)1111p N SLOAN, PIIBLISHRS. M I ME 25. 175111-ZBS DIRECTORY CLEMENS a I 1,41 brain• It and imported getar. Toh.ren. Pru.t. Pbh. rhi.! fir blonat. HeiAah. Air Su. 7 I<orantii Blurt. Auto.- Er,f, Ph 1M.1.• FILER ct WARREN, n.l Dr.ilefli In Kat ha Nth, No, I 4 mertnah Mat COI' • made uu all the Principal Vitae ttl the kinated &awls- N.J..., and pmertrds promptly moulted Rank Mows. : Itrt Imueltt add Intent. hard oa Time u Moues rrnlitSed to Enemy laud Vlt'arranta nought, t Waled oil the 111081 rehrontable terms JOHN F Dr - N(7o34ft no 1.01:1111/1./.01/ AT La w, to Marsha 11's (Mier. Erie, A A CRAIti. of W Peace, oifirx reard..ved W Nu. I Hu/nes Bkret.lld 11,..a Sole "trivet, Erie, Pa ellil'lN •1 the Vl', Ind thitnr; residence on Sixth rt. t.,,•T 1 ,, John P Vin ern t. 'Music. arranged for or e. , tillion Bands H SHERMAN, RAIRLA Alirt:tr , imrt fir Ilutel and 'be Reed !knee The 4.4,0114 14 I. toren owarue4l hum fur the best Inc tare+ fur aro .ur rn•nell Pile.. 81 re and upwards %V 111..1)8. e t itet.tfl tuanufae •carer. cm Nell AisJ ler Itll qua' Ihr beat and etii4prsa now use t gout r Very ni•rr*. In 'Per n 1 Ltlidert Purnses, att• a .rt 0 , 411) •ite- . liellff• lor c.. 11111” Mt WalPl 1.6111 Inl :v. , lI.A nir, , wiepo." 11111 SP 10 one, L T FOX, Ire gtuur. west 4,4 Pomerrtr as • • DR EMERY, Ur Ka. ■ ICA floors Seat La Amer rc a• t; W TODD, Itrtth OarutA Terry. St Dew. nr..14 , 1 mama. Jobber. in garfish, 4:ortaat. •nd lb ti.auwary, Ghat. hauls, IV*LLtera, 14c tit Market I.t. and Sth. I . 4l.ladtitdia _ fit:RT()N fi 11F,Rit()N, APOIL• J at ort - r.or lc Co .1 a a. Meal I wrrfet• to loos., Ilecatemecrolots, tito 8ru.0..., Perfumer% line *IMP*. I ,, ..dtnz, So. 5 Reed Hone I qt. L EL 1.101"1', .T 'Owe and dwol , IBs Woush Mork Row 1 o. I 1111,1 S (' BROWNELL, 0 • ,•, PlO.he `.lump, lortweo•U t r..tt •1 t s .rlP, Xt. f ) t),PL iKE.VES .Nio /1)R I 1101.1.414 E H ABELL, uver fho Ent. RooOr. Mouth dodo of IV i 4 . ~ .1 .t) it yi lilt' art. .tiol .Rrtankokj I I) El )1V ARI ) S, .1,1 .... VI I.IIK Ai 1,1,10 . W • fret. Pe Prat,A4 o . l gi t• 1., • oi.O. w u, fro •itew.uo i ) & *a. .•14‘ r ' 1..,5ar:16.,. I. I, I,mo 14.44,11. 'tn .• I ' l'n 1 , ,,- , 1,1 ~44 1 .:414, I'l Mr, re.k. 1 io.e.si,J I, /i ••• • kc ut,nuf ' '• - •'' ;.+,•4: • cher tri -.••••or .4 .6, P (tope. tn 4,r t N., r,..4,1 ( . .111S4 ItAll .1 \I. A P 1.4%. t Ate ots erruell T 1 • Ili. I . 1 . .r.P 1 . 4 \ 11111:011 .\. 11) • • -vl --L.••• 110i.tr* 1V tr. 14nP 1,4 tar/ 1 1 I t.. 4-P , 4 141 P hi , 1.3 I'IIONIAS AI'STIN, . PI NI 0/ O. LOOMIS & CO.) %Vaiclus, Jewslty. Siliei stpuuns, Musical ins Waxers Lamps snit Fanc♦ Grinds, is sail retail II JARECK I, %DIV weal rude ofdtate street. tire. Pa. .1 B 111 . NNISON „ e+tat..olary. bloodily adiaslares.tlooair Pub. . r•heell Music. New.i.ainer•, Gold Pena. Pueket Cul Pro door weal of the Reed Wu..., Flew BOO'fil it STEWART, • and Retatillmlel. in Fancy lad Staple Dry Goode ~,..r). betwerii Iter4 !louse and Ileum u'. Ilutrr LI DD EL L, E I'LE & CU. Irkat Huller., %atilt( .r. Proul and all k Ito!. •,( Machin, t% Ind a-t,n4ii., dour 14., tinier. ;4'l' F.RRN'I"I' A: GRAY, , Jobt..f, .04 hlevt kl I ealers In Wrt n4l Ilry limrr Ik)for-1, Fruit, V 1 4.14A1 .4 1010/ ‘%111 ,. , Fkmr. 111n.r. . lit- 141111ely Fire. L, • Ike , m nevi; Up hr kre.S 11011 , e, • IP, I'.l \VM S LANE, e.• i till it 1.41, —1 Illywe NO? Iff Fissi porno.? DI the Pubile :IquArr. M SAND)IiD & ) Raok Noun, tlr ON.Crrittic ate* of Ite. 1114 bl !IC ',..lie WI 111. Of I IIC I CII it, Cu LI -4014 Wk.. No 9. Rne.l APIO. , quarr. rr, T HERON STI'A It T, h ! 11 •ti I RPlPltirtle.• cret 1, MI. 4.00 r aid A putiirc • ry 11.11 RI;k1OS Lotalo•b, 4iwneoall ii.odware 4114 ut• ice*, -tee., N, I ,‘ A I.)Y4' F. 141, A: BEN.NEI'f, • r.. an. Is I l'esatrvis In I Pry 4.uo44atoCtfiell ,sam are, I -a. peltng, Haroo,rre. Iron, plum:.!limm, stowl. lour Joor• Hulot. Mts. Va S, gel ,1,10, We tape. tior.• slot a roe -I !Ile vul eßtrltitt t H VTLER., ,- ~w Fr le i ' ollllil Pa eon/fa-Immo and • ,1,1•••• tO W lib yrYol pan•-aa and di pate . .1( (Ali K •.• I) fun vterritalic. (.11 the Ptit,ie Durk. 4 raa. ham., atpt .Ihtio Flan run• IMEI H'l' It & • cl Wt. 41141 , . )411141t I VW, Vali Mil% MIIEMI Su 6. Re. }1..• Ed,. 1.4 .1A NI ES Y 'l' E. .Nrn hvH 1 R IO.. On the PuMor Aq ian. a IP w Ala If. •lr!• 4 kale LA RUN lAIAN, tw• hoot au,l VI lyre ila torou• Huksk•, Mink , •I% I 'littl• N. 11. HI"» oi . o 'few =II .101 IN SWENEV, Ar Pr Ace in tb. room forbwrly oreepied by ke Bloc/. JOILN HEARN CO %1 ,,, A1i11t•,11.• I %MI, Flour n , F.r a tt I • Inr tft 1..0w 41.1.11101',., rule f t , , 1 1 EU/ :GE .J ()H 7 ro - N .n 9 I Donn I.loli Vi. , M1(11111. ruhl it floe A , Erw . 1 414. 1 , ,,L. kIOW ami4 PlaSler, I it()ZENS‘V Elli & CO • 1,4 hello Ora,rt• in ruirs4n and buOir•Ut Liry re , , Kool• Jo,l •IPture, aka My Moe' , -lair .111,4 1,-tte, .1 (' )IAItSII.II,L, 111, -111 , 11.1.1 tailas.l.l) 1411 1., iffffifftar‘'f , ~ Re.. l n. I.S. & 'IA YES. s;fl.fecr.c.. recf , kerN. H•rdwars, Sew 11.4e1, Pm :N1 ITU JACKSON S SON. Iffirfiffka . ie querns Wire. fINN 1 . 1 1,3 tr,l4, Pa, Ik' TEitilliTl)N, NOT I INaIir •'I3EIZ I CLO. m.nbn n Morwar..., firams. &c .11 ea tel WI drown 1;111lec ,a Wright', &act. sung f i'a J. IV. WI:GLASS, rater .1.3,rs in Vl' rlWtm' s !Writ. mut 1 0 Yllo.i TANNER t )1 AG I tnvel Kr le.. Rllll .111•44 IRA V% •re • it,,, e • twtir Me Coot 11 {foster. Kele. Pi 13 artr all l II• rile( .12144.' l 111 i Vrr t ,14 ayrtN •• .1111., IV4 ',tar nrt.ilirri 11•111 r- ,•111004•il ~•3 ltx• par tor I p¢l floes us •br Unbet. and 1111 pars. r .3ic 'rtGu•, at.' t4.3't. Carlist • ~ent tmf /Mir 1.41.111, r r 6,61 t, V. C S. .It'•/4ulf. ‘VF;I:ti pp" Ir. ••,.1 bS the it,. LlONiftldrft lw evety donciwUne of .rr ulr 1:, ;. • Are . .anel.nsamilatioty, In I Third on lb.t. deal Rrk.. re tord"•lL t. ri,TaL 11 %I .k. tjAriltllTH, 4 .4 4 4r 4 14 114 r 4 4 .11 , 4 1 446 .4.11 , 4, %.4.0..61 , 111.• eirtil '4Airt 1. (31APLV, 41 FI • ri • YT -4 ,gie. L geom • .4(!tiur sod rani irtmet...o 'Asa , rri , rr• nearroirel.l4r. aid a N mat wartaried. FAR/lEll'B 110TIL. ..r .•!, ry.tsti & FYrr STIt Kill , . Sal IL ROSLIIT i9104111r. Propalistor. ~ .fsur I ...I wurn by Übe pmeat 4 11.1 Iv 110.1 Y 11., 441, 1. 1 41 aw roci•pi 'J. of .LION. 0 . • 4.14.1 Tf+11•14.1• (111rni.104 with every eoerealeskee et...aerrodtia• itIIMA re Aube frig eseeked • - k -I. k. be.l Woe etAint. Itraftdo of FLOUR ca. W .& be 14.104.1 41 „in.,: rah thaw., Amy • ,)( lie We. Wittrimi orb.. him sett Ity air nt .WWIII the. 14.14 W Ak • Nei; Alta': h....n-6 'lbis. •r • .N. 4. c reAliettripawdawd MEM deltskOß 1.. 1,344 J. LRIE 1' E • • • 4. .'" 1/ 1 J ET .• 7../. . • • • The Losiserne .lownsai says: We dory nay tasteful lower of poetry le mid the following limes without ezelaintiag— "bew beautiful!" My soul thy sacred image keeps, My midnight dreams are all 'dame, For wawa than is Winne sleep,. And Alum broods o'er land and sea; Oh, in that still, mysterioea hoar. Now eft from wakiag dreams I start, To dad thee but a fancy dower, Thou cherished idol of my heart, non bast each thought and dream of nisi— Have in turn one thought of thine Forever this* my dreams will be, Waage* may be fortunes hers; I ask not lore—l claim from thee Only one boos, a gentle tear; May e'er blest visions from shore Play brightly round thy happy heart Aad may the beams of peace and lows Neer from thy glowing owl depart. Farewell! my dreams are still with thee, Bast thew one wader thought aloe My joys Like summer birds may dy, Yy hopes like stammer blooms depart, one dower that cannot Me— ths ho y memory in my bean; No dews that llower't cup may fill, No sunlight to its Mares be given, Bat it will live sad Sourish still, As deathless am s doing in have*. My soul greet thine, numasted, unsought, Bast thou for me one gentle thought' Farewell! farewell my far off friend' Between as broad, bine rivers dow, And forest, wave and plain, extend. And mountains in the sunlight glow; The wind that breathes upon tby brow Is not the wind that breathe, on mine, That star beams shining on thee now, An net the beams that on me shine, But memory's spell is with us yet— Cans% theuthe huh' past forget' The bitter teen that you and I May shed whene'er by anguish bowed, Exhaled into the moootide sky, May meet and mingle in the cloud, And thus, my much beloved friend. though we Far, far apart must live and more, our souls when God shall set them free, Can mingle/in the world of lore. ==l This slid as eentaey to me— Say—would it he *joy t" thee' Q:pict =IMO The cold Christmas moon was shining on the ttldeping village of Oheriton. It lit up the long, straggling street, and made every object almost as distinctly visible as at noonday. But in the spiritual light they appeared very different.-- A beautiful solitude, solemn yet serene, seemed to rest on all things. The quaint houses, with their high roofs, and oddly-clustered chimneys, looked as if they brooded over the recollection of the long past times they had knowu; and the grand old church looked doubly revernend, with the fret-work glittering about its Nor man-arched windows, and on the boughs of the huge cedar which towered beside the doorway The moonbeams lingered lovingly about the grey walls; they fell, too, on the white grave. stones in the churchyard, and made each one shine as with a still, calm smile—happy and holy. It was a night upon which thoughtful men might gaze, and feel rang iu their hearts simultaneous hope for earth and aspiration to heaven. Very quiet was tilt place, the UllOOll we n t on her way, looking down with her clear, chill lu s tre of gaze And there was one house, iso lated from the others by a somewhat extensive domain of shrubbery and garden, about which the moonlight istuaae4 to play as if in curiosity. It was a primitive, old-fasuioued abode; window shutters and blinds were few. save to the lower rooms, and the moonbeams penetrated unhin dered into the chambers, and played fantastic tricks upon the walls snd Boors. Into one lit tle room the elfish rays darted on a sudden, as the moon, rising higher in the heavens, escaped the le adow of a projecting buttress in the wall; and the pale light fell full upon a little white draped bed, wherein lay two young boys One, the eldest by some years, was asleep, and the quivering light fell on hie face—a face, every lineament of which was so full of nervous ener gy, that even in sleep it did not wear an expres sion of repose. His brother's pale, delicate features were, on the contrary, distinguished by a sort of sculptural calm. He had a high, straight, thougtful brow, and that sensitive mouth, which to the most masculine face al ways adds an almost womanlike sweetness of ex pression. The two boys seemed apt illustrations of two differently eonstituted beings. The one all sd lion; the other all thought; if the life of the first might be a picture, that of the second would be a poem. The younger brother was awake. His eyes of dark, deep, liquid haael were thoughtfully fixed upon the sleeping face beside him, and now sod again, as with a tender impulse, his hands gently put aside the clustering brown curies from the broa4 forehead of the sleeper.— Presently he drew Wick the whi'e curtain, and looked out at the quiet, homely scene stretched in the moonlight— at the foreground `of trees, leafless, but clothed in a fairy robe of rime, and (in the far distance strangely clear that night) the wide wonder of the silent sea. He looked —his face lit up—glowed with a nameless rap ture. Unuttered prayers swelled in the young heart--instinotive hopes—blessed beliefs rose unbidden to his mind. And even while he thus peed, and felt, and pondered the stillness was broken. Vibrat ing on the frosty air came solemn strains of manic, played with untaught skill on two or three old.fashioned instruments. It was an ancient English air, with a kind of paujovol k al simplicity in its character, half carol, half hymn, which harmonised well with the place and time. As the very voice"( the quaint and village maw the clear, sweet sounds, bE2 lfid tig, like a visible actuality with the wintry stars dotting the dark sky, with the snow-oovered roofs, and walls, and trees, and with the pure, passumleas moonlight shining over them all. I=l "Laweaoe, wake! Lactic to the Waits!" It was some tine before the subdued voles and tbe patio roue disturbed the sleeper frees his dreams. When at last he was aroused, he !darted up suddenly, oryinf aloud -4.W ho calls? Oh, Willis, is it you?' be ad ded in a sleepy tome. "What did you wake se for? 'Tisn't morning!" "Huai speak low! Don't yen best tba . ®oars?" There was a pam. The two boys listened in lime. "It's aid Giles Basatorth wits iie violimeelko," at Issigthisoka is Lassisa, "sad Jan Rawl with snaked kastboy, sad “Aig, &eV' cried tioa .yosagts bay, visit a gamin wars st psis; "sow Wed solo playa It some osiolonsew, ea—" ,elect Vottrti. THE WAITS. A CHRISTMAS STORY CM= His wort died away in the intentness of 'his listening. "Queer old tune, isn't kr presently said Laurence, "and queer old figures they look, I'll be bound, standing in the street, with red noses, and frozen eye lashes, and muffled in worsted comforters up to the chin." He laughed, and then yawned. "I think I shall /3 to sleep spin. Thee fellows don't seem inclined to leave off. I shall be tired of listening before they are of playing, I expect." "Keep awalte a little longer, Learemoe, dear," pleaded the other. "It's only for one night, and 'tie so nice for us to hear the. music, and look out upon the moonlight together." "Very well, Willie," assented the elder boy, nipping a fresh yawn in the bud, "anything to please you, old fellow." "There—put your arm around me—w," pur fib seed Willie, always in the same hushed, whits peri tone, "and let me lean my head upon you milder. Now, that is pleasant We love 41 other, don't we , Laurence!" An the tender, childish face looked upward achingly. "I should think so—slightly! You're a dear old chap, Will, though you have rather odd, old-fashioned notions." He stooped down, and pressed a hearty kiss on his younger brother's delicate face. And then the two boys remained silent, watching the flickering moon-rays, and listening to the simple music without. There are some rsoollections, oftentimes trivial enough in themselves, which yet remain impres sed upon the mind through a whole life, outlast ing the memory of events far more striking, and More recent in their occurrence, Laurence and William Carr grew' to be men, went out into the world, and were battlers for fortune; and one of them, alas: in fighting that hard fight became hardened in nature, so that scarce a trait remained of the generous, loving boy of yore His soul was chilled in the stony routine of that life which is so scrupulously practical—one might almost say, material—the life of a London merchant, devoted, heart and soul to his calling, and to the ambitions of his class. his old instincts were almost duad with in him; his old aspirations, his boyish predilec tions were crushed out, effaced, as though they had never been. And yet the cold, hard, money getting man of the world never lost the vivid remembrance of that Christmas night, years and years ago, when his little brother lay with his head leaning on his shoulder, and they list ened together to the village Waits. The brothers were separated now—worse, they were estranged. The world Dome before them, and stifled the frank, free lore which each, though in so widely different a way, bad felt for the other, ever since the childish days when they had played together about the old house at Cheriton, and prayed, night and mrvrning at their mother's knee. The two boys were left orphans before William was twenty years old, and with but little which to begin life Laureuce's desires hal been all for a life of change, adventure, and travel; but instead, he was compelled to take the only op• u ing which offered to him; and before his father's death, was e-tablished in the counting hou.e of a wealthy r•lative. lie soon learned coriteut. meta with his fate. To pursue an object, be it fkme, or power, or wealth, seems an inherent iu stiuct iu man's nature. It fills his energie , , ,I tistiki his restlessness, and insensibly, but grate fully, ministers to that vague yearning for do minion which is the inevitable birthright of eve ry wan sines the beginning of the world Lau rence, shut out from worthier aspiration., fouud his ambition run high—to be ;petit in the sense by which all those around him understood great ness He would be rieb He would work his way to fortune, to position, to influence Keep ing that goal ever in view, h e would struggle through every difficulty, force hi; way over Livery obstacle, but he would gain it at last So he said to himself, silently, many times, during the weary time of probation, when obscurity and hard work appeared to be his allotted portion then and always. But this dark period did not last long; it was not likely that it should continue. He had talents, quickness, vigor, untiring perseve rance, and unfailing health. His progress was rapid. He climbed the bill with footsteps swift as they were sure, and when his father died the old man felt easy on the score of his eldest sou's prospects and ultimate success. But meanwhile William had remaided at home, pursuipg his self-imposed and dearly-loved stu dies; reading, thinking, dreaming his hours sway in perfect happiness. Prom this content he was rudely aroused to the dread realities of death and poverty The pleasant home and the familiar faces which made it so dear, seemed to slide from him, and left him standing alone in the bleak world, which was so new and strange; like one who, reared in au Ar cadia, is on a sudden thrust into the midst of the fierce turmoil of a battle. He sought his brother—but the two natures, always different, were doubly so now, when a life of active business had hardened the one, render ing it more than ever stern and uncompromis ing, while years of quiet retirement had made the other yet more refined, more visionary, more sensitive. & And from Laurence, the younger bro ther met with no sympathy in all those inner most feelings of his soul; the closest, domest i ppoor tion of himself. There was in William that inexplicable, intangible somewhat, which marks one man among his fellows--tho Poet— even though he be dumb to his life's end The man of business shrugged his shoulders, knitted his brows at "William a strange remits." He did not comprehend—be did not care to do so, it seemed. The first step towards their en strangement was taken when William declined, gently and thankfully, but decisively, a situation in the same how* where IAIIIIIIIOO worn now high in trust. "It is of no use, brother, it 'mkt not be right to accept it. lam not At for such a reeponsi• bility. It would be wroug i to my employers to burden them within my incapacity." "You will improve. You may leave them to protect their own interests, believe me." William shook his head. And in brief, the-elder brother foiled the deli. cate.lookinc path immutable in his decision, and left, him, with words* of impatience and sager on kis lips. Sic heart reproached him for it afterwards.— He was not all encrusted as yet with the ossifi cation of worldliness. The next day he again went to his brother's lodgings. Bet William was no longer there—he bad left London, they sold him; and it nu cot till he reached his own home th at be received a letter o? explanation: "Dana Lavannoit —I thought It beet to go. Forgive me if you think it wrong,. lam not able to struggle with the iktree multitude of so ney-ptters in this dreary London. K old mas ter, Dr. IC—, has ofiered me a situation as elaa sileid tutor in his school. I accepted it. ft is the best thing I see tib do. So formal. Ever Yours. ' "And my brother will be the paltry usher in a emmtry oohed!" muttered Imurenee, as be washed the Letter is his hand. IdGone, too, vide. out consulting me, his eider, his natural advisee'. It is badly dose." And so the eland between the brothars grew deck" sad papa l& they onedialelly ionw pooled; but each enseesermg Wee, ineirld or ERIE, SITURDA V MORNING, FEBRUARY 10,1855. $1 56 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. Uri drawing them wearer together, seamed only to widen the girt Thy did not understand one another. Besides, Laurence was beooming a rick man, bad become partner in the house where once he was a clerk; while William still reintin ed poor and observe, with no prospect of his eir ournatamees improving. And when the brash between two brothers, or friends awe eiista, dif ference of worldly position fatally, icily increases it Laurenee married brilliantly, choosing his wife from a noble but impoverished family, who ware glad enough to ally their aristocratic poverty with his wealth, merchant and plebiau though he was. It was while on his wedding tour, with his handsome but somewhat passe( bride, that be received a letter from his brother, forw.lrded to him from London. William—qty brother," be remarked, explanktorily, as he opened it; "in answer I p re. some, to the announcement of my marriage." The frigidly high-bred lady responded by a slight bead of her long neck, and busied herself wish her °hamlets and maim, while her bus band perused the letter. When he had finished, he folded it carefully, and placed it in his pock et, then turned in silent*: to his breakfast Ws wife never noticed any peculiarity in his man ner, she was one of those by whom it is seldom considered good toe to be observant of other peo ple's emotions, even a husband's. Lady Henriet ta Carr was scrupulous is her attention to shah points of etiquette. One more loving than she was, might possibly have divined how much was concealed under the pale facts, the bent brow, and the remarkably quiet voice of Laurence Carr that morning. One more tender might have drawn the secret disturbance forth, and pleaded the eau* of the absent. offender, instead of leering the wrath to ferment hiddenly in the stern assn's breast. "I will never forgive him—never, never! I *ill never look on his face again I will never give him help—w•. are strangers from this hour. Let him travel his own road—and starve " These bard, terrible wonb , the brother paseien &rely uttered, as he trod the room to and fro, whew he wad alone, and after again reading the letter. "DEAR BROTHER LAURENCE", it ran)—"Your letter, with its brief announcement of your mar riage, gave me great pleasure, not only for the Rake of its intelligence, but becau..., of the manner in which you aouveyed it to me l'er hops, brother, it is an equal reproach to both of us, that the cordiality was strange as well as pleasant. Let us be friends again, in heart as in name; we were so once—but it is a long while ago. In our new happiness we may surely drown all put citreous. For [am also married—not to a peer's daughter; no, Laurence, with you alone will rest all the brilliancies and grandeur of life; I only ask fora little quiet—l am easily content. My wife y u may remember; we all knew her when we were boys at school—Mary Elliott, who, though hit father was a village tradesman, has had the education, and innately the refiueinent of any lady in the land. r have lovedher, and she me, for six years. 81:113 is an orphan, too, and has lesen a gove.rue4i all that time. We are rich enough to commence house-keeping. th nigh on a modest .rule We ar' very happy; I pray that you may be the ilitne with my n^w sister, to whom 1 beg to offer my affectirmate reaard". Msry also joint; up in the ;:iale to yilarocli, my dear trailer And behove me ever yours, faithfully, °Wiu.IAM etata.•' "The daughter a u , ,uutry ..hop•keeper and the daughter of ill. E. , 1 Tvuford to call each oft', r sister,: And il is done thin lie will repeat it; lie mu-t he shall He is a di-zrace, a shame to me. lie might have au he might have helped my plans But now--to marry aux. - Such were some of Liurcuee's disjointed ex clamation", cut he tore the letter in pieces, and flung thfrm into the fire Then he joined his bride the ()cur es of the day he informed her that his brother had irremediably offended him, and that he would never speak to him or see him more. Lady Henrietta elevated her handsome eyebrows in a momentary amazement, then res tored her features to their habitual ezpresaionle.ss composure, and, without any remark, suffered her husband to turn 'the conversation Time passed ou 'file wealth of Laurance Carr mereased yearly; his name grew glorious in the ars of business men. tits house was a pal ace: his wife was jewelled like a queen fie himself still burrowed daily in dusty city hole'', whence all his riches seemed to spring; and eve ry year he became harder and more impassible, and more devoted to the one aim arid cud of, his life—mone y-getting. It was his sole ambition now—he had no 11 There hope, no joy in anythiu beyond. The was no happiness in his gorgeA home, no tender ness in his majestic and a tocratic wife. No one who looked on him would have imagined that he felt the want of love; that there was any remnant of generous, warm-hearted boy's nature till lingering in the old grim merchant —old before his time, bat hard, cold, and pierc ing as a steel poignard yet But it was sb There were moments when his thoughts wander ed at their own will—when he reuses's/A.-rel.-- The face of his mother shone on him sometimes; and then would mule a flash of memory--44 the old childish feelings of those days. And his two children. The boy he ()fumed pictured to himself as born to continue the greatness of his facnily--as enjoying, like a prince, the wealth and hinny he had labored to acquire. And the fair, gent:e girl, whose pro gress to womanhood he had followed in his tbo't; whose birth softened his harsh heart to abscilute tenderness. She it was who would cling to him loveingiy in after years—whose soft lips *mid press epos the wrinkles of his worn thoe--whose gentle voice would always have the po wer win him out of his harder , sterner sel f. If ei ther of his children had lived, Laurence Carr might have been a different man; but both these blessings which he had prayed for—dreamed of as the solace and delight of his old age, were only granted to him for a brief space, sad then —left his sight for ever. The blow rent his heart sorely. It was so deep a grid' even, that at first he forgot the check to his.labition it involved. No 5011 of his would carry his name into future ages—no descendants of his were destined to make Mu trots the plebeian family he had first raised from obscurity. When this remembrance came, it added to his idictioa a something that. was sold, stony, and almost defiant. Bereaved love mourns, but blighted ambition erects its head in very impotence of pride against the band that chastises. He burred himself anew in his grim trial* they seemed the be-all and end-a 4 of • existence now. He said to himself that it was enough; he would make it enough. Italy spite of all his inward pr. aestation,i4.lle looka enviously, and sometimes with a feeling .less selfish than envy, at the happy pd . trollto of blooming children. ae would have given well nigh all his hard-won wealth for one such boon as sou so freely granted to many. Against his will he often' found himself inning thus, sorrow hilly, yearningly. He would awake himself with amen reiblve; the one half of his "'Stare would shenkinto Wet / while the other !Coked on it with a amidotrie aid of pity. l i Yet mob sad again same these softensre varies'. It War in the Oda, of one of t in the twilight of a dreety %ember mai Aug be was roused by receiving a letter fr Wit. .. It was the fast 'duets many tears, during 'With the stern eider became tuba suspended all intercourse, and had never sought to know what had become of the other. lie had known some what, however, for William had come to Lon don, and had commetteed the new life of author ship, and Laurence had occasional met his name in pluming periodicals. But direct communiea- Gott between the two had altogether ceased He frowned as he recognised the hand. Perhaps, had this letter 011118 at any other time, he might have returned it unopened.— Oh, men! ye who pray, pray for your fellow men whine hearts fare hitrdeued. Oh, angles! plead for them, strive for them; fur verily if there be a place in all his works where God does not dwell, and where no saving spark of divini ty can linger, it must be in the sterile heart of a wild hardened man. Laurence frowned; but ho tare the letteropeu, so soon as the servant had left the room, and he read:— "I had almost sworn never to address you again, after that last letter you sent. In that you bade me never to trouble you more; you told me that you would neither listen to me or assist me, however sore my strait might be. I forgot you were my brother when I read those words; the devil rose within me, and I had ut tered—what hereafter it might have withered me think of, only my wife name up to me, and looked in my face, and, God bless her, while her eyes rested on me, I could not speak, nor even think of what was hissing at my heart. I tell you this that you may judge what it costs me to write to you now. "f might starve," you said. Laurence Carr, Mom then I have learned what starvation is like—l have travelled very near its utmost brink; it is a word the meaning of I know. That would not drag me one quar ter inch towards your threshold; its worst agony is not within a twentieth part of that wkihtb even the thought of addressing you for help would have cost me. But that anguish now is swallowed in a greater I ask your help—l en treat you, I beseech you to assist me Lau rence, we are brothers, the children of one—l-tall er; do not deny me Give to me as you would to a beggar—fling me some money into the street. I care nut how, so you Is , not deaf to my cry—only be prompt, for death is pitile4s "Brother! God looks on you as yon hearken to we. My child dying for leant I wait. "WILLIAM CARA Linrenee roso from chair, And tra versed the luxuri ,u, ehatilher wherein he had set, stately awl ..litary fie opened the door— there he paus.sl Then, as if with new re•iolu ti.e), he .ti pp..l forth iuto the ball. In a remote corner, which even the brilliant lamp fsil,•d to cl• rly illumine , br digunguisbed 1 trill, thin figure—a palk, Filched fore, with grey hair falling tangle , ' over the brtrail brow Did Laurence g,,e then the vigion of a brigbt haired child, wli.. slept on hi , breast out; Chriit- Mst4 night loug intek! liowbei., ht. retreated tut, tle• ro.itn before he was ree •‘••••ti by hi, brother: and it was by a .4ervAut that he sent ki William a small but heavy p.ieket tie eagerly seized it, with a kind of stu•ithered ,:ry, alutost Itae sob, and the next t,.11 •t, lue hr .ther•• house. The child arts -aced, and titcn William h a d time to think on the sacrifiee he had made to MUM It Iris proud heart Yrisa4 torn at the re membranee that he had be. ti a waitaug pctattouer in the hall of his brother's housc, and had beoit relieved at the hands of his brother's lackey Ile could not know that Laurence. hard mln as he was, had tried to face him, but eoutd not; that he had watched him as he dart4.l away through the street; that he had thought of bun often since, with something almost apprachiug tenderness. lle did not know this, so he strove au I toiled with desperate energy, till he could give back his brother's gold, and then returned it with a brief acknowledgment. He added—"lt is be-t for us both to forget our humiliation, for you degraded both in me: Let ns be straingera again." The returned money found Laurence Carr a ruined man. Sadden political troubles abroad, with their inevitable consequences—two or three mistakes iu home commercial policy— had wrought this great change, and he was bankrupt A. day—two or three hours is that day—saw the fall, saw the ruin in its climax. The merchant prince was worse than penniless; for there were large debts which all his vast pos sessions, all his accumulated wealth, would fail to satisfy. His wife, naturally incensed at his misfortunes, betook herself and her liberal joint ure to the parental roof, and he remained alone to combat with ruin. Then came oat the finer part of his character. With courage he encountered the host of difficul ties that pressed crushingly upon him. With scrupulous (some people called it Quixotic) *lntel rity he - grave up all he had, and quitly and Pimp ly announced his intention of paying off the re eiclue of his debt to the uttermost farthing, if he lived. Then with proud, silent bravery he ac cepted a clerkship in some brother merchants of fice, took a humble lodging, and began again the life he had commenced in his early youth. The world—even the world of business and money-getting—is not so wholly bad as we read of in novels. Laurence received many offers of ass i s t a ami, and one or two good hearts persisted for a long time in following him with their active friendship. But he was not great enough to feel gratitude, or even to thoroughly appreciate their =. His pride was but the pride of a strong, enlisted man. He disdained sympathy, and sullenly repulsed all proffered generosity. The wheel of fortune had made a complete rev°. lution. While depressing one brother, she ele vated the other William was growing into that rare avis, a flourishing author. He was suffi ciently far from being wealthy, certainly, but he was at an equally safe distant* from want. And now—oh, beware! ye who hastily trrite resent ment—he felt as though he would gladly return to his old poverty, if be could only recall the few lines he had seat awhile since to his now ruined brother. It was long before he dared to a_ppreaoh him with attempts stleeoneiliation. „lie felt keenly, with anguish, the fresh bitterness he had himself added to the former estrangement. If desperate then, it was surely hopeless now. Yet he tried. He wrote again and again, and his letters were returned with their seals unbroken. He laid in wait often, and essayed to speak to him—to grasp his hand. He was coldly thrust aside, without a word, without a look. He always denied ad mittance at the door, when time after time he sought the poor. abode where the former minion airs had his shelter. One less tender, less pagentthan William had been eifeetually repulsed with half the rebuffs he meet with. But his exceed* love and yearn ing over Lie brother besides the emmoiousues of havieg outraged that brother's pride, now that he was fallen from his high estate, smote him with an intense, sharp remorse. Only a man 0111 wholly sympathisein a man's pride. William's own heart, different as it was, told him bow groat was the barrier he had let between them. At length William and his wife beamed themselves of another plan. Their child, the that IAUIVII6I6 assistant* bad saved frost &Wi s was sow grew. into a fair damsel, • yews. She was like her falba., "i` • kink and brown ova, sash as be had. •es Art tarn As. frees ," mid tie WA. iiiiiinal=l er and mother, u with Atoning eyes they wstehad her on her way. She led her little brother by the bawl, and - there two presented themselves before Laurence, as he sat reading in the quiet sunshine of a Sabbath afternoon. "We an Willie and Alice,'; said the girl, timidly, looking in his face, -7--) He knew them at once, though his eyes had never rested on them before. Alice was his mother's name, and his mother's face see bent on him now, longingly, yearnkngly. W . Liam and his wife were right—be *ld not her from him "Uncle, won't yon look at us?" said the plead ing voioe again; "won't you speak to us---Ina and little Willie?" "Papa's own little Willie," chimed in the boy inopportunely. "Gu home to your father," said Laurence in a harsh, constrained voice; "I have nothing to say to you. Go home. Ido not wish," he ad ded in a softer tone "to be unkind to you, but —but--you mast luive me." The girl stisxl drooping and tearful; the little boy looked up at him with wondering eyes Ue, was fain to eites.pe from them, and so passed from the room after that William grew hopeless. He had exhausted his stock of expedients; all his Pa tience, endurance seemed in vain lie despair ed of ever softening the obdurate heart. Time passed on, and Laurence was untroubled by his brother His persevering industry was working its own way, too, and he was already clear of the barren poverty he had at first ex. perienced after his ruin Each succeeding year found him advancing to ease again, 'if not to affluence; and he was stern, cold, and unbending as ever. Another Cluiettnaside drew near—forty five years after that Christmas when the moon ~bone ou the little white bed at Cheriton. It was Christmas eve, and Launce had been detained late in the city, balantefitg some completed as It was passed midnight as he wended his way homeward. It was a frosty night, and moonlight, and the suburban streets were quiet and slumberous; Laurence's footsteps echoing on the pavement, a lone breaking the stillness Somehow without his own will almost in spite of it, indeed, his thoughts -turned back to old times, and there arose before him a vision of the quaint house in the country, where histboy -lo,sl had been passed; the large rambling garden, the big mulberry trees, and the wood near the village where he and Willie had used to gather nuts He and Williel—there he frowned, and sternly refused to dwell on the retrospection.— Ile walked quickly on, with lips sturdily com pressed and brows knitted, resolved to shut his mind on all softening influences; but he could not—the thoughts came again, and would nut be repulsed lie lifted his eyes to the sky, and the inyre , 4l stars were shining down on him with a kind of smile as that of long ago He yould not sleep that night. He lay very quiet, but with a world of busy thoughts~ flut tering About the heart, striving for entrance.— The m•,ouliglit streamed in through a crack in the blind, and lit up the dreary, comfortless rood. Lrureuce closed his eyes suddenly The inooubeatus brought a rewemberance with them thai he would not welcome There con' ;L ‘ouu.l of music outside in the frosty p6tre,•l The Watts Anti they played the old, oLd tuu, tw. o.,ys had listened to years age at l'hyrium Very strangely it sounded on Laurence's ears ~ f al: because it seemed so familiar With a tiiyAlen )1.1%, irresistible power the swt•eq solemu strain smote on his closed heart, xud his-tore he recognised it he had yielded to its power, and, wondering the while, felt the hot tears bubbling thickly to his eyes And then came thronging the recollections of the olden days—vanished the intervening years like an obscuring smoke, leaving clear and vivid the memory of the happy, Innocent time, w hen he was a boy, and Willi• was his dear broth(r The pleasant home, the kind father, and—gen tlea of ail—the mother who had been wont every night to hang over her boys in their little white 6,51, and huiteringly lobs them cre they went to sleep. How plainly he remenali-r -ed all The I: fee with its gulden curly; he opene•t his ye> almost expceting to see it on the pillow beside him. No. the moonlight uuly f II Feu his own thin, wrinkled hand, wont and shrivelled with the cares of well nigh sixty year• Prayerful tb,ughts, long strange to him, alas: came Instinctively to his mind, and he heard, iuw and -oft, but clear, and blending with the music to the street, the voice of his mother, sounding a., of old when she rend to her little sons from tht large Book on Ler knee. lie heard solemn, slow, and sweet, the Divine words —ode,./ this emrantan,/at. pit l I. oe. trdit you, that you /um 0,0 ow,ther." He saw the Flo ar mother's eyes as they rested on her boys with such an infinite yearning ten derness in th,•ir depths Ile could tell now, what that earner ineaut. lie enuld guoss, too, something of wh it were her thoughts, when often in their childish quarrels she would draw little Willie close to her side, and then pas' her arm round tho strong, acuve, vigorous Laurence, whispering, "Don't be harsh with Willie; take oars of Willie. Love each other always, my boys —my darlings " Tile waits ceased—the au was silent—but there was music still in the heart of Laurence Carr. Christmas Day at Cheriton was drawing to its close. The evening bells were riuging---the stars shone in the dark ooloriess sky. - The murmur of the waves beating on the shore came ever and snon—a quiet sound and happy. Only two days before, William OW had come to live at Cberiton in the old house. It was no thiag altered; there were the same many-paned windows, quaint earners, and gabled ends; the same surrounding domain of garden, with the grove of,trees beyond, behind which the icy moon was riming even now. At the bay window of the oak-pannelled par kg sat William and his wife, with their two ohil dren, watching the pale light trembling between the branches of the glormy firs. The firelight lashed and glowed within the room, lighting up the pictures 3n the walls, the books, and prints, and drawings, scattered on the table, and grace ful groups of winter flowers lavishly disposed, as women love to have them—every where. Alice rested beside her father—his hand wandered among her bright curls; but he was looking to wards the fir grove, and his thoughts had travel ed book many, many years. His wife's eyes were fixed on his face; she oould read the language of that sad wistful look; she knew bow eloquently everything he ea* spoke to his heart of the old happy childish duty 'if-L.6314er, pathetie memories that she else loved so dearly for his sobs. The children prattled gaily for eons tine, bat at length their voicesceased; they were subdued into iitess by the unwonted gravity of their father. Never had they sstn him so sorrowful, and they marvelled in their innocent Jinni; for be wig happy, they knew, at coming back t*Cheritou —to his old bone. AU the diernoos be bad beta pointing out to then his favorite hatuno-- his garden, his tree with the seal mike it, and tie little room where he used to sleep. He had been so nal* and glad this. Whateavid =sits papa lack grieved sae • Awed by the apiary, they /pen their good night kiss with added Madernins, but sandy— I F. SLOW, EDITOR. NUMDER 39. . and eileutly followed their mother from tile room. But she returne.l mul mule softly holland the chair wherein her husband bad, etill lookiug t. , rth with that pr.. gretful look. Even wheu tee felt her arm resat hie neck he did ti , t tutu But she spoke sottly. "beerest, / 80 , e. sill fora& It will be made right 4, till,. .1:1% Perhaps before asedfrr Chrininiok God h rskr to se. Ike will not dotty thtt out fili—King yttsi so 81111143, yo pray for." And William toldeot 6, r Louis heart, ausismul ed. Mary's voice u. t. r ~o ko‘ied in his am beC• to create prase, or to add to ,•ontmat •Vrimosbe left him again, the moonlight f.,11 Isis bee, and showed it calm, hopeful, and serest.. There mime a Ituasy treed au the stow Maps, leading ti the entrattee-.lour, aud theta the vest bell mug startlingly through the quiet hooey. rose, and himself went to meet the is truder Fairly, purvi) gksmud thi umwmalialit to at the wmti ,, w; warm anti geuerves glowed the tire, reveallne t t pioaAaot homelike aspect of the room. Bo William threw back xnsy Emir from Joss brows —a boyisti bubo . (;. , iitiwie4 ever sines Me time ofeltleu curk—au.l wrut tbeeuier Poor unbarred and op-tied it A gush of o.ltta,, sivarp sir —tit • .. ound o. ti sea, like a fAr-,,1T 01,AL,t —.1,, w on t h e Nton.• p trc:„ sud -sad dark figufr 4tstsji sir t rw, ht.+ was what Willtaat It•It 111.1 tlysr.l, sod -Lox ....iv first nu- The I,tiok is ILLiu J hand Tres etretehed toward. htui, turf uttered rally nue ward--- "Brother pyfur him; thou, hke Joeeph ~f ~Id. h f.•l, hi- u, , A:k, end wept.' Arid at tit.. Lint N tk( r ehildres hid An oftou enter fr .in lii, Ow two grey - inared tueu C;irt-si WA , iri &hieing Jo their face* TASTE:. Di FTEIt —ltt a if•our.. qa what he b a p s seen a;,r, tad, 'Wen 1,-1; Phlll-p- oink:ryes:— "In Italy, you will - a e Luau breaking lap kin land with two tou- rut 1 r ht :s tree TUC to plow, 1111111.• scan. a 'tit the hair on , In "twi n ..., 1 tempt. and Uar, icu , if you hire a rata a•. -,w W... Hi, not briag a hors.: along 11 ~D . . or hid f a th er befor , : bun hi. !tut, ~t tne saw ow the ground. and .0 h br,a4t, atasl 'e king the w,..NYi in hi.- laud, r at, agsitkst, the MI It a fI, • VI :1 city filled with tie triatttroi ;ri..r.• a. not a single augur, and if 3 ,-irp , tit..r. would b.,re a hole, he does it with a re , .?. 1.,1 rtu- rtaiultet rot f r o m tLc wauc •.; tudoscr, Aaparaty though: Th. r, TIC 140 toward They toil etrly att.i Ity , n, woutou, anti chil dren, with an an itotry-th;st hibor-saring Yankees In "tome urinvipwily used for fuel, and ~ou wra M . !a •tring of tweity hringtug :tux sack. of it upon. their backs, wh, u an. asuie e .old draw ail in a cart. But the chare.Jat vender never had a cart, and aao kcepi his mules and feetli , theta. This is from no want id , n.tustrs bat there is want of col:aped - I iou A Yaukte rlw,ti l‘wig, haggard sod oorsoos sq it fit• ,•11, d.tßar With es MOW)" taro.) tharag, atta . a .r • ) .broad, we are surprz-.•d t wad . •,! tava evueti to be almighty t 1 au.; • avtl.., to du a )06 for fifty tra:l i,P .a.,41..,y A, at to,r a do! lac, and will *5 •i .1 by( 13ut oat. ~f t bC latcaroui •,; •. tv'o• .1. tt+ earned ter.. cut, itni tti ki, \s,ti work 110 mare taat d if r L . i ill r iarges..,utu Lie ha, t'arli • •I.A) , and wants nn m.iro r! , n,•f"r making uj o u,..y, c ut .t 1,1, %Li E . ) Lltiy IlitrleS shairay TIT): _ou r i 1 th e sub tsik.u.• Ito I.,an .1. ilflFil giro. the _ Uri, I .6 Caul) - .1. (j.. 1 ILL! Me / 1 ,, harbor - lur,u,z, the entire 1 I/W.,* MEE unp “A' I I atteliti..ll• Alto ,„ 1. VS' fn.u, ~ ' L-1/lu_ Ins \ t..lti« tiq , t) ger SlAulr•ty Att. - . he w.a,s h , ult. r eiu: hts wife re eetve anti ioviugtt i :urn Snyder', ktse 1,04,,ru n. ;u3..est himself npou the eihtltt iti " 11, ~,KAtilu. all der t. ter death 1, • I :.,r 44) toetter as m ! .wog !avid!' Overboard ur 1 .it :. wit- beeatwo frau allu ttleity, . ,• 41, Wit Kat ,ttxyed by the Lfe, •• e•r lumen. y tai agonizingly eul: •i r • , t.,‘Cur.tie load( but bo li rge aphipruu„w•1 110W3Ver iug eouat.iut•y--tu , I Atio•ttou--the spirit of deY , ,t,erot) au,l L., Nei:wed anilooki .1.1e..11..d:ti it a ii • - ,• 'Ave the rutlidd water. • or • :N.A.& 'bricked for hllll st..; 1111. N • , it ,s I=l • , I am now . 0 .%- r ,ery t> vet, if you der Su) , l,.r • to 4, tone twain; sad if YZltt 11 , more i f* , %os roe so good and better 4.4 ‘IL ' I bin) H wr, vy deo Ico rites baelt mv.-it 1 Le , , ler taint dailur, him to ,ret ta.• 1,,r iii-law Mit weib wife - A wild. r) e.eati....l the soma*. She pv11121,1 wit it) utiou her tended knee, when ?dimly frt,in bent-stn th- ovirtli4 of the &rat emerged the halltro4, n 1)1/Lehman lie had ma naged to gain the cover of the guards without being discovered, and there .upported himself above the water by the timbers. It is needles*, perhaps, to .ay, that .4inee then Katriae has been a meet devoted wit:, and h , , , ids the tailor is Utter detestation." THINK FOR YOUStilild —Respect no seetrise on account of its age or the numbers who beitemi in it. The precept of the apostle, "Prove all things, hold fast that which is good," is now be ginning to be understood, respected and obeyed Reject no dootrine because it is as yet new, sod its teachers have their fame yet to acquire; or because it has tot the influence of numbers to support it. A man should baok upon the wrongs, falsehoods, i,o.t the past, AB be looks upon the follies nii.l —wakes of his own ehildkood and youth rb..% not to be never ed or repeated. The pa:t uas lu. lemons; but it teaches us, for the tri• pax:, what to airtid' Water- I 'err Jossrom/ lir A letter fr , a, I,.•cidon to the New York Tribune, says that a:1 the gallant Aeon, who at the Alma and at Itaiak lava rushed intodemit with readiness, arc now »celting a potent foe that ra ms to the emutorte of England. They wish to sell their couicuisoiqns, or to reties on half pay, became they cannot lvie is rags,apon half retinue, unprotected Mainat the drenching twin is Si* wind of the camp. IN true that they Whys all those intolerable hardships ought halt hum obviated by more capacity in the Co Chief, and more order in his staff. Thy ham Jest their raistfidric.ti 4- esteem of the opera. tines, and feelthst their health and *air Nam or. is c opim maritiosd to the imbecility of tie. semis. Still, the nation will *sr wish ocrwarthos for deserting the post of • ." 4 •,:de • " CC i +4 - - - :x - 4 3 t L - kii.' , , w,• kittlir . .1 . k p•-• 11 w.1r.1 .litveringly
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