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3013 PRINTING.—Our Job Printing Office le the
argent and most complete establishment in the
Ooun y. Four good Presses, and a general variety of
material_sulted for_ plain and Fancy work of every
Mind, enables us to do Job Printing at the shortest
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in want pf Bills, Blanks, or anything In the Jobbing
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goal &formation.
U. S. GOVERNMENT
President—AM/MAU LINCOLN,
Vire Prosldent-11ANNIOAL HAMLIN,
/14cretary of State—Whs. U. SSWARD,
Bihersitnry of Interior—.l9o. I'. UfieNß,
tiocrestary of Treasury—Wm. I'. FEASENDEN,
Becretery Of War—VowlN M. Sierron,
Post Master Cienered—MONTOOMRST BLAIR,
Attorney I.4OnoraI—EDWARI, BATES,
Units( Justice of the United 9 ates—Roasa B TANGY
STATE GOVERNMENT
UOYernOr—ANDREW G. eI.RTIN,
BOCrO ary of btato---Ew SLIFER,
Surveyor Goneral—./ AMEN .. BARR,
Auditor General—lasso SLENFLEIL
Attorney General—Wm. M. MEREDITH.
Adjutant General—A 1,. numett.,
mate Treasurer—HENßY D. Moons,
ChinfJu:tie of the Supremo Court—Gro. W.Preon
COUNTY OFFICERS
President Judge-110n. James 11. Graham.
Associate Judgoa—floe. Michael Oocklin, Ilcn
Hugh Stuart.
District Attorney—J. W. D. 111Dolma.
prothonotary—Samuel Shireman.
Clerk and Recorder—lipbraim Cornman,
Register-- - -Geo W. North.
High Sharlff—J, Thompson Eippey.
County - Treasurer—Henry 8. hitter.
Coroner—David Smith
County Commissioners—Michael Kest, John N
Coy, Mitchell McClellan,
Superintendent of Poor Ilouse—Henry Snyder.
Physician to Jail—Dr. W. W. Dale.
Physician to Poor House—Dr. W. W. Dale.
BOROUGH OFFICERS
Qhlef Burgess— Andrew B. Zioglor.
Assistant Burgos—Robert Allison.
Town Council—East Ward—J, D. Rhinebeart,
Joshua P. Bixier, .1. W. D. 'ollielen, Georg° Wetzel
West {Yard—Goo. L Murray, 'I hos . Paxton, A. Cath•
cart, Jno. B. Parker, Jno. D. Borgas. President, of
Council, A. Cathcart, Clork, Jos. W. Ogilby,
Ill& Constable Samuel Sipo. Ward Constable,
Andrew Martin.
Aissssor-7301in flutshall. Assistant Assessors, 3no
Stl ell, 000. S. Boston,.
Auditor—Robort D. Cameron
Tax Collector—Alfred Ithinebeart. Ward Collet,
tors—East Ward, Chas. A. Smith. West Ward, Tilee
Cornman, Street Commissioner, Worley B. Matthews
Justices of•the Peace—A. L. Sponsier, David Smith
Abrm. Debar, Michael Holcomb.
Lamp Lighturs—Chas. B. ;Bock, Janos Springlar
CHURCHES.
First. Presbyterian Church, Northwest angle of Con
tre Square. Rev. Conway P. Wing Pastor.—Serv,cea
every Sunday Morning et 11 o'clock, M., and 7
o'clock P. M.
Second Proebyterlan Church, corner of South Ilan
over and Pomfret farce, Ito, John C Illjus, Pastor.
Services commence at II o'clock, A. 111., and 7 o'clock
P. M.
St. John's Church, (Prot. Episcopal) northeast angle
of Centro Square. Rev. J. C Clare, Rector. Services
at 11 o'clock A. M., and 6 o'clock, P. M.
English Lutheran Church, Bedford, between Main
and Louthor streets. Rev. Ja•ol, Fry, Pastor. Ser
vices at U o'clock A. M., and 6!, , o'clock I'. M.
German Reformed Church. Loather, between Dan
over and Pitt streets. Rev. Samuel l'astor.
Services at 11 o'clock A. M., and B o'clock P. 31.
Methodist E. Church (first charge) corner of Main
and Pitt Streets. Rev. Thomas 11. Sherlock, Pastor.
tlervlces at II o'clock A. M., and 7 o'clock P. M.
Methodist E. Church (second charge,) Rev. 8. L.
Downing, Pastor. fervicos In Emory 31. E. Church al 11
o'clock A. 31., and :111:,' P. 31.
Church of ilod. South West corner of Weat etroet
and Chapel Alloy. Her. 11. F. Heck, Pastor..
St. Patrick's Catholic Church, Pomfret near Eastst.
Re♦ Pastor. Flervices every other Sob
bath. at 10 o'clock. l'esmrs at 3P. 31.
German Lutheran Church. corner of Pomfret and
Bedford streets. Eel, C. Pi It., Pastor. Pori Ices at
11 o'clock P. 31.
sks_When changes In the aboyo Aro necessary the
proper persons are requested to notify us.
DICKINSON COLLEGE
Rev. Herman M. Johnson, D. D., Presid.;ni and Pro.
lessor of Nforal Scleucv,
William C. Wilson, A. M., Professor' of Natural
Science and Curator o' the Museum.
Rev. William L. 'Seawall, A. M., Professor of the
Greek and German Languages.
Samuel D. Millman, A. M., Profs sor of Mathemat
ics.
John K. Stsym in, A. M., Professor of the Latin and
French Languages,
lion James it. Urn ham, Li. Il , Professor of Law.
Iter. lionry C. Chesteu, A. 0 Principal of the
Grammar rchuol.
John Hood, Assistant In the Grammar School.
BOARD OF SCHOOL DIRECTORS
James dautilton, President, It. Saxton, I' Quigley,
E. Coruurtn, C. I'. II unlerich, It C. Woodward, Jason
W. Eby, Treasurer, John Sphar, Messenger. Mort on
the tat Monday of each Month at ti o'clock A. M., at
Education
CORPORATIONS
CTILLISLIS DEPOSIT BANR.—PrOPIllent, R. M. Slender.
son, W. M. Beetem Cash../. P. Bugler and C. 13. Pfahler
Tellers, W. M. Ptahler. Clerk, Jun. Underwood Mos
stinger. Directors, It. 51. liendursen, President, It C.
Woodward, Stiles Woodburn, NlotioB Bricker, John
Zug, W. W. Dale, John D. Clorgas, Joseph J. Logan,
Juo. Stuart, jr.
FIRST NATIONAL BANlL—Prosldont. Samuel Irepb urn
Cashier, Jos. 0. Hoffer, Teller, Abner 0. Brindle, Mes
senger, Jesse Brown. Wm. Kor, John Dunlap, iticti'd
Woods, John C. Dunlap, ,saac Brenneman, John S.
Sterrett, Semi. Hepburn, Directors.
CLIIIII6DLAXD VALLEY RAILROAD COMPANY.—PreltidOllt,
Frederick Watts: Secretor, and Treasurer, Edward
M. Biddle: Superintendent, 0. N. Lull. Passenger
trains three times a day. Carlisle Accommo ation,
Eastward, leaves Carlisle 5 55 A. 31., arriving at Car
lisle 5.20 P. 51. Through trains East ward, 10.10 A, M.
and 2.42, P. M. Westward at 9.27, A. 51., and 2.55 I'.
M.
CARLISLE GAS AND WATER COMPANY.—Prosident, Lem
nal Todd; Treasurer, A. L. Spoil, ler ; Superintendent
George Wine: Directors, F. Watts, Wm. M. Becton:,
R. M. Diddle, Henry Saxton. It. C. Woodward, John
B. Dratton, F. Uardnor, and John Campbell.
SOCIETIES
Cumberland Star Lodgo No, 197, A. Y. M. moot!! at
Marlon Hall on the 2nd and 4th Tuesdays of every
month.
St. John's Lodgo No. 260 A. Y. M. Moots 3d Thurs
day or each month, at Marion Call.
Carlisle Lodge No. 91 1. 0. ot 0. Y. Moots Monday
millng, at 'trout's building.
FIRE COMPANIES
The Union Fire Company was organized in 1780:
Mouse in Lout Pet. between PM and Hanover.
The Cumberland Biro Company woo instituted Feb.
18, 1800. nolltiO in Badford, between Main and Pow.
fret.
The Good Will Fire Company was instituted In
Marsh, 1865. House in Pomfret, near Hanover.
The Empire Hook and Ladder Company was institu
ted in 1855. House In Pitt, near Main.
RATES O POSTAGE.
Postage on all letters of ono half ounce weight or
under,
3 cents pro paid.
Postage on the IlklitALD within the County, froo.
Within the State 13 cents per annum. To any part
of the United States, 20 cents Postage on all (ran.
.sloat papers, 2 cents per ounce. Advertised letters to
me charged with cost of advertising.
C HERMAN, Attorney at Law,
Al • Varlisle, Pa. Next door to the Harold o[llco.
July 1, 1804-Iy.
TA:IVIES A. DUNBAR, Attorney at
Z
Law, Carlisle, Pa. Office on the south side of the
uurt House, adjoining the "American Printing Office."
July 1, lffiit—.ly.
M. _W E ARLE Y, Attorney at Law,
J • Office on sonth Hanover street, adjoltdn . tho
°Mee of Judge Orabam. All professional buslne'its en
trusted to him Will be promptly attonded to.
July I, IBM
SAMUEL HEPBURN, Jr., Attorney
A Law. Mee with Ilea. Samuel Hepburn, Main
tit. Carlisle Pa,
July 1,1864.
RUFUS E. SHAPLEY, Attorney at
Law, Carlisle Pa. Attends to' securing and col ,
]acting 80.'diers' Pay, Bounties. and Pensions. Office
on South Hanover Street, opposite Boatel! store.
July 1,1864.
Xulld i
AW CARD.-CHARLES E. MA
OLAVGLUAN, Attorney at Law, Moo In Juliolra
ing, just opposite the Market Mouse.
July 1,11164-4 y. - .
CP. tILIMERICII, Attorney at Law
. 011ioe'obblOrtb Hanover strait, a tow doors
north of Oill's Hotel: All buelnees entrusted to him
will be proinptly attended to. i '
July 1, MU,
•
OSEPH Attoiney at
Law and Surveyor: Mechantosburg,PA. Wilco ou
Itond Street. two doOra north of the llama. •
'tartness promptly attended to.' , • ,
Jdly 1, 180.
Dr. 1. O. LOOMIS
Pomfret Street few doom ""illetem . •
below Boutblllano , vor, et
•
July I; 1864. -
VOL. 64.
RHEEM & WEAKLEY, Editors & Proprietors
ZputlinlL
THE HEART'S LONGINGS
A SLENDER Shaft of sunsot gold
Came glittering slantwiso through my room;
The hearth was naked, blank, and cold,
The walls seemed tapestried with gloom.
The clock upon the mantle's shelf
Ticked ever wearily and slow;
The heart within my weary self
Responded feebly, fal nt, and low
And flitting through my idle brain
Went visions of the vanished years—
Old memories of joy and pain,
Ann childhoood with its smiles and tears;
The topes whieh came with boyhood's time;
Tho dreams of youth so fair and bright ?
And lusty manhood's rigorous prime—
Tho athlete fitted far the fight.
And musing.on the Past, I said:
"Oh heart, what makes thee beat co low !
Aro all thy hopes, long cherished, dead?
What useful longings fill thee now 1"
And from within a voice replied:
"Oh give me back the smiles and team
Of childhood, and from far and wide
The scattered in pea of boyhood's years I
•'Oh give me bark the dreams of youth,
The friends who gathered round use then,
The early freshness and the truth
Which doubted not my fellow-men I
"Where are the castles that I reared,
And Nan re the fame I thought to find?
My boy-wrorth's once green leaven are seared
By Disappointment's frosty wind.
"Whore are.tho ships I sent to sea,
The golden spires I raised so high ?
My ships, they never come back to 'no ;
The spires, they meliod lu the sky.
"Whore is the wife I would poem; ;
The children climbing to her knees
To share their mother's fond caress/
♦h, more than all I long for those:"
06 arose, and heart ! your chambers all
Aro vacant, lone, aid dryer, I know;
Yet on each blank and naked wall
Shall ahlue a sudden sunset glow.
For life is never always dark :
No one by fate is so accurst
But somewhere lurks a hidden park
That into n flame will sometime burst
aiIIUXEWIII,UIIL
From 13Iack w owl's Edinburg Magazine.
IVITCH-11,A 'AIPTQN HALL
Five Scones in the Life of its Last Lady
=I
Nothing can be more lonely than the
situation of the Hall, and why a house
of such size and substance had been built
in . such utter and absolute isolation it is
hard to imagine. The village of Witch
hampton, which took its name from the
mansion, is at least live miles from it.—
This village consists of a few grey houses
clustering near a minute grey church
built on a pastoral promontory of the
river Waly—so near the water's edge,
that the church and the taller of the
quaint tombstones, with a background of
wooded hills, are mirrored in the stream
at "flood."
Most of the inhabitants of those hoary
little dwellings are fishermen—the fish
of the river Waly has a certain celebri
ty, and finds a ready sale at large towns
both "up" and "down stream."
Behind Witch-hampton village there
is a narrow opening in the hills, a natural
pass. Up this winds a rough and nar
row lane, gradually ascending, though
with many dips and dells, for about two
miles, offering no opening to the right or
left. In this lane the owls cry finely,
calling to one another from tree-top to
tree-top on either side—mocking at and
hooting the lonely belated traveller. At
the end of those two Miles the lane takes
a new aspect; it runs along level ground,
is straightly fringed with somewhat mea
gre and miserable firs, and has on either
hand waste and sterile-looking uplands,
that, having at some time been under
cultivation, have lost all the grace of
wildness.
The lane ends at a gate, from which
start two tracks; one, holding on over
weld and through wood, leads to the vil
lage of Chine-dandon, which lies behind
the Hall at a distance of some miles =
that is the right-hand track. The one
to the left crosses an ugly bit of enclosed
ground (the nature of the stones scatter
ed over which seems to suggest that, at
some time, some sort of habitation, a lodge
perhaps, has stood there), to where lies an
iron gate between two broken-down stone
pillars. Stepping over this obstacle, I
found'that a grass-grown road, the pres
ence of which was chiefly indicated by
deep ruts, wound down and around a
shoulder of the hill, and descended into
a valley—or rather a green basin, which
seemed as if it might at some time have
been the bed of a lake—shut in on all
sides by wood-fringed heights rising ab
ruptly against the sky. Through this
valley brawled a stream, densely over
hung by alder, hazel, and bramble, so
clothed therewith " old man's beard"
(the downy Bead tufts of the clematis)
that its winding course resembled a stray
tress of some hoary giantess' hair streak
ing the November afternoon gloom of the
valley. '
For some time the track I followed
icept beside this stream, but by-and-by,
at what had seemed from a distance the
end of the Valley, it plunged into a wood,
leaving:tl e stream to the left, and grad
ually ascendini: , The Wood ended at a
gate of thesapie pattern as the ono I had
left a mile or two .behind, but this still
hung in its place by one rusty hinge.
found myself mounting towards the head
of a narrow defile which, was much choked
up by an overgrown tangle of evergreen
shrubs, chiefly cypress, Irish and Eng
lish yew, and the darkqr-leaved kinds Or
laurel. 'another gate, and then I step-
- ,
l . ,
,
otiiiise .. • . , ...i. , ,
b 4 40../
A i ,
is . r . , Oti si() I" 4 .53': r
0
ped into the blackness of an avenue of
pines, walking now along a road that
might once have been a smooth and well
kept carriage-drive. The air here felt
freer and drier; on one side„ I could see
between the branches of the pines the
pale sky, with a little faint watery flush
of sunset in it; on the other, I was still
aware of the near presence of a wooded
wall of hill. A turn at last in the long
avenue, again a gate. I leant over it
and faced the Hall.
Its windows, facing south-west, were
a-gleam with such light as lingered in
the November sky now the sun had set,
and not only the windows seemed to re
flect that wan and sickly light, but all
the front of the house shone out from
the darkness behind with a curious lu
minousness that suggested something
more than reflected light. Ido not know
what stone the house was built of, but it
is not that of the district, which, en
couraging the growth of moss and lichen,
comparatively soon loses all look of new
ness, and becomes hoary and venerable.
The great pale-hued blocks of which
the Hall is built show little sign of wea
ther, and are as free from vegetable
growth as if just quarried. I have ex
amined the building in the full light of
morning, and could find about+ no in
dications of decay.
When it gleamed upon me that eerie
evening, ghastly and spectral, r felt I
could more easily imagine that, at some
appointed time, it will wholly vanish
away, its place suddenly know it no more,
than that it will crumble bit by bit, year
after year, and at last cumber the ground
with a heap of ruin. I say "gleamed
upon ine;" and having written the words
would recall them, remembering how
strangely that was just what it did n
seem to do; and how, as I leant and gazed,
a fantastic consciousness of its disregard
oppressed Inc. No, it did not gleam on
me, but supremely ignoring my atom
presence, gleamed back with unwinking
eyes the gleams it had attractetH*ronrth'e
fluting sky.
I left the gate, mounted the steps to
the porch,'tried the massive oaken door,
found it fastened, sat down on the oaken
bench outside it, and remembered.
From this porch the view was wide
over darkening wood and valley. No
s i g h, no sound of any living thing with
out, no cry of bird, no bark of dog. As
it grew late—l lingered there after night
had fallen—l heard noises from within
—the skurrying, scamper of thousands of
feet and strangely human and inhuman
cries. But the only sounds from with
out were the sound of the water making
a fall somewhere below in the black sha
dow, hurrying from its hill-source to
wards the river, and the sighing of fitful
soughs of wind that now and again found
their way up the valley.
1 mat there and remembered so vivid
ly, that by-and-by, as the pale sky dark
ened above that blackening scene, I heard
and saw the things that had been.
It was almost dark outside, but a great
fire burning in the open hearth of the
entrance-hall blazed out upon the dark
ness, the door standing wide.
On the top step of the portico stood a
young girl, very light, slight, and lithe
of figure, in habit and plumed hat, a
heavy riding whip in her hand. On the
lowest step stood a man, his horse's bri
dle hanging over his arm. The ruddy
firelight glared upon his face—one of ti
gerish beauty—and shone on the glossy
coat and fiery eye of his horse.
" You've won the race," he cried, "but
you've lamed your mare; she'll have to
be shot tolnorrow. You've perilled your
life, which I've no wish you should lose
just yet, and I don't see what you have
gained, fair girl! Your dudd en freak
must be explained, Lady Ana. Many
days I have watched for you; out of re.:
spect for your fair fame I did not again
come near the house. To-day when I
catch sight of you on the hill, you dash
off in that mad style! But to-day Ido
not mean to stand here. If you won't
give me a chance of being heard without,
I'll make one within 1 I'll take my horse
round to the yard, and be with you short
ly. The coast is clear. Sir Lionel and
your sister arc not come; ' your plan is
busy with yoUr horse; your woman is a
mile off—l passed her on the road; so
the coast is clear, and it is quite time we
came to an understanding."
"Stop," said the girl. The voice was
startling as coming from a young girl, it
vibrated with such intense concentration
of passion. "All you have to say must
be saidinitside this house, which you shall
never enter again; and mustle said now,
as I will never hoar you or speak to you
againnever see you again, if I can help
it. I perilled my life, for which I do„ not
care, and lamed Bess, for which I do oars,
because there is•nothing I Value Compar
ed with the • power of keeping" clear of
you-nothing, 'nothing—ao - muoh I loathe
you! Jes, loathe youl that is the word;
now that I have seen you unniasked, I
loathe you."
Ile paused a moment, then he said—
"Do you know, Lady Ana, that ihis'is
very foolish way of talking? The soon
er you drop it, the better for , you. But
we will not tallt,here: How do you know
who may be, in hearing?" If you are oare-
Sr
CARLISLE.. PA., FRIDAY, JULY 49, 18,64.
less for yourself, I must be the more care
ful for you," he added with a sneer.
"All the world may bear what I have
to say—that I hate you, bow I hate you!
that I loathe you, that I defy you!—
Would to heaven I knew such words as
would fitly speak the bitter black rage
that fills me !"
"Lady Ana, you are beside yourself.
Fortunately it is, to-day, no question of
loving or hating, but of Marrying. You
are completely in my power. I need
your fortune; though it is not large, I
need it. These are the plain facts of my
ease. All I care to know now is, when
you will marry me."
"Never! Wretch, do you think, be
cause you have done rno,'a weak girl, the
worst wrong a man can do a woman—
one human creature another—a man ! a
human creature! a fiend! a devil!—do
you think because you have done me this
wrong, Chit I will marry you? Never!"
"Girl! you must. You are too igno
rant of the world to realize your position
know how completely you are in my
power, name and fame."
"In your power 1" she said, with a lOw
laugh, horrible to hear. "Name and
fame! Too ignorant of the world to re
alize my position ! In your power!—you
think so. By anything I ever held dear
or sacred, I swear—
"You shall not swear. Lady Ana, you
are powerless with all your passion.—
In truth, your Passion and your pride
put you more utterly in my power. You
arc not one to bear shame meekly.. You
have no choice left; you must marry me.
Again I tell you this. Better play with
me no longer, or it is you who• will be on
your knees begging for that reparation
which "
"Fool," she cried. "I have a choice;
for I dare to die, and do not care to live.
Who shall hinder me from dying? You
have overacted your part, fiend. You
have no power over a woman whom you
have made desperate. That 'shame'
which you have given me, which you
think me too simple to understand, has
freed mo from you for ever. Begone!"
she cried; "you have your answer now
Begone!" she stamped, and ground her
teeth, and clenched her hand in fearful
rage. "Begone! and may I never see
your hateful fiend-face again."
"Gentler words, my lady, would stand
you in better stead," be answered, and
sprang astep towards her. "Yuu forget"
—he spoke these words with his face close
to hers—"that by dying you cannot save
your honor from my tongue—by marriage
you can.
Then ho changed his whole manner;
he fell at her leet, holding her skirt firm
ly in his band. He conjured her by the
love he had once thought she bore him
not to cast him off to utter ruin; ~to for
give both the deeds and words of passion
to which her falsehood and scorn had
stung him. Clutching her skirt in his
hand to hold her to hear him, be poured
out a torrent of eloquently passionate, of
penitent, pleading appeal.
She listened ; if her young face chang
ed in expression, it was only that for a
while scorn overmastered hate. She
struggled to free herself; when she fail
ed—when he,,,lpving seized her hand,
Would have touched it with his lips, she
raised her other, the whip in it, high a
bove her bead. He saw the gesture, and
caught the fierce flash of her eyes: rising,
ho sprang back, but just too late—the
sharp lash cut across his brow with sting
ing effect.
He uttered a curse. Blinded with rage
and pain, be rushed towards her; another
moment, and he would have dashed her
down upon the stone ; but a startled
movement of his impatient horse jerked
him backwards, and brought him to the
ground.
"Wait !" ho cried. as he rose and
mounted, digging a cruel spur into the
animal's side ; "my time for revenge will
come. When you have learned to value
honor and love life, remember me I"
For a time she stood whore he had left
her. She heard him dash off down the
avenue at a furious gallop. There darkly , '
crossed her mind an image of how he would
goad on his fiery horse through the dark
ness, till, both horse and rider mad and
blind, there would come a crash. She
shuddered, drew back, closed the door,
and pushed to the heavy bolts.
"I wish I bad not struck him ! I can
not hate Lim so—not enough—since
struck him 1" Again she shuddered..
Slowly she went up the broad dark
stair, swiftly along the eohoing gallery
to her own chamber. • "When you have
learned to value honor and love life, re
member me," she repeated.
In her own room—no cosy nest or
maidenly bower, but a vast and gloomy
apartment, floors, walls, and ceiling, all
of bare black oak, fantastically reflecting
the flashing of a groat wood•fire, and the,
white bed shining out like a swan on a
dark lake—her first act was to tear off
her riding-dress and trample it under her
feet. ,
An old woman, whom she had always
called "nurse," and whose daughter (dead
now) had been all the mothel< she had
ever known in her• mysteriously lonely
and neglected childhood, caue.in' to help
her change her dregs. Besides thime two
there was at,that hour no one in the house,
and it was Often so. T4e an had enough
to do always with outdoor work, some of
which often took him a mile or more a
way; the old woman, who was cook and
haute-keeper, was often absent for half a
day—once a week for a whole day, riding
to market andtk on a stout pony.
"No such ha e, child. Why you're
all of a shake !" the old nurse exclaim
ed, wonderingly, by-and-by. "Your sis
ter and Sir Lionel can't be here yet awhile,
sr, there's no such haste. My pretty,
what is it ?" she said, coaxingly. "You
quake like a quaking leaf! You've been
riding too far and too fast.', Then an
grily, "Lady Ann, has he been meeting
you again—the man on the black horse
Sir Lionel told me to warn you against ?"
Then coaxingly again, "Can't you speak
to your own old nurse, childie ? Won't
you toll her what's made you all of a
tremble ?"' -
"Ifate, nurse I—such hate as I never
thought to feel ! such hate as made me
long to pour all my life out in a curse !"
Turning sharply upon the old woman
as she spoke, the red fire-light flashed
upon her face, and heightened the fierce
neas of its expression.
J.ler nurse drew back from her. "God
forgive you, Lady Ana I" she cried ; then
added, "God have mercy upon us 1"
She opened her mouth, as if to ask a
qu'estion, but the words died on her lips.
The girl, having, spoken, had turned to
her glass again. She stood tiler.), tremb
ling perceptibly with a tremor she could
not control, but braiding her bright hair
with deft fingers, her face shadowed from
the wax-lights burning on the table by
the loose luxuriantlocks. Standing thus,
half-dressed, her snowy linen drooping off
her pearly shoulders, her, slender, milk
white arms all bare, she looked so fair, so
slight, so young, so maidenly, it was no
wonder the old nurse thought—"lt isn't
of such as her the devil gets possession ;"
and tried to believe that she had not beard
aright ; that the wicked words of hate
sounding in her ears had not been spoken
by those childlike lips.
She took up the mud-stained skirt from
the shining fluor, and was going to hang
it near the fire to dry, when again the girl
turned round so that the firelight flashed
upon her face, and again spoke in the
harsh and unfamiliar-sounding voice :
isiave that thing thrown away—on the
dung-heap, or into the bonfire—anywhere.
Itt , ,Hever come clean and sweet again.
I st..m't want it. Poor Bess will be shot.
to morrow : I won't buy another horse."
The nurse dropped the heavy cloth—
the girl, crossing the room, opened the
door and pushed it outside with her foot.
A❑other day nurse would have question.
ed garrulously about "poor Bess ;" to-day
she stood aghast, agape, and dared not.
She washed her hands, as her mistress
bade her, then she drew from the black
wardrobe of carved oak a dress of pearly
sheen, w. jell had been Lady Ana's brides
maid's dress at her sister's wedding. She
shook it, and stroked it, and held itready
to put over those round white shoulders.
Those two did not look each other in
the face again that evening. The old
nurse noted the fierce dry light in the
girl's eyes, the sud len reddenings and
blanching of her faco, the quick rise and
fall of the swan soft fair bosom, but noted
these things by stealth, looking askance.
When all was done, Lady Ana for the
first time gazed into the glass; till now
she had only stood before it.
"Do I look as usual,nurse? Is all right
with me?"
"Yes, my pet. They will say you are
fairer than ever, my queen."
Then Lady Ana went down the stars,
the nurse lighting her from above till she
passed into the light of the hall. She
crossed it and entered the great drawing
room ; here the other servant, returned
from her search after cream, fresh eggs,
and butter, had been piling logs on the
hearth, and was now setting out a small
table full in the blaze, and snugly screen
ed from the draught, with damask, mas
sive silver, and old china.
Lady Ana, no tragic Amazon, but a
singularly lovely and fair young girl, with
a riots gleaming dress of stately rustling,
pearly-grey brocade, and with cunningly
braided masses of brightest hair, began to
assist her, talking and laughing merrily.
Meanwhile old nurse, her darling out of
eight, slowly returned to thO' room, set
down her lights and fell to wringing her
hands, with many a sobbing pitiful cry
of "God have mercy upon us ! Good God
have mercy upon usl"
Lady Ana, in the room bolo*, as she
turned from the light, going towards the
groat window, presently asked, "Which
way did you come home from the farm,
Nancy ?"
"Oh, round behind, by the good road,
my .pretty. It's longer, above a bit. I
know I'm a foolish old thing for my pains,
but I can't abide the avenue of a night,
it is so dark, with them coal-black trees
meeting overhead and shutting out the
stars, when there be any."'
"Are there any to-night? Is the night
dark, Nancy ?"
"Pitch-dark ; but with carriage-lamps,
and the roads being good, Sir Lionel
get hero safe enough. Don't fret„ my
'
- - Nancy having finished' he s t arrange
meats left the room.
. , .
Lady. Aun-r-the simple, people .about
never pieationed her right to that title,
vT011:1111
and she, in her ignorance, had always no
eepted it without any wonder—stood in
the window, looking out into the black
night. Since that dear sister, whom she
looked for now, had left her, the wild,
high-spirited girl had changed to a miser
able woman, with death, despair, and hate
tugging at her strained heart-strings ; but
she must hide all change, and she had
found that she could use merry words and
light laughter still, and that to others
they did not sound so strange and hollow
as to her. A few moments, and the noise
of wheels brought temporary forgetfulness;
she ran into the ball, and on that very
step where she hadstood and known such
rage of hate two hours, perhaps, ago, she
elapsed in her arms, with passionate love,
a girl still younger than herself—a mere
child to look at—who had flown up to
wards her with a bird-like swiftness, and
who nestled in her 'breast with soft inar
ticulate cooings.
This child was followed by her hue
band, a man some ten years older than
herself, fair and stately, with a clear cut
face, the most noticeable features of which
were the open brow and fearless trust-in
spiring eye. When those clasping arms
were at last disentwined, and Lady Ana
was leading her sister into the house, lie
asked, "has my sister Ana no welcome,
then, for me ?"
Lady Ana stretched out a hand to him,
but she kept her faco averted, her eyes
upon her sister, as she answered, "You
know you are welcome always, Lionel."
Before they separated fur the night,
Lady Ana and Sir Lionel were for a short
time alone. The little wife had gone to
gossip with old nurse ; her 'sister would
have followed her, but that, on leaving
the room, Emma bad said, "Stay with
Lionel, please, dear Ana."
The door was no sooner closed behind
his wife than Sir Lionel, speaking rapidly
and low, began—
"Dear Ana, I have said nothing to my
little wife, your sister, but I have most
grave cause for brotherly uneasiness. Be
fore we left I spoke to your nurse, asking
her to warn You against a—a fellow
whose character— In short, my dear
girl, you know to whom I refer. Since
that time I have heatfl enough of the man
to whom I allude to confirm my worst
opinion of him—try worst suspicions re
garding him. Believe me, he is utterly
unprincipled and unscrupulons ; so hfid..a
fellow, that it makes my flesh creep to
think of the possibility of his getting any
kind of influence over any woman for
whom I care. Fearing that poor old
nurse forgot my charge (for I met the fel
low riding madly from the direction of
this house to day), I venture, at the risk
of offending you—"
Lady Ana had listened with a certain
eagerness so far ; but now she broke in
imperiously, "Silence, Sir Lionel I can
not suffer another word. Let this be e
nough for you, that if with my life I can
prevent it, the wan you speak of shall not
again enter these doors."
"Enter these doors !" ho echoed in
alarm. "I thought—l did not know- "
There he paused. Seeing her face,
which had flushed crimson, turn the dead-
Hest white, he thought she was about to
swoon, and he stretched out his arm to
save her. Sho caught it, seized his hand
and kissed it.
"Dear brother," she said, softly ; "dear
brother." Then, with'a sort of sob, "if
only I had a brother."
"Surely now you have," he answered,
gently and gravely. Ho raised her hand
to his lips, and would have drawn her to
him.
"No," she said, retreating from him;
"you are not*y brother, and you cannot
be."
"I trust this is not so."
"It is. I will tell you why. There is
safety in truth, and destruction in all kinds
of lying. Some truths, people sa- ; .; should
not be spoken; perhaps this is one, but I
will speak it, for all our safety. Not that
it matters now," she muttered, as the
dark despair at her heart gnawed more
sharply there. "She must not know.
You chose well, Sir Lionel ; you chose
as I wished you to choose. She it the
pearl. 'I knew before she knew is that
she loved you. I could not have, been
happy if she suffered. You chose well.
How could you choose otherwise ? You
saw her always gentle, always loving, al
ways good ; while I—no matter. But
we both loved you. I loved you from the
first, and always. It was to deceive
Emma, to deceive you, if possible to de
ceive myself, that I behaved so wildly.
I succeeded ; I shall be wild no more."
Ho was silent awhile, turning from her
and looping into the fire. When he spoke,
his thee confirmed what his words said.
am grieved beyond expression. The
unsolved mystery , of your moat forlorn and
unprotected position, your loneliness, now
that I have taken your sweet sister from
you, weigh upon Po beyond what I can
say. , In My heart you are second to my
own-sweet wife; and to none other. I
had hoped that you would find a safe and
and happy home under our roof till - the
time came When=+ ., " Theie be broke
off, only , repeating" wimp le' liad begun
with, ' 4 I am grieved beyond expression 4",
!"But yOU must not be., No one is to
grieve - for me I cul) , want to be forgot
ten. am worth no lovei and I want no
TERMS:--$2,00 in Advance, or $2,50 within the year.
pity. I hope she will forget me—in lov
ing you. And you—rwill not have you
think of me—not with love, nor pity."
She left him; ho did not know how to
interpret the passioh of her last words:
He thought very pitifully of this ungov
erned and ungovernable girl—thought of
her with true and manly honor of pity,
untouched by scorn, and not without ad
miration of the wild truth he found in
her. Then his mind turned fur rest, and.
with thankful gratitude, to contemplate
the gentler graces of his own sweet wife.
Late that night, after all in the house
but its mistress slept, Lady Ana roused
her nurse, and made her go with her to
the gate at the end of the Pine Avenue.
What did she hope orfear to find there?
She found nothing. The gate had stood
open, and had offered no obstruction to
that wild rider.
SCENE 11.
(At Sir Lionel's.)
"Nurse, must she die ?" asked a hag
gard-looking fair girl, with a gesture and
accent of despair, as she drew back from a
bed over which she had been loaning, try
ing with most passionate tender words
and caresses to elicit some sign of con
sciousness from ono who lay there—a
young mother, whose sweet, sad face was
taking the marble fixedness of death.
" Her life hangs upon the child's. If
it dies, she'll not rally. She's lain like
that ever since she heard the doctor say
that the baby couldn't live. Come with
me and look at it, my lady, and you'll get
your answer, I'm thinking."
The hired nurse led the way from the
darkened room into one next it, into which
a little more light was allowed to enter.
" It won't last tli9 night through," she
said, stooping to /Famine the few weeks
old baby which waelielil in the arms of a
bright-faced peasant woman. "To think
it won't live, so much hanging on its life!
when there's a power of babies struggling
up to strength who won't know their fa
thers, and whose mothers wouldn't know
them, if they could help it ; poor things !
It's a queer world ; no—it can't last the
night through !"
" It's not so bud as all that, I don't
believe," said the woman who held it at
her bosom. "It may perk up yet."
" Not it, though if it were your own
now, Molly "
" And if it dies my sister will die, you
sly, nurse ?"
"I see no hope but that she will, my
lady—so much she seems to love it; and
she, as I told you, lying as ehe does now
ever since that blundering doctor, bad
luck to him, spoke out in her hearing."
"So much she seems to love it," re
peated Lady Ana, her eyes fixed upon the
fading face.
" As mothers, most all of them, do
miss, my lady," said the peasant woman.
" Give the child to me; and you, go
get your supper," said Lady Ana.
"No matter for my supper; and I'd
rather not have the child moved, poor
lamb'. Ladies like you—no offence meant,
my lady—betimes don't know how best
to hold a baby."
"Give me the child and go," Lady
Ana commanded, with an imperious frown.
"Do as my lady bids you—the baby's
past knowing any difference now," said
the nurse, to whom the woman's eyes ap
pealed.
Very reluctantly the motherly creature
relinquished her charge.
" Listen to me, nurse," said Lady Ana,
below her breath, when the woman was
gone. (She held the dying baby very
tenderly, and tears were coursing down
her white cheeks.) "Answer me quick
ly—there is no time to lose : Has this
baby any marks bywhioh its mother would
know it froth - another ?"
"None, my lady."
"The age—would she tell that a baby
a week—about a week—older could not
be hers?"
" Being so ill, and the room so dark
"You think not; and for the most, one
baby is much like another, while they
are so young—"
"Not to the mother, my lady "
"But my sister being so ill, as you
say, and the room so dark—"
." That's true; she'd not suspect."
•' Whore is Sit Lionel ?"
" A.s I told you, my lady ; just before
you came ho had ridden off to the town
to send a messenger to ride post for a
London doctor,"
" When do ydu expect him ?i'
"He can't be book till nigh upon
dawn, and before the doctor can come all
Will be over.'
"Nurse," said Lady Ana, speaking
very low, "I may trust you - to see a thing
done for her good, and to say nothing."
"For her good—yes, my ; but
my lady, forvsure it is only pod shove—
not you, or I, or another—that knc,vws
what's for her good."
" Shall I see her die, to het husband's
agony and mine, when I can he 4 it ? and
how can you tell that Gqd does not moan
'me to do the thing 1 am thinking of do
ing Piave her? • All I ask of you i -wo
man, is silence,. and send away the wet. :
nurse. You eam say—yes, you can 'say
that it is her milk that does not e suit, ba
by. And if,,afterwards,.baby gets strong
and vrell;wha shall say it was not so?"
" Who indeed ? tit perhaps I' hard-
ly understand my lady. 'He'll never get
Wong and well. He's dying now, as you
hold him, dying in your arms."
Lady Ana gazed upon the infant with
a long wild gaze, then she raised her eyes
to those of the nurse."
"You are mistaken ; by the morning
he . wl,ll be strong and well."
They looked hard into each other's
faces.
"But the old dootor—Lit will be hard
.to—"
NO. 31.
" I shall have him defiled the hoUse--.
Ile has done mischief enough!'
" You may trust me,' the nurse said.
"I will," returned the lady. "so and
dismiss that woman. Take my purse anti
pay her well. I charge myself with all
the rest."
Loft alone with the dying ohild, she
kissed it, and strove to wartn•it; aid tried )
"0 baby, I'd give my life for yours; more
and better'than my life, if I had ought
else to give, for her sake and for his.
" Nurse, he lies quite still now, and
looks easier," she said, when the nurse
returned.
"My lady, ho is dead," was the whis
pered answer, after a brief look. The
nurse took the little corpse from the girl's
QUM
After a few moments Lady Ana passed
into the darkened chamber. Again she
leant over the pale mother.
" Baby looks calm and is in no paid
now," sbe whispered. The face down
upon which she gazed changed and
brightened, faintly but 'perceptibly,
though the eyes did not unclose, nor the
lips move. Lady Ana rained a shower of
lightest and yet most paSsionate kisses Up.
on lids, lips, and brow, and then loft those
reams.
She went down to the servants' hall,
where all the people of the house Were
gathered together in pale consternation,
for the rumor had got about that mother
and child were dying.
" The carriage immediately 'and the
fastest horses," commanded Lady Ana . "I
am going to fetch another nurse, hoping
to save your young master. As you value
your lady's life, let no one go near her
rooms while lam away. Sleep may save
her."
" All the house shall be still as death s
my lady," many voices answered to ,
getbe r.
Lady Ana was soon on her way. Thd
horses were driven at cruel speed along
the wild country roads. Just before en
tering Witch-hiunpton village she stopped,
telling the coachman to drive on to the inn,
and await her return with the nurses
The September night was not very dark,
but it had an eerie, evil-suggesting troub
le in it. The horriblb gurgling cry of'
the screech-owl more than once terrified,
the silence._ But Lady Ana hurried on
wildly, till the Hall, ghastly in the wan
light of a waning moon, was before her.
She mounted the steps of the portico
and passed there, shuddering and breath
less. A groat fear and a heart-sinking
dread came over her, but it was now too
late to reconsider. She was able to open
the door with a key she carried; it was
not often that the heavy bolts were drawn.
It closed behind her, and she stood in
the Hall : it felt chill and damp, and a
streak of moonlight entering at a narrow
window fell across the open hearth, choked
up with pale wood ashes, and made it
look the more desolate. Sho listened;
there were the sounds she knew of
old—
a scudding and skurrying retreat, acoom<
panied by short, sharp, shrill cries: no
sound when these had died away. She
groped her way up the first broad stair,
the timbers of which would groan and
creak under her stealthy tread as they
had never done under her free and care
legs feet; along the gallery—past the
door of her own maiden chamber, than
she ascended another and narrower stair
.—passed along a narrower gallery, till
she came to a door from under which
light gleamed. This she opened, and en
tered an enormous room, more bare, more
desolate and gloomy than had been her
own apartment; • but part of it was
screened off from the rest, and in this
part the nprsd—her own old nurse—sat
dozing before the fire, a baby lying across
her knees. At a small table close by sat
a simple-looking, pretty young girl, eat
ing her supper of porridge and milk. On
seeing Lady Ana, she rose, curtsied, and
shook the nurse by the shoulder.
" Dress yourself warmly, and be ready
to come with me," the lady commanded.
On that' the girl disappeared behind the
screen, taking her basin of porridge and
jug of milk with her.
Nurse was wide awake note, and Lady
Ana wont close up to her. It was noticel
able that the poor old woman clutched
the child with a cart of affright when its
mother bent down to !trek at it.
" Muffle it up, so that it can take no
harm, nurse; but Make it look like the
girl's boodle of olothes—get ready to
came w ith me4&say you aro the, girl's
mother, if anybody asks you."
The old woman rose—" For meroy's
sake----"
" Nurse, there is nothing to be afraid
of—didn't I say, so that it could take
no harm ? Don't you see that I atu,be
ginning to Caie for it ?" ' Then she:
whispered in the nurse's ear, "Sir Lioners
child is dead. Emma dees not, know it ;
when she does, they say it will 'kill her,
so Much she lovas it—so much ;3 Ito loves
it. Quick, nurse oh, nurse; be quick
—Ahem is not a moment.to lose—on the
way I will tell you all." ,
" hold the babe then, Lady Ana while
Lady Ana drew baok and folded
her arms. ,
"Put it down—i take , no lzarm
I will not toitohit.l? , •
(At As:rer PQneri.) •
The new none whom Lady. Ana bat •
,treveled throttob tho .night Ada)
(At the Hull.)
(See Fourth Page)