VFase- i: . . pa a ,• v-rq.Rrjttorg.
Stitd Vttt-tr.
For the Democrat
FR lEN DS.
Howe'or dim this life may lie with.sorrois~
nowe'er dark the clouds may lower Above,
Still we \ find it full of pleaSant places
Witch surrounded by.the ones we love. •
Like the flowers that sprinkle earth in spring.
time, •
And such beauty roncd our pathways fling,
!tre the blossoms of sweet thought and feeling
That beneath affection's sunlight spring.
.They delight us as in our own garden
Those that we
,have tended day by day,—
They delight as through field and forest •
Those that spring unlocked-for in our way.
Friends whlin death has separated from me,
Eriends who` still are walking with'me here,
Loved alike \ and near, ye make my spirit .
Cheerfully 4'e's weary burdens bear.
• S. 11. D
o.onunititiations.
EXTRACT
.
rf an A4dresi before the Alumni.tif ffaz:ford
,Upirersity, at the Anniversary of July 3d,
- 1855. . • .
BY B. F. TEWKSBUTX.
:Of the many vicissitudes which beset the
pathway of human 'existence that of.sepitra
jtion, of bidding'adieu to friends and cherish
ed associations comes with the most inelan- ..
choly,. yet intie - xible mandate. • . When the
tender ties are to be severed, which link us in
active and mutual sympathy with ;hose we
have learned to regard. as friends and co-la
borers in nkindred cause, there is not &heart
mong us, so stout, that it will not feel the
calm, still waters of earnest regret; welling
upfront the quiet-recesses of its inmost depths,
and soothing, with the limpid wave, the sti
fled grief of a sorrowingsoul.- It is natural,
it is proper that we, upon a time like - this,
should give utterance - to words ;of- mutual
consolation.
.But in the perfortnance of this
portion of our duty, we should noeforget that
we have another duty to perfOrm,..equally- as
imperative and more binding 'upon us from
essential nature.
. Life is made up : of the ideal and the actual
• .
a composition of hopes, aspirations,
and anticipations, - underlying ;di of • which
there is a stern and uncompromising reality.
And to meet this reality in the most advan
tageous manner, to give aright direction to
.
the untiring ,energies of manhood's noblest
vigor—to give free
.scope and exercise to the
intellectual mid moral elements of
oar - xistence; to train our Thoughts* and lac
ltie to the alleviation bf human suffering--
to ferret out and remove the secret obstacles
which itenede the progress of manes trium
phant hunianity.conceived by the OmniciNt
Author of our being—these, and more , than
these, are the great objects and aims of the
life of him who lives. consistent with the ob
vious design of his creation.
And here:may- the theme one brings to the
important iiiquiry which underlies the main
hodynf nay remarks upon this occasion.
in pursuing its discussion I am allowed to
are .dress mYself alike to you .who have given
cbaraeter to these exercises and to those who
hare successive years beforepassed nut from
the - classic shades of that venerable Institu
tion from which you are now upon the eve
of separation.
Thus much of preliminary, and I am . ready
to inquire : What is most conducive to the
successful elevation of the standard of true
humanity . I answer, and perfect ,rec
-cognition, both. by governmental institutions
and by that great Arbiter of human. action,
Public Opinion, of the distinctive, individual,
..mereignty of every citizen—of his preroga
tive to that and its,unstifled utterance.
Presumptuous tho' you deem me I must
throw - myself upon your indulgence, while I
utter and enlarge upon . 'what I consider a
well-established truism, viz : -That' perfect as
1e consider our institntions ; as complete as
we are ever willing tokt i elieve the details of
our system of governmtat to be,,they are, as
yet, but in their, merest infancy and unnun3-
bred ages of progreas and improvement can
only give that completeness of b eau ty—p la t
\ symmetry of proportion which is clearly em-
bodied in the great and ever-enduring prin
.
uple upon which the - whole superstructure
rests. Do you. tell me that our system was
conceived in the practical fulfilment of that ,
'lmmortal principle which guarantees to - all a
truer liberty and a 'completer happiness?--
Then. I keply: true accidents of that system
are not in accordance with the-gnat principle
ppon which .kbe systein is based. But lam
not here to sPeak of mere abstractions only,,
I sill, therefore, indicate some,' of what ap
pear to we theradical4rils which have in
vorrorated ,ThemsehresiAto Our body politic,
and are now receiving l & too ample protec
tion under the broad -er ' is of our social- and
,
governmentatsystero.
In doing this I shall- exercise that freedpn
of thought, and .its utterance, '
which I ear-.
nt‘tly urge upon all others to exercise in the
various relations of life. Oulrasking your
tolerance, of which I sincerely hope all -who
Lave opinions to, express will ever be the
ready recipients at your hands Isbell (neap
while, frankly tell you my convictions, not
that I expect you .to endorse them. all ; ,but
-because I cannot in honesty speak less.
- First, then, we are, as a people too intoler
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ant - towards the free and open expression of
honest convictions. Ne find dint the opin
ions entertained by the people of One section
of the conMiy, are not allowed lin another
section, to — be given public expression by their
adveeates, because from circumstances, prej
udice, or conviction, those opinions are be
lieved to be obnoxious or detrimental to their
peculiar interests. To a reflecting mind this
proposition will at once resolve itself into an
axiom. But to render it still inoreobnoxious
let me inquire; where is the gran among the
1-
Many who entertainK the solemn conviction
that human slavery . fs a dark land, polluting.
sip ; that it is - an evil alike to•themaeter and
theislave ; that it is a Pondrons curse both
tO 4 Cho citizen and thit state;—ivliere I ,say is
~
theindividuall*ho deeply and earnestly feels
all this; and Would gladly, in all humility,
i
make known te - the iinperions master the rea r
son:for those donvietiOns,, , and, yet, could be
so reckless of life antt!its blessings- as'to post
himselfaS an, anti -:slavery lecturer in the city
11411-of charleSten ?. I: I wait for no response
to such an inquiry-- , -few would •be found,
ready for the .perilous task. And to theni
the follies : stippose some heroic sou of trop
feel chi Valry should lash the conscientious
citizen; of free-soil SYracu , e—that . worthy
, .
namesake of her renowned, histotictd, proto
type—for their',.law-defying. rescue of the 'fa
mous fugitive Jerry .1 ' . .Who tYkuld not hold
I l i4, kreath. in suspenseawaitiuglthe results of
such seeming i . impropriety-1 I Who would
wonder if they Si:middeem this son of the
tropics toojthit'lly- : clad for th,iir, northern lat
itude, and,',so thinking should cha t him again
..--.
and again with: Pittsburg's pitchy staple ?
And again .';': wliere is the press] that. is bold',,
enough to titter its sentiments i 'unmindful oil
the bias of its N . :biers ? Thet ii anxious and!
determined to give, publicity, to the whole'
truth;binvitig he coesequenceslwith a manlyl
integrity which gathers sustaining strength
from the inflexible honesty of • its purpose.—
Such a'press would indeed be a beacon light
—a morning herald of a more glorious epoch
—a new. erei,ushering in the dawning light
of a brighter d - eltiny for the human race. If
such - a pret.s 'should make: its appearance
among us•ni-daY, it would justly be entitled
to the - appellatiOn of the first great *owlet of,:
4.1 n,... nineteenth-century. -
ti
Arid further : Theodore` Parker dared to
utter his convictions in relation to the life I
.and charac-ter oflllaniel . Webster, if N4. - YOrk I
EditOrw.as boll enough tO - ... publish ibein, 1
when two tho'ustnd subscribers came 'down. I
upOn him with the thundering manifesto of,
stop my pa sir. i Ralph - Waldo Emerson is
hissed from the . staild in 'puritanical - -New
England i
because, forsooth, he . thoughtle-ssly
. , t ,
gives utterance to the: spontaneous outpour
iufis of an hone manly soul. .
I bring these in illustration as i they are fa
: miliar to -.:)u all. - An:l;althotigh; such things
imay pit - riper sectional prejudices, and. some
1 miry even think they are truly seri - lee' a good .
_
,cause, there is no well balanced! mind that
will not earnestly condenan such' exhibitions
of uncurbed passion as decidedly wrong in
theinselves• and, as 'examples, extremely un
wholsompiet opinion meet opinion in open
manly cenfliet. lilt, is an honest conviction
let it be out-sPoken, also. .Deal with opin
ionsFA with !the matt who: utters them in
true and soleMn earnestns. - ' Leave-to.oth
ers the use °fit that subtle serpent,. that ready
weapon of fooli—blear-eyed ridicule. If a
man shall utter strange opinions ; if he shall
urge what seems to us the worst folly, he is
nevertheless ekitled to a'candid hearing for'
we shouldall remember that / what ..may ap
pear to-day trig: faint flicker of a - chimerical
hype, may to-morrow -be recognized as the
[ most substantfal, ' historical or philosoptical
truth, The an who boldly and fearlessly
i
1 tells us what he -readily believes to be true,
_althongli we May not be' able to endurse a
single sentiment, demands Much-more of our
reepee l t - time he who_gloats- over prejudices
1 contrary to'his own convictions of truth and
rjustice. ;To mind can be 'too fully imbued
with the important truth,'that the posses-sion
e
•Ofsufficie - ni moral courag e ] - tea tea speak all :the
. ,. I 1
earnest 69nvictions of the soul, guided by an
earnest desire to do good,ir.t: Nature's highest-.
noblest gift to man.' It opens to the mind a
thousand Herr and beamiftil avenues to im ,
Iproveinent ; it cilowns - tin intellect with a
more perfect conce i ption . oflita own inherent
Ipowers,---ehithes it withrreisv strength to corn-.
prehend ini;g4able truthsjand, finally, ren- .
dei-s it more fit to " look t rough Nature up
to Nature's Q4d.” . • - .
And cow my young friends; you who are
standinglipon the threshold of an active and
busy career, ;it is'fiii . you 'to master the sol
emn conrictien; the t life is indeed a sober re
ality,--thatm trafficked
it is , a toy to be tracked
Ad : bartered' for ar- impty.,bauble.--that its
duties demand the 'puMmoning of the strong;'
• ' .`i - O God-given
est energies 0 or faculties.t .
... i .
. Tradition tells us that : titro thousand years
- i
ago the. impe . riOus mi s ter of a mighty empire
moved in allielie pomp of Oriental,pageantry
along the Chad tie) , Choke; of ancient Delhi.
But alas, for :Sill htii k+iideui! his. temples
have disSolVed tddusti--khe '. 4 splendid wealth
and shibbysplklidorncif his courts kavepass- •
ed-awan and hfrfer.g6 tteitt ashes 4 uricared
' for, and unbonoted: beneath: the crumbling
ruins' of his aticitia &at fallen glory: . •
• And mark thloounterpart.- - A poor Egyp
tian, ieholar,wia ped in theiwaddling Clothes
of peaury;puraMog the 'rugged patli, slay .; of
science under'the dim and donbtfnl, rays, of
the,laMp of,earlyitges—no artificial splendor
acconipan' ym' g h 4 career—no dauting l
pa
-14C,,,., ' • 1
A WEEKLY - JOURNAL-DEVOTED' TO POLI
geintry luring him onward, and bracing his
energies for the reception of a gilded sceptre,
but. humbly plodding in the great labra
tory of Nature he spent life in developing
:her bidden principles for the benefit of man
kind. Ages have passe, awaY, but Millions
rise np to bless - the name of Euclid. His
`fame is itntnOrtal as the immutable laws of
the Universe.
Then let , no hollow fame lure you to her
slippery and deceitful paths. Court no emp
ty honors as you value_ the blessings of a
true and upright life. Rise to the compre
bension of that. itpperishable truth, that life
is valuable only as it is truly useful. Re
member if you live in the line or" strictest
rectitude And loftiest endeavor" you have a
noble, life-long task before you. . Wait not
for' opportunity but create your own. I
In the language of a fearless writer. -of our
daY—speak not regretfully that
. the age of
heroism, of chivalry is passed away. Re
member that to render any age one of hero
ism nothing is wanting but heroic souls.—
Waitingfor the dead past to be acted over
again for our selfish gratification or aggran
dizement ice suffer the' l living present to glide
away from us undervalued and unittiproved.
To-day is a king in disguise. To-day-always
looks common and triVial in the face of a uni
form en)erience that al great analhappy ac
tions have been made up of these-same blank
to-days. Let us :uranask the king as he
passes..: ,
Yes my young :friends, hero is our high
privileges-, out imperative duty. Not from
among the children of 'monarchs ushered in
to being with the boom of cannon and. the
shouts of revelling millions, but from amid
the sons of obscurity and toil, cradled in per
il and ignominy—from the bnlrushes and the
manger come tOrth benefactors and . saviors
of inattkind. So when all the. glare and bab
ble of this age shall have passed into a fitting
oblivionwhen those who have enjoyed rare
opportunities, and swayed vast millions, and
been borne on the shoulders of shouting mul
titudes, shailhave at last been laid lo rest in
gOlden coffins :the stately marble their only
monument, it shall be found that some hum
ble youth, who.neithe - r- inherited, nor found,
but hewer? out his own fortunes, has uttered
the.thotr-ht• which shall render thb age Mem;
orable by extea ding the means of enlighten
ment and. blessing to our race. The great
struggle for Human Progress and 'Elevaticht
proceeds often unnoticed. often
checked .and apparently bathed - amid the
clamorous and delAking strifes impelled by
greky selfi,hness and low ambition.
In that struggle maintained by the, good
and the wise of all parties,' all creeds, all
clitites, I call : you to bear the part of men.—
Heed .tiCe lofty summons and with souls se
rene and constant prepare . to tread boldly in
the path of highest.duty. So shall life be to
- . volt truly exalted and heroic ; S'o shall death
be to you; a transition neither sought nor
dreaded; so shall your memory though cher
ished at first but. by a fos.:humble loving
beans, linger long and gratefully in human
remembrance, a watchword• tO" : the truthEnl,
an ineitement•to generous endocor, freshen
ed by the proud tears of admiring affection,
and fragrant with the odors of Heaven.
I was a lonely . sort of a bactelor, and had •
never yet known what young men style "the
passion." Of, passion 1 had enough, as my
old mate yonder can tell you. I broke his
head twice and his arm once, in fits of it;—
but he had seemed to love me the better, and
he'clings - to me now: very much as two
pieces of . the same. chip cling together when
drifting at sea: -; We are the solo survivors of
a thousand
,wreeks, and of the companies that
sailed with us tiro years Ago, no oths; r _one
is left afloat. Iliad been a sailor from boy-
ho;:xl,. and when I w4s . twenty-Sre I may
Safely say no man-was m o re to .command
a vessel among -the mariners of England:—
And at this time my uncle died and
.left
his fortune. I had never seen hint,and hard
ly knew Of his existence; but 1, had now
speaking,evidence of the fact that he existed
no town
• I was try young and strong in limb; And I
think stopt at heart, and I. was possessed- of
the rental] of some thousand per annum. -
-What hat was there to my enjoyment of the.
goods of life I *No bar indeed,but I felt sore
ly the lack of means of enjoymekt. I was a
sailor in every sense., My education was tol
erable, and IchadSonie books, but my taste
I was nautical; and -I pined on shore. You ea;
sily understand then, Why I built a yatch,and
did spend much of my time on her. She was
a fine cmft, and suited to my taste .in every
respect, and I remember with , a sigh, now,
the.happy days I spent in the - ." Foam."
Niantrost, Susquehanna
iisaltaninus.
The Bride of the Wreck. -
- - r,
A BEAUTIFUL s*hr,
I used to read considerable in my cabin,
and occasionally, indeed weekly, invited par
ties of gentlemen to cruise with me. But
the foOt of a lady had never been on the deck
of my bont, and I began to have an old bach
elor's pride in the fact.:;. Yet I must confess
to you a secret hinging for some sort of affec
tion "different fiorn any I had 'heretofore
knovinotnd a eestlessness when Men talked of
beautiful women in my presence. _
One summer evening I was at theold hall
,in which my talkie died, and' was entirely
aloni. - Towanis sunset I was surprised,while
- ; • t . 7 11 ••
7 * • , tRAUT"t:
fenn'a, Cknrstran horning, ',August SO, 1855.
100 l ing over my books, by the entrance of a
gentleman .hastily announced, and giving in
dieitiois of no little excitement.
"]Four pardon sir, for my unceremonious
entrance. My horse has ran - away with my
carriage, and dashed it to pieces near your
park gate. My - father was badly injured and
my sister is watching him. I have taken
the liberty to ask your permission to bring
them to your residence.
Of courso my consent was instantly given,
and my own carriage dispatched to the park
gate.
Mr Sinclair was a gentleman of fortune,re
siding about forty miles from me, and his
father, an invalid, fifty years or more of age,
was on his way in company with his son, to
his son's' house there to die and be buried.—
They. were Strangers to me, but I made them
welcome to my house as if it were their own,
and insisted upon theieusing
. Miss Sinclair . was the first . woman who had
crossed my doorstone sincel .had possession
of the ball ; and well might she have been
loved by better men than .L L. -She - was very
small and very beautiful , --a the size of, Ye
nuq, which all men:worship as the. perfection
of beauty, but having a soft blue eye, shaded
by jet-blriek brows, her face presented eleven
traSt of Purity of .whiteness in the complexion
set off by raven hair; and yet that hair hang
ingin clustering curls, unhound by comb or
fillet, and the Whole face lit up with the
,ex
pression of gentle trust and - complete confi
dence either in all around, or else in her own
indoniitable determination ; for Mary Sin
clair has a mind of her own, ands far-seeing
one too. She was nineteen then
Her father died in my house, and I atten
ded the solemn procession that bore his re
mains over bill and valley; to the 01.1 church
in which his ancestors were laid 4 Once after
that I called On the family, and Ithen avoided
then.• -I cannot tell you what r Its the cause
of the aversion I had tolintering - thitt house
or approaching the influences ollthat match
less girl.
.1 believed thati I feared the magic
of her beauty, and was Impres4d with my.
own unworthiness to love her or ; bei loved by
here I knew her associates wer4 of the noble
the educated,.the refined, wadi, that I was
none of these. What then cold .I expect
but misery, if I yielded to the charms of that
exquisite beauty or grace , which I knew' was
in her soul! - . •
. .
A.-year passed: and I was a 'ivory boy in.
my continued thoughts of 1 --•- I persuaded
mygut a trmummali - tames that 1 ow • n•o, zirm
her, 'and thousand times determined to prove
it by • er.teting her presence. length I
threw Myself into the vortex of London sonic-
. . .
ty, and was laSt in the whirsipoo
One evening, at a crowded assembly, I was
standing near a window in a reces. , a, talking
with a lady, when I felt a strange thrill: I
cannot describe it, but its effect was visible
to, my companion, who instantly said," You
are unwell,.Mr. Stewart, are not? Your
face became suddenly flushed, and your band
trembled so as to sbake the curtain."
It was inexpliq.ble to myself; but I was
startled at the anAtincement of Mr. and Miss
Sinclair. I turned Iktd saw she was entering
on her brother's arm, ►ore beautiful than ev
er. • How I escaped I did not know, but I did
Thrice afterwards I vas warned of her
presence in this mysteriops way, till I believ.
ed that there was some mysterious link be
tween us two, of unknown,but, powerful char :
adv.. I have since learned to believe the
communion orspirit, sometimes without ma
terial intervention.
I heard - of her frequently now as -engaged
to a Mr. Waller, a. man 'ivhorn I knew well,
and was ready to do honor as worthy of her
love. Wh en at lengthl: saw, as I supposed,
satistactory evidence of the rumor, I left Lou
doniand saw them no more. The same ru
mor followed me in \ rny letters, and yet I was
mad enough to dream of:Mary Sinclair, until
months after I awoke to the sense of what a
foal I had been. Co vinced of this, I 'went
4
aboard my yatch ab ' midsummer, and for
four weeks never set foot onshore. '
One sultry day when pitch WAS frying on
the deck, in the Lot sun, we rolled heavily on
the Bay of Bisciy,and I passed the afternoon
under a wail on the larboard quarter-deck. To
ward evening I fancied a storm was brewing,
and having made all ready forit, smoked on
the taffrail till midnight, and then turned in.
Will you believe me, I felt that same thrill
through my veins, as I lay in hammock, and.
awoke with it fifteen seconds before the roach
on deck called suddenly to the man at the
wheel, "'Port—port your helm !a sail on the
lee bow ; steady . ! so !"
I was on deck in an instant, and saw that
a stiff breeze was blowing,sind a small schoon
er, showing no lights, had crossed our fore
foot within - pistol shot, and was how ,bearing
up to the north west. The sky was cloudy
and dark, but the breeze was very steady,and
I went below again, and after vainly endeav
oring to account for the emotion I bad felt
in any reasonable way, I at length fell asleep
and the rocking of my vessel. as she flew be:
fore the wind, gave just motion enough to my
hammock to lull me into a sound slumber ,
But I dreamed all night of Mary Sinclair. I
dreamed of her but it *as .in unpleasant
dreams. I standing on deck of the " Foam"
and as I mould advance towards her the form
of Waller would interpose. I would fancy
at times my arm was around her, and her
form resting against my side, and her head
lay on my shoulder; and then by-the strange
mutations of tintioss, it WU 00t I, bat Waller
that was holdineher, and I was elinined
_to a
post, looking at them,and she would kiss him
and again the kiss would, be a burning on 'my
lips.. The Morning found me wide awake,
reasoning myself out of my fancies.. By noon
I had enough to do. The,peean was roused.
A tempest was out on the sea, and the "Foam
went before it.
Night came down gloomily. The very:
blackness of darkness was on the Water as ,
we flew Ufore the terrible blast. I was on-:
deck lashed to the wheel, by which I stood,
with a knife within reach to cut the fastening
if necessary. We had but a - rag of a sail on
her, and she moved more likes bird than a
boat from wave to wave.
_Again and again
a blue wave went over - us, but she came up
like a duck, shook off_the Water .and dashed
on.. Now she staggered: as a " blow was on
her bow that Might have staved a man of
war, but she kept gallantly on ; and now
she rolled heavily and slowly, bu i rnever aba
ted her swift flight towards: shore. It was
midnight 'when the wind was highest. The
bowling of the cordage , was demoniacal.—
Now a scream, now a shriek, now a wail and
laugh of mocking madness. On, on we flew.
I looked up, and turned quite- around the
horiZon, but' could see no sky, -no sea, no
ekud, all was blackness. 'At that moment
.felt again :that strange thrill, and at the in-:
stunt fancied a deuseeblacknesS ahead ;; and
the next, with crash , and a, phinge, the
".Foam" was clear gone ! Down Went my
gallant boat, and with her another vessel, un
seen 'in, the black night._ The wheel to whichH
I had been lashed; had broken loose and gone
over with me before she sank. It w.as heavy
and I cut it. away, and it went down in the
deep sea'above my boat.. And seeing a spar,
I seized it, and a thrill of agony shotthrOugh
me as 1 recognized the delicate figure , of. a
woman. I drew her to me and lashed her to•
the spar by my side,- and so,. in •the black'
night, we:two 'floated-away over the stormy;
ocean.
companion was senseless—for aught
knew, dead.- A thousand emotions pissed
through my mind in the next five minutes.—
Who
‘ was my companion .on the slight spar f
What Was the vessel had sunk I'. Was I
with the body only,of a human being, or was
there a spark of life left ? -And how could I
fan it to a flame ? Would it not be better to
let her sink thati to float otf with me, thus
:alone to starve or die of thirst and agony ?
I chafa4 lactr
-51raS - mlic lIar10:11 r I.: VuitT .utn.--ree
a feature of her fide, nor tell if-sheowcire Old
or young—Scarcely white or black. The si
lence on the sea was fearful.
•
So long as I bad been On the deck Of my
boat, the wind whistling through theiropes
and'around the'spars had Made a continual
sound; but now 1 heard:nothing but tlfa'oe
casional sparkling of the sprat, the dtlsh of
a foam-cap, or the heavy sound of the iluind
pressing on my ears.
At length she moved her hand feebly lin
mine. ffow my heart leaped at that ilindit
i
evidence that I was not alone on the.! wild• ocean. I redoubled my exertions. r pasied
one of her arms over my neck to keep it Out
of the water, while I chafed the other hand
with both of mine... I felt. the clasp of that
arm tighten ; I bowed my head toward hers.
She drew me close to her=laid her cheek
amainst mine.- I let it rapt there-Lit .rni6t,
warm her's, and so help to give -her
Then she nestled close to my bosoth and
whispered "Thank you." Why did'my
brain throb so wildly in my head at that
whispered sentence I She knew not where
she was, that was deal!. Her mind was wan-,
dering. At that instant' the end of the spar
struck-some heavy object, and we were dash
ed by a huge wave over it, and to my joy
were left on a floating deck. I cut the lash
ing from the spar,-and fastened my compan
ion and myseltto the part of new raft or
wreck, I knew not which, and all the time
that arm was around my neck, and rigid_ as
if in death. .
Now came the low, wild wail •-that pre
cedes the breaking up of the storm.- The err
seemed filled with viewless spirits mournfully
singing and sighing. . I never thought ber
anything else than a human being. lOW*
that humanity, that dear likeness of life, that
endeared her to me. I wound my arm around
her and drew her close to my heart, and bow
ed my head over her, and in the wildness of
the moment I pressed my lips to hers in `'a
long; passionate kiss of intense love and- ago
ny. She gave it back, murmuring • some
name. of endearment, wound both arms round
'my neck, and laying her head on - my shoul
der, with her"-forehead pressed against my
cheek, fell into a cairn-slumber. That kiss
burns on my lips this hour. Half a century
of the cold kisses of.the world have not suf
ficed to chill its influence. ' It thrills me new
as then I It was madness;. with idol - ',Noir
ship, of the form God gave in the image of
himself, which, in that hour I adored as eti
God I I. feel the unearthly joy again today-;
as I remember the clasp of those, - utiknO
arms, and the soft pressure of that forehea I.
I knew Pot. I cared not, if she were old a d
1
haggard, or young and fair. ' •
I only knew and rejoiced with joy unto d
that she t wits, human, mortal, of my own kiit,
.
by the great Father of ens race. . , 1
I -I
;
It waste night of thought and .;emotion' ,
and phantasms that never cau be describe
.
Morning dantied grainly ; .the first faint
gleam of light showed inek -, a driving clond
above rux 11*—it was 'welcomed with, a
shudder. I hilted light. I wanted to fleet
over that heaving ocean with that form cling
ing to one, and my arms around it, and my
lips everand anon pressed m the passionleis
lips of the heavy sleeper. I asked no light:
-It was an intruder on
-my domainomd would,
drive her from my 'embrace. I was mad.
But tisl saw the face of my companiO,n
gradualiy revealed iu the dawning. light, as
my eyeS began to make'out one by ono the`
fenturtal at length the terrible truth came
slowly huining into my brain, I mourned
aloud in my agony, "God of heaven, she is
dead'!" and it was Mary Sinclair. But she
was not dead. We floated all day long on
the sea, and at midnight of the nes] I hailed
a ship and they took us off. Every man from
the' Foam" and the other vessel was saved,
with one exception. The other vessel was
the "Fairy," a schooner yacht, belonging to a
friend of Miss Sinclair, with whom she and
her brother, and . a Party of ladies andgentle
men, had started, but three days previously,
foi a Week's cruise. need not tell you how
I explained that strange thrill as the schoon
er crossed our bpw the night before the col
lision, :And what I felt, again at the moment
of the - crash, nor What interpretation I gave
to the wild tumult of emotions all that long
I married Mary Sinclair, and I buried her
thirty years afterward, and I sometimes have
the satire evidence of her presence now, that
I used*, have when she lived on the same
earth with me.
An Aizatomienl Rencontre.
' fly TEM OLD.IUN.
Green is- not a fast color. Transplant the
verdant youth into the city, and give him
there a local habita l tion, and he wil'. soon out
shine ,the most ruse native. The change
from the 'gawky' to the ` lion' is is rapid as
the transition from a Russian winter to'. a
Russian summer. Cowhides change alto bea
ks verities, mittens into kids,.'with really mar
vellous•celerity. YOu soon find it dfficult 20
distinguish the exotic rem the indigenous.,':,
Mark that young man who sports a _cab a
cigar,and bundles his ribbons with Paris kids.
A yearago:he was following the plough-tail
—bapp4in all probability, than he is now
—a stu3enkf surgery. •-. • Zir A French officer being a prisoner at
A var ago when he came down to Boston,• P°115")1W; England, w as' Per/flitted to walk
1/1, •
honi 4_ about tosvn on - his parole, and accordingly
all his ea thly' bossessions, viz., a
mon snit of a -7 !IPA ti nQr eirot onfi_Haaria,7.mgruidiz; to church, where
saw- tire mayor daps*
a tine tooth co , two dozen socks, and "
'box of blaain . , 'n e cowhide trunk, he was handsome girls.
one of the mot verdant specimensof aim! Ab," said monsievr, when he.carruiletae,
you ever encountered.
Hi s go id e ii j " two very .fine ladies were at de church dia
..I ,
hair slightly shaded his ruddy I:heel: 1 s, his gar: 'morning l"
'" Who were they I" inquired the. landlady.
&tvored of a remote.-an alMost medit
"Me have; forgot, do game, but what be dat,
oval age, He put tip at a fourth-rate house;
and then sallied forth to look About thing dat nibble de grass r'
His only acynaiutance was a far away . cons- t` Oh," said the landlady, "a cow"
in, a student of surgery and medacine (Mark: "No, no," eagerly interrupted the _French=
- Merriwether by name,) and on him Verdant
relied for information and aid, as he had
come to Bostongo pnrsue the same career.—
/; . ow Mark -had paid Verdthst a.visit ltt the
mountains some years previous,and the yonng
V . ermonter had sold' the city buck extensive-
ly—that is, be had put him on the back of a
wild filly, had upset him in a boa; broke Ins
head at cudgelling, and extended numerous
other civilities with which some country cans
are in the habit of welceming their city
friends,
. .
They met ip town, :then, and Mark, aftei
the Ai's:greeting, inquired the purport of hii
cousin's visit.. • . - :
" Iv'e: cOnie up heie to stay
.a s,pell, was the
reply. • ,
Glad to bear. it. -
"Heow du yeou like pour trade 7"
Very well. •
"Most learned it—hey?"
Most.
" Wall; I'm - thl nkin' to roller the same line
of busies---and I want you to help Me along
With the greatest pleasiiie, Zeke . -111 put
you threcgh an entire course of sprout a.
•" Spreouts r '
Show' you-the ropes. , ,
gißopp . / r
Let yon see bow we,do things. Where
shall we begin I
" Wnll—,l want to see that ere place where,
.
you cntlollc up—fust thing..'
0, very well, come along. '
Mark'did ftbe honors of the'college to- his
guest, and it may be imagined that, his pro-.
fessional san,gfroid offered a strong :contrast
to the naive horrer of his guest. Still, there
was a sort fncinaticin in what be witnessed
that impelle Zekiel to pronounce, though in
s
a faint and ping voice, that every ., thing
oi l.
was " fut ra t te.l At lastthey reached a lit
tle malitank cabinet. -
" What's in there 1" asked Zekiel. ' . '
"'Olio) and sea" said'his friend..
gekiel did so, kind was instantly clasped in
the 'arms of al 'skeleton. .' '
'With a h Avl of herror,he exclaimed : "Lem,
;
me go I. help I help!" - ' - 1 -
Mark ',as dying with laughter. •,
"pens ath ;alive cradled . me, sure
enough l"' "ex lainuxl the . sufferer. - lie ;gain
appealeir to ark for help. Finding his cons
in inexo;nbl be determined - to help hiniself.
"Look he _ old Bonypart, said he, irYou
ro l e
don't lees me go, 11l lick y6uinto fits I" and
getting one rm, free, he dealt ! the_ skeleten. a
tremendows low in the hied, which knocked
him Vick int 4 the box, the doors of ivhick
closed initantly, leaving Zeikle a free
,pituf
again- ;' • - • -
" That"ere 'natomy was a pooly behaved.
pap," he run rked, re •assured by The success
Ootume 12,''''Sittiber, 44.2
_ .
of his eiertions: I've a good miraito - AWES
him out bt his bot and gin him a regular
lickih. Why didn't \ you' : step in - iihuni- - pat
see him attacking_me Y - -
"I stood by to s fait playPiaid #ark.
" Wralljesi you , tell him this from uie,'said
Zeikle, " as long as he , keeps hiraseAfTii.-Idi
own quarteis, Int him alone; but- if be
ever Conies aeross.me oaten this effP*l i ii
wallop him ! like
A few days after' this, Zekiel, lad
made formal application. to Dr.------to e- he re
ceived as a student, fekeived a note from, tlitit
gentleman, requesting him to call at Ms of
fice. 1 .
He accordingly rang at thodoor of thedoo
tot'Saiistooratic rr.imaiorn It must be . betne
in mind that the doctor is as thin as it possi
ble for a live man to be. He was seated in
his study-chair Nyten Ziekie entered; so that
the
a rming nunN. not at first glance recog
nize the peculiariq"Cf his appearance; but
when he stood up and eittended his haid, a
-Ipminous idea flashoillirough tie I biain of
his visitor. •
" Hands off," said IM; "no stutkin'
_pa7s
'with me. • Ikaaw your tricks."
The Doctor :assumed an air of astordshuient
and offended dignity.. '
" As you please, young man," said he, sit
,
dog down.
" 0, you needn't be so offish r said' 21ild e.
" You and I have seen each other afore to
day."
"Not to my knowledge, r said the dixtor.,
P'raps not; said Ziekle knowingly.
sap, old feller—hOws your head Er- •
" My head ! you're eraiY." -
" Not by a long chalk I say," be added •
ir k a confidential whisper, how . often do they.
let yoii out?" • , ,
"Let me out
".Yes, darn you ;-I knoiti you it you haw
got your clothes on 1 you're the livin'AMle:
ton they keep up to the +lege, there—the
chap "gin the Hokin to the other day." .
The doctor burst into a Inagb., undeceir4
his visitor, and received hi tn as :a pulpiLi, but
eren nis cousin dares not reinind him 'ofthe -
adventtzre, for if he did, he would not .hiive
whizle lona enough left to- make a skelertati.
man.
",A shenp,perbaps I" said she.
"A - 1
"No." - • - „
"Perhaps you mean a horse I" •
"No, no, not de horse, but what dehorsi4,l
wife's name!' - I I
" Amara 1" • - '
"tai ! de mare's daughters vAI•W` - it churoh l f,
dis morning I I vera pretty4oung
day put de water in my month." • : "-.. "
0C1A134 ArrAm. 77 . The Usior; compa-1
ny **th Topaz, called upon one of our:idval.-I
tisers the other aftempon„ to fetch a leek; - sit
one of themost improved sowing machines 4
After the two had-gaz4mil
upon it for e 1
time in silen i de, Topaz asked the Major .
he thought of it I
"Oh," said the Major, l l conAder it, oa r
a so-so affair." - '
"goit, 'seeing; but then, Major; I`Lhink fit
could be used to good advantage.in
"In "what way r inquired the Mai
" Why,".repllad TOR; "it Would be n et.
use in repairing brreckes."'
Respectability.
" Cato, does , yon know dew Job 4 iLtdtiga,' up -
klar, in Conga. place is go to lie berry Speeta,..!
We folks V ! • - - •• .
• -"Wall Scipio, I t'ought dey was. Ottin!,,
along berry well; but doesn't kunst ;.how. .
'spectable day is: . =
"How'speetable dOes you tink,-- Car
'
Wall, guess bout tree.tousand dol . ra.. ..- •
"More speen‘ble dan dit."
"Wall, how 'speetable is 4ey . f . •
“Wy ; five tousand dollars, an: alonise
lot."
" Whew ! good bye; 'Cato, Linnet gi4"ent
a call." _ - - - •
How To Cnootoicleve r' .
rya luau until you 'harp bird al* :Lek:
the candidate for your , bin& pass tbrOttei*i: -.
ordesi r of eatiUg - soft b o iled eggs: If he 4tt`":,
do it and leayfif the table spread the
and his.sbi • ,
,uspotted 7 Htikti
nett wi Itate-rib. , he.Z4:4OttiOtialai
this fea Without putting , out
.
03' 436 :Pr-Pito ,g t h e , bones . into YOUr Ps en
L eonia the wed4ing.day at 'Orice Vita
tti. tie to:
ere the tiniblillitat colorslie, Of
the stars in Henveit .
B~eauee_ they ere beyead fie powervrtuit
mown to pou:tkelp t icay ß .,
Ei r trienti e
foots will'iearn iii n o oth r ~
- Atir Ropor and fiches rata thetiowibaabi
world
~_ . ,
upon.which the it InoTed - i'llijitadl.
ahem; •
hos 'discontent mile with - - . -, '--
.
=Gil
1
r i' 11