively tail
ed her, and nothing was left her bat to wait and
week, by day and night, like the trunp that ever
bums beneath cathedral vaults.
But her forces were In the midst of
thiskrief which had retailed to its starting-peint,
to silence, and immobility, after having in vain es
sayed exedfra, courage; hope, Eva Meredith fell
into a decline. In. spite of all the resources of my
art, l beheld her grow weak and thin. How apply
a remedy, when the siekiicsis of the soul?
The poor foreigner ! she needid her native sun
and a little happiness to warm heri.-tat! the ray of
the sun and the ray of joy were alike *raking. It
was long before she perceived her danger,
she thought not of herself; bat When at last
was uhable to leave her arm-chair, she was com
pelled to understand. I will not describe to you
all her anguish at the thought of leaving William
without a guide, without a Wend or protector—of
leaving him alone in the midst of strangers, he
who needed to be cherished and led by the hand
like a child. Oh, how she sue
_,,led for ! with
what avidity she swallowed the potions Ii prepared,
how many times she tried to believe in a care,
whilst all the time the disease progressed! Then
she kept William- more at home,—she could ci):1
longer bear to lose sight of him.
" Remain with me," she said: and William, al
ways content near his mother; seated himself at
.her feet. She looked at him long, until a flood of
tears prevented her distinguishing his gentle coun
tenance ; then she drevehiln still nearer to her, and
pressed him to her heart. • " Oh !" she exclaimed,
in a kind of delirium, "if my soul, on leaving my
body, might become the soul of my child, how
happy should I be to die !"
No amount of suffering could make her wholly
despair of divine mercy, and when all human pos
sibility disappeared, this loving heart bad gentle
dreams out of which it reconstructed hopes. But
how sad it was, alas ! to see the poor mother slow
ly perishing before the eyes of her son, of a son
who understood not death, and who smiled when
she embraced him.
"He will not regret me," she said; "he Will
not weep :he will not remember." And she re
mained motionless. in mute contemplation of her
child. Her hand then sometimes sought mine:
" You love him, dear doctor l" she murmured.
"I will never quit him," replied I, "so long as
he has nb better friends than myself." God in
heaven, and the poor village doctor upon earth,
were the two guardians to whom she confided her
Faith is a great thing! This woman, widowed,
disinherited, dying, an idiot child at her side, was
yet saved from that utter despair which brings
blasphemy to theiips of death. An invisible friend
Was near her, on whom she seemed to rest, listen
ing sometimes to holy words, nicht she alone
could hear.
One morning she sent for me early. She had
been unable to get up. With her wan, transpa
rent band she showed me a sheet of paper on
which a few lines were written.
" Doctor," she .said, in her gentlest tones, " I
have not strenoh to continue ; finish this leuer !"
1 read as follows:
"My Lord, —1 write to you for the last time.—
Whilst health is restored to your old age, I suffer
and am about to die. I leave your grandson, Wil
liam gysington, without a protector. My Lord,
this last letter is to recall him to your pemoty ; I
ask* for him a place in your heart rather than a
share of your fortune. Of all the things of this
world, he has understood but one—his • mother's
love ; and now she must leave him forever ! Love
him, my Lord,—love is the only sentiment he can
comp:ehend."
She would write no more, I added :
." Mrs. William Kysinuton has but a few days to
live. What are Lord James Kysingtonis orders
with respect to the child who bears his name f
" THY DOCTOR BARRAIIT.*'
Thiii letter was sent to loodon, and we waited.—
Eva kept her bed. William seated near her, held
her band in his : his mother smiled sadly upon
him, whilst I, at the other side of the bed, prepar
ed potions to assuage her pains. Again she began
to talk to her son, if no longer despairing that, af
ter her death, some of her words might recur to
his memory. She gave the child all the advice,
all the instructions she would have given - to as in
telligent being. Then she turned to me—" Who
knows, doctor," she said, "one day, perhaps, he
will find my words at the bottom of his heart!"
. Three more weeks elapsed. Death approached
and submissive as was the Christian soul of Eva,
•he yet felt the anguish of separation and the sol
emn awe of the future. The village priest came
to see her, and when he left her I met him and
took his hand.
"Yon will pray for her," I said.
"I have entreated her to pray for me!" was his
reply.
It was Eva Meredith's last day. The sun had
set: the window, near which she so long had sat,
*as open: she could see from her bed the land
scape ahe had loved. She held her son in her
arms and kissed his face and hair, weeping sadly.
" Poor child ! what will become of you 3.0 h !"
she said, with tender earnestness, "listen to me,
William —I am dying! Your father is dead also,
you are alone ; you must pray to the Lord. I be
queath you to Him who watches over the sparrow
upon the house-top; He will shield the
Dear child, look al me! listen to me I Trif to un
demtand that I die, that ate day, you► may remnew
ber me!" And the poor mother, unable to ape*
lertger,allll found streastitto signs* her child.
"ice 'l' i• ~l'~~ 1' a
EMU
• • u
my ems. The . ..whim&•of.aeanriege grated . spott
the gravel a' itieglideh'll l 44e.. IMu to the door.
tArd Jam! ! K*3llton and Wr.PagirY
the house. „ •
" I got your letter," said Lord James. " I was
setting oat rof rtaly, and It was - not• much -oft my
mad to come myself and Settle the figure destiny
of Wm. Meredith : io huh am. Blks William I
" Mrs. Wl!gain Kysington still lives,. my lord,"
I replied
'I was with a painful sensation ; that I saw this
calm, cold, austere man al)pretbuli. Eva's chamber;
followed by the auste re
woman who came to wit.
ness What. rot het W. a happy event—the death of
her former rival! They entered the modest • little
room, so dillereet from the sumptuous apartments
of their MontpellitY hotel. They drew near the
bed, beneath whose white curtains Eva, pale but
still beautiful, held her son upon . ber heart. They
stood, one on the right, the other on the left of that
couch of suffering ; without findinga Wad'iff affec
tion to console the poor woman who looked np at
them. They bravely gave utterrnce to a few for
mal and unmeaningphraies. Averting their eyes
.. the painful spectacle of death ; and. persuad-
Mg th selves that Eva Meredith neither saw nor
beard, the ..i.ssively awaited her spirit's depart
..l:%,
ure—their co&rtenances not even feigning an ex
pression of cond or regret. Eva fixed her
dying gaze upon them, d sudden terror seized
the heart which had almeilit- ceased to throb. She
comprehended, for the first time, the secret senti
ments of Lady Mary, the proforirid indifferenco and
egotism of Lord lames; •she understood at last that
they were enemies rather than protectors of her
sun. Despair and terror portrayed themselves on
her pallid face. She mode no attempt to soften
those soulless beings. Ey a am*ubsive movement
she drew William still Closer to her heart, and, coi
-1
1 lccting her last strength"—
• "My child, my pool child !" she cried, a you
have no support upon earth ; but God above.is good.
My God ! succor my child !"
With this cry of love, with this supreme prayer,
she breathed out her life : her arms opened, her
kis were motionless on William's cheek. Since
she no longer embraced her son, there could be no
doubt she was dead—dead before the eyes of those
who to the very last bad refused to comfort her
affliction—dead without giving Lady Mary the un
, mess of hearing her plead the cause of ber son
—dead, leaving her a complete and decided victo
-17.
There was a moment of solemn silence; none
moved or spoke. Death makes an impression up.
on the haughtiest. Lady Mary and Lord James
Kysington kneeled beside their victim's bed. In•
a few minutes Lord • James arose. "Take the
child from his mother's room," he said, " and come
with me, doctor; I will explain to you my intez=
lions respecting him."
For two boars William had been resting on the
shoulder of Eva Meredith, his heart against her
heart his lips pressed to hers, receiving her
kisses and her tears. I approached him, and.,
without expending useless words, I endeavored
to raise and lead him from Ithe room; but he
resisted, and his arms clasped his mother more
closely. This resistance, the first the poor
child bad ever offered to living creature, touched
my very soul. On my renewing thi attempt,
however, WiFirun yielded ; he made a movement
and turned terrards me, and his beautiful counte
nance suflased with tears. Until that day, William
had never wept. I was greatly startled and moo•
ed, and I let the widowed child throw himself
again upon his mother's corpse.
l am
" Take him away; said Lord James. .
"My lord!" I exc ' ed, '= he weeps! Ah,
check not his tears !" • )
I ben! over the child, andimard him eob
" William! dear William !" I cried, anxiously
taking his hand, " why do you weep, William V'
For the second time he turned his head towards
me; then, with a gentle look, full of sorrow, "My
mother is dead," he replied.
I have not words to ten you what I felt •
William's eyes were now intelligent: his tears
were sad and insignificint; and his voiceless broken
as when the heart suffers. I uttered a cry; I al
most knelt down beside Eva's bed.
Ah ! yon were right, Eva !" I exclaimed, "not
to despair of the melt,' of God !"
Lord James himself had started. Lady Mary
was as pale as Eva. ,
" Mother I mothee I" cried William in tonsorial
filled my heart with joy; and then, repeating the
words of Era blereilith—tbose words which she
had truly said he retaild find at the bottom of his
heart—the child exclaimed Woad,
am dying, my son. Your father is dead;
you are alone upon the earth ; yon . mustpray lathe
Lord !"
I pressed gentlf with my hand upon William%
shoulder; he obeyed the impulse, knelt down, join
ed bis trembling hands—this time it was of his
own accord—and, raising to heaven a look full of
life and feeling: "My God ! have pity on mei"
he murmured.
I took Eva's cold hand. "Oh mother! moth
er of many sorrows!" I exclaimed, "can you
hear your child! do you behold him from above?
Be happy ! your son is saved !"
Dead at Lady Mary's feet, Eva made her rival
tremble; for it was not I who led William from
the room, it was Lord James Hysington vrho carried
out his grandson in his aims.
I have little to add, ladies. William recovered
his reason and departed with Lord James. Rein
mated in his rights, texas subsequently ItiegrandJ
father's bola heir.• Science has recorded "bar ore'
instances of intelligence revived by ',viola* mor•
el shock. Thus does the Atoll haie pi* 44 a
natomi eplanation. Sot the good womeciotthe
- village, who tad "heeded Eve Meredith -daring
hei illness, and had heard her fervent prayirs, wars
convinced that, even as she had asked of Heaven,
OEM
Is
A A.I , V 1,
1 1 = M 0 i 171
. Ala Pt' 1.
MU
the eteit ' isitietitii, -164 1 df
the cbiW., . t
ifity, ft - thew &eff
ref,t3 hey' dothilig:" *Of atthils*hillitedia-#0
soot liatdie ticitiotiy. No one4itotimed Mrii. Miner
dithlas dead.
" She still lives," said the pellet of the bianllif:
"speak fete? Will;
And when Lord William *slogan, ibludilloi;
gips; of ins..grandfitherla.pitipilith Mistreat& year
abundant:skald' MO 4iltilipr l ilist lied' 'Awaked'
hia~itth and Ithr motber'sedealls, the pasktilliret
claiose Mewl Mis. Misseditii's kind mil'
thinking of_ tie Xii; When slie .speettel' hes- -
wen if will 6o Om pity Oboe plata
We do not strew flowers upon her tomb, but op.
on the weps of the altar of the , wheat she
often pmyeetiiValt id' Wendt * * her
taking thither their wreaths of wild blossoms, the
viUagers say to each other" When she prayed oro
fervently, the good trgin ansWerediter softly : " I
will gift' thy sod! to thy child t.'"
• tite myelitis statered od pekaiiiifs fit retain Ibis
touching superstition ; and I myself; when Lord
Wiliam came to see me, when he fixed' upon me
his eyes; so like his mother's—when iiis),voice,
which bud w welKnown secant, NO- at him
Meredith was Wont to say—" Dear tliank
you !" Then,-4unife; ladies'', if M's's - 111,4 Wept,
and I believed, like all the village, thaitet Mere.
dith was before' ine:• •
She, whose (minority was fiat a ten series of
sorrowi, has left behind her a: iweet t (Yowling
memory, which bas nothing paidor fiwgioso who ,
laved her.
hi thinking of her, we dfink dike Morey of
GOd, and those who have holie in thee. heasis t kape
with the greater confidence'
But it is very late ; ladieyour carriages have
long been at the door. Pardon this tong story: at
my age it is difficult to be concise in speaking of
the events of one's youth. . Forgive . the old man
for having made you smile whet he et/rived,. arid
weep before he departeck"
,These last words were spoken in the kindest and
most paternal tone, whilst a halfumile glided across
Dr. Barnaby's IFps. Iq his auditors now crowd l ecf
round him, ea,gar to express their thanks. 'Dui*.
Bamaby got Op, made exreght for bis rid . rug 'aimt of
puce-colored taliety, which hung. across a chair
back, and, whilst one of the young men beltieit
him to put it on—" Farewell, gentlemen ; Samisen,
ladies? said the -village doctor. "My shaipe
'ready ; it is dark, the ma L d is badi I
mint be gone."
When I r. Barnaby was installed ire Mnreittiblruf
of green wicker-work and the li.de gray cob, ticks
led by the chip, was about to set elk Madame de
Moncar stepped quickly forwanl, and leenincibr
ward, towards the doctor, wilds* she. placid
one fogs on the step cd his vehicle, she said is gpu:to
a low voice—
s 4 Doctor, I made you >< present or the wbitd
cottage, and I will have it fitted up as it was when
you loved Era Meredith!"
Then she ran back into the house.. The sank..
ges and the green ehaise departed in diffevest d 156
rections.
MANUFACTITKE OF NICICDLIOt—T-CllllOOl P00C134.
—ln the manufacture of needier the deader ham
of steel are forged out by a seconeroneflam.
met., ach one less in weight and wirier id it she
than itit predecessor, as themotion of the hemmer
is alternating, the disharatins . t effectrld its remaes•
tam when thrown into rapid vibration trough /Jew
ormous, but for the contrivance of giving the liens.
mer.a.double face, mad causing it to Strike every
time it rises against a block of steel abovti...fiess
which it is thrown back 1,021%13 . 10ft The vibrer
lion is thus produced by a serious of rebounds be.
tweets two opposing surfaces. The • Wand
strokes can t h us be made in a minute, while the
power is greatly eeonomised and the straits , *pen
the stalk and axle nearly annihilated„
Hz HAD NW THEILI.-•••A son of Erin ones mew
ed a reverend disciple of Swedentset dins:
I'M. ---:you say we are in follow, Am same
business in heaven that we do in tkis wild4 l l7
ig Yes, that is itt pettiosi eiCCArdaoce with MICA j
for the Creator himself is not idle, sotislty alieadd
His creatures be 'p'
Well, then yer honor, do par i d,e die there !"
Certainly not—they are im moral as the Cret ,
or himself."
." Thin. I *lipoid like to kpoiriyalthehee, what
they'll find for ins to do, for a Arm thaw in.
this atorkt.4-
Trirc.--Sarre' minutes seethe gag dad affime,;
and young was writing ants; as *Ai U a slitting
line, when he affirmed that, "tends made the
mountains; and Moments made the year." Of all
' porti on s of our hfe, the spare inn' Men are the
m t fruitful in good oreil. They are gape
, which temptations fi nd did easiest - mecca
to the garden. •
A young halY whenshe takes a partner for life,
upon the matrimonial altar, and site will
" love, honor, and obey" him. Not WA'
.woman
out of every ten does the ffnit- - -aa there never
was one known to perform the two latter Vows. .
Marc Love —The conversation at Holland Home
turned upon first love. Tom Moore compare') it
to a potatoe, «because it shoots Saw -the eyes?
"Or, rather," eielatmea Byron, " bettainmk bc•
comes all the leas by paring."
A cockney conducted iwo ladies to the observe
tmy to see an eclipse of the moon - They were
too late ; the eclipse was over, and thebdios were
disappointed. "IA I" ,ezelairned- oar hero, I, dont
Nit. I know, thek astronomer very- well;.ha is •
polite man, and tims aura aggiL"
" Ms, here& i Word in the paper, "1 want to
know—what's a homicidal"
" bOrilicide, child, is one
r ho, Runlets anoth
er."
it Well, ma—srben Jack Webb killed our Tom
cat, that was a liwunycak, wasn't it It" •