&LOAN & MOORE, PUBLISHERS.
VOLUME 26.
3tlto Votirß.
ANIMPI lA. Nee rink Loewy Part
• =NM NIGHT AMONG THE HILLS
MT T. !MULLS
Cold blows the wild Deeesber bloat
Ammon these assow-sopped hills,
And geld tise reseal noon •ow shines
Upon the ?roses rills.
Tbb bare tress stand Ilk* sontinels
Ts guard Owe solitades.
That reign with awful stillness
Through-these wild and pathless woods.
The wiliest tram kis roeky don
Comes with a pion's/ scream,
Ris Amos nye is tits full moonlight
)lathes with imam/ gleam.
The mosamin wolf toads lip hot cry—
gin*, mom the has sot fad;
♦sd otos is osier sow to slay.
Asd "hisseisst at the dad."
The raeooes walks alone to-night
Within the frozen bog,
And loaves hies foot-prints in the snow
Upon di, maple log,
The deep-soothed owl fu op the glen,
Holds andispatod swsy,—
Ho sits—Night's losollost eboristor—
Upse the bossism spray.
The slender Doe hes gobs to rest,—
The tiresome cases is o'er.
Out faithful bounds bas• loot her track,
To be regained no more.
N.ght's lonely momenta coldly dy
Witk stillness all supreme.
Bass when the owl's long, moody cry
Comes with the wildcat's scream.
A blazing Are, before:our tent
Sends oat its brilliaot keit;
And frost each near projecting rock
Dupe's the frosts of night.
A fat deer hangs apiost the tree—
His Meader limb, are still:
No more his musky feet will pew
Upon the yellow hill
Be( ,re the firs our hounds now sleep
The mountain abase is done—
Ifs rode through wild tint:omen dells
UMW the crag was won
Drell' is the night—l cannot sleep
Among these frozen hills,
For Nature's wildest Poetry
My sours deep casket
(toitt Vistellanti.
SEVEN YEARS
BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE LNHOLT WIgH "
Smoothly and swiftly the great steamer glided
throne the waters. A noble vessel she was,
yielding the palm to none she met or passed, on
the broad Atlantic. A handsome, well-built
Amines* clipper, bearing a full freight both of
passengers and cargo, from the port of Liver-
pool to her own shores. The boar was evetting,
and the vault of heaven—where do we see it in
its fall expanse of majesty, as on the broad, wide
seas?—was studded with constellations: brighter
shoce the stars than they seem to do on land.
In a remote corner of the deck, where few
could see or hear her, was one of the passengers.
Her hands clasped the outer railing of the deck,
and her bead rested sideways on them, as she
looked out to sea, with a dreamy, abstracted
gam. There was something in the gaze, and in
tbs attitude, which tolclof deep sorrow. In years
skis could not have numbered thirty, and her
countenance was gentle and pleasant to look up
on, notwithstanding its expression of anxious
care.
"How long? How long?" she murmured,
raising her head, as if in sudden pain, and press
mg her hands together, "0 God, how long?"
The words seemed to be wrung from her by a
crushing weight of anguish Yet the seared
appeal was not spoken in lightness, but reverent
ly, aa one would utter a prayer.
She, Millicent Crane, was reviewing her past
life. It had been to her not as the calm waters ;
they were now sailing on, but sasses of trouble,
each wave buffeting more ruthlessly than its
predecessor. Its many miseries rose before her
ass mirror. The early loss of her own mother;
the cruel stepmother brought home to supply her
place; the separation from one she loved better
than life, her young brother Phillip, for
cent and the lad were sent to school far and wide
apart; their, being recalled home, years after
wards, to find their father dead, and their right
fal fortune left to the step-mother, Millicent's fu
ture home with this step-parent, and Philip's
departure for London to be a clerk, boiled over
with wrath and indignation. So again sped by
a few years, and Millicent pulsed here as she
lookeiback on them; they were to her the calm ,
perio4 the green spot of her existence, for she
had revelled in Philip's letters, always long and
affectionate to her, and indulged in visions of fu
tare prosperity for him. But now came on a
vision, not of peaceful green, but of full golden
sanshine, for one, every way worthy, sought her
hand, sad Millicent grew to love him with a
deep and enduring love. But before the time
mine for the wedding day, Philip, had lost
himself and his fair fame; he had done what ma
ny another has done before him, when heavily
pressed by debt sod temp_tetion—takeu money
which wan not his own. He went into hiding;
but he was by nature honorable and truthful,
and though be had been found weak and crimi
nal in a moment of temptation, be could not live
a life of shame He came iu disguise to his na
tive town, and sought stealthily for his sister,
who responded eagerly. Sae aided him with
money to emigrate to a distant laud, she spoke
wards of hope and comfort to him, she visited
in secret, in his hiding place. But Mr
Cranford, Millicent's future husband, became
wan of these stolen interviews; he did not know
that it was ber brother whom she went to meet,
tad h e promptly and haughtily broke of all n
ations with her. Before ldillioent couldexplain,
which was not till Philip Crane had quitted the
Ikons of Ragland, Mr Cranford had left for
aeriese, on haziness for the firm of which his,
hither was the bead, and Millicent never saw or
b aw d f rom him again, till they meet accidental
ly on his return: and then be was not alone, hie
Young !married wife was with him. In their in
tirvifsw, which lasted but a few miautea, Rich
ard Cranford because aware how the Millicent
Wore him oat, sal always had been, the pure,
right- armed Xillioeet of other days,
sad as he bowed his head over her in remorse, a
I" words of "11 04 escaped his bps—that she
wee still his Sr" and only love. "My cup of
sorrow is fall," Milliesu had wailed forth, es
!started that day to her des o l ate h o me. ,
Her cup of sorrow was not tail ; and the world's
tans, real cares, were then about to f a ll u p on
harts earnest. Her latter sor rows b a d b ees
these of the heart; the hardly less bitt er ones o f
' sad disgrace were now to be add e d t o
Mrs. Cream, partly throegh the ti-each.
trustee, lost her income, and debt and dif.
loomed in the distance. They CMG.--
loese was wrested from them, their tarsi
, personal passessioas were tams and
they had to turn out in the world sad
el ether ableber• Xs& Omni fond it with
ERIE _ ..
• . •
, - -
a relative, and Millicent went to Liverpool and
'ht it as a governess. Ever sines, and it
was now some years, had she been tossed about
from pillar to post, now in • situation, now with
out one, now with *considerate family, now with
those who treated her less well than they did
their servants. Bbe had just entered upon •
new situation, with an American lady, the Pa
tricksons, who were going home to New York
Hence her present* on board the steamer that
night
"I say, Bill," called out a sailor, who in pur
suance of his oocupation, bad some close to Milli
cent, "look yonder at them clouds a rising. If
we don't get a storm to-morrow, I'm a Dutch
man."
"Let it come," growled the man addressed
"Calm one day, storm the next. It's the way
of this life."
"Not for me," murmured Millicent, as the
words struck upon her ear. "Mine kiss been all
storm. What is there left for me in it? No
thing, nothing, but my hope of a better "
The steamer arrived in its course at New
York, and Miss Crane found she did not like it.
Neither did she like her situation. The mode of
living at a boarding hotel was uncomfortable,
her charges, five in number, two of them boys,
were indulged, turbulent children, and Milli
cent could not often control them.
"Yiu have not sufficient energy, Miss Crane,"
said Mrs Patricks in to her, one day
"Indeed I think I exert a great deal," answer
ed Millicent.
"I fear you won't get along in my place at
all I'm sorry I brought you out. And such a
treasure of a governess applyed to me this mor
ning. I've been wanting to get her for ever so
long; only sbe was always fixed."
A flush rose to Millioent's face. "Did Mrs.
Patrickson wish to imply that ..be was not satis
fied with her—that she wished her to leave"
"Well it's not downright that," answered the
lady, conscious that she had no real fault to find
with Millicent, "but I calculate you'd be better
off in a more easy place."
"I think I should," returned Millicent
"I'll look out for you," hastily proposed Mrs
Patrickson, jumping at the admission; "I know
I could fix you. The families bere are glad to
.get an English governess."
"Turned out again like a hunted hare," men
tally uttered Millicent "When is this to eud?"
The next day Mrs. Patrickson Durst into the
room.
"I've got you a place! I knew I should fix you'
Th..re's a gentleman in the eating room who's talk.
ing businoss with my husband, and say s his *not her
wants a governess dreadfully. It's for two little
girls, and you'll be the very thing He says he
reckons she'll give £30."
"Do you know the family? Is it one I ought
to enter?" inquired Millicent, whom this brusque
announcement a little overact.
"One you ought to enter! How suspicious
the British are! My husband has done business
with the house for years. lee among the best in
New York, I can tell you Simon Pride and
Sons. The old man is dead now, and the three
sons carry it on. I saw the mother once, but she
don' tilive here, she lives over at Malta And
that's where she'll wantyou "
"Malta!" ejaculated Millicent. "It will be ,
impossible for me to undertake so long a journey
as that."
"My gracious, Miss Crane! But you English
are dreadful ignorant! As if I should pack you
off from here all the way to the Mediterranean!
This Malta's an estate about six miles from New
York. Simon Pride bought it when he was get
ting rich, and a pretty place he turde of it; spar
ed no dollars. I'm going to write to Mrs. Pride
now, right away, and recommend you "
"Are the children Mrs. Pride's?"
"Mrs. Pride's! Weil, you have got notions!
Why she's sixty. They are the children of one
of her daughters."
The conclusion was, that Millicent was engag
ed, and went up to "Malta" to enter on the new
situation. She was pleased with the appearance
of the house, sot so much that it was large and
handsome, as at the air of comfort which pervad
ed it. It was more like an English home than
any she had seen in America; but then her ex
perience was limited to those noisy, crowded
hotels.
Mrs. Pride, a pleasant, talkative old lady.
quick and active, stepped forward to greet her
when she entered. "My dear, I'm glad to see
yon; I hope we shall get along well together
My daughter," she oontinuedttudicatiug with her
hand another lady, who rose and bowed to Mil
licent.
She was young and handsome: where had Mil
liceut seen her face before? While she was pus
sling her memory, the eldest child claimed her
attention. A pale, delicate little thing, not five
years old, with a heavy eye.
"Tbischild has fits," whispered old Mrs Pride.
"The medical men in England recommended a
change of air, and my daughter brought them
over here."
"Then they have been to England!" uttered
Millicent, a gleam of pleasure lighting her eye,
as she thought of her native land.
"It is their home," said the old lady. "My
daughter married anEnglishman. He came over
to America on business with our firm and fell in
love with her. We—her father was all ve then—
were not for the match, because we knew he
would take her away from us to his own home
And she was too young besides Otherwise we
had no objection to Mr. Richard Crauford "
Richard Cranford: A flim rose before the
eyes of Millicent. She knew she was in the pres
ence of his wife and children; her own once dea
-1 tined husband, her early love. How could she
have failed to recognize that face? Its linea
ments, though seen but once, had been engraved
on her heart and remembered night and ddy
But it was changed; not less beautiful, but its
girlishness had gone.
"You will be careful to eradicate any Anieri
canine thirohildren may have picked up," re-
I marked Mrs. Cranford, the first words she had
addressed-to Millicent; "Tneir papa has a great
horror of them. When I first went to England
I was continually popping out some expression
or other that offended my husband's fastidious
I English ears."
I Millicent did not hear: a contest had been go
ing on within ber. Ought she to proclaim that
she and Richard Cranford were not strangers?—
Would it be perfectly consistent with honorable
open mindedness to conceal the fact? Perhaps
not; and an abhorrence of all deceit was implant
ed in her by..instinet. She nerved herself to the
task.
"I believe I know Mr. Cranford That is, I
knew him years ago. His family and mine were
on friendly terms," she faltered.
I "How singular!" exeliimed Mn. Cranford
"Crane, Crane? I have no recollection that he
ever mentioned the name. But Mr. Cranford is
a reserved man, even to me. I tell him some
times that he is a model of cold politeness."
Cold! reserved! Millicent could not help
thinking that had she been his wife he would not
have been cold or reserved to her.
A month drew sear to its close, arid Millicent
thought that sbe must ones more seek another
home. Not because she was uncomfortable in
this, but beams she could sot war, and ought
I not to weeurage, the eoutiaued bias ber mod
received to dwell on Richard Cranford. She
knew else bad we forgotten Ms; she felt be was
still dearer to her *as say other was, or ever
would be. Ilbe lied midyea r olariag Owe last kw
bitter years, to drive him frees from her thought.,
sod had suoceeded. Bat Mrs. Cranford, who
appeared to be a food wife, wu always talking to
Millicent if her husband. The old pain, the old
anguish of disappointment was returning to Mil
lieent; and, school hereelf as she would, she could
not look on Mrs. Cranford, hie youagand happy
wife, without a pang of jealous envy. Bhe
lieved it lay io her line of duty to leave. "When
shall I find an asylum that I can stop in?" she
murmured; "when, oh, when?"
The day which completed her first month in
the house, she went into Mrs. Cranford's cham
ber, to give notice. l'h^ latter, ill with a cold,
usu out genital it fo days.
"To speak to me, you say?" cried MM. Cran
ford. "Oh, wait a bit; it's nothing particular,
I suppose The English mail is just in, and
here are papers and letters. finch a long one
from my husband. Here is one for you, Miss
Crane, forwarded on from Mrs. Patzickson's"
As 31rs Crawford spoke, she laid down her
husbanii's open letter close by Millicent. The
latter's eye fell on it, she recognised the well re
membered characters, and her heart beat quick
er MI;11.'ellt pressed her band upon her bosom
se if to -chi it What business had it to do so
uow, and lie the husband of another?
She took the letter held out to her, and broke
the outer envelope with little interest, for it was
her step-mother's handwriting. But when she
came to the letter it enclosed, a suppressed cry
of joy e..i.apeil her lips. It was from Philip And
she had never heard from him but twice all these
years'. She knew afterwards that be had repeat
edly written, though the letters never reached
her Slit ran into her own room to read it. for
i getting hi•r notice giving and every thing else.
Oh, wii py! oh, what mercy. Philip was
again to Eneiand He had made ample resti
tution, in a pecuniary point of view, for his in
fatuated error; he had acquired wealth; one of
the tin.: .0 the amazing and newly discovered
gold fi ids. he had reaped some of their rich
harvest, and ws.s coming over to America. "My
poor )liihrent." he wrote, "you have been shame
fully bud •,ed by the world, bet I will see if I
can inaise it up to you You and I will part
no more
Mr. Cr ,no arrived at New York. He had
speed') his letter, and Millicent went
th,•re t" m.•er him He was much changed, so
much troder 10 appearanoe, and very brown, whilst
his mann r had acquired a spice of Australian
ss. No matter, he was still her darling
brotivr, whom she had so doted on in youth.
Now man) things they had to say to each other!
Ph ili p .1)i Ke of his adventures, the hardships he
first of di i -ndured, the ups and downs of his life in
the sery ice of various Australian settlers, his haz
ily of I "xtritordinary gold mines, his trial at
them ai, u ..ueo.fs And Millicent bad to tell
him of ;.e , chances and changes in the cold world.
In the midst of their conversatiin, Philip rose.
,ng with me, Millicent.," he exclaim
ed, •'y,,.1 have got a fresh acquaintance to make.
di'. t, 'in' to America alone."
-You cannot have brought Mrs. Crane!" ut
tert-4 Millicent, .topping stilt u her brother sru
bounding across the landing.
—Not Mr'. Crane our step-dame, he laughed;
'•l'd as soon have brought a viper. Another
Mrs. Crane, Millicent."
)lilliciint did not understand him, and be open
ed the door of a bedroom.
, Tioreuee," said he, "this is my dear Pieter.—
Leut., y.,u guess? Need Igo oar'
A don •iispii•lou of the truth, dawned into
tuliol, for a pretty girl, who had been
standing outside the window, on a sort of balco
ny which overlooked the gardens, came forward,
blushing deeply.
"Mrs Polo!) Crane," said her brother, throw
ing hi, trio around the young girl, and leading
her up to Millicent, who was perfectly confound
ed with surprise
"I knew I should astonish you, Millicent," he
went on. "We were only warned to come here.
I came over with her from Australia, and made
her scquilutance yin the voyage. She was with
her father, Capt Tenby. We were not to have
been married till just before we embarked to re
turn to Australia, but when I found you were in
America, and that I should come, I thought I
might as well bring her with me."
"You intend to return to Australia, then?' ?
inqiiired Millicent of her brother, as they all sat
together, talking one afternoon.
"To be sure I do. Florenee made me promise
that before we married. Her family are there.
Besides, though I have made money tolerably,
for a poor devil like me, who had nothing to
.tart with, and no chums to help me on, I have
not made enough, and must go back and do it.
I was in a hurry to come home and score up old
matters; that one unfortunate act of my life,
311; liven t, was to me a very nightmare."
4lie raised her eyes to his with a look of cau
tion. half glancing at his young wife.
"Florence knows all," said Philip, understand
ing the look, "[ would not have married her, or
auy one else, without first telling what a black
sheep I had been
"True, true," observed Millicent; "I am for
getting Of course you would sot. Philip, what
are the diggtoga like?"
II e burst out laughing. "A regular Bartlemy
Fair; au Irish row turned upside down. That's
what t!ley are like, Millicent; but then we pick
up F 1.l "
"Au i yet you mean to go back to them?"
.1 did not say that," said Mr. Crane. "There
are wore ways of killing a dog than hanging him.
A warned mat, has little business at the dig
ging+, for he can't take hie wife to them. But
th,trt.!'s the finest opening possible in Melbourne.
A fellow with tin, which I have got, may start
in ho end of ways, and make a fortune in a few
inuottis Fact, Millicent."
"It will be crutil to lose you spin," she ex.
claimed, with almost passionate fervor. "Togo
through ooe's years without friends, without
sympathy, without hope! Philip, you do not
ku,,w the monotory of my lonely life."
••L o-e me," repeated Mr. traue, "why I have
rotoe to America to fetch you. Of course you
arc g,ing back with us to Austrians, and our
hoop. will be yours You have as much right
to it as I Millicent; what should I have done
without you, through life?"
"I don't know about going," hesitated
vent, bewildered and half lost in the new pros
pect opening to her. "It is a fearful voyage."
Philip Cane drew his chair nearer his sister,
and i , et htm.elf to the task of subduing her pre
judices, should she have any. He painted Au&
trails as being a most desirable country to live
in—and, indeed, it was not then thebear garden
it ha. since become. His young wife helped him.
Her father, Captain Tenby, held an appointment
at 'Mt Ibourue, local)y official, she had known no
other home, and when she told Millitmat it was
the fairest spot of all spots on this fair earth, that
its inhabitants were warm hearted and generous
beyond most, she believed what she said So
that before Millicent went to rest that night she
pictured herse.f as going to a second Paradise,
and fondly thought her wandenngs were over,
that her home in the new land would be .soh as
to compensate for her trials in the old one "She
is a very proiy girl, and has evidently been well
brought up," was Millicent's last thought, refer
ring to her brother's wife; "Philip might bare
done Enna' worse. Bat lam sure she ma spoilt
child, and Philip appears topet and indialge her
unreasionabl-y. When I live with thee, my ef
forts shall be
‘ spent in trying to reader shoo both
haPpl."
$1 50 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE.
ERIE, SATURDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 2, 1856.
A worm* put; kids was indeed Mrs. Phi
lip Crsie. all of Wilms, full of wawa, which
must be smiled, so matter at whet isoosvmd
ewe, she seemed to toko plosonrs ie =BM
before Milliseat, her power over bar h
Own she broke into a deed deems, sad accused
Philip of nakisdams, with just as mach truth,
or reason, as she might have seemed the Presi
dent himself. Millbast, woe4wiaey estosish
ed, 'ready took Mfrs pert, Awl* had gone
out, sad them the yoteg lady awned mead apes
Millicent, became silky, and would sot speak to
her the rest of the day.
At the andchke week Millicent went op toMal
to to fetch allay her eieskaN or rattletraps, as Mr.
Philip expreased it. There were eoatemplated
changes thorn' 8b haunt Mrs. Cranford lying
ia bed.
"Ia it soCtiratons that I should be kept a
prisoner barer' she exclaimed.
"Very," enemered Millicent.
"Yes, yen will say so 'bee you know an. My
husband lads it impossible to Laws leis bUleleele
and fetch me and lam going hosts &lona. I had
fixed to sail by the next packet, for I am anxious
to be at home, and now this obstinate oold is
worse! Four months is a long while to be my
from one's husband—as you'll no doubt think,
Mime Crane, if you ever get one."
"Do you take the obildrenr' Liked Millicent.
"Why you know all that was settled before.
There's no chatty. Bate has been so much bet
ter here than she wee is &aglaad, that it would
be wrong not to give her a °banes of entire re
covey. kshall let them stay the twelvemooth
with my mother. And not please Richard, I
dare say. He expects the children are going home
with me. He is so food of them!"
"Is he," murmured Millicent.
"It was the greatest trial to him, losing our
boy, baby though he was. Yon as m a m ma
must take great care of these two, Miss Crane.
If any thing were to happen to either of them,
Mr. Cranford would never forgive me for having
left them, though I am doing it for the best."
"But I cannot remain,". interrupted Millicent,
"I wrote you word, to that effect, from New
York "
"Oh, I set that down le captioe," said Mrs.
Cranford, as well as she ceuld for a at of cough.
ing. "You must stop. If you were not here, I
oould not leave them so coatentedly. I will
raise your salary, Miss Crane."
"It is not that, indeed," Mallioent hastened to
assure her. "I said to you I was going away
very far.. t It is to Australia."
"Australia!" echoed Mrs. Crawford.
"To Melbowroa, in Australis, with my brother
tied his wife."
"Then you'll find it a regular wild-goose donee,"
recorded MP. Cranford. "The people are
flocking out there in mobs; my brother was here
this week, and speaking of it. They go up to
those gold creeks, or what they eall them, and
they only go to get rained, or die. There's not
one in ten will ever come back.
4 , My brother has already been, and made mon
ey and be is now going to trade with it i■ Mel
bourse. Their home will be mine. His wife's
family are residents-tiers, and hold a good po
sition."
" I declare it is alwap the same," muttered
Mrs. Cravibrd in it Peevfidi tone. "Ifl do get
anybody about ma that's nodal, they are sure to
leave. I had a good sane : Ale had lived With
me ever since Katie was born. The most valua
ble servant ! knew how to manage Katie in her
attacks : there was nothing I could not trust to
her. Well, just before my boy fell ill and pied,
she gave me warning—it was to get married—
and would leave. I was so provoked with ber
obstinacy. As if she could ever be so well off as
in a good place ! Mr. Cranford Gould not see it
in the same light. He said if the girl bad an
opportunity of getting well settled, she was in
the right to do it. I know I have not bees set
tled since with a nurse. And now you are go
ing :"
" I have been here so short a period," urged
Millicent, "that I should think it mild be of
little moment to you, my leaving."
"Then you are mistaken ' Miss Crane. I have
seen, in this short time, that you are the very
person a mother might lame her children with.
You are considerate and gentle with them, much
more so than I am, and you endeavor, I see, to
train them well, hile your manners are thor
oughly English and lady-like--• great point with
me. I don't know any one to whom I would so
soon confide my children as to you, to supply the
place of a mother."
These words of Mrs. Cranford's sae often now
in Millioent's heart : she never dwells on them
but with a feeling of thankfulness.
The old lady received her in a kinder tpirit
and congratulated her on her new prospects.
" Oh, dear Mrs. Pride , " Millicent exclaitled,
"I shall be so happy ! hink what a life thine
has been : nothing but crosses and carei • ' and
disappointment., one upon another. Scarcely
knowing one month where Pshould be the mit :
uncertain if I might long have health and strength
to work for a living : whether, in my old age, I
should not be without a shelter. And now, to
have my dear iiiother back with me, to be going
with him to his own home, to know that we shall
spend our lives together ! I feel that God bas at
length dealt very mercifully with me."
" As He does by all who trustin Him," was
the rejoinder of Mrs. Pride.
Millioent returned to New-York the next day,
Tuesday. The steamer by which they purposed
to sail, was advertised for departure on that'day
week. A busy time it was with them : seeing
sights, going to theatres, and making preparations
for the voyage. Millioent had much to prows
and Phillip was liberal with his mosey. His
wife often had a sulky it, sad did not seem to
get on very well with Millicent.
On the Saturday evening Minimal was ether
bed-chamber window. It was over the one oc
cupied by her brother and sister-in-law. As she
sat there, thinking, she heard Philip step out on
the baloony, strike a match, and light his cigar.
Millioent leaned forward and looked down. Mrs.
Crane had followed him. He threw his arm
round her waist, and they stood together against
the iron railings, he puisA away.
"Florence, my darling, he begs* when his
cigar was thoroughly alight, "what makes you so
cool to my sisterf That unkind remark of yours
drove her away from us just now." Millieent
drew- in her head very hastily, and sat down
again. But she weld not avoid hearing.
Florence burst into tears. "It is very creel
of you, Philip, to have her here to be a spy apes
me. I can't bear it. I won't hear it beg."
~A spy!"
"Yes, she's nothing else. I know she's net.
And she is so grave, and does everything so
right. When she is by, I feel-that all I say, or
do, is wrong. And she'll make yea think so."
"Whew." whistled Philip is solosishmeat,
"you are entirely mistakes, Ploremm. Millicent
is quiet and subdued, fot she has gone through
much 11011•00, but you little know her kind sad
loving heart. A spy!"
" 1 cam sse how it is," grumbled Mrs. Philip,
reproachfully. "Yea love her bettor than yes
do me. •
"My deer, doe't be abildish. , I less Milli- I
test very dearly se a sider, but I Item you es s
wife. Hew is Gil* world esa you %see lakes this
prejudite ageism bet."
Mrs. Philip west on sebbisg. "What amide
you oak ber to se berm tut tits with cud"
"Ohs has no ether hems. Is he eh elleth . ley
dlttr—ShßOel-10 provide au lie tiro •
you never would believe sacrifices she hai
made for me. Besides, it will be delightful to
him het with as. And you 'll think so, when
you come to know more of her, Floresee."
An unlucky sw.k - 1, n all its bearings, this of
Mr. Philip's. His wife jerked her waist and
herself sway from
"Then I tell you what, Mr. Philip Crane, y.,u
and she shall have the house to yourselves, and
I 'II go beck home again sad live with mamma_"
"What do you sty, Florence!"
"Only' what I mesa. I made op ay mind to
it days ago. I never yet heard of .deters-in-law
living together, but they quarreled. So if you
sad I are not to remain by ourselves I shall go
home again I knowyou care twice as much tur
her as you do for me."
"Florence, my dear, you are growing absurd,"
uttered 'the dismayed young man, heartily wish.
jug he had not shown his deep, brotherly love
for Millicent before his jealous little wife. "By
the time In reach Melbourne you will have learn
ed to love Millieeet, even mom than I do."
"If ehs persists in going with us, I won't go
in the same vessel," retorted Mrs. Crane. "You
on do u you please, but I will go in soother one
with papa. Aad she shall sever live in our
house. If you hare bar, you shall not have me:
so you must take your choice betneen us."
Millicent softly closed the window, sod threw
herself on her bed is a paroxysm of of agony,
sobbing as if her heart would break. All her
bright hopes were dished from her. Even he,
her cherished brother, for whom she had so suf
fered sad seerifleed, must be lost to her now
She was by some one pulling her sleeve,
and, I ug up, who should be standing by the
bed but old Mrs. Pride.
She bad come that day to New-York, with
her daughter, to the mine hotel where the Cranes
were stopping. Mrs. Cranford, somewhat bet
tor, and able to rise from her bed, persisted in
as she bad originally intended, and bad
come to New-York, in pursuance of her prepara
tions. " Quite unfit to undertake the voyage,"
lamented Mrs. Pride; but her daughter assured
bee the sea air would restore ber, and she would
be well and stroog again by the time sheisacbed
Liverpool. "Nothing has ever clone me so much
good, mother, as my sea voyages."
"Now, my dear, what is all this?" questioned
Mrs. Pride, aghast at witnessing Millicent's
storm of grief.
"Oh that I could die: that I could die!" ut
tered Millicent, after a confused brief word of
explanation. "Why was there this joyous break
to my cares and sorrows—why should they, for
a moment, have appeared at an end, only to re
turn with redoubled intensity?"
You told me once, Miss Crane," said the old
lady, sitting down on the bed, beside her, " that
your heart fully trusted in your Saviour's care."
"So it has, or I could not have lived," sobbed
Millicent. "At the darkest period, there bas
ever been a faint voiee, a gleam of light, whis
pering that He was looking down, and watching
over me."
"Then wherefore your mistrust now'"
Heavy sobs were the only answer.
'.All things work together for good, to them
that, love God." whispered Mrs. Pride. "I have
foaled shot troth, over through my life, Miss
Cruse, and 90 wilt you."
"It has been dark with me so king," murmur
ed Millicent, "so long?'
"Only to prove to you. Let not your perfect
faith in God fall from you in this hour, because
it may seem darker than you looked for. Look
child," she continued, drawing forth au old pock
et book, "here is a promise that has orimforttd
many a heart in worse affliction than yours : let
it comfort you." And Millioent road as well as
she could for her blinded eyes--"Oh, thou af
flicted, tooled with tempest, and not comforted,
I bid my face from thee for a moment, but with
everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee."
"So will it be with you, child, but never cease
to put your entire trait in Him; never for a
moment, though it may be to you one of over
whelming sadness."
"I will trust in Him," whispered her heart.—
"He has helped me to pass through afflictions
before, may Me help me now!"
Philip Crane and his wife sailed for England,
Mrs. Cranford going in the same, packet. Mil
licent returned with Mrs. Pride to Malta, to be
the governess and temporary mother of Bate and
Agnes Cranford. A. great change came over her
heart; she perhaps thought it had come before,
but she knew, now, it had not. She resigned
herself into the bands of God, striving to do her
duty in this world, without murmuring, without
repining, and Peace entered into it. Had death
suddenly come to Millicent in the night, it would
neither have shocked her nor, found her unpre-
pared. Death, however, did come to another.
One day, not six weeks after Mrs. Crauford's
departure, the old lady entered the room where
Millicent was sitting, an open letter in her hand.
"I strove to impress resignation on you," she
said, the tears coursing down her time: "I have
need of it myself, now. My child is no more."
"Which child?" exclaimed the startled Milli
cent.
"Katharine, Mrs. Cranford; my youngest and
dearest. I was sure that Gold had settled on her
lunge, bat she would brave it, and departed. It
may be, that she felt her illness was to be seri
ous, and yearned to be with her husband. That
was natural. But she grew worse on the pas
sage, sad died in a week after reaching home."
Millicent read the letter, which Mrs. Pride pot
into her hands, the old, familiar hand writing
He appeared to mourn his wife seriously. Mil
lioent prayed for reAignation for him, and re
doubled her ears of the little motberiesechildren.
The time went on, twelve or fifteen months,
aad Millicent's days were gliding on, calmly and
pesoefully. She heard from Melbourne, from
Philip, and also from his wife. Her brother in
formed her that he was succeeding beyond his
expectations, and they should come home to Eng
laid to settle, for his wife's family were return
ing thither. And she wrote that a little stran
ger had arrived to bless them, whom they bad
named "Millicent," and she hoped that when
they met again, instead of her fearing her sister
Milhead, she should have learnt to love her.—
Millicent felt, very thankful.
There were to be more changed. Mr. Crauford
wrote that he was coming to Nee York on busi
ness, and should take home his children; and
Mrs. Pride revealed that she should have no
farther cseession for the services of Millicent.—
"Do you know what I wish?" she suddenly ex
claimed to her, one day.
"No,"
answered Millicent.
"That Mr. Cranford would learn to appreci
ate your excellencies, and m ate you their legal
mother. Ile is sure to mar ry again; all widow
ers *this age, do: sad he'll most likely pick ap
some grand lady, fine and tic lfish, who will dislike
or neglect the children. There's no hope that
he'll find such a treasure a a you "
Millioent's bears beat p sinfully, and she ea t
steered some confused wto :ds about aimponsibil4
idea."
It be s ztaher, however , the evealas that Rich
aid arrived. M 'illieent would - have left
• • • hied; she did not wish to meat lint, con
ic= that his preemie would renew feedings
waft honied. But she 1 weld find no reasonable
neaps to sake to ' Pride, and had to may
Bo mush altere id ? rub% to look a
i'. ilia sea. ' ' was toga with
and scanty ms due temples, showing forth hie
fine, expansive forehead, and so his face there
was a paves look than formerly. I. was selves
years since they bad met; sad Minims& thought
that be looked fourteen skier. She wondered if
she was equally changed. He family picked up
and embroiled, over sad over again his children;
and not till then did be advance to Millicent,
who had rises to ramie* him. There was not
the slightest color in her cheeks or lips.
"Mrs. Cram, the governess," said Mrs. Pride.
"I have meetiosod is my Wows to you what a
treasure she bas bees been to your little girls.—
Poor Kath•rias could have spoke to it; bat ohs
probably was too ill, when she reached you to
remember these things. Miss Crattii has well
supplied her place to them."
He took Millicent's hood, looking, as he felt
the utmost surprise. "Is it you who have beau
with my children?" be exclaimed. "Thot it was
• Miss Crane, I knew; but it sever scoured to
me that it might be the Mies Crane of my yeses
ger days. I thank you gratefully for all your
kioclaesa to them."
"1 was in want of a situation—l accepted this
with Mrs. Pride—l did not know tilt afterwards,
that the children were yours," moo feeling is
her heart prompted her to say, eagerly aad has
tily. •
"I have sometimes wondered what had become
of you," said Mr. Cranford. "I had oo ides you
had left England."
"But you might have known, living in her
native town," interposed Mrs. Pride. -Perhaps
y.)u never inquired?"
"No. To what ends' he rejoined, is an ah.
lammed kind of manner, more as if speaking to
himself. And the color flushed into Millicast's
face as she resumed bet seat.
And now all was bustle end preparation at Mal
ta. Mr. Cranford's stay was to be s very hail
ted one, and 'anchor that was spent in New York.
The two children were being got ready for their
voyage to England, and Millicent was looking
out for soother situation. Their luggage, trunks,
baskets, dc , had been brought into the room
down stairs f. it the convenience of packing, and,
one day, Millicent who bad been helping them,
set down on one of the boxes to rest herself.
"Do you thick you will ever come mid be war
governess?" asked the elder of the little girls,
who was standing by.
"tio, sever," answered Millicent.
"Grraotisna thinks, if I get quite well; that pa
ps will sead UP to aobool. Judy says they wtll
beat. UP there, and be so cross "
"Judy should not say so. She does not know
loycning about at. 1 am sure you will always
be good, Katie dear, and then no one will ever
be croAn to rou, at school or at home."
“W by thti you take my wooden doll out of the
Amok, Miae Crane?”
"tirandmainnta said it was not to go," replied
~lilihcent. "It was not worth it."
"1 . 11 ask her," said Kato. "I don't want to
leove my doll. Do you know where she is'."'
"No. Perhaps in the buttery."
Tai child left the room, and Millicent remain
ed seared on the trunk, leaning her head Mi her
tiautl. She was tired is body, aed a same of
iondy wearinegs was in her mind. Agate the
.lour opened; was Katie back so secs?
It scis Mr. Cranford, who had just come is
from New York. He closed the door, sad came
sceppiagiLatertg the buses.
Aruat a quantity of luggage! Six trunks!
thee.: baskets : Do live and Agnes require all
tin'
••ihv nurse'' , til,ogs are ales Ilene. Judy's"
ft:piled Mtibreut, as Elbe stood up.
liow rau I repay you," pursued Mr. Crau
lnrd, iu a ;ow tour, "for your goodue to my
children?"
"I do not require payment; I do not under.
stand. I have on.y done my duty."
"I“u are looking out fur anoter sitnatidn,
Mn. Pride tell 6 me?"
"Yes. In New York."
"You may not get 4 desirable Doer
"Pmbabiy she answered, the tears start
ing t her ryes in spite of herself. "I shill not
get such another as this I have been very com
fortable with Mrs. Pride."
"What is there to prevent your remaining
with the children, though they do come home?
They must have some one to train them Should
you not feel as cumfortable in my house as this!"
Millicent shook her head. "It could not be,"
she answered, in a low tone.
is the same house, Millicent.. The one
that once was to have been yours."
Tbe•color flew over her face. Was he mock
ing ber?
"And solwe are to part again, with a farewell
shake of the hand—like this," he went - 00. tak
ing Millicent's hand in his, and retaining it.. "h,r
there no help for it.?"
"None."
"No help, no remedy, Millicent?"
She could not repeat her answer. She was
much agitated.
"Oh; Millicent, there is a help for it," whis
pered Mr. Cranford, as he folded her tenderly in
his arms; "come home to me and be my dear
wife. Do you thtuk I have forgotten you in all
these long years?"
Her sobs rose hysterically.
"You and you only, have a place in my heart,
a right to my home. Yon know it Millicent.—
Come and make my happiness. We have both
had our trials, I as well as you. Come home
with me; my second, but my dearest wife."
Were the heavens smiling on her sow? Ay,
one flood of golden sunshine. But in the midst
of ber new love, her deep happiness, as her heart
rested there beating against his, there darted in.
to it the words spoken to her by old Mrs. Pride.
"All things work together for good to them that
love God." They were fully realised toher now.
She went home to England, the wife of Mr.
Cranford, the loving motber of his children.—
And soon now blessings awaited her. Phi.ip was
really returning to settle in England; sad they
were to be united once again in the social ties of
kindred. She looked back seven years to the
gloom that then settled mound; she looked on
the present brightness. Hew oonld she have
fully enjoyed this, had she not experienoed that:
how would ber heart, without this stern discipline,
have acquired that Peace and Trust which she
felt new oonld never leave it? And Millicent
,knew that in the darkest period God bad been
overflowing with mercy to her: thatch was very
good for her to bays been afflicted.
OW The Soprano Baler, for the punishment
of oar Gotland sin, dr humiliation, of cos na
tional pride, has permitted Piano to occupy the
Presidential Chair, and he comes down-into the
arena of the demagogue, stripped of everything
which should clothe him with executive digni
ty. (Laughter.)--Joan P. RALF.
Tile clown oLthe beasts uses tile name of the
Deity to wove his groin wit; and his nit to cov
er his grosser oorreptioa. If the President dad
at. vetoed the Steam ship and French ticaniation
bills, we wowed have so mine gritaanees and nu
hypocritisal rolling of the eyes from this
ling of the lobby.--4Tharq
♦ Wale *irk
of snow bad bees kill
meat le sad eapreasik
fall sasoatio to
si.igianah ittatioiss
gad isvokiewblekief
'seabed, sat Owl
belthootesisitiv
_. ~"~
B. F. SLOAN /DOW , -q
%oda Kamp fro* limo lassilok ,
- r —s.-- ,-.
The webjwiDed Mesmer from the Peeekleat4
tSe Units&States, wee sraostoittedto bait Hoew
es of Cosgrove oo Therestijky last:
To the Senate and Ho firie of Represenfatiors:
Cirestmetances having occurred to disturb the
worse drivers:Deana orgsniashon in the she
territory of Kansas, and produce there a **edi
tion of things which render it incumbent on sae
to sell your Wootton to the subject, and urgent,.
ly reeemweed the adoption to yea of such mew
tires of legislation u the grave exigeboies of the
case appear to require.
A brief exposition of the einnunstanoes refer
red to, and of their causes, which are necessary
to the full understanding of the reetasseeda
tioae which it is proposed to submit,.
The act to organize the Territories of Hamar
Jut and Keane was a maeifeleati?n of the hips
lative opinion of Congress on two great proms st
Conatitattiatal construction: one, that &seeing
nation of the boundaries of a new Territory, and
provision for its political organisation and ad
ministration as a Territory, are nit satires 'Wei
of right fall within the powers of the Getters!
Government; and the other, that the inivinumits
of any inch Territory eionixiered as as recittoale
State, are entitlikl, in the exercise of soil govern
ment, to determine for themselves what shall be
their own domestic institutions, subject only to
the Constitution and the Laws duly enacted by
Congress ender it, and to the pelvic of the exist
ing States to decide according to the pet:misname
and principles of the Conatitetioa, as what tuna
the territory shall be received as &Stan:Lento the
Union. Eleah are the great political riOts which
are solemnly declared and affirmed by that set.
Based upon this theory, the act of Congress
defined fur each Territory the milieus of reptile
liven government, distributing putty! authority
among lawfully crested agents—recount., judi
cial and legislative—to be appointed either by
the General Greverement or by the Territory.—
The legislative fneolions were entrusted to a
Council and a House of Representatives duly
elected and empowered to act in ail the local
laws which they might, deem essential to their
prosperity, happiness and good government Act
ing in the mine spirit, Cougres.. also defined the
persona who were in the first instance to he ani.
sudered as the people of race Territory; enacting
thee every free white male inhabitant of the same
above the age of twenty one rare, being suss
teal resident thereof, and puteessitig the quill
ifkatious hereinafter describedoeuni• beetautied
to vote at the fret election, and. be eligible is
any office within the Teerttory; but that the
quali6cations of voters and boidingeiftee at all
subsequent elections should be such as might he
prescribed by the Legislative Provi
ded. however, that the right of suffrage and of
bolding office should be exercised uniy by citi
zens ot the United Stake, and chows who should
have declared on oath their intention to beam*
such, and have taken an oath to support the
swamis of the United States sad the provisions
of the act; And provided, further, that lei effteer,
soldier, seaman, or marine, or other person to
the army or navy of the United Stabs, or at mot
to troops In their service, should be allowed to
vetoer hold Ass in either Teri itory by reases
of being on service therein.
Such of the public officers of the Territories as
by the provisions of the act, were to be appoint
ed by the General Government, includtug the
Governors, were appointed and etentnialaiuned tu
due season the law naviug been enacted uu the
hOth of Ma y,: 1854, and th,: cou,tulmesiou ot the
Governor ot the Territary of Scot sake oeiug da
teed on the 2d day of August, ltai, cud of tee
Territory of liazukui on the 29th day of J une
1854/
Am the duties imposed by the act on the
Gov ors was that of directing sod superintend
iog the political organisation of tile reopeouve
Territories. The Governor of liamcis was re
quired to clause • census or euutuvratton ot the
inhabitants and qualified rulers of tie several
counties and districts uf the Territory to be Lateen
by such persona and zu
_each mode as be might
designate sad appoint; •to appoint and eireet the
time and the places ot huidiug the first Llectiuns,
and the manner of conducting them, both as tom,
the persons to superintend such eiectiuns, arid
the returns thereof; to declare the number tot toe
members of the Council and Hieeet tot It•praien•
tatives for each county or duel ia; to declare
what persons might appear to be duly elected;
and to appoint the time and place of the Int
meeting of the Legislative Assembly. In sub
stance, the same duties wen, devolved on the
Governor of Nebraske
While, by this act, the principle of constitu
tion fur each of the ferriturie was one and the
time, and the detaiis - of organic legpilation
glutting both were as near;) as cuutd be tdenti
eat, and while the Territory ut Neuraska was,
tranquilly and succesquily uiganized to the due
entree of law, cod its bt.t leginAtiVe assembiy
met on the 18th of January, 1853, the organisa
tion of Kansas was lung dela) eu, and has been
attended with serious dtlficwuu awl unborn's*.
meets, partly the consequence of Meal and mat
vitishinistration, and partly of toe unjustifiable in
terference of the in habitants ot stitue attic States
foreign by residence, interests, and rights to the
Territory.
The Governor of the Terlitory of Kansas eon
miassoned, as before stated, on the 29th of June,
13. - )4, did not reach the designated real of ha
government until the ith of the eusutog Octo
ber; and even then failed to make the first step
in its legal organisation—that of ordering the
census or enumeration of its itibutatante---sumil
the 2.1 of July, 18.53. [bat, tor a year attar
the Territory was constituted by the ant of
grass, and and the officers tone appointed by the fed.
erallizeounve ban been eemmissioned, was with
out any legislative authority, walteuthkial law,
and of course without the ordinary guarantees of
peace and publics order.
In other respects, the Governor, instead of eir
*milking constant vigilanos, and pining 'furl° a/1
his energies to prevent or cauuteritet the ;Aide'.
ales to illegality, which are prune to exist it. ail
imperfectly organised and newly assmateu
munittes allowed his attention tu b.i diverted
from offs:nal obligation by other seujeet4, and
himself set an example of the vi.q...iun of less to
the performance of acts which resound is my
I dtity, in the sequel, to remove Irvin the Ace
I of chief execuuve magistrate i t iLo Territeey.
Before the requisite prop:allot:I was acme
plished for election of a tenuurtui iegirliduse au
election of delegates to C,,cgre bid been held
in the Temtory on the e. , th day of blotombi.r,
P 34., and the delegate t..rs u., ! , olit in the Boner
of itepreeentsuiT - ' witi,out ac re a ge •
tnenta had been pyrceoted koy the gat/tenor su that
tots election f ez ei suite rs of the legmistieu it.
sem bly might in the severs, preetauta at
th e seem t im e as fur delegates to Congress, any
qualajwa appertaining to the qualification of the
persons voting as people of the Terclariee would ,
L i e g e paeaed, utmosswily, awl ac °nue under tin
supervision of Congress, as tilt: judgk. of the va•
l i dity of the retina of the de;vgate aid would
have been detertnined before cosine:ties pasmocie
I had become inflamed by time, and Woes *ppoer
the fall j Lenity could have been atructiii,l for sysieftsi.e, ie.
MO
NUMBER N.
MEI
El
" s
1.4.7