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(HE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE,
Thursday Morning, March 1, 1860.
THE LAST GOOD NIGHT.
I'lose her eyelids press them gently
O'er the dead and leaden eyes,
Fur the soul that made them lot .h,
Hath returned unto the skies ;
Wipe the death drops from her forehead
Sever one dear golden tress.
Fold her icy bands all meekly.
Smooth the little'snowy dress ;
Scatter fiow era o'er her pillow-
Gentle llowers, so pure and white --
Ijqr the bnd upon her bosom,
There -now softly say. Good-night,
Though ottr tears flow fast and faster,
Yet we would not call her back.
We arc glad her feet no longer
Tread life's rough and thorny track ;
We Art? ouV heavenly Father
Took her while her heart was pure,
We are glad he did not leave her
All life's trials to endure ;
We :fre glad and yet the tear drop-
Falleth : for alas we know
That oar fireside will t>c lonely.
We shall miss our darling so.
While the twilight shadows gather.
We shall wait in vain to feel
Little arms, all white tusd dimpled.
Hound onr neek so -<>flly teal :
Our wet cheek will mis- the pressure
Of sweet lips warm and red,
\n.l our Iris im sadly, sadly.
Miss that darling little head
Which was wont to rest there sweetly ;
And those gohK-n ejvs s\> luight.
We shall miss tiieir loving glances,
We shall miss their .-oft G dni at
When tire mot-row's sun is shining.
They wiH take this ehcrisl. -d fo-:a.
Tit.'., will U-ar it to the church yard.
And eonsi.cn it to the worm :
Well what matter 1 It is only
The clay lrv-> eur darling w re ;
God haili roU-J her as an v .
She iiath need o: this no more :
Fold her hands, and o'er her p '! >\r
Scatter flowers all pure and white,
ki<> the mart'lc V>r n . and whisper,
Once again, a la.-t G *ni ni-.:ht.
§ c 1111 c i £al f.
[Kr*n the Atlantic Monthly ]
MY LAST LOVE.
1 had counted ninny more in my girlhood,
ill tbe first Bash of blossoming, ami :t few,
good men and true, whom 1 never meet even
now without nti added color ; for. at one time
or another, I thought | bved each of them.
•' Why didn't 1 marry them, then ?"
For tbe same reason that many another w>>
man tloes not. We are afraid to trust onr
own likings. Too many of them are but sati
rise vapors, very rosy to Im gia with, 'ut • y
mid-day as dingy as any old dead cloud with ,
tiie rain all shed out of it. I ver see any
of those old swains of tui. e, w L it iec. g
jirofoumily thankful that Ido . I . "\g to
him. I shouldn't want to look over my
baud's head to any sense. So ti ■y a
wives and children, and 1 hi. ia : ii? . i, —
although I was searedy eonsc. us oi t : • st
for. if my own ey< s orother | • pic - te.-iiu. y
were to lie trusted, 1 dou't look e>!J, and I'm
quite sure I don't feel so. Bat I came to my
seif on my thirty-secoud bin lay, aa old I
maid most truly, withont Ihmh fit of c rgy. j
And thereby bug* tl is tale ; for on toat
birthday I first made acquaintance with my
Something like a month before, there had
eonte to Huntsville two gentlemen in search
of game and quiet quarters f-r the summer.
They soon found that a hotel in a country vil
lage afforels little re elusion ; but the woe-.!- j
were full of game. the mountair.-bro. k< swar li
ed with treat too fiue to be given np,and they
decided to take a bowse of their own. After
MWe search, they fixed on an old 1 >u- •, I've ;
forgotten whose " folly it was ca ;, full n
mile and a half from town, si ami i 115 upo;; a
mossy lull that bounded uiy fields, s . ire !
stiff and weather-beaten, and without any j 0
tectiou except a ragged pine-tree that thrust
its huge litnos beneath the empty windows, us
though it were running away with a stolen
house under its arm The place was musty, j
rat-eaten, and teuar.ted by a couple of ghosts,
who thought a fever, once quite fata! within
the walls, no suitable discharge from the
property, ami made themselves perteetly free
<rf the quarters in jropefly weird seasons. But j
tuouey aud labor cleared out all the j
(for ghosts are but spiritual cob-web-, you j
know.) and the old house sooa wore a charm
ing air of rustic comfort.
I used to look over sometimes, for it wa*
full in view frotu my chamber windows, ar.!
see the sportsmen g leg off by su- re wiM
their guns or fishing-rods, or lyiug, ator t. v.r
late diuuer, stretched ojn>u t e grass in from
of the house, smoking and reading. Some- J
times a fragment of a song wot; 1 be dropped
down froni the lazy wings tbe south w. . 1,
sometimes a looc laugh filled a-. tue sum frier
air and frightened the , .ae-wood iuto echoes,
wad, altogether, the uew ue ghbors seemed to
live aa enviable life. They were very civil
people, loo; for, though their nearest path
oat lay across my fields, and close by the *
doorway, ami they often stopped to buy frail j
or cream or butter, we were never annoyed by
an impertinent que-'..on or look. Once only !
overheard a remark aUe_-, tl. r civil, am. ;
that was on the ere mug before my birthday
Cue of them, the her, -aid, as he we..t away '
from my house with a ba-k-.-t of eherr.es, that j
he should like to get sjvoeh with that polyglot
old maid, who read, and wrote, and made her <
own butter ; .its The c: ..r ar-acred, that
i-- ii;ur was e.ve. ...tat any rate, .*•! p*.r
shr had z .'v-wrui tk.v -. .
down 'he laac laughingly disputing About tbe '
matter, not knowing that I was behind the
" I'olyglut old maid !" I thought, very in
dignantly, as I went into the house. " I've a
mind not to soil them another cake of my but
ter. But I wonder if people call me an old
maid. I wonder if 1 am one."
1 thought of it all the evening, and drcmcd
of it all night, waking the next morning with
a new realization of the subject. That first
sense of a lost youth ! How sharp and strong
it comes ! That suddenly opened north door
! of middle life, through which the winter winds
t rush in, sweeping out the southern windows
1 all the splendors of the curlier time ; it is like
a sea-turn in late summer. It has seemed to
be June all along,and we thought it was Jnne,
until the wind went round to the cast, and the
first red leaf adiuouished us. By-aml-by we
close, as well as we may, that open door, and
look out again from the windows upon blooms,
beautiful in tiieir way, to which some birdsyet
sing 5 bat, alas ! the wind is stiil from the
cast, ar.J blows as though, far away, it had
lain among icebergs.
So 1 mused all the morning, watering the
sentiment with a bit of n shadow out of my
cloud ; and when the shadows turned them
selves, 1 went ont to see how old age would
look to me in the fields and woods. It was a
: delicious afternoon, more like a warm dream
'of hav-making, odorous, misty, sleepily musi
cal, than a waking reality, 011 which the sun
| shone. Tremulous h!ue clouds lay down all
i around upon the mountains, and lazy white
ones lost themselves in the waters; and through
the dozing air, the f.iint chirp of robin or
j cricket, and ding of bells in the woods, and
mellow cut of sevthe, melted into one song, as
though the heart-beat of the luscious midsum
mer time had set itself to tune.
I walked on to loiter through the woods.
No dust-brush for brain or heart like the
boughs of trees 1 There dwells a truth, aud
pure, strong health within them, an ever re
turning youth, promi uig us a g'orious leafage
jin some strange spring-ti no, aud a symta iry
and sweetness the. n •-s us until our
thoughts grow skyward them. ar. i wave
and sing in s.vu sunnier strata of soul air.
la the woods 1 was a crH again, a;,. 1 f•. v t
j tbe fiovr of the hours in their pleasant cora
paniou.-: p. 1 tuo-* !> ve crow a sir. .i and -.1
down by a thick,l of pirns to rest, though I
i have forgotten, and | irhnjis 1 ha 1 fallen
asleep : for suddenly I became const ious of a
sharp report, and a sharper pain in my shoul
der, and, tearing off my cape, I found the
blood was flowing from a wound just below
the joint. 1 remember little more, for a sud
den faintness came over me ; but 1 have an
indistinct rem mbrance of peojde coming up,
: of voices, of being carried home, and of the
consternation there, and long delay in obtain
ing the pargcon. The pain of an operation
■ brought me fully to Biyaeases ; mad when that
was over, 1 was left alone to sleep, or to think
over my situation at leu sure. I'm afraid I
ha 1 lust little of a Christian spirit tie n. All
my j kins of labor and pleasure -poik d by this
one piece of carelessness! to cad it by the
mild-.-t tcnii. All those nice little fancies
that should have grown into ro.l llcsh-atnl
-1 blood articles for my pabiishcr, hug op to
Jf r i shrivci without shape or come'iuoss !
Toe uanlen, the dairy, the low bit of car
riage way through the 1 etches, — my pet
seu-.:ne, —the 11 w music, the sewing, all laid
ui'C*i I.e s! ; i r au in .thaite time, and 1
. n ' etbr e .ph ymcat t on to watch the
•■vail pap r. ana to wonder ii" it wasn't a mV.
diut.tr or >-.:p o-tiine, or nearly day I.', ~! 10
■ be -are, I keew u:;.i tliought of alt the i:n
pr.-vi 'g r* : :l ■ i of a si. k-rooiu ; but it was
much tike a tuii.isp keu }>erson mikiinr peaee
i araor.g tw-. ty ipuitTtlso 10 ones. Y- 1 can
sec liiai making mouiits, but you dou't hear a
word he says.
A sick mind breeds fever fast in a sick
body, and by night I was in a high fever, and
for a day or two knew bat little of what went
on about me. One of the first tilings I beard
when I grew easier, was, that my neighbor,
! the sportsaiau, was waiting Ixiow to hear how
i 1 was. It was the younger 3 w. se gun
i had wounded me: and he had s'.v.vu great
solicitude, they said, coming several times each j
; day to inquire for me. He brought ?■
. birds to be co-. ked tor me, too, —and >0
again tv Iri g - 3 i. .. : . am e
■to fetch, he to;J t.O g.ri. Iv<cry day hjca:ne
to it. ]uire, or to l:.. g sue d. .cav., or au w
dowers, or a new magazine for me. un'.i: the
report of his vi.-it came to be an expected ex
eitemeut, and varied the duli days wonderfully.
Sickness aud seclusion are a uew birth to our
senses, oftimes. Not only do we get a real
glimpse of ourselves, undecked and unclothed,
but the commonest habit> of life, aud the
things that hare helped to sb.qve them day by
Jav. put on a sort of strangeness, a.i come to
' shake hands with us again, aud make u< won
| dor that they shouid be just exactly what they
' are. We pet at toe primitive meaning ot •
' thera, aa if w r e rub off the aa]> •.! i.fe, and
. looked to see how the threads were woven ;
and they come aud go b tore us with a sort of
old newness that affects us much as if we
should meet our own ghost soie time, and
wonder if we are rea'.iy our own v>r some other
[>ersons h ' ; ; vke.jsec
I went through all this, and came cut with
a stock of small facts besides, —as, that the
j paper hanger had patched the hangiugs in my j
chamber very badly in certain dark spots, I
' had got several headaches, inak.ug it out,) —
that the egim :ey was a little too much on oae
. s.dc, —that certain Wards in the entry creaked
1 of their own accord in the night,—that Xeigh
| bor Ikowu had tucked a tew new shirgies
iuto ire roof of h*s tarn, so that it seemed to ,
Lave broken out with thera, —and any aueaber 1
of other ti.it gs v, ai .imp rtant. At Icagt .
I <rot downstairs, at.J was allowed to see a .
' few friea ls. Of coarae there was an iituu
j dation of the-a ; a:,.i eac'.: em esp cted to
hear my story, e*. i to tell a c a:pau.on one,;
* RMMthw g kfika in. e, o.iiy wti.t.c m*.re —o. It |
a . .g, :..e i—. - so ..-..v.-.. .. ; .0-1
■ c ii*. : . i'j !: ' a N*o • 1
! I lau f,w -i • •* J•.■*+'' •
| uvl 1 ... ..w . .■'- --3 - k
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDV. BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
1 ns the goips had got all they wanted, 1 saw
only my particular friends. Among these my
neighbor, the sportsman, insisted 011 being
1 reckoned, and after a little hesitation we were
- obliged to admit him I say we, —for, on
I hearing of my injury, my good cousin, Mary
Mead, had come to nurse and amuse me. She
was one of those safe, serviceable, amiable
1 people, made of just the stuff for a satellite,
: and she proved invaluable to me. She was
: immensely taken with Mr. Ames, too, (1 speak
of the younger, for, after the first call of con
dolence, the elder sportsman never came.)
and to her 1 left the task of entertaining him,
■ or rather of doing the honors of the house, —
1 for the gentleman contrived to entertain him
self and us.
Now don't imagine the man a hero, for he
was no sueb thing. He was very good-look
ing,—some might say handsome, —well-bred,
1 well educated, with plenty of common infor
mation picked tip in a promiscuous intercourse
with town and country people, rather fine
tastes, and a great, strong, magnanimous,
j physical nature, modest, but perfectly sclf-con
scious. That was his only eharm-for mc I
despise a mere animal; but, other things being
I equal, I admire a man who is big and strong,
aud aware of his advantages; and 1 think
most women, and very refined ones, too, love
physical beauty aud strength much more than
they are willing to acknowledge. So 1 had
the same a hairatiou for Mr. Ames that I
should have had for any other finely propor
! tioncd thing, and enjoyed him v.rv much, sit
ting quietly in my corner while he chatted
with Mary, or told me sjories of travel or
hunting, or read aloud, which he soon fell into
the way of doing.
We did try, as much as hospitality permit
ted, to confine his visits to a few ceremonious
calls ; but he persisted in coming almost every
day, aud walked in past the girl with that
quiet sort of authority which it is so difficult
to resi-t. In the same way he took possession
of M try and me. He was sure it must be very
d> ill for both of us; therefore he was going,
if we wotil 1 pardon the liberty, to offer his
servici - as reudt r, while my nurse went out for
ar ' ra v. ,Ik. t' u' 1 .'i 1 -it ont n: ' r the
shadow of t!'3 U. -.•lt-tree?, as well as in that
1 - room? He couU lift the chair and me
pcrfec ly well, and arrange all so that I should
be com fort abb He would ike to supcrin
t d t*.; cooking of -• ■••.':e birds he 1 rought
one day. He noticed that she girl didn't do
them quite as nicely ■= he hail learned to do
them in the woHs. And so in a thousand
things he quietly made us do as he chose,
without seeming to outrage any rule of pro
priety. When 1 was able to sit in a carriage,
lie persuaded me to drive with hiai ; and I had
to lean on his arm, when 1 first went round
the place to see how matters went on.
Once 1 protested against his making him
self so necessary to ns, and told him that 1
didn't care to furnish the gossips so much food
as we were doing.
When 1 turned him out of doorq he wou'd
certainly stay away, he said ; but he thought,
that, as long as I was an invalid,l needed some j
one to think and act for me aud save me the j
rr mble, and, as no one else seem. J diseased
to take the office, he thought it was rather his
dry and privilege,—esoe ial.'y, ha added,
with a slight s:ude, as he wis quite .-".re that
it was not very disagreeable to u<. As fi>r
the gossips, he ii 'n't think they would make
ear a rut of it, with >uea an txe dent du-.-nna
as t.'. .; Mary.—a: 1, in •d, . 3 1 card the
otiurd.iy that he w&spayiug altentioß to her.'
tit all ovvr by my-a f. wis nhe
1 had gone, and ca::i*3 to the CMckuißi that it j
wa- not ucce-sary for me to resign so great a j
pi .- .re as ids ;kry hid become, merely for
lire bar of what a few curious people might J
say. id.' .1 Mary, cautious as she wis, protes
ted e.u'A.u-t haarihing him tor aach a reason : I
and, after a little talkiug over of the matter
among ourselves, we decided to let Mr. Ames
come as often as he chose, for the remaining
month of his stay.
That month went rapidly enough, for I was
well enough to ride end walk out. and half the
time had Mr. Ames to accompany me. I got
t > value him very much, as 1 knew him bot
j ter, tad M he grew icqpumtjd with my pc-,
cci: ri'i' - ; aud we were the best friends in !
t" w-ir'.J, with nit a thought ef being uiore.
No 0 ie would have laughed at that more than •
ii , ! re a - sat' lan evident
i:i ti.e idea. At iengti. the time came tor hitn
to Lave Hunt-vino : house waac'osi :, et
; eept one room where ho stiil preferred to re
main, and his friend was already gone. He |
came to take tea with us for the last time, and
made himself as agreeable as ever, although it j
evidently required some effort to do so. Soft-'
; hearted Cousin Mary broke down and went
off crying ulieu he bade her good-bye, after j
tea : but I was not of such stuff, and laugh
ingly raiiivd him oa the he Lad
- tlet yoar bonnet, anj walk over to the
stiH with me. Miss Ilachel," he saiJ. 4 " I*
i>u't sunset quite yet, and the afternoon is
warm. Come! it's the last walk we shall
. take together."
I followed him out, and we went almost
si.-, ut.v acr ss "the Gel Is to the hill that over
!o ked tiie strip of meatlow betwix-n our
hoitsi - There was the stile over which I had
loo&ca to see r...a spr.ug, mar.y a tio-e.
"Sit down a moment, until the sua is quite
down, be ;*aid, making room for me beside
him oa the topmost step. '"See how splendid
that -ky is ! a paihiou tor the gvds i"
" i should think they were airing ail their
finery," 1 answered. " I looks more like a
counter spread with bright goods than any-.
, thing else 1 can think of."'
t Thai's a decidedly vulgar comparison, md
you're sot iu a spiritual mood at all, ' he sai-.i .
. " You've me two or three times to-!
night, w'. u I've tried to Le scnliuieuul. 1
What's amiss with yon T' c:J Le U.at LU
e-yos, Call of a s.iaey -* rtof triumph,upon aiae
"I Lkep rtiag with frier I-; Its.
Im? aw ry. ISuJ, _ ... z ..iSe-.r.i :>...*
aisare<i look. X waa 50... . -. hint go,
3i V. l.fe l-.>l. . I *3;.e.^ r V --
" RECAUDLESS OF DEN UNO I ATT ON FROM ANY QUARTER."
" You'll write to me, Miss Ilachel ?" he
"No, Mr. Ames, — not at all," I said.
; "Not write? Why not?" he asked in ns
" Because I don't believe in galvanizing dead
friendship," I answered.
" Dead friendship, Miss Rachel? I hope
ours lias much life in it yet," he said.
"It's in the last agony, Sir. It will be
. comfortably dead and buried before long, with
a neat little epitaph over it which is much
the best way to dispose of them finally, 1
" You're harder than I thought you were,"
he said. "Is that the way you feci towards
all your friends ?"
i " I love ruy friends as well as any "one," I
answered. " But 1 never hold them when
they wish to be gone. My life-yarn spins
against some other yarn, catches the fibers,
and twists into the very heart"
"So far ?" he asked, turning his eyes down
" Yes," I said coolly,—"for the time being.
You don't play at your friendship, do you ? If
so, I pity you. As I was sayiug, they're like
one thread. By and-by one spindle is moved,
I the strands spin away from each other, aud be
come strange yarn. What's the use of send
ing little locks of wool across to keep them
acquainted ? They're two yarns from hence
forth. Reach out for some other thread, —
there's plenty near —and spin in that. We're
made all up of little locks from other people,
Mr Ames. Won't it be strange, in that ircat
Hereafter, to hunt up our own fibers, and re
turn other people's? It would take about
forty five degrees of an eternity to do that."
" 1 shall never return mine," he said. " I
couldn't take myself to pieces in such a style
But won't you write at all ?"
"To what purpose? You'll be glad of one
letter, —possibly of two.. Then it will be,
'Confound it ! here's a missive'from that old
maid t! What a bore ! Now I suppose 1 must
air my wits in her behalf; but, if you ever
catch me again,' Exit."
I "And yon ?" he a-ked, laoghing.
" 1 shall be as weary as you, and find it as
d :' - ' ; ! t to kep warmth iu the poor dying
body. No, Mr. Ames. Let the p.)or thing
d.<• a natural death, and wc'il wear a bit of
crape a little while, and get a new friend for
" So you mean to forget me altogether 1"
"No, indeed! 1 shall recollect you as a
very pleasant tale that is told, not a friend
to hanker after. Isn't that good common
"It's all bard work,—mere cold calcula
tion," he said ; " while 1" He stopped and
" Your gods, there, are downright turn
coats," I said, coming down from the stile.
'"Their red mantles are nothing but pearl col
j ored now, and presently they'll be
That whippoorwill always brings the dew with
him, too; sol must go home, (jood-night,
I and good-bye, Mr. Ames."
" I scarcely know how to part with yon,"
he said, taking uiy hand. " It's not so ea-y a
: thing to do."
" lVople say, 'Gcod-bye,' or 'God bless
yon,' or some such civil phrase, usually," I
said, with just the least curl of my lip,—for I j
j knew I had got the better of him.
He colored ag b q and then suiiied a little 1
I ?a ". . I
" Ali ! I'm afraid I leave a bigger lock than j
1 I take." he exclaimed. " Well, then, gooff
II good-bye, and God bless yon, too !
. Dou't b quite so hard as you promise to be."
: 1 mls-.u him very much, indeed ; but if aey
think I cried after him, or wrote or
j soliloquized for his sake, they are much mis
taken. i had lost friends before, and made it
a j*>int to think just as tittle of them as jh>s
sibie, nntil the sore spot grew strong enough
to hauiiie without wincing. Besides, my cou
sin staved with me, and all my good friends in
the village had to come out for a call or a
Tisit to see bow the laud lay ; so I had occu
pation enough. Once iu a while I used to
look over to the old house, and wish for one
good breezy conversation with its master ; and
when the snow came aud lay in one mas.: cpou
the old roof, clear dowu to the caves, like a
night-cap pulled down to the eyes of a low
: browed old woman, I moved my bed against
the win-low that looked that way. These for
saken nests are glo ciiy thing? enough !
1 had no ti. mght of hearing again of him or
from him, and was surprL- J, when, in a mouth,
| a review came, and before long another, and
afterwards a box, by express, with a finely
kept boquet, and, in mid winter, a little oil
painting,—a delicious bit of landscape for my
Sin:!*m, as he said in the note that accompa
nied it. 1 heard from him in this way all win
ter, although I uever sent word or message
back again, and tried to think I was sorry that |
he did not forget me, as I had supposed he
would. Of coarse I never thought of ackuow l- ;
edging to myself that it was possible for me |
to love him. I was too good a sophist for that
and, indeed, I think that between a perfect
j friendship and a perfect love a fainter distinc
tion exists than many people imagine. I have
kuowu likings to bo colored as rosily as love,
and -e*. i what called itself love as cold as the
. chill; st liking
One day, after spring had been some time
couie, I was returning frotu a walk and saw
that Mr. Ames's house was open. I couid not j
see any person there : hat the Jo. r and win
dows were opened, and a faint smoke crept
out of the chimney aud up the new
spriug foliage after the squirrels. I had walk-,
ed some distance, and was tired, and th weath
er was not perfect ; but I thought I would go
round that way aud see what was going oa.— i
| It was oae ot those charming child days iu
' early May, laughing am] crying all in one, the
fiue mi-l-ffropa shining down iu the sun's ray-,
like -trtr-ffust from seme new world iu process
of ra-plug up for use. I liked sa.h Jays.— ,
The she* .wr w- re as go <1 for me as for the
..nees. I grew and budded cadvr the a, caJ
+ti fill : . . ra.i .il biOv_. '
1 \V ..m I rtaeL. J*a !.. • i before the doer,
A - • .1 . 1
i meet that he held my hard and drew me in,
asking two or three times how I was and if I
were glad to ?ee him. He had called at the
house and seen Cousin Mary, on his way over,
he said, —for be was hungering for a sight of
us. He was not looking as well as when ho
j left in the autumn, —thinner, paler, and with
I a more anxious expression when he was not
speaking ; but When 1 began to talk with him,
he brightened up, and seemed like his old self.
He had two or three workmen already tearing
down portions of the finishing, and after a few
moments asked me to go round aud see what
improvements he was to make. We stopped
at last at his chamber, a room that looked
through the foliage towards my house.
" This is my loungiug-placc," he said, point
ing to the sofa beneath tho window. " I
shall sit hero With my cigar and watch you
this summer ;so be circumspect ! But are
you sure that you arc glad to see ino ?"
"To be sure. I)o you take me for a heath
en r I said. " But what are you making such
a change for ? Couldn't the old house content
"It satisfies mc well enough ; but I expect
visitors this summer who are quite fastidious,
and this old worm-eaten woodwork wouldn't
do for them. What makes you look so dark?
Don't you like the notion of my lady visitors?"
" I didn't kuow that they were to be ladies
until you told me," I said ; " and it's none of
my business whom you entertain, Mr. Ames."
" There wasn't much of a welcome for thera
in your face, at any rate," he answered. "And
to tell the truth, 1 am not much pleased with
the arrangement myself. But they took a -ud
dcu fancy for coming, and no amount of per
suasion could induce them to change their
minds. It's hardly a suitable place for ladies;
but if they will come, they must make the best
" How came yon ever to take a fancy to
this place ? and what makes you spend so much
money on it ?" I asked.
" You dou't like to see the money thrown
away," he said, langhing. " The truth is,
that I've got a skeleton, like many another
man, and I've been trying these two years to
get away from it. The first time I stopped to
rest under this tree, ! felt light-hearted. I
don't know why, except it was some mysteri
ous influence ; but loved the place, aud J love
it uo less now, although my skeleton has fouad
a lodging-place here too."
"Of course," I said, "and very appropriate
ly. The house was haunted before you came."
" It was haunted for me afterward," be said
softly, more to himself than to me ; " sweet,
shadowy visions I should be glad to call up
now." And he turned away and swallowed a
I pitied him all the way home, and sat up to
pity him, looking through the soft May . tar
light to see the lamp burning steadily at his
window nntil after midnight. From that time
I seemed to have a trouble, — though I could
scarcely have named or owucd it, it was so in
He came to sec me a few days afterward,
an l sat quite dull and abstracted until I warm
ed him up with a little lively opposition. I
vexed him first, and then, when I saw he was
interested enough to talk, I let him have a
chance ; and I had never seen him so intcrest-
I ing. He showed me a new phase of his ehar
| acter, and I listened, and answered him m as
few words as possible, that I might lose noth
ing of the revelation. When he got up to go
away, I asked hira where he had lieen to learu
and think so much sin*~e the last autumn. He
began to be, I thought and hoped, what a
sterner teaching might have made him before.
He M?emcd a little embarrassed; said no
one else had discovered any change in him,
and he thought it must be only a reflected
light. He bad obs Tved that I had "a r
mark able faulty for drawing people out. -
What was my witchcraft V
I disclaimed ail witchcraft, and toiJ him it
was only because I quarrelled with people. A
little wholesome opposition had warmed him
into quite a flight of fancy.
" If I could only," he began, hurried
ly ; but took out his watch, said it was time
for hira to go, and went off quite hastily. It
was very weak in me, bnt I wished very much
to know what he would have said.
(COXCLITDED NEXT WEEK.)
A Dying Man's Repent?. not A few years
ago, Rev. Mr. D , a faithful, fearle-s
preacber in one of thchiil towns of If.imp Aire
county, preached a pointed sermon against the
use ot' ardent spirit-;, especially designed for
a member of his congregation, who was in the
habit of hiring his help at low prices iu con
sideratioa of the frequent treats that he furu
.ished his workmen. Oid Nat felt himself par
ticularly bit by tbe discourse, as thea-i.' fitu-J
exactly, and therefore absented himself from
church for some two years A few weeks ago
he was seized with his last illness and express
ed a great anxiety to see Rev. Mr II
I before he died. His son went post baste for
; the mini-ter, who of course was qaite ready
to respond to the dying man's summons.
On entering the room, he was greeted with
a cool - dutation, " Mr B , 1 am about
to die ; and I Lave sent for you that yon
I might Lutc a chaaee to apologize to me for
that iiq.ior sermon preached to ue a Lw
Wisooa asd foixv. — I have olba thought
1 that if the miud? of men were laid opeu, we
should see but the difference between thut of
the wise man and that of the fool. There are
I infinite reveries, numberless extravagances.and
a perpetual traiu cf vanities which pas-thron_;b
[ both. The great difference is, that tbe fir-:
kao*> bow to pick and coil his th nights for
conversation, by suppressing some, aud com
tnutiicaur.g others, whereas the other let them
all indifferently fly oa; in word- This sou of
discretion, however, has no place in private
conversation between iniimute friends Oa
- ;cL occasions the wisest men often talk '-ike
t the th .-kest; for iviced the talking with a
lh nothing '.so bnt thinking flood
VOL. XX. — xro. 39.
, FREEMASONRY AND GRIDIRONS.—A worthy
I police captain, says the New-York Post, cuter
e tained a fancy to hccorne a Freemason, and
, was accordingly proposed and elected A
f friend accompanied him to the place of meet
• ting, which was in a building the lower
t part of which was used as a place of entertain
The ncophitc was left in fin apartment
to the servant's room, while his friend went op
stairs to n-ist in the opening ceremonies.
A Celtic maiden, who caught a glimpse o r
L the stranger,resolved to take part in his initin-
I tion, and procuring a gridiron, placed it over
I the range. ft was not long before the captain
looking inquisitively through tho door, saw the
utensil reddening in the heat. The recollec
tion flashed through his mind of Masouic cau
i didat/s and some peculiar ordeals which they,
: were made to encounter.
" What is that, Bridget ?"he eagerly inquir
" And sure," replied the Ftibernian virgin,
: " it's only the gridiron that I was told to place
over the coals."
" Who told you ?" asked tlic eager police
" And was it not the gentleman who
' with yon ?"
" What conld he want of it ?' demanded the
"And *nrr,sir,T can't tell," replied Bridget:
" they arc often using it ; it belongs to the peo
ple atKivc stairs, i always heat it when they
want to make n Mason."
This was too ranch for the excited captain
! and taking to his heels he soon put a safe di
tance between himself and the lodge.
NATYRAL OYSTER BEDS. —Along the .Jersey
shore, where the rivers empty into salt water
( there are natural oyster beds, whence is pro
i eurcu the seed oysters which supply the plant
:ed lcds. In the spring the oyster in the na
! turai bed deposits its spawn—a white gelatin
ous substance, which adheres to whatever it
touches—and in this way spreads a large
growth of small oysters, some not larger than
| the head of a pin. From these seed beds the
oysters are taken aud laid in shoal sa't water,
to !>e easily taken up wbea want, d, a: i where
thry remain for several yeors, till they get suffi
cient sise for market. Thousands of bushels of
the small seed oysters are in this way di.itri
bote-1 along the shore ou the planting grounds
or sold to he carried away for planting to other
States. The practice is to take these seed
oysters away in the spring and fall. If allow
ed to remain in their beds over fall, they will
separate and spread, but it removed at thai
period of the year the young oysters die by
the thousand*. If they do not get bedded
early in the mod, the tides, blown out by the
winds, leave them exposed, or, adhering to the
ice in the winter, they arc lifted out their beds
; and either carried away or crashed. Unless
something is done for tho protection of these
natural oyster beds, it is believed that they
w;l[ all be destroyed, and even those engaged
in the business, it is said, acknowledge the dc
: strnctivciicss of the present mode of operation
and desire that the period of taking the oyster?
for planting shall he eorficad to the spring of
the year. Forty days from the first of April,
it is believed, would be sufficient for all plant
ing purposes, and an effort will be made at
Trenton to get the legislature to limit the
plantl. gto that period Clams have been
nearly destroyed by the cot tinned raking o*
of the barN, and the seed is now oniy kept aw
•hi • !-ain ti .* bottoms of the de.t> ehac
Lka! Vut—The year in which yo hi
dics are permitted to the question" Rib
not commence until the 29th of February.—
Any year divisible by 4 without a remainder,
is hap year, which comes every fourth year.
T:ie solar year is 305 days, 4 hoars 43 m?:i
uies and 47 "lu seconds. For convenience
we drop these boors, minutes and seconds ia
our ordinary reckoning, and call the civil year
Coo days. Hence we lose nearly a day in thi*
reckoning every fourth year—we actnaiiy 100-O
in 4 years, four times five hoars, 43 mir;utcs,
and 1? seconds, which is not quite a day.—
! But, for ronndnumbers again, wecall it a day,
\ and therefore add a day to every fourth Vcar
naming it the 29th of February.
01 coarse by thus adding aw h.. !c day, w.
add a little too ntnch—nearly 12 minutes :
(fear. That in 100 years would amount to,
; Si*y I! 29 minutes, and of course if this ui
, rvj-.n: • y al> J wen? not provided for, in tL.
j course < f centuries it w ould vitiate the caleode r
Therefore, once every hundred years a leap
j year is sk'pjw-d for three consecutive centuries,
jon the fourth century it is retained because
i the balance is a little the other way again.—
Thus for three centuries we have au excess of
| 33>0 minute.*, leaving a discrepancy of 99'J
minutes. This, then, is partially corrected by
| continuing the leap year as usual on the fourth
century, putting us within about 430 minute*
or eight boors ot being right at the end of
every fourth century—ucar enough right for
I. - —Ab, there is a touching beauty in
tae r-uiani up-look of a girl just crossing the
limit.- < f youi!>. at.il com atneing her journey
| thr-a_! :?n checkered sphere of womanhood
It is ad dew -park!c and moraing glory to her
j areicnt, buoyant spirit, and she presses forward
esaltit ,• ia blissful mntkij -lions. But the
...Iscr.: lie at ot the corsiiict of lac creeps on;
I the dew Jroj exhale ; the garlands of Lojc
1 shattered and dead, strew the path ; and too
' often ere noon tide, the clear brow and sweet
-mile are exchaag d Icr the weary look of ore
longing for the treuicg rest, the twii.ght
| night. Oh, m-y the good God give an
| early sleep u-io these cuuy !
( pfr* Mrs, Smithers has a great idea of ker
i' husband's military powers " For two years,
savi .':o, " be a i..aWi—a. in inc ho<;e
i marie -iter wuick he was pPOGOttU to ti _
li, .ey :* ;rg :ar eocij -ay 'f J