Newspaper Page Text
BuEi f as; spM3lt AND PROPRIETOR. ,
Yvl::xylui - .4.2ti
F . ,LABORING} MAN,
Mir w. C. 11111 1 / 4 17.
I walkiptbayollld the city's bounds,
Th o midi, uncultivated grounds
Ofpevertydrefore em la y.
Afence of turf the spot surrounds, .
The poor lons cabin was of day.
"Nis sunset, and its parting light,
With goldeai lustre, bathed the west,
But scented to linger in its flight,
To cheer the summer day to rest,
To gladden labor's weary sight,
Like hope within a darkened breast.
It malted till the twilight crept
With gentle step to kiss the mew,
And the soft breath of incense ',wept
•Its incense through the foliage green.
The bird had teased its note, and slept,
And all was silent and serene.
A fonn within that alrip s _docrr,.
te poorandnmp`fegar6 . amyed.
With face of care deep flarrowed o'er.
Look'd out upon the gathering shade.
"Ile never linger'd thus before,"
She sighed, and bitter grief •
A moment MOM, that face o'eresst,
Grew radiant with joy's brighter ray;
The cloud had gathered, burst, and passed
- For-he r her only hope and stay,
Cane berrying to his home at last,
Fat down the solitary way.
He came. the man of toil and care,
. With brow o'enshidowed by distress—
And met with =a, dejected air
The wife's affectionate caress!
His heart seemed full! What storm was there
To mum him so much wretchedness I
A word **Mired to tell the tele:
.A whip, from foteimt lanais sway, •
Aad yieldesl to the swelling wail,'
Anal now was anehor'll in the boy.
The eye was moist. the cheek was pole,
That listened to the laborer's lay :
"'Oh ! I am Istoken-hearted. and my tongue
Refuses utterance of what I know ;
My brain is maddened, and my spirit wrung.
While sinks my form beneath this dreadful blow.
Boar with me, faithful one, while I impart
The hoary sorrows of troubled heart.
"On that far else where our young dava weer pass',l,
A bolt has fallen from God's mighty hand!
Upon the forms of men disease in cut,
And blight and desolation sear the land ;
On every side. the wailing, of despair
Rise from the lips of those who loved us there.
"llost thou remember where the silver stream
Leaps in its Wild career the vale alone—
Where Mt we've lingered in our summer dream.
And filled the air with hope's expectant song
In every cottage on the old tall side
time of our well-heloved friends have died.
! I can see the pale and haggard face
fig her whose last farewell is neer forgot.
Who, when she held Inc in her fast embrace,
Invoked a blessing on the laborer's lot.
How little dreamed she, when those tear-drops fell,
That she would starve, and I midst plenty dwell !
• , To.dity these dreadful tidings met mine cars,
.And quirk I turned my weekly earning o'er :
'lig gone, midst choking prayers rind homing team.
And oh r I would to Coil it had been more.
'Tin gone, and in the thought I find relief;
It cheeks the swelling torent of my grief. '
The laborer embed: his tale eras o'er,,
TVS heart unburdened of its care,
And passing' in his humble door,
Ile taint his weary form in prayer.
The,auguish that his features wore
Was poised, and Hope sat smiling there.
God bleM the laboring man—"thy bread
Is on the Carta n eters east;"
And He, who mine to save, has said,
"lb shall return to thee at last."
The rich shall tinti no sorter bed
Or happier memories in the past.
The future. it is full of dowers
To Christian hearts so pure,:is thine—
And may the knowledge of these hours
.tihed each a blea,ing upon mine,
That I may seek these joyous bowers,
- Where spirits like tu thee incline. ,
[From the Hats: Times.
AN OLD MAN'S REMINISCENCE
1 had quarrelled with my little brother,
'Willy, who had not passed his sixth year.
I was two years his senior; and he was
the only being 1 ever loved. Willy was
a frail and affectionate little fellow, not
meant to struggle long through this dark
and weary existence. The little golden
hulks' fell upon—his slender and "beautiful
neck, and his large blue eyes wore a soft
and confiding expression, which called
forth irresistably your love and protection.
I went to the corner of the garden, and
continued building a house we had begun
together. The evening was fast coming
on, and I still required about a dozen
bricks,to finish it; I therefore stalked up
to ono which, after great trouble, he had
just aotnpleted, and pulled down part of the
walls for-that purpose. The little fellow
could not bear it, and he snatched them
i,mllit Irons ma- I, in a rage. struck him
v ialont<y OR the breast, and he fell to. the
la a short time he recovered his breath,
•,."Jamie,,tell Annie to come and carry
me la:: I.crionot walk. My breast is
• I„.tdunk quietly in- at the back of the
house. .;10 a few moments I heard a low ,
and mournful whisper go through thedwell
nag, —My_ little Willy had broken a blood
vessel. The next evening about sunset, I
wenttelhe Door of the Mom where he ley,
and as looked in, he beckoned me to him.
sun: fell full upon golden
hew, atitli-altho reclined upon his mitiwy.
pillati.'mallht fie seemed like ta
angel' fltiiiiitigOn'iiileecy cloud.
ol,crept up•sinwly to the Bide of the 'Gest
and. held the little land Whirl lay upon
the: et iiithfirmY Own: .
'said ito..f.latnie, I sin going to
itty,"- said the little feihm "You
knowljeve you dearly. 'ooe l eas an ie.
hand agai n; as
weal Wiwi/timid ere together, on the little
tr:lplat, the %warm sunshine;'and
u its t,ory, my dear little brother
You will be Mind to my little peaty, when
I .artigone,, and will fill her saucer with
new milk, won't you brother?"
fussy lifted up her head, as she heard
her mune: sad, purring, sthoothed her sleek
and glossy coat against the pallid face of
the:young sufferer, as though to thank him
em going, to heaven," he continued.
"and that is a happy place, you know, for
(hid, bur Father, , whom we say our pray-
ers to every night, fives there; and you
know how often we have wanted to see I
him,' Jamie. And there is Jesus, whom ;
we love so much, snit Who loveslittle chil
dren, too; so dearly ; he %ilk : oe there; and
he will carry me to hisfather, (or he will be
like a big brother ( and take care of me, you
know, Jamie I And then there is little
Harry - Bendy, he is gone to heaven, too,
and I shall see into there ; and we will,
have two little wings, and a little golden
music book between us; bOt we will leave
a corner for you, Jamie, so that, when you
come, we will all boWcletvn toghther be
fore the throne bf Goil,'ourrather, and sing
his glory for ever and ever."
The little fellowlifted up his bright blue
eyes to heaven, and his Countenance seem
ed to grow • brighter and Wiener, I ga
zod'upon his face for some minutes, iosi
lent anguish ; but as I gazed, his face ap
peared to war brighter, and yet more bright ;
a smile still lingered upon his parted lips,
and his little soul winged its flight to a sure
and glorious eternity.
- And now, when ? the hurricane of riot
ous and irresistible passion sweep over my
soul, tearing down all distinctions of right
and wrong, and dethroning reason, their
cherub voices scorn to come wafted on
the gale ; and as these two little angel
forms, with their little golden music book,
and my empty and unmerited corner, rise
up, as it were, in a vision before me, my
passion vanishes, my frame shudders, and
I burst into tears.
A NIGHT OF YEA4IiS
6Y fl ittvierivnon
• • • Some forty years since, in the
interior of my beautiful native State, New
York, lived the lather pur heroine, an
honest and respectable farmer. Ile had
but two children—Lucy, a ru b le girl of
nifilteem.aud Ellen, a year or two young
er. The first named was winningly rath
her than strikingly beautiful. Under a
manner observable for ita seriousness, and
a nun-like serenity, were concealed an im
passioned nature, and a heart of the deep
est capacity for loving. She was remar
kable from her earliest, childhood for a
voice of thrilling and haunting sweetness.
Ellen Dutton was the brilliant antipodes•
of her sister : a "horn beauty," whose pre
rogative of prettiness was to have her ir
responsible own way, in all things, and at
all times. An indulgent father, a weak
mother, and an idolizing sister, hail all Un
consciously contributed to the ruin of a
*nature not at the first reimirkablu for
strength or generosity.
Where, in all God's creatures, is heart
lessness so seeminglyeuriatural, is selfish
ncEs so detestable, as 111 a beautiful woman!
Lucy possessed .a tine imelleet, and, as
her parents were well-reared New Eng
landers, she and her sister were far better
educated than other girls of her station, in
that then half-settled portion of the coun
try. In those days, many engaged in
Muml teactiur - from the honor and plea-,
sure which it afforded, rather than front
necessity. Thus, a few months previous
to the commencement of our sketch, Lu
Dutton left for the first tithe her tire-side
circle, to take charge of a school some
twenty miles from her native town.
For some while her letters home were
expressive only of the happy contentment
which sprang from the consciousness of
active usefulness, of receiving, while im
parting good. But anon, there came a
change ; then were those records for home
characterized by fitful gaiety, or dreary
sadness ; indefinable hopes and fears
seemed striving for supremacy in the
writer's troubled little heart. Lucy loved,
but scarcely acknowledged it t 4 herself,
while she knew not
. that she was loved;
so for a time, that beatiful second-birth of
woman's nature was like a warm sun-rise
struggling with the cold mist of morning.
But one day brought a letter which could
not coop be forgotten in the home of the
absent one -a letter traced by a hand that
trembled in sympathy with a heart tumid- '
mons with,. happiness, Lucy_ had. been
3itiad and won, and she but waited her pa-k
rents' approval of her choice, In become
the betrothed of young Edwin W—, a
man of excellent family and standing in
the town where she had been teaching.—
The father and mother accorded their sanc
tion with many blessings, and Lucy's next
letter promised a speedy visit front the
'l'o such natures as Lucy's, what an ab
sorbing, and yet what a revealingof self is
a first paesion—whatprodigality of giving,
what an incalculable wealth of receiving--
What a breaking up is there of the deep
waters of the soul, and how heaven de
scends in a sudden star-shower upon lifel
If there is a season when au angel may
look with intense and fearful interest upon
hor inerml sister, ilia when site beholds her
heart pus from the bud-like itinoconce
and freshness of girlhood, and, taking to
its very core the fervid light of love, glow
and crimson into perfect womanhood.
At last the plighted lovers came, and
welcomes .a nd festivities awaited thern.--,
Mr. Wgairtient . ire satisfactioa to hith
er, mother, and even to the exacting
tr." He wasa handsontcynan, yrkth some
pretensions to fashion ; • blif in magnet; and
aeparently - -in. character, •the;,oppOsite of
It. Was decided that Lucy should not'a
gain leave home till after her marriage,
which, at the request of her ardeuclover,
was to' be. cekhratod. ,within • tttp Months,
and on.the .eciming birthday of tlie.bride,
It was therefore arranged that Elton should
return with to take charge of
het sister's school for the remainderof the
' The bridal 'birthday hail come. It had
been ushered in by a May morning of ear-,
passing lovelinesshe busy hours had
worn artily, and. new it was nil Sunset,
slid neither the bridegroom, nor Efien, The
first bridentaid, had appeared. Vt.-•
her neat little ohambersat Liiey,.nothing
doubting, nothing 'baring. , She • was al
ready clad in a simple white. inuslim.and
her few bridal adornments lay on the ta
ble beside her. Maria Allen, her second
bridemaid, a bright-eyed, aireetionate heart:
ed girl, her, chosen friend Iretii,ehililliood,
was arranging to a more graeAil fall the
wealth of light ringlet's which swept her
Nnu wy neck. Ti, the anxious inquiries of
her companion, respeciing the absent ones,
Lary ever Kniled quietly, and replied,
4E,Tl''''E,BlV-R di' ,:r. t;.:.'r.LID:At.:',ETRIINGi'4 . 4I:I(t..ST - f•A; ,1 0?/. i4 - ..' r . ,
"Olt l something has happened to detain
theni awhile—we heard from them the
other day, and all was well. They will be
.here by never fear."
'Evening came, the , guests, were all as-
Serribled, and yet the "bridegroom tarried."
There were whisperiB,„ surmises, and
wondering., and a sh ow of anxiety oc-,
easionally passed overt e. fair face of the
bride elect. 4t last a,e.orriage'drove rath
er slowly to the door. 4.They, are come!"
cried many' voices . , and the next .moment
the belated bridegroom and Ellen entered.
In reply to the hurried and contused in
guinea of all around hini, Mr. W--•mut
tered something !thou ounavoidable delay,"
and, stepping to the sideboard, tossed off a
glass-of wine, another, and another. The
company stood silent with amazement.—
Finally, a rough old farmer exclaimed,—
“Better late than never, . young man; so
lead but the bride.”
W— strode hastily across the room,
placed himself by Ellen, and took her hand
in his ! Then, without daring to meet the
eye of any about him, lie said :
ol.wish to make an explanation—l - ant
under the painfill necessity—that is, I have
the pleasure to announce that lamidready
married. The lady whom I hold by the
hand is my wife.!"
Then, turning in an apologetic manner
to Mr. and Mrs. Dutton, he added, "I found
that I had never loved until I knew your
second daughter !"
--rtrat-Imer I—She - heard all with strange
cahnness, then walked steadily forward
and confronted her betrayers ! Terrible
as pale Nemesis herself, she stood before
them, and her look pierced like a keen,
cold blade into their false hearts. As
though to assure herself of the dread real
ity of the vision, she laid her hand, on
len's shoulder, and let it glide down her
arm—hut she touched not Edwin. As
those cold fingers met hors, the unhappy
wife first gazed full into her sister's filer: ;
and as she marked the ghastly pallor of lief
cheek, the dilated nostril, the quivering lip,
and the intensely mournful eyes, site cov
ered her own face with her hands, and
burst into tears, while the young husband,
awed by the terrible silence of her he bad
wronged, gasped for breath, and staggered
back against the wall. Then Lucy, clasp
! ing her hands on her forehead, first gave
voice to her anguish and despair, in one
fearful cry, which could but ring forever
Ithrough the souls of that guilty pair, and
fell in a deathlike swoon at their feet.
After the insensible girl had been 'Tete:"
red to her eliamher, a stormy scene ensu
ed in the room beneath. The parents and
guests were alike enraged against W. ;
but the tears and prayers of his young
wife, the petted beauty and spoiled child,
at last softened somewhat the anger of the
parents, and an opportunity for an expla-
Astion_wactievrded to the offenders.
A sorry explanation it proved. The
gentleman affirmed that the tirstAight or
Ellen's lovely face had weakened the em
pire of her plainer sister over his affec
tions. Frcquentizterviews had completed
the conquest of his loyalty ; but he had
been held in check by honor, and never
told his love, until ;.yhen, on his „;vey, to
espouse another. in an unguarded moment,
he had revealed it, and the avowal had cal
led forth an answering acknowledgment
They had thought it best, in order "to
save pain to Lucy," and prevent opposi
tion from her, and to secure their own hap
piness, to be married • before their arrival
Lucy remained insensible for some
hours. - When she revived, and had sprat
randy regained her consciousness, she still
maintained her strange silence. Thiston.'
tinned for many weeks, and when it par.;
tially passed away, her friends saw with
inexpressible grief that her reason had fled
—she was hopelessly insane t But her
madness was of -a mild-and harmless-nit--
ture. She was gentle and peaceable as
ever, but_ sighed frequently, and seemed
burdened with some great sorrow, which
she could not herself comprehend. She
had one peculiarity, which all who knew
her in after years must recollect—this was.
a wild fear and careful avoidance of man.
She also seemed possessed of the .apirit
unrest. She could nut, she would nof, be
confined, but was constantly - escaping from
her friends, and going—they know not
While her parents-lived, they, by their
watchful care and tinweary!ng efforts, in
some measure conttelled this sad pryit
sit - ft - Mit When they Zed, therr'lirniken.
child became a wanderer, homciess, friend
less, and forlorn.
Through laughing spiings and rqfty sum
merit. and golden autumns and , tempestuous
winters ' it was tramp, tramp, tramp—no
rest for her Or the crushed heart and the
I remember her as she was iii 'my
early childhood, toward the last of Her
weary pilgrimage. ..As my father au.ei
elder brothers were frequeetly.absend
as my mother_ neyer
_closed her heart or
her door on the unfortunate, ~C raay Lucy"
often spii . nt as hour or two by our fireside.,
Her, appearance was very singular, liar
gown was always patched, with many col
ors, and•ber, shall or mantle worn and torn
until it was ell open-work andfringe.., The,
remainder et miseritble wardrohe she
carried in a bundle, on Aq.accu, *sidemen
times oho had a numberof parcels of old
rags, dried horba i ' Ar, o , , • r
In the season' of dower', her tattered
bonnet was profusely decorated whit those
,which she gathered iwahe Wood,'orby the
way side. Her love. IfOr these, and her
sweet voice, were all that were left her of
the bloom and' malt of existence. Yet no
—her meek and childlike piety still linger-
ed. Her God had not forsaken her;
down lat.). the dim chaos of her spirit, the
smile of 1d.4 1 the yet` gleamed faintly—in
the wait.: garden of her heart she still heard
Hi s t.)ive id even-tide, and she was not
"afraid." lier Bible woo, with her every-,
where---a torn and fluted volume, but us
holy still, and. it may be, as dearly'eherish
ed, 1/1 , miller, as the gurieons copy , uow
lyinl, pal ,) our table:bound in "purple Slid
iii gold," an"' with the gilding untarnished
upon its delicate lea.ves.
1 real Inber to have heard my mother
"FEARLESB AND FREg."
relate a touching little incident connected
with one of Lucy's brief visits to us.
The poor creature °noel laid her hand
on the early head of one of my brothers,
and asked of him his name: •
"William Edwin," he replied, with a
timid npward entice:
She caught away bar hand; and sigh inb►
heavily, said; is:dtopgh,lhinking aloud; 1
.4I knevr4n Edwin once; and he made
This was the •only instance in which
she was ever known:to revert to the" sad
event which had desolated her life.
Thirty years front the fuse of the com
mencement of this mournfuk his tory, on ti
bleak autumnal evening, a rough country
wagon drove into the till* of
It stopped at the alms-housei an attenuated
form was lifted out, and the.sagon rumblml
away. This toga Lucy Dillon brought
to her native town to die. I
She - had been in a decline for several
months; - and the • mirsealous • strength•
which had so long sustained her in her wea
ry.wanderingsitt last focsottli..lter- utter/y.
Her sister had died sometime before, and
the widowed husband had soon after re
moved .with his family to the far West,—
So Lucy had no frietds, no home, but the
But they were very kind to her there.—
The matron, a true woman, whose heart
even the hourly contemplation of human
misery could-not harden, goitre herself with
utiwearying devotion to. the care of the qui
et sufferer.: -With the eye of Ohristian faith.
she watched the shattered bevk of that life,
as borne adown the tide oftinie, it neared
the great deep of eternity, tlt-an ibterest
as intense as though it were royal galley.
One• day, about a week from the time of
her arrival, Lucy appeared to suffer great
lyl and those about he - Hooked for her re
lease almost impatiently; ,taut at night who,
was evidently better, and, far the first time,
slept tranquilly until monung. The ma
tron, who was by her. bedside when she A
woke, was startled by the clear and earnest
gaze which met her own; but she smiled,
and bade the .invalid "goad morning
Lucy looked bewildered, but the voice re
assured her, exelairned
"Oh ! what a long, long :night this has
been !" Then glancing around inquiring
ly, she added. "Where um 11 And whu
are you I Ido not know you."
A . wild surmise flashed across the mind
of the matron. The long loit reason of thr
wanderer had, rein-AWL _But the good
woman replied calmly and soothingly.
"Why, you are among your friends, and
you ,wiltknow ma presemly."-: - •
"Then maybe you know Edwinintl.El
- rejoined the ipvglid. "[lave they
come ? Oh ! I had such a terrible drent2 !
I dreamed that they were married ! Only
think, Ellen married to EdWin ! 'Tie
strange that I should dream that !"
"My poor Lucy," said the matton, , with
a gush of tears, "that was not a dteam.
'Twas all true."
"All true !" cried the invalid. "Then
Edwin must be untrue; and that cannot
be, for he loved me. • We loved each other
Well; and Ellen is my sister. 'Let me see
them. •' I will go to them!" •
She endeavored to raise bentelf, but fell
back fainting on the pillow.
"Why, what does this mein ritaidihti.
"What makes - me so weak 1"
Just then her eye fell on Iterown hand,
that old and withertd han d! She gazed
on it in blank amazement.
"Something is the :natter with my sight,"
she said, smiling, faintly, •for my hand
looks to me like an old woman's."
"And so it is," said the matron, gently,
"elude is . mine;; and yet we, had fair,
plump hands when we were young. Dear,
Lucy, do you not know tee
,t sin Maria
Allan. I was to •have been your bride
I (NM no more. I will notmake themain_
attempt to give in detail ull that mournful
revealing; to reduce to inexpressible words
the dread sublimity of that hopeless son
To the wretched Lucy the last thirty
years were all us though they .had never
been. Of not a scene, not on.,,incident,liad
she the slightest rentembranee,eitterf the
night when•the recreant lover and traitor
ous sister stood before her,andi made their
terrible announcement. The kind suitron
Paused f'requen'tly: in the sad,uerrative of
her Pie; frjore;raatadeeellitid wanderings,
but the , invalid • would say, ;.with fearful
calmness, "GOOO, go on," though the bead
ed,dmps-efAganty moo,' thickupon - her fore
head, ; • ,
When she naked for her sister; the ma
uShe'lts gone before you, andyour fa
"And my mother t" saki Lacy, her face
lit witli a sickly ray
"Your mother hal been deed for twenty
yews!" " .'‘ ' '
"Dead! All gone ! Alorie-;-old—dy
ingl 0 Gedt my cult Of bitterneen is full ! '
And the wept aloud. I. Her friend, bedding over her, and ming
ling tears with Tierra ' said, - affectionately
'"Hut-you know who drink 'that cup be
fore you.":' ' ' '
Lucy looked tip . i#ich i bowilitered ex
pre:salon, and the triatron adilid.4-
"The 'fiord hires, you remep)ber him t"
.. 4 look iikeilldrilight braid% threttir a
ch3udis look 'Witlelf only said ►day yriiiii,
irradiated the fearful face df the ding *pal
man, as She teplied— . ' '''S"' ‘ • , -.'
' "0 yes ; I knew hitn ante loved him be
' ore ffeel-wafeqh":/ " ,41., ~', ... '
Thu map of -Pod wtu: .4klleil. A. feN
who had , known Lucy in her early A 64
canto also. iThere was much reverential
"wondering, and ,some weeping, pinend her
.Then rose ;he voice of prayer.
At first her lips 'Moved, as her weak spirit
joined in that fervent appeal, Own they
grew still, and poor Lucy was:dead—dead
in her grayeheired youth. ..
But , those who wised upon that placid
face, and remembered her harmless life ;
and patient suffering, deuincd.not that the
morn of an eternal day had broken on her
Mawr or Yamts.
Every ono is , forward to complain of the
prejudiece that mislead other miler parties, I
ra if he were free, and had none of his own.
AN INCIDENT 'IN THE LIM OP •01.1.;
• 'PER .CROMWELL. • -
In the most pretty of suburbian
liighgate, there stands a stately mansion,
nearly on tboltrow ol the hill, bearing the
name of ucromwell House."' otie of the
relies remaining of that man, wham tutor
potion of stilirbtne:•poiver wrought more
good to England than all the reigns of the
Eltuarts. This lioutle, which was •the fa
vorite' resort of the Lord General during
those hours 'when he 'visited from the civet
of state, has contintted'in mute deiree the'
object of curiosity up to the present day;
and they , who indulge in the observation of
relics of the olden time, may find themselves
not uninterested in their notice of Croat-.
In the larva room of the mansion, in
the month of January', 1852, sat threepei
'rine, dressed Micoriling to the puritanical
fashion of the 'day. A large fire blazed
from the antiqo grateoulding an air Of corn
fort to their forms, while they discussed
the various topics alba times. But they
shall speak for themselves.
“ea, t he Lora or that &di
grant onto us a crowning vietoT" said
taw, whose stem, yet marked and Intellect
anal visage,.and nose which 'had' so often
excited the ribaldry of the Cavalient,:pro;
claimed him the 'first mah of his day-- , -01-
iver Cromwell. •
""Even eo;" replied his campanion, Col.
JefTrys, to' whom ho addressed himielf.
"Hut," added-the' usurper, ..heOthe son
of the man,' haimrcaped,and while he yet
lives?'—• . , - -
l'he speaker • paused. fear," quiv
ered on his lips, but he durst not let the
words escape inpresence of his adherents.
"Yes," interrupted Col. Martin, who un
til now had continued- ailpg apparently
wrapped in a moody reverie, malig-
nants are giiTn unto the edge of:tlic sword ;
they nee cut dow* root and brancli.;---roat
and Emmett are they prepared Ibr the. rkt :"
and the speaker's wild looks and wild man
ner proclaimed him one of those stern. un
yielding biggots who had contributed to
hew down the °Wades:in the. path of their
aster to supreme power. •
"Thou seemest possessed with a spirit,"
said the &Surlier, regArtliortvith a kind of
deep 'antisfuction the vehemeat mumps. of
Isis follower. s •
"I had a vision," resumed' the fanatic.
his eyes gleaming almost with the'lre of
madness, "and a voice came unto_ me in
the watches of the night, and it said .smite
and I. said, •Lord, what shall I smite?' and
the voice answered me and said, Srnite
the slayers of the Lord's people. - root and
branch, hip anal thigh kill and - spare net:' "
"Yet." - replied - CoL - Jeffri, as the other •
sank down almost exhausted by his .
menet), "methinks enough blood has
poured forth ; there.is not a Cavalier in
England dark show his head—not a month
dare name Charles Smart with praise. "=)
Your prisons ere full, And your headsmen I
"Thou art.eloquent,Thigtid Crorhiv'elt
4 .At least it is an eloquence that confetti
from the heart," was the reply. '
1 "Acceraed be they whoprotect them,"
said Mattltt, '•' e' anothit week - "hall
have paved, on , e more shall 'yet 'be added
to the list---he whom the gain call Sir John
"Anti I say," retorted Jeffrys, "accurs
ed be their wife would rejoice in the shed
ding of blood; let' them beware, lest by
man also shall their bl toe illittil."
"The wife of him th ii bast framed;'
said Cromwell, "but ye erday sought my
presence." • ' ' ' ' ' '
"Refused her." replied Cromteell. stern
ly. "Setter :and brevet men thantfesmond
hate falletiolior must he be SparWd." '
"Yet," continued Col. Jeffry", "our
cause is now secure: shall blood - continue
to flow.forever ?" ' • - •
"Thom art grown strangely merciful,"
, replied Cromwell.
""Thou fearest, then," eaid Jeffrys, "lest
her groans and supplications might win
thee to griint hor request 'I"
""Lend not inm temptation," inter-_,
rupted Col. Martin, in a deep reverie.
u'llsou," continued Jeffrys. unheeding
the speaker, as if used to his singular man
ner, ~t hou who halt refused so many. fear
ed the tears and touching eloquence of a
" Anil dos t then `n +t think " said Cromwell.
'as , with accustomed fOladY - Phatard
the subject for one less diiplessing to him,
which floweth from reason,,and, is assists ,
ed by forethought, is more than,that which
ocunoili on theinstantoind is dm oflaptiags,
perchance, of prejudice!"
"Nay,' POO leggs• •
"And, promptly interrupted Orismwell,
~ d oist thou think that j, could so success
fullY ha veled my people, hadl trusted to
the words whieilliprung op a indden, and
not the result of a fixed Principle!"
Col. Jeffry's smiled - inwardly. for he
well k4eat, that .witait'Promwoll had been.
Moak auccesfisl. it, bed been trust
cd to the power of hi...feelings', and not in
isiirmore - litiOrdit discourses with'
hig h be wee wont - occasionally to mistily
is a uditors; tit he answered with more
,pul ey t h an to OSIAY leis opinion.
. ntiliboliere,!? , ,wasihe_Veply,6, 4 that uo pow
jOr .40f.t,roggoo r ino studied, speech, or, set
ithettessootrantateltlhe eloquence which
oPringointtn; and.: fervent. ; from.the. bosom
cifthe:loviatpleadinglor the beloved."
•!!An44,'..-. returned the -other,. other,. shortly,
itiolievettetlecidedly,,that thou art wrong. '
" 4 .'..,What labored Oration," pursued Jef-
Y4f-' 4 catiourpaas David mourning for his
son Absulomr-Dli ! Absalom, my BUM my
son, would;to God I hail died 10f thee!"
" Would," said Cromwell, abruptly,
"would it were even now in my power to
test this thing."
• StiddenlY the other arose, and sleet! up
right before the General.
"Pardon my boldiiess;" he said, "hut
your wishes maybe-granted this hour,nay,
this very minute." -
"What ineanest thou ?"
"That,this nionient Willunif the
,'of' him you named but now, come
once more td pleadfor her liusband'irlife,"•
"And Barest thou !" said Cromwell. an
"I arivuld have dared far wore," •aid
Jellboi; boldly. "She is the wife of
ohe whom in my youth I loved, but who bath
been separated by the iron nature of the
.times. II loved his King—l my coun
try'and its deliverer!"
Them teas something in the nature of
this speech whiah. won mod pleased the
lest attention of die hearer, ?Jed he ,contin-
"I could not bear her teats, her apanica,
aid above all, her eaniest despair. She is
now without ; admit her, and see if liendes.
- pair be not more touching than the voice
of the hired aslioraitie:'
"Admit her not; trust not in the voice
of the chirpier." exclaimed Col. Martin.
"Der husband has drunk deep of the blood
of our people--4fisiaxe is prepared—let it
be glutted with his blood. ,
"Peace, my brother; I pray thee, peace
said Cron:swell. "Thou halt done wrong.. '
he !aided, awning to Col. Jeffrys ; "but
she shall be admitted."
The order was given to the attemlants,
arid dining a pause,which uithle (Jul. Jef
frfetrarnhkrfiar his client, LOY Des trl
was admitted. Di this time the sun had
gone. and , the light afforded by the red
dimeof the OM which threw its glare fit
fully and uncertainly on the inmates of that
ancient roan was all that remained to re
veal in Elizabeth Desmond, as she enter
ed, a woman of sad and stately presence,
and one on whom, if IIM lapse of years
had done much, the weight of grief had
done, more ; hut neither had power to bow
her-fenscur terpieneh Ake fine-of•• an eye
which looked mournfully but unquailingl 7
on therpup arotind,..
"Art thou the wife of the malignant, John
Desmond r' said Cromwell. abruptly.
"I am his alma unhappy wife."
"W hat wouldst thou r
"Pardon for my husband." -
"And whereto's , should the mist invet
erate hater of God's people esispe his
reu a . paw, on _ woman. " .
the reply. "Inisblled is aught sare d rfAi'Yler
to, my Maker. Weak is AO me lore - for
my hatband. I can repeat; pardon.
it tioi - iriiiien," * Ma - Cromwell. omi
nously. "Tbe ikhedder of dm blood of God's
saints shall surely die!" .
“In your hands tests the power of life
and death.. Think, oh ! think upon the
Mood that has been spilled ; how the great
and good have Wien ; bow. by pour word.
they have died; and oh! add not ahother
to the sad and metnidiol list!"
• “Has not thine drawn his sword
in every town - in Emgland?"
were vain' to deny it." -
“Has he not been sheamst determined of
a doringware r Wheel los - banner
Wade Memel began. Moil este ofthe name of
bf Deasond sway from the encounter t
A way ! Thou ham thine rinser l”
ui have dreamed and petrel for this
hour," • was the vaguest mply t. 4.fiw men
say thou art
.0114 though stein. And now
that by the manifest will of Cod. 11 stand
face to face with theca will notsield.--
Thou haat a wife lobo bath lain in thy
hosont * lived bet on thy smile, and placed
her very thoigbie before thee. Picture
,the headsman. awl the gory scaf
fold. Could she live tomes thee thusr'
" "There was no movement not the past of
the earn judge which might betray his
*mighty:. but el feast he interrupted her
not. sad she continued: • -
"Thai halt children. and has kit the
warm; soft touch of inisney uponhy lips;
hest seen' them grow up in love and fond
ness around thee. at morning and evening
have Imelthefolu the same altar. prayed
the same prayers. bent before the same
uWonsan. that troaddest me." said
Cromwell. who, mi iwwdl known. was far
froth happy In these dementie rehtiong: • -
t4l have lonia. and - they 'shall hoLthee;
daughters' and they shall Mess th per
sued Lady Desmond.'
“Has he mu shed"---
“Loo' k upon these tray bans, and nn
these pale and qUireritit lips: upon this
frail form, bowed Widg:gewizingsw*Powe:
and pity. slur pity
"Away,! *lry r
"fly thine hopes of liffmre k
than bmswt to thy God---panioii, pardon
for my husband.
*adept in vain."
"Theft by the memory of the blood
whieb flawed at Whitehall She
atopped.-for aberfelt hadaaid inn much, yet
the ueurpor's ,iron faro changed not; but
in tbs• wild gesture of Martin—in the
fearful and anxious 'tan of Jetrys— , the
trembled for her suit. The group was
worthy a painter.
For-a minute. Cromwell moved not.
apokenot. and even scarcely breathed.-
-It seemed an age to the agonized pleader.
At least he uttered. as if the power of
speech. bed suddenly come to him,
"Woman thy prayer is granted—go in
Then turning to Jeffres. he said :
'Thou wert 't`
_telt ; I will see that ilte
prisoner be released. This woman in her
great love hash dared to speak of that
which might have cost her dear. Iler
husband shall be set free; for verily I say
unto you.-I have not found so great love,
no, 'not in all Israel."
THE ARABIAN HORSE
A most moving incident, Illustrative of
the extraordinary, strength as well as at
tachment of the Arab hmses, is given by
Lamartine in his beautlul Travels in the
"An Arab chief. with his tribe. had at
tacked, in the night, a caravan of D 31026'5 ,
and plundered it; when loaded with their
spoil, 'however, the robbers were overta
ken on their return by some horsemen of
the Pacha of Acre. who killed several, and
bound the remainder with cools. lu this
state of bondage they brought one of the
prisoners. named Abell el Alaryk. to Acre,
and laid hint, bound hand and feet, weuntl
etLas he was, at the eutrance to their tent.
as they slept during the rii i .TILL kept a
ivake the pant of his wounds, the Arau
beard his horse's h at a little distally.,
(Lstruas .stmose for the 1.e.&
TWO DOLLARS Prk,
time, the companion of his life, he drag
ged himself, hound as he was, to the horse .
which was picketed at a little distaner
•Poor friend," says he, "whYt will you - do
among the 'Turks? You will be shut up
under the roof of a khan, with the horses of
a paoha or all aga; no longer will the wo
men and children of the tent - bring your
barley, camera milk, or dourra; in the
bellow of their hand ; no longer will you
gallop free as the wind of Egypt in the de
sert ; no longer will you cleave with your
bosom the waters oftheJordon, -- whicticool
your sides, as pure as the foam of your
lips. If lamto he a slave, at least may:'
you go free. Go: room to our tent
which you know so well; tell my will:
that Abon cl Marek wilt return no more;
but put von head still in the folds of the
tent, and lick the hands of my beloved chil
dren." With these words, as his bands
were tied, he undid with his teeth the let
ters which held the courser bound, and set
him at liberty, but the noble animal, on re
covering his freedom, instead of hounding
away to the desert, bent its head ever its
master, and, seeing him in fetters and on
the ground, took his clothes gently in his
teeth, lifted hitrotp, and set eir at full speed
for !ionic. Without ever resting, he made
straight for the distant but well-known tent,
in the montunius of Arabia. lie Arrived ,
there in safety, and laid his master saftr
down at the feet of his wife and children,
and immediately di upped down dead with
fatigue. The whole tribe mourned him;'
the poets eelebtated his fidelity, and his
ame is still constantly in the mouths of
'e Arabs at Jericho."
beautiful anecdote paints the 'man
ners and the horses of Arabia better thait
a thousand volumes. • Is is unrrecesiiiry to
say. after it, that the Arabs are, and ever
will he.,the first horsemen, and have the
einest race of liorses in the world. •
• PUITOU OP THE OLDRS TIMIS
Away down in the Jerseys, long Wore
a temperance lectorerhad ever been heard
ref, lived an old farmer pretty comfortable
.•to do" in the world. His name was Iteh
inson, and he had a son named Saw who -
in years and stature had attained - to matu
rity; though an unhappy and uncon6olla
ble propensity fur old Monongahela bad
somewhat retarded the mental experience.
Sam had been n precocious visiter to "the.
tavern" about two miles below his father's '
house, and ever since his early manhood,
day by day, be had trod the well known
road. Summer and winter, Sum 'was the
"stay-late" of the familiar spot, and half
an hour after every body else was gone,.
Sam mustered the energies of his maudlin •
brain, rallied his legs to thework, and set
out, night after night, for home. One *la
in mid-winter it had blown up fearfully
cold; the frost had set in with unusual vig
or, and the stars glistened . down upon the '
snowy mail which covered the bosom of •
the earth with steely sharpness. Sara
stepped out into the road, however, and
steadying himself for a moment, called out
in his peculiar gruff voice to the landlord,
a rude "good night," set his teeth . with in
domitable resolution, and put forward . Air,
MS tither's house.
The next morning, soon alter I,loight,
a dweller in the vicinity passing down dm'
road, about a quarter of a mile frogpiAliie
tavern, discovered a human fitrUt
prone upon the snow, evidently lifeless and
stiff, frozen to death. A superstitious
glance at the dress, for the face was in the
snow, satisfied the observer that it wan the
last ell'ort of poor Sam Robinson. He
cordingly proceeded to the tavern, and an
nounced the sad event; the landlord kit=
inediately directed that the information
should be immediately conveyed to old Mr . .
Robinson, and sent up the diseoverer of
the body to his house, upon his own Muse,
On arriving there the messenger was show*
and with due preliminary regretting
that he should be the bearer of such sad in 7.
telligenee, announced to old Mr. Robinson
that his son Samuel was lc/ zen In death, ,
"Frezen to death," ejaculated the aston
ished parent, "why it can't be possible,
there must be some mistake.",
- - - - -
Incredible as it seemed, however,o the
messenger, thinking that the old, gentle-•
mates disbelief referred to-the iinixissibili-•
ty of freezing Sinn; with the volcanic order
of 'tile Monongahela within, pressed the:
fact !tonic as a possible event, and declared.
that such was the ease.
44 tell you there's sumo mistake,"
the old gentleman, "Satti came home list_
night drunker than usual ; so drunk ihaiTia
hasn't got sober yet; I've been scolding ,
him for it, and he's now trying to get .se
ber enough for breakfast, alongside Oftict,,
"Well, Mr. Robinson, he's froze to dpatit ;
down by the tavern along the road," ,foii4
the messenger, satisfied that the'oldlietd . .:
man had gone crazy.
"He is, hey—here Sam."
"11-m-m It was st prOlMiged . tton
something between the growl of beaiil:4
anything else; it came out old* 4004
and was evidently intended as . a. reepooso,
to the call.
"Here, come here,'Sam."
There was a movement and a slow drawl
of steps, and to tbd utter astonishment of
the messenger, Sam Robinson appeared ,
the door, rubbing his eyes, and %tuning .!
an inarticulate growl. •
"Hero, Sam, said his father, A•thuy oar
that you are froze io death." • •
..IVhereabouto,"wus the lodiyoutlyoW
•.Down by the tavern, two utile.• Wow :;,;
I'll go down and see ohm*,
he alowly muttered, with undistuibed
ity,, and in due time travelled off, ituththat
night cams home drunker than ever. Sam
way be dead by this lime, but no body W►d,
make us believe he was ever Owen. 100 ,
deadt; and to any who will say suelkathilts
of Sam Robinson, We ask In his own "OP
phone growl—" Whereabouts t" '"
~ :.,......, ~r.?"
iia,Liegten Union iliac official rri
,cited at the Witte of Induct 411r!tarep : l . -*
aulicab...c arttletnagt 4 &MONO* bill*llo4l AlliK;:ii,
out and Winrsebutrt. Ladisai, uluties4 , 4 104 10 14 00 '
count uf .. treaty botrattat 4itaNa 190.11,fripub fa
.1,..11,i.• , .