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Detioteri to etnerat ihattltnence, abtxtlititng,a3oltttco,Etteratitre, Mloralitg, nrto, *rititcrti, famitittture, Rintmcn ciit, scc., &r.
N9hcollo `QrtaZIUD
1.17111198,11 D IT
THEODORE 11, CREMER,
wcE)Enu&:3.,
"Jotinwax" will •be published every Wed
nesday morning, at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance,
and if not paid within six months, $2 50.
No eubscriptien received for a shorter period than
ex months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar
rearages are paid.
Advertisements not exceeding one square, will he
inserted three times for $1 00, and for every subse
quent insertion 25 cents. If no definite orders are
given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu
ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac
cordingly.
W. 11. IVIoRmq,
.It, M. KIRKERIDE
WILLIAM H. MORRIS&CO.
tnia)IWEIVA S A a/WV:PAM@
AND
Commission Merchants,
HAVRE DE GRACE, MARYLAND
ztAVIN G taken the large and commodi
ous Wharf and Warehouse situated di
rectly on the Canal Basin, are now prepared
to receive consignments of goods fo r tran
shipment or sale.
A general assortment of Groceries, &c.,
coasisting of Loaf and Brown Sugars,
Molasses, Sperm Oil and Candles. White,
14ellow and Brown Soaps, Fish, Salt, Plaster,
&c., together with all kinds of Spices and
Faints—and alas ready made Clothing will
be kept constantly on hand and disposrd of
on city terms or exchanged for country pro
duce, Coal, &c.
April 19. 1543.-3 m.
THE GIRARD LIFE INSURANCE,
asrannauv aluo tantaTe
VIDEITAITT
0 P ILa D lb 11.11.1.
Office No. 159 Chesnut Street.
Make insurances of lives, grant anninuities
and Endowments, and receive and execute
Trusts.
Rates for insuring $lOO, on a single life.
Age. Ycir 1 year. Fur 7 years. For life.
annu :11y. au .wally.
20 60 91 90 95 $1 77
30 1 31 1 36 2 36
40 1 69 1 83 3 20
50 196 209 460
• 60 4 35 4 91 7 00
ExAmPLx i—A person aged SO years, by
paying the company 81 31 would secure to
his family or heirs *lOO, should he clit in cu~
year—se for.A...n..snsh.,,years, tie se
cures to them 91000 should he die during
the 7 years—or fur 923 60 paid annually du
ring life lie provides for th:m 1000 dollars
whenever he dies— for 865 SO they would re
ceive 5000 dollars, should lie die in one year.
- Further particulars respecting Life Insur
ance, Trnsts, or management of Estates and
property confided to them, may be had at
the office. _
B W. RICHARDS. Pi esident.
INO. F. JAMES, Actuary.
PhWa. April 19, 1843.-6 m.
DAY, GERRISH 86 CO.
GENERA L PRODUCE,
Commission mul Forwardin g
alerchlllllll.
Granite Stores, lower aide of Race sired,
on the Delaware, Philadelphta.
inuEsPECTFULLY inform their friends
giaa and the merchants generally, that they
have taken the large Wharf and Granite
Front Stores, known as Ridgeway's Stores,
immediately below Race street, in addition
to their old wharf, where they will con
tinue the Produce commission business, as
also to receive.and forward goods to all points
on the Juniata, and North and West branches
'of, the Susquehanna Rivers. via. the Tide
%Miter, grid Pennsylvania, and Schuylkill and
Union canals.
This establishment has many advantages
over any other in the city in point of room
and convenience for the accommodation of
boats and produce. Being one of the largest
wharves on the Delaware, and the stores
extending from Water street to Delaware
Front. Five or six boats may at the s•one
time be loading and discharging, The usual
facilities will be given on all consignments
entrusted to their charge, which will be thank
fully received and meet with prompt atten
eon. Salt, Fish and Plaster, constantly . on
band and for sale at the lowost market price
References, Philadelphia.
J. Ridgway,Esq. J Brock, son & Co
Jacob Lex & Son Waterman & Osbourn
Mulford & Alter Scull & Thompson
Wilson, Seiger & Bro E Etting & Bro
bray, Barcrott & C o Morris, Patterson Sc co
Lower & Barrow.
Lewidown.
& I Milliken A & G Blimyer
' Patterson & Horner J McCoy, Esq.
. ,
iVateratreet.
Stewart & Horrell E W VVike, Esq,
February 8,1843.-6 n).
BOOTS AND SHOES,
Leghorn mut Straw Bonnets,
PALDILEAF AND LEGHORN HATS,
Merchants and others from Huntingdon
and adjacent places, are respectfully reques
ted to call and examine the stock of the above
kinds of goods, which is full and extensive.
and which will be sold at prices that will
give satisfaction to purchasers, at No. 168
Market, street south-east corner of sth street,
Philadelphia.
GEO. W. & LEWIS B. TAYLOR.
Pila. Feb. 6,1843.-6 mo.
Job Printing.
N EATLY EXECUTED
.11' THIS 11,110 E.
r.t`t".. c Aa'UM.I2f)C.EDSZV E) UPeo.. 0 6...WLP: - .PUEISX2LI3=IZILI a.a341€33.
zonTnT.
A Noon Scene,
• PUZE POEM-Br W. C. DRIANT.
TiOkuiet A ugita noon is come,
A sin:ill...rota,
And mark you soft white clouds, that rest
Above our vale, a moveless throng;
The cattle on the mountain's breast,
Enjoy the grateful shadow long.
Oh how unlike those merry hours
In sunny June, when earth laughs out,
When the fresh winds make love to flowers,
And woodlands sing and waters shout.
When in the grass sweet voices talk,
And strains of tiny music swell
From every moss cup of the rock,
From every nameless blossom's bell.
But now, a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows,
Hushes the heavens, and wraps the ground—.
The blessing of supreme repose.
Away ! I will not be to-day,
The only slate of toil and care !
Away from desk and dust away!
I'll be as idle as the air.
Beneath the open sky abroad,
Among the plants and breathing things,
The sinless, peaceful works of God,
I'll share the calm the season brings.
Come then, in whose soft eyes I see
The gentle cleaning of the heart,
One day amidst the woods with thee,
From men and all their cares apart.
And where upon the meadow's breast,
The shadow of the thicket lies,
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.
Come—when amid the calm profound
I turn those gentle eyes to seek,
They, like the lovely landscape round,
Innocence and peace shall speak.
Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,
And on the silent valleys gaze,
Winding and widening till they fads
In yon soft ring of summer gaze.
Th 7et g rtli ir lingr47: .agre Z
A;
circled from the lifeless rock.
One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks—
There the hush'd winds their Sabbath keep,
While a near hum from bees and brooks,
Come faintly like the breath of sleep.
Well might the gazer dream, that when,
Worn with the struggle and the strife,
And heart-sick at the wrongs of men,
The good forsake the scenes of life.
Like this deep quiet, that awhile
Lingers the lovely landscape o'er,
Shall he the peace whose holy smile,
Welcomes him to a happier shore.
MICICELLANMOI7I3.
Mesmerism and Niggerism.
We are rejoiced (says the N. 0. Picayune) to be
able to give at last the true elucidation of Mes-
merism.
Hello, nigger!' suddenly exclaimed Sam Jon
sing, calling after another dark gentleman who was
turning a distant corner.
' Hello you!' shouted Pete Gumbo in reply.
Wu, how is you, Sam l' said Pete, when the
two met and shook hands.
all right,' said Sam. Look heals, Pete:
yous heard ob dis Mesermerism
Well I has, Sam,'--and Pete immediately look-
ed wise.
.Wa—well, mat's it all aboutl'
. Sam,' said Pete, very seriously, we must all
be cautious in 'proaching de confused sciences.—
Mesermerism is a science as yet in do infant stage
of conalvalescence. Now—now—e'pose I putyou
to sleep an you tell me whar a boz ob spice is hid
in the ground
.Wal.
'Dot's Mesermerism
'Del.'s it
.Dat's Mesermerism
.Wal, l'ete,' said Sam, .s'pose I seen abox ob
gold in do ground an don't toll you a single word
'bout it I'
.Wal.'
'Know wet dat is l'
'No.'
'Dot's Niggerism!'
CABBAGES vs. CAPS,..' Old woman' said a drun
ken fellow who had staggered to the closet for a cold
supper, where did you get those cabbages. They
are so tarnal stringy, I can't eat them.'
0, my gracious!' exclaimed the lady, if that
stupid fellow aint eating all my caps that I put in
starch in the clout!'
Love.—. , What is love Clara 1" said Frank the
other night, as he sat by the side of his sweet-heart.
"Love! Frank, I hardly know what it is; but
suppose it must be getting married, and kissing little
babies."
Frank fainted..
A woman's heart is like a Addle—it requires a
beau to pis}• upon it. ` _
Selected by a LADY, for the 4, HUNTINGDON
JOURNAL," and published at her request.
CM CI) Za 05 Li_ Ca '2...W man.u7-.
PART I.
The interest recently excited upon the subject of
mental affection, and more especially in reference to
a lamentible event, which has deprived society of
an active and valuable member, induced The writer
to search for some notes of a singular story which
was related to him several years ago, and in which
a peculiar phase of insanity was illustrated by its
most painful results. He has endeavored, in the
following pages, to bring a tale before the reader.—
It is right that he should mention that all who
could possess any personal knowledge of its details
(the original narrator included) having long since
ceased from among us.'
You have lived under four English sovereigns,
and the number of your fellow-subjects who can
add another king to the list is small. lam one of
that small number, for I was born in the year 1757,
and am now eighty-three. You need not on that
account hesitate at passing me the bottle.
I'll tell you something which was brought to my
mind by this straggling old inn, with its long gloo-
my passage and terrible staircase. lam not at all
sorry we decided on sleeping here, for it seems a
naughty night to swim in, but there is a place near
the top of the house which I wish I had not seen.
Help yourself, and stir the fire into a blaze ; I don't
like even to think of the story in the dark.
When I was sixteen, I believed myself intensely
in love with a very pretty cousin of mine, whose
Christian name was Emily. She was exactly that
sort of a cousin with who'll I suppose, all boys fall
in love—she was three years older than myself, and
not only very pretty, but very merry and very kind
hearted, und, in spite of all my endeavors, her laugh
ing face, with a quantity of black curls falling about
it, MS perpetually coming between my eye and the
Delphin Juvenal, the fact of her being miles away
from my school not at all interfering with her perti
nacious hauntings. I was exceedingly outra
geous when I was informed of her intended mar
riage to a country clergyman, about ten Yeats her
senior, and I thought Mrs. Algernon Parke, (that
was the name she took, poor thing *rote me lec
her in her married state, +a
bed become a mother and I had bi.;Ciibitre
that I could make up my mind to visit her.
journey was then accidental, but when I entered her
house she gave me such a sunshiny welcome, and,
in spite of the child crawling about upon the rug,
she looked so like the Emily of other days, that I
reproached myself for my delay, and determined to
make up for it by spending as much of my time as
possible at Rectory.
Her husband, the Reverend Algernon Parke, was
ono of those men whom you cannot help liking, and
yet with whom it is impossible to be very intimate,
He was tall, handsome, and aristocratic in appear
ance; he was an accomplished scholar, and had
travelled much, and his general information was, or
seemed to a youth of nineteen very extensive.
But he was an extraordinary proud man, and
though nothing could bo kinder or more hospitable
than his manner, I was forced to feel that ho rather
endured that sought conversation with me. Indeed,
I have often thought that I may have attributed this
neglect on his part to wrong causes, for the talk of
a person of my age and character must in all proba
bility have been rubbishing enough, especially in
those days, when young gentlemen were not fur
nished with a smattering of every kind of knowl
edge. However, Mr. Parke always gave me a cor
dial welcome to his house, and while I remained
there, we saw little of each other except at social
hours. There was excellent sporting of two or
three kinds in the neighborhood, and though I do
voted a great deal of time to my cousin, I reserved
a tolerable proportion for my dogs, and guns, and
fishing tackle. Altogether I found the Rectory a
delightful place.
The house itself had little to recommend it be-
yond its size and its situation, for it was one of those
ungainly structures which were reared when every
thing requisite for building was cheap—architectu
ral skill excepted. I told you that this inn remin
ded me of the the place. The Rectory was a very
tall and a very spacious house, full of winding stair
cases and intricate passages, doors opening where
they were least expected, and long galleries without
an opening except at each end. The rooms were
chiefly lofty and airy, yet there was a sensation of
dulness, and even desolation, connected with them,
which often became oppressive, especially on bleak
afternoons. The inmates of the house had of course ,
by practice, acquired a tolerable acquaintance with
the apartments in use, which constituted about a
third of the mansion,—a stranger gradually ascer
tained the nearest way from his bed-room to the
dining-parlor and drawing-room,—but of the rela
tive situations of the unoccupied chambers, I doubt
if any person wore aware. Two or three servants
had their respective and different ways of proceed
ing on the rare occasion of having to explore those
regions, and I myself, who had the pride of geomet
rical knowledge volunteered to map out the various
stories, was finally balled, and forced to relinquish
the task, by the multiplicity of enormous closets
which crossed the landing-places, and isolated rooms
upon which one came by accident, and failed to
discover a second time. I revenged myself upon
the edifice by defining it en 111 Noble grociermi of
IntnicatO Ankitseture.
You may think I am dealing lighly with a narra
tive which I have described as a painful one, but
am rather endeavoring to give you an idea of the
successive effects which the scene and the incidents
produced upon myself. They have receded far
enough from me to allow me to detail them with
much more clearness than I can bring to the des
cription of events of the last ten years.
I returned to the Rectory as often as my college
life would permit, and it was upon my third visit
there that I perceived a strange change in Algernon
Parke.
His manner to mo was warm and cordial as be
fore, but the alteration was in his conduct to Emily.
Did I mention to you that his behaviour to her had
previously been marked by the most sedulous atten
tion, but that there was an absence of fondness of
affection which I had expected to see, and which her
youth and extreme beauty, coupled with her admi
ring devotion to him, naight.kave elicited from even
a prouder and colder man* Parke t In short, I
hardly knew whether to be vexed or pleased at not
,finding Algernon adoring the lovely girl whom I
thought rerfection. We are curious creatures, and
the feelings alternated in my heart until I was almost
ashamed of my exertions to define, and so to fix, my
sentiments upon the subject. But new all was al
tered, and in the place of the calm attentive regard
which Algernon had hitherto manifested towards
his wife, there had arisen a lover-like ardour of anxie
ty and tenderness, which kept him constantly at her
side—a perpetual watch for every word she uttered,
over ever: , nfovement she made—an untiring, un
ceasing homage, which, as it appeared to me, would
have better suited the brief glowing courtship of
some young Italian musician, inspired by his love,
his art, and his skies, than the married state of an
English clergyman of mature age and reserved hab
its. The phenomenon puzzled me beyond measure.
I sought for ordinary reasons for it, in vain. I had,
of course, been favored, in my time, with explana
tions of the curious influence over the husband with
which the honors of maternity invested the wife.—
Itis true, had a second time added to her
family, and two more beautiful childreh, than the
little Louisa and Henry I'orke I have never men;
but the dr votion &Algernon to his wife was so un
reremabl: intense that even the mysterious agency
in questiol, taxed to its fullest extem, was Mau&
cient te ,beruing tonerds her. In
esdiita./k‘med to seek ;traelninced, ,kept that ho
pqrt_m an
self, with amiable self-complacency of youth;Taltri
bated this to my own enlarged and edifying habits
of discussion. One thing I observed—he spoke
with far more rapidity than upon former visits.
The children were very lovely. Louisa, the el
der, whom I had seen crawling on the rug on my
first visit to the Rectory, was now a merry little
sylph of four years old, an infantile copy of her
beautiful mother's features, but with a profusion of
golden hair, and with deep blue eyes. Her ringing
laugh was always ready to welcome me—l was her
decided favorite, friend, and confident. She loved
me, I believe very sincerely, but she worshipped
the dogs which were invariably my companions.
There affectionate attention to her were her delight,
and the figure of the wild little fairy, tugging laugh
ingly at the cars or tail of the wistful but uncom
plaining Ponto or Sancho, is fresh as if sixty years
had not divided us.
Henry, the boy, was a year younger than his sis
ter, and a contrast to her in everything but beauty.
His grave-eyed meekness suited his appearance
well; and his tranquillity, especially when taken
under the patronage of the high spirits of Louisa,
was very winning. He, too, was a great ally of the
dogs; but whereas Miss Louisa's pleasure was in
exciting them into frolics kindred with her own, ber
brother loved to lie for hours with one animal for a
pillow, while the head of the other rested in his lap.
You are at my mercy here, and must bear with my
miniature painting—it is all part of the picture.
The fondness of my cousin for her beautiful chil
dren was excessive, and rivalled that of Algernon
for herself ; but it was so natural and graceful that I,
who was at an ago when to the foolish eye of a boy
the earnestness of affection is not always pleasing,
not could but be charmed with the love manifested to-
wards them by Emily. Algernon's conduct to the
children was, however, inexplicable. He would
stand gazing at them for long periods, with looks of
affection and delight; but he invariably recoiled
from their contact or approach, and in a marked
manner shunned the morning and evening kiss with .
which they had been accustomed to salute him.—
Once, when Emily suddenly pressed the face of her
boy to that of its father, he turned deadly pale, and
hastily left the room. She never repeated the ex
periment—its failure was perhaps the only thing in
which for many months Algernon had crossed her
wishes: his devotion continued unabated.
PART 11.
My fourth visit—it was my lasi—was prefaced
by a slight circumstance, to which I paid no atten
tion until subsequent events caused me to reconsider
every link in their chain. I wrote from Oxford to
announce my coming; and, as I had often done be
fore, I addressed my letter to my little friend Louisa,
who could not, of course, trace even a syllable of its
contents, but in whose name her mother had some
times been accustomed to reply. I thought no
more of the trifling playfulness, until the answer
came, written by Algernon himself. His invitation
was warm as usual, but, to my surmise, the follow
lag postcript was added
"Why do you write to one in every respect so
far beneath you ?"
I was much amused with this curious piece of
didactic remonstrance, and was soon at the door of
the Rectory. Algernon came out to meet nie, and
seemed anxious to speak to me before any of the
servants should approach. He gave hasty orders
for the care of my travelling boxes, and then. taking
my arm, begged me to walk with him into the gar
den. I pleaded that I ought first speak to Emily,
but lie made some plausible excuse, and led me
through a shrubbery. Suddenly turning upon me,
he said in a strange, harsh voice—
This is an odd atrair—is it not 'l'
What is 'l—what do you mean V
Alt !—true, true—you haven't heard !—Why,
we've lost Miss Parke.'
Good heavens! you don't mean—you can't
mean Louisa?' I said.
, Ay, I mean her !' he replied, contorting his
mouth into a dreadful smile.
bleat!—dead! I am—why not have told me
—why did you allow nie to intrude on you I
gasped out, hardly knowing whether to express as
tonishment or sympathy, so—strange was his man•
No intrusion—no intrusion !' ho cried, in a high,
but husky voice,—. no intrusion at all. No—and
she's not dead either—that's tho beat of it, as it
seems to me.
Lost, and not dead, Mr. Parke ! For Heaven's
sake, tell me what all this means !'
/ tell you :—/P said he, very coldly, but, in
stantly altering his manner, said, am wrong--
you are my guest. At dinner, then, if you please, I
shall have much pleasure in answering any question
you may ask.' He turned upon his heel, and nem
ally ran from me. I was too much stupified to fol
low him for some moments, but when I did I believe
my paco was as rapid as his own. A domestic,
however, appeared at the end of the shrubbery, and
stopped me.
Oh sir! we suppose master has told you come.
thing.'
Yes, yes, Anderson ; Miss Louisa—he says she
is lost. What is it all ?—quick !'
It's all true, sir—she is lost, and the grief has
turned master's head.'
Grief?' I repeated, in much perplexity. I pro
ceeded to question the servant, who told me that,
about five days betbre, and in the middle of the af
rgfltrkliekliekelifeiTeuseTiittee-fftitri
of course supposed that she had strayed into some
of the unused apartments, access to which, however
had been usually prevented since the children had
been old enough to wander. 0n examination, it
wits found that to one floor only could the child
have gained admission, the doors leading to the
other floors being all locked, and the keys being
actually hanging in Algernon's study. That floor
had been searched until the searchers were weary;
shouting, calling, and even firing a pistol, had been cove r;
tried, on the chance of Louisa's having fallen as- We were standing in a large and low-roofed room,
leep in some mysterious corner. All was in vain. lighted by a single window, and entirely empty.—
The researches outside the house had been equally It was th e last room, es we believed on the upper
useless. Gates, neither over nor under which ri flaw. 1 have said the house was a very lofty one ;
child could climb nor crawl, cut off all egress front and as I stood at the window I was struck by its
the garden, and it was proved that they had not been distance from the ground below. I turned away,
opened. No gipsies or other suspicious persons and the next moment one of my dogs came leaping
had approached the house ; and the agonizing con- into the room, manifesting the utmost joy at seeing
elusion to all exertions was, that Louisa was lost. me. It suddenly occurred to me to pitt him in quest
I found upon questioning Anderson further, that of a scent—and wild as was the idea, in the excited
Mr. Parke had led the servants on their quest, and state of my feelings, I made hiM the necessary sig
nal. -In an instant ha was at work, sniffling in all
had been as energetic in his pursuit as became a
the delighted energy of his race. Mice he crossed
father to be in so dreadful an emergency. Had the
the room, and twice recrossed it, and returned to my
domestics no conjectures of any kind ? Anderson
said they had none. And Mrs. Parke ? feet, as if wondering at the new task I had set him.
I entered the house, and in the drawing-room I saw that he could discover nothing, and was about
found Emily—but how changed from the sunshiny to retire, when the dog uttered a cry, and clung to
me in manifest terror. What he saw or felt, I know
being I hod left her a few weeks before ! She was
pale as ashes, and her beautiful black hair hung
not to this hour; but I believe there are secrete,
wildly about her face. She was obviously under dreadful secrets in stature, which should make the
the influence of extreme terror. In her arms she
wisest and best of us tremble. I gazed in wonder,
held her son, of whom oho appeared resolved not to
when the good hound, disengaging himself front
relinquish her hold for a moment. On my entrance,
me, rushed with a furious yell towards the opposite
she glanced nervously round, and Instead of rising
wall. It was of boards, and I could trace no sign
or speaking, she clasped the child convulsively to
of a door or opening; but what Was that to me ?
her breast, and looked in my face with such a pile-
I desired Anderson to fetch me a chisel and hammer,
sue expression that I turned in pain from her gaze. while I ran fdr a crow-bar, which I had seen in one
lam so glad that you have come ! she murmur- of the lower apartment.
ed' the tears rolling from her eyes. In a fbw-minutes I re-entered the room—but
A terrible thought Caine odor me at that momeht,
ghastly tenants were there before me. If the silty
but I indignantly rejected it. Algernon entered
years which have followed that hideous moment
hastily, and again I saw that convulsive clasping of
could be made six hundred, it could not pass from
the child by the mother. He spoke with his usual
my recollection. A large and gaping chasm ap
cordiality, and invited me to retire for the purpose
i peered in the wall, opening as it scented, into a black
of dressing. I assented; and he conducted me to
abyss which the eye could not fathom. But eyes
my apartment,—apparently resolved not to leave
had fathomed it, and in that gm their intelligence
me for a moment. This constant attendance he
was lost for ever. Emily Parke had been dragged
pursued for the remainder of the day, vigilantly pre
from her bed to the edge of that hideous pit, and the
venting my holding conversation with Emily, who
fierce grasp of her husband was upon her wrist,
indeed sat through the long hours in a state of coin
while his other hand pointed down the dreadful well;
parative stupor, but never for one instant parting
into which he had flung some blazing substance.—
with the child. As night drew on that tenable
The mother's eye had followed its fiery career down
thought returned : and at length its pressure became
down—down, until it rested, glaring brightly.
unbearable. I pleaded indisposition, and begged
At the bottom of that pit Omni then an untold
leave to go early to rest. Algernon followed me to
. . mystery of that strange house) lay two little corpses.
my room ; and no I went in, I observed that the key
One had lain there for days--the other had newly
was outside the door. I took it quietly from the lock,
and into the room. Parke watched my =commit, been hurled thither—both the children hod gone
but made no remark, and loft me to solitude and
down alive, as their father afterwards exultingly d.
that thought.
dared. There lay Louisa and her brother, eighty
I had now leisure to weigh the occurrences of
feet below the chamber where an Idiot was staring
the day ; and as I did so my mind underwent alter- ateMaaulel
nate visitations of etupifying bewilderment and her- Why is a guide-board like a hypocritical preach.
rowing excitement. But I will not trouble you with er ? Because he points out the road for other folks
stele tban a rapid detail of what followed. I fir to go, but never takes in hini-elf.
.c.attaDa. syc.ll). cEi®®
tened until I heard the door of Algernon's bed-room
close, and the lock turn. Knowing that he Lad
then retired for the night, I stole softly down to the
apartment occupied by Anderson. In reply to my
whisper, he opened the door, and seemed relieved
by finding that I was his visitor.
Anderson,' said I get me those key. which you
said hung iu your master's study.'
He looked startled; but promised to do so, and
bring them to my room. I returned as softly as
possible, and waited his arrival. In a few minutes
he came to the door.
.Sir, they are not there now.'
My sensations now became maddening; I paced
the room furiously, and at length sat down on the
bed is a state of positive fever. Thu home was still
as the tomb, and the only sound I heard wus the
deep tone of the church clock, which struck at long
intervals. My frenzied restlessness finally urged
me to go and seek for the keys myself, and taking
the candle, I stepped stealthily forth fur that purpose.
As I reached the foot of the stairs, and was peering
through the darkness in quest of the study-door, one
long and frightful scream rang through the upper
part of the house. I rushed up stairs like a guilty
thing, and at the first turning I suddenly encoun
tered Algernon. He was half-dressed, and held a
In God's name, toll me whose scream was that !
I exclaimed.
It was nothing,' he Gold. 11-, do you over
rend the Bible?'
, Somethues—sometimen; but that scream !'
'Have you ever read,' he asked very sternly, the
fearful book with which it ends--tho Book of the
Revelations 1'
'I have,' said I; but Mr. Parka I insist an know.
ins--•
.Do you remember what is said there about the
Dorromuss PIT being opened for a little while?
—the Bottomless Pit—ha! ha!' And he rushed
from me, and entered hie own room, double locking
the door.
I, too, returned to my own apartment;and watch
ed intently. But there was no further alarm, and
at least the blessed morning came ; never was it ed
welcome. As the light began to render objects half
visible, there came a low tap at my door. It was
Anderson.
Sir,' said he in faltering accents, I thought I
would go again and search fs 7
I snatched them from him, and motioned him to
follow me. The light was now come upaa us, as I
unlocked the door leading to the unused apartments
on the floor on which I stood. Need I weary you
by spying, that perhaps such a search, was never
made for concealed gold or escaped captive as that I
made through those dreary rooms, and those above
them. There was yet a third floor to search ; and
through that I searched in like manner, and in vain
I hardly know, ideed, what I wds expecting to dia..