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i
THE DRUNKARD'S DREMl.
BY KEY. CHARLES VT. DENLSOX.
; The drnnkafd dreamerl of his old retreat,
ST)t his cozy. place in the tap-room seat;
f Alld tlxe liquor gleamed ,ou his, gloating
eye, , , .
Till his Hps the sparkling glass -drew
He lifted it up with an eager glance, ; ,
And saner, as he saw" the babbles dance,
AKa ! l Am-raytUuraiul
Here's a 'iruce -to care,-an jadiea to pain.
Welcome the cnp"vithjte creamy 6am
Farewell to woTk and a mopy honje! -With
a jolly crew and a flowing biwl , :
la bar-room pleasures I love o roll!" ,
Like a flash there came to the drunkard'
" ide i - ' - '
His angel child, who' that night had diedt
Av7ith look so gentle and sweet and fond
She touched his glass with her little wand;
And oft. as- he raised it hp' to drink
She silently tapped on its trembling brink,1
Till the drunkard shook from foot to
crown, -And
sat the untasted goblet down. ,
.". Hev, man!? cried the host, "what mean-
eth this? r
. Is the covo sick? or the dram amiss?
Cheer up, my lad! quick the bumper
quafri"-"
And he crlared around "with a fiendish .1
' laugh. i - "
Tie drunkard raised his glass once more,
And looked at its dejths as so oft before;
But" started to see on its pictured foam '
''The face of his dead little child at home!
' Then again the landlord at him sneered,
And the swaggering. crowd of drunkards
jeered; - -
But still, as ho tried that glass to drink
'The wand of his dead one tapped the
brink!
The landlord gasped, swear, my man,
Thou shalt take every drop of this flowing
can!"
The drunkard
bowed to the quivering
. brim,
Though his heart beat
crew dim:
fast" and his eye
But the wand struck harder than ever be-
fore, :
'The glass was flung on the bar-room floor;
All .ax and the ring the fragments lay,
' OknJ the poisonous cm-rent rolled away.
The drunkard woke.- His di-eam was gone;
His -bed was bathed in the light of morn ;
But he saw, as" he shook with pale, cold
-( fear, .-.
A "beautiful angel hovering. near.
Be rosev and that seraph was nigh him
4 still; i '
It checked his passion, it swayed his will,
3t dashed from his lips the maddening
bowl,
Anil victory gave to his ransomed soul !
:Since ever that midnight hour he dreamed
Our hero has been .a man redeemed,
And this is the prayer that he prays alway,
Aiid this is the prayer lot us help him
pray;
That angels may come,- in every land, .
'To dash the cup from the drunkard's hand.
-r-Ndtional' 7 empa'ance Advocate.' :
TSE MDSIC MISTRESS;
ffJL TWJ WASTED FORTUNE.
CHAPTER 1. -
I was about sixteen when I was in
vited by my aunt, Mrs. Merton, to
tay with her for a few months at her
house; in that pleasant region of Lon
don, the neighborhood of Regent's
Park. I was a country -bred girl, and
had never -so much as qnce visited the
great city. I had all a noviqe's. ideas
of its r gaities and splendors, and
thought of them with almost awe . as
well as curiosity. -4
I pass over my anticipations of that
visit, my arrival in London, the more
han fulfillment of some of my dreams,
the dissipated illusions of others. j
My aunt, by her iustant proposal
JJiat I should take lessons in all the
psual accomplishments, showed her
ppinion of the education I had receiv
ed from a conntry,boarding-schooL
Of my numerous other masters and
mispresses I need not speak I have
jong forgotten their very names; but
of my music mistress,' Grace Harvey,
of whom this Uttle:; record is told, I
)jave ' the most distinct recollection
; from" the Tery first hour in which I saw
, her pale face,. her great , solemn eyes,
that yet sometimes bit up into wonder
ful beauty, her ? firm mouth, arid her
$all lithe figure; , , . -
Well,' said my aunt, when Miss Har
'jfil Ook departuro after the first
-I hllTIIlTill"
THE OFFICIAL ORGAN; OF THE ORDER OF THE FRIENDS
II.
lesson was over, 'it that young lady
has such a large , connection, and so
much reputation as an instructress, as
Mrs. j Rupert tells us, I wonder she
does npt-'drc33 a little better. v A cer
tain appearance is incumbent upon ev
eryone according to their means, and.
Miss Harvey's dress is disgracefully
shabby.'
'It was not very nice I answered;
'but, oh I aunt, what splendid eyes she
has -that is, if they ware not so fall of
I was young' and erilhusiastic in
those days, and before long I had con?
tracted an 'ardent admiration for i Miss
Harvey which now xipened into a pas
sionate girlih friendship that r made
mv aunt anjrry'and Fred lausrh kmd-
'Come, Chattie,' said he one day,
'you shall introduce me to the lady i of
the handsome eyes and the shabby
gown.' '
'It is very heartless of aunt Kitty to
talk so much of Miss Harvey's dress,'
I cried; 'if she- is poor, is that her
fault ? , She is a far finer lady in her
poor worn dress than many of aunt's
friends who come rustling, in; silks and
satins. And von, Fred, I am asham
ed of you. Oaco you did not think a
lady made by her dress.' ; '
'And perhaps I r don't now, either,
Chatt,' said Fred; 'and hope I : should
bethe last man in the world to sneer
at poverty.' ';- v;
'Grace Harvey has no relations, and
she lives iuone room, all alone, up ev
er so many stairs, in such a dark, dis
mal little street; oh, Fred ! it almost
stifles me, to think of it,' I said, eager
y. 'I met Grace on . . the street one
da, and it rained, and though I think
she would have rather not, she. took
me for shelter to her room. When I
saw what a poor low, place .. it was,' I1
felt as if I ought never to' have seen
it.- , . . -
'Poor thing !'aid Fred, heartily.',
'Well, Chattie, we hare no right to pry
into her secrets, or wonder why, withr
a large number of, pupils, she should
be so poor.' ' ".
My nidirnati?s, much soothed by
Fred's feelings .-and good-nature, J in
troduced my brother with great pride
to Miss Harvev, and noted with a thrill
of pleasure; hv? his brow was as grace
fully deferential, his m inner as cbrdi-
allv respectful to the poor teacher of
musie in her worn garments, as ever !
had seen either to the most distin-
guisuca -or my; aunts iannionaDie
friends: Miss Harvey soon dropped,!
too, fees Tat her sad reserve of manner;
with Mm, and, us Fred about this
time became for soine reason or other
a vr dutiful nephew and. a most at-!
tentive brother, I had the pleasure of
seeing the acquaintance be wreen the.m
improve rapidly. How Fred mauag-i
ed to time his calls so exactly to my
music lessons is not for me to say,
though I was a great deal too shrewd:
not to notice the fact very speedily;!
and, oh, how pleased to: draw my own!
conclusions from it. It seemed to me,
young and enthusiastic as I was, the
most natural and . desirable thing in
the .world that my darling brother:
should fall in love with and marry my
dearest friend music mistress though
she was.r While pretty sure of Fred's
feelings in the,, matter, I was by no
means so confident of Miss Harvey's.
At firsTshe had seemed pleased with
Fred, but by decrees the old sadness-
and reserve crept back into her man
ner; and, indeed, after a little while I
could ; see thai she plainly- avoided
him. k ,. r .,; x . i
One night, to my unbounded de
light, Fred. took me to a concert, and
when the first part was over, and I
was. able to spare any attention to the
audience, I commenced a very admir
ing survey of the house.
" 'Dear me, Fred !' I exclaimed in two
or three minutes, 'did you ever see
such a likeness ? There, in the fourth
row from this end. Ah 1 she has turn
ed her head away now; but I could al
most say it was she. ?
Fred, ' J.i -'Grace
Harvey.'
: .'Grace Harvev ! where? What, that
cirl in white silk, with those splendid
fiowers , Indeed! it is something like,
Ah now she has turned her headf-
Marvellously like her I wonder who
the world it is. Is it Miss Harvey ?' j
. 'Nonsense,' Fred,' said I laughing.
'How t an it be poor Grace ? Do, you
think she can afford first class concerts
and white silk dresses?'
But af teri this L and the concert got
RALEIGH; N. C, SEPt. 25,
but a very divided attention from Mas
ter Fred.'"; ; ' ; - ' ;
I On the occasion of my next music
lesson I did not forget to. tell Miss
Harvey of the lady so clpsely resem
bling her whom I had seenat the con
Cert, and to my great surprise, looking
;at my friend the while, T saw that her
'pale face flushed suddenly and deeply,
land for an instant" she seemed, confus
ed and vexed, ;-Vr '! -1' )
f "The resemblance must" have been
strong indeed, to be Tisible through
all .the difference of dress. I ought te
feel more complimented j t, dare
sa the lady WduToTbe
lUSi
o 'IctmW
know, "Chattie was all she replied,
arid: we spoke of it ho rnore.f -tftm..
But one day, . not veiy dopg . after
that,: Fred came to me in spne trquble.
and excitement., . - :
'Chattie, said j he presently, I am
j going to tell you a secret. ! Will you
T 1 1 - Ti " 11 )
oe very mucn surprisea ir l iteii jyou
that I love Grace Harvey dearly, Jand
that I have asked her to be my wife ?'
Not surprised, but so glad oli so
glad!';.-;; ' i.-
.'Wait,' said he, and though lie Imil
ed, he looked vexed too. 'It is true
that I have asked Grace to marryime;
but Chattie, she has refused, in the
most,, unqualified and decided ' 4an
ner.' 'j 1 . . ', ' ". . ' f : ""
'OhV Fied .and I am sure she Ikes
you. It is some scruple about differ
ence in rank, I dare say. Haven't you
found out 'how proud Grace is
. -' 'To be sti re I " have: ? But I don't
think it is that; either; for I asked her
outright, and I could not help think
ing that my doing that made her think
of it for the first time. , No, T don't
fancy that was her reason: and, Chat-?
tie, this is where you cm help ni3. ' I
could not press Grace for her motives,
but you might ask questions that ; I
could not. Try and come at her reasons,-will
you?' .
'But, Fred, I am not to have -my
next lesson for more than a fortnight
not till the new piano comes home.'
Oh !' said poor Fred, with a' look
of great dismay, T cannot wait that
time. Can't you make Some 7, excuse
for going tcrsx38; Miss !&arcy - --:
What could I not have, done for
Fred ? I ran away to put on my
things, and Fred and I were soon in
the -dingy street, . and the house at
which Miss Harvey lived. I rang the
bell, and inquired Jor Misa Harvey of
the littlo girl who opened it.
v 'Yes, Miss Harvey was in would I
walk up?' ',-: : , , . . j. '.
Stumbling up the dark and crooked
staircase after this small handmaid,
we at length arrived at Miss Harvey's
door. The child knocked ; but as
there was no answer, opened it - and
told me to walk in. I did so. There
was the low and dismal room I had
often thought, of with a pang and
there I stood; transfixed in mute as
tonishment; for that instant a door
leading out of this room opened, show
ing me a momentary glimpse . of mirror-gliding
and rich furniture within,
and Grace herself, beautifully attired
in an evenin g dress, .with jewels' on her
arms and stately neck, stood in the
doorway. She in turn, looked more
than surprised, almost frightened. As
she saw! me she closed the door behind
her quickly,' and her face was crimson
as she faltered
'Chattie, is it you ?'
I was so utterly bewildered by what
I saw- the discrepancy between her
rich dress and apparent, indeed, pro
fessed poverty that I did my errand
badly enough, T dare say. ' Grace's
face seemed to grow, cold and stern, as
she listened, and replied, briefly, that
'Mr. Talbot must consider -her decis
ion final, as it was. "- v"":" :
Poor "Fred! I told him all I had
seen; when I gave him her answer, and
we never spoke of Grace Harvey after
that. My visit to town came to. an
abrupt close soon afterwards, and my
friendship for my music teach er be
came only a memory.
chapter nv
It was some years, after this that
me and my brother now a grave law
yer immeised in business paid a
brief visit to the gray, old cathedral
town where we were both born, . i
One evening a summer evening,
full of tranquil beauty, I remember
as we sauntered under the shadow of
the cloistei-s, I noticed the figure of a
woman sitting :on one :of the stone
benches beneath them ' looking out
over the graveyard beyond, where the
long sun-shadows were growing dusky
in the fading light. Something in the
figure attracted me, and as we passed
I looked into her face.4 I knew, her
instantly; yescareworn, faded, shab
bier in dress even than pf oldT-Iknew
Grace Harvey ; and so touched was I
too, by something inexpressibly sad
. u, sd
OF TEMPERANCE.
1868.
2 :
4 mm ..
and hopeless in her wistful , face and
weary attitude, that forgetting the
awkwardness of any meeting; accom
panied as I was, I stood still and said
involuntarily . : : v:
' Grace Harvey !' v ; T
- Shes looked up hastily, and by tiie
color that flushed into her pale; f thin
face, I saw; that she recognized usrf-Tt
was a very awkward meeting, but the
good breeding and self-control of the
two most concerned, made it pass. ; off
better than one might have hop
ed." " ,.-''--- . -f ;t : i" u '?: fis: : u
'llisa Hdrveyws hot residing; in
DnstfuVy-rf!Sljhref fdex a'fiday
or two. he - had known t the place'
as., a child, . anl dbvei "it ' dear-
I think this was the sum o f th"e: in
formation we gathered concerning
herself before we parted, which we
did .very soon, though, , in spite ; of , all
the . mysterious circumstances that
seemed to surround Miss Harvey, my
heart yearned towards the object of my
passionate, youthful friendship, when
she bade lis good bye, in her low, thrill
ing voice, and left us. " . " 1
; Frecl and I wandered abroad much
later than usual that night, talking i of
those old times; and when I learned,
as I did then, how constant my broth
er. had been to the memory of his ear-?
ly love how noble his simple faith in
her goodness, notwithstanding the
mystery surrounding her life I made
a vow in my heart, though I said noth
ing about it to him. ; -; ;
. A day or, two after this, as I. was
coming oiit of the cathedral, I linger
ed ah instant to admire a new stained
window that was in the process of pUt-
ting in when we first arrived at Peans
bury. As I did so two other persons
came irom anotuer airecuon ana paus
ed before it, and, not noticing mo, bs
gan to talk of the window. I ; soon
gathered that the lady had presented
this newmemorial window1, and the
gentleman was eager to know whether
the work had been executed according
to her wish, and so forth. '
;' 'Yes,' she auswered, softly; and the
voice was familiar to me, though I
could not see keiface. 'Your part of
the" work is well done ; and mine ah !
I could not rest till it was ac
complished. And now that it is done
I begin to ask mvself what other need
of me there is in the world. I think
I have never really felt lonely' till
now.'. .
Tho sad, patient voice thrilled
through me and When Grace turned
away, as she did almost directly, I
hastened after and overtook her, un
der the gray, old archway of the gate.
She colored faintly! when she saw me,
but did not refuse to walk back with
me round the cloisters.
Grace,' said I, presently, ' I won
der if you ever remember how fond ! I
was of you. ' : "' '
" You were a good kind child," she
answered, with 'a faint smile, " and I
believe; loved me better than I deserv
ed.".. '
' Then, Grace, make me amends.
Tell me why " '.
" Tell you all my secrets, I suppose ?"
she answered. " Well, Chattie, I don'c
know that I need keep them any. Ion-
ger. 1 am very sure no otner out your
kind self would care to hear them.
Shall wo sit here, where we can see
that large tomb? Can you read the
names.on thisside, Chattie ? "; " ' i 4
" Yes. It is the -family vault of
Henry Armytage, of Langton Hall."
"I wonder whether my bones will
rest there?" said Grace," wistfully. He
was my father, Chattie." ? :
- " I shall not give Grace's story in her
own words, though they were far more
touching, and eloquent than any ! can
pretend to. It was briefly this :
She was one of the three daughters
of Henry Armytage; of Langton estate;
at his death it reverted to the heir male
a distant connection only; The three
daughters- were, however, handsomely
dowered, and at their father's death
retired to a neighboring small proper
ty, where they lived in much comfort,
and even style. Grace, the youngest,
was many years the junior .of the oth
er ladies, clever, and aTieauty. The
elder sisters yveve inordinately fond of
this girl ; pampering and indulging
her in every caprice ; sacrificing them
selves for her, and only happy when
she was pleased They naturally look
ed to her setting in life in a manner
accordant with her ancient name and
handsome means : f instead
of which
the willful girl chose to throw herself
away upon a man every way her inferi
or, and, as it turned out, of the most
unprincipled-character. The elder
sisters at first refusing' their consent
to the union, the pair ; eloped, were
married, and for a year or two - were
heard of no more. ; The elder sisters,
only anxious to forgive,' lost ho oppor-
ADVEirHSIXG IU
: A Jimitod nnmber of adrertlicmen
inserted at the folloWipg rates:
Oao qnare, oue inaertiad...
Eight lines or less constitute ,a square!
Liberal arraneeraents will be made with bar-
; ties wishing ty advertise by the month or year.;
tunity of discovering their
where-
abouts;, and at , last triumphantly
brought back the runaway young ped
pie to their house at Fairbridge.-
Here for awhile they all lived ; but'
before very long it was discoYcred
that Mr. Harrington had dissipated his
we's fortune, and the 5 pair were en
tirely flependeutori: their relatites: In
vain the simple ladies t tried to sate
them. from the ; consequences of their
own sins ;and follies. .VVhile money -was
to" bq had "4 the - husband 6f the
younger would spend It and at last,
wucu everyimng avauaoie naa Dcen
ohtain4didisannearfidlAricr h wifrt
rbehind rXhei Mks AraiYtairoftnd
their sifter deft Fairbrigo 'for .'eyer,,
and we'ntto"JndonA,littt1TrhUd,thej
had a penny they feebly-strore"' to;
a-eft disgraco And rpinroni their sis-
ter's husband When all; was .gono
the poor ladies patiently .cet about try-"
ingt to -earn a iiymgi andM whil'es thusi c
engaged, the ypungerwhtJ hadrefoin-
ed her husband for Awhile, came baclr;
to them, . calmly told .them that f she;
had parted with; him forever, assumed, .
her mother's maiden name, and de
clared that she would live"' and die with"
hei sisters. Sudwa's.-'e'DeiUcand'
clever, and, as-a teacher of musict-she
had already got remunerative .employ,?
when one of her sisters .took. a.-iever
languished and died. Almost before
she was buried the other was taken ill;
and, though her life was spared to her
stricken sister, was hopelessly imbecile
from that time. The one pleasuro of
Which sae seemed capable was that of
nking to see ro and her thesight3 and
luxuries of her early life j' ahd to give"
the poor invalid these, becarda the one
- labsorbing dnty of the younger sister's
existence, hue removed r her .sister to
I the house of an old servant, -who let
apartments, and wlio would kee' her
secret, labored night ' and day to ;fur-'
nish one room in the sty Ie of her 'fiisi
ter's own at Lahgtoh, arid, while she
hen.elf lived upon the poorest
supplied that other table with luxuries.
After her long day's work, the poor
girl w juld replace Jier poor, worn
dress with one such as she had worn
in 4;lvG;day3frn:osperityr and devote
herself to tho poor imbecile, striving
to call back those early days in which
alone' she seemed to live ; a drive now
and then,-in unfrequented suburbs ; a
visit to a concerts whi3h was a source
of rapturous delight to the invalid
these were all the' substantial enjoy-
ments Grace could venture on. If her
husband had had the . slightest idoa
that she gained money enough to "give
what she did t6 her sister, he would
not long have left her in peace. She
guarded hex secret carefully; an&' only
seemed to have yahfed her life a3 ded
icated to the service of her sister, to
whom, indeed, she owed such: terrible
atonement: ' ' - .; VC
And then came the day when sho
could do no more when her love, her
prayers, her labors, could give nothing
more1 to that quiet figure on whom' her
tears fell so bitterly and she fcould
only 'bury . her dead out of her sight.
and realize oh, how remorsefully ! oh,
how tenderly.! that little of wrong
can be set right in this world.1 fm
"It -comforted mo, siomehow, to
work, that 1 might lay them :both in
yonder tpmb, vhere rthey had wished
to lie ; and when that was done, I la
bored to put up the window to their
memory." Grace concluded ; and then.
I understood the words X had heard
her say the church. fl -l i x
, " And your husbahd VI Ittentured
to, say, timidly, presently. T
"He is gone to' where my fofgife
ness cannot reach him,'? she answerecl
calmly.. Ah, Chattie, there ras no.
room for regret in my. heart for him.'
. And this, was tace's story.V I 'told'
it to Fred in"' the moonlight xlpister
that night.-andall he said was, . Poor
darling I - Dear, noble Grace 1" r r ;
j 'Need I tell the ending of tho ' sto
ry,? and that Grace has been, for some
years, my dear sister and Fred's hap--pywife?"
: - "l r;-
ADVAJTrAGES OF PCBTJC ' WORSHIP.
am fully satisfied that there is a peculiar-
presence of God in - his public or
dinances ; that tho devotion: of good
men does mutually, inflame arid kindle
one another; that there is a, holy awe
andreverenQe seizes the mind of good
men when they draw near, to .God in
public worship; finally, that if the offi
ces of our liturgy do not affect our "
hearts, it is because they are very
much indisposed and very poorly qual- -ified
for the true and spiritual worships
of God Lucas. i I : w
The Hanlon brothers are exhibiting'
a velocipede at New Yor jvith an im
provement of their ." own s invention, ,
by which twenty miles an hour can be
made. . " : r- , -. , .
- - j ....
5r L
I
i
J'
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ta