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►Y JAS. CLARK.
The Fallen Leaves.
IT 7413. NORTON
We stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things,
Clo rustling on their way;
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gate where snoW•drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree:
With dancing feet we leap along
Where w:ther'd boughs are atrown;
Not past nor future check our song—
- •
The present m out own.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth's enchanted spring—
When hope (rho wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing,
We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leatleas trees,
And the color kindles in our cheek
As blows the winter breeze ;
While gazing towards the cold gray sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,
We wish the old year all past by,
And the young spring come again.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime—
When first our passing hearts begin
To love •• the olden time ;"
And as we gaze, we Sigh to think
How many a year bath pass'd
Since neath those cold and faded trees,
Our footstep's wandered last,
And old companions--now perchance
Estranged, forge, or dead—
Come found us, as those autumn leaves
Are etush'd beneath our tread.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day—
Anil tottering on with feeble steps.
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back—too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward—for we may not live
To see our new hope crots'd ti
But on we go—the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth iMparts—
Childhood without' its joy returns—
The present fills our hearts I
THE YOtN. GiMOTHER..
1111 : , 1119. C. M. SAWYER
There are teari on thy cheek, young
mother—there are tears of anguish on
thy cheek—and wan and pallid is the
hue of thy tremulous lip! The light
of joy has gone out from thine eyes, and
their lids arc weighed down by the
heavy hand of sorrow. I listen for the
glad tones which were wont to greet
my coming, but low, stifled sobbing,s,
sadder than the moanings of a sea-shell,
alone steal upon my ear.
Thou art bereft, young mother—thou'
art bereft of a new-born life,- that was
dearer to thee than thine own. Tilt lit
tle snow-drop that' nestled in thy bosom
is faded and witherrd ; a gem has dropt
away from the shining circlet of thy
marriage crown, and meet it is that sad
neFs and weeping should now be thine.
But lend me to the darkened room,
where reposes all of earth that is now
left to thee of what was so cherished
and dear. Lead sue to the spot where
for days, long and weary days, thou
hest sat', holding back that young life
from the grave—struggling with the
pitiless angel of death, until thy wild
pleadings could no longer be uttered—
until the cold drops of oblivion, which
fell from his dark whip thcy wave:
heavily aloand thee, quenched the
spark, and thy child was clay.
But lift up the drooping, curtain and
let in the cheerful sunlight,• for dark
ness becometh not a scene like this.—
Let me turn aside the snowy covering
from the cherub brow, that I may look
mice more upon the dear departed.—
Ha ! and is death so lovely 1 1 he'd
deemed that the footsteps of the destroy
er were marked with desolation; end,
flowers are ?prong, up around
them ! I had looked for the ghastly,
traces of his withering fingers; and lel
ben , ty and sweetness are all that' I be.
hold!
Uh ! come, pale weeper, and gaze with
me upon what is so passing beautiful !
See upon its placid brow n smile—oh !
sweeter than the smiles of life!--is stil
resting. Ay, gaze upon it as thou
wouldst gaze upon the face of an angel;
for it is the signet which Heaven-has
impressed upon its own, sealing it for
immortality. Gaze reverently, for it is
the reflected glory of that' unclouded
smile which beams from the bitlity of the
Eternal, and is the light of th
r at '
land where thy - child yet livistliend
Waiteth for thy coming. Dry'' Up thy
tears, ydang mother, and bids the time
of thy re•union tipr' tiiY 'bitter
tears, and weep no More I7. , COOtienli'
SERFS OF RdiStE , ..lt is gamely known
that Wit &iamb noble buys es tistelei
be buys the serfs pr.:Baird; ia
a leonine at New York on NV edimday
evering saye—Plf the. serfs acquire
wealth they still'remain in bondage,,One
of the sables of Moscow has a serf who
is etcher than his master, but cannot nue.
chase his freedom because the noble
prides himself on the richest strain Rus
sia waiting, tit his table. The prevent
Emperor devises to liberate ibis
but is opposed by some of the Princes."
THE bouBLE PARTNERSHIP.
BY JOHN T. MAYO.
The balmy breath of a beautiful sum
mer afternoon saluted the cheeks of a
youth who stood on a rising ground
which commanded a view of a retired
and beautiful New England village.—
His air was pensive, and he seemed to
be struggling with deep emotion. For
a long time he remained gazing intently
in one direction, as if absorbed by some
recollections - connected with the spot.--ss
Suddenly he turned and disappeared,
and at the same moment a horseman
Was seen riding rapidly through the
village. Pausing at the hotel, before
which a number of persons were col
lected, the stranger inquired if a gen
teel-looking young man, wearing a Leg
horn hat and carrying a small valise,
had passed that way. " I told you so,"
exclaimed a clownish chap in a tattered
roundabout. " I knew he was after that
covey that was here. I saw that he was
in trouble about something. Yes, sir s "
continued he, addressing the stranger,
he was here about two hours ago, and
took the road to Woodville." The in
quirer jerked his reins, and in a few
momenta was out of sight.
If the reader will accompany us to a
town about ten miles from the village
to which we have alluded, he will be
furnished with an explanation of these
movements. A merchant, whom we
will call Mr. Harris, is pacing the floor
of his counting room. " Who would
have suspected such a thing V lie says,
in a subdued and melancholy tone. "I
reposed unbounded confidence in that
boy, and would have been more dispo
sed to believe his story about losing the
money ; but his aorupt flight forbids it."
"Curtis !" said he, addressing one of
his clerks, "how long is it since Mr.
Parker started in pursuit of Edward I"
"About nn hour, sir."
Just then a person from the batik en
tered, and addressing his'oself to Mr.
Harris, stated dint. finding tirt the close
of busineis hours that there Was ti differ
ence of five hundred dollars in their
ensh, they had made a search, from
which they discovered that there was an
error to that amount in a deposit which
had been that morning made by Edward
Warner.
"So, the lad is honest after all !" ex
claimed Mr. Harris: " that gives me
more pleasure than the recovery of the
money. But how could Ibe so impet
uous I Well, I cannot blame him. I
accused him directly with abstracting
the money, and his manly spirit would
not bear it 1"
It was even so. No stain had ever
sullied the fair fame of Edward, and the
charge of his employer as hasty and
abrupt' rte it was unfounded, stung him
to the soul. He acted indiscretly, it is
true, in immediately quitting his service,
but after what had passed,- he felt that
he could not remain in a position in
which the finger of cruel suspicion
would be pointed at him. He was ready
to acknowledge himself guilty of cul
pable negligence, having, as lie suppo.
crlst,icd t:;t2 moncy iii
the strect,.but nothing wastnore revolting
to his noble nature than the imputation
of theft. There were other circumstan
ces too, which served to render this oc
currence still more deeply painful. Be
tween Edward . and the daughter of his
employer had long existed a reciprocal
affection. He lied but just attained his
majority, and Louisa was some months
younger than himself. Their attach
ment eras no secret to their respective
families. That of Edward was, how
ever, comparatively humble, and this
eircuMstance alone had prevented hint,
hitherto, from formally communicating
his wishes to Mr. Hsrrrit. He lied been,
however, full of hope and confidenee.—
S . uolt war the ability and fidelity he had
uniformly e#ideed in matters of busi
ness, that hitt employer had more than
once intimated the possibility that he
might at some time become a partner in'
the concern. These pleasing anticipa
tions were now blighted, if not forever
destroyed.
No wonder, then, that the poor youth,
as he fled towards the house of his pa
rents for consehttion and adVice, should
pause to contemplate; perhaps for the
last time, the spot which then contained
the dearest treasure of his heart. In
the village through which he passed
was the country seat of Mr. Harris,
end here the lovers spent many delight.
/al hours is rambling over the beautiful
domains.—treading the mares of the tan. ,
tied ravine, or hatening to- the' sweet
melody of the murmuring waterfall. It
was while thus dwelling on these bright
recollections and striving to catch some'
cheering ray of hope amid the gloom'
which now hung over his spirit, that
Edward discovered the approach of the
horseman, one of the attaches of his
employer's establishment, and his fears
instantly took the alarm. He had, in
deed, been pursued, but rot, as his ex-
HUNTINGDON, PA., TUESDAY, DECEMI3ER 19, 1848
cited imagination readily suggested, for
the purpose of taking him back as a fu
gitive, but because Mr. Harris had upon
calm reflection seen cause to regret the
utterance of suspicions which the entire
previous deportment of the object of
them utterly repudiated.
Just belore, Edward had been delib
erating whether he should call at the
mansion to apprize his beloved Louisa
of what had taken place ; and of his de
' termination to visit it no more until the
falsity of the dark and damning accusa
tion under which he rested should be
established. The appearance of his
pursuer put an end to all debate upon
this point, and lie fled.
It is a stereotype remark that flight
is an evidence of guilt. If this be true
general, there are certainly many ex
ceptions. There are few, we apprehend,
so unfortunate as to labor under the
wrodgful imputation of guilt, who are
actually prepared to brave the horrors
of the malefactor's cell ; and rely for sup
port, under this weight of ignominy and
execration upon the sustaining powei'
; of conscious innocence. We have heard
I people talk proudly and cavalierly upon
1 this matter, and about courting (lentil
in preference to dishonor, but dire real
ity not infrequently proves the empti
ness of this kind of boasting.
Yes, he fled—but whither should he
go T In his nervous agitation he look
ed upon Lithsolf as a wretched outcast,
hated and banned of mankind—an exile, '
without home or friends. The solitude
of a thick grove presented an inviting
retreat, and thitherward he bent his
rapid though trembling footsteps. Pen
etrating the deepest recess of this for
est sanctuary, he sat down, or rather
sunk upon the trunk of a fallen tree.—
The thought of being charged with the
commission of a revolting crime—and
that ton by the very man of all others
whose good opinion he had so long and
anxiously labored to deserve—and then
of being taunted as a base miscreant,
unworthy to mingle in human society,
•• became every moment more and more
f intensely painful. A person of more
cool and phlegmatic temperament would
have braced himself with some degree
of firmness in such an exigency. But
it was far different with Edward War
ner. His was a delicate frame, and his_
mind was exquisitely sensitive, and it
is therefore not surprising that the sit
uation in which he was now placed
should have such a powerful influence
upon his physical as well as mental sys
tem. For two long and dismal hours
he wandered through the laybrinths of
his solitary refuge, endeavoring to calm
the agitation of his spirit, and to console
himself with the hope that all might yet
be well, and that his innocence might in
some way be made to appear. Terrified
as he was, however, with the apprehen
sion of being arrested as a thief, he
could not think of returning home, and
as the tints of twilight were fading in
the western sky, and he began to feel
that he was sinking under the combined
influence of anxiety, fatigue and hun
ger, be came to the determination of
seeking a resting_ place for the night,
trusting that needed repose might ren
der his mind more tranquil and col
lected.
Being somewhat acquainted in that
vicinity, Edward found no difficulty in
procuring the accommodations he requi
red in the peaceful family of a benevo
lent farmer. To him he ingenioasly
stated his situation, and was gratified
to fitid that his story was readily beli'cv ,
ed, and that the confidence of the woic
thy man in his integrity remained un
shaken. The young man passed, as it
may be supposed, a restless night, and
awoke in the morning with d' violent
ver; oecasioaed solely by hits intense'
anguish of mind. tfpon his appearance;
the family became alarmed at the situa
tion of their guest, and with the tender
est sympathy insisted upon his retiring
t'o• the bedchamber, while a messenger
was inunediately sent to apprise his
friends of his illness. Edward accord
ingly, after partaking of some slight
refreshment, threw himself upon a conch.
Awaking after a time from his short
slumber, lie found his father and his sis
ter at his side. On discovering them
he turned away his face and wept like a
child.
"Edward, my dear Edward," said the
gentle girl, "Compose yourself. You
have suffered your mind to be agitated
too unnecessarily. Cheer up, my dear
brothel , ; Mr. Harris is conscious that he
was too hasty.".. . _
" You kno - w all about it then 1 I may
have been careless, but I am innocent."
"'I do not doubt it;•my dear boy," said
the lather. " And sorely you have too
long known the impbtuous disposition'
of Mr. Harris to be so affected by this
occurrence."
"But, father, to be charged with such
a revolting crime—it was more than I
could endure. I trust in God that he
will yet be convinced that he has griev
ously wronged me."
He is convinced," exclaimed a beau
tiful and interesting lady suddenly en
tering the room, and in defiance of what
some may cons ider the requirements of
maidenly delicacy, throwing her arms
around the neck of the youth and im
pressing upon his lips, a warm and im
passioned kiss, which was as eagerly re
turned.
It was Louisa. Every one knows
how rapidly rumor circulates in a coun
try village, and whatever mystery might
seem connected with her appearance on
this occasion, is to be thus explained :
"He is convinced!" repeated the de
lighted girl; "and if you want proof of
it here it is." Thus saying, she handed
Edward a letter which her father had
that morning left with her to be sent to
Woodville. It ran as follows:
"Dear Edward—You mnst forgive
my unjust suspicions, but I cannot for
give myself. 1 am happy to say that it
was a mistake of the tellers and that you
are consequently not liable even to the
charge of negligence. I hate directed
my lawyer to make out articles of copart.;
114rShi'p between us, and if you and Lou
isa See fit at one'e to enter into a still
more important relation, all I have to
say is that there will be a double partner
ship. Let me see you to morrow.
'Such an instantaneous transition
from a state of gloomy dejection to one
of unbounded happiness almost over
whelmed the youth, and for a moment
deprived him of the power of utterance.
Fast locked in fervent embrace, the lov
ers seemed unconsc;ons that there were
any other beings in this wide world ex
cept themselves. The first gush of rap
ture being succeeded by comparative
calmness, arm in arm they quitted the
house, and accompanied by the father
and sister of Edward, proceeded to the
mansion of Mr. Harris. Edward de
clared himself perfectly well. 'I he
most offective medicine that could reach
his case had been applied, and had suc
ceeded like magic.
That was, indeed, a joyful' day—but
it was succeeded in tr' brief period, by a
still more joyfah 4 A'ght, on which,
after
the ceremony Which united the hearts
and destines of the young couple for life
had been performed, Mr. Harris, taking
Edward affectionately by the hand, re
marked, with a smile, "Neddy, boy, 1
injured your feelings without a cause,
but 1 have certainly made all the repar
ation that was in my power by thus in
troducing you to all the rights arid priv
ileges of a double partnersltih."
HYDROPHOBIA.—The Montgomery Led
ger give's an account of several cases,
where dogs supposed to be rabid, have
bitten inhividuals in Chester and Mont
gomery counties, causing great distress.
The Ledger says, there are a number of
antidotes to destroy the effects of the pio•
son, which may be used with success.
We were told an instance yesterday, of
a case cured by Mr. Stoy, the discoverer,
that occured in Lebanon county, where
an individual was cured after the spams
had occurred. This is a kind of traditon
ary information, and we speak of it on
the strength of reliable informants who
have known such "cures" by its use and
effects, rind with the hope that it may
Bting the 'lost tlrekistkre to light.' We
can add, on pein'etial'ltliowledge, that the
receipt of "Stoy's cure" is still extant,
and that an old gentleman in the borough
of Lebanon, by the name of Abraham
Doedler has used it with great success
Pot Many years, and is still using it.
He is also willing to impart' a knowledge
of the cure to °diets flor a small consid=
eration.
SHAKIP:G THE COMMONWEALTH."—CiSe
Cells a story about a constable in Penn ,
syltiania. He had served a legal pre
cept of some sort on a particular friend
of his, who, being greatly drunk at the
time, rebelled against the law and its
myrmidon, seizing the officer and sha
king him almost to pieces. The par
ties, meeting a few days after, Jim, the
()Glider, was profuse in his appologies.
"You know, Jake, said he, "I would
not have served you so if I had been so
ber ; it was all the devlish whiskey did
it." The Official, at last, molified and
relented under Jim's expostulaeion. "As
to the snaking,"' said he, "I don't bear
any mtitee, nor valley it a cent on my
own account; bi!t as an officer, Jim, rec
ollect whoever shales me shakes the Com
monwealth."
INTERESTING TO TIIE LADlES.—Nitrate
of sodo as much as can be held between
the fingers and the thumb, placed in the
water in which flowers are to be preser
ved, will keep them fresh and blooming
for a fortnight; at least Mrs. London says
so.
[D-What one is in his youth, he is
apt to be, to his mature years, in his
old age, on his death bed, and forever.
1 A FEARFUL GAME OF CARDS,
In our regiment were several wild
young fellows—none more so thaln 1;
and as our life in camp was very monot
onous, the officers betook themselves to
gaming. One day, after dmner, cards
were brought and all of us entered with
so much energy into the fascinating
game that everything in a Manner ne
glected. At length we changed it, and
betook ourselves in couples to seperate
games, I and Ensign A—, as gay and
rakish rascals as ever lived, that we
might pursue our game uninteruptedly,
ordered the servant to carry out into a
sort of summer-house, a decanter or
two of wine, and the cards; and thith
er we soon followed. We played with
I intense ettgernee.s for several hours, till
it grew so dark that we could hardly see
what was before us. I had been the
gainer all the evening.
"Come, A " said I, addressing
my companion, " I'm sure it's high time
we should quit the cards and return, for
we've a good deal of regithent htiiiness to
do to-night." _ .
"Stay, Tom, and finish the game;
and you will not move an inch till then."
"1 tell von, A-, I must and will
be gone; why should we thus make toil
of pleasure, and beside" , gain another
rebuke from the colonel i I'll away."
" Stay and try,one more game," said
A-, laying his hand on my arm,
" and I'll win back what lost."
"I may, perhaps, to-morrow; but now
go I will."
" Then," replied my companion, "if
yon do go, I'll stop and finish the game
if I have the devil for my partner
" A merry game, and a pleasant com
panion for you—fareweil ! ' said I, and
left the room. Ihr stened to my owe
apartment, where I had a good deal of
regimental busines to transact. I had
not beet' so engaged long,' Wlt;tl'
door was flung open, and in rushed En
sign A—, his eyes staring with horror
and flis Cheeks pale as marble. He sat
&Own on a chair, looked fixedly at me,
but withotit spealdifg tiv'tOrd.• I called
for wine, and got him to swallow a lit
tle. The cold prespiration burst from
his forehead, and he glared into every
corner of the rooni,-as though appre
hensive that sernAwild beast was ready
to spring upon him . .. „
. .
W A
.
"
hy, --," said I, shaking him . ;
" what is the matter with yoU I Are
you mad ?" He made no answer, ex
cept by a faint, murinering kind of in
distinct whisper. " Are you frighten
ed—or—or—or what V' continued I, mo
tioning to the servant to the leave the
room. By degrecS my companion be
came composed.
" Oh, TOm," said be, faintly and slow•
ly, "I am a lost man—a dead man)"
Pshaw, my good fellow, what is the
matter with you'? You've been too free
with the wine, and that added to your
heated spirits, has nearly overturned
your brain."
"No Toni," he replied, " i am sober
now if r never was so before in my life.
But my days on earth are numbered!
Nest Tuesday I shall be no longer an
inhabitant of this world 1"
There was something so indescriba
bly affecting—l may say, shocking—in
the deep deliberate tone of voice with
which he littered this, as well as the
ashy hue of his countenance, that I sat
down by his side wiihout sl)eaking. At
length, taking his hand in mine,l asked
him, in as soothing manner n• s I was a bl e
what had caused his termr.
"Do'you remember v; . tiatl said, Tom,
on your leaoing me t o-night 1"
.• Fait'lf,. yes ; was it not, that you
wcittltr play if you had the devil for a
partner 1"
" Yes," replied A-, with a siek
enin,,; smile, "I did so; and he took me
at my word," lie exclaimed, gasping as
if for breath.
" Why—why"—stammered 1, parta
king of his fright—" why, A—, you
don't mean to say that—"
" I mean to say simply this," replied
my companion, with dreadful calmness,
"that satan has taken me nt my word.
A few moments after you had left me, I
leaned my head on my hands, and shut
toy eyes. Immediately I heard a rust
ling among the cards on the table before
me. 1 started, and"—a convulsive spud.
der shook his frame—" there sat oppo
site to me, in the chair which you had
just left vacant, a tall pale man, dressed
in black. " Why how in the devil's
name did you come here 1" said I in
amazement.
To finish the game with, you as you
you wished !" said the stranger, delib
erately, at the same time arranging the
cards. I saw that his hand was white
as alabaster and he put the cards in or
der with amazing care and skill. lie
of ino . the pack.
"Why—why, who are you, and
whence did you come ?" stammered
at the same time my eyes scented den-
VOL, MIT, NO, 50.
cing in my head and my knees smote
together with agitation.
came to finish the game with yott
at your own request," said the stranger,
precisely in the same tone and mannot
as before. I would have answered, but
my tongue clove lo the roof Of, my mouth.
" Why do you not take the cards"
said the stranger in a holloW tone, "will
you finislrthe game according to your
promise'?"
"No r' I contriVed to stammer out.
His eyes glared' 00 . me, us though his
head was filled with vivid fire.—He rose
and bending his fiendish face close to
mine, thundered in my ear—
-1 " This night Week, then; thou shalt
finish it in—hell I" .
.
"My eyes closed un'ennsciously ns
though they would never open again ;
when I looked up, however, none !int:
myself was in the room, and, as fast as
my trembling limbs would carry me,
have r come Littler. Oh, Tom,. lam a
dead man ! lam doomed!-1 ant doom
ed !"
&ell was the fearful nurutivc of En
sign —. e got him' to bed. A
delirium seized him, the brain fever fol
lowed, and that night week he died.
HOW TO MAKE AN OMEN
WHERE IS AMOS KENDALL ?
When' Louis Napblecfni the nephew of
the Emperor, one of the candidates for
the Presidency of France, some years
ago made a descent upon France. a re.
markable omen attended him.—An im
perial eagle swept from the sky and'
perched upon his shoulder. How much
destiny Was; thii eagle may be found'
in the following translation in the Home
Journal from a Parisian writer.
1 was in London at the time the
Prince was educating the famous eagle
that was to aid him in his descent upon .
B6Ulogue. It was conducted upon very
natural principles. Every 'nursing the
prince, clad in the traditional costume
of the emperor, placed himself in t he
centre of the large garden attached to
the
. house where lie lodged. In the top
of the immortal cocked hat was placed
a beefstake. The eagle, kept hungry
till this hour, was launched into the air
from a remote corner of the ground, and
after wheeling ifround once or twice, he
Punctually decended to the cocked hat
wherein was served his breakfast. But
this was not all. It was thought neces
sary that the multitude should be aston-T
ished tVith seeing the imperial bird'
whisper to the prince the counsel he'
brought down from the Emperor on
high. Occasionally, therefore, hiS
oecf
steak was missing, and as he was found
to be a bird with all his dignity, capa
ble of a pis Idler, a morsel of broiled
ham was placed in the prince's ear,
which, not finding the steak, he would
lean over and daintily pick from its hi
ding place." If the prince be made
President of France, we think it will be
well for this Writer to emigrate.
Historical Incident,
The Rev. John Marsh, in an address
before a Temperance society introduced
the folllowing incident
A beautiful stoiy has been told, of a.
little boy, who was placed at the &tor
of the Hall in Philadelphia, to give no,
tice to the old bellman . in the steeple
when the Declaration of End6Pewlance
should have been signed. The old man
waited' long at his post, saying "they
Will never do it," but at last he heard a
shout below, and on gazing down on the
pavement, lie saw the little boy clapping
his tiny hands and shouting, " ring,
ring!" Grasping the Iron tongue of
the bell, he hurled it backwards and for-
Wards a hundred times,. proclaiming,
"liberty to the laud and the inhabitants
thereof."
That sound crossed the Atlantic,
pierced the dungeons of Europe, the
workshops of England, the vassal fields
of France. That sound spoke to the.
slave, bade him look front his toil, and
know himself a man. Yes, and the
voice of that little boy, lifting himself
on the tip-toe, and shouting, - " ring,"
has come to os f and let us ring the fiend's
doom and proclaim liberty to our land
and the world. We will' Shout to every
philanthropist, every patriot, every fath
er, every mother, every orator, and ev
ery preacher, ring ; and we will sound'
it through the world, we will be free !
TALKING IN CHURCH.-111 some parish'
churches it is the custom - to' separate'
the men from. the woman. A clergy
man being interrupted by loud talking,
stopped short ; when a woman, eager for
the honor of her sex, 7irose and said:
"Your reverence, the noise is not among
us." "So much the better," answered
the'pritst, "it Will be sooner oVer."
I' The human heart is
cpn►•~itu
ted, that it cannot resist the intro,,,,,„f
kindness.