. jJIIW PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
St ioavanda :
E Morning, March 24, 1859.
I ftlecltb Ibctrj.
EL y O y,D WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR IT.
■MI „ cared less for wealth and fame,
j nd ims for battle-field and glory ;
■ f rit in human hearts, a name
| r Nmi better in a song or story ;
|f , f men.instead of nursing pride,
lould learn to hate and to abhor it—
If more relied
On love to guide,
d wrl j would be the better for it.
K , oe „ dealt less in stocks and lands,'
P End more in bonds and deeds fraternal ;
K v', Tf ' s work had more willing hands
m To link this word to the supernal ;
t IL * ,ored up IjoVe s oil and wine '
F Uilon bruised human hearts would pour it ;
P If " yours " and " mine "
Would once combine,
to TV world would be the better fur it.
ST if sen would act the play of life,
i i n d fewer spoil it in rehearsal ;
R :• Bigotry would sheath its knife
■ Till good became more universal ;
:h u< ustom . gray with ages grown ,
p " Hid fewer blind men to adore it—
If talent shone
In truth aloue,'
R 'no world would be the better for it.
P I: men were wise in little things—
| Affecting less in all their dealings—
£ •• hearts had fewer rusted strings
T isolate their kindly feelings ;
I j;.-non, when Wrong beats down the Right,
Would strike together and restore it—
If Right made might
In every fight,
I The world would be the better for it.
Stlctttb Cult.
; 111)- VI) MAN'S REVENGE!
low IT WORKED AXD HOW IT ENDED.
r _—+
L iUrTF.R 111. —HOW THE REVENGE WORKED.
! Tri eto his promise, Richard Mallet never
| 'ierfered, by word or deed, with the arrange
i wts his child's guardians had made for her
1 sscation.
I I A few years went by, and the laboring
j knemason had risen to be first workman in
i • master's employ. With bettered means
jflkiti stood wages, Richard Mallet was able to
H..: the neighborhood of Peck's Court, and
•at a small house in the suburbs. Airs Alal
<ti!l washed and ironed, and cooked her
i dinner, but her labors were aided by
a little servant ; aud the boys were sent to a
. . d school.
Ttcple said Richard Mallet was not the
1-d he used to be. He had grown churlish
Iwb bis friends, haughty with his fellows, lost
i iioid spirits aud his pleasant smile, and 011-
> fjeemed intent upon making his way up in
. :? world. Bnt his wife and children could
Mwno fault iu him. In her heart of hearts,
linriah, perhaps knew that her husband was
'"the same ; but she would have died sooner
f n breathed an accusation against him.
And where was Jessie all this time?
In these few years, Jessie Alallet, the
j - vailom crippled child, had grown into a
:traight, well-formed girl, whose presence
' aid disgrace co drawing-room. Of a slight
.ure and delicate features, she still recalls
t pale-faced little child who used to hobble
unit her father's house upon a crutch ; bnt
fere is bloom upon her cheek, and health
"d energy in her movements now-a-days.—
nder skillful treatment, and the healthy in
iwnces that have surrounded her of late, her
iSrraity has gradually disappeared.
It is an iuijiortaiit day at the Canterbury
I'hool, when next we see her. It is Jessie's
luenteenih birthday, and her school days
Wit an end. She has been writing a letter
1 her parents—those letters are the only
between the old one and the new one ;
"Ward has them p.ll, from the first childish
to the last well penned epistle, safely
up iu an old desk—and Jessie sits
thinking of her father and mother with tears
her eyes. Why are they not here to-day?
iruand the room are Epread all the little
1 "j her companions have given her—mere
for the most part, but pleasant tokens
" tiie good will she had awakened there, and
I 'he good name she leaves behind. " Kvery
N) here remembers me, ar.d is kind," thinks
"It is only my own family who for
m me
Jessie has plenty of new friends now,
! t for aught we know, may have learned to
Jlj without her parent's love, since last we
her. There are many affections we count
ig, that a six year's absence would try ;
I letter-writing, as we most of us know, is
| '- a poor bond, after all.
| j SO Perhaps Jessie's love is of a less ardent
Pure than it used to be.
I e ' las n °f much time, however, for reflec
I n " n t '" s or on any other score. There is a
I urn of wheels on the gravel-path, and a
heft r °! ,K . U P ,0 the door - is Air. Hale,
Iher ° a '. tSs i e s guardians, who is come to take
own iir 1 * r<)ra sc,l °ol, and escort her to his
mepfi'. m " a ' e Fields, where au archery
or : s,e 8 farewell to her companions of
tsrn<- ir *i away in Mr. Hale's
*ith BU D the schojl room windows,
in dimmed eyes, and sees the old cathedral,
Hut her J. ' ,er tears, for the last time,
heerir, '^' ltenL 'd ere long. There is a
and f.p nce sunshine, green fields,
toim. S -i , air> ard t0 resist, and it was next
'He 'nj eto ~e dull, seated by Mr. Hale's
i 11,.. , l . ew^ al %-hop grower's genial face
toujji | Jessie good. Such a smile as his
phjßii.i- l ,aV( n a smad ann,lit y 10 a young
■ Win a an ' a c^ea P ar >d efficacious retnedv
I ' OW 'T'nted patients. 3
I w , e arc -'' otmd he, as the carriage
Ice ' a t Htt l e Fields, "here we
1 > 'l ready, you see."
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
Jessie beheld the tents and targets on the
lawn, the servants hurrying to and fro, and
the gardeners giving the last touches to ther
decorations.
" Don't faucy. Miss Jessie, this is all got up
on your special account. Other people can
have birth-days besides you. Dick is nineteen
to-day, and he means to share in the honors
too. Here he comes. He'll take you in to
speak to Airs. Hale aud the girls."
Mr. Richard Hale raised his wide-awake,
and shook hands with Jessie. He had taught
her to ride one holiday, and play chess another,
so they were old frieuds.
Airs. Hale was a stately woman, who
kissed Jessie on her cheek, and bade her
welcome with an air of polite patronage.—
Pride of birth was Mrs. 11 ale's failing. She
had the misfortune to he the grand-daughter
of a baronet, and had a weakness for good
blood ; hence she never took so kindly to
Jessie as the rest of her family. Her hus
band, with a delicacy of feeling peculiar to
him, had never divulged to any one the real
facts of Jessie's parentage ; but Mrs. Hale had
formed a shrewd guess on the subject.
To-day, there was even a more than usual
amount of dignity in the good lady's demeanor;
herhend was carried more erect, and her dress
rustled more imposingly, as she swept by. A
young lord was to be her guest, to-day, and,
to meet him, some of the first families iu the
neighborhood, and the elite of Canterbury had
been invited to Hole Fields ; consequently,
Mrs. Hale's reception of Jessie was quite asol
emn and impressive sight.
The daughters were rather more humble
minded, and being oid school-fellows of Jessie,
welcomed her right gladly. They were soon
ont in the garden together—all three glad to
escape from the drawing-room, and have a few
minutes' chat before the bustle of the day com
menced.
Jessie almost trembled when she heard of
the graud doings that were to take place, and
the grand people who were expected. But
before her friends had half finished their con
fidences, the coufab was broken up by Air.
Dick Hale rushing down to the arbor where
they sat, and summoning his sisters to their
mother's presence.
" Make haste, girl's. There's mother be
coming rigid with horror. His lordship has
arrived, aud uobody to receive him. Do, pray,
go to her aid, cr she'll be speechless iu five
minutes."
The two girls flew away to the house, and
left Jessie to their brother. He stood and
watched them with a laughiug face.
" Well, Miss Alallet, this is doing us honor,
isn't it. A"ou and I are lucky folks to nave
such a birth-day keeping as this."
" 1 am lucky in having such friends, and
such a home to-day. I little thousrht, though,
when Air. Hale brought tne over, that I should
find such a gay assembly, or, perhaps"
Jessie hesitated.
"Or, perhaps, you wouldn't have come.
Well, that's very polite. I think I had better
tell my father that you'd like to have the hor
ses out again, and go back to Canterbury.—
He's sure to oblige you." Air. Dick turned
very pale.
"No ; don't talk nonsense. I didn't mean,
Richard, to —to'' Jessie stammered, and
stopped ugain.
"To insult your guardian, eh 1" said Dick,
recovering his good-humor, when lie saw Jes
sie looking distressed. " Yon had better not
let my mother hear you insinuate that yon
don't care to meet her friends, Jessie. Oh, if
you only knew what she's gone through to get
them together, and the management it has ta
ken to avoid giving offence. Just imagine her
position this morning, when the Romleys sent
word they'd he able to come after all, and we
(unhappy wretches,) on receiving their first;
note to decline, had invited their mortal eue- ;
mies, the Cheeseraans. The families are at
daggers drawn, because young Ilomley, 1 siqe
pose, wants to marry one of the Miss Cheese
mans, and old Romley spurus the alliance, and
swears he'll never consent. A pretty thing for
an anxious hostess ! I wish the Cheeseraans
were all at Jericho, I'm sure. 1 never wanted
them to be invited here at all." Richard Hale
looked really half annoyed.
" Why not ?" asked Jessie.
" Ob, because uobody knows who they are,
or what they arc. It's said he was a tallow
chandler, and had a large fortune left him.
They have just that cut. He has taken a large
house near us. I don't know them, you know.
By the way. you don't, I hope."
Jessie had suddenly grown crimson, and
Dick feared he had said something iudiscrect.
" No, I dou't know them."
" Oh, that's right. That sort of origiu al
ways makes one suspicious."
Quietly as Jessie had discla'med acquaint
ance with the Cheesemans, there was such a
sudden tumult in her heart, and such a singing
in her eafs, that for the next five minutes she
heard not a word her companion said.
"There goes iny father I" suddenly cried
Richard. "He is looking for you, 1 know.
Let's follow him ; you have to be introduced
to such a lot of people. I must be off, too,
or we shall have the Romleys falling foul of
the Cheesemaus, aud there'll he blood spilt.
Come along."
They hastened away to the lawn.
Everything wore a gala air there. The vis
itors were arriving there fast; a splendid colla
tion was laid out in one of the tents, aud a
band of music was playing under the mulberry
trees. The forthcoming archery fete at Hale
Fields had been the talk of the neighborhood
for days past.
Jessie was an object of considerable inter
est to the guests. She was said to be a sort
of ward to Mr. Hale's, aud very rich ; also
there was some mystery about her fortune.—
Had they known that it was a half-sovereign
lent, many years ago, by Mr. Hale's father to
Zebedee Peck, the hoj>-picker boy, that had
laid the foundation of this same fortune, they
would perhaps have manifested less enthusi
asm ; but being iguorant of this prosaic fact,
several persons were very eager for an intro
duction.
And now the festivities commenced. Jessie
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
was no archer, bnt she stood by and watched
the sports, well pleased when her old friend,
Alary Ilale, carried off the first prize of the day.
Then followed the luncheon in the tent, and
Mr. Hale's funny speech when he presented the
oak-lcaf crown to his daughter.
After that came a dance on the lawn, when
Jessie was his lordship's partner, and when the
band from Canterbury, under the influence of
Mr. Hale's home-brewed, played such exhila
rating quadrilles, that it was enough to set the
very cows in the neighboring fields doing L'ete
and La -poult.
Blithe, however, as the music sounded to the
merry makers, there was one ear, not far off,
to whom it brought no mirth.
In the lane leading to Hale Fields, a solita
ry man was standing, with a stern, down cast
lace. It was Richard Mallet, who for the lust
hour bad paced backwards and forwards in'the
lane. Six years had passed since he had seen
his daughter. During all this time, hehadkept
his resolution of never interfering with her ed
ucation, and had never presented himself before
her eyes. He had a purpose ever in view from
which he had uever swerved.
He had come down to Canterbury by coach
overnight, and finding, as he expected, that
his daughter had that dav quitted school, and
gone over to Hale Field's with her guardian,
he had followed them in order to carry out the
purpose he had so long meditated.
It was only within the last hour that his
heart had failed him.
Though Richard Mallet looked older and
sterner, he was much the same man at heart.
Time, however, had wrought some changes iu
him. Though still in the prime of life, his hair
was tinged with gray, and his face had a hard
er look than of old. He wore a better coat uow,
and had a black silk handkerchief fasteued
loosely around his throat.
Hie horns and bugles of the Canterbury
band swelled over the gardens, and the wind
carried the hum and laughter of the guests to
his ears.
For the twentieth time, he stopped before
the gates, and for the twentieth time, he turn
ed away again.
At last, with an angry expression at his
own irresolution, he opeued the gates, and eu
tered the grounds.
" Air. Hale won't be able to see you to-day,
my man—he's engaged, aud can't attend to bu
siness," called out the lodge-keeper as lie went
through the gates.
" Aly business ain't with Mr. Hale,'' said
Richard looking at the man, whose red face
showed he had taken good care of himself in
the general festivity.
" Oh, it's the back-door yon want, is it ?"
" Take the first path, then, to the right."
The man spoke with an insolent air.
But Richard kept in the broad walk, and
went on as before. Suddenly, he came to a
stop. He had heard his own name pronounced
by some one behind the high laurel hedge at
his side.
" Mallet ? Ah, that's her name, it is ? Well,
she is certainly goodlooking. But tln v say,
poor thing, her family is not recognizable. Is
it true ?"
"Quite true. Mrs. Iluie has hinted as much
to me herself. They do say her father is a
common mason, and carries a hod on his shoul
der to this day. Bnt, however, that nniv be,
they are vulgar people—that's certain."
Richard's lips became as pale as death.
" What a mercy the child was removed from
her Iriends in time 1" continued the first speak
er. " Really, no one would suppose her to be
of low origin. With her money, she may make
a good match one day, and so get free of her
former ties. What a good thing she fell into
the hands of the Hales—quite providential.
Ah, here comes our host!"
The ladies moved away ; and Richard, witli
his teeth set, and his foot crushing the gravel
under his heel, strode on to the house.
One or two persons turned toiook at him as j
he approached, but the majority of the guests
were on the side-lawn, where the dancers were
assembled and the marquee erected ; so he es
caped observation.
"Is my daughter in ?" he inquired of the
servant at the hall door.
He had walked straight up to the piiucipnl
entrance. The man stared in surprise, and
then, with a satirical glance at a waiter near,
replied :
" No, she aint, nor wou't be to-day, nor yet
to-morrow. Your business ain't partickler
pressin', I 'opcand he winked at his com
panion.
" A'ou'll please keep a civil tongue in your
head, and ans ver my question. Is Miss Mal
lett in ?''
"Miss Mallett? Yes she's about some
where ; but you can't sec her ; that is, you— ;
you" The man stammered, changed his 1
"tone, and stopped. Something had warned
him in time.
" You'll have the goodness to show me into
a room where 1 can speak to her, aud then
send and seek her."
Without another word, the man led the way
across the hall, and ushered Richard into the
library.
It was a handsome room—green and cool,
with a large bow-window opening out into the
garden, and an awning outside. Richard could
see the gay company, and the baud and tent
on the lawn. He caught sight of his own fig
ure in a mirror opposite, but the contrast there
did not trouble him. A strange self-control
had come over him ; there was an iron resolu
tion written on his face.
He was standing gazing at the sacrifice of
Iphigenia, iu bronze, on the mantel piece, and
was striving to find out its meaning, when he
beard footsteps approaching. He turned, and
a young lady and gentleman entered the room
through the wiudow.
It was Jessie and Mr. Dick Hale.
For one moment they both stared at the un
expected visitor in surprise : the next, Jessie
gave a low cry aud sprung lorward :
" Father!"
Richard Mallett's arms were folded on his
breast, his face was cold and unmoved ; but at
that one word his arms opened aDd he straiued
her to bis heart.
Mr. Dick Hale disappeared.
"Thou aint forgotteu ray face, then !" said
Richard, looking down at his daughter.—
" That's well. I didu't know but how you
might."
Though lie spoke coldly, his lip trembled so
he could scarcely articulate.
"Thou art changed since we met, girl.—
Instead of ray poor laine lass, I find thee a
lady growu." He scauued her over at arm's
length.
" I want to know, now, whether you are
still my own child or not ; I want to know
whether they have changed your heart as well
as your dress. Stay ; don't speak yet; you
may repent it. I have a question to ask you :
I want to know whether you will leave these
people, and come home to your mother and me
—that's the proof I want as to whether you
are still my own child."
Jessie's eyes fell. There was something so
cold and stern in her father's voice, it made her
heart shrink.
"Think before yon speak ; there's much de
pends upon it. Are you ready to leave these
friends, and cast your lot with me ? Are you
prepared to live with those who are not clever
and polished, but rough, unedicuted people.—
There's a deal to lose, but I think there is
something to gain. We can give you love,
Jessie, such as you may never find else" lie
suddenly stopped. " Answer me, my lass,
which is it to be—go or stay 1"
" I'll go, father."
He loved her still ; his last words had deci
ded her in a moment.
" You'll go ? Aud will you go contentedly ?
Will you go, feeling you aint ashamed o' them
you'll have to live with ?"
" Father ? why do you put these cruel ques
tions to me? I have prayed to God to bring us
together every night of my life. Ashamed! oh
you forget I am your child."
Jessie hid her face in her hands and wept.
" You say you ain't ashamed of me," said
Richard, with a strange expression gathering
over his face. " Then I'll put your words to
the test. Look at this hand ; it's rough and
hard with labor ; my boots are thick and ugly;
the linen on my back is coarse ; my coat is
badly cut ; I don't look like a gentleman—
anybody may see that. Now, if you ain't
ashamed of me, common looking as I be, take
me out through that window on to the lawn
amongst those people, and tell them I'm your
father. Dare yon do it ? Dare you own me
before 'em all ? Speak out."
Jessie turned deadly pale, and a spasm pas
sed over her face. What was it her father
asked? It was too much—too much. A hun
dred things forbade it : Mrs. Hale's pride, (he
opinion of her friends, and—worse than all!
Dick's words that very day. fcjhe stood dumb
and terrified.
Her father saw her irresolution, and his
breath came quick. " You've had time to
think. Dare you do it ?"
There was a moment's silence, and then the
struggle was at au end, She had counted the
cost, and had triumphed. She passed her hand
over her brow, and said : " Yes, father, 1 dare.
Come!"
She had reached the window, when her step
faltered. Before her was the gav and brilliant
assembly. She stood spell bound at the sight,
and a shiver passed over her
" Yon can't, then—you can't do it," whis
pered Richard hoarsely. Without another
word, he stepped back, and turned and left her
alone.
But ere he had gone five paces from her,
Jessie was at his side : " Father, forgive me ;
I have no fear."
She put out her hand, looked up into his
faee radiant in her love, and led him straight
to the window. The next moment they stood
in the garden before all the people.
Kvery eye was fixed upon the young girl as
she crossed the lawn with her companion and
walked up to the tent where Mr.and Mrs.Hale '
and a party of their friends (Canterbury gran- I
dees, and quiet old folks, who did not dance) j
were sitting.
"Who has Miss Mallett got with her?"
" What a singular proceeding !" "Is she es
corting one of the gardeners to the tent ?" \
asked the young people on the lawn
Regardless of all comments, Jessie never j
stopped till she had reached the tent where
her hostess sat.
Then and there, in a few simple words she
made known her father to Airs. Hale.
A buzz of astonishment rose up around j
Mrs. Hale looked bewildered and confused ; '
but, ere Jessie had done speaking, Mr. 11 ale j
was at her side.
" This is your father, Jessie, is it ? Then I
am glad to make his acquaintance." Mr.Hale
held out his hand to Richard. " 1 have only
seen you once before, Mr. Mallett (it was when
your uncle died); but I have not forgotten
your behavior then.''
Mr. Hale's prompt manner had spared any
thing like a scene, and relieved every one at
once. j
"Sir, I thank you ; that's kindly said. But
let me explain how 1 came to intrude myself
lure." Richard stood erect, and unembarras
sed with his hat off " I aint a man to intrude
myself anywhere, but I had a reason fcr com
ing here which mav be a wrong nn, but which
I couldn't help follerin' out. For now goin'
on seven years, sir, I have been pining for the
sight of my child, and all this time I have lie
ver meddled nor interfered with the edication
I knew she ought to have. I come down here
to-day, sir, to claim her, and see if she still
loved me as she used to do ; but 1 come, I'm
afenrd.in a sperit as might have led to no good.
I had grown mistrustful, and thought she'd he
changed, and ashamed of me. So when she
comes into your parlor, where I was waitin'
for her just now, I steeled my heart again her,
bonny as she looked, and felt jealous of her
dress and lady ways. She said she was ready
to go wi' me, but she seemed to be frightened
like, I thought, aud I doubted her still. So I
said to her (it wus a sudden thought that come,
I don't know how): " If you'll cross that lawn
hand in hand with me, aud own me afore all
I those people. I'll believe you love me as you
'ought." Whereupon, sir, before I'd lime to
consider o' whut I asked (I wasn't myself just
then), she stepped out of the window, and
brought me straight into your presence without
a murmur or a blush. And God lovelier for it!
And so he will It was a right noble act, thu'
I hadn't ought to have asked it."
Jessie hid her face on her father's arm, and
be stopped.
Every one was silent. The simple earnest
ness of the man, and his erect yet modest bear
ing, had touched all present.
" Mr. Mallett,'' said an old gentleman com
ing forward, "I admire and sympathize with
your conduct. May God bless your daughter."
The old clergyman, a high dignitary of the
church, laid his hand ou Jessie's arm, aud led
| her to a seat.
" Let me shake hands with you, Mr. Mallet.
I honor both your head and your heart."
It was his lordship that spoke. Yes ; Mrs.
Hale might stare and refuse to credit the evi
deuces of her senses ; but there was her noble
I actually shaking hands with a man with
out gloves ! When ?. right reverend dean and
a peer's son had thus openly acknowledged the
stone-mason, no one was afruid of losing caste
by addressing him.
Jessie and her father would probably have
become lions, had they not stoleu oET, through
Dick Ilale's agency, to a quiet parlor, where
they were left alone to themselves.
Of course, the archery feto at Hale Fields
was long remembered in the neighborhood, aud
gained considerable eclat from what certain
ladies pleased to term "the roiuautie incident"
that terminated the day.
One summer evening a few years later, a
family group was assembled about the shade
I of a sycamore, in front of a pretty farm-house
iu Devonshire.
The garden overlooked the sea, and, from
the seat under the sycamore, the white, bird
like sails of the fishing boats coming up with
the tide, and the great hull of a Plymouth
steamer iu the distance, with its smoke plume
trailing along the horizon, were visible.
It was Richard Mallet und his family who
were assembled iu the garden at the Cliff
Farm.
The father with a roll of paper on his knee,
and pencil and compasses in hand, was plan
ning some improvements for the farm-yard.—
His wife, busy with her knitting, sat at a little
distance. One of the boys lay on the grass at
his mother's feet, reading t> hen ; the other j
was watching the Plymouth steamer through
a telescope. Jessie, alone with her father, on
the bench under the tree, sat with her hands
clasped idly before her, and her face fixed ou
the sea. She looked very pretty iu that thought
ful attitude.
" Father," she said suddenly, " I was just
thinking how strangely good has come out of
evil in our two lives. Uncle Zeb's wicked in
tentions seemed to have carried with them
their own frustration. He has knit us closer
together than ever. I think I should never
have known how much I loved you, hud 1 not
been separated from my home all those years ;
and I certainly could never iiave kmwu how
much vou loved me."
Jes-ie took hold of her father's hand as she
spoke, and looked at him with unutterable uf
fection.
" Yes, Jessie, good fuis coine out of evil iu I
our lives, a-, you say. And I think pwople
would often have less power to injure us than
they have, were we but true to ourselves. As !
long as you and me remained so, Uncle Zeb's ,
curse could never have done us any harm We i
want more faitli in one another, Jessie, and in
the goodness of our own hearts, and then we'd
see less coldness and disunion than there is in j
the world, lint I musn't preach ; it's only your
mother who >ays I'm as good as the parson, or i
who think s me as clever, Gloss her heart!" He :
looked towards his wife with a fond smile.— !
"Holloa, what are they up to there! See, !
there's Pliil shouting like mud !"
There was evidently great excitement amongst
the mother and her boys.
" There he goes, father. There's the gen
tleman who took ns out fbliing the other day, !
and jumped overboard when Ned fell into the
water!"
A stranger was standing near the edge of
the cliff beyond the garden-wall.
" Oh, do run and ask him to come in," said
the mother. " I hare seen him there nearly
every night this week, and wondered who lie
could be. To think I didn't know him ! You
20 too, Jessie ; you'll know how to thank him. !
Here's your hat."
Jessie took her father's arm, and they set off '
for the cliff. As they drew near the stranger,
Jessie suddenly grasped tight hold of her fath
er's arm. "Oh, stop, father—stop ! Look,
lie's coming this way.
Jessie had recognized the figure before her
—it was that of Mr. Dick llalc.
He bad been prowliug around the neighbor
hood for some days past, in a secret sort of
way. quite unlike his usual open behavior.—
Wild ducks had been the rstensib'e object of
his wanderings, ns the gun upon his shoulder ]
gave evidence of; but the sen-fowl appeared
only to frequent one part of the coast, and ;
that was the immediate tieighbordood of the
Cliff Farm.
It required no great amount of persuasion
upon Mrs. Mallet's part to induce Mr. Dak
Hale to enter the house, and to stay and take i
supper afterwards. And as, upon returning to j
his inn at midnight, he decided to remain an- j
other week in the neighborhood, it is to be
presumed he spent a pleasant evening.
A few years further 011, and we again take
a peep at a family group at the Cliff Farm.
But this time they are assembled by a win
ter's fire, with the wind rumbling in the chim- j
ney, and the waves beating 011 the beach below.
A gray haired old man is going to tell a ,
Christmas story to his grandchildren. Grand \
father has seen strange changes since his youth,
and can tell strange stories too.
" Let it be something true, grandfather," j
says a bright eyed little girl on his knee.
" And let it have a terrible name,"says Dick
a fine boy of nine.
" Suppose, then, I tell you your mother's his
tory," ears grandfather, looking at the youug
matron silting bv her husband'* side.
VOL. XIX.
" Yes, grandfather, tell tbeui that/' replica
the children's father.
" But mother's history won't be a story,'*
cries Dick.
" It will he ns good," soys grandfather ;
"and ns you want a terrible uauie to it t Dick,
suppose we cull it A Dr.ad Alan's Jicvengv"
As ASCIKNT OHIO FlUHT —Upwards of a
quarter of n century ago, a little uffuir occur
red in high life, in the town of Columbus,
which ought not to be suffered to pass into
obiirion. The scene was the front of the ven
erable hotel kept by " Bob Russell," who with
j his well known colored servant " Dick," (tho
roughly marked with the snmll-pox.) will not
soon pass out of the iniuds of the settlers of tbo
Stnte.
Mr. F y was Attorney General of Ohio,
uni L d was Chief Clerk in the office of thu
Auditor of .State. The United States Court
■ was in session, nnd Mr. F. improved the op
uortunity to explain to a number of conatitu
| cuts in front of the hotel the circumstances of
a claim wnich had accrued to the " Sullivan
heirs" in consequence of the removal of the
capital ol Ohio from Chiificothe to Columbus.
In the course of his remarks, he questioned the
statement of the Auditor's books. Mr. L. at
once pronounced b s statement a lie.
" I cannot waive rank," said Mr. F., 44 and
fight this man."
As he proceeded to reiterate his charges,
Mr. L. pronounced him a second and a third
time a liar, when Mr. F., becoming much exci
ted, shouted :
44 My fellow citizens, I have concluded to
waive t lie questioD of rank, and settle this mat
ter at once."
So, taking off his coat, and descended from
the stand, and immediately received a tremen
dous 44 right bander," which lodged him in a
neighboring mud-hole. Getting up, he receiv
ed a 44 settl.T," which brought him on to tho
same spot. A third time he came up to tho
44 scratch," when a well directed 44 eye blinder,"
from the sub-Auditor, caused him to turn a
complete surnmer-sault, and lodged him ooca
more upon his mother earth.
Turning his eyes around, under the evident
impression that he hud fulfilled the utmost re
quirements of the 44 code," and not desirous of
performing any purely 44 meritorous"labors, ho
addressed himself to his physical superior as
follows :
44 Before rising from this position, air, I d<y
sire to ask you a question : Do you inteud to
strike me if 1 get up?"
44 Of course, I do, d—n you," ejaculated hia
excited adversary.
44 Then, sir, I shall not get off my back."
The spectators—among them, if 1 mistake
not, II oil. T- C and Judge S
now interfered, and the beligerents were sepa
rated.
The following actually occurred at Phil
adelphia :
A lady in Spruce street, wishing "to got
clear of the offal, fat, grease, Ac , that had ao
cnmulated in the kitchen, remarked to an En
glish girl, who had recently come to her em
ploy, that the first FAT man she saw in tho
street to call him in, she wanted to see him.
The good creature, thinking the form fat ap
plied to the man's size.und not to his business,
a little while after, on going to the door, saw
a man whose corporation justified her in in
forming him that Slisstis wished to see him,
and would be so kind as to step in. lie did
so nnd was seated in the parlor. The girl
called her mistress down stairs to attend to tho
fat man hen she had descended she was
informed that he was in the parlor. 44 In the
parlor !" exclaimed Mrs. 4, and what is
he doing in the parlor She hurried in, and
there discovered a gentlemanly looking person
age, with hat off. waiting to hear the cause of
his detention. The lady, whose presence of
mind did not forsake her/immediately snwtho
whole mistake, and apologized for the ridicu
lous error. The fat man left, crideutly much
amused at the joke.
" Wife," said a man looking for his
bootjack, 44 1 have a place where I keep my
tilings, and you ought to know it.' 4 44 Yes,"
said she, 44 I ought to know whero you keep
your late hours, but 1 don't."
A wit having been nskerl by another
person whether he would advise him to lend a
certain friend of theirs money, said : " What !
lend him money ? Yon might give bim an
emetic, ami he wouldn't return it."
Bustf Judge Betts, at the United States Cir
cuit in New York, has decided thnt newspaper
reporters should be, if they are not, exempt
from jury duty, and that he shall henceforth
make that the practice of his Court.
K4T" " You would be very pretty indeed,"
said a gentleman patronizingly to a young Indv,
44 jf your eyes were only a little larger." 44 Mv
eyes may he very small, sir, but such people as
you don't fill them'.''
Tnrtif are two things which make ns happy
in life. The first is never to vex ovrselves
about what we can't help And the second i
like uuto it—never to vex ourselves about
what we ran help.
fisay* " Yonng man," said a minister to n
youth of his congregation, 44 do yon know what
relations you sustain in this world ?" Yes.
sir ; two cousins and a grandmother ; but I
don't intend to su.laiu them much longer."
In the anatomy of the hand we find
that the mnscle by which we shut it is much
stronger than the one by which we open it ;
and this hold true as to giving and receiving.
63U If you see a wife carefully footing her
husband's stocki igs, you may conclude that he
w ill not find it difficult to foot her hills.
A popular writer says that tnen. like
children, are 44 pleased witii a rattle Not
much, if it is at the tail of a snake.
zyjr* After ao event is irretrievable. nothing
i: more ah/nrr] than the discussion of what
' rrtghf have uacn done.
XO. 42.