Bradford reporter. (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, May 21, 1853, Image 1

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    16110V-72] Z 4420
c , cant b i l 111orninB, £Uan 21, 1858.
.;titrO Vottrgt.
Time rens away, and bears along
mingled male of right and wrong;
m e flowers of love that bloomed beside
The margin of his summer tide ;
The poison weeds of passion, tome
From dripping banks, and headlong borne -
Iwo that unhorizoned sea
Which mortals call eternity.
Noiseless and raptd as a dream,
F or ever flows the widening stream;
every wave, or transient hour,
Thrvirs up a weed and takes a flower.
The isle of life, that seemed to be
A continent infinity,
Grows bleaker, narrower, day by day,
And channeled by a salter spray.
hike stupwrecked men who closer flock
To the bare summit - of the rock, . •
When the loud storm that wrecked them flings
Billow on billow from his wings—
We climb from youth's wave•rippled strand
W,.h colder heart and feebler hand,
1r the grey rock of age, whom peak
Time's mounting billows surge and seek.
There from the barren to espy
A girth of tears—an ashentsky—
Bowed heads, dead hearts, and palsied feet,
l'p ages' pinnacle retreat;
And the dull tide that swells belot
Pursues them with a steady flow ;
The rock is hid—the wares beat high—
And, lo I—an Ocean and/a Sky !
,i).titrt (Taft.
The cuiet old town of Abbylands was on the
eve of ping to deep. Several of the oil-lamps had
:cured Irom public life; after winking in a mysteri•
,ts manner to their companions to follow their ex
111 ,-le; the shops in the high street had already
shutters; the rain was falling in tot
-?:115 Me chimney taps were veering in all direc.
as if performing a demoniac polka with the
-.constant wind ; a miserable wet night, about ten
r dock. and not a sotil stirring. The three path:e
rr had ;one home; the thieves, if there were
ri were afraid of catching cold ; the surgeon had
returned from a country. visit, and was putting
:in horse in the little stable behind his house ;
twers at he Pigeon's Arms were flying about in
s with suppers, and and slippers, and
and brandies and waters, and far away from
.0.. e codes room—not in a private apartment, seven
.'l.;,ng and sixpence a day—but in a low, dingy,
. !e bed-room, which served him Tor
.parlor and
. a young man was standing with his arms la Id
e. across his breast, and looking into a trunk he
1.2! recently opened. "A stock in trade," he said,
lorn which something can be made alter all
Yes. from that little box may be evoked pow
er as tremendous as the genie's in the Arabian
.4h . .s—wealli—happine6s—revenge—and that's
neThest of all !•' ,
t_Nothing was vi sible to account for these glow
. 1: anticipations. The contents seemed of an or
,nary kind—clothes—not many, nor very spiels
tqi in material ; only among them were mixed
.. , .eres of a apparel belonging roperly to the softer
sex; crumpled-up bonnets, worn-out ohl shawls ?
laded cotion gowns. Poor fellow ! he was perhaps
brrn;in down presents to an adnt. They couldn't
be very extensive, but the kindness Of the re•
raernbracci would make up for want of value.—
" Hark! ten o'clock !" he said, as the Abbey clock
crock the hour. " I must be off, or the old reseal
yid have shut up shop." He buttoned his ,coat,
tares & sporting looking horse-cloth over his ghoul-
Iltrt. sod emerged into the dusk street. " I saw
!, •he said, "at the comer of the staircase. If the
Nato; him moved it, all will go well. Ifhe has
bow rani describe it without exciting suspicion I"
One shop was open in the cross-road at the top
n! he main street. A great glaring lamp still flour
,.bed in front of the window. Under it, and
tered by a sort of verandah-that projected over half
Pavement, was standing a deal table with two
c'% , airs on the top of it; on them were various • era
cies of crockery ware, useful a: - d ornhnell ia l -4
mall swing glass, marked in chalk two shining°
sad sixpence; and, between the chairs, a litthspile
0! books, the lowest being '' The whole Duty ill
ana`he highest "The Wandering
Inside the dark recess, where innumerable goods
were piled op on both sides of a narlaw. - Paosagl,
sat a man with a pen behind his ear. - A ledger4i'y
betore hint, which he might pertiaP'e hive tbeo
able to read, if ke had telt so. inclined.iwiffi
aid of a viry:thin and duty farthing ciandfo, w 6 r
vas stun into an ink bottle but bristudiaftWiicl
mother direction. He was absorbed in lhnught-r79,
/itei a 1 1,,, he th ought, " what. good his it: slope;
my' It isn't so great a sum, When
iundred and thirty pounds Would not ruiti
n • England. It ruined George Evan"; thoughiYile,
fan Vain- " His father should have heck; his
Papers better. if the mum watt tool _eliougli JO terld
roe the money, and lost my note
~of head,_what,
bllsinen 15 it of mine, that hie #Oprrpuat•loseall of
Did I make the law 1 if tlii4 had brought me
my ac knowledgement, wouldn't the looney been
Kid! The lad bas given op bin
'nett I hope never to bear troM him again; he- ,
'ides, the statute of Ihnitatithis makes' it alga:1; 1 4,
4 d the money by thiis time arrauld all luive. thee's
lot! hear he ham tented, is,- - rerehefilitflPd
One on the stage. This is a,,w"" 7 : 444 and
theatres are the vehoole i i#,Saien, 1,4, 11 /0 4 ,
The epic' Mahon was tutored ninudraudhwean.
'tiered by the utterer of it—the mirth.' fitirTlin•
paantwoiter and secoridhedludfiletenitilPni
'ts bond arid seal of all religionk-obserVittiohl
• ;
It was heard by the young man in the horse-cloth
"I'm glad you're not snot up, sir," he said, go
ing through the narrow gangway to the end of the
room. " I want to do a little business with you "
" A watch'!" said Mr. Benson, opening a little
drawer, in which lsy a number of square tickets
of chit) , paper.
" No !I don't happen to have such a thing," re
plied the visitor. 4 I come to bay something. As
I passed the shop to-day, I saw a piece of furniture
I required—a narrow case, with drawers, in it, of
oak I think it was. Ah ! there it is, just under the
stair case."
"Of oak indeed! You may say of the very fin
est oak that ever grew in clay. Why, that o:ik
would fetch a large price, independent of the great
convenience of the thavrers. I paid a pretty sum
for it at Farmer Merriwood's sale, when the old
gentleman died, ten days since. It has been in his
family, they said, two hundred years—a very fine
piece of furniture, and dirt cheap at one pound
" I'm no great judge of these things," said the
young man ; " but I have an aunt in town who is
in want of just such an article. I wish to make her
a present of it; and I will pay for it now, on con-
dition, that she does'nt like it, you shall take it back
and supply me with an other article to.monotv
" Very fair—that's very fair; but how can) send
it to-night
" Nay, that must be part of the bargain," replied
the purchaser, counting the money into Mr. Ben
son'. hand; " and you must also give me a re
ceipt for the—what shall we call ill—the wardrobe
with all its contents; for tontines are sometimes
fcund in very odd places," he added with a smile.
" I've heard occhair bottoms , being stuffed with
five pound notes."
" I run the risk of all that," said Mr. Benson,
venting the receipt, " and as to (he carrying it home
it ain't very heavy. I'll manage that. What's the
" Mrs. Truman, number two Abbeyfield Lane,"
reylied the youth ; " not a very elegant part of the
town, but the poor must live somewhere."
" It's a very dark, ill charactered place," said the
pawnbroker. " couldn't you wait till "to morrow
morning? A man Was robbed and murdered there
twenty sears ago."
" Oh. things are improved since then," said the
young man wilt a laugh; " besides an old chest of
drawers is not so very tempting a property, in spite
of the goodness of the oak, and the time it wos in
Farmer Merriwood's possession."
Mr. Benson looked at the visitor with doubt at
first, but be saw nothing but the fine open counte
nance of a young man of twenty-two, and gradual
ly becamesatisfied that that there was nothing to
be afraid 01. Far one instant the thought erect
came into his mind to invite the purchaser to lake
a glass of gin and water—but it died away like oth
er good resolutions.
" If you arrive at my aunt's before me," said
the young man, " say I sent her the wardrobe ;
ha t I hope to be there in time to receive you." Su
saying, he wrapped his house-cloth closer around
him, and departed.
Mr. Benson looked around well pleased. He
bad ended the day well by disposing of a uselesi,
piece of lumber at a considerable price. " Lie mus
ba very loud of his aunt, that young man," he said,
gland:if she's not a better judge of furniture than he
is, I wish she would come and trade at my shcip."
Ie cast a look roun4—to see that there was no risk
from candle or lamp—hoisted the ward robe on his
shoulder, locked the door, and walked rapidly to
wardi:Abbeyfield Lane. On arriving at number:two,
he knocked gently at the door, bit received no an
swer for some lime. " Why, this is the house that
has beetVempty so long ! I didn't know that any
one had taken it. - Where did they get their furni
lure ?" Another knock produced a motion within;
a itep sounded in the passage, and. an old lady
opened ire door. She seemed astonished at the
latensis of the " I was Oil goingtn . bed,"
she said, " and onli eat up to let in my nephew.—
He is longer of coating than he said.".
"He'll be here immediately ) " replied Mr. Ben
'" and is the meantime has presented you
with this very handsome piece of furniture. He
has paid for it—all, except the porterage--and the
solid oak is no joke to carry on a night like this."
"X my nephew was here," said the old lady,
would ask you to come in; , but I'm a lone
woman, and ir,woulJn't be proper.— th ere'rsispence
foam carriage, and' I'm greatly obliged to the deir
boy., fleilvalways so thoughtful of his poor old
". Pray, ma'am, have-yob' been font in' this cot
tager, inquired Mr, Benson, 'land may I ask you
where your furnitere.came from?"
" My nephew took the house for me three days
ago.. Some of the furniture came by canal— and
the relit ivehopo will arrive here to-morrow."
• " If you-require soy additional articles, 'you - will
find the best qualities and loweit pricei it my shop,'
said Mr.•l3easong .putting the poor •WoMan'a six
peritefid Its' pocket, and resuming his homeward
"way:4lt l f 'don't like this," be said, aS hesplashed
'up the high- A 'street. ' " Titerd'S 'Sothetititig• eurimis
absent the old itornan : .
,„yir.hi, did - T *64 .Te. me,,a
whole sixpence—looking wretchedly poor too ?
And why did she seem' sit delighteil l to,lay her
hands on. the wardrobe I , I'm sorry I. let itgo at
thirty' shillings. -The young tool would have given
_double the moray—bin I'm always sosoft hearted.
•I•shall never be rich•••••but what of that? Wealth' is
not happineits. - . •Arnen W • -. 1 , ~ •
.' lie extinguishedihe'flasing hmir-at the front of
:his premised; -removed :dm; table 4md all . that it
contained' iddh the door; torned the key'on the
'inside ; -- arfd'driWitig 'out' :MAI i Merit draWer itt
bottle of gin, 'mid lifting' I kettle -from' the fire,
which hid hitheito'gfoivetrtiriseen Isitititra Mt 6r
'Window curtains hitrig over thlit modO? Ufa isaiPen•
siert! bridgti, be proectededlikoncocra pieity sifting
ttinibler, which he *applied IC hi.' lips with thesett
satisfied air of a• man Who felt that he had deserved
some relaxation and enjoyment, after the labors of
a well spent day. A pipe, also, soon added its
rferfume to the happiness of the position, and Mr.
Benson like a great lndtan idol, inhaling the in
cense of his gin and tobacco, blandly smiling as the
smoke curled in gay wreaths roemd the bowl of his
long clay, and occasionally sipping the comfortable
potation before him. The clocks, which had either
been sent to him in pledge, or were arranged on
different brackets for sale, kept up a miscellaneous
concert of hours from one o'clock to twelve—for
they were not by any means particular to their no•
lions either of time or tune; but as a majority of
them seemed to be of opinion It was getting near
midnight, the contemplative proprietor lighted one
more pipe, poured forth one other libation, and
earefutly locked away the now half empty bottle in
the sanctum devoted to Its custody.
He watched once more the curls of the smoke ;
but fancy was at work, and aided the wreaths as
they rose, twisting them into excellent chests of
drawers, or handt.ome mahogany sideboards, on
which be expected enormous profits. Into little
cottages they expanded themselves, which be fell
sure he could by for very little money. Then, as
the candle began to burn less clearly, he saw one
of the large puffs, which he traced with more than
usual attention, convert itself into a bed in a dingy
little apartment, and threw the half.drawn curtains
he saw the emaciated countenance of a dying
man. The fire uttered a little sound at this moment,
as the coals collapsed to the bottom of the grate,
and he thought the noise It made formed itself into
words from the old man's lips : " I lent him the
money, George—two hundred and thirty pounds.
1 have lost the note of hand ; but if he doesn't pay
it he is a. villain, and will repent it when the hour
comes on him as it does on me now "
" Nonsense ! folly ! madness !" cried Mr. Bon
s In, pushing back his chair, and hurrying the tum•
bier to his lips. " Would the man have me give
money to every person that chose to say that he
had lent it with nothing to show for it but a white
faced dying old— Ha!—a carriage at my door
at this hour ! A knocking ! IVho can it be ?
Some one in distress, come to arrange about pawl -
ing the family plate, or a countess, perhaps, to
pledge the family jewels. Coming, coming." lie
opened the door and peeped out through the falling
rain A carriage, covered with mud and dripping
with wet, was at the curb-stone. The driver let
down the steps, and a lady tripped lightly across
the slippy pavement and entered the shop. "The
carriage will wait," she said. " Turn the key
and double lock, for I have something of import
ante to say to you." Mt. Benson said nothing, but
want up the narrow gangway .with the flickering
candle in his hand, followed by his visitor. He
set down the light, and looked carefully into the
woman's face. it was flushed and excited, the
eyt s flashed wih great brilliancy, and her lips
quivered with agitation—a tall masculine woman
plainly dressed, antLevidently under the influence
of some strong feeling.
" You are Mr. Benson the pawnbroker ?" she
" lam ; and dealer in second•hand furniture,
books, statues, and miscellaneous articles, clocks,
Watcher, wearing apparel, and double barrel guns,
" You attended the sale at Farmer Merriwood's
last Wednesday ?"
" I did."
" Did you buy it r ,
What 1"
" I lorgot. I havn't told you. I won't tell you .
What did you pay for all the articles you bought
at Cecil Green, at Farmer Merriwood's ?"
" I got tolerable bargains ; ma'am-4 don't deny
that. The family all dispersed—no near relation.
I paid for all I had there a matter of fifteen, or, per.
haps, twenty pounds."
" Will you make me out a list 7—transfer them
at once to me ?—and I will give you two hund ed
acrcrts the table."
Mr. Benson looked at the woman as she spoke.
" No,•madam," he said, " two hundred's too lit-
ale. If it'a worth two hundred to you, it's worth a
cleat more to me.'
" We won't fight about that. What did you bus ?
Beds I—sofas ?—drawers I Let me see your list
of them."
He took from a wire• that hung from the cross
bar of his desk the auctioneer's account.
She gazed at it; and, on coming near the end,
started. " Yea," she said, " here it is. What do
you ask for all! But tosh want nothing bat one
small article. Deep the * rest of the Irish. Give
me the oak wardrobe with the four drawers in it,
and I wiU give you what you demand. Come."
ti I can't," said Mf. Benson, timing pale, and
trembling with agitation. " It's gone—sold—de
li verel--lost !"
" Fool !" cried the woman, " You have ruined
me and yourself! That wardrobe would have en
riched us both. Why did the villains not advertise
the sale 1 I would hoick:one - to it if had been
dying. Can you recover it '1 Who bought V
Wilt money tempt'them to sell it again 'I Tell nie
the name of the purchaser, and I will gel posses
sion of it yet."
" I don't remember the name of the person. I
think - it was:a cleronian's wife from Ipswich—or
!to, I think it was a Lidetpool , gtitntlerhari who was
going Mat to America; , he's not, sailed, it
might bepossible— r l don?t say it:would—to racov
'et the ' • •
" Give mehis address: Fein go to Eiverpool—
to America-anywhere:" '
" It may, perljefos„be et back without so . march
said 'Dlr. ;Beason. jitier,,ikpausa.. rr Hot
_why, are; you se! vary curious „about a, common'
chest ofdravrent 1 • lexamituntit varyearefolly, I
assure you. They are nothing but ordinary oaka..
tto secret ,I.cpeMaT—no bidden wrings.. 'Where's
.surelY,somernistalteratiouol2 4,
" There's od mtstake) ,. you-take cut all , the
drawers when you made your exanifrialion 1 Pitt
you turn the top one upside down ? Did you see
that the bottom was thick and heavy—the it was
double ? That it might contain documents, noies i
a will, receipts, acknowledgments?
" No, I didn't turn it out. I'm an unsuspiciou..,
innocent man—grossly imposed on—ruirmd.--
The pawnbroker eedtned so overcome that the
woman was melted. " Hear what 1 tell you," she
said. "1f we arrange matters together, we may
yet be rich. bo 1 understand that Sou will share
with me whatever the drawer contains ?"
" What does it contain?" inquired Bensori, in a
whisper. " Does it contain anything P'.
" Why do I otter you hundreds tot itl" inquired
the woman ; " but I will tell you all Did you
know Father Merriwnod I"
" No, I can't say I knew him. I once sold him
a second-hand saddle ; and he made some row
about the stuffing coming out. I bad to let him off
ter hall the price agreed on."
"It's like him—harsh—cold—cold, selfish—sol
was told, in his latter years. He was different Icing
ago ,
" I didn't know him then," replied Mr. Ben
" I did," continued the woman ; " but no won•
der he changed, for misery was in his heart, and
disgrace fell upon his family. These things change
a man's temper."
" tie was well to Jo in the world," said 11 e
pawnbroker ; " churchwarden and highway com
missioner. I never beard of any disgrace."
" Some people didn't think it so. He had a
daughter ; twenty years ago people called her very
beautiful. She was his oldest child. She was
beautiful, at all events, to him. Her name was
Caroline. how she loved him ! how she attended
to all his wishes, and read to him, and played on
the piano to him, and was everything to him, and
so playful, and so kind ! We all loved her."
" bid you know her ?"
" Did I know her? I knew her from the hon:e
of her birth. 1 was a distant relation. Cousin Ja
net they called me, though I was their paid ser
rant, but the word cousin was better than all their
wages. So we went on for years and years, I tak •
ing care of the house, Phillip Merriwood attending
to the farm, and Caroline the delight of us both.—
Don't you see what's coming, old man ? You
must be dull as this wretched room you live in, it
.you don't guess what followed."
can't,"said Mr. Benson. " I'm trying 1 can't.
" Not when I tell you that the Marquis of —,
but never mind his name—it is best, perhaps, omit
ted ; but he had a son—his eldest son, Lord Ros
tock—dashing, gay, but kind—oh, kind and gener
ous as a knight ot old. He saw her—saW Caroline;
was struck with her beauty—who wasn't—got to
speech of Ler, spoke her fair, won her heart; the
old story—the old story ! Hearts break ; but fools
till up the [laces of those who perish. Ah oa g—
ills in September, twelve years ago—she Tame
to me and said—" Cousin Janet, do you think my
father a forgiving man ?-, Of course, my darling,"
I said. "Heis a Christian." " But will he for
give a person for getting above him in the world
for leaving the rank he moves in ! Ha, ha !" she
added, with a beautiful, wild laugh. " What
would he think it he had to stand with his hat ofl
as he saw me going up the church path, and ask
how my ladyship was ! Wouldn't it be charming
to be a lady ?" I told her no, or turned the talk,
or gave her wise advice. 1 forget what 1 did—it
was so pretty to see her walking hp and down the
floor of her bedroom, flirting one of her slippers
as if it were a fan, and swaying about from side to
side as if she had a court train to her robe. And
all the time she was only in her night gown, arid
showed her pretty naked feet."
" And what happened ? Cold, eh 1' Consump
tion ?"
" No—elopement—ruin—death I She was mis
sing ova morning thal same month, and Philip
Merriwood never held up his head. He seemed
to know what had happened without being told.—
He neser asked for her, and when a letter was
pat in his hands a few days after, signed by Caro
line, and telling him that she was about to be mar
ried—to be a lady—rich and grand, bet kind still.
and loving him, be tore the paper into twenty piec
es, and said, " Fool ! fool!"
" And so she was," said Mr. Benson. "He
didn't marry her ?"
" No, and she never wrote again. So the house
was dark and, dismal. Philip Merriwood went
into the bedroom that hurl been hers, and seized
the little oak wardrobe where she had kept her
clothes. He'emptied the drawers on the floor, and
ordered me to remove the frocks and •and stock
ings, and the blue silk jacket, and the pink satin
slip, and all the things, and , throw them into the
fire. It was an old piece of furniture; and had be
longed to his people for hundreds of years. It
bad once been the place where he had kept his se
cret papers. His leases, bonds and parchments,
were all in the front drawer, but in the top one
there was a false bottom. Thete in the thickness
of the wind, he kept the thingscherished, most, the
Miele that had passer: between hini and Sophia
L Felton, his wife, before !hit were married ; the
list letter she wrote to'him when she was dying ;
the first copy-book of Caroline, when she was learn
ing to traits;: the little notes she sent him when she
..was alAto °eh Be , when he had turned all Caro
litte'rsclothes out_ of the drawers he opened the
secretiodge-,,and how he rend, And efiodi and
•read again I. We esauldn-?. get him down to dinner,
kaltd when
. 11e• came he ate :nothing . mouth
passed, and a long time passe], and when-halt rt
,yearhad quite and gone ,there came, a loacr one
Jay, willsra great erest.upon Ifie-.sealrramarquier
!crest they call it-diatai when , it wetropeneit*arni
er MerriviOod itbre ristock
:whose fatter 14104 died and left bitp a1,t44 ea.
punk . Mine, he sani f vac. provided-tot, and
:happy; as - be felt he Owed-some reparatiortto
"he &titer he enclosed a Banli , of England
4 note tor Ihnesan.r
" Mese met ►chat a generous noble gentleman,"
exclaimed the pawnbroker. "She must have been
a cunning gipsey—what a fortunate' man Farmer
Merriwood wag !"
" How he trembled as he held out the thin piece
of paper, and his lips moving evidently with curs
es on them, but no sound being heard ! " Cous
in Janet," he said at last, " Carrie with me up
stairs ; you shall witness what I do." We went
up and to my surprise be went into what had been
Caroline's bed-room "This Is a thousand pound
note," he said, " which that ruffian thinks will rec
oncile me to shame. I Wong touch-b, and I won't
let him have it back—to employ it perhaps in
tempting some one else. If the girl he took away
from me is ever in want, you will know where to
find money for her support. It shalt lie beside all
the other things that remind me of her behavior.
"No one shall touch it till I die." And so saying
he pulled out the secret drawer at the top, and laid
the note lengthwise on its back,' .. and shut it up
with a bang, and gave me the silver pin that touch
es the spring. From that hour no one has ever
opened it, and there it lies, with the printed face
upwards, u bank- note:tur a thousand pounds r ,
" And I sold it fur thirty shillings !" shrieked
Mr. Benson, "to a miserable old women—ta ruin
ed man! I've lost a thonsand pounds. The young
man was too much lor me. I bated him from the
first--but vengeance will pursue hint for his iniqui
ty. Amen !"
" And why was the safe so flurried?" confirmed
cousin Janet. " I left Cecil Green six years since";
but I have kept the spring-opener carefully—care
fully. I heard In, was ill—he wrote to me that he
did not expect to live long, and that all was as he
had left it in the drawer. I couldrig . gl up from
York-hire in some days. In the meantime healed
and was bytried, and toe furniture sold, and the mo
ney lost. Go, give what sum you like, but get me
back that wardrobe, and we shall divide the mo-
" Equally?" exclaimed Mr. Benson, starling up.
" Where is that silver pin? Give it me—it is not
too late to make the attempt to night "
"Oh yea, it is, though," said the woman. "I'll
keep the key. What you have to do is to recover
the wardrobe; or, if you will tell me the purchas
er's address—"
" No, no—l II keep that to myself," replied the
pawnbroker, with a cunning look. " Well open
it in the presence of each other."
"I will be here at nine, to-morrow morning,'
said Cousin Janet. "We understand the arrange : ,
ment—it's getting on for one o'clock—good night.;'
So saying, she slipped along the gangway, and got
once more into the carnage.
l• What a fool to think,a drawer can't be opened
with a hatchet in the absence of a silver pin!" said
Benson. " Amen ! good night P'
The rah. continued all. the night, through. 31 , .
Benson beard it as he lay awake, flooding on roof garret wint.'ow. As soon as the Jaren - began
to force its way through the watery air, he speang ,
up and put on his clothes. Rapidly he pursued his
way to number two, Abbeyfield Lane, and stand
ing before the door felt in his pockets that the rou•
leaux of golden sovereigns were sale—for he fan
cied the sight of the yellow metal would have more
effect than a promise to pay, or even a roll of notes.
They were all right—three, of a hundred pounds
each. He knocked. "1e Mr. Truman deep stairs
yet ?" he asked through the keyhole. There was
no answer, but in a short time he heard the rap of
a small hart.mer. He knocked louder--and the
rat, tat, tat, of the hammer ceased. Thtidoor was
opened. , The person who opened it was Mni.Tra.
man's nephew.
"I Hallo!" he said, " who expected to see you at
such an eatly hour ?"
" Business, my dear sir. I find I made a slight
mistake last night. I sent your dear aunt the wrong
article. I hope the old lady is well."
'' Yes, she's very well," said the nephew, "a
little tired with sitting up so late, but delighted with
the wardrobe, I assure you. I was just trying 10
fit the chewers a little closer. The top one seems
" I find the want of it destroys the set," said Mr.
Benson ; would you me the favor to give I.
back to me ? I will replace it with the best article
in my shop."
" 11y no means," replied the f with " I haven'
had time to rummagP it otter, yet I tut 1 you for
tunes were sometimes fouhd in old family forni
There was a long pause: Mi. Benson was form
ing his calculations. lie recommenced' the eon ;
versation in a whisper; urged his plea with all the
eloquence in his power ; and, finally, was seen
proceeding through the falling rain with the richly
endowed watilrote On his back. Hurtle lly trot
ting up the High street he dashed intohis shop, set
his burden on- the ground, tore the lop drawet out
upon the Boer, and . saer 4 small piece Of paper past
ed on the bask. Wasit,tbe tho.usarnlptitind note?
ire tabbed his-eyei—lie I'f:ft - Aftd a ses•— read
the three following words— Quits : George Evans.'
" Not a bad stock m tcade," said the sarile young
gentleman Whinn we. encountered ; at, the beginning
of this story, Aunt Truman and :Cousin Janet all at
once, as he (for George Evans the young, scior,had
played all three paint,) fop - I:iced certain articles of
female spiiirel in his trunk in the lithe haroom of
the Pigeon's Arms. ." There.goes in my ount's , ln
tie black mantle. :There gain in my cousin Janet's
crumpled bonnet. %Vbep,l have paid for the hire .
of .he cottage in:Al - Amy Old Lane, a#d the c arriage,
and the wardrobe, and the sixpence to ohl.lJeitsoirt
for carry ing it d'own, t think it - will leave that old
ruffian's Conscience' Clear' ) for htt will havereiacily
paid me the tarsi liuntlied and
Borrowed from tafFir, With interest for nine
• •st-D .., ' -
Men seanntuglho slit - fate count 'the mnled, hay
pi ; they see not the friit, AVE ,Iteatne that crow(' n
bd , l matt'. rillnw.
Fete who are either in the habit of either geeing
or using the heafeilul bleak Japan Varnish which
is so Muth admired for the elegattl ghats it inesittisi
know whence it is obtained, or aTe familiar with
the manner its which it is procured, and the an-,
pleasant exposure attending the operation. h astute
prodoet art lines which growl wild both in Chips
and Japan. ft is chltivated in , pfantatiOng, end fe
so much improved by die treatment it teceives,
that a cultivated tree yields three times as much
varnish as a wild one. The Chinese call the tree
" TSI Shoo ;" it has ghee reeeffiblatite to the ask,'
with leaves shaped like those of the laurel, of a ,
light green color and downy feeling. There is ,
scarcely anything more canoeist about the tree-Then
the common manner of prop acing, Whin is ne?."
diet by seeds nor suckers. Early in the spring a
small branch or twig is selected, about a foot and
a half or two feet in length, and a ring of bark cut
from it all around, about half an inch in breadth.
The wound is immediately coated up with soft
clay, and a hall of the same clay formed amend
five or she inches ire diameter. This is then cover
ed up with matting to prevent it front falling topic,'
ces, and a vessel of water hung covet with a eery
minute hole in the under part, sufficient to permit
the wilier to drop slowly upon the bail, attd keep tt
constantly moist hi the coarse of sit mondit,with
this treatment, the wounded edges of the bark,
shoot faith into fibre-like toots,..which forth the
more readily as the tree is, still supporta:l by the
sap from the parent stock. When the titt fuer
taken sufficient root in the mass of Clay to Supped
an independert existence, it is cut from thisliee a,
little below the clay, placed immediately tft the
earth, and at once becomes a self-sesstaining tree.'
When these trees are seven or eight years DUI:
they are capable of supplying die varnish, which
is gathered in the following manner; Arbour/the
middle of summer the laborers proceed to the thou
taiions of the varnish tree, each lnniehyd l
L P:
crooked knife and a large number of Whew +bells '
somewhat larger than oyster. shells. With than
knives they maki, nbenevoor incisions tit the bark
of the trees, about Twit inches-1u length; and unite
each incision they force in the edge,or ilia , t;hell, easily penetrates the soh bark, and•seenainr
in the tree. This operation is perferefeil thsi
evening;ris the varnish flows only hi the
The next morning, the workmen reeilii; the. troomi
and find each shell either..partially_or Wholly filleg
with varnishoritich4hey ngrAle onkeitivfohit . w ith
their knives, depositing-it-in a vessel which they
carry with them, and throw! the ithellehtthie biAte,,a
al the foot of the. tree. In- the evening, the shells
are replaced, and the varnish again collected in the
morning. This process igeontinueilthronghout their
summer, or until the varnish ceases to 'lbws. It 11
computed that fifty tree*, which Can be attepileil by
a single workman, will.yield a poeud-of eantWfr
every night. When the gathering ismer, die ran
nish is strained tlitough a thin - cloth; ekts'ef'y placed.
over an earthen vessel, and'the little itriptitity that,
remains is used in physic. The nattirdeolor of
varnish is white, and it looks eke cream, but it
blackens on exposure to the ale.
.I.!'„i . ki a.tti! ;i in r
Rte" 49.
Tile tarnisli2Tree:
There is a corrosive property iti' the 'varniaL f
which operates very 44w - twisty to' the worksnenv
employed in the preparation of it, if theutmost etre
and precaution is not taken td avoiditsditftress
effect. A kind' of tenet uppearslcna• ilia rice, ing
in the course of a 1.3 w days spreads over,the.whole
body; the skin becomes red and painful; the beset
swells, and' the' whole Ptil face of the body it ebv ) .
Bred with troublesome sorer!. , To prevent
eflecia the workmen rub Theiebodiee well witb
pared oil, before they proceed to their worlb; they
Iva* themselves With . r detoctien of herbs and
ahriprepare themselies by r conrse ht
vine. In pddition to these precautions, they wrap
their heads in linen veils whenever they am at
work, leaving only two hnles - fol the' eyes rub
also cover themselves with a close dress ofleatbe,
and wear long gloves reaching, above the elbows.
By these means they are enabled in. eseapa i the
diseases generated by the maxims vapors:of, the
varnish tree.
It:A:marrow Airtya Derrn ie verysing* Pr
how the fact of a man's death often 'Melee to kiie
people a true idea or his cbaracter, wheal:ll4le
good or evil, than they have ever possessed; NvAele
he was-living atufeeting among. therm Death la
so gennintra tam; that it excheleafitsebood t
trays:as emptiness ; it is a touChstone that plovo
!he golil,.anddwhonors the baser metal—Cou4 the
departed, whoeier hi:frilly be, return in:a west
after his decease, IM would ralq cia inve "ie)fy firtft
him at a higher or a loWsir point than he hiii k ,ll:4-`
gnarly ocoupied, ou thh scale of public appieciation.
ECODIONT —Sound economy. under
standing, brought. into action;itie oateltiitithi-Iteal
ized •,` it is thii d'odjihie tlf .prOititriionfgdeed io
.practice; it, is the fokesecieg, contingelmiesi and
- proviiliniaiminit them; it ierespectieg .contingert
'ele-s and'itiepared 'for theM. ' T '•-
• Ileopie' mar) tiOgreater Itvti vrhen they
coulnund learning with wisdom-. The leimet, is ao
much inferior to the latter as ihe body is toiherriou!.
The one is Meet:toning-Imnd of the avt.F.t, the other
may serve Ilk - Veiy Welt as tool-to, Avert( with
„At. late celebrated 3 . 0416, Vitig vej inuctr
when .walking, had trptorie thrown-at , haul:one day
which fortunately posited over withour bitting him .
Turning to his ftierid• he We—
_.4 liatif been . 'an epri'ghr4tnigie ,that might have
camel} lily tleatit.!! • ,
.• The wArt et 'blight in the- ptani tree".anO'rear
tree; evi!asiblietl "prciliaptjp,t
caning off the tiatt . ellifie limb !tiffictCit;iti as yf:,
.the on l li.: l Cokv4ri • :: • T,!
'6ltialness . Itrivevrift,l hr gqr;•ll4 o s* 1 , 11110 r'
nvevihre. , Vtil
- ~:i~i,? ar)