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JnicrUtl
TIME.
"I'honek centuries after centuries pass,
And earth is deep with human clay,
p., Traveler with his scythe and glass
Pursues his even way—
Onward, still on, in change and death,
Wt trace L.s steps in every clime,
tu.l nations tremble at the breath
Of -tern old conqueror Time.
lb points his fingers to the walls
01' temples towering to the skies,
Villi <">'•• r their dust his footsteps fall,
And loftier ones arise ;
lit- rules supreme o'er earthly things—
The great, the glorious, the sublime ;
I'he august dome, the throne of kings,
All own their conqueror, Time.
Ht stills the forum and the mart,
lie fills a thousand sculptured urns,
Aud they in ages roll apart,
And dust to dust returns.
Aud genius, with thy pallid brow,
Thy haughty lip, and eye of fire
old Time shall conquer even thou.
The pencil and the lyre.
And o'er those grand ancestral piles
Where ivy ever green is spread,
Aud through those dark and solemn aisles
Where sleeps the mighty dead,
And o'er the proud triumphal arcli
Where erst victorious chiefs were crowned.
He passes in his silent march,
And lrurls them to the ground.
Well, let his ivy banner wave
O'er palace dome and castle tower,
Aud let him trample on the grave,
Exultant in his power ;
There is a realm beyond the tomb,
A purer clime, a fairer shore,
Win re Time comes not to blight the bloom,
Aud death shall be no more.
REST.
. y. bells! sound midnight through the air:
. . it men's lives, now groaning under eare ;
W great Time with clashes every where—
I wait, yea long, for rest.
- '■(!, stop not, ye finger-marks of woe ;
ye shades! Oh! let the sunlight go ;
R ■; -t. ye hours, life is too sad and slow—
I wait, yea long, for rest.
rtli, ye flowers, let Spring and Summer die ;
:1 down, ye sheaves, let Autumn too go by ;
; i v. xv winds, another Winter's nigh—
I wait, long, for rest.
laxth not, rest is not for the young ;
k liveth not, it lies the graves among ;
i - -la x to age, so yonder death-bells sung—
I wait, yea long, for rest.
- He-til not with worldly joy and mirth ;
K i -a; th not until the soul's new-birth ;
K- -t ivineth not until we die to earth—
Then Cometh rest indeed.
b' .nil e. spx ;;> lives, sealeth them carefully ;
le-t guards our souls now lying peacefully,
-stk our lip.s, which murmurs thankfully—
'• Xow have we rest indeed."
ptettlianflroji.
SETH HATHRON'S FOURTH.
, —~ I
1 always was a brack-browed, broad- I
Tiliiered, brute of a fellow, always from 1
■ } At school (not that I had much of i
belt s u-t of thing), but at school if old !
l 'yy I'-'ggv fotui ! out any mischief she |
" 1 it t > my score because of my looks, :
•'ten and often, while 1 was liulding ;
niy it.itid to be rulered, the prettiest
y in school was grinning over his good i
; k in getting off so safely. She had her !
•conceived notions of a villian, I pre-!
'-i", and I answered the description.
r "i' the matter of that, ot all the books >
■■ l ies I've read since, especially those
'"'Hen by ladies, I've noticed there isn't i
1 • where the burglar, or forger, or pirate, j
r w iiat not, who does all the wickedness j
" >k, as though he's taken it on con- j
wouldn't do for me on a passport, j
■ their pets, who do the grand and no- j
' things, are generally slender, and fair, j
pretty. Now the worst wretch / ever
'W -one who was afterward hung, and i
deserved hanging richly, even on his i
wii showing—had blue eyes, anil white
'" ics, aud a pink mouth like a girl's. It's I
ver and over again ; b,-.t it's my opin- j
■ that if women were put on the police, '
>re the year was over every hulking, i
bilious fellow whose eyebrows:
■ t would be locked up in the State I'rison
suspicion.
' never was a favorite with any woman
: iy mother, and she died when I was
- years old. So instead of growing up
' the idea that most men have, that
" y girl they meet is ready to fall in love
them, I never had the slightest hope
•t any would ever like me well enough
"t me fall in love with her even. And I
-k",l gi r ]
s so. It was odd for a fellow like
■ hut how I did like tlia girls !
"ever could bear to see one cry, or to
" "I their being imposed upon or hurt.
'l'll' t pass one with a heavy basket or
"•'•I" without at least wanting to offer to
\ r 'J -t lor her. 1 could never bring my-
U sit in stages or cars when one was
"'"tig I don't think I could I could "if
"i been weak or lame instead of the
-•"Wit I was. Yet I've seen gentlemen
• ! o'' with their hands in their pockets
" poor old ladies, who might have been
. , '. r o ru "dmothers, stood up before them !
their manners were good and mine
'JSt .>l a bear, and I myself only a work
x w w ' l ° 'earned all be ever knew at
''Miss Peggy's school
K. O. GOODRICH, Publisher.
VOLUME XXVI.
Something as a man might have felt just
in sight ol tlie angels, who were too much
above him to be spoken to or touched, I
felt about all girls. When a woman was
intoxicated or in any way debased she
never seemed a woman to me, but a dread
ful sort of creature, all the worse for hav
ing something of the pretty womanly look
about her.
I was a maker of fire-works, as my father
had been before me. I don't know that I
liked the business particularly, but there I
was, and there I staid. 1 made good wages
and saved them ; for I didn't think enough
about my looks to dress much, and I never
drank. "Sulky," the other men called me.
What of that? It was better to be sulky
than raving mad, as some of them so surely
as Saturday night came round. Men with
nice, good-looking wives too, whose chil
dren wanted for bread and shoes what they
spent in drink. I never expected to have
a wife and children, but I knew how they
ought to be used better than they did.
1 suppose I had come to be twenty-eight,
or so, and no girl had ever looked at me
except as she might at a tarnish polar bear,
when, one day, old Mr. Williams, the pro
prietor of the place, came to me as 1 was
going home to dinner, and said, in his own
quick way :
" Hathrou, can you drive ?"
" Yes, Sir," said I.
" I want you to take the wagon and go
over to the railroad depot at Baldwin, and
bring down a new hand aud her traps," he
said. "She'll be there at half past twelve,
so you'll have barely time to snatch a bite
and go ; and you can have the rest of the
day to yourself, if you like, as it's Satur
day. Her name is Annie May."
Before you can understand what he meant
I must tell you that our place (they called
it the "N'e plus ultra Pyrotechnic Estab
lishment," bless you !) employed some five
aud-twenty girls, and that they generally
came from a distance, and boarded while
there with an old woman close by, all in
one place, to keep them out of harm's way.
Mr. Williams insisted on that, and had a
lot of rules about the hours they were to
keep and the way they were to behave ;
good rules, and not so rigid but that there
was plenty of innocent courting and more
than one wedding in a season. As for we
men, we went where we chose. Some put
up at the tavern, some with people who
would take a few boarders, and those who
lived in the place with their families. There
were very few girls who had homes there
to go to ; for the village was an uppish
kind of place, full of country seats and vil
las, and the factory Btood all by itself, quite
a distance away, and the tavern and a few
common houses were grouped close about
it, as if the others were too genteel to mix
with them. So Mrs. Munson's place was
always full. When a new girl came down
somebody always had to be sent over to
Baldwin to bring her to the factory. I had
never been before, and why I was chosen
this time it was hard to tell. However, 1
was willing enough, and so, wheu I had
taken a bite, I put on my best coat and
drove over.
It was a day to tempt a man out —a
beautiful spring day, with fender green
grass on the earth and tender pink buds on
the branches, aud in the sky there were
only two or three fleecy bits of clouds, like
carded wool, amidst the blueness. It took
only half an hour to get to Baldwin. I'd
have been willing it should be ten whole
ones.
The train had got in, aud there were
people waiting in the little house at the de
pot—a couple of stout old ladies, a gentle
man who looked like a minister, and a
young woman. I looked at her and made
up my mind she couldn't be the new hand,
not because she was more dressed than
they usually were, bat because she wasn't
dressed half so much. Generally they bad
on their brightest gowns, and big beads
around their necks, and roses enough in
their bonnets to fill a garden. This girl
was all in gray, and wore a veil to match.
The things were cheap and not new, but
they made her look like a lady. I walked
up and down and waited. The fat women
went away in a wagon ; the clergyman
had a gig sent for him ; and there the girl
sat beside ber trunk, lookiug now and then
out of the window and beginning to seem
anxious. At all events it could do no harm
to speak ; so I took oil' my hat and stepped
up, with a bow.
" I beg your pardon, Miss," said I, "but
has there been anybody here asking about
Vicing taken to Mr. William's place ?"
" 1 want to go there myself," she an
swered ; "that is, if you mean the lire-work
factory. I'm Annie May."
" 1 do mean the fire-work factory," I said,
" Mr. Williams sent me down to fetch you.
I'm Seth Hathrou, one of the hands. The
wagon is ouside ; will you get in ?—Wait
a bit ; I'll put the trunk in first."
" Shan't I help you ?" she said, and she
put ber little hand to the trunk nearest her.
It looked so small I burst out laughing.
" I don't need any help," said I—but I
thought I could carry both the trunk and
its owner together, if I chose, and she'd let
me. She was the smallest creature, to be
a full-grown woman, that I ever saw. A
piece of the blue sky for her eyes, and a
bit of the golden sunshine for her hair, and
some of those wild roses that would climb
with the barberries over the stone fences
seeu for her cheeks, and you know how to
paint her.
After I had helped her in and had taken
the reins in my hands, I kept stealing looks
at her and thinking how beautiful she was;
and I tried to talk about things that would
please Iter, and pointed out the places on
the road, and felt that, bright as the day
had been before, it was somehow a great
deal brighter now with her beside me.
We stopped at Mrs. Munson's and said
good-by. 1 carried her trunk into the hall
and called the old lady, aud drove the horse
back to the stable. Then, having a holi
day, 1 got a newspaper and went out into
the woods—Baldwin's Woods they called
them —and I think I knew every tree by
heart.
1 sat clown by chance under a great oak,
where .lack Yarne, one of the hands, had
carved .1 V. for his name, and 0. G. for
Olive Grey's, and had put a ring round
them both ; and as 1 looked at the work
fell to wondering why Jack Varne should
have a sweet-heart and I none, and wheth
er it was only his pretty face or something
in our ways that made all girls like him
and none me. And somehow I felt lone
some and unhappy, and couldn't read my
paper, and sat down with my head on my
hands, sulkier than ever, I suppose, to look
at. Maybe it was an hour, maybe two,
that I sat there before I heard a step com
ing over the grass, and looking up, saw the
girl I had driven over from Baldwin, Annie
May, coming toward me. She did not see
me at first ; but when she did she started
and stopped, and smiled at me just as I'd
seen other girls smile often at other men,
but never once at me before that moment.
I never thought what I was doing, but held
out my great brown paw and shook hands
with her as if we had been friends for
years.
"I found there was nothing for me to do
in the factory until Monday," she said,
"and I came out to see what these woods
were like. It's a pretty place."
" Prettier in summer," I said, "and pret
tiest of all in autumn, when the leaves arc
turned gold and scarlet."
" I like spring best," she said ; "every
thing is new and fresh, and just begun. In
autumn every thing is nearly over, and
that is sad."
"I don't mind it," I said; "I haven't a
gay disposition, I suppose. But look here,
if you like fresh young things I'll show you
something and I took her to where, be
hind a fallen log, the first spring violets al
ways grew. There was a dozen there now,
and she went down on her knees to smell
them. She would only pick one, though ;
it seemed wrong, she said.
That one, after we had walked for an
hour or so, somehow dropped out of her
hair. She did not know it, but I did ; and
when she had gone home I went back and
found it lying on the path and put it in my
bosom. It was so sweet and fresh and
beautiful that I could but think it was like
her. I liked to think so. 0, what a day
that was for me ! What a night when I
dreamed it over !
Next day was the Sabbath, and I did
what I'd never done before. After I was
dressed, angry with myself for not looking
handsomer all the while I stood belore the
glass, I went over to Mrs. Munson's and
asked for Miss May.
She came down in a muslin dress and a
pretty bonnet with a pale blue ribbons; aud
I remember stammering out something
about thinking she might like to go to
church and would not know the way. That
was all nonsense, of course, for there was
the steeple iu full sight, but it gave me
what I wanted, leave to be with tier again.
I'm afraid I couldn't have remembered
the text to save my life, and that the ser
mon was thrown away on me. But I was
very happy —happier than I had ever been
before ; for this sweet young thing seemed
to like me, was frank and pleasant with
me, and found, I was so glad to think, a
sort of protection that she liked in my great
arm where her hand rested, going home
over the fields, like a fallen snow-flake. It
almost seemed to me that I must be crazy
to believe that she had taken a notion to
me ; but it was true. So true that when
four of those Sabbaths had passed I made
her walk with me again in Baldwin's
Woods, and sat down beside ber on the
hollow log, behind which a great patch of
violets were in bloom by that time, and
told her how I loved her, and asked her to
be my wife.
Only a month since she came there—
only one month since I drove her over in
the little wagon ; but if the auswer had
been any thing else than what it was I
should have prayed to die. It may not be
such a mighty matter to other men to have
one woman's love, but I bad no one else on
earth to care for. So when she said, "Yes,"
and let me kiss her, it was only shame that
kept me from crying outright for joy.
She was mine now, and how proud I was
of her ! How glad to know that she was
so near me when I was at work ! How
happy to see her so trim and neat among
the other girls, who were most of them
slovenly when they were not fine ! and how
full of dreams of the future !
She had promised to marry me in the au
tumn, and after that ehe should work no
more in factory. I was saving to buy a
little three-roomed cottage in the village,
and to furnish it—humbly, of course, but
so that it should be a home for her ; and
when she was its mistress I should not en
vy any king his palace. Meanwhile we
saw as much of each other as we could,
both working so industriously.
One week we had been more than usually
busy, for it was near the end of June, and
we were making fire-works for the Fourth
of July, and the first I had seen of Annie
that day I saw in the great salesroom
where we always gathered to receive our
wages. The men on one side, the girls on
the other, stepping up to the great desk
one by one as old Griffin, the clerk, called
our names. I looked across the line of
girl's faces, and saw her smiling at me, but
I could not get near her. Besides, at that
moment, my name was called—" Hathron "
—and I stepped up to the desk. Then, for
the first time, I noticed that old Griffin was
not there. A nephew of Mr. William, whose
name 1 knew to be Richard Janes, was
paying the hands instead. He was a hand
some young fellow, and very gentlemanly
and of the fair kind. I remember thinking
as he laid my wages before me that his
hair was just the color of Annie's.
He had a sort of amateur way with him
very different from the business-like man
ner of old Griffin, and when it came to the
girls he had something pleasant to say to
each one, instead of the old man's snapping
—"Sixpence deducted from yours, Jane 1"
or, " You were late three days last week,
Martha?" What he said to Annie I don't
know, but she blushed like a wild rose from
brow to chin.
Walking home together, Bhe asked me
who he was.
" Mr. Janes," I answered ; "did you ever
see him befove ?"
" No," said Annie. " How very beauti
ful he is ! don't you think so ?"
I gave a grudging "Yej." I couldn't
J bear to hear her praise him. She might,
j for all I knew, be contrasting him with me.
That was the first pain I had had since she
; had promised herself to me ; but there was
more to come of it.
Besides her daily work Annie had got in
to the way of doing some fine sewing and
embroidery of evenings for a Miss Redford,
a beautiful young lady, who lived in the
village, and once a week she carried it
home. Generally I went with her; but
there was overwork for the men to do one
night, aud I could not get off. I fretted
and fumed about it, and when the time
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
TOW AND A, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., APRIL 10, 1866.
came couldn't for the life of me help slip
ping away to a stairhead window to try
and catch a glimpse of her. Sure enough,
I did see her a good way on the road, with
her little basket on ber arm, but there was
some one with her. It was too far to see
faces, but I knew the light-grey coat lie
wore, and it was Mr. Richard Janes, lie
was bending over her as though talking
very earnestly ; and when some one inside
called " Hathrou !" and 1 could stay no lon
ger, they were still going on close together
—her face turned up and his bent down,
both earnest and eager in whatever they
were talking of.
I went back to my work, but I kept that
picture before my eyes all the while. I
thought of it until it seemed to be burned
into my heart in firy outlines. After all,
it was only what might easily have hap
pened if Mr. Janes had walked the same
way by chance ; but I could not look at it
that way—or perhaps I would not.
It was like my sulky, brooding nature,
too, never to say one word about it to An
nie, but to keep ou thinking and watching
in silence. I found out more than I wanted
to in that way ; for one day when 1 had
made an excuse to enter the woman's work
room after Mr. Janes had gone there, 1
plainly saw him slip a little note slyly into
Annie's pocket. The time had come around
for her to go over to Miss Redford's with
her work ; but that evening, instead of go
ing with her, I watched her—hiding like a
thief behind trees and buildingson the road.
She went alone and came alone, and I saw
nothing for my pains. I did at church next
Sabbath, though. When the hymn was
given out Mr. Janes, sitting in the hand
some family pew, seeing Annie in doubt as
to the number, for the old clergyman didn't
always speak distinctly, reached over and
took her book to find the place (she sat but
a pew behiml him). When he gave it
back I saw that there was something be
tween the leaves, and come what might
would have snatched it, but at that mo
ment Miss Redford, who sat in the side
aisle, whispered to Annie to show her the
number, and I lost the chance, for in pass
ing the books it was hidden. That it was
a.note I knew by the white glimmer of the
edges as well as if I had seen the whole of
it, and surely as 1 live I saw Annie give
Mr. Janes a meaning smile as he passed us
on the church path going home.
Miss Redford looked at Annie as if she
knew sometuing of it too, as she stepped
after her father and mother into the car
riage. They were carriage people—the
Rcdfords—and the old folks looked down
on every body else. There was a feud be
tween them aud the proprietors of the fac
tory, and they never spoke to cither the
Williamses or Mr. Janes ; so there was no
social chatting on the porch, aud the Wil
liams people smiled sarcastically, and the
old Redfords scowled and looked haughty,
until they were all fairly shut in and driv
en away. Not Mr. Janes—he was too gen
tlemanly ; norjMiss Redford—she was tho
sweet. The feud was among the old folks.
The farmers' families made up for their ill
temper though, and half the genteel people
from the villas were smirking and bowing
to each other.
The factory hands who were at church—
a dozen in all, I suppose—hurried home
pell-mell by short cuts,not to lose their din
ners, and of them all only Annie and I were
left. She was waiting for me to join her—
a thing I didn't mean to do.
I leaned against the iron railing of the
church-yard, wishing I was sound asleep
under one of the green mounds, but only
looked darker and sulkier, no doubt, than
usual, until I saw her turn toward me.—
Then I leaped the railing and went away,
never looking back. I did not go home,
but spent the day in Baldwin's Woods
alone.
On Monday I was at work as usual. It
was the third of July, and the Fourth, of
course, was to be a holiday. There were
to be grand celebrations atj Baldwin, and
the show-pieces for the evening were being
finished at our place, under the superinten
dance of Mr. Richard Janes. It was hard
to keep the younger hands at their work.
They were half crazy about the Fourth, and
1 suppose every one of theni had a pistol.
I never cared for banging at nothing, and
should not have had one even if I had felt
differently. One young iellow tried hard
all day to sell me his : like a goose he hud
bought two, and was sorry for it.
About dusk I went to get my supper,and
was coming back when, among the shad
ows,! saw two ligures standing whispering
together. 1 felt in a moment who they
must be,and got close enough to hear their
voices. It was as 1 thought. One was
Annie May, the other Richard Janes. They
were parting, but I heard enough in the
few last words :
"Eleven will be the best time ; the moon
will be up by then. I'll have the carriage
waiting under the two elms in Baldwin's
Woods. Be certain about the hour, for the
down-train starts a quarter to twelve.—
Good-by—God bless you 1"
Not another word—but I knew the whole.
She was going off with Richard Janes. —
She whom I loved so. The one of all the
world who had seemed to love me,l herad his
firm tread die away. I heard her light foot
steps rustle over the grass, and went back
myself to the work-room, for we were to
work until a late hour that night. I walk
-1 ed straight up to the young lellow who had
been trying all day to sell me his superflu
ous pistol.
"Smith," said I, "I think I'll trade with
you after all."
"Good for you," said he. "The Fourth
j ain't no Fourth without a pistol, and this is
! goiu' cheap A good load in it too, so be
! careful."
I counted down the money and took the
| weapon away with me. Do you want to
i know what 1 meant to do with it ? Shoot
I myself through the heart. The idea ofmu *-
i der had not crept into my mind then. I'd
j swear that with my dying breath.
I only wanted to get rid of my tiresome
i life. There was nothing left to live for—so
| it seemed to me.
i At half past ten 1 got the chance I wan
; ted, and slipped out. I was going to kill
| myself in Baldwin's Woods, on the dead
i log behind which the first spring violets
I grew, and where we had sat so often since
I together. The moon was just rising round
! and yellow behind the black trees, ami*lhn
! factory windows were all ablaze. As 1
slunk by the office I saw Mr. Richard Janes
there alone. He was standing exactly un
der a swinging lamp. A trying light for
any but a very handsome face, but bis was
not hurt by it. Great heavens ! how hand
some he looked and how happy. My blood
boiled with rage, and jealousy, and grief
I was as mad for the moment as any lunatic,
could be. My hand went into my bosom
and caught the pistol hidden there. The
next instant I had fired, taking aim at the
handsome head.
But it was not good aim. The ball pas
sed over its mark and struck the swinging
lamp. I saw it fall, and a great blaze
spring up on the instant,and knew that the
fire work factory was on fire. That factory
filled to the roof with explosive substances,
and with a hundred and fifty men and boys,
and pretty, innocent girls shut up within
its walls. Ido not know whether Satan
ever feels remorse, but if be does it must
be such as I felt—hopeless maddening,
scorching.
The next instant there was a horrib'e re
port, and I was thrown into the air.
Not hurt, though. I picked myself up
from the grass aud stood looking at my
work. The windows were belching forth
flame up in the air, amidst the smoke. —
Hundreds of rockets, and blue-lights, and
Catharine wheels were tossing and flaming
—scarlet, and yellow, and purple,and pink,
and green, and blue. Hundreds of cannons
seemed to be roaring ; and over it all you
could hear screams—women's screams—
aud I went down ou my knees and prayed—
"Oh, save her, save her —to be his wife,
to hate me—only save her !"
People were flocking in from the village.
Workmen, singed and scorched, forcing
their way through the flames ; aud iu the
midst of the wildest tumults some cue
caught my arm. I turned—it was Annie,
and beside her, white and trembling, stood
Miss Redford.
"Oh, Seth—thauk God for this !" cried
Annie; "you are safe. Oh, dear young
lady, try to hope—he may he too."
And then that beautiful Miss Redford
sank on her knees before me, and clasped
her hands, and prayed me to Bave her Rich
ard !
" I should have been his wife in an hour,"
she said. "Oh, Bave my husband—save
my husband —my love, my life, my dar
ling 1"
The truth rushed into my mind then. I
saw all my blind folly . 1 remembered the
feud between the Redfords and the Wil
liams family, and knew that my Annie had
only been helping Miss Redford to meet
and correspond with her lover ; that it was
to her the message I had heard that even
ing had been sent, and that it would have
been better for me to be dead.
"Go out of danger !" I panted "I'll
bring him to you or die with him !" and,
with Annie's scream of terror in my ear,
dashed away. They were playing on the
burning building with the one engine they
had at hand by this time, and I could see
that most of the workmen were alive.
I clutched one by the arm as I went
past.
"Are the women in there yet?" I yelled.
"No, thank Heaveu," he answered.—
"Didn't you know the women were dismiss
ed five minutes before the explosion took
place. There wasn't one there. All the
men are out too, 1 guess, but them that
were setting the last show-piece in the
in the room next the office—about a dozen.
The rest jumped out o'wiudow. There's a
broken limb or two, I guess. But that's
better than the poor fellows inside roast
ing alive or blown to pieces. Young Mr.
James is thtre, too. His uncle is offering
anything to have him got out. Life's worth
more than money, though nobody can do
it."
He was rigid. For hours we worked at
the fire before it was out ; and then a great
heap of lumber was piled over the bodies
of the thirteen men who must be inside
dead we supposed—and I heard some one
say that Miss Redford was going from one
swoon into another at the Williamses, and
that it had come out that she was to have
eloped with Mr. Janes the night before.
It was the Fourth of July ; but no guns
were fired and no bells rung at Baldwin.
All the people of the town were about the
factory helping as best they could. We
lifted great charred logs and heaps of
boards and molten cans, and at last one
stopped. "Hush!" he cried ; "for God's
sake no noise. I hear a voice !" And
then amidst a breathless silence we heard
a moan under our feet.
We worked with a will now, and at last
heard more.
One of the men put his head close down
and cried, "Are any of you alive ?" And
some one groaned, "Yes,"
Black with smoke, scorched by the cin
ders we handled, we went at it again, and
at last came to a spot where the beams had
made a kind of pent-house. There, jam
med together and half suffocated, but alive,
were four men. And such a yell went up
as mortal ears never heard before. Four
saved ! four saved ! And we drew them
out and gave them over to the doctors.
Then there was another shout not so loud,
for we Jjad come to one insensible, jam
med between two logs. He breathed
though as soon as we brought him to the
air.
It was a time no one ever forgot. Judge
what it was to me !
At last all were out but Mr. Janes, and
somebody cried that they could see him
under some beams It was a dangerous
place to get at; but I would not stop for
that. I forced myself into the narrow
aperture, and set to work. I called, but
there was no answer. At last I came to
him, lying with a great beam across his
chest. His beautiful golden hair and beard
were singed and scorched, and one of his
hands was blistered. I touched him, and
screamed in his ears, but they were deaf to
me. I got the log off somehow, and drag
ged him to the light, and then I had help
enough. They took him between them and
laid him on the grass, and the doctor un
factened his vest.
" Is he dead " I asked ; and I meant as
truly as Hive, if the answer were "yes,"
to tell the crowd before me what I had
done, knowing well that if I did no law
could save save me.
There was no answer for a moment, and
I spoke again, "Is he dead?" And God
bless the dear, white-headed old man who
answered so kindly :
" No, my man, he isn't dead. I think
: lie's coming to."
Oh, the mercy of the good Lord—think
jof it! Of the whole not one was killed.
#££ per- Annum, in Advance.
There were burns, and broken limbs, and
black eyes, but there was no death ; aud
soon I saw Richard Janes —pale and faint
but out of danger—standing before me. I
couldn't believe God had been so good to
me.
Then that old white-haired doctor mount
ed on a pile of burned logs and lifted his
hat, and there were three such cheers as
were never heard before, and at dozen
boys sped in to Baldwin to ring the joy
bells ; and women came crying to thank
me for helping to save their dear ones—so
that for shame I went and hid myself in
Baldwin's Woods and cried, with my head
hidden in my arms, on the old log where
the violets were.
Then somebody came softly up the path
and sat beside me, and bent over me, and
took me singed and smoke-stained as I was,
in two white arms—and only one of all the
world could do that—and without looking
I knew it was Annie.
"My noble, brave darling," she said ;
"my own dear that I aru so proud of!" and
sobbed and kissed me.
" They are so happy, too," she said ;
"and Mr. Janes is only scorched and burn
ed a very little, and old Mr. Redford is re
conciled to old Mr. Williams, and they will
be married after all. They are so fond of
each other, Setk—as fond as you and I."
And then I stood up and put her gently
from me, and made atonement for my sin
by an awful sacrifice. I told her the truth
—what 1 was, and what 1 had done, and
why, and waited to hear her renounce inc.
She did not do it. She was shocked and
grieved, but she pitied me, and I dared to
take her in my arms and call her mine
again. I believe that all my life there had
been an evil spirit in my breast, and that
he left me forever at that moment.
It was some time before the factory was
rebuilt, and some had been injured, and
many were out of work. I knew my du
ty. To those in need came little gifts of
money every week, with no clew to its
donor, until my savings were all gone.
So we did not buy the three-roomed cot
tage, and perhaps never shall ; but penni
less as I was, she married me, and we are
happy.
Mr. Janes and Miss Redford are married
too ; and when we sit in church she smiles
across the pews to that little wife of mine,
and I think, with a pang of terror even yet,
from what God's mercy saved me.
INGRATITUDE TO PARENTS.
There was once a father who gave up
everything to his children —his house, his
goods—and expected that for this his chil
dren would support him. But after he had
been some time with his sou, the latter
grew tired of him, and said to him :
"Father, I had a son born to me this
night, and there, where your arm-chair
stands, the cradle must cpme. Will you
not, perhaps, go to my brother, who has a
larger room ?"
After he had been some time with the
second son, he also grew tired of him, and
said :
"Father, you like a warm room, and that
hurts my head. Wont you go to my broth
er, the baker ?"
The father went, and after he had been
some time with the third son, he also found
him troublesome, and said to him
"Father, the people run in and out here
all day, as if it were a pigeon-house, and
you cannot have your noonday sleep.—
Would you not be better off at my sister
Kate's near the town wall ?"
The old man remarked how the wind
blew, and said to himself: " Yes, 1 will do
so ; I will go and try it with my daughter.
Women have softer hearts." But after he
had 6pent some time with his daughter,she
grew weary of him, and said she was al
ways so fearful when her father went to
church, or anywhere else, and was obliged
to descend the steep stairs, and at her sis
ter Elizabeth's there was no stairs to de
scend, as she lived on the ground floor.
For the sake of peace the old man went
to his other daughter's. But after some
time, she too was tired of him, and told
him, by a third person, that her house near
the water was too damp for a man who
suffered from the gout, and her sister, the
grave-digger's wife, at St. John's, had
much dryer lodgings. The old man him
self thought she was right, and went out
side the gate to his youngest daughter,
Helen. But after he had been three days
with i er, her little son said to his grand
father :
" Mother said yesterday to cousin Eliza
beth, that there was no better chamber for
you than such a one as father digs."
These words broke the old man's heart,
so he sank back in his chair, and died.
A WORD to MINISTERS.— The ministry
should be wide awake to the daugers which
threaten to counteract their influence and
oppose their word. As an important part
of the Gospel morality, they should preach
temperance, warning every man and pledg
ing every child and youth to eternal vig
ilance against the insidious foe. The min
istry, closely followed by the church should
lead off in this work ; and there should not
be an hour of needless delay. The same
zeal which patriots have manifested in put
ting down the slaveholders' rebellion,should
be shown in putting down the rebellion
caused by strong drink. Rum, if not de
throned, will curse this nation more than
slavery ever cursed it, for intemperance is
the slavery of the soul, and is infinitely
worse than chattled slavery. We give
you a fair warning, brethren. The enemy
is organizing for the conflict. If you love
God or, man, gird yourselves for the bat
tle, and fight for religion, humanity, and
victory. Leave no work undone, no instru
mentality ui tried ; for temperance is the
great work of the hour.— /ion's llerahl.
THE man everybody likes is generally a
fool. The man nobody likes is generally a knave.
The man who has friends who would die for him,
and foes who would loved him broiled alive, is
usually a man or some worth and force.
WHAT is the difference between a wealthy
toper and a skillful miner V One turns his gold
into quartz and the other turns his quartz mto
gold.
PRENTICE says if you want to get a favor
from a man feed him. A man like a horse, can't
be managed till he has a bit in his mouth.
REPUTATION is a good deal like a bonfire,
you've got to keep piling on the shavings, If you
don't, the flame will soon subdue.
WELL-DIGGIHG IN CHlNA. —There is a story
of a tipsy fellow who attentively examined
a cane-bottomed chair, and wondered who
took the trouble to twist all those rattans
around those little holes. In China they
dig a well somewhat as this fellow suppos
ed they made cane-seats. They make a
hole first, and then dig a place to put it in.
"A pit twenty feet deep is dug, by which
time water is nearly reached. Boards
about an inch thick are then placed at the
bottom in the form of a circle, in the centre
of the hole, its diameter being seven feet,
which is to be the width of the well at its
bottom. Round this wooded circle a cylin
der ofbrick is then constructed to the height
of ten feet, the bricks being carefully joined
by mortar. The outside of this cylinder is
then covered with matting and tightly
roped round. Poles are then driven into
the ground at short intervals all round the
outside of the cylinder, and in close op
position with it. These are secured by ad
ditional lashing of rope applied round and
over them. The inside of the cylinder is
then lined with matting, which is secured
by ropes passed down vertically and
brought out underneath the cylinder, where
the two ends are fastened and the rope
tightened. By these means any dislodg
ment of the bricks is physically impossible,
and the structure is rendered as compact
as if it was made of metal. The strength
ening of the brickwork having been com
pleted, they commence to dig inside ol it,
and as the earth is removed from the in
terior, the cylinder gradually sinks by its
own weight, the excavation being contin
ued until the upper margin of the cylinder
has reached the level of the original hole
twenty feet deep. The well of thirty feet
is thus formed, and rapidly finished in the
most complete manner by building up a
continuation of the brick cylinder until it
reaches the level of the ground.
CANT COOK. —It is a sad defect wheu young
ladies are incapable of directing their own
servants—shoes without soles or wrist
bands without a shirt are not more useless
than one of these. One day, shortly aftei
his marriage,a young merchant went home,
and seeing 110 dinner ready, and his wife
appeared anxious and confused asked :
"What is the matter ?"
"Nancy went off at ten o'clock this
morning," replied his wife, "and the cham
bermaid knows no more about cooking a
dinner than a man in the moon."
"Couldn't she have done it under your
direction ? inquired the husband, very cool
'y-
"Under my direction ? I should like to
see a dinner cooked under my directions."
"Why so ?" asked the husband in sur
prise.
"You certainly did not think I could," re
plied the wife : "how should 1 know any
thing about cooking ?"
The husband was silent, but his look of
astonishment perplexed and worried bis
wife.
" You look very much surprised," she
said, after a moment or two had elapsed.
"And so I am," he answeed, "as much
surprised as I should be at finding the cap
tain of one of my ships unacquainted with
navigation. You don't kuow how to cook,
and the mistress of a family ! Jaue,if there
is a cooking-school anywhere in the city,go
to it and complete your education, for it is
deficient in a very important particular."
COURAGE —Man cannot come to his full
growth of character and influence without
courage. The term is from cceur, "heart,"
"soul." It is not mere physical instinct.
It is not the spirit that animates those men
of whom it may be said, "They are brave
in proportion as they are without thought."
Courage is rather that deep conviction, or
that solid purpose, which gathers strength
by delay.
We are told that icebergs in the north
ern seas are sometimes seen moving north
ward, in the face of strong winds and tides
setting toward the south. This movement
is explained by the fact of deep undercur
rents drifting along at the base of the ice
mountain, and moving it with irresistible
power. So the real courage of the soul is
power which stems and goes counter to su
perficial tides. It is a principle of self-pro
pulsion, moving in the direction of reason,
aud conscience, and heart. It is that rare
power of the soul which is able to say of a
proposed undertaking, "It may be difficult,
it may be costly, it may be odd, but it is
right, and I dare to do it. One of the
greatest triumphs of courage is to dare to
be one's self—to stand in one's own shoes,
accepting one's own personality,addressing
one's self to one's own responsibilities, en
vying none, imitating none.
LONG AND SHORT HAlß. —Many customs
have prevailed among the fair sex respec
ting the mode of arranging the hair, and
they have a right to adopt a variety of
changes ; but cutting the hair short, and
wearing it like boys, is not commendable.
Men heve, at different times, worn the hair
long. This has ever been condemned as an
uuscriptural custom. In the days of Charles
the First, of England, the cavaliers who
despised close religious forms, wore long
hair, while the Puritans cut theirs short,
and were called "round heads." It has
been calculated that, by continual cutting
and shaving of the hair, about seven feet
length is removed from a man in twenty
five years. Some writers assert that the
practice of close cutting and shaving tends
to weaken the body. Such writers draw a
powerful argument from old Samson, who
when all uushorn, slew several thousand
Philistiaus with the jaw bone of an ass.
" WHY do you turn up your nose at the
butterplate? there enough on it?" asked an indig
nant landlady of one of her boarders, (hoping by a
flank question to vindicate the quality of the ar
ticle, "isn't there enough of it, sir ?" "Oh! yes!
ma'm!" responded the gentleman—"l was only
think how so much could ever be got rid of.''
THE remains of a bachelor who " burst
into tears " at reading a description of married life,
has been found.
WHY is a young lady just from boarding
school like a building committee ? Because she si
reedy to receive proposals.
AN industrious tradesman having taken
a new apprentice, awoke him at a very early hour
ou the first morning, by calling out that the fam
ily were sitting down to table. "Thank yon,"
said the boy, as he turned over in bed, to adjust
himself for a new nap, "thank you ; but 1 never
eat anyt ting during the night." *
NOT long since, a fire-eating Irishman
i challenged a barrister, who gratified him by an ac
ceptance. The duellist, being very lame, reques
ted that he might have a prop. "Suppose," said
he, "I lean against this milestone ?' "t\ ith jfleas
j ure," replied the lawyer, "on condition that I may
! lean against the next"" The joke settled the quar-
I rel.
" MARY," said a wise and witty old lady,
the other day, to her granddaughter, "What do
' you call the ugly bunch that hangs down behind
your head?" "Why, grandmother, everybody
knows it is a waterfall." "A waterfall, indeed!"
replied the old lady, "it looks for all the world
like a land slide."
A LITTI.E boy in Wisconsin was being put
to bed the other night about dark when he objec
ted to going so early. His mother told him how
the chickens went to bed early and he must do so
I too. The little fellow said he would if his mother
; would do as the old hens did— goto bed first, then
coax the chickens to come.
NUMBER 47.