Star and banner. (Gettysburg, Pa.) 1847-1864, August 13, 1847, Image 1
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, Alosurustmfreqnsated way— 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 -vetted; la a short time he recovered his breath, and said— •,."Jamie,,tell Annie to come and carry me la:: I.crionot walk. My breast is Rely, v,e,ryoore." • 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 lhaVett etotheshand subbed'slon z. itty,"- said the little feihm "You knowljeve you dearly. 'ooe l eas an ie. Jet oihitio:with sat 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 forthiekintl remembrance. 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 cy 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 lovers. '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 his betrothed. 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 4 wondering., and a sh ow of anxiety oc-, easionally passed overt e. fair face of the 4 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 ,:t El 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 from Ellen. 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 at C—. 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 whither. ' While her parents-lived, they, by their watchful care and tinweary!ng efforts, in some measure conttelled this sad pryit . pe 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 crazed brain. 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 me broken-hearted:" 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 alms-house. 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 maid 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 row. 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 tron replied, uShe'lts gone before you, andyour fa ther illso." "And my mother t" saki Lacy, her face lit witli a sickly ray ,of hope. "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 4 4 '"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 death-bed. .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-. Well House. 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. Ir “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 are satisfied." "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 Desmond." , "Anti I say," retorted Jeffrys, "accurs ed be their wife would rejoice in the shed ding of blood; let' them beware, lest by oal man also shall their bl toe illittil." "The wife of him th ii bast framed;' said Cromwell, "but ye erday sought my presence." • ' ' ' ' ' ' '"'And you"-- "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 wdman " " Anil dos t then `n +t think " said Cromwell. 'as , with accustomed fOladY - Phatard the subject for one less diiplessing to him, “A05t.0140-ncoLttaikihat ddi-a*,9 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 wife ,'of' him you named but now, come once more td pleadfor her liusband'irlife,"• "And Barest thou !" said Cromwell. an grily. "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 vi 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 righteous dooontr'. loused wa 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. pan 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 axe. ,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 the m 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 peace." 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 .East:— "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, INEW it' 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. • ..WHEREABOUTS r• • 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,, kitchen fire." "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 emn reply. ••• .• •.Down by the tavern, two utile.• Wow :;,; the road!" 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.?" •INDIAN i'liErilrY,—lNVe, ...Iwo iia,Liegten Union iliac official rri &SI ,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.• , .