m SJLLAS PES ANNUM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWAXDA :
S.itnrSatJ fllontiun, fcbnirinj 1". 1825.
JMutti fjtibg.
GOOD NIGHT.
night! :i word so often said,
The heedless mind forgets its meaning ;
'Tis only when some heart lies dead,
On which our own was leaning.
We iicar iu maddening music roll
That last " good night' along the s 'l.
'• Good night"—in tones that never d.o.
It peals along the quickening ear,
And tender gales of memory
Forever waft it near,
When stilled the voice. O crush of pain-
That'ne'er shall breathe " good night" again.
•' Good night!" it mocks us from the grave—
It overleaps that strange world's bound
From whence there flow- no backward wave—
It calls from out the ground.
On every side, around—above,
'• Good night, good nightto lift and love!
•• Good night!" O, wherefore fades away
The light that lived iu that dear word?
Y\ In follows that good night, 110 day,
Why are our souls so stirred ?
O. rather nay. dull brain, once more,
" Good night! thy time of toil is o'er!"
'• Good night"—now cometh gentle sleep,
And tears that fail like gentle rain,
Good night, O, holy, blest and deep,
Tin re-t that follows pain !
How should wc reach God's upper light.
If life's long day had no '• good night."
Sclcttrtr Calf.
CRESSY.
13V COL'SIN' EMMA.
" So this is my dominion." said a young man,
half aloud, glancing around him with an expres
sion of infinite anm-ement on lii.s fine features.
He had just gained the brow of a long hid. and
stood facing the low, red building, with its well
cut door, and dingv windows, which he had
been informed was the village school house—
the scene of his labors during the coming
winter.
l ii the summer time when the drooping 11ranch
es of the old elms that stood near were covered
with their rich display of green, it might have
been a pleasant place enough, but now it was
the picture of desolation. Not a green leaf on
the trees—not a flower by the wayside—not a
patch of blue sky above, a heart less joyous
than Fred Leicester would have sunk at once,
hut in proportion as the face of nature became
'•loaded and chilling, his face became sunny
and genial, and therefore when he pushed open
the door, and walked into the school-room,
there was a smile lurking in his dark eyes, aud
about the corners of his handsome mouth.
Within it was more cheerful, for in the huge
fire place a pile of logs crack led fiery music, and
great companies of sparks kept time as tiny
sailed up the dark chimney. From the rows of
uncomfortable .seats very quiet, inquisitive faces
looked forth upon the new master, as lie took
his seat at the time-worn desk, which so many
had first occupied before him. .Just so had the
children watched "old Durphev," the eager
morning he kept school, and just so had they
watched tall, red-haired " Master Snapem," who
had proved himself a very tyrant—and just so
had they watched a score of others; whose
reigns had been short but terrible. The dis
trict school of riaxton had the reputation of be
ing the most difficult one to manage for miles
around, and not a teacher had entered it for
years who had not felt that severity must lie his
watchword, but Fred Leicester, just fresh from
college, and with the recollection of a boy-hood
that delighted in mischief, fresh in his mind, :
had determined to try another method. His
flr-t glance at the rows of hoys and girls took ;
their hearts by storm —his first, act, which was
to take from two nails behind his chair a bun- i
die of willow rods, and deliberately throw them |
into the lire brought forth from their ready lips, 1
one hearty, simultaneous " hurra for the new |
Master," and Ids fir-' words " now my young :
friends." brought them all in a crowd around !
hi- chair, where eaeh shook his hand in turn, 1
and felt that Mr. Leiei .-tor was his own espc- '
rial and particular lricnd henceforth.
I here was one child in the room who kept !
her scat in silence during the whole scene, and
toward- her the master looked enquiringly.
" ft.- only Cressy.'' said a tall boy, observing j
the motion, "she's the queerest thing you ever ;
saw. j don't believe you can make her speak I
to you at ali.shc don't .-peak to anybody—she's i
real uglv."
M hat vi r Mr. Leicester thought, he evinced
Do d -sire to make her speak, but busied himself
i:h arranging his classes, and testing their
tcahty. He discovered in many of the boys a ,
'.h-gree of mental strength which at a first
planer at their, for the most part, unprepos
w-sing features he would have deemed impos
'"•le, and in the very shyness of the girls he
siw much natural refinement and wonmnli
- that would repay him for any amount of
that he might -pend upon their cultiva
tion.
Re felt that it was a great thing to have
-•fined their hearts, as lie bad done, and now
w i.ad only to keep the advautage.'aud a right
I'kusant winter must ensue. These were his
tw iJiL: as he walked briskly towards the inn
" u 'i'c he was stopping until he could find a
"carding place, and he heeded not the drifting
''•mils, nop the piercing north wiud, though it
urove full in Lis face.
At the door of the inn stood its owner—a
["' laced, jolly-looking man, with his hands in
- pockets, and a pipe in his month which he
J o! 't us the young man approached him.
I ve seen Mrs. Grey this morning," be said,
knocking the ashes from his pipe, and laying it
" shelf behind him. "She says she will take
!" 1 to her house to hoard for two dollars a
m.l •< jm.l iVP-bipg included '
" What family has she ?" enquired Leicester,
with considerable interest.
" Only herself and daughter, and a girl thut
nobody knows anything about, only that her
name is* Cressy. She is the oddest piece that
ever you saw."
"I will go to Mrs. Grey's at once, if you
think my room will be iu readiness. I should
like this afternoon to get domieilated in."
The honest inn-keeper, rather puzzled at the
long word, comprehended the intention of his
guest, and replied as nothing was ever out of
order at Mrs. Grey's, she would be just as rea
dy to see him at one time as another so af
ter an early dinner, the young man, followed bv
a boy with a wheelborrow, on which were piled
his trunks und boxes, found his way to his new
home.
It was a pleasant place outwardly, a large,
two storied white house, with a piazza at one
side, and long windows opening on a well kept
garden. A stout Irish girl met the young man
j at the door, and showed him his room—aplca
; sunt, airy apartment just over the piazza, and
| looking out, too, upon the garden walks.
" Mrs Grey will he happv to sec Air. Leices
ter in the parlor, when he'll be pleased to come
down," she remarked as she left him, and after
taking his books from the boxes, and partly ur
j ranging them upon the book shelves,he doscerid
• ed the stairs and rapping gently, pushed open
j the parlor door.
Airs. Grey rose to receive him as he entered,
| and even touched his hand with her cold fingers;
i but the glance of her eye was ehillio 'rand heart
| Ic-s.
" My daughter Helen," she said, turning to a
! young girl, who came forward with a warm smile,
j and held out her hand frankly to the stranger,
who grasped it very cordially, for he felt at
i once there was a bond of sympathy between
j them.
Helen Grey was a very pretty young creature,
! with soft brown eyes and hair, a delicate pear
! Jy complexion, and a charm of u manner which
| was quite irresistible.
Fred Leicester forgot his new . position of
j school-master—he laid aside hi? dignity, and be
! come again a young man of the world, intent
; on pleasing this fresh, beautiful wild flower, and
: making an all important, agreeable first impres
sion upon Mrs. Grey ; and at ten o'clock that
• evening he retired to his room quite confident
; that he had done both.
As soon as he had said " good night"—He
! len took a lamp, and stooped to kiss her mo
i tier, us was her wont, but Mrs. Grey would
j not let her go so easily; she wanted to talk
I awhile about Mr. Leicester. He was a real
gentleman, aud it was evident he cam" from a
good family, he was acquainted with the Bench
ers, at C , and she should enquire about i
his connexions of them At all events he was i
I very handsome, and a great acquisition to the ;
village society, and so good night.
Cressv Bird was alone in her garret chain- j
! her. It was cold, very cold there, butwhutdid j
' she care for that —what did any one cure, whe- J
| tlu re she was chilled through and through, or .
i not! It wa- nothing to anybody.
Sh" was nothing to anybody on the whole ;
I earth. Supperle.-s, but not hungry—there she i
sat looking wistfully out into the cloudy night. '
. No moon!iaht, no starlight to bring Ileavcn j
• j
j near to lew de-olate spirit -the wind howled !
| fiercely around the corner of the house, and ,
j the rain drops clattered on the window pane, j
I There wa- a light .-'lining from the window, I
I just beneath hers- it was in Mr. Leicester's
' room.
" He looked at me very kindly to-day, but j
he didn't speak to me —he thinks i am too
naughty a.id homely. Sam Johnson told him •
i I was real ugly, 1 hoard him, and now I won't j
| speak to the nuMer. not n word. He wouldn't 1
i cure anything about me if I did—nobody does j
! only to hate me. Oh, father, dear, dear fath-!
j er, if I could only just hear you say "my little
I Cressy," once more, I would be glad to die."
i With the Inst words trembling on her thin, pas
j sionate lips, Cressy threw herself on the little
{ low bed in the corner, and moaned herself to
' sleep not the beep, quiet slumber of child- :
j hood—it was very long since the young orphan |
had known such an one. Her slumbers were
vexed by dreams, and her restless frame over-;
taxed daily by work, too heavy for her, gained (
! but little refreshment at night.
Cressy's mother died while she was yet too j
: young to fed tin- loss, and her father aftersuf-1
j ferine eight long years from an incurable tlis-1
'■ ease, followed her. During all this period the j
j child was left to the care of a woman, who how-j
I ever faithful she was to supply the physical j
! wants of her young charge, knew nothing of I
her mental wants, and was unable to satisfy •
; them, had she known them.
With a passionate temper, which would listen |
j to none but the voire of love, and with a proud
ly sensitive heart, little Cressy was cast upon '
| the tender mercy of Mrs. Grey, whose husband j
| had been a cousin of her father. The wreck of!
a large fortune she brought with her, but this !
was iit tie heeded by her cold, heartless re la- 1
live, who by every word and look, strove to ;
, make the lit tie girl feel, oh how bitterly! that j
she was an unwelcome burden. Ilcr small bauds, j
quite unused to labor, were taught servile;
lessons, and her feet at night were too of
ten wearied by the constant strain upon them.
Little had she to do now with childbod's plea
sures— lilt 1" did she know of childhood's fresh
ness and grace.
Helen was not unkind to Cressy, who was on
ly a year younger than herself. Her temper
was too sweet to admit of unkindness, but she
was thoughtless. She did not feel how pre
cious a smile would be to the desolate heart,
; which by its turbulent beatiug was fast becom
ing callous. She thought, iu fact, very little i
about Cressy, one or another —they were rare
ly together, for Cressy never came to the table
i at meal times until the rest of the family had
left it—and Mrs. Grey took care to keep thorn
j apart at other times. Thus these two young
spirits moved in their separate orbits under the
same roof, neither conferring or receiving plea
sure from the other.
Cressy was allowed the privilege of attend
; ing school every afternoon, and herein she found
j a kind of delight—not in meeting others of her
I own ate, for she nevr spoke to there bcesu e
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT TOtVAXD.L, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA COODRIL'iI.
she fancied they all despised her. hut in learn
ing her lessons. Plain, uninteresting to be
sure they were—nothing but iong columns of
spelling and drv rules in grammar und arith
metic, yet still it was pleasant to keep the tri
umphant head of the classes she was in—it was
something to feel that she was superior to her
companions—that she had a power beyond
them.
Ah, Cressy Bird was sadly deficient in moral
training, but her capacity for improvement was
very great. The second day of the school, the
master looked for Cressy, but her seal was va
cant.
" She never comes in the morning, sir,'' said
a little fellow who stood beside him waitingfor
his copy book. In the afternoon however, she
was in her place as quiet, and apparently as
dull as before; ami still Mr. Leicester took no
notice of her. Cressy was surprised as well as
hurt, and two or three times during school hours
he met her large, dark eyes, half covered bv
their fringed lids, fixed ou his face, but with
drawn the instant she found herself observed.
Two or three days passed in this manner ; but
one afternoon us Leicester was leaning over
the railing of a bridge, lie felt some one gently
i touch his arm. He looked around carelessly,
; and saw Cressy standing beside him, her eyes
I cast down, and her pale luce covered with burn
ing blushes.
" You won't speak to me," she said, in a low
tone, and folding her little gloveiess hands.
" 1 am very glad to speak to you, Cressy,"'
said the master, kindly, "i thought we should
be friends after awhile."
"Friends," exclaimed the girl, passionately;
"friends! I never had one in my life but my
father. I don't know what it means to have
a friend."
" I will teach you then, little one," replied
her companion, laying his hand on hers, "Ml
me all übout yourself now, the lirst thing you
do. Are you all alone in the world ?"
" Alone! yes all alone, I "sobbed Cressy, bend
ing down her forehead till it rested on his hand.
He started to feel how hot and dry it was, but
he knew that tears would relieve her, and so he
let her weep till she was weary, then she wiped
her eyes and told him her short story. Of her
own feelings she spoke not—they were too sac
red to be entrusted to him yet, and she wonder
ed when she was alone in her room, how she
dared to tell him even what she did. Yet Cres
sy went to sleep that nigh I, lighter hearted than
for many a weary night before, for the master's
truthful voice had spoken encouraging words
to her —it hud said " I will be your friend, lit
tle one."
Helen Grey had not arrived at her sixteenth
year, untouched by the influences that surround
ed her. She was naturally amiable, and that
her mother's coldness could not destroy—she
was naturally enthusiastic aud imaginative, und
a course of idle, aimless reading hud vitiated
both enthusiasm and imagination. It was Lei
cester's wish to correct these faults which he
saw plainly, and inspire her with a taste for
more solid things. But Helen was like a bird,
at lir.it, now here, now there, at one moment
just within your grasp, at another dallying
among the flowers far away. Yet, withal, she
wa s-> fascinating, so artless in her flights that
Leicester quite charmed. But after awhile,
there came a change. Helen was subdued. —
She was willing to sit quietly, and listen while
he read to her, if he would read poetry—and
when he proposed to her to study and recite to
him in the long winter evenings she assented
joyfully.
A smali table in a cornet* of the thoroughly
warmed parlor, was set apart for her own espe
cial use, and there out of the proud mother's
hearing, the hours sped away on angel's wings.
But another pupil had Fred Leicester than
Helen that winter. Every evening Cressy
knocked lightly at his door, and came in with
her book in her hand to recite the lesson, in
which she never faltered. Helen made great
progress, but Cressy was far beyond her. Per
haps this was because, when she was reciting
she used no playful art to bring a smile to the
lips of her teacher, or more probably was it that
she learned the son.-e as well as the sound >f
the words, and thus made them do double ser
vice.
The winter was slfcrt— too short for Helen, !
too short for Leicester, too short for Cressy,
and the time came for school to close. It was
wonderfully improved under the skillful train
ing of the young master.
Would he come again in the autumnl If he
would consent to do so, th'ey would gladly raise !
the money for seven months. The committee i
were really anxious to hear his answer. Helen j
whispered softly and with a smile, "do come;" i
and Cressy never spoke, when she came to him
the last night of the term, and he told her they |
wanted him to return. She only folded her i
hands, as was her wont, when laboring under j
any strong emotions, und fastened her eyes up- ;
on the floor.
" I shall come again, I think. I cannot leave i
my little friend," he said, slowly. Then the
crimson blood came rushing to brow aud cheek:
her eyes lifted to his, Hashed with pleasure. —
She seized his hand, and covered it with kisses,
then let it fall, aud stood toid aud motionless,
and pale as before.
" Are you glad, my dear Cressy ?"
" Will you please hear my lesson ?" she asked,
evading a reply to his question; and he took the
book in silence. Sometimes Cressy was alto
getber beyond his comprehension.
Early 0:1 the following morning, when Leices
ter returned to his room after breakfast, be
found upon his table a bunch of blue violets, the
heavy dew still clinging to their frail petals,
and tilling the whole room with their fragrance
and beauty of early spring.
" Where is Cressy ?" he ventured to ask,
when an hour later he took leave of the Greys.
Mr?. Grey could not tell—the child had been
sulky all the morning, and it was just as well
that she was out of the way.
" Helen you will not forget me ?" whispered
Leicester. He was answered by a low sob —
then the carriage wheels rolled up before the
gate, and iu a moment more he was gone.
From a crevice iu the barn, where she had
concealed herself, Creesy taw him go. She
wondered much if he mitsed her. when he
' RBKAftDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.''
came to bid them good bye, but she lit-ver
knew.
After his departure, she resumed her studies,
for Leicester had marked out a course of read
j ing for her, kindly leaving with her the books
I she required. It was not so pleasant to be
without a teacher, certainly, and sadly she mis
sed her evening recitations; but the good teach
er wished her to persevere—he said her talents
; must not be wasted—be would be glad to find
' when 1m returned, that she had improved, and
■ she kept ou. Early in the morning before the
: rest of the family were up, she was awake, and
| crouching by her little window, that the first
j glimmering of daylight might steal in upon her
. open book ; —while late at night when every
i one was asleep, the light of her pitch-wood cau
j uie, (she dared not use tiie small bit of tallow
candle, lest Mrs Grey should forbid her set
ting up.) shone on the page, and her eyes were
fastened there, till they grew dim, and so hea
vy that she sould no longer keep them open.
This did not improve her personal appearance,
to be sure—her eyes grew lustreless, and her
cheek paler and thinner than ever, but in heart
she felt a new power spring up, a mental
strength uud ability of which she had never
dreamed. She felt that it would nerve her
to ''Car whatever trials might be before her—
that site could never be quite mise/able with
such a source of happiness in her own heart.
As for Helen, after the departure of Mr
Leicester her interest in her studies abated.
For a while, indeed, she did turn the pages of
the book he left her; but soon they remained
unopened upon tho book shelve?, and she lin
gered away her time in a half dreamy state,
very pleasing but very dangerous.
Aud so summer passed away, quietly, until
early in August, when a distant relative of
Mrs. Gray's, a widow lady of large fortune,
came to Saxtoti from her city home, to spend
a month or two, for the benefit of the country
uir. The verythiy that brought the letter au
nouncing her intention, witnessed the commeue
ment of an entire revolution iu the house of
Mrs. Gray.
The furniture must be newly rubbed, and
several new articles purchased; and a fresh pa
per put on the walls of the dining room, and of!
the apartment that Mrs. Carrol was to occupy, j
besides a thorough cleaning of the whole cstab-1
lishment.
Cressy found but little time for study dur-1
ing the week that intervened between the re
ception of the letter and the arrival of Mrs.
Carrol, for her services were required iu every j
place where taste was required, or work to be i
done. From early in the morning until late at
night, her busy fingers were occupied, and she
heartily wished thus Mrs. Carrol would arrive,
that she might have a few hours to herself.
At length she came—a placid looking, el
derly lady, with colorless checks, but eyes un
dinimed, and an unwrinkled brow, liom which
her gray hair was smoothly folded. Her voice
was low and peculiarly youthful in its intona
tion. She never laughed, but her smile was
exceedingly sweet and temh r. lighting up her
face ns sunlight lightens a shady spot.
Mrs. Grey and Helen felt at onec tlmt Mr?.
Carrol could uot sympathize with them and at
heart disliked her for her superiority to them- j
selves, but Cressy at a distance watched and j
admired her, with all the enthusiasm of her na- j
tare. She was not allowed to be near her, but j
often when they nret by accident, Mrs. Carrol '
paused a moment, and from the natural kind-;
ltcss of her heart bestowed a few pleasant words |
upon the friendless girl, and though sometimes j
indeed, she did marvel for a moment at the ex- ■
needing depth of the large black eyes which i
met her own, yet she never imagined that be
beneath the neglected and unprepossessing per
son, lay gems of thought and intellect tiiut only
required the touch of a master hand to bright-!
en into rare beauty. Early in October Mrs. !
Carrol left Baxton, and in a fortnight after her
departure came Fred Leicester, with warm ;
smiles and joyous greetings. " Oh, how ho ;
brings the sunshine into the house," whispered ;
Cressy to herself, as she stood at her work in
the kitchen, and listened, with a quick beating i
heart to his words, lie was talking to Mrs. '
Gray, and Helen, and she wondered if he had
once thought of her, poor little Cressy, who
was, but for him, all alone in the wide world. I
More beautiful than ever was sweet Helen i
Gray—ami so thought the young man, as he i
stood beside her, near a window that looked |
oat on the garden. Cressy stole in to take
away the tea thing?, meanwhile, but so soft :
was her step, and so intent was Leicester in
conversation with his companion that he did ;
not look away from her bright face.
At length lie turned just as Cressy left the |
room. "Was th it Cressy ?" lie asked.
" I believe so," replied Helen.
"Then 1 shall claim my old liberty of visit |
ing the kitchen, and go and say " how do you j
do," to her. You are the cause of my neglect- i
ing my little pupil."
Hastily ho left the room but Cressy was no- !
where to be found, but in a moment he return
ed to Helen. She had stepped from the win
dow and stood waiting for him to join her on
the lawn.
" Let us go down to the btfok/' she said.
" I have Lome pretty wild flowers growing there ,
which you must see," and together they walk-1
cd down to the garden path now covered with !
reddening autumn leaves. At the brookside '
they paused long—near by was a great rock
that, served for a seat, and the view from it
was one that Leicester loved. Cressy had been
the first to show it to him many mouths before.
Near the rock a group of young trees surround
ed a giant elm, and it was a favorite resort of
hers on Sabbath evenings, or when she could
get a few leisure moments during the week. -
" A strange creatine that Cressy," said Lei
cester. throwing himself down on the rock be- :
side Helen.
" How much you think of Cressy,'' uhe said,
in a low, vexed tone,
" Yes, when she is with me—she puzzles rae
—but Helen, Look here," and he drew from his
pocket a little bunch of faded violets. " I have
kept these very precious. You remember I
found them on my table the morning I Eft you,
and I have never looked at them rince without
thinking of you who braved the dr v and Jump
! of that spring morning to gather them fur me.
| Ah, Helen, of Cressy I think when i see her ;
I of you "
j Suddenly a quick hand snatched th? frail,
! withered blossoms from bis grasp: he sprang
to his feet and met the flashing eyes of Cressy.
j Every limb was trembling with intense passion
j - -her breath c-auiu thick and fast, and even
i her lips were white. She threw the flowers on
the ground and trampled upon thCm.
"Cressy!" said Leicester, "Cressy !"
" They Were my flowers—l gathered them so
you need them no longer." She folded her
hands on her bosom. For a full minute she
gazed with her great deep eyes in hi-: face, and
then turning slowly left him with Helen. Bale
and mute she sat on the rock during the whole
scene, but when Fred again turned toward her,
she burst into t'-ars.
" 1 can never forgive Cressy for startling yon
so, dear child," he whispered, caressing her soft
hair.
Meanwhile Cressy hastened home, and up to
her little low chamber, where she threw net self
for a few moments on her knees. " 1 shall
never be patient," she cried —" it is ail dark
to me--what shall Ido !" Poor Cressy! why
had no one taught thee to look to heaven for
strength. D irkness would have become light
eould'st thou but have seen tin: hand of thy
Father that wu> leading thee along thy thorny
path. But Cressy was doubly alone.
Darkness and silence reigned through the
home. Sleep hovered over the roof, and touch
ed nil eves but Crony's. Quietly she sat at her
open window through the night watches, the
damp air-blowing on her hot face, until the first
streak of dawn beamed in the eastern horizon,
then she arose and put on her old faded shawl
and bonnet—for an instant she stood t. "ere
the bit of looking glass, and glanced at i.er
white, weary face—then she took a smali ban
die from the table, and went softly down stairs.
One moment she paused at the door of Leices
ter's apartment, and fancied she heard his deep,
regular breathing, and then turuiug resolutely,
she hastened away. The bolt of the end door
slid back easily in her hand, and Cressy stood
under the broad Heaven, a homeless wanderer.
A rapid v, :1k of an hour brought Cressy to
a village, whence a stage left early in the morn
ing for the city of P . There was one va
cant seat, and drawing her veil closely over her
face, she took it in silence. Her purse was j
very slender—all that it contained was a part
ing gift of Mrs. Carrol, and now to get to that
lady was her purpose. .She had faith in her
kindness and goodness,—she wuc the only per
son in the world that would take any iuterest
in her, or point out to her away in which she
might train her living.
It was nearly dark when Cressy was set
down at the door of the inn where the stage
stopped, and it was useless for her to attempt
to find Mrs. Carrol until Sie morrow. So she i
went into the desolate parlor, and thence was
led by the landlady to a little bedroom still
more desolate. Alone she sat on the sid" of
the bed, and tried to collect her scattering
thoughts, but her head was hot and her hair
seemed on lire. She tottered to the bell-rope,
and in a moment the landlady was with her
ufrain.
" I believe I am going to be very ill," said
Cressy, pressing her hands on her brow, " I
want you to send to Mrs. Carrol No. 10
street, and ask her, no, give me a bit of paper."
The woman did as she was requested, and with
a trembling lmud Cressy wrote
" For the love of Heaven, come to poor
Cressy—do not let her die aioue."
She folded aud directed the note, and bade
the woman send it speedily—then perfectly ex-,
hnusted, she sank back on her pillow. She
heard the landlady descend the stairs and call
aloud, "Joe—here Joe;'' —then she thought
she must keep awake until he returned, and
then all was darkness.
* Jit**.*** *
" Where am I ?"
It was a largo comfortable apartment. A
cheerful lire burned in the grate, diffusing a
general warmth—crimson curtains drooped
over the windows—a work-table ,-tood near one
of them, at which sat a kind motherly looking
woman, who arose and came toward the bed,
when she heard the weak voice, it was Cres
sy's voice.
" You are at Mrs. Carrol's, my dear," and
tho answering voice was quiet and soothing.
" You are at Mrs. Carrol's, but you arc not to
speak—you have been ill, very ill—try, now,
and sleep."
"She smoothed the pillows and stroked Cres
sy's hair, while she lay back her tired head a:al
tried to think it all over. She had been very
si- k. she knew from her wasted shadowy hands,
aud now what a debt of gratitude she owed to
Mrs. Carrol. In the miu.-t of it all, she fell
into a refreshing slumber.
After that, Cressy recovered rapidly. In a
few days she was able to sit in tho grea*, soft
easy chair by the grate—and in a fortn'ght to
vis.t Mrs. Carrol in her own apartment, which
was just across the hall. That day she opened
her whole heart to her kind friend -she lmd
wished to do so before, but Mrs. Carrol would
not allow it .
Patiently she listened to it—an ! her heart
bled for the young orphan whose whole life had
been one of suffering. When sue fiui.Mi< d her
story, Mrs. Carrol came and stood bosnle her.
" Cressy," she said taking her pale hands in
her own; " Cressy, you are alone in the world,
and so am I. I will be your mother—yon shall
be my daughter."
Tears f. il fast on the clapped hands, but not
one word could Cressy utter.
" Bo brave, my child." whispered Mrs. Car
rol, handing a newspaper to Crcgsy, one morn
ing, two mouths after her adoption. Cressy
glanced at the, paragraph. Fred Leicester and
Helen Gray were married. She smiled faintly
and resumed her work, and even Mrs. Carrol
never knew the tempest that for a few hours
swept over her desolate heart.
Crcsey Carrol was very busy now prenairing
for school. Oh, how glad she was when Mrs.
Carrol decided for her to go—three years to
sbndy without interruption—-it seemed the re
alization of a beautiful.dream. Mr? Carrol
I bad alrea iv become fondly attached to l:°r
vol,. XV. NO. W.
young charge, so grateful was she, ami so pa
tient. With her quick eyc.she had seen, too,
the glittering of the fine diamond through it*
faulty setting.
From the moment in which she that
Leicester was married, a new purpose nerved
her woman's heart. Hitherto she bad studied
only that sue might improve—-uow, as she felt
| that hie in u't its stern reality, was opened be
| fore her, and site must tread alone its winding
| and difficult paths, she would sustain herself.
She would become more than
; all, who scorned her love, should acknowledge
her genius. It voald be something worth liv
intr for: aye, something worth suffering for, to
the great heart of humanity at her will,
and with these thoughts she commenced her
I studies. Midnight* always found her an uu
j wearied studcut, bending over her books, aui
dawn never came too soon for her impatient
spirit.
Cressy Carrol was not a Christian. Sabbath
after Sabbath she followed her teacher to the
village church because the law of the school
demanded it. She listened to the voice of the
pastor as it ascended to Heaven in prayer, but
her spirit never went with it. Religion was
shrouded in mystery and gloom, and so her
poor desolate heart, with all its restless, unsat
isfied longings, and inspirations, found naught
to fill it, save the feverish dream of ambition.
School life with Creasy Carrol was over, and
she was again at home. Four years had giveu
grace and beauty to her figure, and Lcr face
was radiant with health and ititellect.
" Can this be poor Cressy?" she often
herself when she glanced in her mirror. There
was a heavy mass of glossy hair folded smooth
ly away from a broad white brow, there were
lar ••• deep eyes, full of intense life and thought,
there were finely carved lips, quivering at every
emotion, and speaking of a highly sensitive na
tare. Indeed it was not strange that Cressy
should ask herself that question when she gaz
ed upon her noble beauty.
Mrs. Carrol was really proud of her adopted
daughter, and Cressy's proposal, made soon af
ter her return, to go South as a governess, met
with a firm refusal. "No indeed, no indeed,"
said M n. Carrol, " now you are to be my own
child —ray companion—l shall detK-nd upon you
for my happiness, heneefcrJi," and Cressy was
more than contented.
A new star had appeared in the literary
world, whose praises were on every tongue. A
simple unpretending volume, that found its way
at once to every centre table, contained all that
was know uof its author. Who could the gift
ed one be —he who had thus won a place in
many hearts ? Was it a man ? There was
power enough, and strength too, and yet there
were d< licate breathings of woman's life, scat
tered like dew drops on every page, that none
but a woman could have written.
Cressy Carrol listened as the world thus con
jectured. with a fond, quiet s:ai!e. The book
was her own.
And now that her dream of long years was
realized, was she happy. Was she happy even
when as its acknowledged author she was feted
and curcs.-ed by the highest and noblest in the
land ! Answer hours of midnight watching,
when sleep refuses to kiss those burning eyes;
wiv i th\v gaze upward set king to pierce thro'
the mysterious stars—and never satisfied rest
ed again on the cold earth.
In the summer succeeding the appearance of
her book, Cressy visited with Mrs. Carrol a
celebrated watering-place. A strange multi
tude were gathered there, and Cressy with her
keen eye and knowledge of character, loved to
watch them, in their eager pursuit of pleasure.
One evening Mrs. Carrol was sitting with
Cressy by an open window, at a distance from
the gay groups of people who were collected in
the spacious drawing room, when a little child
glided towards them, and laid on Cressy's fold
ed hands a bunch of flowers—heart's ease and
forget-me-not. Cressy looked down on the lit
tle one, khidly, but her head, covered with long,
loose tresses of silken hair, was slightly bowed,
" Thank you," she said, in a low sweet tone.
Slowly the child raised her head, until Iter eyes,
bluer than the forget-me-nots, rested full ami
fearless on her face. It was a strange thrill
that went to Cressy's heart, with that confiding
glance !
" What is your name ?" she asked laying her
hand on the soft hair.
"Nellie Leicester," whispered the child. " I
am hero with papa."
" And where is your mamma ?" enquired
Cressy, controlling her emotion, though her
check was white and her lip quivered.
" Mamma is in Heaven," was the almost,
whispered reply, us the blue eyes were reverent
ly raised. Involuntarily Crcssv drew the litt'o
motherless one closer to her, and threw her arm
caressingly r round her slight figur\ and the
child, quite content, stood without speaking,
stroking with her soft hand, the head of lcr
new frieti l, until her quick ear caught tho
sound of a familiar footstep.
" It is papa," she cried joyfully, and hound
ed away. Cressv gazed earnestly hr.—.
She saw her approach a tail, elegant looking
mar. who stopped an, 1 lifted her in his arms,
an 1 in an inst aut her heart told berth it it was
L 'icestcr. Crcr y was no longer Cressy, but.
Miss Carrol, and had not lived the last .'x
years iy vain. The keenest eyecouM nothuv*
detected the slightest change of expression ou
her noble fare, when at the entreaties of his
child, M \ Leicester suffered Imr to lead him
quite up to the two ladies. Mrs. Carrol arcs >.
with a smile and an outstretched, friadly hand
—she had evidently met him before. Then .-he
presented hira to Miss Carrol.
" I never mentioned Mr. Leicester to you I
think, my dear," she said, " I had the pleasure
of meeting him at . two years since, be
fore you returned from school," and apparent
ly without effort, ehe directed the coaversat.oa
to him, while Nellie stood beside Creasy, play
iojp with the fiowers that still lay on her bauds.
*LNeliie is not well," said he.r father anxious
]v, " I am trying the waters for her, but I can
not say that they benefit her She seems like
a faded flower to me," he added in a tremulous
tone.
At the seme moment, a respectable elderly
woman drew near, and beckoned for the child