North Carolina Newspapers

, J- .....III -i . . . ! ! : J ' -1 " s !7n""T-' ' " r " r 1 ' , , . TTiil1- Ml' -..Pi '.U1.L' imrrMWr-l- VOL.' VI. VUBTAHUED BY TIALEIGII, N. C T E li MS: ' .$2 00 One ccpr one-year... , 05 : " six moiitlis ...... f - ti " tlite months CLUJ3S: ;iahs of Tea or more names will be 'yed goetrtt. The South. UY EEV. FATHER EYAS. Yes, give me the land W here the ruins are preadr And tlte livin-' trtfad light On the heart of the dead; Yen, give me the la,nd That is blest by thedust, . And bright with th? deeds On the down trodden just. Yes, give me the land'-; - Where the battle's red blast Has Hashed on tlie future, The form of the past ; Yes, give me the land That hath. legeocU ar.d lays, That t'll of tbe memorioa Of long; variiwhed days. Yen, give "io the land That hath story and-song, To tell of the rife Of the ritfht with the wrong Yh, lue laQd With a grave in caoh spot, And names in the grave That Hhall not bo forgot. Yos, give me the land Of the wrecked and the torn There's grandeur in the prive- There's' glory in the glooia ; For out of the gloom ; Future brightness is born, Ah after the night . . , ; Looms the sunrise of morn. . A"d the graves of the (lend - With tlie crasH overgrown, . M;iv yet form the f 00118 tool ( f Liberty's throne ; And each single wreck In the war-path, of night, Shall yet be rock In ihettemp'le of the Night. in Twenty Yeazs. And bo you really think 'there 18 ' I nothing Berious in Margaret's naughti- j la-ss, my dear sir, said a iasmonably "dressed lady of five and forty summers to a gentlem an fifteen years her junior, who stood behind the open library viti "dow,. regarding her with an. amused smile. ' . '."v- : r. ;' ' : : ' Nothing at all serious, . my . dear Mrs. Gray,', said the gentleman quiet- b-- : ' And what xlo you think I had better do with her t 1 ' Send her to me if you like,' was the negligent answer. '. . The lady's anxious face cleared and brightened at once. , "! -I Would you really take her ?' j ' If it will give you pleasure I will be 'V.nimv in tin sn ' . - ' 'I t . t :,.. 'Oh, it will be such a weight off my - r- - 1 . . ranui, Mr. strong. 1 cannot tell you v.hat I havie suffered from the gif l's pe Haliar ways since I came ifittp this, house ' t o live. Fond as I was of Judge Gray, 'I doubt if I ever could have made tip I lay mind! to, take him had I known as ?Liuch of 'bis only child as I know now. ' Audj since her father.'s death, she has f 1 u!i wild positively wild, Mr. Strong. I"have not the slightest control , over , I bcr.k- . In fac.she. sets every one at de- f lianpe, and w.ht .t ' '. 'Yes, my dear madam,' said Mr. I Strong, bowing politely, as if he thought ' she had completed . her sentence. ; ' I ! can easily understand it all. But send ' her to me and we will see what can be 'done. I have had some wild na , turts in my time. Good afternoon tna.de.in.' ' : ',. "", ; Vith tiieee words a human destiny was decided. ' '- , The next day saw ' Margaret, tha cnly daughter and heiress of the late' ; Judge Gray, sitting quietly at tt desk in the village academy among a group of ghrls, who eyed her over their school hook3 as ctealthlly . and ouTiously as j if she had been a newly imported kan- garoo. ' ; ' ' : j ' t irsti because with her -clear, bright I brunette compleaion, her large, dark, ; cL'h, find hor curling, brown hair,' she J iH.hy fur the handsomest girl in the s v-'''i0- school. . ' ' ' ' I Secondly, because she was an heir- ; 4 .Thirdly an4 lastly, "because they had I licai-il many a talc of her haughty and I oipri'cQus tempter, and :were in daily I imd haurly expectation-of ; a strife for I the mastery between -her and "their I ftiave and ' handsome,, teacher, whose I authority-no one within those walls I would ever dream of disputing, unless, I mdeed, it would bo her. : - - , I -"Hit much to tho wonder, ana very j possibly. to the disappointment. of the I school girls, 'no'su3i outbreakTiad Incurred, Margart,percJied in the, libra J rJ gallery at home, among her Well- - beloved' books, had heard ler step mother's' accusation,' and the. , teacher's laughing reply. Neither of the speak ers had been aware of" her presence, and she iid not make' it manifest by word, or look, or sign, uivhen they were gone sfio clenched her little white hand.vowed passionately to herself that she would -surprise them both, and make her step-mother appear to others harsh -censorious, and Uniu'sV wo 1 ........ a 4 . 1 . man she herself, ' in her 'own secret heart, had always been willing ' to be lieve her. Accordingly, when informed "of the existing arrangement, she uttered no word of opposition, much to the aston ishment of Mrs. Gray? who could scarce ly believe her own eyes when she saw Margaret obediently leave" the -'house eacn morning witn ner satcnei 01 school books swinging from her arm. Mr. Strong was also puzzled. ' His deep blue eyes often met those brown ones with a look of wondering inquiry that made Margaret long to laugh. But the one asked no questions: the other answered none. And so the days, went on, and Margaret passed her first examination triumphantly, and was proclaimed, the -best, and most promising scholar in the school She ought, therefore, to have been happy. ; But it was with a - very, sad face that she went up into the familiar hall, just at dusk, on the evening pi the great examination day, to t collect her boqks, and take one .last secret look at a place which she would never again see tenanted as it had been ten anted of late the .master's chair. , There it stood ,upon the raised . plat form, empty and desolate., The state ly figure that filled it like, a flirono was absent; and yet, 0 her dreaming . eye, pleasant and plainly as ever she saw the high, white "brow, and the curls of sunny brown hair, and the deep blue eyes and the beautifully chiseled lips that closed so firmly in spite of - their beauty . She heard the deep, sweet tones of that beloved - voice beloved 1 She started at the ihousrht. . ' Oh, my dear masterlishe said aloud and burying her head in 'her hands, she sank' down upon the empty chair and wept. - A step crossed the hall hastily, an arm was thrown around her waist; that voice, all hurried and agitated, was speaking in her very ear. My pupil ! Oh, if I were younger or you older; if I were richer or you poor er, I would de. to say 'my Margaret, and do' my best to turn this girlish lik ing into a woman's love 1 But I am a poor man, and I am fifteen years older than you.- Remember me, when you remember me-in after days - and say to yourself that these were the barriers that rose between us. My darling, nothing else should keep me from you if I were your equal in these two things. Heaven bleies you, dear. I . dare not kiss your lips. You will keep them for the man you love and marry one day when I am far away. But your hand- V .- v-- He raised it to his lips, and a hot tear fell with the long lingering kiss, and seemed to burn in the soft, white flesh." ; . . .Before she could speak or stop him, he hurried from the room. The pleas ant 'summer term' was' over, 'and the handsome, stately 'master' was gone to return no more. - -- ' . 1 .' And twenty years passed by, To Margaret they seemed to bring little, of trial or change. ' : . She still dwelt in her old ' home, though her fashionable mother ' had long since left it to ' share the man sion of a merchant prince upon Fifth avenue, t ' Margaret f el t no desire to . share the splendor of which the late widow was inordinately proud. The dear old homestead was grand and good enough for her, and all the dearer, if the truth must be told, since that : jar rjng presence was removed. So she dwelt there' quietly; ' with a ' maiden aunt for chaperon r and companion; and allJuer sohoolmates were married, and she alone remained m evr, Mar garet Gray.) ' ';:-;' ; ; '' ; It was' not, ho WeVer for lack, of offers that she lived this single, solitary . life. Many a lover had come to , woo; brown- curls and fioft,- dark ; eyes,'.. Jot and and rosy cheeks and Grecian features," perfect lips do not often go for a purchaser when backed by such a fortune as Margaret possessed. J3he had suitors -by the scoro, until it came publicly to b6 understood, that ' she would rather see the suitors at , a dis tance, or wooing some one else, a After that no one ventured to try -his ' luck with Judge GrayV heiress, 'and thfe re jected lovers consoled themselves, as speedily as possible, . by marrying the prettiest of her,friends. , . . ;. 3u.. "Margaret went cheerfully to "each wedding, wished the bridegrdjom j6y, and gave to the brldea 1 sbme eanHful and valuable gifts, iEfidentlyi she "was then ' wearing the willow? ioi no f ene. "What .9buld the meaning of celibacy so determined be! hit aiiu iDB uuyu anu years went on. And a birth-day came at last, which showed how the school girl ' 6! fifteen was now the won ft 1 of thirty-five. On that i day,. Margaret, arranging her abundant tresses before the glass, saw the first gray ham ': She stopped to look at it with a mel ancholy smile. ' Ah, he would not say I was too young now, she exclaimed. And just then a tap came at the door, and the servant entered and brought her a card. The gentleman is. below, Miss Mar garet, and would like to speak with you, if convenient,' said the girl. Margaret looked at the card. Eixison Strong.' The room reeled round and round, and she turned sd pale that the girl was then frightened.' ' Sure, Miss Margaret, it is ill that ye are, and I'll go down and send the gentleman away. No, no r said Margaret, recovering her composure with an effort. ' Help me to finish dressing Kate; I must see him.' ' . - i: - . Kate; -with a woman's quickness guessed something-of the truth, and did her best to make her mistress look as pretty as possible. With the old color in her cheek,, and the old happy light in her soft, brown eyes, Margaret stole down the staifa But at the parlor door a sudden thought startled and checked her. ' I am thirty-five years old to-day, and he is now a man of fifty. . He has been away, for twenty years, How can I hope or. fancy that he has remember ed me all this time as I have thought of him ?' 1 , , A little sobered by tnis , miasgiving, she opened the door. ; , ,.; , , . . She looked foia man almpst .a stran gera man, Dent ana oowea witn we cares of twenty jears; & man whose brow was furrowed, and whose statu esque beauty crone as if it had never been. , . . .. And she. saw before vher Ellison Strong its she had seen him the very day of their .parting twenty years be fore. Stately and as erect as ever, with a brilliant color on his cheek, and his blue eyes flashing with all the fire of early youth, and not a trace of care or sorrow to mar. the beauty which she remembered so well He sprang to meet her, and took her by the hand, and looked down into her eyes with a searching, . almost . imperious glance. ' Margaret,' said the deep sweat rofo-at whose music was unchanged, ' I nave staid away, from you a whole life-time; and at last,the craving iQ steor hear of you grew so strong to be denied, came here expecting to find you a hap . . 1 ... . -. . py witej witn your cnuoren at your knee, and here you are solitary . and alone, though young and beautiful as ever. How is that ?' She could not answer with those deep blue eyes searching her drooping face so intently xut a deep crimson blush rose slowly to her cheek side, and spoke for her far more eloquently than even words could do. . I left you twenty years ago,; my darling, because I was a poor man and fifteen years ypur senior. I am rich now, but' what about, the years, Marga ret ? They have made me no young er, I am fifty years old to-day.' 'But I am thirty-five,' she said in 1 low voice. ' I see no gray hairs in your brown curls. . but they begin to come in mine.' . ;'. y.m Fifty years old to-day ? You look not an hour older than when we part ed in the hall.' , ,v i , ' -i. -.1 He bent his face down upon. hers. Margaret, you liked me then can you love me nowwill you be my wife?' For an answer she lifted her lips to his. ! , . Twenty years ago you would, no kiss me j you bade me keep that ..first kiss for the man I .was to love , ana marry. " I have kept it for you twenty years. Will you take it now V He held her closely to zna heart 1 in silence...,.' -.f j ) Thirty-five and fifty' yeara of age I Does it seem absurd to you, young lady of J sixteen ? Ah me I , I sometimes wonder if people ever really know, j to love before gray hairs begin to come to teach them. ; ... :: '-' i . rrom the New Orleans Times. JULIE. BY BLK. " A few years ago, concluding to take a summer vacation, X accepted the in vitation of a-"friend residing in St. "Landrv4 parish to pay him." a visiB. ; I found the trip up the, Mississippi, on Bed River, and then into the winding bayous pleasant', enough ;"but Toeing neither T)icke ns nor Thackeray, , I was xmabfe b appreciatethe nde jn wa stapre coach from the steamboat - land ing many miles into the interior to my friend borne, " -KAEIGKEi; 1st: 5 C, WEi)NESDATi,ffiibtit Arrived there, I felt somewhat, fa- igued, .and wishing to join, my friend in a hunting expedition at sunrise the next morning, I retired early, kissing as I rose his little fair-haired girlgod night." "Why did I sigh ? Not at my riend's happiness in possessing so i'n- eiligent a wife and so sweet . a child No, only at an old bachelor's thoughts of ' what might haye been.' To dispel unpleasant fancies, I drew out a cigar and threw myself into a chair at the open window, while I looked" moodily out on the quiet prairio with its , star-; ry vault overhead, and tho dark.woods enclosincr it. ' . Turning from the window after I a ime, visions ol' tue past were soon orgotten in the contemplation of j a beautiful --portrait ' suspended over the manteJL It was- the Aead and -shdul dera of a 16v61y mdy,'' dn whose'4 Taif :ace, the un tired smile of youth, did ight outward its own sighs.' The artist had succeeded in depict ing, in tiie naif shy, earnest violet eyes, a glance of the tenderest love.--Tho perfect hps seemed aHcnit to ' ex press the thought' that looked5 from those wondrous eyes. Dark1 hair fejll in curls over a' fair brow, and whiie dimpled shoulders. Sometime longer I gazed at the "bewitching face", so life like in its loveliness, then turning jto my pillow, was haunted' byx it "' kn dreams.; 1 ' ,f :::' I- The next day I asked iny friend the name of the original of the portrait, and also the name of the artist who could paint so divinely. ' j e 'The artist is the same replied rhe, who painted the portraife Of niy litfle girl Minnie, which you thought feo good. His name is James ' Harvey.) What little I know of him, and of Ih portrait that has attracted your jafe entiori, I will tell you.' " ": , , ' About a year ago, in the month May, Mr. Harvey came into the neigh borhood m feeble health.' He board ed at the hotel In the village for tiie first five weeks, until I, hearing he was an artist, engaged him to take Minnie's portrait, after which he took up his abode with us. He was not more than twenty-five or six yeara of age, tall and slender, with wavy gol den hair and' long silky moustache drooping over a month like a girl's. -Although so young, lie was already in a decline, plainly indicated by a cough and a peculiar brightness of the blue- gray eye. He was sad and even morose in dis position, and seldom smiled, except at the prattle of little Minnie. The child became very much attached to him, and still cherishes fondly a number of little drawings he made for her. After Minnie's portrait was finished, Mr. Harvey asked us to board him a month lcngerAs he liked the quiet of the wood and prairie. We sympathized much with the handsome young artist, and invited him to spend the rest of the summer with us if he liked. He accepted glad ly, saying with a faint smile, ' I' have not long to live, and if death seizes me while here he will be robbed of haif his horrors.' ' Is your mother livmg?'' my wife asked.- " " 'No,' he dnswefed, 'I have ho re'la tives in the world, no one to regret my death. ''Mr. Harvey seldom conversed, but lived within 'himself, spending the greater portion of his time in wander ing aimlessly over the wood and prai rie ; ga2ing at sunsets, or now and then making a sketch of a spot that pleased his fancy." When in-doors, he sat in a smalThall fixed up as a studio, where he painted for . hours on Ylq picture 01 a iaay. vve tnougnt it a creation of his fancy' as each day ,we beheld it growing into perfect beauty beneath the touches of his pencil. Even when the ploture seemed com plete, Mr; Harvey continued to spend hours gaising upon it, now " and then touching up an eyebrow, or adding a deeper shadow to the dark wavy hair. Domeumes, witn a muttered impreca tion, he would rise from, the contem plation of it, and turning the' face to the wall, would not look at it for sev eral days. ' : " A . .... , x nappenea to enter ms study one day when he sat engrossed with the portraft g; mddirh Pginalion, utterly oblivious to' alreiSe except the eyes o: bis pictured idol. 1 I asked him if it were a portrait o: a lady-love. 'I loved her,' he answered, 'and she told fne that she .returned my passion. Could a Woman look like tnat, and lie? Tet' because""1! '"was"" poor she broke the ie engagement' and married a litOr. You , doubtless think richer suitor. me a fool, but I love her still.' . He was" fidw Very weak, and the" las agitation brought on a violent ' fit coughing" I' changed the' subject relieve him; and' he never; referred it again. . JLate one " aiternoon' ne returnea from a walk and! showed iheTa sketch he had madeof i spot in ".the wood where the shadows were deepest, and the bayou wound like a thread round I the roots pf tall magnolias, Uyej oak how the birds sang! for it was the be and cypress trees. Atthe foot of, one ginning of May, and fine, hot weather, of the magnolias was to be son. a But to come at onco to the story, grave, upon the head-pieca of which la one of our walks, -we had mad6 was. inscnoea tne namejjames, iitir-i vey.' i .. . . .... ' JBury m there, l my friend, for death ia very near m .; I. shl rpt Jn, mat quiet piace,;, . , , 1 As I looked at him, I ..could not doubt that ho wpuld, soon die. , A restles broqing .expession, looked lorui irom ns sunjcen, guttering., eyes, loresc, aii Doroerea - witn primroses His cheekaand lipsere, brightjith, and'tluebells, to a small house 1 cover the hectic flush which some passing, ed with creepers, nd in front Aving emotron had called up, , He leaned on a garden as neat as you can imagine a a slender walking pane, and , .gazed to- garden to be, and full of old fashioued wardUie settingsun. . J felt deep pity I for the young man about to be cut off I m the gloriou heyday , oj youth, .and I wondered if ho had given np, without a struggle,' , thje . aspirations of . early manhood ; the , hopes .of becoming and work-baskets," and I expected ev something above the common herd. ery moment that ; a 1 whole flock of I think npt, for his talent as aji, artist grand-children 'would come rushing was .sufficient to make him desirous of Whatever had been. his hopes, they were .flown ; and now, with the calmness, it seemed of de- spair, he talked of 4yiag He avoid- d religion and in death seemed to UPb aiWiJJ JPm 1 i U, Time wqrefni,; Septejbjf ame, witn tne golden naza 01 -Indian sum- J 1 ' 1 1 11 1 -r 1 - mer. Wr. Harvey was unable to- per- ceivp the beauties of ithis smost t- lovely season, for he had , been confined .to lor- bowc uiuu jtoared. ne would neve rise, and masked -if. -there was any friend .with whom he would like to communicate.: He replied in he negative. , He seemed to be -with- out meHae as weu as reiauves ior he neyer received letters or.? communica- ions of any -JrindL : ; - . f .-: : . . One morning he appeared to be en- tirely free from pain, for the first- time Lin many days. He requested to - see Minnie. . She eame iny bringing some flowers fresh with the morning dew.- He ok item in Ms - Land and . held . ' -I hem to his parched hps, asking Min nie one or two questions about her va rious pets. . After a few1 minutes he said, in a low, 'faltering tone : ' t T 'I ll . T 1 . T T -. . Jjiiue una, x am aymg.-? vill you say a prayer ior me t, With a frightened J look, my little gin oommencea, uur j? atner wno art " ' V ' 3 yv it v ' .1 In Heaven.' For a few momenta his ihoughts seemed to follow the prayer, but while tne tender voice or tne cniid still con- inued, he turned his eyes with a look funutterable love on the- beautiful portrait, which, during his illness, he - - - - . . .- had caused to be placed near his couch. He raised his arms toward the speaking face, and calling with hi s e speaking face, and calhng with his latest breath,' 'Julie, died: - Among hia papers I found no clue as to ins former place of residence, or brmer friends. He is interred in the spot he indicated, where moss banners . ; ave in the turbid water, and the owls hoot and scream. - jf ". - . --. - Some years 1 have passed since I heard tho above. Last nirfit at . the hjeatre a fair face recalled it all. In a prominent boii riehly attired, glowing with beauty and health, was the - orig- inal of the portrait I had seen 'at : my friend's quiet home; ' Who is the la- dy?' I askedof an 'acquaintance. :iMt - 'That, he rephed, leveling his opera glass, ' is one of our belles, the beatf- tifxd Mrs, - - some years- ago slie jilted -a young artist, 5 marrying m hlis absenee an old man -for Ms wealtb. Then the former lover returned, a few montns later, in a frenzy,' he J kiH - ed the old man, succeeded in esetkoinpl the' authorities, and has never been h eard from since, . 'Rumor says 1 the fair lady Is to marry i the 'gentleman now beside her' x looKea witn a reeling oi pity ai tne i i i '. i0 ' m-- i ' . man who intended trusting bis happi- ness to the. fauv radiant syren. 'Had I found the slightest trace of remorse in' her countenance, I should ieel . much happier ; bat I searched those. lovely featrxres jn'vain. u l saw cnlv. a . beati - tifril And iinnaMAilv a haimv ? namui. j Butwhat,can we knqw of awoman's feelings whea the eyes, of J? th r!orld are upon her?:. Perhaps I judged her harshly and in. 'thee depths . ..of her heart, she mayhap, m9Uims , constant i j . - lly the murdered J.ld man, and,, himllike to "help them. I "wish we could r : ' t n. l . n Who sleeps in the lone, grave with j the tall magnolia tree .for a monument. "T t -1 0 IHWDHT JS iOUK HONETM001I. do not know if any one. else .will . i s . - - - . ... tnink tne story 1 am going to , write 1lJl x -T x -i unucMTOxg -"u .. donn and 1-pdid. i wiu try to . ten in tne simple words in wnicrx it was toid to us. Jtutjnrst, i must say tnat We heard it"oiunng Our : . honeymoon, . Hs. 1 'r . t -r ' t ii ' Which weWere spending- at tie cottage in tne oeautuui park oi xioru - Ii shall call i him 'pimdaleV The cot- fHe ff S3 SuTf H?nS7 part of it ; and' tnedteer used to come up close to tne ooor, ana lie unuer tne ie under the fine rid oaks, through whose branches the sun glimmered on the soft, warm 2, 1872. turf and clumps of young fern. And acquamtance witn tne clergyman- Mr. Morton,3 all old mah, with -a lplacid, sweet -smile, and -long: flnowwbite hah,: who somehow gave one the idea 9$ periect nappmess anu rpeace . ' He tasked us to drink tea with him s in his vicarage, to which we gladly agreed ; and he led us through; 'paths 'in the flowers, such as crown imperials, starch hyacinths, and polyanthus, and sweet with southernwood, etc. On entering the house, I perceived that the parlor was full of children's toys in ; but none appeared. ; - I suppose Mr. Mprton observed my surprise, for while we were at tea, be- fore the open window, he said :. ' Mrs. Fairfield, I isee you looking at the toys and Wondering what little chil- dreh come here to enliven ah old man's loneliness: but no. child comes here. The little 'girl whose busy fingers last dressed that wooden baby, would have been an old woman npw," and the mer- fry boys" who laughed and shouted r at j piay wim tnose norses, would nave. been elderly, careworn men. Yes, they were mine : and in one week they all left me.' s I uttered some exclamation of .pity, and ne went on m a dreamy , voice, as if more to himself than to us, looking 1 I from the window all the time : ' Yes, thank you, my dear young la- J dy. In one week, wife and children I were taken, and I became the solitary .-- f man . I have been ever since. It was in a fever he continued, after a oause a fever brought here bv some wanderers, who came one nierhtl to a barn near the village, where one died, and from whom the infection spread. The weather was very ' bad for it burning hot and very dry ; there was no ram or dew, so that the flowers drooped and the leaves with- ered witn tne summer sun beatingr 1 1 it .:. j down all day long.' There i were deaths around me every day, and the bell was always tolling for the passing of a f soul or a iunerai. xney brousrnt the r coffins that way and he pointed to a 1 - . green path out of the forest, in . the evening, when one could hardly see them and their attendants against the dark green foliage in the dusk. : 'I went to the sick as much as pos- ' I went to the sick as much as pps- sible ; but" I took every possible pre- caution against infection to my wife rand cniidren. ve would nave sent ! our darlings away, but we had no one 1 - . . l j to send them to, and we were a mile and a half from any infected house. We had three children : Ellen, about eight years old, a thoughtful, quiet, loving httle thing, older than her years. How she used to trot about f the house after her mother, trying to help'her, and looking up at her, with calm deep blue eyes. Then there j were Hugh and Harry, rosy, boister ous boys, and their mother Ellen, 4 Ellen. All that your bride can be to f you, Mr. Fairfield, my wife was to me : - , J He was silent, and looked from the lattice window into the sweet, spring j evening, at the swallows darting about j in-the sunshine, the young, . green Heaves and tne flowers, whose scent floated through the ooen window. thinking of the dear companion who j had once walked by his side in that sunshine, and tended those flowers with him. ' "'. I m -v r " une evening, ne went on, x wa? I at liberty, and we took the children out, letung the breeze, what there washy stupor in which ho had lain. of it, blow from us to the village. r from-us to the vUlage.- to a hiU, frora whenbe we the sUent village' afar ofil- run about and shouted in We went 1 could see I xtlb bovs run about and ehontd in J thair"' bii' fitfie' "Ellen" MmA''l laid her golden head on my knee, and looked in my face, with her deep, 1 sweet eyes. She'said: PapaV" there! must be a great many people " sorrow rHul down there in the village.' I would i .... .... - I m , , i i- comfort them. I should like so much. 1 1 told her how we could help them, I bv asking Him who sends us all troubles to help us to bear them our r - uiouujr, jaju.uiug uutv uxiKj aic suub Ul ye and pity. Then we walked home. 1 - - ifor the sun was setting like a red ball of nre. rne cnuoren gatnered nose- it gays of roses and honeysuckles, which thfiV OTt water when we e-ot home . f ''it xhe smell '..of a honeysuckle always hri that Aveniha aaain WnM ; 1 jfry darling hud her doll - to sleep j i u a iies now., and. wished it and T mvRiif ood nhrhi : . tha . bovs i rrM. ed ajl their playthings, .'Mid then their mher took theni to bed, and . I at here where. I am; now, . looking into the darkening night I heard them sing the evening hymn Ellen and her mother, softly and clearly- the boys with loud, eager, ioyobs voices--and mv heart was very thlukVul for the very many blessings ' me. .. .- .-- 'That night there w. vouchsafed to b a greas cry in our house, as iu Eg pt of old, ! for our first-boru was to die. The fever had -. begun, - Oiu- ; iri ran from the house at midnight, .and we were left alone with our stricken ctoiu. xiie morning dawned., ihe boys awoke, and we bid them dress themselves, and go and play in the forest Meanwhile I Went to .Mars- ton, the nearest to w u,M fog - kh doctor and a nurse, resolved, on theii- arrival that I would take the boys away to I knew the woodman's wifer Annice she would take ' caro bf them. : But neither nurse or doctor could be. spar ed from Marston ; aiul all that buin- ing July day we watched by our dav- ling's bed, listening to the distant sound of the boys at play in the forest, commingled with her ravings. ' Hard ly ravings, neither, for there was notli ing frightful ; all was happiness j and peace, as her young life had been. She talked of Henry and Hugh, of hor birds and flowers, and if appearing in the presence of her dear Saviour. 'At last the long, dreadful day was wearing away. The sun - was lower- ing, and we saw tho struggle was near- ly over. Those who had - that fever rarely lived more than twenty-four hours, even the strong, much less one like our darlings About sunset I heard a yoice under the; window. It ' Was f Annice, who had heard of our troub le, and had come to help us. I went down to speak to her, and "she told me we were to part witn our merry. healthy boys." I had not dared "to so near them all day ; but we had heard their voices within an hour. But An nice had found them, and recognized tie ghastly signs too Well. ; I knew, too,' as soon as I saw them. I went back to tell their mothor, and- we sent Annice to be with them, and staved t-- with the one from whom we were first I to part. ' It was dark now, and the stars came out, and a red gliw on the hori- zon showed where the moon I rise by-and-by. JUienW; ?affiiling of walking as we had done last night.- i . - -r i ii. irapa, am very tired: do carry me jhome; ve are coming very hear home now.aren't we very near home ?' Then j we were in church. You have seen how tne sunset nent smnes pn tne monu- ment to the Lady Dimdale, harhtinsr up 1, . . . w I the sweet pure face that is raised to Heaven ? She thought she saw it. 'It is growing dark; I . want to see the glory on the monument. Ah ! there it is ; the head is bright and shining. ' It is; the head is bright and shining. is looking at me. I am coming. Such a glory is all around. I am coming. Wait till tne nymn is sung. or papa and mamma will be vexed. And sue j raised herself, and stretched, out her arms; and,, as loud and sweet as last 1 night she had sung m health and rea- son, she now sung the evening hymn ;.: " G,ory 10 thee th,s n,8ht ' . Tnme ohlkeeomd ' ' And so singing, the angel of Death, that had come' so gently to her, ' took her home. ' We stood by her grave that night, uhder the solemn stars,' and, grief -stricken, thanked the chastening Father for the child hi had given and taken away j But a great horror fell on me when We went back to Our remaining dear I ones. It was in bittej- anguish that 1 qui Uttle Harry left us. He was so strong and healthy,' jthat' he' striig- gled hard; to live. Hehvanfced to be jhe fresh air, and to cdol his burning hands in the sparkling brook. No vision of glory calmed his last; hour, and we Were thankful when the end had come. . Then Hmrb woke ub from the dead- O A He J saw his brother lie Btill ' and quiet saw his brother lie still' and quiet in his little crib; and wlien his mother took him on her lap, hTe said in his own Lir ift.ltarrvfa'' hMter I 0,.,ni;n tmlfn.-i Hornv i htxi I vmi m tiA- ,rt,4 mDmm' : 'His mother told him Harry would never be ill any more, and never sorry but. taken to his Saviour, would rest1 - . I and be happy for evermore.' 'I'll rest, too, till morning, mamma f . 1- i - and so, clasping bis little hands round1 her neck, he went to hks- eternal rest; and we were childless After the Httle coffins had been laid by the first we had followed there, -El- l utv -"" p nn that-aaat in the twilicrht. Welli do I remember the night The air was heavy with the scent if hay and flow- 1 j - ering bean-fields; bata wheeled round our heads, and great White moths and conk-chaffers flitted past usu We talk ed of our darlings, and how perhaps J even then, their angel was wen.. , vve had laid them in the dark ...bosom the earth for . pass, away oh time; but it would soon M; very, very soorvand present" bitter- 1 then how light the nessl , And, dear heart,' said to my be- INTO. '23. loved one, t 'we have stall" each qther we will not be desolate.' And we felt peace infour liearts, even Ihe ox?ae of. , r Godtm thUorldanfiOt giVe.'fiVU the pestilence that walketh in darlness, , hid not yet done its mission. V 1 " I' My dearest mywifa said" to mo lone dav'I dm iroiho-oljvU fU. you will then be alone, buVdo not let yqur heart break.. , A little, whilei-a few years and tlien we shall all. meet too - ether befom 'fhA fhrinA Wf u VxxU ,(. Lamb!' . , " ' I watched one day by my wife's dy ing bed,,-witJb.AiinjkKV and remember TOnrore 4?ong,frig3itfear dream,h :f deep stvipor, succeeded.' When Iawoke it was evening, and the golden lunshino was in my room. From tho; window I. could seo in the fw-est; I saw that rain S had fallen and the , crrass and leavpH were green again. The lurid mist had cleared away, and the-, sky ;, was uolt I and blue. All Iqpked joyous and glad ; but I knew there was no earthly glad- , nessior me; the blessed rain had -fal len 011 the graves of all . I InvM- . , .. . ! and - tne grass grew green them. upon ' I need hof tell of all' I suffered; it 1 has long gone by. When I first camo down Jiere from my ohambet,f all vas as I had left it tha night that sorrow first fell upon us. -The fgrv gathered by the fittfe nandfliat were stilled forever, were there, but dry and dead.' - I would not " let ''. iurythimV be ' moved. So they Tiave' : been for " fifty -" yearsand so they -will : be" till T ?nin " tWnfi who uh tfi:" Viu' ' i L 11- ' quiet evening I can see them i uualter- ed before me. EUenj ? my .wife, with . her quiet eyes and smile, in the ' wick-" er-work chair; and little Ellen deftly working by her side,, wjtb a sedate Wc manly look on her' sweet face; and' the)' boys at noisy play around theihY Ancl then I, feel that 1 am alona. Bat N Ha who tempers the wind . to tha . fehdn Iamb, has helped me through' all' my loneIydayir ; :;' 1 ;:,:"i , ' AnJ;ii6w,'all tave 4oH ig.'.toidi Perhaps you wonder at my telling it.H' I could not have done it . wenjy, ;,;not; cTcu wm jcaxa.wvj uuuxam- noy .. , ty-five years of age: , and' . iter innot be long ere the changes and chances of this mortal lrfe are over- for me. Alonglife have I had,and resfJill bQ sweet after( the burden and heat of the day. I never see the sunset light on the Lady Dimdale'a sweet face, with out thinking of the shining glory round that angelic head, that seemed to call my little Ellen home, and longing for the time when I too, shall go home to her, and her gentle mother and her two happy brothers. 1 i And when Mr. Morton was. silent, wo rose up entlyj an A badet . hint , gooa night, and walked home - .through" the quiet - iorest.- ane ' influence- of hiff . calm, resigned spirit seem! iA us td " TrvadA all ih;nrro. ;-ir gs; -and, J earnestlv prayed tnat wnen our , day, dark or sunshiny as it may be, is Qver, and tho golden evening falls,' that the wondrorja peace which is his, niay be ours also. J ohri and L as ye walked alongj talk- "T il . - , . . , I, ed seriously of our future life, and of the vast importance of possessing that j faith in Godand trust in the Saviour I which alone would fit us to endnrA ' wjth calmness the, shocks -of, earthlv sorrow and trial. And the twih'ghfc fell gently around us as .we came to the cottager-door. The Uible Grows With One. If you come to Holy Scriptures with growth In grace, ahd with ' '''aspirations r : for yet higher" ' ai-tammen grows witn you, grows . upon yon. It j"' Deyna V0B ana cheerriy cnesi ' Higher- yetr EtCelsior I?11 Manr - ?-. "ago, Ll t h have m -"? aisappointment, I shall never read them again, f.ir they- no sernoe w ;-'They; fet T t t UC 80 Were the 'ItWa years Did but I have' outgrown them l"A Jtn?w mo? bnan these books kfloW H ; ."T'"-' vr;v. foon, widens and deepens with pur , jears.T Itis true,- tt umot really, for it is per fect; but it does so to "our 'apprehen " sion. The deepr you dig iBtoSdrlriHrvv the more ou find that it is 'o great abyss of truth. .The beginner !dearna ur & po.o orxdoxy and mt SpedSwS " fait a bit, and ; i vriicii Ltio ouui gurwu auu JtllOWa more of Christ, ho will confess V Thv'vrrt I ' . - " f vyui- niandmentis exceetirng broad I have ?begUn .ff If "S" : ti A demure-kokim chap-hailed & - charcoal peddlerwith the query .uhave you, gt charcoal in your wagon ? yes," ' ' ciiwcwirr cmver, stop his horses. .rThat'fl. rhrht." h. , . serVe the demure chaol with an atw" of proving hod " always teU "the iruS v land people wrll respect faxLtAd 1 W ii1 c nmrieraninnich to th-regrotlof ther Peddler; w,ho1waa 'getting out of rthe f.i: wagon to look for a brick. 3ubscribe for the Faaan. Qnly i ii ii ii