Newspaper Page Text
(HE DOLLAR PER AIN IJH INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
Thursday Morning, March 8, 1860.
TIRED TO DEATH.
Mr ladv is tired to death !
Slie has -tndied the ]riut <>/ the sray velvet nig.
And given her dear, dariiug ywudie a hug.
And from her bay window has noli eJ the fail
Of a ripe nectarine fr'ni the low. sunny wall;
She's embroidered an inch on some delicate lace,
And ricr>>d iu the mirror her elega.it faco,
Has looked at an album, a rich bijouterie.
Then restlessly owned herself dead with ennui.
And my lady is tired to death 1
Exhausted! It's strange that as day after Jay
Of her frivolous life passes slowly away.
So aiuiles* and " stylish," . empty and fins.
So free from those duties sometimes called divine
That she wearies of something, slie hardly kn >ws what;
Thinks of not what she Is. but of all -he i s not!
Oh no ! all emotions are vulgar, you know,
And my lady's hare always been quite com ut t//uai. j
t-till my lady i- tiled b> death !
Oh woman, false woman, false mother, false wife! j
VVhat account can you gice of yot.r frivolous lite? i
(if that life that has passed like a feverish dream,
That life that has not been to bt but to ttcn.
What account will you give in the awful, last day.
When the pomp and the show of the w rid pa-s away.
When the Master demands . f the talents H<-'- given, i
A stewardship rendered on Earth and in Heaven ?
Tirol to death!
Cast i ff for a momei t your diamonds and lace.
And -him. in the light of truly womanly grace :
I.isik around yo i and see. with eyes raised to the light.
Strong IMB and true women who ftvo for the right ;
I'.rave hearts that ne'er fatter th- i-• distant the goal,
(treat live* wh >se flcr e stmgxles will never Is: told,
Whose wild straying hearts -stru duties coutrcl,
Whose on!v tree life is the life of the soul.
' ~ = ,
5111 ct c i dale.
[Froiu uie Atlantic Monthly.]
M Y L AST LO YE.;
The next time, he cu'ied a fi w moments to
tell me that liis lady vi-itor, with a friend of
theirs, hud come, and expressed a wish to
make my acijuauitat.ee. Ho promised them
that he would call n:ul let me know, —though
he hoped I would uot come, uulras 1 felt in-'
dined. He was very ai>ent-aiiuded. and wen:
i ff the moment I asked hira where he had left
his good spirits. This made me a i.t'.le cold
to him when I called on the ladies, for I found
them all -ittii z after tea out at the door. It
was a miserably constrai: • i a J i.r, tlningh we •
nil tried to bt civ;!.—for I could see that both J
ladies wore taking l . or trying to take, ray
measure, aud it did not set me at ease in the
least. But in the time I had measured tuem;
ami as eijwier.ee had continued t .at first itu
j ressioo, 1 ctay as wed sketch them here. I
protest, in the first place, against a: y imputa
tion of prejudice or jealousy I thought much
more charitably of thetn than others did.
Mrs. Wiuslow was cue of th. se pleasant,
well bred ladies, who can lo . k at yoa tialt!
vott are obliged to look away, contradict you
jlatlv. and say the ico-t grossly impertinent
things in the mildest voice and efcofefeht words.
A woman of the world, without nobility
enough to appreciate a magnanimous thought
or action, and were very narrow, shallow *iews
of ewervthing about bee, vhe bad still some
agreeable traits t>f character, —maeh shrewd
knowledge of the world, *s sh<- saw it, some
taste for Art, and aa excellent judgment in
relat.ou to all things appertaining to polite
society. I ha I really a a-.' pleasant inter
course with her. although I tin a ske was one
•of the most insulting persons I ever met. I
made a poiut of never lettii g L t get ai.y ad
vantage of toe, and so we got along very wel.
Whenever e'.ie had a chance, she wis sure to
sav so moth: ag that would mortify or hurt me;
and I newer failed to repay both principal aud
inter eat wtii. a vo.ee and lace a* saioota as
hers. Aud here let me ->y that there is no
other way of dealing with such people. .Self
denial, modest. mirßniisi!y, they do not and
cannot understand. Never turn them the
other cheek, but give a smart slap back again,
it will do them good.
The daughter wa< a very pretty, artificial,
silly girl, who might have been very amiable
in a different potion, and was not IH-natored
as it was. I might have liked her very well,
if she had not conceived such a wonderful
i;king for rue, and bugged and kissed me as
she did. >k; e . . . ar.d I d.?i:ie to near
a woman coo; it is sure mark of inferiority.
We were quite intimate soon, and M.ss La
cy feR into tbe habit of coming early is the
morning to ride with me, and after dinner to
sit and -sew, and alter tea tor a w&.k She
<fho* ed me all her heart, apparently, though
there was not much of it, and vowed that she
ocarcelr knew how she should ex>t without
roe. 1 let her play at liking me, jut a* I
should have indulged a playful kuten,ar.d tried
to sav and do something that might improve
her for Mr. Ames's sak*. I ww now what
his skeleton was. He was to marry tbe poor
child, and rhruii from it as 1 should have
shrunk from a sba..ow husband.
lie used to come with ber sometimes, and 1
oust confess that he behaved admirably. I
never saw him in the least rude, or ill-natured,
or contemptuous towards her, even when she
was sifiiesst and tried his patience most severe
ly ; and I felt uy reapect for hitu increasing
every day. As for Mrs. Winslow, ahe came
sometimes to see me. and was very particular
to invite me there ; but I saw that she watched
W:k me and Mr Aurr. and suspected that
she had come to iiuntsvifte for that porpese.
ehc sought every opportunity, too, of making
me seem awkward or ignorant before him ; and
fce perceived it, I know, and was mortified and
annoyed by it, though he left tbe chastise
ment entirely to me. Once in a while Covin
Miry aui I aai a mai old fashioned viei: from
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
him all alone, cither when it was very stormy,
or when the ladies were visiting elsewhere.
He always came serious and abstracted, and
went away in good spirits, and he said that
those few hours were the pleasantest he passed.
Mrs. Winslow looked on them with an evil
eye, I knew, and suspected a great deal of
which we were all innocent; foroue day, when
she had been dining at my house with her '
daughter, and we were all out iu the garden j
together. I overheard her saying,—
| " She is just the person to captivate him,
and you mustn't briug yourself into eompeti j
tiou with her, Lucy. She can outshine you in '
conversation, and I know that she is nlayiug a
i ♦ ®
" La, ma I" the girl exclaimed. "An old
maid, without the least style ! and she makes
, butter too, and actually climbs up in a chair
, to scrub down her closets, —for Edward aud I
j caught her at it one day."
" And did she seeui confused ?" asked Mrs.
" No, indeed ! Now I should have died, if
he had caught uie in such a plight; but she
shook down her dress as though it were a mat-'
! ter of course, and they were soon talking i
about some German stuff, —I don't know what j
it was, —while I had to amuse myself with the i
"Thai's the way!" retorted the mother, j
" You play dummy for her. 1 wish you bad a
little more spirit, Lucy. You wouldu't play ,
into the hands of this designing"
" Nonsense, mamma ! She's a real clever,
good-natured old thing, and I like her," ex
claimed the daughter. " You're so suspici- 1
I ous r
" You're so foolishly secure I" answered
mamma. " A ntau is never certain until after .
the ceremony ; and you dou't know Edward
" I know he's got plenty of money, mother,
and I know he's real nice and handsome," was
the reply ; and thv walked ont of hearing,
j I wouldu't h ire listened oven to so much as
that, if I coul 1 have avoided it ; and as soon '
ns I could, I went iuto the parlor, and sat
down to -'. me work, trying to keep down that
old trouble, which somehow gathered size like
a rolling snowball. 1 might have known what
it was, if I had not closed my eyes resolutely, j
j and aid to myself, "Thesummer will soon be
gone, and there will be an end of it all then;"
and 1 w inched, as I said it, like one who sees
a blow coming.
Toe snraw r went by fnsperceptih'r ; it was
autumn, an i tii! all things remained outward
|ly n* they had been. We went back and
forth continually, rode and walked out, -ang
and read together, and Lucy grew fonder and
louder of me. She could scarcely live out of
my presence, a:ul con lined to lue aii her plnns
wheu she and Edward should be married, —
how much she thought of him, and he of her,
all about their courtship, how he declared him- 1
self and how -he accepted him one soft moon
light night in far Italy, how agitated and dis
tressed he had been when she hal a fever, and
a thousand other details which swelled that
great stor.e in my heart more and more. Eat
[ shut my eyes, until oae day when I saw tuem
together. lie was listening, intent, and very
paie, to something she toid him. and, to my
surprise, she was pale too, and weeping. He
fore she could finish, she broke into a pinn
ate ru>h of t-ars, and would have thrown her
self at bis feet ; but he caught ber, and she
sank down upon his shoulder, and he stooped
towards her a- he might if he had loved her.
Then I knew how 1 loved him.
I had to bear up a little while, for they
w-re iu my house, aud I inast bid them good
night, ami talk idly, sc that they shook! not j
suspect the wound I k id. But I most do
MjaieUi ng, or go mad : arxl so I went ont to i
the garden-wall, aud struck my baud upon it j
until the blood ran The pain of that jal
anced the tei rible paiu witkin a few moments, j
and I went in to iheaixaia: ani smiling. They 1
wt re idling en the -ofa, ke with a perplexed, i
pn'e face, and she blushing and radiaut. They
started up when they saw my hand bandaged. |
and she was full of sympathy for my hurt. ;
He said but little, though he looked fixedly
at my face. I know I must have looked
-trang- ly. TTlien they were gone, I weal into
rr.y chamber a\ 1 shut the door, when some
such T ~1:g as I should have closed the ea
tx-ace of a tomb behind me forever. I fought
myself all that unght. My hear* WAS hungry
and cried out for blood, auj I would promise
it none at ail. Is there any one who thicks
that youth has monopolized ail the passion of
life, nil the rapture, all the wild despair ? Let
then: brea-t the deen. strong current of middle
I never conld quite recollect how that last
month went away. I know that I kept my
self inces-antly occnpted, and that I saw them
aimo?t daily, wit boat departing from tbe tor.e
of fiuiii.ur friendship I had worn throughout,
although my heart was full of jealony and a
fas: growing hatred that would not be qneMed
Not for a ihoa<and happy Irwes wcmld I have
1 let them see my humiliation. I was even
afraid that already he might suspect it, for lis
manner v-is changed. Sometimes he was dis
tan:, sometimes sal, and sometimes almost
I j tenderer tfcan a friend.
' It got to be October, and I felt that I conld
not bear s h a state of any longer,
and questioned witfein myself whether I bad
: better not leave home for a while. If I had
been akrae, it woald have been easy; hut my
c:nsin Mary was still with me, and I could
give no good reason for such a step. Before
I bad settled npoa anything. LOOT came tome
in treat dkStress, with a confession that Mr.
Ames was somewhat turned against her, and
: that she was almost heart-broken about it. If
she lost him. she must die: for she had so
• long looked upon him as her husband, sod
loved him so we!!, that life woald be nothing
. ! without him. What should she do? Would
I advise her ?
r j I didn't know, until afterward, that it
i was a consummate piece at acting, dictated
i by the mother, asd that she WAS a3 heartless
- as it was possible for a youag girl to be; aad
*hk she lay weeping at my teet, I pitied her,
i a:.,! if, perhape. there might cot be
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
some spring of generous feeling in her heart,
that a happy love would nulock. The next
morning I went out alone, for a ride, in a di
, rection where I thought I could not be dis
turbed. Up hill and down, over roads, pas
tures, and streams, I tore until the fever with
in was allayed, aud theu I stopped to rest, and
look upon the beauties of the bright October
iday. All overhead and aronnd, the sky and
patches of water were of that] far-looking
blue which seems all realy to open upon new
j and wouderful worlds. Big, bright drops of
a night-shower lay asleep in the curled-np
' leaves, as thoogh the trees had stretched out
' a million hands to catch thetn. And snch
i hands ! What comiiarison could match them?
Clouds of butterflies, such as sleep amoug the
flowers of Paradise,—forgotten dreams of
' children, who sleep and smile, —fancies of fairy
laureates, strung shining together for some
j high festival, —anything most rich or unreal,
' might furnish a type for the foliage that was I
painted upon the golden blue of that October i
day. I could almost have forgotten my trouble |
in the charmed gaze.
I " Yon turn up in strange places, llaehel!" ,
: said a voice behind nie.
j This was what I dreaded ; but I swallowed 1
i love and fear in one great gulp, and shut my j
' teeth with a resolution of iron. I would not
: he guilty of the meanness of standing in that 1
child's way, if she were but a fool ; so I an-!
. swe red him gayly.
j "The same to yourself," as Neighbor Daw- i
kins would say. Why didn't you all go to
the hike, as you planned last tight V
i " For 'ime good reasons. Were yoa be- !
witched, that yo stood here so still ?" He '
looked brightly into my face, as he came up.
" No, —but the trees are. Shouldn't you
think that Oberon had held high court here
over night ?"
" And that they had left their wedding
dresses upon the boughs ? Yes, they are gay
enough 1 Hot where have you been these
fo ;r weeks, that 1 haven't got speech with
■ you ?"
" A pretty question, when you've been at
my house almost every day ! Where are your
senses, man ?"
" I know too well where they are," he said,
i " Hut I've wanted a good taik with you, face
to face, —not with a veil of cummouplace
people between. You're not yourself amoug j
; them. I Ike yon best when yonr spirits are
a little ruffled, and your eye kindles, and your
lip enris as it does now, —not when you say,
"No, Sir," or "Yes, Ma'am," and smile as
though it were only skin-deep.
I started my horse
" L.-t's be going, Jessie," I said. "It's our j
duty to feel insulted . He accuses your mis
tress of being deceitful among In r friends, aud
says he likes her when she's cross."
He laughed lightly, ar.J walked along by
" How are the ladies ? and when will Miss
Lucy come to ride out with me : ' I asked,
fearing a look into his eyes.
This brought hi.a down. I knew i: would.
He answered that she was well, and walked
along with his head down quite !;kc another >
man At length he 1 >okc<4 up, very pale, and
put hi* hand on my
' " L want to pat a case to you," he said.'.
" Sup:' -? a man to hare made some engage
ment before his mind was mature, and under a
strong oil* side pre-"U"e of which he was not j
aware. Whea he grows to a better knowl
edge of the world and himself, and finds that
he has beeu ball cheated, and that to keep
! his word will entail lasting misery and ruia on
i himself, without real'y benefitting any one
else, is he bound to keep it ?"
I stopped an instant to press my heart back. |
; and then I answered him.
"A proaii-e is a promise. Mr. Ames. 1
! have thought that a man of honor valued hi?
j word more than happiness or life."
He flushed a moment, and then looked down
again ; ani we walked on slowly, without a
word, over the stubbly ground, and through
' brooklets and groves and thickets, towards
home. If 1 eoald s-.ly reach there before he
spoke again ! H>w conld I hold out to do
my duty, if I were tempted any further? At
| lak be "checked the horse, ai.d, patting bis
j hand heavily on mine, looted ae full ia tbe
' face, while Ins was pale and agitated.
" llaehel," he said, huskily, " if a man came
to voo and said, ' I am bound to another :
bat my heart, my soul, my life &re at your
feet,' would yoa taru him away ?"
I gasped one long breath of freah air.
"1m I look like a woman who would take
a man's love at seeoad hand V I said, hanght-
I iiy. *' Women like me mtul respect the mac
they marry. Sir."
He dropped his hand, and turned away hi*
head, with a deep drawn breath. I saw him
stO'vp and lift himself airain, as though some
weight were laid upon his shoulders. I saw
tbe mnsdes roond and ridgy cpon his clenched
hand. "AM this for a silly, shallow thinff.
who knows nothing of the heart she loses 1
some tempter whispered, and pas-.oaate words
of love rashed np and beat hard against my
shut teeth. a Get thee behind me V I mat
tered. and resolately started my horse forward
" Not for her, —but ior myself.—for self-re
spect 1 The best iove HI the world s'aaii NOT
i bay that I"
"lie came along bes;Je me, silent, and step
ping heavily, and thns we went to the leafy
iane that came out near my hou s e. There I
stopped ; lor I frit that this toes', end now.
" Mr. Ames, you mast leave this place, di
rect !v," I said, with as much sternuess as I
could assume. "If you please, I will bid yoc
[ good bye, now
' ~ see TOO aaaia, Rachel ?" he esclaiffi
i ed, sharply. *"No 1 not that? Forgive me
t if I have said 100 much ; but don't send me
; away I".
1 He took my hand in both his, and gazed
as one might for a sentence of life or death.
voa iet a woman's strength shame
I. you ?" I cried, desperately. " I thought yon
t were a man of boaor, A£r. Ames. I "trusted
1 you entirely, bat I will nerer irost aay one
, | again."
' ~He dropped ay hard, and drew himself en.
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
"You are right, Rachel! you are right,"
he said, after a moment's thought. "No oue
must trust me, and be disappointed. I have
never forgotten that before ; please God, I
never will again. But must I say farewell
" It is better," I said.
" Good-bye, theu, dear friend !—dear
friend!" he whispered. "If you ever love
auy better than yourself, you will know how
to forgive me."
I felt his kiss on ray hand, and felt, rather
than saw, bis last look, for I dared not to raise
my eyes to his ; and I knew that he had
turned hack, an 1 that I had seen the last of
him. For one instant I thought I would fol
low and tell him that he did uot suffer alone ;
but before my horse was half turned, I was
" Fool !" I said. " If you let the dam down
i can you push the waters back again ? Would
j that man let anything upon earth stand be
; tween him and a woman that loved hitu ? Let
j him go so. He'll forget you in six months."
I had to endure a farewell call from Lucy
and her mother. Mr. Ames had received j
■ a sudden summons home, aud they were to !
i accompany him a part of the way. The elder
i scrutinized me very closely, but I think she
' got nothing to satisfy her ; the younger kissed !
i aud shed tears enough for the parting of twin
sisters. How I hated her ! In a couple of
; days they were gone, Mr. Ames calling to see
| uie when he knew me to be out, and leaving a
i civil message only The house was closed,the
faded leaves fell all about the little lawn.
" That play is over, and the curtain drop
| ped," I said to myself, as I took one long look
towards the old house, and closed the shutters
that opened that way.
You who have suffered some great loss, and
stagger for want of strength to walk alone,
thank God for work. Nothing like that for
bracing up a feeble heart ! I worked restlessly
f rom morning till night, and often encroached
on what should have been sleep. Hard work,
real aiueway labor, was all that would cou
tcnt me ; and 1 found enough )f it. To have
been a proper heroine, I suppose I shonld have
devoted myself to works of charity, read senti
mental poetry, und folded my hands v<.ry meek
ly and aud prettily ; but. I did no such thing.
I ripped up carpets, and scoured paiut, and
j swept dowu cobwebs, I made sweetmeats and
winter clothing, I dug up and set out trees,
aud tramped round my fields with the man be
hind me, to see if the fences needed mending,
or if the marshes were properly drained, or the
fallow land wanted ploughing. It made me
better. All the sickliness of my grief passed
away, aud £>niy the cieep-lying regret was left
like a weight to which my heart sooa became
accustomed. We can manage trouble much
better than we often do, if we only choose to
: try re-o'utelf.
I had but one relapse. It was when I got
news of their marriage. I remember the day
j with a peculiar uistiuctaeis ; for it was the
first snow-storm of the season, and I hal been
ont walking all the afternoon. It was one of
those soft, leaden-colored, expectant days, of
late autumn or early winter, w hen oue is sure
of snow ; and i went out on purpose to see it
' fall among the woods ; for it was just upon
] Christmas, and I longed to see the biaek ground
covered. By and-by a few Sites sauntered
j down, coquetting as to where they would alight
i theu a few more followed, thickening and
tbickeuiug until the whole upper air was alive
with them, and the frozen ridges whitened
along their back-, and every little stiff blade
of grass or rush or dead busu held a!! it could
carry. It was pleasant to see the quiet wond
er go on, until the landscape was completely
choDged,—to walk tome tcujfing the snow
from the froteu road on which my feet hal
groun d as I came that way, and see the fences
full, and the bellows dead in level, and the
birches bent down with their hair bidden, and
I the broad arms of tbe fir-trees loaded, like ?om
-1 bre cottoo-p"u going home heavily laden.
Then to see tbe bra-sy streak widen iu the west
and the cold moon hang astonished ujxm the
dea l tops of some distant pine trees, to
enjoy a most beasiifui picture, with only the
j cost of a little fatigue.
When I got home, I foead among my letters
one from Mr. Ante' He could not leave the
country without pleading once more for tnv
esteem, he wrote. He had not intended to
marry nnlil he could thiuk more calmly of the
post ; bat Lucy's mother had married agaiu
verv sadden'y into a family where her daughter
found it net pleasaut to follow her. She was
poor, without very near relatives now, and
frieuds en both sides, had urged the marriage.
He bad told her the itate of his feelings, and
offered, if she eosld overlook the want of love
to bt everything el-e to her She should Deye-r
repnt the tep. and he prayed me, when I
thought of him,to think es leni nt'y as possible.
Alas ! now I must not think at ail.
How I fought that thought,—how I work
ed by day. UEJ studied deep icto the night,
(filling every hour full to the brim with activity,
seenw cow a feverish dream to me. Such
dead thoughts will not bi buried oat of sight,
but lie cold and stiff, until the falling foliage
cf seasons of labor and experience tdiies jound
them, acl moss and herbs venture to grow
over their decay, and birds com? slowly and
curiously to siug a liUle there. In time, the
mound is beautifai with the ricaaess of the
growth, La: the lord cf the manor shudders as
he walks that way. For him, i; is always
Thus with me. I knew thai tbe sorrow was
doing me good, that it had been needed looc,
and I tried to profit by it, as the time come
when I could think calmly cf it all. I thought
l had ceased to love kim ; but the news of her
( death (for she d;ed in two years' taught me
i better. I heard of him from others, —that he
had been most tender and indulgent to a sel-
I Sib. heartless woman, who trified with hk best
feelings, and aimoet broke his heart before she
? went. I heard that he had ODe child, a poor
i little blind baby, for whom the mother had
1 ! neither lore nor care, and that be still eootinu
-2 ed abroad. Bat from himself I never heard a
1 word. No doubt he had forgouea me as I had
* always thought he would.
More than two years passed, and spring
time was upon us, when I heard that he bad
returned to the country, and was to be married
shortly to a wealthy, beautifnl widow he had
found abroad. At first we heard that he was
married, and then that he was making great
preparations, bat would not marry until au
tumn. Even tbe bride's dress was described,
and the furniture of the house of which she
was to be mistress. I had expected some
such thing, but it added one more drop of tbit
terness to the yearning I had for Lira. It was
so hard tq think him like any other man !
However, now, as before, I covered up the
wound with a smiling face, and went abont
my business. I had been making extensive
improvements on my farm, aud kept out all
day often, overseeing the laborers. One night, j
a soft, starlight evening in late May, I came !
home very tired, aad, being quite alone, sat '
down on the portico to watch the stars and i
think. I had uot been loug there, when a |
man's step came up the avenue, aud some per- j
son, I could not tell who in the darkness, open- ;
ed the gate, aud came slowly up towards uie. j
! I rose, and bade him good-evening.
! "Is it you, Rachel ?" he said, quite faintly. 1
It was his voice. Thank Ileaveu for the dark
ness ! The hand I gave him might trembie, j
! but my face should betray nothing. I invited
. him into tbe parlor, and rang for lights.
" lie's ccrae to see about selling the old
bouse," I thought ; there was a report that he i
would sell it by auctiou. When the lights
came, he looked eagerly at me.
" Am I much changed ?" I said, with a half
" Not so much az I," he answered, sighing j
aud looking dowu ; —he seemed to be iu deep
. thought for a moment.
He was much changed. His hair was turn
ing gray ; his face was thin, with a subdjned
expression I had never ex;>eeted to see him
wear, lie must have suffered greatly ; and,
as I looked, my heart began to melt. That'
would not do ; and besides, what was the
need of pity, when he had consoled himself?
I a>Lcd sorae ordinary question about his jour
uey, aad led him into a conversation on foreign
The evening passed away, as it might with
two strangers, and he rose to go, with a grave
face and manner as coid as mine,—for I had
been very cold. I followed him to the door,
aud asked how long he stayed at Iluutsvilie.
Only a part of the next day, he said ; his
child could not be left any longer ; bat he
wished very mnch to see me, and so had con
trived to get a few days.
" Indeed!" I said. " You honor me. Vcur
Iluntsviile friends scarcely expected to be re- '
membered so long."'
" They have c x done me ; 'u-tice, then," he
said quietly. " I seem to have the warmest
recollection of any. Good-night, Miss Mead. t
I shall not be likely to see you agaiu."
He gave me his hand, bat it was very cold,
and I let it slip as coldly from miae. He went
down the gravel-walk slowly aad heaviiv, aud
he certainly sighed as he closed the gate.—
Could I give him up thus? " D:wu pride !
You have held sway long enough ! I mux
part more kindly, or die !" I ran down the
gravel-walk and overtook him in the avenue,
lie stopped as I cam; up, aad turned to meet
" Forgive me," I said, brcathh '• I could
not part with old friends so, after wishing so
much for them."
He took both my bands in bis. "Hare yoa
wished for me, Rachelhe saiJ, tenderly.—
" I thought you would scarcely have treated a
| stranger with so little kindness."
" I was afraid to be warmer," I said.
" Afraid of what ?" he asked.
My mouth was unsealed. " Are you to be
married?"' I a>kcd.
" I have co such expectation,* he an=were-J
" And are not engaged to ar,y one ? '
"To nothing bat an old love, dear ! Was
that why jou were afraid to show yourself to
" Yes !" I answered, making no resistance j
to the arm that was put geot'y round me. H-:
j was a'ne now. I knew, as I felt tbe strong
I heart beating fast agari.st my own.
'• Rachel," he whispered, " the ocly woman
I ever did or ever can love, w.il you ;eud me
away again ?"
fcaf- A faitblul minister of tbe Gospel being j
one day engaged in visiting some members of
his flock, came to the door of a bouse where
his gentle tapping could not be heard to? the
noise of contention within. After waiting a
little, he opened tbe door and walked in,saying
with an authoritative voice, " 1 should like to i
know who Is the Lead of this house." " Weel.
sir," said the hu-band and father, "if ye sit
down a wee, we'll may be able to tell ye for
we're just tryiu' to settle that point. — Ut.in
texf-TleUs numb.r of th? A"; i r] •.'•-'.'has!
i a good anecdote of a man who rarely faded tc ;
go to bed intoxicated and disturb his wife dur
ing the whole tight. Upon his being charged i
by z frietd that he never went to bed sober, j
he ind : gnen"!y denied the charge, and gave the |
; incident of one particular night in proof :
Pretty soon after I go: into bed, my wife
said. " Why, husband what is the matter with
; i yoa ? Yoa act straneeiy!"
. i •' There's nothing the matter with me," said I
I " Nothing at all."
: I "I am sure there is," said she, " yea don't
act natural at alt. Shan't I get cp and get
j something for you ?"
. And np she got, lighted a candle, and came
! ; to the bedside to look a; me, shading the light
, fkh her hand.
i "I knew there was somethingstrangaabout
. yoa," said she, "why ! you are sober I"
t j " Now this is a fact, and my wife will swear
; to it, so don't you slander me anymore bysay
\; log that I haven't been W bed sober in six
\ months, cause I have."
> taW Many a sweetly fashioned mouth ho
i been disfigured and made hideous by the fiery
tongue within it
VOL. XX. —XO. 40.
How TIIE LION WOOS QIS BRIDE. —Let AS
first sketch the story of the lion's life—begin
ning with his marriage, which takes place to- •
wards the end of January. He has first to
seek his wife, but as the males are more abund
ant than the females, who are often cut off in
infancy, it is not rare to find a young lady
pestered by the addresses of three or four gal
lants who quarrel with the acerbity of jealous
lovers. If one of them does not succeed in
disabling or driving away the other, madam,
impatient and dissatisfied, leads them into the
of an old lion, whose roars she has
appreciated at a distance. The lovers fly at
hiui with the temerity of youth and exaspera
tion. The old fellow receives them with calm
assurance, breaks the neck of the first with
i his terrible jaws, smashes the leg of the sec
■ ond, and tears out the eye of the third. No
' sooner is the day won and the field clear, than
i the lion tosses,his mane in the air as he roars,
: and then crouches by the side of the lady,
who, as a reward for his courage, licks his
When two adult liori3 are the rivals, the en
counter is more serious. An Arab, perched
in a tree one night, saw a lioness followed by
a tawny lion with a full grown mane ; she lay
I down at the foot of the tree, the lion stopped
.on his path and seemed to listen. The Arab
then heard the distant growling of a lion,
which was instantly replied to by the lioness
: under the tree. This made her husband roar
furiously. The distant lion was heard approach
ing, and as he came nearer the lioness roared
louder, which seemed to agitate her husband,
■ for he marched toward her as if to force her
j to be silent, and then sprang hack to bis old
post, roaring defiance at Lis distant rival. This
continued for about an hour, when a black lion
made his appearance on tiie plain. The lioness
arose as if to go towards him ; but her hus
band, guessing her intention, bounded toward
his rival. The two crouched and sprang upon
' each other, rollingonthe grass in the embraces
of death. Their bones cracked, their flesh wa3
torn, the cries of rage and agony rent the air,
and all this time the lioness crouched and wag
ged her tail slowly in sign of satisfaction.—
When the combat ended, aad both warriors
were stretched on the plain, she arose, smelt
them, satisfied herself that they were dead,
aDd trotted off quite regardless of the uncom
Tbis, Gerard tells n, is an example of the
conjugal fidelity of miladay : whereas the lion
never quits his wife unless forced, and is quite
a pattern of conjugal attentions.— West mine
Sues AFFECTATION. — There is nothing more
beautiful in ihe young thau simplicity of char
aeter. It is honest, frank and attractive. How
different is affectation ! The simple minded
• are always r.atnral. They are at the same
t'me original. The affected are never naturai
And as for originality, if they ever had it,
they have crushed it oat, and hurried it from
sight ut' .r'v. Beyoar.-elf then, young friend!
To attempt !•> be anybody else is worse than
folly. It i> an impossibility to attain it. It
is contemptible to try. J)at suppose yon eculd
succeed iu imitating the greatest man that ever
figured in Li-lory, wool I that make you any
the greater ? By no mean*. You would al
ways suff-.r in comparison with the imitated
one, and be thought cf ouiy as a shadow of a
substance —the echo of a real sound—the
counterfeit cf a pure coin ! Dr. Johnson apt
ly considered the heartless imitator \for such
is he who affects the character of another) to
the Empress of Russia, when she bad dona
the freakish thing of erecting a palace of ice.
It was r lendid and conspicuous while it last
ed ; bet the sun so>a melted it, and caused its
attractions to dissolve into common water,
while the humblest stone cottage stood firm
and unharmed. Let the fabric, though ever
so humble, be at least real. Avoid affecting
the character of another, however great.—
Build your own. Re what God intended you
♦o be—yourself, and not somebody else. Shuu
fee?" The Rochester Democrat says it has
heard of a little incident which goes to show
that Judge Kaoi. the new Justice of the Su
preme Court in that district, is not only a ju
ris*. of dist r.ction, bat a wag of the first wa
ter. Daring the trial of Fee the murderer,
4 at Lyons recently, the Court room was fre
quently crow J i to excess, so that at times
members of the bar encroached a little upon
the sacred precincts of the bench. On one of
these occasions a well known legal gentleman
of Rochester found himself urged by the "force
i of circumstances " into a position d rectly be
hind the seat occupied by Judge Knox, and
deeming it necessary to say something byway
of apology, remarked jocosely to that func
tionary—" I'm here by grace alone."' " Ex
actly." said his Honor, " bat I'm here by eUo
CUCSE OF BLUSHES — A LUCID DESCRIPTION.
— A writer in the American Medical Gat'tie
furnishes the reason why yosaig ladies blush
when spoken to about their lovers : The
mind communicates with the central ganglion
. the latter, by redex action through the brain
aod facial nerve, to the organic nerves, ia the
face, with which iu branches inosculate.
JSyMt'.aacbolj is another name for thought
We care cot how imaginative a man may be, Met
him eat two pickled pig's feet and be will feel
as inanimate as a sack of coals. What we oft
en thick Is mind is half the time gristle.
A sweet girl is a sort of divinity to whom
even the scriptures do net forbid us to render
6S* The following notice is posted at a sail
way eotioe : " Traveller! hon!d be careful
to deliver their baggage to proper person*, as
• a cer.tfrmaa a few days since entrusted bis
' wife to a stranger, and has sot heard of her