DURLIN & SLOAN, PUBLISHERS. VOLUME 26, LITTLE CHILDREN =cm IT REV, J. • 111111111 N Oh' tripping.through tho.tiney alma, And mitering:like the rein, I hier:the nutae'ufcbildren'e feet, la the morning &prow trim mad nest, And b.maid for pottoul again. _ •zueb!paebgee of neatness now, Dope up and rant with ears' They latter onward anyhow, The Pearoperklrom some vagrant eow, Tbal turns up unaware. Rai me in my study door, Y,er ore the eloek strike. nine, uswin at half past four, our* they homeward pour straggling liue. fr 'to town on holidays, T tn-rt the groups so fair. Y.•turn ng from their woodland plays w t' i• arrayed in ootnie ways, Anr ir , .ll,:fantastie air I ewer re theis t but my been I. of lore for lira, od naJisture in my eyes will et►rt i, t , . 1 is ..f a half art, A u•I so unmanly strife. Angels sow blessings in their eyes, kind kiss their golden hair, And how would they the lesson prise •rid-worn souls were only wise, read what's written there BERTIE'S CHRISTMAS. 111=1 hALES FORREST, Egg , ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. Ac the close of a freezing December day, ;r ies Forrost, Esq , Attortioy-at.-Law and mmissioner of Deeds for the States of, etc., .itting in his fourth-story offioe before agrr fin., engaged in the profitable or un - :1.46, , occupation of reflecting The oblong of blue sanded board upon which the above 'lDA indication of the yoling gentleman's • risi.qi was furnished in gilt letters, appeared n means to prove that he had been for a /gal period "at the bar,' ' and yet the "shingle," ;rotessiooal parlance, was not entirely new. ra• much such a sign as might have been ex ,•ted under the circumstances; bad indeed hung •_•re expused to the weather just six months; :tin. was the exact and actual term of Mr tries F.irrest's legal experience A, the wi ad blew more and more drearily, mak • the alga creak upon its hinges, and threaten moment to precipitate it into the white 1 fast falling %now upon the door step, the •upant of the chamber rose from his seat and ,aed around him. It was a pleasant to look n, the flee of Charles Forrest, Esq , with its n. frank expression, the short chestnut curls aung the healthful cheeks, and the smile which meal habitually to dwell upon the lips. This _,,.came very distinctly marked as the young logied around him, dwelling for a moment 7..)11 each article of furniture in the bare and -mfvtless apartment; on the dusty table, piled .;t lawbooki displayed with ostentations intru -aess, and the bundles of doubtful-looking xr's tied carefully with red tape, and the for ^..)room reposing in a corner beside the plain containing a few old volumes and news- - -rs The gaze of the young man rested curiously ott these obj,.ets one after another, and then :6 a laugh which terminated in something very e a sigh, be resumed his seat again—which t was the sole and only rocking-chair in the rtment—and betook himsulf anew to a con mplation of the gradually expiring fire in the pate -Well," he said at last, in a half-audible tone, tern are growing complicated, and it seems e that prospects for the future are not bril- ~t This is certainly not precisely what I tied for myself when I left Shady Oaks and ut to town. I thought at that remote period existence that the world was a place 1111- saucily tull of flowers, and that my chief men us in life—in fact the duty to which I was a.ei—was simply to pluck the flowers. I had sully splendid visions; real Arabian Night's se,' I thought the Grand Vizier would come telt me that the Caliph requested me to ac u a personal favor to himself, the band of lily daughter, the Princess Beautiful:" le smile with which these words commenced • fare place to an undeniable sigh. - Tie Princess Beautiful!" be continued. "I tcquainted with a young lady answering to lescriptiou, but it really does seem to me I am neither expected nor desired to espouse "aie young man paused in his soliloquy, and shadow passed over his brow and dimmed Attut of his eyes. He remained for a tune •ti and motionless, paying no attention ap -ny to the wind cutting its antics without, .1 the driving snow, or the forlorn creaking 'be melancholy sign He was aroused at • h)wcver, by the sound of martial music, .t*ling probably from a band returning after talittlog to earth some member of the order 1.4,,,e b or other fraternity. The music was loud ::übilant; and when the wind shifted and blew lathe proper quarter, the tuue played by the war distinctly heard, like a loud gash of inod news from home!" said Mr. Charles 1..... t, tg. "Wh.t •.• • I lot sd, t. tang of that. sort? They're all well at Shady 41 1 know, and that's very good news from , but beyond that there is nothing. If I only get some good news from what 'home' to be, when Helen and myself had not had p i , 7ahappy niisuuderstatiding! Every thing as ;'at between us then, and if any body had id would uow be on terms of actual conat 'nt, 'eld have laughed at them. I love tier more • ever--and I have the right to love her!— . tas been more to Sae than any one but my , and there is not a lovelier character in yule world. Oh, why has this miserable 19 made us change toward each other! I will ' 4 .t myself think for a moment that the love 'tri who made every one devoted to her when ame to see us at Shady Oaks, can have had t telings changed toward me by my ill success ty profession. Yet I could not blame her," - teinei the young man sighing, and looking 'lid it the cheerless apartment; "this would 4 pretty place to bring a delicate and tenderly '• • girl. lam like the poor poet I read about i newspaper the other day, sitting on his stool, ' t fell, on his three-legged stool,' in his frees garret . The writer says he was destitute and 'wing, though 'Ho treat thoughts had moved when Moved Winona to tsars, librough years, To joy 504 to w ars .• hat never yet given utterance to any 'great '.. , tie that I am aware of, and therefore I as off than the poor pat;" ~ffaving conk , to this melancholy conclusion, 'n• Charles Forrest smiled, in spas of the mad lath o f his logic, and looked out of the win *. As he did so, a knock at the door attracted his Mamma, end the SOU IlOitellt s bate Inks 4 114 ed him, the bearer of which diaappeered 'lib & bow. He vetted it sad foaled tbet it isea- Weed &request ott the parted Missilelea Hamby, 44 he would oodie up that treeing, and veld Ike awe with a few frimide—eosieily. NIL ERIE: WEEKLY -. OT 1 SERVER Front Harper's Magazine. Charles Forrest turned the note over sad over, smiled, si4hed, mrend, reed it aria, folded it, opened it a mend time, spin read it, and ended by placing it in his private portfolio, among his mom 'one archives. The manner in which be these different seremimics would have clearly indicated to an astute ob server, that any thing upon which the hand of the fair writer had rested was henceforth sacred is his eyes. The young man at onos prooeededto the small adjoining room, which served as his bed.ohamber; and making an elaborate toilet, which neverthe less dealt in nothing gaudy, or exceeding the bounds of the most severe good taste, wrapped his cloak around him, went out, and took his way toward the residence of Miss Helen Buruaby. 1I . —THI ONINSZL 111 A TIM PLAINTIPP Ulla= ills SUIT About a dosen persons were assembled at Mr. Burnaby's elegant manlike. on Street, and Mr. Charles Forrest taunted' almost the whole company among his intimate friends. He very soon found himself, after paying numerous com pliments in his issesip w _ity the side of Helen Burnaby. She was a fresh-looking and attractive young lady, with fine dark eyes, hair like the wing of a raven, and "coral lips," which had a great tendency, it would seem, to satirise the ob ject of their mistress' dislike. Helen seemed to be one of those sensible and rational young ladies who look at things in their real light without the least inclination toward romance and poetry; and yet there was a world of good feeling and kind ness; in her eyes, which indicated a warm and af fectionate nature. Charles Forrest and berselt were cowing, and had been brought up together, it might almost be said. Helen had gone every year, from her earliest childhood, to spend the summer months at Shady Oaks, the estate of the Forrest', and Charles had frequently accompanied her back to town, and staid for several weeks at Mr. Burnaby's. They had leen oompaniou in all the merry sports at childhood in the country, and were called "sweethearts" by the town chil dren when Charles visited Helen's; and at last this verdict of the little town misses became very nearly the fact. Helen certainly had a very great affection for her young cousin and playmate, whose arm had supported her so often in their rambles, and whose frank and open character was perfectly well known to her. As he grew into a fine young fellow, and she ripened more and more into a blooming maiden, this affection increased, and finally when the time for Charles to go to college arrived, the feelings of the young man became the deep and earnest passion of the lover. They parted without any mutual explanations, however, and Charles had only chance looks and affectionate words to build implicit hopes upon. That be had not "spoken" was attributable to his modest and unpretending nature—in truth, he had not had the courage to place his whole happiness upon one throw of the dice. He felt that if he were mistaken in attributing to Helen at affection for himself such as he felt for her, and she were to listen to his avowal, and declare herself unable to return his love, that from this moment every thing changed between them, their old intimacy and familiarity he destroyed, and their relations all cooled and injured. He had, therefore gone away with a last look, in which he endeavored to tell her, as far as possible, his feelings, and a last clasp of her hand, which be made very tender; and so had betaken himself to his studios. As oboes the lam toe his as on leaving college, and came to practice in the city where Mr. Burnaby resided. Helen met him with all her old cordiality and affection, and for a time theyoung man reveled in the idea that she returned his own feelings perfectly. He was soon doomed to see a change however, in Helen's demeanor toward him. As interview after interview took place, and be grew warmer and warmer in his feelings and the exhi bition of thee. Helen grew cooler and cooler.— She was no longer the same affectionate and familiar companion; and, one by one, she denied him all the privileges he had begun to enjoy.— When he asked her to aooomyony him to a con cert, she had some ready excuse to offer for re fusing; if he asked her to permit him to escort her to a party which he knew she meant to at tend, she had already secured a cavalier; finally, he found himself received as a stranger, with a "not at home" when he made a cell in the morn ing. Helen seemed resolutely bent upon not seeing him alone, and met him as seldom as pos sible in the presence of others. We have heard the comments of the young man upon this state of affairs between them; and this was deposition of the parties towards each other on the evening when she invited him to her father's, doubtless from a sentiment of propriety, and the fear that an opposite course would seem strange. When the young man approached her, she was talking with a fashionably-clad gentleman, of foppish manners and elaborate elegance. Tom Vane was decidedly a dangerous rival, with his ten thousand a year, his assiduous attentions, and studied elegance. of oonwersation and deport. ment ; Charles found himself engaged in the despondent amusement of comparing himself with this brilliant Bt of fashion, and was obliged to make an effort to look and speak in a tone of self possession and unconcern. "Mr. Vane and myself were talking of the weather," mid Helen, after returning the young man's salutation; "It is s very,useful subject to •eomnsenee with." "I'm sure I am delighted to converse with you on any subject," said the gallant Tom Vane in a gallant tube. Helen smiled in recognition of this obvious compliment and said: "Yon were well wrapped up, I hope, cousin Charlet; this weather is terrible for influensas sod more throat." "I hope to escape them," was the smiling reply. "I have a very warm overcoat, which serves me exoellently in default of better ways of keeping warm." "Are there better ways?" The young won =hid, and said: "I was Wishing of an old sawyer I net SW your door, aa asquaistaaes of mine, who mined to suffer from the beat, inasmash as hi east was off." "Oh yes! old Nadia! I know him awry well —do pm." "He makes my km, and Minds Se the of fice?" "Does he? He is a very *ism* leid maa, and I like him vary mush. B. sum a red dal of wood for us, as papa likes an old- sous try log-fire in his study." Helen turned to Mr. Vane of she thus term inated the matter-of-Piet oonvenotiou, in which that elegant gentleman in vain tried to latrodnos a word. Old Obadiah was apparently out ethic "berg; sad his ideas, accustomed to revolve around parties, muerte, waits.., and the beau moody generally, with diMeulty amessEed to the subject of wood-sawyers sad shirt4isoms. A few minutes afterward Mr. Tom Vane had glided to the side of a new sequaiatance, asked her to fa vor him with a eon, and led her in triumph to the piuo which she Immediadely . mocked in the most fee marmer, amompanymg the umiak with a torturing menus, degenerating omasionally ate s growl. Bela and Cliseies woes left alone, is it were, and es *very eve knewe l the mode isereseed the scan& We sod not my thesis iepoetible to Bey the meal Ovid* *imp* the Ia geet as. semblr, if lhesele lam eel* scowl the ase. . geek nal admit M .4441111i1i1001.1k* the icasery, Re*" yon like them tee' "Oh yes, my mush!" said the you's lady, arranging her dom. "Do yea ever resolleet the hew days we spent at Shady Oaks a losg lima are matins ed Charles, ping . with sad sminsess os the face of his coutpaans. "Yes," she replied, looking bin traapdlly ha the syes,'"of morsel moonset the awry times we had there, all of us—Assa Payton and all of us. Have you spoke* to her this itemise You hew she is nay* with se son. She m my pretty; look ae she taros her head." The young man sighed. It seemed bared hie to make a chord m Heles ; s bosom respond to his touch. His own heart widthisy and tender resolleetioss of *ld days, wins sported at Shady Os/nr, and when be ender to oonununieate some of this feeding to Helen she began to talk upon indifferent .s jest—te divert the oonversatios to Miss Ansa Clayton sad her headdress. Miss Anna Clayton :was indeed looking to- ward them, and nowaulia a smiling salu tation with Charles—after * . es he rinsed again to Helen, she continued to look at them. The young man sat for some moments gazing at the floor absently: then he said, with an imperceptible "Helen, I am thud you have lost all your regard for me, and forgotten our friendship.— Our relations have in some way changed since my return from oollege, and you seem to look upon me as an ordinary acquaintance, and almost as stranger at times." "Oh no, indeed I do not!" said the e = la dy, with a sudden missed= which to indicate that the accusation gave her pain. But this animation disappeared almost immediately, and she added, almost coldly, "You have no reason to think that our fried ship has diminished—at least on my part." "No reason! 06, Helen! how can you be so cruel as to tell me that you never did lib my society? You almost repulse me when I ap proach you, and when I complain, you say that you never had for me any sentiment warmer than this would indicate. You pain and wound me." There was Do mush earnestness and sadness in the tone of these words, that a slight blush *use to the young girl's cheeks, and for a setimeat she pied at her companion with an expression which made his heart leap. "Oh, Helen!" he said, as the Milk VIII rose, drowning his voice, "what his happened to cause this misunderstanding between us? It makes me unhappy and wretched to think that our kindness and good feeling—our friendship, which has lasted from our very childhood, should be interrupted . " "It is not interrupted, I hope," she said, in a low voice, and turning away with a flush in her cheeks as she spoke. "Why then treat me thus?" he mid, with an expression of pain. "It is your imagination; that ie—" she said, in an altered voio•—"you must not thick that any thing has occurred to change my feelings toward you." "But something most have occurred," he said, obstinately; "you no longer meet me and speak to me as you used to. Helen, this has beat the cause of more unhappiness to me than any other mat of my life. Oh! lan at hour es think that you have lost your regard for your old play mate. You do not know my feetags toward you," the young man added, esrris away by his feverish emotion; "I have never spoken of them; but you must have known that you were more to me than any other woman in the world—" As be spoke the young girl turned emnpletely away from him, and bad not the attention of the company been absorbed by the posformer at the piano, they must have observed and wondered at the deep blush which suffused Amanuenses of Helen Charles felt that be had now advaneed too far to recede; and in spite of the uallteem of the occasion, his emotion drove him onward, and compelled him to give utterance to his thoughts sad feelings. "I thought at one time," he said, in a low roles ot great emotion, "that you felt toward me a. I did toward you, Helen. We bad been friends and playmates so long, and had shared every feeling so constantly, that I thought you shared this too. Sines I have been beak from college your demeanor has changed; you treat me almost coldly. Helen, I can mot endure this any longer—it makes me wretched. I can not think of any one but you, and I am lasing all my spirits. Oh, Helen, ten me if there is any hope of my winning your affection! I must speak, or this uncertainty will kill me! If you can never love me, tell me soand let me go away and hide my shams and misery, where you will not see it or be annoyed by it. I what madness it is for me to risk lay happiness thus upon a sudden avowal for whisk you are not pre pared; but this suspense is killing me. Helen! tell me if there is say hope of my winniag your heart—l only ask one wordl It is madness, but I can not help itl Tell me, He/ea, and make me happy or miserable—bus I muse hear from your own lips something! , Carried away by his emotion, the young man uttered these latter words with feverish rapidity, bending toward her and endeavoring to look into her downcast eyes. Helen's Alaska were cover ed with blushes, and she is vain tried to speak. At last she said, is a low voles, which trembled and scarcely was audible: "This is wroat—you ought sot is speak thm to me hers—the company will look at is, sad—" "One word thee, Helea—bat a word! I love on dearly—es no maa ever loved yak or euk eve foul Tell me if you aka ever mots—" "Oh, I can not, Clarke—l ma sot,—" Suddenly the music stopped, sad the agitated sad brace voice of the yang girl mingled itself with the conoludiag mash et the bess, sad died away with it. Charles drew batik pie sad West, sad Holes passed her white imalkaakid ems her fees to cool the burning of her cheeks. He rose sad changed his seat, sad as moos as common polite ness would permit, mode his bow mod retired. She seersely looked at him as be babied be. fore her, and then the whole assembled compeay diseppsued from big ?yes, sad the doer closed npoa him. "What madams it was for me to think of speaking to her them!" he mattand, withpale lips sad gloomy eyes. "What demos got ism me! To pass over a thommand misesioas wiles we were alone together, sad might have bees oniatenupted—to is at bier arm this evesiag —in public—on ea amnion ibis every one was locking at her sad modish% et me, ao &obi! Whim s savage she mast think eel Bat I emildet help it!" the yeas added, with cruel gross. "l maid not Missal I he,. lost socking by maim a et myself, siker all, for she area thar fee as. Sb. sires socking for my groom or my egemyl , Ism am thing to her! was a Melgesea to think that there ••• may thin a poor orwitty boy Wm spelt to tomb her bows whim do bm. mood her • doss others, mil sae of *him min we thy d &masks! What • mama I. Wee +AO *sob lot I bops I, ban it oil phis, tai Aw l sit inoishotory ire be. siii4 :Nobody, "I WWI it air wail o r s setems aiy lays, mamba dishrag as meld sod Ii disimme bay. 1 V SO A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. ERIE, SATURDAY MORNING,, JANUARY 5,185& =lll she no doubt ims reed of having MOO known me and sea IMO dies; and I minims it will wake bar feel im plementl, for the Dent half hour—after which she will firgs me„aad laugh at me far my eons try bumpkin fair The young man ground his Meth and groaned as he spoke. "Nor' hi mid, wiping hie forehead, which was bathed in • • ti spite of the bitter co ld o f the lag t—"no, I will sot do her that *Omits! I will net let my wretched's." carry me away and blind me. She ie a noble, tender girl, and it's not me to eay kwerd against her. What right have Ito Sad holt with bee for not loving me! I thought I had timaked her heart in all these years, but I as iuliptakat, wretched ly mistaken, and it was ridililove far me to speak as I did—onhelin& Or I know she is feeling pain now at myna aipVinesel Oh, why couldn't I leave this terrible question for some other occasion, or alter ask it! All is now end ed between ut—thiags are changed. lam now her persecutor, mid she will always dread a re curium to the sablect. 810 need not—l will annoy her no logger with my hpableseme deo. tics. I can at least brisk ft heart with her image where she an not look upon my agony:" And hurrying along the loueg man reached his apartment, threw himself into a chsir, and resting his bee upon his bead, remised for hours enduring that agony which happens bat once in a lifetime. The company had all left Mr. Burnaby's, and Helen and her friend, Anna Clayton, who, as we have seen, was staying with her, had retired to their chamber. Helen was standing half disrobed before the tall mirror, on each aide of which two gas burs ars protruded their arms, 10* up her fresh looking and aimatitive head. The face of the yonng lady was, however, dimmed by an ex pression of grief and disquiet, and as she combed out her long dark hair, preparatory to binding it up again for slumber, she paused more than ones, and a sigh agitated her lips, coming apparently from the bottom of her heart. Anna Clayton, who was sitting readiag by the fire, looke4 round at her two at three times as she was thus engaged, sad at last said, "Helen, I wish you would be mow oommuni cativo of your feelings, and tell aie what grieves you so much." "Grieves me!" replied Helen; "why do you think any thing grieves am?" "Bemuse you have been sighing as if your heart would break." A slight blush came to Helen's cheek, but she said nothing. "I know very well that something hes war red this evening to trouble you," aid her friend, "and I think Charles Forrest knows what it Helen turned round and looked• at bar com panion so sadly that it was very plain she had not missed the truth. "Why do you treat him so coldly, Helen? I should think you bad been friends long enough to throw aside ceremony. I thought you even were wider to him than others, and when he bowed to you on going away you scarcely looked up. You are certainly doing him injustice." Ham's head drooped, and fora time she made so reply to these wads- Ana /4 she left the gime, and 'gbh 'bar hag bhir -bather 4S her white dress, came and sat down by her friend, and gamed for some misuses into the Are. "I hays been thinking, Anna," she said at last, "that perhaps it would be better for' e to tell you what the relations between Charles and myself are, and explain my madam toward him. You are not an idle goesip,and mom will know any thing of it. I have been cold toward filia, and I have been so because I thought it was my duty. You know how we were brought up to. gether, and I am afraid Charles has been led to think of me differently than in old time. In deed I know it. I could not help it, and I did not come to the khowledge of his feelings before he returned from caller. I then saw that he was becoming attached to me, and I tried in ev ery way to discourage this swankest." "Why, Helen? I ant sure you would not have a better husband. I forewarn you that lam going to take Charles's part. Why did you dis solver him?" "Because I did not love him," said Helen, with a slight color in her cheeks. "I could not return his feelings, and it was curvet is me to go es treating him with the same familiarity and affection 1 used to. Gentlemen haves rifht to think that such a eotums indicates partiality on oar part, and I did not wish so encourage feel ings which I alai not return. They say lam unromantic sad matter-of-fact, Anna; and I am glad this is true so far, that in order so indulge my foolish feeling of pride, I would never con sent to deceive or mislead an honorable gentle man like Charles. But I could net love him, I tried, Anna, and I could not. You can not think that, I was wrong in denying oetwions of seeing me and continuing to think of me." . There was deep feeling is the tone of these words; and after a moment Helen went on: "I my that he was growing more and more ottaehed to me, or I thought I low it; and I re laud deeply upon what was proper for me to do under the eirstuatanoes. It was plan to me that I ought aot to see him any more, and that I ought, if possible, to make hint forget me.— This is the explanation of my toldnees. You will not say I Ina wrong." Helen spoke now with a sort of craving agita tion which changed her whole ossatensses, and tears quivered on her eyelids. Anna seemed however to be unconvinced by her login "Why, then, did you invite him this even ing?" she said. "I add not help it." "Well, that I. true but when you do no him, Helen, I declare you aught set to be so sold to him. You make him Wier mere than he would if on were kind; and yos la & give him an word, I think, is min for his own offeetion when you do see him." "Au alfatirmate word!" "Ti.. I. mat you might tow what yea al ways wore to him—famikar and kind." Halea's shooks lashed, and she said, is an seated voice: "Familiar and kind! How ma lon advise use to be so, under the oinounstanosa, Anna? It would be wrong! Oh, I never meld meow& it wish my ideas of day! Familiar and kindl— hind" she mid, in a wise of 4w:ha wed; lon know that I was se this evening, Aaaa, and as you per what the remit was? Ana Wald with great miparnsii towards her 001111101 L 1411.," "Addrismsd awl Da," said Maki, taisb. lime sad bleskiag, "while ohs IN* nap going ea. kis Tram is us to WI is, bus I ars not help it. Hs aid he Wed mg sad lie nem would--ao, asear—it I had does ay.datir A burst ci lalloved thew wards, sad is am agiassahand Mina slaw Boise lidded: "I mold ilk may say shins but visit I did say. I had WWI idai that I said sot roan his Mal Alarm ha is pas away r aadlsimill as• say oars. as Mei asnipt W is unhappy, sad so ass I-416 most unhappy giri datum lived!" The ligitiald few, same* id* Om% els Masi Ise Maas bosom, mai Masa nisi liksisaidid, sod amid amt isles Yr nale. 111.-THI CON7SIIBION wards addressed to her. 'rho way of the rug tun, sitting in hie ahaubse, WSIONIII.BI7 gnaw than kw own; but be was pale and Ail IV.-GOOD NSW, PROM WILL For goose Joys Charles seamed to be lid a dream-life in as unreal and unsubstantial world, with which he had motile( to do, and whose pur suits bad se eonneetion with himself or his life. The maim sassed Meek to him, and he wan dered about sanely •returning the sods of kis acquaint's.% and sneering to himself as forlorn lovers have dabs in all ;ages. Like others who had paned through the same emotions before him, be was growing older, hour • by hour, and his careless ohareeterr beoo ming serious and gloomy. Sleep did not seem to refresh: him, and he would sit hour after boar with but one thought, one image is his heart, obliterating every other. It seemed to him that be bad monopolised the whole suffering of the worn, and that compared with his agony ail the grief, and wait, and pov erty, and ppaa tt • which be had reed of in books sunk 11110 • and was unworthy of at teatime. i t Day after day passed thus, and at last his pain began gradually to decrease, and better thoughts to come to him. Suffering had purified him, and he was demised soon to see that others besides himself were unfortunate, and to profit by it. One morning old Obadiah, the wood sawyer, who, among his various occupation, attended to numerous offices, making the fires and putting things to rights—old Obadiah appeared before Charles, cap in hand, and begged a small loan of mosey, which hi said he needed to buy some comforts for his grand-daughter, who was slot. As Christmas came on every thing was high, he said, and the priess had taken all his savings. If Mr. Forrest would advance a small sum, he would soon repay it, and his grand-daughter would not suffer. Charles promptly supplied him with what be needed, and then entered into conversation with him on his way of living. The old man drew so curious a picture of his "ways and means," and especially of his household with the lilae sick grand-daughter, that Charles found kingbolt deeply interest, and what was better, diverted from his possessing and absorbing thought. He promised to come and see the old man, whose humble dwelling was not far from his of fice, and then they parted. Charles had despatched all the business of the day early on the forenoon, and then tie b .thought him of the promise he had made. He proceed ed toward the spot designated, and soon found the obscure hut in which Obadiah lived. In reply to his knock at the door a feeble but perfectly self-possessed little voice bade him come in, and pulling the leather string, the door open ed and he entered. The roost was very poor and mean, but .crapulously nest, and in a small bed in the earner lay a child apparently six or seven years of age. Charles stood for a moment gazing in silence at the countenance of the child, which wore an expression of extraordinary sweetness and sim plicity. Her hair was long and curling, of a brilliant auburn, and lying in profuse masses upon the poor pillow. The large blue eyes were set like stars in a thin pale face, and the whole expression of the countenance was spiritual and dreamy, as if the owner of it did not busy her self about estufiry things, but thought of mere important issues. "Did you want to see grandfather, Sir," said the childquite essay; "he isn't here. He left me here—l am Baby Bertie—and is coming hack in the evening." Charles smiled sad closed tha door, and came and sat down by the child, who gamed it him quite tranquilly with ber large eyes—indeed they almost seemed to smile too. Between certain persons i there seems to be a species of magnetioal au/fiction, by means of which they recognise each other, and which dis penses with words. From the bet moment Char les and Baby Berrie were on the best possible terms wi•h each other; and they began to con verse quite easily,asif they had known each other all their lives. The child's voice, like her face and expression, was of extraordinary sweetness, and she seemed always to be smiling. She related, in the simplest and most contented tone, all their poverty, and her sickness, and added by saying quite simply and tranquilly, that she didn't think she would "last longer than Christmas." "What, Baby Bertie!" said °bevies, looking sadly at the child's face, "you don't think of dying?" "Yes, Ido Sir. I think I will not last. to the New Year." "Pshaw, Igsbyr. said Charles, taking the thin hand lying half oat of the covering, "you mutt not be thinking se." He found the hand resist his grasp, and the child said: "If you shake hands, Sir, you will mae me lose my place." In fact, the finger which Charles had tried to capture wm inserted between the leaves of on old Bible, which was concealed by the coarse an In terpose of the poor bed. liras reading about the daughter ofJairus," said Baby, by way of introducing a new topic of conversation; "I like that very much." "It is very interesting," said the young mpp. gazing sadly at the thin Moe of the child. "It is veryeweet," was the reply; they thought that the Saviour could not do it, but he said, , B e not afraid, only believe.' How sweet that is, 'Only believer and that is all he asks." After uttering them 'words Baby Bertie seem ed to reflect fora time. At lea she said with a. smile, "It is all the sane." "What is all the sacks, Baby?" "I was thinking shat the daughter of Jairus was twelve Tame old, Bir." "What of that?" "Nothing. lam seven on Chngtmas day." After this Baby Bettie closed her book and looked through the low window with a smile. This smile, however, disappeared in a few min utes, and the thin lip were contracted painfully. The child at the sane moment raised her hand to her breast, and heist bed with difficulty. "If jon Will please give me that tumbler with the drink init," she sad, in a low voioe, and pointing to the labia. Charlie hastened to both it to the child's lips, and she slowly drank the contents, after which she seemed mash relieved. ultra. Jamas sits with sae when grandfather's sway," she said at length, "but she was sailed home. I'll ask her the next time to leave the tasher sear me. I feel better now—l felt as if I was choking." And Baby smiled quite happily and tranquilly. Oharles remained for • a hour after this until Mrs. Johnson ease bed t, conversing with the shad, and feeling as it a hara were acting upon his wadded sprit. Els then went away, with a promise to eall again, 1 eaviag Baby Bertie is sharp of the old Toms a with whom she seemed to be a great *eerie. "I wish you would e owe 'gala, Sir," said Bet tie, with a smile. 'AI like you, for you are rxm l . l/1 Charles west away with the words is his ears, and eidditg hi heed diseestiagly." f‘l_ hive lesnied a b moo, at least," he matter ed, 'ohm this al* and if I do sot prat by it, it will be way NM fs alt. Peer human natarel Mow ysese we are to think that oar own ems is lie hendest, tin* the net of the vivid an biwy: and easy while we are safferiag! What is My disappointment in comparison with this child's lot? There she lies, as feeble and frail as a lily, whioh the least :wind will snap—racked :with pain, and looking forward to a few weeks, al most a few dam of life only: sod she is happy. I have health, and strength, and oompetenee, and am miserable! She is poor, and rick, and tranquil under ail. I am well and hearty, and think that no suffering is like my own! I must have been led there by the hand of Providence, that I might see that others besides myself suf fer, and far more deeply. Well, I will try to profit by the lesson. Dear child! she shall at least have every comfort I can give her, and I pray God to make me u happy as she is." The young man entered his lonely room with a lighter heart than he bad done for days; it no longer seemed to be a sort of refuge for his des pair, leading i him to avoid the face of man.— Henoeforth it was lighted up by Baby Bertie's smile—by her large blue eyes, full of sweetness and tranquility; he felt the contact of her heart with his, and his life was no longer full of gloom. As he closed the door, he beard the band of mu sic again, load and rejoioeful, and it was playing the same old tune, "Good news from It now seemed to him infinitely sweet, no lon ger sad, and in some way it seemed connected with Baby Bertie. V.--BABY BEATIZ'S OTHEA FZULND. Charles manfully tarried out his resolution; and from that time forth Baby Bertie wanted for nothing. They grew to be fast friends, and he would go and sit by her bedside fur hours, and often read to her, not only from the Bible, but such tales as she liked to bear. In the child's presence be seemed to forget much of his grief, and he never left her without feeling a sensation of purity and content, which enabled him.to go back to the performance of his duties cheerfully and willingly. "Mr. Charles," said Baby one day—this was her manner of addressing him—"l think you do not look happy, and something troubles you often " "What Triakf.s. you thinkliat, Baby?" said the young man. smiling. "Do I ever groan?" "I don't know if you groan, but you look sor ry. I wish you would not look sorry." "Suppose i have reason to " "Then you ought to pray more, and you will not be sorry " Charles sighed. "1 hardly know how to pray," be said, "and it does L t do much good." "Oh yes, it does!" said Baby. "Every prayer does good, and it must. God, you know, would not tell Qs to ask for what we want and we should have it, if he did not mean to give it to us." The young man looked at the sweet face of the child, and felt a pang at the thought that he did not possess her faith. "Does God give us what we pray for though, Baby?" ho could not help saying; "why do you no: pray for health and serengthr "I do," si.id Baby, tranquilly; "but 1 pray 'Thy will, not mine, be dune,' too. It would not be right for every body to have what they wadi, because we often want what is bad for us, and it would not be love iu God to give it tu us, because we ask for it " "But your health, Baby—" "I know whet you mean, Hr. Charles. Yon mean it is not wrong to pray for health and strength. I don't think it is; but if God doss nor give it to me, I ought not to think he has not heard me. Dying, you snow, may be the beet thing for ~a." "The best thing ?" "You kuiw what Paul acid—don't you re member: 'Haring a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better.' I think it is far better." Air: Baby looked u if she were thinking of heaven, tranquilly and happily. After such conversations, in which the child stated her feel ings with so much simplicity, Charles would turn away, and ponder sadly, but hopefully too. He slower began to share Baby Bertie's feelings, and his whole nature felt the_ salutary influence of the child's purity. Baby Bertie seemed to be not long destined to affect bun, however, for her form became thin ner, and the light in her eyes waned day by day. She could scarcely take any nourishment now, and seemed to need none. She appeared to be fading softly away like an autumn evening, and the thread upon which her life hung was so frail that all felt that it might at any moment gently part asunder, and the child pass from them. At this time a lady came frequently to see Baby, whom she grew to love and look for, as much as for her grandfather or Charles. This lady made her delicate dishes and draughts— bathed her brows with cooling liquids, and smoothed her bed and pillow. Baby talked much with her, and told her all about her friend Mr. Charles—how attentive and kind he had been—what kind friends they were, and how he bad read to her, and told her stones, and scarcely missed a day in calling to see her. The lady listened to all this prattle of the child with evident pleasure, and when she related some instance of delicate kindness on the part of her friend, the lady's cheek colored slightly, and she would be more tender than ever to Baby. She only endeavored to find the hours weeu Mr. Charles was expected, god at these times she ne ver made her appearance. Christmas drew on thus, and the streets began ' to be more and more filled with merry wayfarers —the houses of relations began to roar with huge fires, and smell of roasted meats—children every where rejoioed - aud made merry with toys, and candy, and noisy trumpets, and snow-balling; and finally, Christmas eye same, sod the whole town thrilled with laughter and:rejoieing. Charles determined thatßady Bertie too should have a merry Christmas, and he busied himself to procure a little cedar tree, which he hung with all sorts of variegated paper, baskets fall of toys, and candies, and nice things—and this magical tree made its appearance at Baby's, and was erected nobly there, decked out .with tapers for the illumination. VI.--.THI CHRISTYAS Tall Charles had been invited by Mr. Burnaby to atm with him on Christmas day, and this invi tat ion he had accepted, though he doubted about the propriety of again annoying Helen with his pre IMMO. le determined, however, to put it off to the last poss ibis moment, and the fore-part of the after nom he dedicated to Baby Bertie, whale pale face and loving smile were now a part of his dai ly lit 'c. Lie accordingly made his appearance at the child' s bedside before the shades of evening be gan to descend. As he entered, a lady, who had been sitting by Baby's side rose, and abruptly aroppea her veil, thereby aneenling her features. She them made a movement to retire, but the voice arrested her. "You must sot fro yet if you plume Miss He len," she said, "I want you to know Mr. Char les--this is Mr. Charles." Bady's hoe was so full of pleasure as she ut tered these words in her feeble and broken voice, that Charles remained gazing upon her almost with team his eyes. She resembled an more than a morta lchild, and the voles like the breathing of as Baia harp. Liaise had raised her veil to kook at Ole AU, and new as %able WNW .10111114,* Asir ape met, sad a s were tall. 41, tiers own. Baby was a emosaa Bah :Itswra aad in B. FALOAN, EMIL NUMBER 34. Yee promos the old alrootioa of their ollikihood sootood to rolive--tho old lriadoess nod loft Bap, eztaaded her thin pale hand and Ye Htiledr Nni the young lady sat down beak her, and *maim he` faos, cried in silsaes. "Are yea trying? What are you eging said Baby. "Pleas. doe't. Mr. Cliesiss, tell her not to cry." _ Charles only gated from Baby to Mien with 'effused eyes. "I thought from the way,you looked you wens (viands," said the ch il d feeb ly—ere y ou r "We were." "Oh, you must not feel bad towerdeneh other," said Baby, in a weak voice; "yoe nut lore seek other, for I love yon." And taking Helen's hand, she *end it is Charles's. The young girl did not withdraw it —she only covered her face sore elesely, sad continued to cry, looking now and then al the pale, thin face of Baby Bertie. The child seemed to be looking with her MM, dim eyes for her grandfather Very seen the old man mine in, and a moil , like a beam from heaven, lit up Baby'. eons es. "Please light the tree, grandfather," mid she, faintly. The old vein, iettli a heavy and forebednig heart, did as she asked, and soon the brilliant tapers threw their light upon thete of the room and the brl--lighting =pale swbet face of the child se with a glory. As the tapers flamed out, Baby seemed to be limen . iieg, and soon from the distance came the muse of the baud—playing as before, "Good sews from home." Baby's thin band beat time to the bask se is approached, and then died away, and her large blue eyes seemed to be flied upon another had, where there is neither snow. nor Gold, nor pover ty, nor suffering. Her gaze then returned to weeping faces round her bed, and slowly sods the circuit. She smiled faintly, and her was lips moved. "'Good news from home!' " she murmured, "from my home in heaven! I dreamed that I was—going—Jesus spoke to infe=" And the frail thread parted gently, and Baby Bertie was in heaven. Her Christmas wee there, not upon this told earth; and having made her self the link which bound the hearts of Helen and Charles forever, she passed away, per. and beautiful, in the holy light of the Christmas tree, whose leaves are for the healing of the mi nions. _;) :4 D;:) i 4:;:!:f.je):41 Fellow cithen4 of the Senate and of the Hou.se of Representatives. _ The Constitution of the United States provide' that Congriss shall assemble annually on the first Monday of December, and it has been usual for the President to make no communloatios of a public character to the Senate and Hares of Representatives until advised of their readiness to receive it. I have deferred to this usage until the close of the first month of the session, but my coavicuons of duty will nut permit melange: to postpone the discharge of the obligation ea joined by the constitution upon the President "to give to the Congress information of the state of the Union, and recommend to their considers tion such mea s ures as he shall judge masonry and expedient." it is matter of congratulation that the Bap blic is tranquilly advancing in a career of prom. perity and peace. IOELEIGN ILELATIO,IB.-CLNTRAI, A.10:1101l. Whilst relations of amity continue to exist be tween the Vnited States and all foreign powers, with some of them viva questions are deposit ing, which may require the consideration of Con gress. Of such questions, the most important is that, which has arisen oat. of the negotiations with Great Britain in reference to Central America. By the convention concluded between the two governments on the 19th of April, 1850, both parties covenanted, that "neither will ever" "oo copy, or fortify, or colonize, or assume or ENT - cise any dominion over, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, the Mosquito coast, or say part of Central America. It was the undoubted understanding of the United States, in making this treaty, that all the present States of the former republic of Central America, and the entire territory of each, would thenceforth enjoy complete independence; sad that both contracting parties engaged equally, and to the same extent, for the present and ;for the future; that if either then had any (dais of right in Central America, such claim, sad all occupation or authority under it, wort% nareserv edly. relinquished by tha stipulaticY: of the convention; and that no dominion; ; rata to be exercised or assumed is part of Central America, by Great Britain et the Daited States. This government consented to restrictions in regard to a region of country, wherein we had specific and peculiar interests, only upon the conviction that the like restrictions were in the -- satne sense obligatory on Great Britain. But tor this understanding of the force and effect of the convention, it would never have been concluded by us. So clear was this understanding on the part of the United States, that, in correspondence con temporaneous with the ratification of the eon vention, it was distinctly expressed, that the mu tual covenants of non-occupation were net in tended to apply to the British establishment at the Balite. The qualification is to be ascribed to the fact, that, in virtue of successive ta • with previous sovereigns of the country, t; Britain had obtained a concession of the right to cut mabagony or dye-woods at the Belize, but with positive exclusion of all domain or sorer ' eignty; and thus it confirms the natural cousins. tion and understood import of the treaty as to all the rest of the region to which the stipulation applied. It, however, became apparent, at an early day after entering upon the discharge of my present functions, that Great Britain still oostiansd is the exercise or assertion of large anidamity in all that part of Central America aentnisaly sail ed the Mosquito-coast, and miming um astir* length of the State of Nicaragua, u part 01 Costa Ries; that she regarded the lit.l.Lse as bar absolute domain, and AY gradual: 3, wending its limits, at the expense of the 31ate of Boa dursa and that she had formally salasined a considerable insular group known as the By Islands, and belonging, of right, to that State. All these sots or pretensions of Great Britain, being contrary to the rights of the States et Central America, and to the mealiest tens ' of her stipulations with the United States, as un derstood by this governm.nt, have been awes the tiubject of negotiation through the /osmium Minister In London. I transmit herewith the instructions to him on the subject, and the nor- respondence between bile and the British Beirs•- tary for Foreign Affairs, by which you will per ceive th at th e two g overnments differ widely and i rrec o nc il a bly as w the construction of the eon- Tendon, and its duct on their respective Me- Lions to Central America. (}feat Britain so eoustruss the eosiestios, to stristain unchanged all her previous pram aiaas over. the M =Mask sad is These Preiafloat TlMaiNlip p a rts of Central se to tbs. Mosquito are founded ea ths etuuptiou of psulation bottoms ado Britain and die rwasat of a tribe el limaisms that souk Wad into at a tine what. tit win's
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