Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 06, 1854, Image 1

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Vatriotic Votm.
[From the Philadelphia Sim,
Band of immortal men!
Hearts of the brave and free!
Firmly ye stood up, when
The foe at your liberty,
Aimed well a deadly blow,
With a tyrant's bloody hand,
Shrouding in gloom and woo
Your hearth•stones tlnd your land l
Born by the dying brave,
Pouring out their blood to save,
Ye saw yonr banner proudly wave
Where the war storm Lurk!
And where the sabre stroke,
Clashed mid the battle smoke,
Fell the tyrant's iron yoke
shattered in the dust.
Few of that Spartan band
Live to tell the tales of yore,
How o'er the frozen laud
Their steps they marked with gore I
Green grows the waving grain
Where the war charge then was heard,
And sweet o'er its dirge•like strain,
Sings the summer bird !
Bravely yo fought, and well I
Bravely ye fought, and fell!
Bravely ye fought to tell
How your land was won !
While through the battle•storm,
Shielded by Heaven from harm,
Moved on the god-like form
Of your Washington!
Remnant of the stormy past !
No more the stirring drum,
Nor the bugle's battle•blast,
Tell you the foe has come!
Peaceful your latest breath!
Glorious your latest stand,
When the messenger of death
Engages hand to hand,
Each tomb a pilgrim shrine,
Whose glory will ne'er decline!
Freedom, each name is thine,
They bled for thee!
The flag which they bore shall wave
Peacefully o'er earls grave,
Where sleeps the honored brave;
The sleep of the free.
Yet on our soil a host,
Deep sworn, their banners spread,
Seek to gain what cost
The blood of heroes dead!
Deep•laid the bloody scheme !
Freedom the sacrifice!
Ilow'well with smile and kiss
They hide the dagger's gleam !
Swelling on ocean's foam,
Hark! from the harlot dome,
Bidding the hords of Rome
To trample the free!
Rise like our sires of yore !
Drive them from our happy shore!
Out our best life blood pour!
Death or liberty!
*eittt Cale.
[From The Flag of our Union
On a cold, dreary afternoon in mid winter,
Mrs. Stanwood sat near a cheerful fire in an
elegantly furnished parlor, with her little daugh
ter ElSe playing by her side. The wind howl
ed mournfully without, and the rain and sleet
beat upon the window panes, ever and anon
startling Effie from her play, who would run to
the window and exclaim
"0 mother, how it storms; and the streets
are almost deserted. How dreadful such a day
must be for the poor! I hope no little children
are without shelter, now."
"It is indeed a sad storm, Effie," replied Mrs.
Stanwood, 'and I am glad to hear my little
girl, who is surrounded with so many comforts,
speak so thoughtfully of those whom fortune
has favored less highly. Ever, my child, cut.
tivate this spirit, for it will make you humbly
grateful to your heavenly Father, for all your
mercies, and shield your heart from the selfish.
netts that too often accompanies the possession
of wealth."
At this moment a servant entered, saying
that a sweet looking little girl, thinly clad, and
chivering with cold, was standing in the hall,
and wished to see the lady of the house.
"Let her come in," said Airs. Stanwood,
whose heart ever beat with generous feeling
for the needy, "poor child, it must be dire ne•
cce;.ity that ha,. scut her cat this etormy day."
tliuttiagboit onruai.
The door opened, and a pale•looking child
of some eight summers timidly entered, and
advancing towards Mrs. Stanwood, and raising
her large blue eyes swimming in tears, to her
face, said:
"Kind lady, tell me what I shall do for my
poor mama, for she is very sick. Wo have no
wood, and nothing to eat. My brother is stay.
ing with her now. Ho wished to come instead
of me, but I would not let him, for he was sick
all night, because he got so cold yesterday,
while trying to get work. 0, what will become
of us I"
The littleduppliant could proceed no further,
but burst into tears. Effie,who had gradually ap.
proached the child, row flung her dimpled arms
around her neck, and begged her not to cry so
hard, and leading her towards the fire, made
her sit down on her own cricket, and warm her
cold fingers.
Mrs. Stanwood, who was in the habit of ques
tioning those who applied to her for relief, for
bore to do so at this time, for the innocent,
tearful expression of that upturned face was
stamped indelibly with truth. Hastily order.
ing her carriage, she bade Effie run to bid the
housekeeper put up a basket of provisions im
mediately, while she went to prepare to visit
the home of the little sufferer.
Effie ran or rather flew on her errand of mer
cy, for, like her mother, nothing touched her
sensitive heart so much, as a tale of distress.—
She soon returned, and giving her companion
a huge slice of cake, seated herself beside her,
and began with childish curiosity to ask her
where she lived, and what was her name.
"My name is Emma Leighton," said the
child; "and I live a long, long weary way from
here, in an old house, and never saw such nice
things as these before. Your mama will be
afraid to come to our house."
"Don't fear that," said Effie, soothingly.—
"Mother often goes to poor places, and some.
times takes me with her, for she says when I
see how a great many other little children live,
it will make me like my own dear home so
much the more."
Here the conversation of the little ones was
interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Stanwood,
all muffled in furs for her ride, and throwing
a cloak of Effie's upon Emma's shoulders,
she led her to the carriage, and soon the pair
were on their way to the home of poverty. Ar
rived there, they ascended a dilapidated stair
case, and entered a room in the third story,
where upon a miserable bed in one corner lay
a very much emaciated but still lovely woman,
scarcely thirty years of age. Her features were
pinched and sharpened by want and sickness.
By her side stood a boy of about twelve
years, whose high forehead bore the impress of
a lofty mind, although the lines of premature
care gave a sad look to his finely-formed mouth,
and somewhat dimmed the lustre of his large,
dark hazel eyes. Mrs. Stanwood approached
the bed and perceived with a shudder that the
poor woman was unconscious, perhaps dead.
"How long," she asked the boy, "has your
mother laid in this insensible state?"
"About an hour. I tried a long time to warm
her hands and make her open her eyes again,
and once she seemed to awake a little, but my
hands got so cold I did not like to touch her
any more. 0 tell me, is my poor mother dead?"
"I think not," said Mrs. Stanwood, "but some.
thing must be done immediately, or I fear what
you so much dread will happen."
She despatched Henry for some wood, while
she busied herself in trying to restore to ani
mation the unconscious woman. Henry soon
returned, and a blazing fire quickly sent its
cheerful light around the room. At last,Mrs. L.
opened her eyes and saw the cheerful fire, and
her children sitting comfortably by it; she rais•
ed her eyes to the face of Mrs. Stanwood with
a look of intense gratitude, and then pointing
with her this fingers towards heaven, she faint.
ly murmured:—"He will reward you. He who
giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord." Then
rousing, as if by a sudden impulse, she said:
"Kind lady, I know not who you are, but I
feel that I am indebted to your kindness for
my present comfort, and before death shall
have sealed my lips forever, I wish to say a
few words with regard to my circumstance. I
was the daughter of worthy parents who lived
in a pleasant village not many miles from here,
and ih my seventeenth year, having been intro.
duced to Henry Leighton. lie won my young
heart, and not many months elapsed before I
became his bride. We moved to the city, and
for a while he was all my ardent heart could
desire; I thought hint perfect and was happy.
But soon he became cold and indifferent, and
all the love he once felt for me seemed to have
left his heart. One day he being colder than
usual, I asked him the reason, and he told me
he had only married me because he took a fan.
cy to my pretty face, but he was tired of that
now. Not even the birth of our children seem
ed to soften him, and be went on from bad to
worse, spending his evenings at the gaming ta•
ble, while I was obliged to toil from day to day
to support myself and children. At length he
suddenly lett me, and I heard nothing from
him until after three years, when news reached
me that he had died uneared for and alone in
a foreign land. I continued to support myself
by sewing until my health gave way, and I
came to this place, and having spent all my
little savings, I was reduced to the situation
you now find me in. Ere another hour I shall
be cold in death, and my poor children I could
go without a murmur bat for them!"
Overcome by her feelings and the exertion
of speaking she sank back exhausted. Mrs.
Stanwood had been very much excited during
her recital, and when the poor woman had fin.
lobed, she bent over her, and said in an almost
whisper:—hFear not, by the love I once bore
their father, I vow to cherish and protect his
The dying woman pressed her hand in token
of gratitude, and had scarcely time to call her
cbildren and fold them in a fond embrace, be.
fore her weary spirit winged itz hravenuard
Aud 1: tit; Me wife of the pr^ud and bra.
Hunt Henry Leighton, the lover of my youth,
who so cruelly won my love and then deserted
me?" murmured Mrs. Stanwood, as she bent
over the corpse. "0 God, the hour of retribu
tion surely comes, and mysterious are the ways
of thy providence."
With the assistance of a woman she sum
moned from the next room, the body of Mrs.
Leighton was decently laid out, and leaving the
woman to watch that none entered the room,
she led the sobbing children to her carriage,
and soon had the motherless ones seated by
her own cheerful fire with her own Effie.
The following day a small but decent band
of mourners followed the remains of Mrs. Leigh
ton to her last resting-place. And as Mrs.
Stanwood returned from the grave with the or•
phans, she realized the fearful responsibility
resting upon her, from which she dared not
In course of time, Henry Leighton was put
with a rich merchant of Mrs. Stanwood's ac
quaintance, who not long afterwards went to
the East Indies, taking Henry with him.
Emma's sweet temper won the love of all
who knew her, and each succeeding year bra%
forth new charms of person and mind. Effie
loved her as a sister, and Mrs. Stanwood never
showed or felt towards her anything but a mo-
ther's love.
One fine summer afternoon some years after
the events just narrated, two lovely girls stood
arm in arm on the piazza of Col. Stanwood's
country residence; and one may recognize in
that fairy figure and sweet face, around which
those golden curls are floating in the gentle
breeze, and in those lovely eyes beaming with
love and gentleness, Emma Leighton. By her
side is the queenly figure of Effie Stanwood.—
Etlie is much changed since we last saw her,
in beauty of person. As she stands, her head
is slightly thrown hack, her rich, black hair
parted smoothly on her marble brow, and go.
thered in a knot at the back of her finely•sha
ped head; her eyes sparkling with vivacity, and
her lips parted in a smile, showing her beauti•
"Come, Emma," said Effie, putting her arm
round her slight waist, "come, let us take a
walk this pleasant afternoon to the little maple
grove, where we enjoyed so many pleasant
chats last summer. 1 hope old Winter has seen
fit to touch it gently with his frosty fingers."
Emma started slightly as her companion fin
ished speaking, for she had been indulging in
a little fit of abstraction, and had heard only
half of what hail been said to her, and she an
swered dreamily:
"Yes, Effie, nothing would give me greater
pleasure than a walk. We will get our bonnets
and be off." .
Effie scanned her 'face rather mischievously
as she said, "What in the world makes you so
dreamy, to-day? You go about with the air of
ono lost to all present things. Say, has Frank
llarcourt been laying siege to that little heart
of yours? And if so, what will become of my
poor brother Edgar? for ever since he returned
from college, he has had no ears or eyes for
anybody but my darling Emma."
"0, Effie! Frank Harcourt, indeed! Why,
he scarcely gives me a passing glance when
you are by, and yet you talk of his laying siege
to my heart. You are jealous, Effie, because
you saw him talking to me in the garden last
evening. And all he said to me was, 'Pray, is
Miss Stanwood ill, that she is not with you to
night? As you are always together, I thought
there must be some urgent reason, especially
as she likes moonlight rambles.' There now,
don't you see it is not poor me who attracts the
brilliant Frank Harcourt. You do well to
avail yourself of your boot-lacing to hide your
The girls indulged in this bantering until
they reached the maple grove, where, seating
themselves on a seat, they threw off their bon
nets and gave themselves up to the enjoyment
of being in the open air. Emma sank into a
brown study, and being teased by Effie to re
veal the cause, she said:
"I had a dream last night, and it has been
haunting me ever since, it seemed so life-like.
I cannot get rid of the impression that it will
come to pass some way. I dreamed I was
walking in this very grove, and suddenly an old
wrinkled woman stood before me. Laying her
bony fingers on my arm and peering into my
face, she said, 'there is a great surprise in store
for you; and Effie Stanwood whom you love so
so much, in a twelve month will wed one who
shall knit your hearts closer than ever. You
look incredulous now, but the time will surely
come when you will think of my words and
know how true they were.' Thus saying, she
vanished, leaving me in a suite of bewilder
ment. If my dear brother bad not been taken
away from us by death, I could then see how
my dream might come true, but now—"
"Who knows what will loin up ? But hark,
I hear voices, and my name as plain as can be,"
said Effie. "You know the old adage, 'Liston
em never hear any good of themselves; and I
am going to bide and prove the truth of it."
The two young girls had scarcely got con
coaled when two young men came along.
"I say, George, that girl shall lie mine by
fair means or foul, if for no other reason than
to thwart Frank Harcourt, who is a frequent
visitor of late at Col. Stanwood's. Yes, Miss
Stanwood shall, ere one month passes over her
bead, be the willing bride of Wm. Hammond."
"Nonsense," replied his friend. "Miss Stan
wood would not look at you. You are only EL
bowing acquaintance, and never us yet have
received an invitation to the house."
"Never mind, I can get into the good graces
of her brother Edgar, and after all, I fancy by
her looks she could be easily won."
Effie staid to hear no more, but indignantly
seithls the hand of Emma, they stole back to
thein)rtner seat.
"Then I can be easily won, can I? We
shall see. Did you ever hear such nnparallel•
ed impudence? before another month, I shall
he the willing kick of William Hammond.—
After this burst of indignation, Effie sat for
some time in deep thought, then starting np,
she exclaimed "Now I have a plan. You
know Cousin Alice Stanwood is to visit us next
week, and while she is here, I will give a party.
Edgar shall invite this pompous braggart, and
we will pass Alice off for myself, and then he
will feel rather chagrined, I think, when he
finds, after all his boasting, he has bees trap
ped. What say you, Emma, do you think my
plan feasible ?"
"By all means, and I will assist you, for he
ought to be punished,"
Hearing the tea-bell ringing at this moment,
the two girls started for the house full of their
plans. While the family are quietly sipping
their tea, we will endeavor to explain to our
renders the reason of William Hammond's en
mity to Frank Harcourt.
"In his boyhood, William Hammond was a
famous cricket player, and for years enjoyed
his triumph without a rival. He had a very
fiery temper, and considered being beat at a
cricket match the worst affliction t hat could be
fall him, and more than once was heard to vow
vengeance on him who should rob him of his
laurels The family of the Harcourts movedto
the village, and a cricket match coming off
noon after,Frank Harcourt was invited by some
of the boys to join in the sport. He did so, and
in an unlucky moment, so at least it became to
him, he won the game, and was carried off the
field amid the shouts of triumph from the boys,
for they gloried in the defeat of William Ham
mond, who was so obnoxious to them by his ar
rogance. Ever afterwards it seemed the set
tled purpose of William's life to cross Frank's
path at all times, and thwart his every plan.—
Instead of his bitterness being softened by time,
it seemed to increase with his growth, and at
the time of our story, he had arrived at man
hood, and outwardly was very prepossessing,
yet within his heart was filled with malignant
fire. The reason of his wishing to win Effie
for his bride, was not because he had any love
for her, but be had of late noticed Frank Har
court's attentions to her. And then Colonel
Stanwood was rich, and if he gained Effie, his
fortunes, which were on the wane, would be
considerably brightened, hence the resolution
we have spoken of. * * * *
"Alice, my dear, are you ready?" said an el
derly lady, as she entered her daughter's coon:,
where she was crossing apparently for a journey.
"Yes, mother, all ready but putting on my
bonnet. How soon will the stage he here 2"
"In a very few moments, for it has already
arrived at the top of the hill."
"0 mother!" And here the affectionate girl
threw her arms around the neck of her mother,
"I anticipate being very happy during my vis
it, but I shall think of you so often and ima
gine that you are lonely without me. Do
write to me every week, and I will improve ev
ery means of communication with you." w
"Yes, my dear, you shall have a letter from
me quite as often as I imagine you will find
time to answer me. But Alice, remember,since
your father's failure and our removal from A—,
the communication between the families has
been somewhat broken, and I know not how
your Cousin Effie, whom I have heard has
grown to be a brilliant and accomplished lady,
will receive her portionless cousin, whom she
has not seen for many years."
"If I thought she would treat me coldly,
mother, or be less glad to see me on account
of our altered circumstances, I am sure I would
not burden her with my presence ; but she an
swered my letter so kindly, and begging me to
come and stay with her, I cannot think your
fears have any foundation."
"I hope not, Alice ; and indeed, if she pos
sesses her mother's generous disposition,she will
receive you with open arum I did not say this
to damp your spirits, but if such a reception
should be yours, you may not be disappointed."
"Stage ready !" shouted the driver of that
clumsy vehicle, as he drove up to the door.—
Alice, hastily imprinting a kiss on her mother's
cheek, rushed down stairs, and was soon on her
-way to A—, seated in a corner of the coach.
Her heart beat alternately between hope and
fear as she neared her uncle's residence, for per.
haps Effie might be the proud cousin her moth
er had feared. All her forebodings vanished
like mist, as Colonel Stanwood and his wife
gave her a kiss of welcome, end led her into
the drawing-room, where she was clasped in the
arms of Effie, and before au hour had passed
the two were conversing as freely as if they had
never been separated. Alice thought no more
of coldness. After tea, the girls hied to their
rustic seat, their favorite place for holding
counsel. The projected party was to come off
in three days, and Alice :nest be instructed in
the part she was to play. Effie briefly told her
the plan. Alice at first had many scruples
about assuming the position of Effie. But she
yielded at last to the pleadiug of Effie and Ern
ma, and it was agreed that she was to receive
the attentions of Mr. Hammond.
They had just settled all their plans, when
Edgar Stanwood made his appearance, accom
panied by Frank Harcourt. They all remain
ed talking till the lengthening shadows warned
them of the lateness of the hour. Edgar man•
aged to get near Emma unperceived, as he
thought, but Effie noticed it, and seining Alice
by the arm and calling Frank to follow, she left
them to enjoy the deepening twilight together,
Emma rose to follow them, but Edgar gently
detained her. Taking her unresisting hand in
his, poured into her ear for the first time his
tale of love. Emma blushed and starnmerad.
She murmured something about being only a
dependent, but Edgar banished all those fears
by assuring her that ho had often heard his pa.
rents wish that this might happen. When
they left the spot, now doubly dear to Emma,
they were betrothed lovers.
It is the evening of the party, and the three
girls have just finished dressing. There stands
Effie robed in white, with no ornaments save a
half blown damask rose, peeping forth from
among her raven tresses. Notwithstandingthe
simplicity of her drc,, , , there is the queenly
bearing which distinguishes Effie. Alice is
leaning against the window, almost bewildered
by the brilliancy of her appearance. She is at
tired in a tissue of costly fabric, over an under
dress of white silk, while among her auburn
curls flash diamonds of great brilliancy. On her
neck and arms are rich jewels, and altogether,
she looks the personation of Effie Stanwood,
the heiress. Emma is dressed simply but rich
ly, and her sweet face is lighted up with such
inward joy that she looks if possible more love.
ly than ever. Just now Edgar rushed into the
room, and kissing the girls, beginning with
Emma of course, lie announced that he had
made a great acquisition to the party in shape
of a young man from the West Indies.
"Now, sister, do your best, for I have set my
heart upon your making a conquest of the
handsome stranger."
By this time the company were assembling,
and they descended to the drawing-room. Em
ma and Effie were standing by a door which
led into a beautiful conservatory, when Edgar
came up with the stranger, and touching Effie
on the shoulder, he said:
"Effie, allow me to introduce to you my
friend Mr. Leighton." Effie returned his Wu-
Cation with her usual dignity.
"And now," he said, "I will make you ac
quainted with my adopted sister, or perhaps I
should say, Miss Emma Leighton."'
Emma, when she heard his name, started
and a death•like paleness overspread her face.
"It must be, thought she, for surely there is the
same noble brow, and the same long hair I
used to love to arrange when a child. 0, if it
should be my long lost brother.
With these thoughts flitting thmngh her brain
she almost unconsciously returned the pressure
of his hand, while he, the moment he looked at
her fitce, his gaze became rivetted there.
"Pardon me," said he, turning to Eflie and
Edgar, "but will you three step into the con•
servatory ? I wish to ask a question."
"Certainly;" and they stepped into it, letting
fall the heavy curtains so as to shut them from
the observation of others.
"Had you ever, Miss Leighton, a brother by
the name of Henry ?"
"Yes, do you know anything about him 7"
Emma replied, hoping and more than half be
lieving that her hopes were about tobe realized.
"I am he."
"0, my dear brother," exclaimed Emma,aud
soon she was sobbing on his manly breast.
After she had become calm, he related to
them briefly, how the rumor had originated in
regard to his death. He told them thathis pat.
ron had died and left him his immense fortune,
and now he bad returned to his native land.
In high spirits they again joined the compa
ny, the news of the returned brother spread
with joyful rapidity through the room. While
these events were transpiring in one part of the
room, in anot her, William Hammond was laying
Beige to the heart of Miss Stanwood, who, to his
great and unlooked-for delight, was uncommonly
gracious, and he caught more than once the an•
gry glance of Frank Harcourt following them.
Frank had been let into the secret and play.
ed the jealous lover admirably. The party was
not confined to the house, but wandered atwill
through the splendid grounds. Miss Stanwood
accepted the offered arm of Mr. Hammond for
a promenade; after walking about some time,
William led her to an arbor, and seated hint.
self beside her. Ever rash and impetuons,and
at this time highly elated by the attention the
haughty belle had bestowed on him, he fell on
his knees, exclaiming
"0 Miss Stanwood, could you know how the
beauty and sweetness of that peerless face has
entered into my very soul, and huw, for months,
I have loved you in secret, never daring to ask
an interview with you until now, you would
certainly listen favorably to me. 0, can you,
will you be mine? Only murmur that sweet
word 'yes,' and I will instantly seek your lath
er, the colonel, and know my fate; for should
he refuse, my life will be a blank."
Withdrawing her hand which he had seized,
she said with coldness: "You must labor under
some mistake; I only arrived hero the day be.
fore yesterday, and as for my father, he died
nine years ago."
Hammond sprung to his feet, and looking, at
her said: "Aro you not Miss Stanwood, dough
ter of Colonel Stanwood?"
"Undoubtedly lam Miss Stanwood, niece of
Colonel Stanwood, not daughter."
He stood confounded, and while gazing upon
herbeauty, ho felt that while intending to thwart
Frank llarcourt, ho had lost his heart. He
then asked her if she was perfectly indifferent
to loins. She gave an evasive but not wholly
unfitvorable answer, and satisfied with that for
this time, they returned to the house.
The party at Colonel Stanwood's was the
commencement of a series that followed each
other in rapid succession, and never had the
good people of A- known such a brilliant
season. Horseback rides and water parties
were the order of the day. The Misses Stan•
wood and Emma Leighton attracted their usual
share of admiration. Frank Harcourt, as for
merly, was often seen wending his way to the
dwelling of Colonel Stanwood, but rumor says
he has long since resigned all pretensions to
the hand of Effie, and that his place is tilled
by Henry Leighton. Gossip says Frank finds
his attraction in the sweet Alice.
The weeks flew rapidly by, and Alice, yield.
ing to the entreaties of her friends, still remains
with them. She often wondered at herself be.
ing willing to stay so long away from her
mother; but at such times the image of Frank
Harcourt would rise before her and she would
yield to the pleasure of being near him. She
still kept up her flirtation,—if I may call it so
—with William Hammond. He seemed sure
of the prize, and dreamed of no rival.
One afternoon towards the last of August, a
picnic was hold in a neighboring grove, as a
sort of farewell party, it being the last one of
the season. Effie and Emma were present
with their lovers, their faces radiant with anut
happily, which tills thy hcart, Qf young
ple during the first weeks or months of their
betrothal. Colonel Stanwood and lady were
also there, as sort of honorary members, and
they moved about among the aspembled people,
their hearts filled with joy to overflowing, for
in the projected union of their children, their
highest wishes were to be realized. On this
occasion William Hammond was more atten.
tive than ever to Alice, and was constantly
seeking an opportunity to declare his passion
a second time. Frank Harcourt was sitting
beside Alice in a retired part of the grove, when
through an opening in the bushes he espied his
enemy approaching in their direction. Hastily
concealing himself behind a tree he awaited his
approach. William perceiving Alice alone,
immediately joined her, and like Frank we will
listen to their conversation.
"Dearest Alice, I hear that you are to leave
here soon, and now I cannot longer be kept in
suspense, with regard to my fate. I need not
say again how much I love you. I love you
with all the deep, overwhelming affection of a
passionate nature. Tell me, does your heart
return that affection ? Can I ever hope to call
you my wife?"
"Mr. Hammond, I have reason to believe
that the motives which first prompted you to
seek my presence, were of the basest kind; that
you have since learned to love me I will not
dispute, but I assure you, I would never trust
much to the love, or give my hand to one who
merely for revenge sought me. I have permit.
ted your attentions, merely to give you a les
son. My final answer is this, I can never be
come your wife, for I shall, ere a month passes,
become the bride of Frank Harcourt."
Stung as if by an adder, he sprang to his
feet, while his face grew livid with passion.
"Has he dared to rival me acain, and rob
me of the only being I ever loved ! The thought
is maddening. Alice Stanwood, I leave you,
but I hear with me a hatred and hope for yen.
geance, that will sometime break ont and may
its effects fall on him who has ever been my
evil spirit."
As he passed the tree where Frank was con•
cealed, Frank stepped out. William with a
cry of rage sprang forward, and with one blow
of his list, he struck him to the earth, and
springing over him was soon out of sight.
Alien saw the blow and fall, and with a
scream of terror she rushed to his aide. Her
cries soon brought assistance, and ere long
Frank was restored to consciousness, but his
head was badly cut, and he was conveyed to
the residence of Colonel Stanwood, where he
remained until entirely recovered.
Nothing was ever heard of William Ham
mond, except that he had departed for a distant
land. Colonel Stanwood soon after returned
to the city; and passing over a few weeks, we
will visit them there, for, judging from the
brilliant illumination, something pleasant must
be going on. As we enter the rooms, we see
Colonel Stanwood and his still lovely lady be
side him, looking the same as when we first
introduced her to you, save that she wears a
light cap io conceal the few gray hairs that are
sprinkled among her jetty locks. The mother
of Alice is there, also, and many representa
tives of the Harcourt family, and all glance
frequently to the door. It opens, and three
lovely maidens, leaning upon their lovers' arms
enter and glide gracefully to the other end of
the room, and stand before the man of God.—
The ceremonies are concluded, and Edgar and
Emma Stanwood, Etlie and Henry Leighton,
Alice and Frank Harcourt, are husband and
wife, and each felt their responsibility, as fell
the solemn words, "What God hath joined to
gether, let no man put asunder."
Men of America.
The greatest man, "take all in all," of the
last hundred years, was Gen. George Washing.
ton, an American.
The greatest Doctor of Divinity wan Jona•
than Edwards, an American.
The greatest of living Sculptors is Hiram
Powers, an American.
The greatest living historian is William H.
Prescott, an American.
The greatest Ornothologist was John James
Audubon, an American.
There has been no English writer in the
present age, whose works have been more
marked with humor, more refinement or more
grace, than those of Washington Irving, un
The greatest Lexicographer since the time
of Johnson, was Noah Webster, an American.
The Inventors whose works have beer. pro.
ductivo of the greatest amount of benefit to
mankind, in the last century, were Godfrey,
Fitch, Fulton, and Whitney, ail Americans.
A Judge's Charge.
Judge Jonah Jules recently delivered the
following charge to the jury, in the case of Elim
Crunch for stealing:
`Jun•, you kin go out, and don't show your
ugly mugs here till you find a verdict--if you
can't find one of your own, git the one the last
jury used.'
'the jury retired, and after an absence of
fifteen minutes, returned with a verdict of
'Suicide in the ninth degree and fourth verse.'
Then Judge Jonah Joles pronounced upon
Eliot Crunch this sentence: "Elim Crunch,
stan' up, and face the music. You are found
guilty of Suicide for stealing. Now this court
sentence you to pay a fine of two shillings, to
shave your head with a bagganet, in the bar.
racks, and if you try to cave in the heads of
any of the jury, you'll catch thunder, that's all.
Your fate will be a warning to others; and in
conclusion, may the Lord have mercy on your
soul. Sheriff, gut me a pint of redeye. lam
awful thirsty.
Sbar Never jest with the borrows and frail
ties of men. Frailties are misfortunes, and the
most sacred thing on nrth to rash 11 ,. ati its
VOL. 19. NO. 36.
Woman in California.
Rev. Dr.. Scott, in a discourse on some, of
the causes of prevailing crimes in our day, de
livered in the Unitarian Church last Sabbath
evening, said, "that one of the main, proximate
causes of the increase of crime in new States,
in our mining districts, is the absence of virtu •
ous, intelligent and pious females. The life,
character, wealth and the happiness of the
miner, the clerk, and the merchant emigrant
would be vastly improved if they were sur
rounded by their mothers, wives, and sisters.—
If Eve was the first in transgression, her daugh
ter's are certainly first in healing earth's cor
ms.. Last at the cross and first at the tomb,
woman has ever proved herself to be man's best
friend and counsellor.
The vigils of the dead, the beds of the sick
and the chambers of the dying, are witnesses
of her patience and sleepless care. God has
said, it is not good for man to be alone. When
He created man, He gave him woman in the
holy bands of matrimony, as the crown of his
chiefest earthly blessing. Infinite wisdom has
divided the race into the two sexes, and the
happiness of both is only secured by their lir.
tuous union. Such is human nature, that the
mere consciousness of the presence of a female
heart is to man a great blessing.
Women need no conventions to secure her
rights. God has given them to her by an un
changing charter. Her true position is just
where the Bible places her, as a mother, wife.
daughter and sister—man's helpmate hnd com
panion, and the source of his sweetest and pu
rest delights. It is vastly important for young
men and all good citizens, to properly estimate
the position of women in society. For just
where she is placed in her proper position,
there, and there only, does society culminate in
its loftiest grandeur. lam well satisfied, and
that too after a visit to the mining districts.
that nothing is more imperatively needed in
California than the softening, purifying and
elevating influence of woman.
And sure I am, if mothers and wives, at
home, only had a view of the inner life of so
ciety in this State, they would fly nt once to
its shores, plains and mountain cabins. Neith
er the t hinese wall, nor the Rocky Mountains,
nor the Isthmus transit—scarcely, indeed.
could the flaming sword of Eden keep them
away. The two great wants of California are,
not a railroad to the Atlantic, nor a steamship
line to Japan and China, though these are im
portant, and will, I hope, soon be accomplish_
ed; but the two greatest wants of this State am
the presence of mothers, wives and sisters, and
a thorough American home education. Alto
—The following beautiful and feeling tribute
to Mr. Fillmore, on the occasion of the loss of
his only and much loved daughter, Ls copied
from a late number of . the Boston Transcript.
We may say that millions will take it to their
hearts and cherish it; while millions mourn
with the good, great and patriotic man, Nabob*
cherished hopes have been so terribly riven:
Upon his Recent Afflictions.
Many the hearts that share thy sadden'd hour.
Fillmore, the firmly wise the meekly great,
Who worest without stain the robe of state,
Unawed by faction, unseduced by power.
If, while the clouds of woe so darkly lour
Over thy home, once happy, any thought
Can reach thy mind with healing virtue fraught,
Or beam, a bow of promise through the shower,
Be it that thou by suffering art endeared.
That thousands mourn with thee, and that thy
Wins a more tender honor than when fame
Wafted it forth, in distant lands revered
May He who smiles sustain thy strength and fill
Thy soul with all high thoughts! Thy country
needs thee still. S. G. B.
Dorchester, July, 1854.
Pruning Orchards,
It is a very good rule, and the nearerit is fol
lowed the better, that no shoot should beallow
ed to remain longer than one year on a tree,
that will require removal at any future time.—
By observing the form which a young tree
should take, and rubbing or cutting of improp
er or unnecessary shoots in time, any severe
pruning at a subsequent period, may be entire
ly avoided. Hence, the remark has much truth
in it, that pruning saws and axes should never
enter an orchard—which is strictly correct in
all cases, provided the needless shoots have
been lopped in time, when the work may bo
done with the pocket•knife only. A very com
mon error is to allow the growth of too many
branches, the result of which is they become
overcrowded, a part die, the leaves and new
growth are small and imperfect, and as a ne
cessary consequence, the fruit is half grown
and stunted. The head should thereforebeloft
opeh, the branches few, and so evenly distribu
ted through space, that none shall he crowded,
and all subjected to air and sunshine, and all
continue thrifty and vigorous. A moderato
share of care and attention to these particulars,
might tie made to give a very different report
of our orchards, from that now presented bytho
great muss of apples sold in market. Larger
prices, larger crops, and better satisfied pur
chasers, would be the result ;—and most strik
ingly so, provided good cultivation were given
; in connection with judicious pruning.
Now is the time that young orcharda:ahould
be examined and treated in the way we haws
pointed out.—Albany Cultivator•.
dy friend of ours says the first time she was
kissed she felt like abig tub of roses swimming
in honey, cologne, nutmeg and checkerberries.
She also felt as if something was canning thro'
her nerves on feet of diamonds. escorted by
several little Cupids in chariots, drawn by an
gels, shaded by boneysuckles, and the whole
spread with melted rainbows. Jerusalem I--
What power there is inn full breasted 11E1
&WI( you see a squall arising in the lati
tads of your wife, what course slionld he par
sued to avoid its consequences?
Double her cape with sour left arm. and la
your lips drops nnohor on tip. ernising groutl