- f t -
lifer . jt , A
'w Tint!
i
THE BLESSISGS OF GOVERNMENT, LIKE THE DEWS OF HEAVEN, SHOULD EB DISTRIBUTED ALIKE VPOH THE HIGH AKD THE LOW, TI1E EICH AM) THE POOa.
m SERIES.
EBEXSBURG, PA. WEDNESDAY, OCT. 16, 1861.
VOL. 8 XO. 45
111 III
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Irlrrt orfnj.
A Tuai.ij Lovk Stokt.
UT THE CAKD OF TOIVKK HILL.
I knew a gentle youth.
Who broken-hearted died,
IVoause a fickle maiden
lljs earnest suit elcnied.
Long years had passed away
Before the cause was known.
Why sl.e that youth rej-eted.
Am! b ide him hopeless groan.
Hut when the long grass waved,
Above his lowly I ted.
Ilemor.-e her heart had visited.
And then sl.e sighing said :
" Oh. E-Iward. had you Wen
As vise as y-u were good,
Tin reason of my ol!ncs
You iniglit have understood
'Tis wi man's common fault,
(With sorrow I confess.)
To see in man r.o virtues
Beneath a homely dre.s,
" Ha l you at Tower Hall
A handsome suit obtained.
Another xuil, oh Kkvabp,
Yu surety would have gained.
" Alas! thou ill starred youth,
It makes my bosom smart,
Tit think how Jittle money
Ha i saved a broken heart !"
BEECHNUT FARM;
o::
THE DEEP DARK SHADOW.
Dy Emma Ki,;lf-ox.
CHAI'TER. IX CONTINUED.
" I have come to a place whore there is no
slsaduw. and the Kin shines forever," said sl.e
lreammgly. Then observing the sorrowful faces
cf Willi .".m and Cameron V, the truth seemed to
brek su l lenly on her mind. " I see it n w she
murmured, f.iii.tly. It is heaven I am going
to etiter, for it was, there (Jamcrone, that I should
always see bright sunbeams. But the deepness
if the shadow I shall leave here with you, will
ilini your eyes so that you cannot see my happi
uss till you come to me."
" You do not fear to go, do you darling! "said
Vi!',i,'.ui gently.
' No, my fear, fright and pain are all gone.
I shall never suffer any more," and a beat if ul
t;uile lit up Carrie's face as she gazed at he bro
ther and sister.
Sit behind me Willie, and put your arms
around me. so that I can lean my head on your j
fcnomuer, she continued, anl as U iliiam com
plied with her request, she whispered to Camer
rne " Comfort poor mother and father when 1
am gone, and keep f he shadow away from them,
won't you ?"
Camerone nodd?d assent, brushing away the
Filent tears that trembled thickly on her long
laches, and pressing Carrie's hand iu her o u.
The girl's breathing grew shorter and more
faint, and she closed her eyes wearily, but pres
ently opened them again,
" I am going now. Goal by,"
The death shade was already on her brow, and
with a gentle pressure of Camerone'b hand, a
sad sweet smile played on her hps, and a tender
glance towards William, poorlittle Carrie breath
el her" last.
Deep silence reigned throughout the chamber
cf death, broken only by William's voice, after
moment 's pause, as he laid thc form of his
dead sister reverently on the pillow. .
She suffers no hunger. . Thank heaven for
that. The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken
away. May she rest in poace."
And the young man encircled Camerone's waist
with his arm, and drew her head down upon his
shoulder, where she sobbed quietly for some
time.
An hour afterwards, and Jam eg Southwick was
pronounced out of danger. The crisis had pas
sed favorably, and with skillful nursing hs would
recover his health once more. A feeling of un
definable gratinde and gladness arose in Camer
one's breast, as these words wore repeated to her
by her mother, who had left the invalid with
William, and ' sought th.e bodsiJe of her dead
child. '' ' - '
" God has been merciful to us, dear mother,"
said she, in a voice tremulous with emotion ;
more merciful than I had dared to hope,- for I
Lid tliousht wc should met with a double by-
reavement, and two graves should be made, in
stead of one."
" You arc right, Camerone ; God has spared us
from an affliction that would have been truly
grant. 1 have a mother's heart, a mother's love,
and I mourn with the sorrow of a mother for my
departed Carrie, but I feel that in the tenderness
and solicitude of His love. Our Father has done
this. Iler short life has been one of pain and
sorrow ; it is better that it is closed on eartb and
her spirit removed to a brighter world where she
has often told me there is no shadow."
There was a long pause and then Camerone
spoke hesitatingly
" Mother, I have often asked you of the influ
ence that Noyes Willard's presence exerted over
Carrie, and you have often promised to tell me
when the time came in which you could. Has
the time came in which you can V
A look of pa'n swept over Mrs. Southwick's
face at this question, but she answered firmly
" It has come daughter, and I will tell you to
night ; and, in after years do not forget that,
though your mother has committed wrong, she
has atoned for it, by deep suffering and humilia
tion of heart.
" Years ago' when I was a giddy girl of eigh
teen, I was called handsome. I wis the only
daughter of wealthy parents,aud the spoiled play
thing of my affectionats brothers. Wayward
and impulsive in disposition, and with a thought
less heart , I was a coquette in the truest sense
of the word. I flirted with aud engaged myself
to every handsome and agreeable gentleman of
my acquaintance, for sport, and for sport I threw
the chains of fascination around Xcyes Willard,
who was then a young man of twenty one.
Looking back upsn that time now, I see how
wrong, how foolishly nicked, my conduct was;
but thn I never allowed myself to think of this.
We walked toncath the moonlight together, and
my lips uttered sentiments that my heart was a
stranger to. I told him that at some future day
I would be his wife, that as soon as he had won
a cerU'.in amount of properly, and arisen to a
certain standard of worldly distinction, ni hand
and heart should be his reward for his toil. I
do not think, even while I uttered these words,
that I really intended he should take me in ear
nest. But I reasoned with myself lhat, if he
loved me well enough to labor years for my baud,
I would give him respect and esteem in return
for his ardent affection, and would fulfil my pro
mise should he return to claim me.
" Noyes Willaid went away spon after this
and befoie he had g ne six months I met your
father. For the first time in my life, I was aw
id by Miperiority of intellect, heart and soul.
I love 1 James South wick, and the entrance of
that holy affection into my nature wrought a
change in me. Gradually I began to see the er
rors of my conduct, and, one by one I dismissed
my train of admirers, until I had rnm-j ieft.
I was not wooed and won likem fet girls;
my lover came to me and talked calmly and
sob'ily. He told me of my numerous faults,
suggested improvement, and then encouraged
me. with the assurance of his affection. And
I tried to m ike myself worthy of him, but it was
not me, It was he who put out his hand and j
drew me up to him by the powerful magnetism
of love. In a year from our first acquaintance
we were married and came to Beechnut Farm.
I had forgotten Noyes Willard except as evidence
of my folly, and I did not remember my prom
ise to him, only as one of many such that I had
sincerely repented of.
After Wi'ilirm was borne, he came to Holly,
and our interview was a stormy and reproachful
one. I could not justify myself I could only
listen with horror to his dreadful threats of ven
gence, but I assured him of my sorrow for the
folly of my past life in as mild terms as possiblo
when he became more quiet.
I went to my husband with the tale of my .
youthful error on my lips, and, oh, Gimerone.
-.fee thc ntjUet and bost of he dM not
re
proach me, but tried to comfort me, and make
me torget the past ; but I could not. As years
ro led by, I heard frequently of Noyes Willard,
and I knew that he had not forgotten his vow of
revenge. His last words to me were, I shall live
move and breathe only for this purpose ; to crush
you and yours to the earth. For this I will amass
wealth, and then I will devote my whole time,
to your slow destruction.
" Ileports stated that he was growing rich,
and, once or twice, he sent messages to my hus
band exactly like the one he sent by yon on the
morning when you met him in the maple hol
low, but I did not see him until a short time be
fore Carrie's birth.
It was a warm summer afterncon. and, with
some light sewing in my band, I bad yone out
into the orchard and seated myself ' beneath a
peach tree to enjoy the calm deliciousncss of the
air. I do not know how long I had sat there,
but 1 was aroused from a deep reverie by a rust
ling of the grass ; and, as I slowly raised my eyes
they fell first on the shadow of a man before me,
then upon the substance. To my alarm I recog
nized Noyes Willard, and I aiosc quickly to my
feet,
What has frightened you,"he demanded with
a sneer.
She shadow," I niarmurpd hardly knowing
what I was saying. . . . .
" And my shadow frightens you into hysterics
now when once you did not fear to walk beside
my form, Good! I like that; it is an emblem
of your lovo changed to hatred, and my hate
shall be a shadow that shall follow you and
yours as long as we both shall live."
He approached nearer to me, and then I saw
that he had a long slender dagger in his hand,
I could hear the terrified beating of my own heart
but in vuin I tried to wore. I Lad oo iowcr to
stir from the spot as he placed the sharp point
at my throat, and hissed in a low tone
' I could kill you now, as easily as I could
raise my finger to my head, but T shall not do it.
I shall torture you with pain more exquisite than
that, for I will haunt you like a 'deep shadow.'
I will hang around your path like a serpent,
waiting to destroy every blossom of hope or joy,
that will bloom for you. I go now, but rcmem
her, whan you hear these words, 'Beware of the
deep Shadow,' that trouble is near."
, lly head swam violently," feeling of num b
ness prevaded my whole body, and as the cold
steel was "withdrawn from my throat, and -his
hand relaxed its hold on my arm, I became tin
conscious. When I awoke to reason it was four
months later, and I was tying in my own room
on the bed. The windows were darkened, and
in the dim uncertain light that glimmered through
the half open door, I saw a nurse sitting near me
with something in her lap. I called her to me,
and she placed Carrie on my arm. I do not
think that I ever felt as I did when I gazed at
the helpless infantile face before me. A tide of
yearning pitying tenderness went out for my
little one. as if I had a faint foreknoweledge
cf the darkened life that awakened her ; and as
I clasped her to my heart, I prayed that I might
have patience and resignation to support me in
any coming trial,
" You were very young then Camerone. but T
presume that you have an indistinct rcccollec
tion of my long and dangerous illness, and the
little baby sister you thought was so beautiful.
The first words Carrie ever lisped were 'the shad
ow,' and, she echoed it after her father, I shud
dered with dread. When she was three years
old I knew that the curse had fallen upon my
youngest child ; the pet and the darling of the
household circle was a hopeless victim of her
mother's fright.
" Oh, Camerone I can never tell you what 1
at first suffered. I can never convey to you an
idea of my sorrow and pain. I would have glad
ly given my life if thc sacrifice would restore to
my poor Carrie the keen faculties of mind, the
perfect health and strength this shadow bad im
paired. But as time pxssedon, I grew more re
conciled to the great affliction that had fallen to
her lot, and I have striven to make her life as
pleasant as possible, while she remained on earth.
Xow this lifeless form is all that remains to me.
and this will soon be buried from my sight ; but
I feel that the soul of our beloved one is now at
rest in that land of eternal light, where no clouds
can dim the heavenly lustre of the day.'
Mrs. Southwick's voice had grown more trem
ulous as she alluded to Carrie's death, and when
it ceased the long pent up fountain of tears burst
forth, aud she wept copiously.
To Camerone thc sight of these tears was a re
lief. Since her father's illness no moisture had
dimmed her mother's eyes, and throughout Car
rie's last convulsions she had maintained a calm
ness that was painful as well as unnatural ; and
the thoughtful gill rejoiced when she fcaw her
mother give vent to her grief.
Thc preparations for the funeral were made,
and on the third morning from that on which
Noyes Willard had met Carrie iu the orchard,
she was laid to Crest iu the quiet village church
yard. And in a few weeks a slender monument
marked h.-r grave; on which was in&crilHl. in
elegant chiselling
-DARLING CARRIE;
Iler home is in Heaven."
James Sothwick recovered olowly from his se
vere sickness, but Boechuut Farm was a gloomy
place. The shadow was settling down closer
over the old homestead. Debt and poverty sta
red them in the face, and friends turned coldly
away from the aching hearts that dwelt beneath
the broad roof of the old mansion. The dark
ness was great ; would thc sunlight ever smile on
the ill stared familv again ?
CHAPTEU X.
A thriving inland town, celebrated for its in
dustry and the number of its factories , lay snug
ly nestled between the hills of the old Bay State,
a:id the spires of its four churches rase graceful
ly above the tall elms and towered against the
blue sky.
It was four o'clock on a November afternoon
and Frederic Southwick left the store where he
wss engaged as clerk, to proceed to the hotel
where he boarded, and where an early tea await
ed him. As he ascended to the piazza steps the
obsequious landlord hurried to meet htm.
' My dear young gentleman, I have thc honor
to inform you that a young lady came in on the
three o'clock train, and is waiting in the parlor
to see you."
Pi oc ceding through the hall in advance of
Frederic, the worthy host threw open the door,
and, as he entered, the lady arose from her seat,
and turned her face towards him. The sombre
of her mourning robes had at first disguised her
figure, they could not her face, and in a mo
ment brother and sister were clasped in each oth
er's arms, Camerone murmuring through her
tears, " Oh, Fred, this Is no dream ; it is a bles
see reality. How often have I pictured such a
meeting and cighed to think it was all a vision ;
but it is not so now ; I am here with yon once'
more. I can see your dear face, I can hear your
voice. Oh, Fred, this is joy almost divine."
lie kissed her forehead, her cheeks ?nd her
lips, then gazed at her earnestly.
You have grown poor since I saw you last."
said he, with a sad smile. " I little imagined
when I left home, that so many changes would
transpire before I saw you again. I did not
think of the possibility of death entering our
family circle and taking our pet away. Toor
Carrie 'and the tears of both mingled freely to
gether, as, tq compliance with, Frederic's request
Camerone related every particular of Carrie's
death, I
- " And how did you leave father and mother ?"
asked Frederic, when she had finished.
Camerono shook her head mournfully.
. "Ah, Frederic, you can hardly realize the al
teration that has taken place on the farm and in
onr parents. Peculiarly everything is going to
ruin. Father is feeble and unable to work, and
the whole responsibility rests on William, who
does everything as near r'ght as possible. He is
to stay at home and teach thc district school in
our nei"boThood this winter, as father's health
t
will rKsiv't .bijYLtO return to his business.
Mother i cheerful, that is, outwardly but her
troubles are knawing at her her heart and threat
ening to undermine her constitution."
The farm is mortgaged for the sum of eight
hundred dollars, and other debts press heavily
on father, so I can sec already how tkings will
end. The mortgage will be foreclosed, and our
parents be driven from the roof that has shelter
ed my father from infancy. I have become
quite accustomed to this idea, and have given up
the hope that we shall be able to redeem the old
homestead; but I can never think of poverty.
hunger and cold coming to father and mother.
S j I have come here to work in the factory, and
save mv wages for them." ' '
' I can get you a place in the same room with
an old frieud, sai l Frederic.
Who is h T' asked Cuuerone.
" Ilattie Grey. She has been here at work ev
er since j-he left Holly, and is doing well. One
of the girls ia thc same department has left Ler
place, and gone home, so I thiz.k I can easily get
it for you."
" Dear Ilattie, I shall be rejoiced to see her
again," said Camerone affectionately.
And the rejoicing will be mutual, for she of
ten seaks of yon in enthusiastic terms," return
ed Frederic, as he arose to leave the room. " I
am going out now, Camerone, but shall be here
again in an hour."
When he returned, he brought intelligence of
a fine situation in thc factory, and good wages
accompanying the light work. The n xt morn
ing Gimerone commenced her new employment,
cheered by the presence and encouragement of
II Utie Grey, and he soon became accustomed to
it, performed her daily routine of duties with
comparitive case, Life in the factories is monot
onous in the extreme, with but few exceptions,
and the winter passed away without any extra
ordinary event to vary the common place hid
den tn of each diy, - -
To Camerone's unbounded thankfulness, Nel-
fon Scofield did not discover her retreat, and she
was left to labor on unmolested, with many sad
thoughts of Ralph Graham and her past life, as
well as fears for the future. But spring came
and she heard nothing from from Mr. Scefield,
and began to cherish the hope that fche should
never see him again. The tidings that came
from Beachnut Farm were very discouraging.
Nojes Willard had purchasad every note against
Mr. Southwick, and his entire demand including
the mortgage was, sixteen hundred dollars.
When Mr. Southwick became aware that his
debts were in the hands of his worst enemy, l.e
gave up all hopes of becoming free from them by
ordinary means. Misfortunes had crowded thick
ly around the farm through the winter. Ilis
stock died as mysteriously as they had the year
before, and the past twelve months had convinc
ed him that it was useless to think of remaining
on the farm. So with a heavy heart, James
Southwick did that which was like parting with
life, lie deeded his farm to Noyes Willard, thus
anticipating the foreclosure of the mortgage, and
hoping, though had lost much by this step, to es
cape from the persecution of his foe. And, with
a dark future lying before them, the family pre
pared to leave Holly.
The few firm friends who had stood by them
in adversity as well as prosperity regretted their
departure. Ellen Chapelle more deeply than the
rest, for a great trial was laid upon her. Her
bert, her idolized hnsband, had left her, and for-
ever. Hie calumnies oi soyes wiaru naa
had poisoned her heart with strange ti
dings of her duplicity and unfaithfulness; and,
writing a hasty letter in which be bade her a
final farewell, the easy influenced man left home
for the far West, where no traces could bo found
of him.
Mrs. Chapelle did not complain. She bore
this as she had her other sorrows, in silence ; but
it preyed upon her life, causing her to become
prematurely old and faded in appearace. True
her large dark eyes were as beautiful in expres
sion as ever, but her raven hair was interspei ced
with a broad band of siver, and lines of care fur
rowed her high, pale forehead and settled around
her mournful lips. It was a tearful parting scene
that took place between this noble woman and
Mrs. Southwick, and a fervent prayer went up
from Mrs. Chapelle's tortured heart for the wel
fare of her friends, as the cars bore them frcm
her sight. Slow'y she turned towards her lonely
dwell'ng, feeling more desolate than before, but,
with a look of patient endurance on her calm
face that was touching and sublime.
There are many like Ellen Chapelle in the
world, who are martyrs, though silent and un
complaining. Many hearts like hers suffvrs in
secret until thc painful tension of its heavy grief
snaps asunder the last cords that binds it to earth
and rest is found ia the quiet of the grave. But
how seldom we heed them : how rarely do we
feci, when we gaze upon their dead forms that
the rest of heaven must be doubly sweet to the
overtaxed soul so long exposed to the merciless
bnffettings of winds aud tempest, so long adrift
on the sea of woe.
At thc united entreaties of. hio children Mr.
Southwick bad selected Millville as the j.Uce for
his future resideuce ; and Frederick, with Camer
one's advice, had rented a neat little cottage, not
far from the factory where she was at work. The
furniture had been boxed up and sent on before
the arrival of Mr. Southwick and his wife, Wil
liam accompanying it ; and the three children
arranging it in thc snug little hoi-e, so that
when their parents c;me it was the picture of
neatness and comfort. The had left Holly
without giving the address of their future abode,
and tried to avoid the possibility cf Noyes Wil
lard discovering it. For a time they succeded
in this, and peace seemed to return to the home
circle once mo re, when, in early . June, Frederic
was startled at tnc sight ofoyes .AY illard's (ace
through the car window as the train came-flw
the platform. He alighted from the cars, and,
after ascertaining that a gentleman was with
him, Frederie proceeded home with his unpleas
ant news. Scarcely half an hour had passed when
Camerone received a message from Nelson Sco
field, who was at the hotel, stating that he had
come to claim her as his wife, and hoped for her
own sake, that she would make no resistance.
Poor Camerone ! This was a heavy blow, and
for a time it well uigh crushed bet ; bur as the
evening passed away she grow more calm and
composed.
That some infernal scheme was on foot the fam
ily did not doubt, and each looked forward to the
morrow with a sickening anxiety -f expectation.
But the ways of Providence are mysterious and
ins rj table, and that night was destined to
witness the doom of Noyes Willard and his un
principled confederate in crime.
Their rooms were adjoining each other, and '
sitnated in thc eat wing of the hotel, on the first j
floor. For lours they sat conversing cf their j
plans for the future, and a thunder ttorm Lad
arisen in great fury.
Nelson Scofield arose end went towards the
window. He held a pocket knife in Lis Laud,
and, as he gazed upon the storm, said to liis com
panion Come '.vc uncle Noyes, and sec this light
ning. 1 i.ever saw such vivid flashes before."
Mr. Wiliard went forward, asking, with a con
temptuous s.ni'e.
Are j ou afrail Vt
" Afraid !"' echoed the nephew, w ith a fierce
oath, " What should 1 be afraid of?"
The old gentlcmeu who holds the lightning,
as the parson says."
I have not seen him yet, and I can't be sca
red at anything I haven't Seen." answered Nel
son. His uncle laughed.
" I don't believe there is any such a thing as
a God who rules my destiny," said the man
lightly. I hive taken my own course all my
life time, and he hasn't interfered yet."
I know it," returned the other speaking un
consciously ; " but perhaps he is waiting until
thc judgment."
" Nonsense; I do not fear the judgement,"
said Noyes Widard,
Those were the lat words hesp-'ke.
A blinding sheet of flame rol'el tl.ro-gh the
angry heavens and dartel down toward the earth
followed by an in instantaneous peal of thunder,
that seemed to crash opeu thc skies, and shake
the foundations of the earth-.
There was a moment of stillness, broken only
by the beating cf the rain, an l the lan IK-rd hur
ried from the main part of the bulding to the
door of the room where the two strangers were.
There a thrilling s:g't met his eyes. The tall,
majestic elm tree that stood directly in front of
the window w as itripe I of its branches, and
stood swaying its broken top to and fro. The
whole side of the room next thc tree was torn
completely away, and the sJorm came pouring in
with unabating violeuce upon two prostrate
bodies. Trcmblinglj' he approached them and
gazed with awe upon their blackened bodies.
The hand of Nelson Scofied.w hich held the pock
et knife, was nothing but a crisped stump, and
adown Mr. Willard's breast a dark line showed
the track of the lightning.
Assistance was summoned, and thc two
lifeless forms were carried into another room
and laid upon the same couch together. Many
horrified faces c&me in to look at the work of
destruction. Manv awe stricken hearts went
out with a prayer of thinkfulnes for their
own safety, ascending silently to heaven ; but
all thc crowd th'at gatherei there within the
next two hours there was not one whose fee
lings were of such inteose and peculiar mag
nitude as were those of William Southwick.
Defore him lay two men who were the carse
of his fktmly's barpines. The uestroyer of
his'sifter's peace and bis more desperately
wicked uncle had both been ttricken in the
same night; and as he turned from the scene
he repeated half unconsciously to himself.
Vcngence is mine, I will repay it, saj
eth the Lord."
C II APT EE. XI.
Wiikn the tiding of the death of Noyes
Willard reached Mrs. Southwick. she ejacu
lated, with a wild gush of tears.
Thank Gol ! The shadow is at last lif
ted from our heartstone ;
The news elicited a heartfelt demonstration
from Camerone. She was free at last, free
from the presence and torture of the villain
who would have claimed her for his wife,
and to whom she believed the law would have
given the right of a husband over her.
Ilattie Grey was moved to tears at the
sight of the awful catastrophe ; and when she
went with William to gaze at the dead
(he shivered and articulated, ia a sob
bing voice, as she clung to his arm.
" Take me out! Oh take me away. I
cannot bear too look upon the solemn judg
ments of God ; I can real thrtn ia every fea
ture vf lis dijfiguertd face.
The uncle and nephew were not removed to
Holly, but, at Mrs. Willard's request, were
buried in a remote corner f the "Millville
grave yard.
The widow hastily disposed of her prorcrty
in Holly, and removed to an Eastern city,
where she had formerly resided, to meet her
friends.
As the fu aimer passed by, Frederic resum
ed bis medical ftuiies, and William entered
a merchantile house in Millville, while Cam
erone still remained a factory giil. The
handsome little fortune that was left Ilattie
Grey by her deal father, had been reckless
ly squandered by her guardian, and she
was now a poor girl ; but she worked on as
cheerfully as ever. cndcariDg herself to all
who new her by Ler sweet and gentle ways.'
It was in August that Camerone received
a letter bearine a strange pest mark, and di
rected in a bold, masculine band. Willi
tremulous eagerness she opened it, and her
cheeks grew crimson, and her blue eyc6 spar
kled with jy as she read it. A world of
happiness was contained in that brief epistle,
and the reply that went oat by the next mail
was leaned from the fullness of a heart over
laden with joy.
Ralph Graham had no forgotten her. and
he had seen the newspaper account of the
death of Xelsun Scofield, so he knew that she
was free. Six weeks later witcegsed his ax
rival in Millville, and preparations "were im
mediately made for a wedding, in which
Camerone was to act the most important part,
if we except Mr. Graham ; but every one re
alizes that brides are of infinite more impor
tance than bridegrooms.
The ceremony took place in October, and
after a short bridal tour, Kalph Graham in
formed Camerone that re had Bold bis planta
tion and purchased a residence near her old
home in I lolly. But to all other inquiries,
he refused an auwer, telling her that the
would become acquainted with its situation
when she arrived there.
He insisted that Mr and Mrs. Southwick
should accompany him and make their homo
with Camerone ; and, after senre words of re
luctance, they yielded, and the four ect cut
together for their future abode.
It was dark when the close carriage that
conveyed them from the railroad station drew
up before their place of dcstiuatioi, but, as
they alighted an exclamation cf delight burst
from Camerone; and, with the words 'Home
sweet Home, upon her lips, she b tunded up
the path followed by her husband, father and
mother.
It was Beechnut Farm repaired and ele
gantly furnished ; and, in the hall of the old
stone mansion Sabrica stood waiting to wel
come her old employers
Bless you for this," cjacuiated thc warm
hearted domestic to Mr. Graham, after she
bad greeted her former friends ; and an echo
went up from every heart, at her earnest
words.
" TLis is the happiest moment of my life,"
said Camerone. as the btood by the window
and looked out ic the moonlight at the ivy
mantled garden wail aud familiar beeches
that Etorl in front of the yard.
' And of mine also," rejoined the husband
who was standing by her tide.
My children, may we rightly enjoythe
blessing God has given us, and the remem
brance of our past sorrow add perfect felicity
to our future enjoyment." spoke James South
wick in a voice of motion.
And in the midst of our enjoyment let
us not forget to thank God that the deep shad
ow that haunted us so long has at last drpar -ted,
leaving a subdued and peaceful sunlight
beaming over our old aud much loved home
stead, Beechnut Farm, added Mte. South
wick, thoughtfully
Bn t Cani r ne as the pressed her tnc-tbers
hand, wondered if such perfect joy was ever
known before.
Years have passed since the marriage of
Ralph and Camerone. and brought with them
many chance?. William had sattled in Mill
ville. and Ilattie Grey his own little wife,
while Frederic is still unmarried, and a suc
cessful physician in Boston. Twice a year
he visits Beechnut Farm, where his parents
and Camerone reside ; and a blue eyed little
fairy, with pouting cherry lips and soft chest
nut curls, climbs upon his knee and ajks if
uncle Fred isn't a a old bachelor ; rpon which
he tells her little girls should not ask ques
tions. From the circle of her friends Camerone
misses one face, and a grave in the little
church yard is marked by a plain, white stono
i not far from the trmb of Carrie Southwick,
! on which is carved the name of Ellen Cha
pelle. Tno weary heart is at rest, and the
j cluster of mourning violets upon her grave.
1 show that she is not forgotten by all
Dr. Iawson lives in the village of Holly
yet, but Fanny is married to a promising
young lawyer, and lives in the ihire town
not far distant, where her father spends one
half of his time.
And. is time moves on, building up the
New England village in which thc scene cf
our story is laid, into a large and flourishing
town, the incidents I have related arc nearly
all forgotten by the surrounding community,
Bat ia the memory ofthe Southwick family
they re :n kin firmly fixed, and from the lips
of Camerone I received the story of Beech
nut Farm, or the Deep Shadosr. ls I hava
written it here.
My task is done. I have traced the un
fortunate family through the drtkneas and
clouds of afliction into the liht of earthly
happiness, and here I leave them, feeling
that a higher power than any on earth maid
their trials to result ia good at last.
TUB exd.
Vanity Fair thinks tho most crowded sum
mer retreat of the season was that from Man
assas to Washington. It is a fct that cautiot
be denied.
nr
ii