E 33LLA R PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE:
TOW ANDA :
Thursday morning, November 6, 1862.
JJtltdcli Jfjaetrj.
INDIAN SUMMER.
JJY CII.VUI.ES KEN NO HOFFMAN.
I iL'lit as love's smiles, the silvery mist at mora
float- in loose flakes along the limpid river ;
the blue bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne,
4s high in air he carols, faintly quiver ;
The weeping birch, like banner idly waving,
Uends to the stream its spray branches laving ;
Beaded with dew, the witch elm'.- tassels shiver ;
The timid rabbit from the furz is peeping.
And Iront the springy spray the squirrel's gaily leaping.
I love thee, Autumn, for thy scenery, ere
The blasts .■[ winter chase the varied dyes
That richly deck the slow declining year ;
I love the splendor of thy sunset skies.
The gorgeous hues that tinge each falling leaf,
h .vclv as beauty's check, as woman's love, tou brief:
I love the note of each wild bird that flies,
As on tiie wind he pours his parting lay.
\uu wings his loitering flight to summer climes away.
0, Nature ! still I fondly turn to thee,
With idling- fresh as e'er my childhood's were ;
Th 'imh wild an i passioa-toss'd my youth may be,
Tr.wa'-d thee 1 -tili the same devotion bear ;
Ta tlice to thee—though health and hope no ru re
Life's wa-ted verdure may to me restore—
I -till can, childlike, come as when in prayer
1 rowed my head upon a mother's knee.
And deem'd th • world, lik - h -. all tru'li and purity.
fit i s 11! laßc o us.
" EUGENE HARTLEY AND I.
BY LEON ORE GLENN.
IT wis just at the sucset hour of a calm au
tumn Jay that. Eugene Hartley waved mc
ailue from the little steamer mooted but a few
rods trom our cottage. I can remember so
w.-ll how the the setting sun s rays glistened
on the glass of the boat that evening, and
liow suf'iv tiiey rested on the little ripples of
the broad river. The bell ran< and the
boat pushed out from shore, every moment
widening tin* gulf between my heart and that
of Eugene Hartley, lie turned his handsome
face earnestly toward me as I stood iu the
doorway,nervously pulling to pieces the leaves
of the rose bushes that clustered around tin
door, and, smiling sadly, waved his hand once
more, then turned around and walked away.
[ watched the lioal 'ill it was a mere speck
far down the river, and its waves had reused
to wa-li !lie pcbl-led shores, and tin u I felt
for '! •■ iif-t time that it must be mouths—ages
it seemed to me—before I saw that face again.
That was the saddest twilight 1 had ever
sn ut I .-at by my window, watching the
moonbeams phiying over the wafer, and listen
imr to the wild screams of the night birds in
the neighboring grove till the night was tar
gone M\ heart wept, over ita loncli-tros and
would not lie comforted
Eugene llur;b-y H ml 1 were to be married
in just one vear ; yet oh ! what a long time
if sccui' dto live without seeing him even
•once, lie ha(J started down the river severa:
inn.dred miles, to enter into business for iiim
-elf, tin- pro.-pect ot which was very ti .tiering,
i kn- w it was best for bun to go, and 1 tried
i.aid to reconcile myself to it, hut. 1 was very
young vet, and we had never ii-.-cu apart in
ire. T was we'd my mind was m aviy wholly
taker, up by mv household cures, or f should
haw been utterly wretched. As it was, I
in; i Lin little time of nry own, except in the
evening:-, and part of these I usually ■spent
'dawn by the water's edge looking f.s far as 1
cuilii -ce, down the Ever., and watching the
relhetiou ot the glimmering Mars as they
danced over the water, wfide from above they
looked down on me sweetly, almost -oailv, !
thought, and :i ■listening to the tnurmcr of
the t<ijy waves that rijwdcd up so sol' !y at my
•vet. 't.-iliaps it Was a lot iiii whim, i>U' I
felt i:ei r-T to him while standing ti. re thou
ft) air place else, because it was there I ia.-t
saw liim.
!n just a week his first letter came. It was
written on the boat, and filled with glowing
dt'scriptions of the beautiful scenery along the
aiver ; if the amusements and enjoyments iu
the evenings ; of the pleasant company on
hoard, ami fin ally wound up telling me of his
g-od health, and especially good spirits, and
that 1 must try to enjoy myself while he was
sway, to make the lime tiy faster. It was a
N'try cheerful letter, and 1 felt inoic light
hearted after 1 received it.
llie days roiled on, I suppose the same
as they always hud done, but to me they seem
ed much longer. 1 heard regularly from Eu
gene every two wc>-ks. He seemed much pleas
I'd will) his business,!he place and people, and
always wrote encouragingly.
Oli ! I shall never forget those bright, qui
ct autumn days. It was well that I enjoyed
beru so much, for the dark hours came soou
PUoiiah. I remember I used to wander away
sometimes to the grand old woods to think. —
-My soul drank deep it*. tle hr.slied and solemn
ttiHsic there, and the wild, temptestous throb
kings and yearnings were calmed into a
peaceful quiet. 1 always felt bettlr after a
'amble there, and even now 1 cherished the
Memory of those hours as among the sweetest
°f my existence. But the chilling winds and
%'it snow Hakes at length ended that pleasure
FT tue, and as I had more time then than
duri.,ir the summer for 1 amusement,l comment*-
t''i taking drawing lessons. 1 loved it and
•J n
tarew my whole soul into my work, 'oust quei t
*}' improved rapidly—so my teacher told me,
lust. He was one of the most splendid louk
men 1 had ever met, and he had a pieas
ai, h winning way in speaking that made liim
Ury agieeable. I liked him very much, and
a " 1 had never hud a brother he seemed to
mi tlnn place exactly. I remember one after
tota he wa ß unusually sad and thoughtful,and
*|'er vainly endeavoring to lix his mind on
'he iesson, said
l'ut it all away, Edith ; it is no use to
lr J—l cau't work todav."
" Does anythmg trouble you, Mr. Allison?"
I ventuied to a.-k.
I will tell you all about it," be replied ;
and taking a miniature from his pocket be
gazed at italuiost mournfully for a few seconds,
and passing it to me said—
" Is there not soul there ?"
I never saw a sweeter, lovelier face. With
out waiting lor me to reply, he continued
It is two years today since Annie Gray
died. She was the day star of my existence,
and since her death my footsteps have been
with a guide. I pray God you may never
suffer as I have done, through these two long
dreary years. It has beeu oue unchanging
round ot misery."
He left soon after, but I could not interest
myself in my drawing any longer that day.—
My sympathies were awakened, and 1 almost
iurgot my own loneliness in pitying his.
1 he next day a letter came from Eugene.—
It was a Week after the usual time, hut the
miniature it contained made amends for the
long day ;of waiting. 1 v\ onld scarcely have
known it, his heard was heavier, and for the
first time since I had known him he wore a
mustache. I was a little disappointed. It
would have been much pleasautor if he had
looked just as lie did the evening he went
away ; but .-till it was better than none at all.
The winter wore on, and I lived almost
alone with my pencil. If I did not receive
letters as long, or .-o often, from Eugene as
when lie first left, I attributed it to his press
of business, as that was his apology nearly
every lime, though "sometimes I could not
help feeling somewhat unhappy, I scarcely
knew about what.
It was on the lu.-t day of spring that I was
to take mv last lesson of Mr. Allison, for he
coul i i.ot content himself in any place long at
a lime ; and he had beco e weary of our qui
et place, although lit- had quite a iimnbc: of
pupils It was a sad day to me, for I 1 a i
learned to look upon him as a valued friend ;
then he had always had so kind and patient
away in pointing out my delects 1 knew I
should miss his ever ready hand many times
when commencing a new picture.
" Persevere with the inst,actions I have
civeii you, Edith, and in a year or two, per
haps, 1 will call and see what progress you
have ni uie Good bye."
Ti.is was about ail he said during the entire
lesson. He was sadder than usual, and I
knew his thoughts were not with the prv-ct t or
living.
I continued my i fforts during my .-pare time,
and finished—us I thought—some pretty
pictures ; ami so the hours passed by.
One day in July, I recviv d a short Utter
from Eugene, saying it would beau impossibil
ity for him to return at, the stated time, as
some one had forged his name to a check, and
that he must spend every nrinute to clear it
up. Tiiis was a sad disappointment to tnc,
and it was several days before I could recon
cile myself to the thought at all. I went
down to the river shore one evening to listen
to the waves, ll seemed such a long, long
time since he had g lie away, yet 1 could rec
ollect exactly how lie looked as he stood on
the boat. Suddenly a new idea entered my
mind I would sketch it. Sol commenced
the verv next day. 1 was a long time at tlie
picture but it served to ceeupv my attention.
Hurried letters came irregularly fium Eu
gene, but liv almost censed to spie.k of li s
business. Ho told me to try to have the pic
ture of the la),it departing completed by the
Mm'' lie came back.w i.ic'ii would be— be smirce
iy knew win n— j robably some time during the
winter. So I worked with renewed vigor.
Getob came, and the sketch v.as lmi.-a.-d
am. framed. I was very proud of it. for it
was the first one I had ever made without a
copy 1 hung it up ju.-t exactly a year from
tin- day Eugene had Icit lie was to have
returned that very day. i took a ioug waki
through the woods, and coining back discour
aged ami Im 1 sick, I wi*r to him a long 1 Iter
into which I poured ray very soul. ii;> un
s.vei came—vi.v cool -and distant, I thought ,
in comparison to the outpourings ol my heart
and then he closed by saying
•' Don't write to me again, Edith, dear
ehihl, till von reci-iv; another letter from me,
for i .-hall be away for some time—how long
I can't say. lam sorry to deprive you of the
pleasure, if it is oue, but I cannot avoid it
this time."
1 thought this was rather singular, for
wh - ewr he had been ai sent bt fore, he
hud always urged me to write, so that my
letter would be waiting his return. Then I
thought, eh, I have it now—he intends to
come back and surprise me ; so 1 was very
happy about my work, daily expecting to see
hiui. But when weeks ended in months, I
grew sii kin soul and body. 1 was tuo proud
to write, and so the matter rested.
One day a in wspuper came to me,addressed
in a strange hand writing, it proved to he
from the city in which Eugene lived. While
looking over the lir.-t page I noticed there
were heavy ink marks on the inside of the
paper. Turning to it, I read, with stilled
heart, the marriage notice of Eugene Hartley
and Miss Pauline Phelps. I did not faint,
not* cry out, but from that moment 1 hated
Eugene Hartley All the pride and lire of
my nature were called up, and they sustained
me well.
With a feeling of contempt I gathered to
gether his letters and picture, with a few oth
er little gifts, and writing the following words
sent them back to him at:d his bride.
" So you are too much ot a coward to tell
me in so many words that you wished our cor
respondence to cease ? I pity your weakness,
(lod judge between your heart and mine, Eu
gene Hartley."
lie soon returned mine, with their wedding
card. Alt ! he thought he would mock me.
I threw the whole package into the lire. I
did not look to see whether there was any
letter or not ; 1 did not care.
Well, months passed on, till they numbered
two years. I spent my time with my pencil
and my own thoughts. 1 was contented, if
not happy, and my picture showed that my
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TO WANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA,, BY E. 0. GOODRICH.
time had not been spent iu vain, for my heart
was iu uiv work.
One day I read in a paper of one Pauline
Hartley leaving her husband and eloping with
a circus player, it seemed that her and her
husband had never lived agreeably together
from the first, she haviug read some old let
ters of his, written to a lady he had known
before lie knew her. Ah 1 Eugene Hartley,
1 was avenged. You wrecked your own hap
piness on the very letter you wrote to wreck
mine. I felt that he was indeed having his
dark hours now.
Not many days after, Mr. Allison came.—
I was as much pleased as I was surprised,and
I took great pleasure iu showing him my
work, some of which he praised, and some he
found fault with. 1 took up my old routine of
study under his instruction, and the days glid
ed pleasantly by. He once asked me how I
came to sketch that boat scene. I told him
aii about my acquaintance with Eugene Hart
ley in evt ry particular, lie did not say much
but several times I felt embarrassed by meet
ing his gaz fixed steadily on me when I look
ed up suddenly from my work. And so an
other year passed.
I was very much surprised and pained, one
evening, to meet Eugene Hartley fuce to face
during one of my walks Enough the woods.
He was very much changed, but I knew him
in an instant. I turned quickly away, but he
implored me to stop just one minute. I can
not remember all he said, but the substance
of it was about his domestic troubles ; how
his wife had left, and since died ; how much
misery and remorse be hud suit red from his
conduct to me ; how he could not rtst till lie
saw me once more ; and finally asked forgive
ness, and begged to be permitted to take his
O'd place in my affections 1 was so surpris
ed and bewildered I scarcely knew what to
d ).
" i forgive you freely," I at length replied;
' but conic to the cottuge tomoirow evening,
and I will answer your iast question and
then I left him.
I told Mr. Allison every word of the con
versation that night ; lie only quietly smiled,
without saying a word.
The next evening Mr. Hartley came, and
was shown into the room wheie the family
was sitting with a neighbor—the minister of
our place. It was ti.o first time he had
daikened the doorway since that quiet hour
he left me with ju many promises on his lips,
four years ago.
A tew minutes after, Mr. Aih.-on and I en
tered the room, and Eugene Hartley was the
only goist at our marriage. That was my
answer ; and as soon as the ceremony was
< u isd he sile itly pressed my hand and left the
ljwuse,, i have never seen him since, though,
for the sake Oi other hours, i hope he may be
happy.
Fatal DisoasG among Cattle.
Dr. 11. F. STEVENS, of St. Albans, Vermont,
publishes a letter in the lUessevger of that
town, warning the public against the danger
of a fatal disease which has heretofore appear
ed among the milch kiue in the State, and has
recently broken out in the herd of Mr. SOLO
MON BLISS, who died last week froiu the ef
fects u! absorbing poison irom the dead car
cass ot one ui eight of his Cows that eiicd ot
the disease while he was skinning it. His son
was also att.eud similarly, but will recover.
!)■. Siv.v'ENS says the disorder principally a'-
tuck- milch cattle, who, on being affected by
it, become listless, refuse to eat, and die in a
tew hours. The object A his communication
is to warn people ol the exceeding danger in
curred, and of the most seiious and iutui con
sequences result! ig to those who remove the
hides of animals so diseased. lie says :
" Three years since, in Burlington, five cows
in one pasture were taken with this disease,
aiid died in a few hours. The man who skin
ned the animals was seized in a si.oit time
with swelling of the lingers, and evidences of
absorption of the poi.-on iu the system, and in
a few days lie died. The tanner who dressed
the hides suffered severely with swelling and
eruptions of the bauds and arms, but finally
recovered. Dr. Thayer attended those cases,
and at the time notified the public tlnough
the press of the presence and danger of the
disease. I would repeat that in no case where
an animal lias died from this disease should an
attempt be made to remove the hide, lor the
contact of the diseased tis.-ues with the lingers,
or even inhaling the poisonous dliuvia iu the
lungs, may and probably will develop most
dangerous and even fatai disease to all iu any
way concerned."
SWINDLING THE SOLDIERS — The Northamp
ton Gazelle says it has good authority for the
following statement : —" A soldier was taken
sick and scut to the hospital. When lie be
gan to recover, he craved some little delicacy
to soothe his nauseated palate, and asked for
some currant jelly. He was told that he could
have the jelly, but lie must pay for it. He
could have a pot of jelly lor $2. lie had but
two dollars in his pocket, and with that lie
was in hopes of reaching his home, as soon as
he was able to travel. He told his attendant
that he had but two dollars, and that lie did
not need the whole jar of jelly, a small part
would be sufficient. No, lie must take the
whole or none, and he must pay £2 for it. Fi
nally the invalid bought the jelly, and on re
moving the covering he discovered, to his great
astonishment, within the wrapper, a note di
rected to himself, and that this very jar of
jelly had beeu sent by his own family to him.
This is but one among the many outrages per
petrated by the unprincipled men who are
found in our army."
fl.-.gr A Philosopher on being asked from
whence he received his first lensoti is wisdom ;
he replied : " From lite blind, who never take
a step until they have felt the grouud before
them."
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
(From the New York Ledger.)
Mary Thome's Cousin.
" Mary, I am astonished !"
Of coarse, the grave elder sister was aston
ished. In truth, and in fact, she lived in a
j chronic state of amazement ; for Mary Thorne
| was always doing something to astonish her
; friends and relatives. Miss Ruth could hard
! lv credit the evidence of her own senses, in
; the hazy glow of the August morning, when
; she came out of she clematis shadows of tlie
j little south porch, and discovered that yonder
; moving object, half way up among theumbra
! geous branches of the huge old pear tree, was
i not a spray of leaves, nor yet a russet-plumed
! robin, nor a cluster of sun-cheeked pears swing
; ing in the blue empyrean, but—Miss Mary
j Thome, comfortably perched in the crook of
the gnarled tree, her curls all flecked with the
sifted rain of sunshine that came down through
| the shifting canopy of leaves, and a book in
; her lap.
I " I don't care !''suid the little damsel, laugh
ing saucy defiance. " It's the nicest place in
the world up here ; I feel just like a bird,
with the leaves fluttering against my face and
the wind blowing so softly—and I intend to
stay here. Wouldn't you like to come up here,
Ruth)? it's easily done ; just put your foot ou
that knot, and "
Rath, who was th'rtv, and weighed a hun
dred and sixty pounds, bristled i p with amaze
ment.
" Mary Thorne, arc you crazy ? Come down
tliic im-tant !"
" i shan't," said naughty Mary, tossing the
silky shower of cutis away from her forehead,
and glancing down with eyes that shone ui.u
sparkled like two blue jewels.
" But we are going "
" Yes, 1 under.-tand. You are all going in
triumphal profession to the depot, to render
an ovation to the great Professor e.a Place,
the wisest, sagest and grandest of mankind,
to whom the Thome iiuniiy have tin* unuttera
ble honor of being second cousins, and to es
cort him solemnly to a month's sojourn at
Thorne 11.11. O, dear!" ejaculated alary,
" I wi>h I couhl run away somewhere and hide.
I hate this paragon of prim precision ! I
shan't marry him if he asks, and I mean to
behave so badly that he won't dream of it !"
No, lam nut going with you. I liatetlieclose
barouche, and it's too warm to ride ou home
back. J >hall stay at home !"
i And Miss Mary settled lier.-rlf so snugly
with one tiny slippered foot swinging down,
and her pretty head close to a nest of blue
spicklui bird's ego, that Ruth gave it up
with a sigh of despair.
" \Y( 11, then, have it. your own way, you in
corrigible romp ? I wit.li you weren't too big
to be shut up in a dark closet, or have your
ears well boxed !"
j "Itis a pity, Lu't it,"said Mary, demurely.
" Of course it is, Mary ; if Coufin Tom
Bradley comes this morning, be sure and ex
plain to him why we are absent, and behave
like a young lady, mind !"'
" All right," said Mary danntlessly. " J
always liked Tom ! we used to have grand
rotnps together when we were children."
Shu sal title in the old pear tree, prettier
than any Hamadryad that ever might have
haunted the mossy old veteran of the garden,
liet check touched with sunshine and carmine,
her dimpled lips apart, now reading a hue or
two from the 1 ook in her lap, now looking up,
rapt in girlish reverie, into the blue sky as it
sparkled through ever moving loaves, and now
breaking into a soft littles warble of song t! a'
made the very robins themselves put their
heads to one .--ide to listen. The carriage had
| driven away long since—she had watched it
! beyond the curve of the winding road ; the
i dm k mantle of shadow was slowly following
the creeping sun glow acri ss the velvet lawn
■ below, and the old church spire among the
• far-off woods had chimed out eleven. And
j still Mary Thome sat there in the foikcd
I branches o! the giant pear tree !
Suddenly there floated up into the 'eafy
| sanctuary, a pungent, aromatic odor, which
j made her lean curiously forward, shading her
eves with one hand, tiie heller to peuetrate
the green foliage below. Not the late month
ly roses, not the amethyst, borders of helio
trope, nor the spicy geraniums, none of these
blossoms distilled that peculiar smell !
" My patience !' said little Mary, " it's a
cigar."
A cigar it was, and the owlier thereof—
| she could just see a white linen coat and a tall
j head covered with black, wavy curls—stood
i on the porch steps, quietly smoking, and in
dulging in a lengthened view of the garden
. slopes.
" That's Tom Bradley," said Mary to her
! self.
j Now, if he thinks I'm coming down out
; of this delicious cool place to sit up straight
l in the hot parlors he's mistaken ! Tom !" she
' calh d out in a silver accent of imperative sum
mons, and then burst into merry laughter at
| the evident amazement with which the strau
■ ger gazed round him, vainly trying to conjec
ture wheuee the call had proceeded.
" You dear, stupid Cousin Tom," she ejacu
lated, " dou't slure off towards the cabbage
beds ! Look straight up here ! t/ow- may come
up if you please. There's plenty of room for
j both. You rtreOousin Tom, aren't you ?" she
continued, as a sudden misgiving crossed her
mind.
" Of course I am ; and you arc Mary, I sun
pose ?"
" Mary herself ! Up with you, Torn—catch
hold of this branch—there. Now shake hands
—you saucy fellow, I didn't say you. might
kiss me !"
" Well, I couldn't help it—and, besides,
aren't we cousins ?" said Mr. Tom, swinging
himself comfortably into a branch just above-
Mary.
" Why, Tom, how you have changed !" ejac
ulated the young lady, pushing back the curls
with one hand, that she might the better view
her playmate of childhood's days. " Your
hair never curled so before ; and what a nice
moustache you've got. 1 shouldn't have known
ycu, Tom."
" No," said Tom roguishly.
" And you've grown so tall ! I declare,
Tom, you're splendid."
Tiie gentleman laughed. " I could return
the compliment if I dared. But where are all
the rest of my relations ? The house below
is as empty as a haunted hall.
" All gone to welcome that horrid, poky
old Prof. La Place, who has graciously indi
cated his willingness to pass a few weeks with
us. Tom, Ido hate that man 1"
" Hate him ? what lor ?"
" O, I dou't know ; I'm sure he is a snuff
dried, conceited old wretch, and I'll wager a
box of gloves he wears spectacles I"
" Nonsense, Mary ! why, he's only twenty
six !"
" r don't care—l know he's rlienm itic r.nd
wears spectacles for all that. And Tom, now
il you'll never breathe a word of this—"
" I won't, upon my In,nor," said Tout.
" Well, then, papa has actually g<>t the idea
into his dear o!u head that I should make a
nice wife for the professor, and—and "
Mary turned away with crimson iudiguatiou
flashing in her cheeks.
"It is too had of you to laugh, Tom. I
never, nee r will marry the man !"
" I wouldn't it" 1 were you," consoled Tom.
" 1 Jut, Cousin Mary, wait and see the man
before you decide. lie may he quite a decent
fellow/'
" No !" said Marv, shaking her head and
biting her cherry iius firmly ; " I Late him be
forehand !"
" What a spiteful little pussy you are,'' said
her companion, laughing.
" No, indeed, Tom, I'm not!" and the blue
eyes became misty. " I love papa and llu'h
dearly—and 1 love almost everypody ! I like
VHXL Tom, but I hate Prof La Place ! And
J want you to promise, Tom, that you'll stand
mv friend, and not aliow him to tease me into
walks or rides, or itic a ides of any kind !
Will you ?
Would he ! If she had u-ked him to pre
cipitate himself out of the pear tree upon the
stone steps below, with those blue eyes fixed
on his, he'd have done it ! Any man of taste
would.
" I promise," he said ; aud they shook hand.-
on it.
What a cosy place for a chat that gnarled
old tree was! And when they had laikeii
over everything they could think of, it was
the most natural thing in the world that Tom
should recover the book which had slipped
down iuto a network of tiny boughs, and read
poetry to his pretty coudu in the deep nm>i
cal voice that maidens love to listen to ! And
Mary sat there, watching the jetty curls blow
ing to and fio on his broad white brow, ami
the long, black laHus almost touching his ol
ivo cheek. And she thought how very, very
handsome Cousin Turn was, and how much In
had changed in the ten years that had elapsed
since she had seen him ; and she wondered
whether Tom was eugaged to any pretty girl
—somehow she hoped not ! Now, why couldn't
Tom have been rich like that Prof. La Piuce,
instead of a poor young medical student and
And when the large black eyes were sud
denly lifted to hers, Mary felt as though lie
hud read every thought of her mind, and blush
ed scarlet :
" Come, Tom," she chattered, to hide her
confusion, " we've been up here long enough.
Help me down, and I'd show you the oid sun
dial that we used to heap up with buttercups
when ive were children."
What a tiny, insignificant, little Mary she
felt, leaning on the arm of that tali cousin.—
And how nice it was to have the stately head
bent down so courteously to catch her soft ac
cents — lor somehow Mary had forgotten her
sauciness, and grown wouderously shy !
A rumble of wheels—it was tiie returning
carriage, and Mat y clung to Tom's arm.
" The awful professor !" she whispered.—
" Now, Cousin Tom, be sure you stand by me
through everything."
" To my life's end !" was the whispered an
swer : and Mai v felt herself crimsoning much
as she strove to repress the tell-tale blood.
But. there was no oue in the barouche, save
Mr. Thorne and Ruth, as it dixw up on the
grand sweep, beside the two cousins.
" Where is the Professor ? ' questioned Miss
Mary.
" He was not at the depot," said Ruth,
" and "
But Mr. Thorne had sprang from the car
riage, and clasped both the stranger's hands
in his.
"La Place 1 is it possible? Why, we have
just been looking for you at Mill fetation
" I am sorry I have inconvenienced you,
sir," was the reply ; " but I came by the way
of Wharton, and walked over this morning."'
" Never mind, now, so you are safely here,"
exclaimed the old gentleman. " Rath, my dear
—Mary—let rue introduce you to your cousin,
Prof. La Place !"
Mary had dropped hts arm and stood dis
mayed.
" You toid me you were Cousin Tom !"
" feo I am Cousin Tom ! that is my name
and relationship. Now, Mary," and the black
eyes sparkled brimful of deprecating archness,
" don't be angry because 1 dou't snuff, nor
wear spectacles I I beg the other Cousin
Tom's pardon, whoever he is ; but I am very
glad he isn't here. Mary, be just end don't
hate Cousin Tom, because his oilier name hap
pens to be La Place 1"
He need not have been so apprehensive, for,
in their twilight walk beside the sundial that
very evening she confessed that she did not
find Prof. La Place such a terrible ogre, alter
all ; quite the contrary, in fact. And he suc
ceeded in convincing her that he liked his im
pulsive little Cousin Mary all the better for
those pear tree confidences.
But, no doubt, it was a very perplexing
thing to have tico Cousin Toms ; and so, about
six months subsequently, Miss Mary contrived
to obviate that iucouvetiieueo by allowing on*
of them to assume a nearer relationship, and
in spite of all her asseverat ous to the ooutra
ry, she is Mrs Prof. La Place.
1 l'or it's a solemn fuct iu this world, that,
VOL. XXIII. —XO. 28.
| whenever a girl says she " never, never " will
do a tiling, she is pretty sure to go and do it
; the first chance she gets, and Mary is uo ex
i cepiiou to the geueral rule !
In every good prose writer there will
I be found a certain harmouy of sentence, which
: cannot be displaced without injury tohismean
-1 ing. His own ear has accustomed itself to
regular measurements of time, to which his
| thoughts learn mechanically to regulate their
march. And in prose, as in verse, it is the
pause, be it long or short, which the mind is
compelled to make, in order to accommodate
its utterance to the ear, that serves to the
completer torruation of the ideas conveyed ;
for words, like wuters, wouid run off ro their
own waste were i ( not for the checks that
compress them Water pipes can only convey
their steam so long as they resist its pressure,
and every tkiiled workman knows that he can
not expect them to lust unless he smooth, with
care, the material with which they are com
pos: d. For reasons of its own, prose has
th refore a rhythm of its own. Cut by rhythm
i do not necessarily mean the monotonous rise
and fall of balanced periods, uor thu amplifi
cation of needless epithets, in order to close
the cadence with a Johnsonian chime. Every
style has its appropriate music ; hut without
a music of some kind it is not stylo—it isscrib
-1 bliug.
BgU Bill Ross is a great temperance-lectur
er, and at Rushviile, Illinois, was preaching
to the young on his favorite theme. He said :
" .Now, boys, when I ask you a question you
mustn't be afraid to .speak right out and an
swer me. When you look around aud see all
these line houses, farms, and cuttie, do YOU
ever think who owns them all now ? Your
fathers own then), do they net V Yes sir 1"
shouted a hundred voice s. " Well, where
will your fathers be in twenty years from now?"
"Dead I" shouted the boys. "That's right.
And who will own ail this property then ?"
"Us boys 1" shouted the urchins. "Right.
Now, tell me—did you ever, in going aloug
j the street, notice the drunkards lounging
iround the saloon-doors,waiting for somebody
;to treat them ?" " Yes, sir ! lots of them 1"
' " Well, where will they be in twenty years
' from iiow ?" " Dead 1" exclaimed the boys,
i " Aud who will be diunkards then ?" " lis
! hoys." .Billy was thunderstruck for a moment;
j out recovering himself, tried to tell the boys
, now to escape such a fate.
Sir A country newspaper thus " sets up"
; the editor of a rival journal : " The editor of
lie Hooking Stnli.iei seems to be much exer
| :isid about the tone of our paper. Did auv
j ff our readers ever see this man of the Senti
nel ? Take a six-bushel sack about as loug
one way as the other ; fili it with bran, hit
; >oth ends heavily with a club, so as to swell
t out largely in the centre. Scent it well
j throughout with bad whisky and onions, and
j you have him physically, saieli and all. Take
i half-witted, well-fed Hottentot, eject into
; him the largest possible amount of couceit ;
: xtract from him three-fourths of his brains,
j onu ail bL morai principle ; beat him over
the head until he forgets what little he did
know, and you have him intellectually."
£■aT Old Parson Rives, down in Tennessee,
was sent out by conference to preach to the
: negroes in a distant part of the Btate. Ho
| was a man of very dark complexion, but wu'd
! never have been mistaken for a negro. Meet-
I ing one of the saucy overseers, the Parson
j -aid to him : " Perhaps you do not know me,
jI am Mr. Rives, the negro preacher " " O
! yes," said the fellow, " I knowed you was a
I nigger, but I didn't know you was a preach
j ei\"
fishy In one of our towns the postmaster
I has, by a skillful muriceuvering, managed to
j letaiu his office from the time of Harrison and
i Tyler, down to the present day. Being asked
; how ho managed to keep his office through so
many changes of Administration, lie replied,
i that " it vrouul take a mighty smart Adminis
tration to chuuge quicker than ho could."
figy The hymn we heard in meeting the
lust time : " O, take a pill, O, take a pill, O,
take a pilgrim home." The hymn we heard
—I rebel and soprano by the fairer portiou of
creation—" O, for a man, O, for a man, O,
j for a man sion in the skies." The one Plunk
j ins heard the bass singer at : " O, send down
Sal, O, send dowu JSai, 0, send down Sul-va
! lion."
IUS" Official returns from all hut three coun
ties in Ohio, show as follows: For Secretary
of State, lvenuon, Union, 17 2,075 ; Arm
strong, D-moerat, 178,070. Armstrong's ma
jority, 8,995. Hancock, Sandusky, and Put
nam Counties, which are yet to come in, ar
I expected to rai.su this majority to about 7,
j 460.
Boß> Returns from all but nine eouuties in
Indiana show for the Republican Union Sec
retary of State, 108,830 ; for the Democratic
candidate 116,084 ; Democratic majority,
7,824. The counties to come in will not ma
terially vary this proportion.
Ifoy The pompous epitaph of a close fisted
citizen closed with the following passage of
scripture: " lie that giveth to the poor lend
. eth to the Lord." " Dat may be so," solilo
quized Saaibo, " but when dat ruuu died, do
Lord didn't owe 'im a red cent."
Among the awards in tnffi Golden
Book of the royal commissioners at the re
cent " exhibition" in London, is this, under
the head of prize liquors : M Rum very Que,
clear and fu{' ; character."
fitly When Mr Whiteside finished his five
j hours' oration on Kars. Lord Palmerston re
i plied that the honorable gentleman's speech
1 was highly creditable to his physical powers.