Vol,. VI, No. 45.]
TEnme
OF THE
HUNTINGDON JOURNAL.
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dingly.
AGENTS
rise Vegatiiivion Jarrristal.
Daniel Teague, Orbisonia; David Blair,
Esq. Shade Ga/i; Benjamin Lease. Shirkyr
burg; Eliel Smith, Esq. Chilcottstown; Jas.
Entriken. jr. Ceffre Run;
Hugh Madden,
Esq. Springfield; Dr. S. S. Dewey, Bit
tningham; lames Morrow. Union Furnace;
John Sister. Warrior Mark; James Davis,
Esq. West township ;D. Moore. Esq
Prankstown; Eph. Gibreath. Esq. Holli
daysburg; Henry Neff. Alexandria; Aaron
Burns, Williamsburg; A. J. Stewart, Water
Street; Wm. Reed. Esq. Morris township;
Soloman Hamer. Aeff's AIM; James Dysart.
llbuth Spruce C reek; Wm. Murray, Esq.
Graysville; John Crum. Manor Hill; Jas.
E. Stewart. Sinking Valley; L. C. Kessler
Mill Creek.
NEW FOUNDRY.
HE
respectfullys,,,riber .and
tel
ucitizens inform s
, his friends,
Huntingdon county, that he has commen
ced a New Foundry at Alexandria, Hun
tingdon county, where he has at all times
fotoves of every Description,
Cook Stoves, Ten Plate Wood Stoves,
Coal Stoves, Raditor Stoves, made of Rus
sian and American Iron, The above
Stores are always on hand and will be
furnished at the lowest rates. Old metal
will be taken in exchange.
He has also every variety of Tin ware
which will be furnished at the same rates.
-.-
ALS 0, Improved Self Sharpening
Ploughs, for two and three horses, always
on hand. •
.........
ISRAEL GRAFFIUS.
Alexandria, Oct. 20, 1841. St. p
STRAY'S.
CAME to the residence of the subscri•
ber, about nine weeks since, livii,g on
Raystown Branch below liauri's one
BLACK HEIFER.
wih white on her face and under her bel
ly. She has a cut on the lett leg above
the hoof; and a beating above the right
ear. The other is a
RED CALF.
The owner is requested to call prove
property pay charges and take thein . away;
or they will be dispoeod of according to
law.
THOMAS DEAN.
Oct. 26th 1841.
Executors' Notice.
LETTERS testamentary on the estate
of James Morrow, late of Tyrone
township, Huntingdon county. deceased
have been ;ranted to the undersigned.—
All persons having claims or demands
against the estate of said dec'd. will please
make them known without delay; and all
person knowing themselves indebted to
said estate, are requested to make pay
ment inimediatet y•
NANCY MORROW, Ex'x.
JAMES MORROW, Ker.
October 87, 1841.
EVANS' AMOIVIILE
S.AND APERIENT
PILL
DR. EVANS does not pretend to say that
nis medicine will cure all diseases that flesh
and blood are heir to, but he does says that
in all Debilitated and Impaired Constitutions
—in Nervous diseases of all kinds, particular
ly of the DIGESTIVE ORG AtNii, and in
Incipient Consumption, whether of the lungs
or liver, they will cure. That dreadful dis
ease CONSUMFFION, might have been
checked in its commencement, and disap
pinted its prey all over the land, if the first
symptoms of Nervous Debility had been
counteracted by the CAMOMILE FLOW
ER chemically prepared ;together with many
other diseases, Where other remedies have
proved fatal.
How many personsdo we daily find tortu
red wi that dreadfu di. SICK
HEADA th
CHE, If th l sease
ey would only make
trial of thisinvaluable medicine, they would
perceive that life is a pleasure and not a
cource of misery and abhorrence. In conclu
sion I would warn nervous persons against
the abstraction of BLOOD, either by leech
es, cupping,for the employment of thelancet.
Drastic purgatives in delicate habits are al
most equally improper. Those are prac
tices too often resorted tc in such cases, but
they seldom fail to prove highly . injurious.
Certificates of cures are daily received which
a dd sufficienttestimony. of the great efficacy
ifthis invaluable medicine, in relieving af
flicted mankind. The above medicine is for
r e at Jacob Miller's store, Huntingdon.
THE JOVRNAL
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY,NOVEMBER 10, 1841
FLORENCE WILLESDEN
A TALE OF REAL LIFE,
'Tin a common tale,
An ordinary sorrow of man's lite;
A tale of silent suffering, hardly clothed
In bodly form.
Wo RD SWORTII.
A village in the south of England is
one of the loveliest sights in nature ; and
it is what it seems, the very nestling place
of poetry, love and happiness. It glitters
with its white-washed cottages and gar,
den walls, among the green trees 'mid
which it is embowered, like the golden
e
fruits of Spain, peepint , from beneath the
rich foliage that tines but partially conceal
them. Its meadows, its streams, its ta
pering church spire; its hedge-rows, its
lanes of sweet-briar and wild roses; its
lattices, with their clustering jessatnine
and honey suckle: its gardens, with their
bee hives; its orchards, with their odori•
ferous blossoms: and above all, its simple
yet cheerful inhabitants, ignorant of the
great world, and unwilling to have that
ignorance enlightened; all combine to
render a village in the south of England
the most delightlid spot in the universe.
How sweet to retire from the world to
such a haven of repose; and there to cul
tivate only the pure fictions of one's
nature, and keep the soul divided, by a
rainbow zone, iron the grosser atmos
phere of common existence. There are
many little paradises of the kind I speak
of, and I should be contented with any
one of them, although it I had my choice,
I should perhaps fix upon Woodburn, in
preference to all the rest. My predelec
non is the more singular, us all my asso
ciations connected with the recollection
of that village are of a peculiaily melan
choly cast. Even there the spotty:, sot ,
row, hail found an entrance; and his vic
tims were not unknown to me. I will
endeavor to recal their story, it is a sim
ple one; but it suits well the mournful
temper of my mind, and I shall therefore
avail myselt of this opportunity to narrate
it.
Let me paint her as I first saw her.
It was in her cottage garden, on a bright
summer morning, when the dew was still
sparkling on the flowers. Site held a
book in her hand, but she was not read
ing. She stood wrapped in a delightful
reverie, with her eyes fixed on twoyoung
rose bushes. I knew riot then that she
was an old friend's only chilli, yet I stopped
involuntarily to gaze upon her. I had
never before seen ought so beautiful; and
that too, without the shadow of pretence.
I cannot describe her features, but their
combined effect was irrisistible. There
was a world of expiession— an unfathom
able depth of feeling, in her dark blue
eye- I saw a tear start into it; but the
thought that called it up was merely tran
sient, for a smile gathered upon her lips
immediately afterwards, and chased away
with its light the harbenger of sorrow.
At that moment, the gate was thrown
open, and a youth entered. He was
her lover; I knew it at a glance. A
deeper crimson spread itself over her
cheek, and her smile kindled into one of
more intense delight. They stood to
gether ; England could not have produced
a nobler pair. They seated themselves
in the sunshine; the youth took the book
and read aloud. It was a poetic page
over which they huhg.—She leant her
white arm on her lover's shoulder, and
gazed upon him with delight and breath
less attention. Who is it that has
said there is no happiness on earth 7 Had
he seen Edmund and Florence on that
calm, blue morning, he would have con
fessed the absurdity of his creed-
Edmund was the eldest son of the vils
lage rector;—a man "to all the country
dear-" Florence was the daughter of tin
old respected soldier, who had served in
many a campaign, and who now lived in
retirement, upon the small pension which
was given hint by government, as the re
ward of his long and valuable services.
Site had lost her mother almost before she
knew her, and all her filal affection was
centered in- her only surviving parent;
her heart she had bestowed upon Edmund
and he was by no means insensible of the
value of the gill. They had been coins
['anions train their infancy. All their
recollections of times past were the same
for all their amusements and studies had
been similar. But Edmund hail made
considerably more progress than Florence
Nature had heaped upon him all those
mental endowments that constitute geni•
us. She had given him a mind capable
of the profoundest aspirations; a heart
that could feel more deeply, a fancy that
could wing a bolder flight, than those of
most other youths of his age. He as yet,
knew nothing of the state of society be
yond the limits of Woodburn. He had
never been more than twenty miles from
home during his whole lite,
But he Was now eighteen, and Florence
was only a year younger. They had
ceased t• ba bay and girl. Che, indeed,.
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PURLISTIFIR AND PROPRIETOR.
would have been contented to have cons
tinned as she was forever, blest with her
father's and her loser's affections; more
than in the discharge of her domestic du
ties: in her summer evening rambles,
in
her books, her beeee. her fruits, and her
flowers. But Edmund, although he lov
ed her with all the enthusiasm of a first,
love, had more ambition in his nature. lie'
wished to mingle in the crowd, in the pur
suit of glory; and he had hopes that he
might ontstrip at least some of his com
petitors. Besides, he was not possessed
of an independent fortune, and exertion,
therefore became a duty.
His resolutioa was at once formed; he,
determined to fix h:s residence in London'
for at least a couple of years, and ascer
tain whether, in truth, ability was there
ifs twn reward. It was sad news to For
mice; but on reflection on the advantages
which Edmund might derive from the exe
cution of the scheme, sheilooked upon tier
grief as selfish, and endeavored to re-'
strain it. The evening before he left
W oodhurn, they took a farewell- together
in her father's garden. Florence had suc
ceeded in keeping up a show of cheerful
ness during; the day; but as the yellow
beams of the setting sun came streaming
through the poplars and elms that lined
the wall, as she thought how often they
had seen the sun set before, and how long'
it would be ere they would see it again,
a chord was touched that vibrated through
her heart. and she could no longer restrain
her tears. Edmund besought her with the
utmost tenderness of manner, not tit give
way to emotions so violent; but she only
locked his hand Inn-re firmly in her own,
and amid the convulsive sobs, repeated a
gain and again—" Edmund! we shall nev.
er meet more; 1 ant not superstitious, but
I know that 1 am
,right;—we shell never
meet morel"
Her lover had recourse to every sooth
ing argument he could think of; but di° ,
she at length became calm, a gloomy pre
sentiment of future evil seemed to have
taken possession of her mind.
A year had elapsed, and Edmund's
early dream had been more than realized.
He had risen into fame at once; his repu
tation as a man of genius was acknowl.
edged throughout his native land. His
fortune was secured, and his name had
already become illustrious. Every where
was his society courted, and his opinions
listened to with deferenceand admiration
There seemed to be no honors to which he
might not hope to attain. His ardent spi•
ri t, and his growing ambition, became on
ly the more instable. Every difficulty
had yielded before him; he had flown on
upon the wings of success; his life had
hitherto been a brilliant dream—a dream
from which he saw no prospect of imme•
diate awakening.
It was evening, and he was alone in her
splendid drawing room. with the loveliest
woman in London--a daughter of a vis
count. A hundred lamps reflected by a
hundred mirrors, shone around them.
There was to be a magnificent entertain.
ment, but the company had not yet arrived
Edmund, and the lady Matilda, would
not have cared had they never arrived at
all. They sat n'ar each other, and tal
ked in low, soft tones, of all that youth
and beauty love hest to talk about. Ed•
mood had never felt so vain in his life he
fore; for there were hundreds fit the met
ropois blest with all the advantages of
rank and birth, who would have given
both their titles and their fortunes tohave
secured one of those smiles which the l
proud maiden now lavished upon him.—
And she—she had read his works, she
thought of his fame, she looked upon his
elegant form and handsome features, and
forgot the hundred scions of nobility who
had offered up their incense at her shrine.
.fi carriage was heard to stop, and they
were soon to be interrupted. "I have
taken a fancy to that emerald ring of
yours," said lady Matilda, "will you ex
change it for one of mine?" She took a
glittering diamond from her finger, and
put it on Etlinund'a: and at the same time
his emerald became one of the ornaments
of the prettiests hand in the world. It
was a ring that Florence had given him,
the very morning he left Woodburn.
The two years he was to be away hail
expired.—" Florence," said her father to
her one morning, never saw you look
ing so well, your cheeks are all roses,
my sweet girl; have you been watching
the sun rise?" Florence turned away her
head for a moment, to brush a burning tear
from tier eye, and then answered cheerful
ly to her unsaspecting father, that she
had seen the sun rise. There was not a
person in Woodburn, except her father,
who had not observed how dreadfully
. Florence had altered—not in her manners
nor habits, nor conversation; but in her
looks. Her cheek, it is true, was red,
but it was the hot flush of fever: her eye
was bright, but it was the clearness of RD
1119 . 01 , 01 g malady.
She had heard of Edmond's success,
lore was cot a heart in the win Id
J that so proudly at Ole intelligence;
but she soon heard of more than his sac
cess, and his letters became fewer, shor
ter and colder. When her father was
from home, she would sit for hours in her
garden, by herself, listening, as she said,
to the chirping of the birds, but weeping
bitterly all the while.
"I have not heard you speak of Ed
mend lately,"sanl her father to her one
day, about the beginti'vg ofJune. "I do
not think of him less," answered Flor
ence, with a faint smile. The old man
knew nothing of his apostacy—"l have
good news for you," said he, "1 saw the
rector to day, and Edmund is to .be in
Woodburn by the end of the week."—
Florence grew pale; she tried to speak,
but could not: a tnist swam before her
eyes, she held out her hand, and threw
herself into her father's arms.
It was Saturday evening, and she knew
that Edmund had at rived early on the
previous day, but she had not seen him.
She was sitting in the summer house of
her father's garden when she heard a step
on the gravel walk; she locked through
the willows and honey suckle; it WisS he!
he himself—in all the bloom and beauty
of dawning manhood. A strange shiver.
ing passed over her whole frame, and her
color went and came with fearful rapidi•
ty. Yet she retained her self possession,
and with apparent calmness, rose to re
ceive him when he entered. The change
in her appearance, however, struck him im
mediately; Good God! have you beets ill
you are altered, sadly altered, since I saw
you last." "Does that strike you so very
wonderful Edmund?" said Florence grave
ly; are you not altered. tool'. ''Oh, Flor
ence! I have behaved to you like a villian!
I see it now, cruelly, fatally ds I see it!"
"Edmund, that I did love you, yon set
ting sun, which shone upon us when we
hot parted, can still attest, for it was t e
witness of my grief. It has been the wit.
he's, too of the tears I have shed in my
solitude, tears which have been revealed
to no earthly eye; and it shall be the wit
ness even yet," he continued, an almost,
heavenly smile illuminating her counte.!
twice, "of our reconciliation for the wan
derer.has returned, and his errors are for
given."
She held out her hand to him as
she spoke, but he shrunk back; "I dare;
not--I dare riot take it! It is too late !!
Florence, lam married!" There was not
a sound escaped her lips, but her cheeks'
turned deathly pale; her eyes became fix
ed as a stone, and she fell on the ground
like a marble statue. Her grave is in the
church•yard at Woodburn; she lies beside
her lather. There is no urn nor monu
mental tablet to mark the spot, but I
simuld know it among a thousand. Ed •
round's fame has travelled into other
countries, and men have looked upon situ
as a demi-god. Florence Willesden was
never heard of beyond the limits et
Woodburn till now.
mE!/ =ger •et
The Christmas Wedding
James Campbell was a true New Eng
land sailor. He arrived in 13,eiton after
a voyage of eighteen months to the East
Indies, in the good ship Tompson, of which
he was second mate; and as coos as the
ship was discharged he obtained leave to
be absent a few weeks on a visit it; his
friends, who resided in a beautiful village
in the valley of the Connecticut. When
he bade farewell to Captain Seawell, dint
worthy man, who regarded James a; a
son, and felt deeply interested in his wel
fare, gave him a bit of advice.
"I'll tell you what it is, James," said
he, "you are going home, and will doubt
less see ninny old acquaintances of both
sexes in the course of your visit ; and if
you are wise, you will get spliced before'
you get back. Some folks say that a sail
or has no business with a wife. This is'
an error ; a sailor should let slip no oppor
tunity of getting well married. A pru
dent, virtuous wile will not only always
make his home welcome, and with her
smiles compensate him for all his danger s
and self denial when abroad, but her im
age deeply impressed on his mind, will
act as a talisman to preserve him from the
vortex of dissipation and licentiousness,
and to guard him from the temptations
which so oft beset the path of the sailor.
It is a hard case, James, if a sailor Is to
be deprived of the comforts of matrimony,
which are not denied the lubberly lands
man. A home—a joyous home, brighten
ed with the smiles of affection, is more
important to a sailor than a landsman.
Get married, James, get married. Lo o k
around you, when you get home, for a
' tight little country craft, with a handsome
run and neatly rigged ; run boldly along
side, throw your grappling irons on board,
and then see that she is well manned, you
rogue."
' "Got married?" muttered James to him
' self, as lie wended his way to the stage of
what does the old man mean? if
is easier said than dune. I'll think of it
—bat there's no hurry—l am only twen
ty tw• yet."
; t It was about 1,0 o'clock, on a clear and
cold evening in the month of December,
when the stage sleigh, in which James
Campbell had taken passage, reached the
village in which the plate mat in”r was
burn. The moon shone brightly in the
heavens, and her silver beams were re
flected by the surface of the snow, caus
ing night almost to rival day, so far as light
was coacerued, and to surpass it in beau
ty and splendor. James longed to be with
his parents and sisters; and after ot der
ing his baggage to be deposited in the bar
room of the tavern, he hastened with eag
er steps along a cross-road, towards the
old family mansion, which was situated
on an eminence about three quarters of a
mile from the tavern. lie had accom
plished about half the distance, when he
was astonished at hearing the loud piercing
shrieks of a female; and the brave and
chivalrous sailor, always ready to relieve
distress and extend a helping hand to the
weak and oppressed, eagerly rushed for
ward to learn cause of the tries which
reached his ears.
He soon reached the spot from whence
the sounds proceeded, and found a woman
struggling with a ruffian who was endea
voring to prevent her loud and constant
cries for succor,James seized the fellow
by the collar with giant's a grasp, and as
the scrountirel turned with savage fury
upon the defender of outraged innocence,
nithout saying a word, the young and
vigorous sailor give him nn very gentle
tap on the side of his head, which laid
him senseless on the •round.
- •
James found, on inquiry, that he had
rescued a young and gentle maiden front
the insults and outrages of a fiend in
human form—who, instigated by the de
mon Intemperance, had wayl till her on her
return from a neighbor's house, for the
purpose of pressing upon her his (Watts
suit. The scorn and contempt with
which she treated hint, had excited less
indignation, and she was compelled to call
for assistance against the attacks of the
monster. The Maiden, to whose assist
ance he had thus gallantly rushed, he
satin rec , tgnised as Harriet IVilliams, a
lovely, lively, lal4hing girl, the daughter
of a near neighbor of is lather's and in
timate friend and alion,t constant com
panion of his sister Maria.
Some porsons attracted by Harriet's cries
for assistance, had approached the spot; the
drunken ruffian was secured, and escort
ed to the house of a msgistrato, from
whence he was sent to prison for exami•
nation on the following day.
Harriet soon recognised her deliverer,
and in expressive language, and with a
sweet musical voice, which formed a won
derful contrast with the gruff, gutural
sounds, which he had been In the habit of
listening to for many months previoul,
:gave utterance to the grateful feelings
which had taken possession of her heart.
He accompanied her home, and when
he had taken leave of her and was once
more, with rapid steps, lessening the dis
tance which separated him from his pa
rents, he caJgl t himself muttering—.l aei
by no means sure that captain Seawell is
not more than half tight, atter all. I al
ways thought he was a sensible man."
It is needless to say that James Camp
bell was warmly welcomed beneath the
paternal roof. He was beloved by his
parents, and he deserved, by his correct
habits and the integrity of his character,
all their affection. The fatted calf was
killed on the occasion of the loam of the
wanderer, and his presence increased the
joy and gladness of the happy family.
It was but natural that James should
step over to Deacon William's the next
forenoon, to 'quire alter Harriet's health,
and learn it she had suffered any incon
venience front her fright of the previous
evening. Indeed politeness alone would
have dictated this course. It is riot im
probable that Harriet, herself expected
smoothing of the kind, for she met him at
the doer with a smile that would have
softened the iron in the bosom of an an
chorite, and was dressed as neatly and
looked as pretty, as if she had just crept
out of a band-box. The interview was,
apparently a pleasant one to both ; and
James afterwards declared—and I doubt
not, truly—that ke would rather pass one
such hour in a pleasant room by the side
of a cheerful fire, and in lively chat with
a virtuous and intelligent gin I, than to pass
two hours on the weather ear-rings for a
close reef in a snow "storm, on the win•
ter's coast.
James afterward had a long talk with
his sister about Harriet Williams. He
hod known but little of her for some years.
He heard that she was as good as she
was beautiful—was a dutitul and affection
ate daughter and a faithful friend—
"and," whispered he to himself, such a
girl would surely make an excellent wife"'
"But,', said his sister; smiling, and with a
sh4ke of the finger as she left the room,
"take care, James ; don't fall in love with
Harriet; there are many suitors for her
,hand."
The caution however came too We.
Cupid's bird-belt had already flown.
Jaates eauld not elnitearl againat Harriet's
[WHOLE No. 305.
laughing black eyes. musical voice, and
captivating smiles. He had already made
up his mind to surrender at discretion,
but she hoped she would be prevailed up
on to quarter. He had been so long scent
tome(' to the ungainly forms, rough lan
guage, and rugged features of has ship
mates, on the previous voyage, that a wo
man, young and blooming, with a cultivat
ed mind like Harriet William's (seemed
to him like a superior being, sent by a be
nignant Providence, to waft him to hap
piness. . . . . .
James not induced to change his deter
mination by his sisters remarks. He sue
rendered at discretion, but humbly sued
for quarter, and Harriet's looks corres
ponded with her character; she was not
cruelly disposed.
One evening, after he had been at home
about ten days or a fortnight, as the land.
ly were seated around the supper table,
the lathe' turned toward his son end said,
abruptly . _ _
''fanies, how should you like to get
married ?'
James started as if a bullet had been
lodged in his thorax: "Married air l" re.
peered he.
"Yes, married, aßut it is too late
now."
"Too late ? married 1 Father Ido not
understand you."
"Why," replied the old gentleman, "to.
morrow is Christmas day, and for twenty
successive years there has been a wedding
in the Campbell family on that da7..whieh
seemed to give a zest to our rejoicings,
and aid us in celebrating the happy day
which gave to the world the Savior of man
kind. These marriages have always pros
pered. Last year your cousin Jonas was
married ; the year before that, your sister
Elizabeth ; but this year, among all your
uncles, aunts, and cousins, not one is ree
dy to be married •on airistmas day. I
hope that your sister Maria will be ready
by next Christmas. And I did at one
time hope that that slow-moulded mortal
Zenas Blackwood, would have arranged
matters, with your cousin Helen so as to
be married to morrow. I can't conceive
what the numbskull has been about. Ac
cording to present prospects they wont be
married these three months, at least. I
feel quite provoked with him. 'T is too
had to have no wedding on Christmas
day."
. _ _
"Father, said James, and a roguish
smile played about Maria's mouth as he
spoke. "I would do anything to give you
pleasure; I wish I had known this before:
As you would say, I fear it is too late.
now; far I am told it is a serious and
sometimes difficult thing to get married to
Ties liking. But who knows what may
turn up 7 Perhaps there may be a wed.
ding in the family yet, before to•morrow
night!"
'hp old gentleman laughed heartily at
conceit, and James took up his hat and
went outto TAKE A WALK.
In hell an hour after this, James Pa
cozily seated by the side of the blushing
'tartlet Williams and eloquently urging
many arguments in favour of his startling
proposition, that she should become abride
on the morrow I
"lames," said she laughing, but evi•
dently somewhat fluttered, .'this is the
most rediculous thing I ever heard. You
surely cant be serious. Besides, lam al
together too young to be married."
"If you really think so," said Jame,
with a sly look, "there's no more to be
said about it."
have not thought of it," added Har
riet. "Indeed, lam not aura that I am
willing to marry you at all. What will
the world say ?"
"I neither know :nor care," replied
James.
"I suppose the old married folks will
say we acted wisely; the young women
will censure your taste in the choice of
husband ; and the young men will, one
and all, envy me my happiaess."
What will your parents say r
..They will be surprised, but you know
they will not object. They will be glad
to cement, in this way, the friendship be
tween the families."
" But you are going to sea so soon :"
said Harriet, in a plaintive voice.
"I shall be back the quicker : and while
I am away, I shall feel happy in the
thought th it I have a wife who takes a
deep interest in the fortunes al the pose
weather beaten mariner."
"But even it the idea of being maned
to-morrow were not altogether absurd. I
am not prepared. I have no wedding gar
ments."
"That's no excuse." said James. "'T
is nonsense for young ladies to employ
hosts of milliners and mantau-makers for
weeks, or perhaps months, before they can
get married. It looks as if clothes were
only necessary for a wife. You have
youth, beauty and intelligence, and be
;must costly costume cou'd not add Wpm
charms."
But there is net time to be published,'
added the yielding Harriet.
'"Never mind. said the persevering