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NIN=MM''IItItIIIIIUUIIIICISIZIMIIIMMICIII
JOHN S. MANN,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
Coudersport, Pa., will attend the several
Courts in Potter and r Kean Counties. All
business entrusted in his care will receive
prompt attention. Office on Main st., oppo
. cite the Court House. 10:1
F. W. KNOX,
ITTORNEY AT LAW, Coudersport, Pa., will
regularly attend the Courts in Potter and
the adjoining Counties. 10:1
ARTHUR G. OLMSTED,
ATTORNEY & COUNSELLOR AT LAW,
Coudersport, Pa., will attend to all business
entrusted to his care, with promptnes and
fidelity. Office in Temperance Block. sec
ond trier, Main St. 10:1
ISAAC BENSON.
ATTORNEY AT LAW, Coudersport, Pa., will
tttend to all business entrusted to him, with
uremia promptness. Office corner of West
tad Third sts. 1u:1
L. P. WILLISTON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW, Wellsboro', Tioga Co.,
Pa., will attend the Courts in Potter and
illican Counties. 9:13 .
IL W. BEN'TON,
MEM, AND CONVEYANCER, Ray
'nd P. 0., (Allegany Tp.,) Potter Co., Pa.,
Rill attend to all business in his line, with
care and dispatch. 9:33
W. K. KING,
SURVEYOR. DRAFTSMAN AND CONVEY
ECER, Sinetliport, M'Kean Co., Pa., wil
attend to business for non-resident land
hold - ers, upon reasonable terms. Referen
Ct 3 given if required. P. S.—Maps of an
part of the County made to order. 9:13
0. T. ELLISON,
PRACTICING PHYSICIAN, CouderSport, Pa.,
respectfully informs the citizens of the vil
lage and, vicinity that he will promply re
spend to all calls for prOfessional services
°Mee on Main st., in building formerly oc
copied by C. W. Ellis, Esq. 9:22
COLLINS SMITH
SMITH & JONES,
DEALERS IN DRUGS, MEDICINES, PAINTS
Oil; Fancy Articles, Stationery, Dry Goods
Groceries, c., Main st., Coudersport, pa.
10:1
_D. E. OLMSTED,
DEALER IS DRY GOODS, READY-MADE
Clothing, Crockery, Groceries, Sc., Main st.,
Coudersport, Pa. 10:1
M. W. MANN,
DEALER IN BOOKS & STATIONERY, 'MAG
VNES and Music, N. W. corner of Main
tad Third sts., Coudersport, Pa. 10:1
E.. R. HARRLNGTON,
/MEIER, Coudersport, Pa., having engag
ed a window in Schoomaker k Jackson's
Store. will carry on the Watch arid_ Jewelry
business there.. A fins assortment of Jew
thy Constantly on hand. Watches,: and
Jewelry carefully repaired, in the best style,
on the shortest notice—all work warranted.
9:34
HENRY J. OLMSTED,
(srocEssoa TO' JAMES W. MVO
SEALER IN STOVES, TIN & SHEET IRON
WARE, Main st., nearly opposite the Court
House, Coudersport, Pa. Tin and Sheet
Iran Ware made to order, in good. style, on
abort notice. 10:1
'COUDERSPORT HOTEL,
O. F. 6LASSNTR,E, Proprietor, Corner o
Main and Second Streets, CoudeWport, Pot
ter Co., Pa. 9:44
. ,
ALLEGANY HOUSE,
8 11 MEL M. MILLS,, Proprietor, COlesbnrg
Paler Co., Pa., seven miles north' of Con
dorsp•rt, ou the Wellsville Road. • .9:44
-,-----------, b - 1,. 7N y ~. , , „ If , ~ .
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trintir.
For ttie Potter Journal.
FAREWELL TO VERMONT, •
Farewell! to the hills and the towering "Green
Mountains," , • 1 ' .
The wild rocky glens and broad valleys below;
Farewell to the strcamlets, the !lowers and
the fountains—
None
..
, 1
fairer or purer my bosom can know.
I ne'er can forget old Vermont•-;-01l
Though I've left it for years—it . 'm4 be, forever.
Farewell to the home that my infancy shelter'd,
That sweet spot of earth I can never forget,
Though strangers now claim it, and it's naught
to me longer—
But the sheltering Elm shall bh dear to me yet.
The stron g ties, that bound uS sci closely
to
gether,
Are broken for years—it may be forever.
Farewell to the friends I have eherish'd so
fondly— •
A long, /ono farewell I must say 'Mid my tears,
For, like leaves in the autumn, we're parted so
widely,
That Hope dare not whisper I'll meet them
for years.
Though they're link'd with my heart-strings,
from them I must sever—
It may be for years—it may be forever.
And now in a lone distant land I'm a ranger:
Though thy evergreen hills I may Over more
see,
Ere they la
y ay
stranger,
My prayer shall arise for a blessing on thee
Farewell old Vermont I—from thee I must
sever— 1
1 50
may be for years—it may be forever.
ELEVEN MILE, Pa., Aug. 1858. 1 S. M. L.
The Union oh, the Union
So glorious and so pure,l
We'll shoulder stud to shOulder
To,keep our Union sure,
To keep our Union sure,
Her iag shall still tloat high ;
And for Liberty and Union
We'll lay us down and die.
The price that bought our trai o n
Was our forefathers' blobd,
And while the life is in usj,
We'll Stand where once theyetood,
We'd stand where once duiy stood,
Though storms are in the sky ;
And for Liberty and .I:Tniori,
We'll conquer or we'll die I •
The people's will shall tritizaph—
Be that will what it may;
And NV 0 to him who threatens
Our Union in that clay
Our Union in that clay—'7.
Let blustering traitor try
To trail our glorious haulier,
We'll hold it up, or die
Ay, that-were worth the dying
Of true men and of brai , e,
Our Country and our go9or
To-tight fur and to stove,
To fight for and to save, 1 ,
When treason gather's high:
Yes, for Liberty and Ciiidn,
We'll conquer or we'll die
i •
________
From the Atlantic
TELE ROMANCE OF !A GLOVE.
"Halt!" cried-my-travelling companion
"Property overboard !"
The driver pulled up his horses; and,
before I 'could prevent him, Westwood
leaped 'down from the vehicle, and ran
back for the article that had been dropped.
It was a glove—my glOVe which I had
inadvertantly thrown out, in taking my
hadkerchief from my pocket.
"Go on driver!" and hp tossed it into
my hand as he resumed his seat in the
.
open stage.
"Take your reward," I said, offering
him a cigar; but beware of rendering m9l
another such service!"
"If it.had been your hat or your hind;•
kerchief, be sure I shouldl have let' it lib
where it fell. 1•,, But a glove—that is dif
ferent. I once found a romance in
glove. Since then, gloVes are sacred."
And Westwood gravely bit off the end of
his cigar. •
"A romance? Tell me about that.
am tired of this endless stretch of sea like
country, these regular groundswells; and
it is a good two hours' ride vet to yonder
headland, which juts out into the prairie,
between us and the setting sun. • Mean
while, your romance." 1
_ "Did I say romance? 'I fear you would
hardly think it worthy of the name," said
my companion. "p4very life has its ro-1
mantic episodes, or at leiist, incidents
which appear such :o hint who; experi
ences them. But these tender little his
tories are usually insipid
,;enough when
told. I have a maiden titint, who once
clime so near having >Yn offer from; a pale
stripling, with dark hair; seven years her
junior, that to this day she often alludes
to the circumstance, with ' the remark,
that she wishes she knew some competent
novel-writer in whom ;she !Could Confide,
feeling sure that the story ;of that Iperiod
of her life would mare the" groundwork
of a maguificent work!of i fiction. POssi
bly I inherit my aunt's tendency to mag
nify into extraordinary propertioni trifles
which I look at through ; the double con
vex lens-of a personal interest. o don't
E. A. JONES
00ote,a to ifig 'flificipies' of 'Mt, behlooileg, aqa ti?e, @iseiliiimtiort' of f 01.414, giteiltgil - 40 I(ebv.
000DERS • • '0 01 PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1858.
me to rest in the grave of a
THE UNION.-A SONG
Tune: "ANNIE LAURIE."
• I
gafft6
expect too much of my romance, and you•
hear it.
4'l said .I found it in a glove. It was
by no means a remarkable glove--middle-
sized, straw colored, and a neat fit =for
this hand in . which I now hold lyour very
exCeilent cigar..aOf course, there was a
young lady in the case; let - me see—l
don't believe I can tell you the story,"
•
said Westwood, "after all?"
I gently urged him to proceed:
"Maw!" 'said he, after kindleing his
cigar, with a few vigorous whiffs; "what's
the use of being foolish? My, aunt'was
never diffident about telling her story,
and why should I hesitate to tell mine ?
The young lady's name—we'll call her
simply Margaret. She was a blonde, with
hazel eyes and dark hair. Perhaps you
never heard of a hlonde- with hazel eyes
and dark hair? She was the only one I
ever saw; and there was the finest con
trast imaginable between her fair, fresh
complexion and her superb tresses and
delicately traced eyebrows. She was cer
tainly-lovely, if not handsome; and—
such eyes ! It was an event in one's life
sir, just to look through those luminous
windows into her soul. That could not
happen every day, to be sure Some
times for weeks she kept them turned
from me, the ivory shutters half, closed,'
or the mystic curtains of reserve drawn
within; then again, when I was tortured
with - unsatisfied yearnings, and almost
ready to despair, she would suddenly turn
them upon me, the shutters thrown wide,
' the curtains away, and a flood of radiance
streaming forth, that filled iue so full of
light
,and gladness ,, that I had no shad
owy nook left-in me for a doubt to hide
in. She u.ust have been 'conscious of
this power of expression. She used it so
sparingly, and it seemed to me so artfully !
But I always forgave her when she did
use, it, and cherished resentment ; only
whon she did not.
Margaret was shy and proud; I could
never completely win her confidence; but
I knew, I knew well at last .that her heart
was wine. And a deep, tender woman's
heart it was too, despite her reserve.—
Without many words, we understood each
other, and so—Pshaw!" said West
wood, "my cigar is out!"
•
"On with the story
• "Well, we had our lovers quarrels, of
course. Singular, what foolish children
rove makes of us!—rendering us sensi
tive, Jealous, - exacting, in -the superlatiVe
degree. ' I am sure we were both amiable
and forbearing towards all the world be
sides ; but, for the powerful reason that
We loved, we were bound to misinterpret
words, looks and actions and wound each
other on every convenient occasion. I
was pained by her attentions to others, or
perhaps by an apparent preference of a
book or bouquet to me. Retaliation on
my part and quiet persistence on hers
continued to estrange us, until I gener
ally ended by conceding everything, and
pleading for one word of kindness, to end
my misery.
I was wrong—too quick to resent, too .
ready to concede.. No doubt it was to
her a secret gratification to exercise her
power over me; and at last I was convinc
ed that she wounded me purposely, in
order to proioke a temporary estrange
ment,• and enjoy a repetition of her
triumph
It was at a party; the thing she did
was to waltz with a man whom she knew.
I detested, whom / knew site could not
respect, and whose lialf;embrace, as he
whirled her in the dance almost put mur
der into my thoughts. 'Margaret,' I said,
'one last word! If You care for me,
beware I '
That was a foolish speech, perhaps. It
was certainly ineffectual. She persisted,
looking so calm and composed, that a
great weight fell upon my heart. I walk
ed away; I wandered about the saloons;
I tried to gossip and be gay ; but the
wound' was too deep.
I accompanied her home, late in the
evening. We scarcely spoke by the way.
At the door, she looked me sadly in the
face—she gave me 'her hand; I thought ,
it trembled.
'Good' night!" she said, in a low voice.
"Good bye !" I answered coldly, and
hurtled from. the house.
It was - some consolation to hear her
close' the door .after I had reached the
corner of the street, and to know that she
had been listening to my footsteps. But
I was very angry- I made, stern resolu
tionk I vowed' to myself, that I would
wring her heart) and never swerve from
my piirpose" unt il I had wrung out of it
abundant drops l of sorrow and contrition.
How I succeeded you shall hear.
I had previoUsly engaged her to attend
a series of concerts with me; an arrange
ment which I did not now regret, and for
good reasons. Once a'week, with famous
punctuality, I called for her, escorted her
to the concert-room, and carefully recon
ducted her home --letting no opportunity
pass to show her ,a true gentleman's-def
erence and 'respect—conversing with her
freely abotit music, book§, anything in
short, except - what we. both knew to be
deepest in each other's thoughts. Upon,
other . obcasions I avoided her, and even
refraibed from going to places where she
was expected—espectally where she knew
that I knew she was expected. '
"Well," continued Westwood, "my
designs upon her heart, which I was go•
ing to wring so, unmercifully did not
meet With very brilliant success. • To con
fess the humiliating truth, I soon found
that I was torturing myself a good deal
more han I was torturing her. As a
' last and desperate resort, what _do you
think I did?"
"You probably asked her to ask your
forgiveness."
Not I! I have a will- of adamant as
people, find, who tear away the amiable
flowers and light soil that cover it; and
she had reached the impenetrable, firm
rock neither made any advances to
wards , a reconciliation nor invited any.—
But tell you What I did do, as a final
trial of her heart. I had for' some time,
boen meditating a European tour, and my
interest in her had alone kept me at ,home.
Some friends of mine were to sail early in
the spring, and I .now resolved to accom
pany 'them. 1 don't know how much
pride land spite there was in the resolu:
tion=probably a good deal. • I confess I
wished to make her suffer—to show her
that she had calculated too much upon
my weakness—that I could be strong and
happy without her. Yet with all this
bitter and vindictive feeling, I listened to
a very_ sweet and tender whisper in tny
heart. which said, "Now if her love speaks
out—;now if she says to we one true, kind,
womanly word—she shall go with me,
• -
and nothing shall ever take her from me'
ao•aini !" The thought of what might e,
•
if she would but say that word, and of
what, must be, irrevocably, if her pride
held out shook me mightily. But my
resollition was taken : I would trust the
rest to fate.
On the day of the last concert, I im
parted the secret of my intended journey
to a; person. who, I felt tolerably sure,
would rush at once to Margaret with the
news. Then in the evening, I went for
her; I was conscious that my manner to
ward's .her jams .a little more tender, or
rather a little less coldly courteous, that
night, than it had usually been of late;
for My feelings were softened and I had
never seen her so lovely. I had never
before known what a treasurel was about
to lose. The subject of my voyage was
not mentioned, and if she had heard of it,
she 'accepted the fact without the least
visible concern: Her quietness under
the circumstances chilled me—:.-disheart
ened me quite. lam not one of those
who can give much superfluous love or
cling with unreasonable blind passion to
au object that yields no affection in re
turn. A quick and effectual method of
curing a fancy in persons of my temper
ament is to teach them that it is not re
ciprocated. Then it expires like a flame
cut off from the air, or a plant removed
from the soil. The death struggle, the
uprooting is the painful thing; but when
the' heart is thoroughly convinced that its
love is mispla - eed, it gives up with one
last sigh as big as fate, sheds a few tears,
says a prayer or two, hanks God for the'
experience, and becomes .a wiser, calmer
—yes and a happier heart than before.
"True "'I said; "but our hearts are not
thus easily convinced."
"Ay, there's the rub. It is for want
r s.f a true perception. There cannot be a
true love without a true perception. Love
is for the soul to know, .from. its own in
tuition—not for the understanding to be
lieve, from the. testimony of those very
tinieliable witnesses, called the eyes and
ears. This seems to have been my casq
—my soul was aware of her love, and all
the evidence of my external senses could
not altogether destroy that, interior faith
Bat that evening "I said—"l believe you
now, my 'senses ! I doubt you now, my
soul ! She never loved mei" So I was
really very cold towards her—for about
twenty minutes.
J. walked home with her; we were both
silent; but at the door she asked me to
go in. Here my calmness deserted -me,.
and I could hardly hold my heart, while
I "replied,
"If you particularly wish it."
"If I did not,'l should not ask you,"
mhe said ; and I went in. -
I was . ashamed and vexed at myself for
trembling so—for I Was in a tremor from
head to foot. , There was company in the
parlors—some of Margaret's friends. L
took my scat upon a sofa, and soon she
came and sat by'my side. -
suppose" said one, "Mr. Westivood
hes been telling Margaret all about it."
"About what?" Margaret inquired—
aUd here the truth flashed' upon me—the:
news ot my proposed voyage had not yet
reached her ! She looked at me with a
troubled, queaioning expression,• and
said— .
"I felt that something' was going to
hsppen. Tell me what it is."
i I answered:--"Your friend can best ex
plain what she means."
I Then out came the secret. Ashock of
surprise sent the color from. Margaret's
face; and raisins her eyes shi asked quite
calmly, but h a low-and unnaf
; Is this se r:
I said, ' I suppose I cannot
• You are really going r ;
,I am really 'going? -
She could not hide - her agitM
white 'face betrayed her. TI
glad, in my heart, and,vain em
gratified that others should t
know I held a power - ,ever.. her
but I suffered for that folly.
1 4 I feel hurt,' she said of 1
while,•' because you have not t
You have no sister,' (this was s
quietly) ' and it would -have hq
lege for me to take a sister's ph
for you those little things ,whit
for brothers who are going on
riys
I was checked; it- was a mi ute beforg
I could speak. Then I said. hat I saw
-no reason . why she should tax er titueor
thoughts to do anything for it+ - •
' Oh, you know,' she said, you have been
kind to me—so Much kinder, than I have
deserved I' -
It was unendurable—the pa hos of the
words ! I was blinded, stifled---I almost
groaned aloud. If we had ben alone,
there our trial would have, nded.„ I
should have snatchrd her to my soul.
But the eyes of others were upOn us, and
I steeled myself. . . .
' Besides, I said 'I know of nothing
that you can do for me,'
' There must be many little'
b'eoin• with, there is your glove,
ar:iearin! , to pieces.'
True, I tearing my glov ,
calm enough to observe it!
me angry. ,
' Give it to me; I will mend)
Haven't you other gloves that ri
.1
ing ?'
- I
whoaad triumphed,, was
My heart was breaking—and fI
Of mending gloveS ! I did n
harilf her. .I coldly arose to o.
I Well, I felt now that it [ wa all over.,
The next day I secured my passage in the,,
Steamer in which my friends were to sail.)
II
took pains that Margaret should hear)
Of that too. Then came the preparations 1
or travel—,arrariging affair* writiuct, let-1;
ters, providing myself wittLa compact and
[6ofoin
rtable outfit. Europe We in pros,
i
Jpect—Paris, Switzerland, Ital , lands to
llwhich my dreams had long l sin e gone be
I fore, and which I had nowturned my
[ eyes with reawakening aspir tions. A
new glory arose upon my life, in the light
I,of which Margaret became is faiding star.
It was so much easier than' I had thought
to give up, to part from her ! I[found
I that I could forget her in the\ excitement
of a fresh and novel experience , 4 while she
—could she forget me ? ; When lovers
part, happy is he who goes! alas for the
I one that is left behind !
One day when I was' busy
books which I' was to take w
mall - package was handed in! \,,
tell you that I experienced a tl
I.s
I saw Margaret's handwriting
I
wrapper. I tore it open-and \
you I. found? My glove ! 1 Nc
I smiled bitterly, to see 'how 1
had mended it; then I .sigliet
said, ' It is finished!' and tossel
disdainfully into my trunk.
On the day before that; fixed for the
sailing of the steamer, I.[ made farewell
I calls 'upon many of my friends—among
others, upon Margaret. Eut through the
perversity of pride and Will, I did not go
alone—l took with me Joseph, a mutual
acquaintance, who was to be My comply
lio ade voyage. I felt some misgivings, to
see how Margaret had change ; she was
'so softened and so pale! L
, The interview was a pamfu
cut it short. As we were goi
I gently detained_ me, and said
' Did you receive—your glo
' Oh yes,' I said, and than
mending it. , 1
[ 'And is this all, all you ha
she asked.' [
' I have nothing more to
I good-bye.'
She held my hand. f Nol
' No, it is useless to talk (
Margaret; and [ the firturo—n
happy !—LGood bye l' [ '
I thought she would speak; I cciuld not
believe she would letine go; ut she did !
1,
I bore u'p well until night. , hen came
a revulsion. I walked three times past
the house, wofully.temptbd, yr love and
my' will at cruel warfare ; but I did riot go
in. At midnight I saw the lfght in her
room exhausted .; I knewi•she had retired,
but,whether to sleep, or svee , :or pray—
[how could I tell ? I went 11 me. I did
I not close my eyes that night. I I was glad
to see the' =ruin.. cone after such, a
c, ;
I - night ! [ •i .
The steamer was to sad, at ten. The
bustle of embarkation; strange scenes and
strange faces ; . parting from friends; the
ringing of the bell; lastadielis— some, who
were to go with us, hurrying aboard, who
were: to stay behind, 'as hastily going
ashore;. the withdrawal Id •the .plank---
sad sight 'to ntany_eyesi casting 'off the
lines, the steamer swinging hea* around,
the rushing, irregular motion l of the great
MEE
TERMS.- -$O5 PER ANNIPt.
slow paddles:; the waving of handkerchiefs
from the ceck.s, and the responsive signals
froM ,the crowd lining the' wharf; off, at
last--the faces of friends, the croWd,"the
piers, and lastly the.city itself, fadbig frata
sight, the dash of spray, the freshening
breeze the novel' sight of, our llit t le 'world
detaching itself and fleeting - away 'the
feeling that Awkica was past, and Europe
wasitext ; all Ms' filled my mind with nu
imatiOn and. excitement, which shut l'out,
thoughts of Margaret. Could 1. hate
looked with !clairvoyant vision; and be
held her then, locked ill her chainber,
should I have been so haft ? Oh, what
foois vanity and pride make of us I Even
then, with. my heart high-strung with
hope and courage, had 'known the'truth,
I should have abandoned my friend, the
voyage, and Europe, and returned in the
pilot's boat, to find something more pre
cious than all the continents and countries
rat toue—
eny it?
ion. Her
en I .was
•ug
ei
io h:t l
d :alie
and
, e Vll'
l er a little
lid me this.
oken very.
err a privi
esei.::ers d o
end
do
long jour-
"of the globe, in the love of that heart
which •I. , was carelessly flinging away:
:Here Westwood took breath. The sun
was now almost Set. The prairie was still
and cool ; the heavy dews were beginning
to fall ; the shadows of the green and flow
ered undulations filled - the hollows, like a
rising tide ;- the' headland, seen at first so
far and small, *as growing graduallylarge
and near; and the horses moved at a. quick
er paCe. 'Westwood lighted his cigar,
dreWa few whiffs, and proceeded. •
We !had a voyage of eleven days. But
to me an immense amount of experience
Was crowded into that brief period. The
fine exhilaration of the start—the breeze
gradudlly increasing to a gale; then hor
rible sea-sickness, home-sickness,
.lose
sickness; after, which the weather, which
sailors, love, gaines, gayety and flirtation.
There, is no such social freedoni to be en-
pings; to
'which you
—she was
I hat Jamie
it foryou
ea mend
joyed.' anywhere as on board an --ocean
steamer. The. breaking up of old associa
tions,:' the, opening of a fresh' existence,
the necessity of new relationshlp , —this
fuses the crust of conventionality, quick
ens the springs of life, and renders. char
acter sympathetic and fluent. g The past
is easily put away ; we become plastic to
1
new influences; we
. are delighted at the
discovery of unexpected affinitiesonil as
tonished to find in ourselves so much wit,
eloquence, and fine susceptibility; which
We did not before dreain we possessed.
This freedOm is especially provocative
of flirtation. 11re see each fair brow touch
ed with a halo whose colors are the reflec
tion of ,our own beautiful dreams.- Love
liness is ten-f Old more lovely, bathed in
this atmosphere of romance; and Manhood
is invested with ideal graces. The love
within us rushes, with swift, sweet heart
beats, to meet the love responsive in some
other. Don't think lam now - artfully
preparing your mind to excuse what I aui
about to confess. Take these things into -
consideration, if you will ; then 'think as
you please of the and wild im
pulse with which I fell in love -with—
"WO will 'call her_ Flora. - -The most
superb, captivating creature that ever en
snared the hearts of the sons of Adani.
A fine olive complexion; magnificent (lark
auburn hair ; eyes full of fire and softness;
lips that could" pout or smile with incom
parable fascination; a figure of surprising
symmetry, just voluptuous enough. . ,But,
after all, her .great powdr lay in her free
dom from all affectation and•conventional
ity, —in her spontaneity; her free, stark
ling, and vivacious manners. , She was
the most daring and dazzling of women,
without ever appearing immodest ,or re
pulsive. She walked , with such proud,
secure steps ever the commonly liecepted
barriers of social intercourse, that even
tbose who blamed her and pretended , to
be shocked were conipplled to :admire.
She was the belle, the Juno, of:theSalobn,
' the supremlornament of the iipper deck.
Just twenty÷not without wit and culture,
—full of poetry and enthusiasui.. - Thilou
blame me ?" -
" Not a whit," I said; "buf for Marge
. . _ _ -
humbled.
he talked
t omit to
with - the
ith me, a
I need not
1, rill, when
upon the
v hat think
'thing else.
I neatly she
; then I
the glove.
one; and l
out she
ed her for
ye to say ?
ret.7--
Ah, Margaret 1" said Westwood with
a sigh. " But; you see, I had given' tier
up. And when one Jove is lost, .:there
sink such aWful chasms into, the soul, that,
though they cannot be, filled, We musket
least.bridge them over with a' new alrec 7
don. The'-number of marriages-built in
way, upiiiifalse foundations Of hollow
ness and despair, is, incomputable.:'We
talk or iltelloved and disappointed girls
marrying‘ out of spite.' No doubt,' such
petty feeling hurries forward many prema
ture matches. Jut it is the I heart, left
shaken, "unsupported, wretchedly sinking,
which reaches out its feelers for syrnyathy,
catches at the first penetrable ;point; and
clings like alelpless vine to pie. sunny
sided wall 'of. the nearest consolation.. If
you wish to marry 'a girl, and can't, and
are weak enough.to desire her still, this
is what you ahould de: get some,dapable
mab L to - jilt her. Then spizeyqur chance.
All' the affecitions which have, gone out to
him, Unmet; ready to drOcip,4uivering
With the painful, hungry"inediettepasp
some , object: may possibly lay-hold of you.
Let the world sneer; but , God. pity such
nat t ures which - lack .the faith andlortitude
to.hVe'and die true to their best loi(vi
[CONCLUSION NEX.T.IVEEIO
.ay, excep
hitt , * else ?'
the past,
'yott be
MEI
=I
MKS
FOUR:CENTS.
ES
MI
OM