BV JOHN G. GIVEN.
MISOIILAHIOUS.
CHAllLt;SKLLISTUN.
A CAPITAL STORF.
"I mnst leave this phce to-night; I can
bear their marked neglect and open taunts
no longer." said Charles Elliston, and he
left the richly furnished parlor, where,
with 'tome fashionable guests sat Mrs.
Merton and her two eldest daughters, and
went forth into the garden. "Yes, must
go ' he continued, "no one cares for me;
and why should they for the penniless be
ing, whose very origin is unknown? Alas,
how hard it is to be thus cast upon the
world friendless, and beloved by none
none none'.'
And he buried his face in his hands,
overcome with the intensity of his feel
ings. None, Charles? said a clear, silvery
Toice behind him, while a hand was gent
ly laid upon his shoulder.
He started, and turning round, said
"Yes, yes, Helen, pardon me. I -spoke
unthinkingly.- You still love me?" he ad
ded inquiringly.
"I do, Charles, and my father "
"Yes, your father, my noble benefactor
Helen He still loves me "
"Then why leave us, Charles?" she
said in a tender tone.
"Because, Helen, you know I have al
ready been the cause of much dissension
in your family Uod forbid that I should
be so any longer. And besides, Helen,
you know what treatment I have received
from your mother and sisters. I hive
borne it long out of respect to your father
and love for you, but I can bear no more.
I will go forth into the world in hopes of
building up a fortune, and say, Helen, if
I should be successful and return, will
you-"
"I will love you still," she said inter
rupting him. Oh, I will always love you
Charles."
Farewell," said he.
And imprinting a kis3 upon her rosy
lips, he tore himself away. In anoth
er hour he had quitted the house where
he had spent so many happy days with
Helen.
Charles Elliston was a depenJant upon
the bounty of .Mr. Merton. lie had found
him one day when about four years old,
wandering about the streets of the city, a
lost child. He kindly took him home,
and used every endeavor to discover his
parents, but all to no purpose. Al last,
finding his inquiries were useless, he raised
and educated him as his own.
Unlike her husband, Mrs. Merton was
of an aristocratic proud spirit, who coul J
not bear one whose birth was so uncer
tain as that of young Elliston. She had
diffused some of her spirit into her eldest
daughters; but Helen the youngest, like
her father, possessed a kind and noble
heart, and looked only with compassion
and love upon the poor, though noble
youth.
He was now about seventeen years of
age, and the insults that were heaped upon
him were fell severely. It is true, when
Mr. Merton was present, none dare show
the last disrespect toward him, but this
only served to make him feel it more acute
ly in his absence.
It was on this very mentioned evening,
that a new insult had been offered to him,
and he determined not to live another day
where he was exposed to them. Nor
would it have caused him one feeling of
regret, had it not been for Mr. Merton
and Helen; but however dear they were
to him, he resolved to leave them. He
left loo, without informing Mr. Merlon,
for he well knew that he would insist up
on his staying, and he would not be the
author of discord in that family where
dwelt the only two on earth he could call
his friends.
I was near the close of a summer's day
thata steamboat touched the wharf of one
of our Southern cities, and from its crow
ded decks poured a stream of weary trav
elers eager once more to set foot upon the
fend. Among the last who stepped on
shore was a tall youth, with a valise in his
hand, who walked slowly from the land
ing and bent his way toward the shipping
warehouses along the wharves. But alas
he was aatranger, and had no recommen
dations. With a dejected mien, and sorrowful
tep, he was abont giving up all hopes,
when he came to a Urge warehouse he
had not before entered. He walked into
ie counting house where sat a gentleman
apparently about fourty years of age. To
the youth's inquiry . whether he was at
tile head of the establishment, he replied
la the affirmative.
"What do you wish my, lad?" he in
quired.
"Do you want a lad to assist in your
tore? I have no recommendations to
oner yon, eir." he continued modestly
'WE OO WHERE DEMOCRATIC PRINCIPLES POINT THE WAY
"1 have just arrived in the steamboat from
the north, and have neither money nor
friends. I cannot even buy a lodging for
the night."
And seeing the merchant look inredu
lously at him, he could contain himself no
longer, but said imploringly
"Oh, sir, do not refuse," and the tears
trickeled down his cheeks.
The merchant touched by his grief, and
convinced by the openness of his manner,
hesitated a moment, and finally took him
to his house. A few days proved the
truth of the youth's story, and he was em
ploy ed at once by his new benefactor.
In the course of time he rose by degrees
until he became head clerk in the estab
lishment of Mr. Thompson. He also, by
his amiabiencss became ihe favorite of the
wealthy family of the employer with
whom he resided. All loved him, and he
loved them in return as father, mother, and
sister. For although diaries, (for it was
Charles Elliston) thought that Emma
Thompson was almost as beautiful as his
own Helen, yet he still remained faithful
to the latter, and could but think of the
former as a sister.
Five years rolled by, and he had now
become proprietor of the large establish
ment which he had entered as an errand
boy, Mr. Thompson having retired from
business.
One evening he was sitting in familiar
conversation with th family, when Mrs.
Thompson, after looking steadfastly at
Charles for some time, remarked how
much Emma aiid he resembled each o:h
ei. "Yes," said her husband, "I have often
observed it they look as much alike as
though they were really brother ana sister.
" Our Charles poor little fellow, could not
have been more like Emma. '
I "Your Charles? 1 never knew you had
! any other child besides Emma," said
j Charle?. "When did he die?'
"Would to Cod he had died!" exclaim
ed M rs. Thompson; then would I hae
known he was in Heaven; but now per-
j haps he is buffeted about by strangers.
j whose hard hearts can seldom feel like
parent3.
And then she gave vent to her feelings
in teirs.
"He was lost then?" asked Charles.
"Yes," said Mr. Thompson, "ibout
seventeen years ago, Mary and myself
traveling north for the benefit of our
health, to visit some friends in New York
city, took with us our little Charles, who
was scarcely four years old. and then our
only child. We arrived there in safety,
and alter staying with our friends some
time, set out on our return home. Anx
ious to prosecute our journey, we imrneui-
ately on our arrival took -the steamboat to
: proceed on. I went to see to the safety
of the baggage, thinking that my Mary and
Charles were in the cabin, but what was
my surprise, when on going into ihe cab
in some time after to find Mary there alone
She thought I had Charles with me, and
j she swooned away when I informed her
j that I had not. Wc searched the boat
j over, but no Charles could be found, and
then it struck us thai he had wandered on
shore before ihe boat left the wharf, and
consequently was left beh.nd. How har
rowing were our thoughts to think that
every minute the distance was increasing
betweer us and our dearly beloved child.
But there was a thought still more distress-
i ing. remaps ne nau uiten overooara,
unseen, and was drowned. However, 1
determined, on arriving in New Orleans
and leaving Mary with her friends and re
! lalions, to return to Philadelphia and spare
j no pains or expense in trying to discover
j his fate; but ihe great menial excitement
i aud bodily fatigue 1 had undergone, threw
m into a lever on the way, and it was
several months before 1 recovered. When
I did and arriv ed in Philadelphia, no trace
could be discovered of our child, and never
.since have we heard anything concerning
him. But God be prised, Charles, he has
given us a son in you."
"But was there no mark by which he
could have been known if he had been
left behind, as you first supposed?" asked
Charles, eagerly.
"Yes, there were scars of a dog's teeth
on his left wrist, and besides he wore a
locket a birth day present from his fath
eraround his neck, with 'Charles,' engra
ven on it," said Mrs. Thompson .with
tear in her eyes.
"Then, father, mother," said Charles
baring his arm and drawing from his bo
som a locket which he threw into Mrs.
Thompson's Hp "behold your long lost
son."
For an instant they stood amazed the
next tliey were locked in each other's
arms. Then turning to Emma he for the
first time pressed to tiis bosom a sister.
How different was his situation now
from what it was the day on which he
firSt set foot in New Orleans. Then be
was poor and friendless, with scarce a
place to reet his head now he was weal
EBENSBURG, THURSDAY,
thy, surrounded by friends, and blessed
with a father's mother's and sister's love.
He could claim now what her noble father
would not have refused, even to the poor
youth, had he asked it Helen's hand;
and even her proud mother would not ob
ject to receiving for her son-in law, the
heir of the richest merchant in New Or.
leans.
Mirth and music resounded throughout.
1 and gladness reind predominant in the
i splendid mansion of Mr. Merton. It was
the birth-night ball of his beautiful and
accomplished daughter Helen, given on
her nineteenth birth-day, and the magnifi
cent saloons were thronged by the youth.
i beauty aud elite of the metropolis. Ait
i paid willing homage to her fascinating
charms. Nor beneath their fervent con
gratulations did there lurk aught of malice
or envy; for ihe sweet disposition and
gentle manners of Helen Merton had won
the good will of all who knew her. And
now as she replied to their warm-hearted
wishes, she looked more beautiful than
ever. She was attired in a plain white
dress, looped with roses, and fitted ex-
! quisitelv to her finely moulded form; her
shining chestnut curls were confined by
a costly diamond head bank, that spark
led on her forehead, rivalling the transpa
rent beauty and clearness of her complex-
j ion.
i At times, when she would mingle in
the giddy whirl of the dance a smile wo'd
play upon her lovely features; but when
over, a melancholy expression would
steal into her laughing eye, teliing some-
! thing was yet wanting to complete her
happiness. She was thinking perhaps,
how he, who many vears ago had won
her ma'ulen love, might, while she was
surrounded by wealth und luxury, he
i dragging out the prime of his life in pov
erty and distress. Yes, she still remem
bered the companion of her childhood.
! Such is woman's constancy and love.
' Ala?, that it should he so often abused.
i The evening was somewhat advanced,
when Mr. Merton approached Helen,
locked arm in arm with a young man,
whose dark countenance, raven hair and
; eyes, and tall straight form indicated a
native of the souih.
i "'nr. Thompson, of New Orleans, my
J dear,' said Mr. Merton.
! And then, after conversing a few mo
ments, he sauntered to the opposite side
. of the saloon.
i 'Who is that handsome young man you
just now introduced to Helen?' asked
Mrs. Merton of her husband.
"Tha; is Mr. Thompson of New Or
leans, the richest merchant in that city,
and his father was before htm. lie arri-
: ved here but the day before yesterday. I
was introduced to him yesterday, and in
vited him here to-night, and if the im
pression is not felt on Ellen's heart,
which has hitherto been so callous, none
; ever will regret the disappearance of "
'; "Your protege, Charles Elliston," said
his wife sarcastical.y.
i Mr. Merton did not answer her, he
( only turned away.
i At first when the stranger was intro
duced to Helen there appeared an air of
embarrassment; but it gradually woie off,
and he entered into conversation with his
! usual vivacity. 'In the course of it she
asked him if he had ever been 'in the city
before.
j He replied that he had been when he
! was about seventeen years of age, and
; that he had become acquainted with sev
eral of his own age, whose acquaintance
he highly prized. Among those he men
tioned was that of Charles Elliston in
' particular.
I As he pronounced the name, he bent
his dark eyes full upon her, and perceived
! that she started, while for an instant, agi
! tation was visibly depicted on her coun-
tenance. Alter a moment's pause, he
! continued.
"liut I have made inquiries since my
arrive), respecting him, and hear that he
has returned the kindness of his benefac
tor. y ui father, with ingratitude, by leav
ing his house and going no one knew
whither."
Oh no, sir, do not believe that; it is
an idle report. He had reasons for leav
ing my father's house," and her voice
trrmb.ed, and a te ir stood in her eye.
Justthen agentleman advanced toclaim
her hand for the cotillon, and the conver
sation uasabrubily terminated. Charles
resigned her silently, but his heart was
fu I.
It is strange how the lapse of a few
years bet wren -youth and manhood will
change the face and dsguise the form;
the slight stripling that a little while ago
clambered on our knee, we can scarcely
recognise in the full, stately form, and
staid demeanor of the man. So it was
with Charles Thompson, and no wonder
that Jlelen and her father could riot see,
in the rich merchant from the south, the
poor lad, who six years before, "had left
them with scarce a dollar in his pocket.
WHEN THEY CEASE TO LEAD, WE CEASE TO
MAY 2, 1850.
It was the morning fallowing the call,
a id Mr. and Mrs. Merton and Helen were
su ng in the pari r, the former two en
gaged in discussing some private affairs,
the latter with her hc;id resting upon her
hand, apparently in deep thought. The
servant entered and hand Jd Mr. Merton a
le'ter. He opened it, and after having
perused it for a few moments, uttered an
exclamation of jay. Both his compan
ions Iokend up. Seemingly overcome by
the excitement of some unusually pleas
ing news, he approached his daughter
and gently patting her upon the cheek,
said
"Come, corrie, Helen dear, cheer up.
diaries, rur own dear Charles, has re
turned; he is in the city, and will be here
in half an hour. Cheer up, my dear."
And he began to pace the floor.
"See here," he continued, as a splendid
equipage drove up to the door, from which
a young man alighted, "here is Mr.
Thompson Uo; how glad I shall b-j to
introduce them to one another "
"1 don't see why you should be." said
his wife, "though pe-haps your Charles,
:is you ell hint, may be as rich as Mr.
Ihompson i ou know lie lett word that:
he was going to seek his foitune."
And she pronounced this Iast word with
a sneer. " ,
"And he hopes he has found it mn-
d;im," exclaimed Charles, who entered house and barn a hundred and fifty feat at
just at that moment; 'thanks to an all- least, your honor. I've picked up fat one3
wise Providence thut directed me to my ! your honor, too heavy to fetch across ma
f.ither's house. It is Charles that stands . ny a time.'
before you."
With a shriek of delight, Helen threw
herself into his outstretched arms, and
wea; t tears of joy on his bosotn; and the
old n an fctooJ motionless but his eyes
were wet. aud his lips quivered, but net
with grief.
When they had become somewhat com
posed, Cha:Ies related to them what had
occurred since he iefi them. The joy
that beamed in the swimming eyes of the
delighted Emma, as she hung fondly on
her lovr s arm. was only equalled by the
tenderness with which he returned her
look of afTectien. How deep was the
bliss of that moment, making amends by
its del'ght, for the Jong years of doubt
and absence. It was not long before
Cliarfes renewed again the Loyish vows
he had pledged to Helen, and tiie blush
ing girl listened, smiling and weeping oy
turns.
Need it le added that in a short time
Helen and Charles were united at the
altar, and that even the aristocratic mother
smiled upon the union of her daughter
with the ct devant Charles Elliston.
Every one useful, but no one essential.
No individual is so insignificant as to
be perfectly useless no combination of
individuals so important as to be absolute
ly necessary to the world's welfare.
ihere are two errors, seemingly of an
opposite kind, which the soil ol human
nature absolutely produces two shoots
from the same root different buddings
forth of the same self-complacency a
tendency to under-rate every movement
which wc neither originated nor can con
trol, and to cherish the most exaggerated
notions of the importance of any great
plan which has been concerted by our
wisdom. Wre forget that we are only to
onrselves the centre of the universe that
if all creation appears to revolve around
us, the semblance results from the point
of vision from which we looked at that
the things wear the same aspect to every
other man and that, were we suddenly
annihilated, the great schemes of Provi
dence would unfold themselves much the
same as they did before. We are like
nervous people in a stage-coach; we seem ! privilege of "making a few remarks on
to fancy that we must keep our eye on ; the occasion." Permission being grant
the horses, or every thing will go wrong jed, he delivered himself in this way:
that we must look neither to the right
nor to the left, more especially when wc j
apprehend the chance of a collision. We
take upon ourselves an imaginary respon-'
sibility, and wholly lose sight of the fact!
ina i our an.ieiy serves oniy 10 Tease our-
. i . ,
selves that the reins are in the hand of
the coachman, and that, with all our care,
we are not driving, but driven.
Suspense. 1 believe that to the j'oung,
suspense is the most intolerable suffering.
Active misery always brings with -it its
own power of endurance. What a com-
moil expression it is to hear, "Well, if I
had known what I had to go through be
forehand, I should never have believed it
possible that I could have done it." Hut
it is a dreadful thing to be left abne with
your imagination, to have to fancy the
worst, and yet not know what that worst
may be; and this, in early youth, has a
degree of acute anguish that after year
cannot know. As we advancs in life, we
find all things here too utterly worthless
to grieve over them as we once could
grieve; we grow cold and careless; the
dust to which we are hastening has en
tered into the heart.
FOLLOW
A Fish Sicry.
Some years ago a case was on trial be
fore the Supreme Court of Maine, in one
of the eastern counties, in which the plain
tiff sought to recover compensation of an
alleged injury to hi3 fishing privilege, cc
casioned by the erection of a mill-dam by
the defendants. The testimony on the
part of the plaintiff was clear and conclu
sive, and it was supposed ihe case would
be submitted to the jury without the pro
duction of any witnesses by ths defendants
but after some consultation their counsel
called an old rough weather-beaten fish
erman who was interrogated as lo the hab
its of the salmon and the effect of the dam.
He stated among other things, that he had
known salmon to go up right over a dam
fifteen feet perpendicular.
'What is that, .Mr. Witness?' said the
judge; 'do I understand you to say that
salmon will go over a dam fifteen feet per
pendicular?' Why, sattin! Your honor don't know
no more about lham are fish than a child.
Why look here, your honor, I live on a
pint of land that makes eout into the river
! so, (drawing a map with his finger on the
witness box.) d ve see. the salmon roinr
I D O
up have to go clear around this here pint.
Wall, your honor, the fish comin up the
river, spiteful like, when they get off agin
my house, leap clear across, right over my
j The court listened in mule astonishment
' but the next moment the peremptory order,
'.Mr. Sheriff put that man out of the house
was heard aoove an irrepressible burst of
laughter.
A U'jck&lcr Outdone
Away down in the smart village of
Cincinnatti, ihere vegetates a certain ho
tel keeper, who for cutenessis 'some,' you
may depend. Having frequently been
imposed upon while supplying his bouu-
tiful larder with articles cf geese by the
wide awake 'buckeye hucksters, he
deemed it high time to try if cheating was
not a game that two could play at. So
one morning, bright and early, he present
ed himself before one of the numerous
farmers' wagons surrounding the market
square, with a
'I s-s-ay friend, g-got any g-g-geess?'
(the poor fellow has got Charles Lamb's
defect of speech.)
'Yes, fine lot '
W-wcll, I've g-got up st my l -h-house
the all f-f.fircdcst set of b-b-boys for
g-geese you ever did see, and I want to
h-ead 'em off a few w-with some tough
ones can't you pick me out some old
h-he fellows?'
'Well, I don't know but I might find
one or two,' and so, turning over his pile
; of poultry, he collected some eight or ten
geese, whose claim to the title of 'old he-
fellows,' needed no corroborative fact, but
might be pronounced clear and unques
tionable. Mine host,' eved the progress of seg-
regation with evident satisfaction.
'Are those all ihe
tough
ones you ve
got?'
Ycs, and I vow I did not know I had
, so many.'
'Well, was the reply,
g-gucss A
'II
ike the o-other lot.'
Powerful lieamoning. At a young
men's debating society, somewhere down
in Indiana, the question for discussi u
was, "Which is the greatest evil, a sci 1-
ding wife or a smoky chimney.
j ihe appointed disputants hud concluded
the debate, a spectator rose fc begged ihe
I "Mr. President, I ve been almost
mad
alistcning to the debate cf these 'eie
youngsters. They dont know nothing nl
all about the subject. What do they
know about the evils of a scoldin
wife?
Wait till tliey have hr.d one for twenty
years, and been hammered, and jau.rr.ed
and slamed all the while, and watt til
they've teen scolded because the i-ahy
cried, because the fire wculJ'rit burn, Le-
cause the oven was t;o hi t. because the
! cow kicked over the milk, because it
! rained, because the sun shined, because
j the hens did'nt lay, because the butter
! wouldn't come, because the old cat had
kittens, because they came loo soon for
dinner, because they was enj msna:! to
late, because they sung, because they tcre
their trowsers, because they invited a
neighbor woman to call rguin, bi-caus
they got sick, or because they did any
thing else, no matter whether they could-
n t he.p it or not. or because they jdidn t
j do somet hing else, no matter whether
they Could or net, before they talk atout
the evili of a 'scoldmg wife; why Mr.
President, I'd rather hear the clatter of
hammers and ttones cn twenty t;n pans
ixi nine brass kettle?, than the din-, din,
VOL. G NO. SO.
din, of the tongue of a sodding wifu.
les sir-ree, I would; to my rnind, Mr.
President, a smoky ch mney is r.o cnoru
to be compared lo a scolding wife, lhao a
liil'e nigger is to a dark night.
Fact to i Remembered in Ffc&'.c-.
There are important differences in the
modes of growth and bearing of the vari
ous cultivated fiuit trees, subjected to
pruning, that every cultivator should study
carefully. Every species is governed by
laws no less regular and observable in
this respect than in their periods of blos
soming and maturation, and these laws
should be taken into strict account in pru
ning and every ether process intended to
modify the growth and productiveness cf
bearing trees. Most cultivators arc loo
apt to overlook these importaut points,
and hence the principles of pruning nre
badly understood. Imcadiata eScc'.s
alone are too frequently looked to too
long, a certain length is cut away without
considering the results that njust fcllutv;
and it is this unskilful end undiscrimina
ting pruning, as well as a total neglect cf
it, that pruduces such vast numbers of
unsightly ai.d unprofitable trees as new
cumber the ground of a large portion of
our orchards and gardens. At present
we can give but a few nints on the ub
ject by way cf calling attention lo thesa
points.
The Apple, Pczr and Quince are all
similar in ihe mode of bearing. The fruit
; buds are usually produced on spurs or
snort stout snoots along the udes ol bran
ches of two or more years growth, and
these shoots or spurs continue to renew
their fruit buds and bear for sevetal years
in succession, if they enjoy the sdvscta
ges of J'ght and air, and are not deprived
of a sufficient supply of nutriment by rap
id growing portions of the tree above
them. Occasionally we see fruit buds
formed on the end cf shoots of one ss&
1 son's growth, but this is rare, except ia
! particular varieties. The quince is usually
i borne on tne ends cf the spurs.
! i he reacft, t'tcr ana iec.cr2nc tear
! their fruit almost exclusively on shoots.
of the previous year; the fruit buds form
ing during the first season's growth.
The necessity of keeping up a constant
annual supply of young wood on all pail
of the tree, is therefore obvious. Tho
same shoots bear only once cccas:or.ally
fruit spurs are produced from other bran
ches, but these are comparatively feeble,
not to be relied on.
The Plum and Cherry arc quite t t.r.t
; Lr in their modes of bearing. Th shoots
last year, 184.9, will dur;ng 1850, become
furnished with fruit buds that will pro
i duce fruit in 1851. A few buds towards
the extremities of the shoots while all the
buds rielow are transformed into fruit
"buds. It sometimes happens when cherry
trees are not growing vigorously, that the
! buds at the base of the shoots bercrr.e
fruit buds the first year and bear the next.
The Mortllo Cherry and a few other
of its class, are exceptions to this rule,
and they ber like the peach on wood cf
ihe previous year, the fruit buds being
formed on the lower parts cf the shoots
of the current year.
Gooseberries and Currants produce
their fruit like the cherry and plum the
fruit buCs forming on shoots the second
year, ana bearing fruit the third, and af
terwards. The Grape Vine and Raspberry arc
similar in mode of bearing, and different
from all others, the fruit produced cn
shoots of the current year's growth, start
ing from wood cf the previous ye.r.
Young shoots from other parts of ihe viae
do not produce fruit, but will the year
following produce fruit bearing wood.
Gc:iessce Parmer.
A Good Remedy. Deacon Hunt was
naturally a high tempe-red man, and used
to beat liis oxen over the heads, r.sali h:s
i.eighb rs did It was observed that when
he Lecaine a christian his cattle were re
markably docile. A friend inquired into
the secret:
Why,' siid the deacon, "f ormer'-y.
when my exen were a Ktt'e ccntrarv. I
! f.evv into a passion and be;:t them vu
ruercifuy. but 'bis ir.ade lh? n nt er
worse. w, v;.o.i .they. c'" no: beh-sv-well,
I go V-hm i the J.a J and sing O d
Hundred. I dfn't kr.ow l ew it is, im
the psrj!;; tune f;.i .:urv
ii.r efT c. cn
cxen.
Mcry h-s many bitter moments; but,
I believe', the first awakening af'.cr any
great forrov is the or.s cf ::s mss: utter
CC7"W I at can a man do,", naked a
ereen' un yesterdy, "when the her.lf i
seen coming up to him with a writ in I in
hand?" "Apply the remedy, said o-
nother one grufity.- "Remedy! what
kind of a reined ?
lied in;
vpu '.o;e r.tn ii!
i