Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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M I Li ^ jg LEmsM.GMS^ <|n |nbepenkit jfamilj letospper: Jfor tj;e |ramatirnt of % $oIitiraI, Social, ^grienltnral mt& Commercial Interests of % Sontfr, VOL 13. ~~ YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 9, 1867. ISO. & * i ? JU Anginal ?tomjclettc. [copyright sectred.] THE SHADOW ON THE WALL. A 8TOBY OF OOLOHIAL VTBEHTIA. BY JOHN E8TEN COOKE, ESQ., Author of "Surry, of E(i*Je't Net," "Weurinc the Gr?y," "Life of'Stonewall' Jackion," etc. XL the events of a morning. The young man saluted the ladies and their cavaliers, who were all his familiar acquaintances, and then looked round for Honoria. She was not visible. . The explanation was simple. The young lady hAd seen him coming up the hill, and not desiring to greet him coldly, in presence of the guests, had], retired to her mother's chamber. There Innis found her, and received his first les- ' son. There was a studied coolness and absence of all cordiality in the lady's address, which struck him like a blow. There was no possibility of mistaking it, and even Lady Brand observed it with surprise. Innis drew himself up proudly, and without ta - - * i king any notice of the girl's manner, exchanged a few words with Lady Brand and descended to the parlor. "Why what has happened to you and Edmund, my daughter ?" asked Lady Brand. "Tour bearing toward him was as cold as possible." "Don't ask me, mamma!" was the hasty reply of the young girl, who turning aside her head to conceal the impulsive tears in her eyes, hastened out of the apartment to her own chamber. In half an hour, she made her appearance in the parlor. Innis was leaning moodily on the mantlepiece, listening with ill-concealed weariness, to the prattle of a young lady who cared only to secure a listener of the opposite sex. With a slight oolor in her choeks, Honoria passed to the opposite side of the room and sat down. Her re-appearance was joyfully hailed by the gentlemen, who declared that now she had returned, the sun shone again?a mode of address very popular at that period?and the ladies had better embrace the opportunity for a pleasant walk. This was unanimously agreed to, and soon the whole party had sallied out upon the hill, in the brilliant ? suiiduiuc. In spite of her attempts to escape him, Honoria. found herself, after a while, separated from the rest, and walking with Innis. The young man had determined to fathom, at once, the cause of her coldness. But he had a true woman to deal with?one who had resolved to'explain nothing. The result was, that after toying vainly, for an hour, to extract an explanation, Innis gave up in despair. "So be it, Honoria," he said with mournful pride; "then you have changed?you no longer have any affection for me, and you will not even give a reason for your altered demeanor. But one course remains for me to pursue. To stay at Haddon longer would make me wretched, and throw a gloom over your company. I will not intrude myself, and in an hour shall return home." "A deep blush reddened the girl's cheeks and tears came to her eyes. She had not expected so prompt a course upon the young man's part, and a sudden heaving of the bosom displayed the depth of her emotion. "Oh! no, no," she said impulsively, laying her hand upon his arm ; "you must not go 1" She had quickly lost all her coldness, and the tearful eyes, fixed upon him with earnest entreaty, left no doubt as to her real feelings. ' 'But you are angry with me?you are as cold as an icicle,'' replied the youth in the same melancholy tone, although his heart bounded at the warm pleading accents. "I am not?angry," she faltered, looking away ft and raising her handkerchief to her eyes, "but it * is best?that we should not?" The words died away in a sob. "Should not what?" he said impulsively, seizing her hand. "Speak Honoria! What mysteiy fV.;a? Ynn can trust in me, can you not? 0, do you no longer love me, or trust me ?" "Oh! heaven is my witness that I love you? faithfully?as my cousin?and I act from affection ?not coldness!" The words were accompanied by a passionate' sob, and the young lady leaned her head against the trunk of the great oak beneath which they stood, and seemed to be convulsed with agitation. It was the reaction of the over-burdened heart, the outburst of the stream of affection for so many hours arrested in its course, and ever rising higher. Innis pressed the hand which he held, almost convulsively, and said with glowing cheeks, "Speak, Honoria! explain all this. You act from affectum?" "Yes, Oh! yes, from true affection." "And that affection prompts you to treat me coldly?" "Yes." The young man remained silent for a moment, ^ endeavoring vainly to comprehend the hidden W truth. Then a sudden paleness succeeded the glow of feeling, and raising his head proudly, he said as he released her hand, "I now know your meaning!" "You know?" she exclaimed, raising her head quickly and gazing at him through her tears. "Yes," he said,' with the melancholy pride of a i manly heart, that even in the depth of its wretchedness, refuses to complain. "Yes, I understand, Honoria. At last you have reflected upon the difference of our conditions. Upon the gulf which separates and must ever separate the poor young man, obscure and alone in the world, from the ? J trr^rvm oil mnsnire to love and r1 nauercu nou?? r. ? r? __ ' cherish?" -t "Edmund!" she exclaimed almost wildly, "you must not, shall not!?" "Alas!" he said, interrupting her with the same gloomy pride in his voice and countenance, it is toe true, and you only exclaim against it from tenderI ness for my feelings?from consideration for the [l poor friend who was your playmate for many hap[ p py years, and loved you faithfully." I "Edmund! Edmund!" she repeated faintly, ^; "this is cruel?ungenerous?'' W~ "But it is true," be again interrupted in a voice hoarse with emotion. Yes, it is the woful truth which, because my heart is breaking, I have the courage to tell you! You have found at last, my poor darling?let me call you so, it is the first and last time?you have found that the present cannot be like the past, because the xcorld has its claims upon you! You find that Miss Brand, of Haddon, * must be governed by her station?and I do not blame you. 1 am so wretched that I would not i have the heart to inflict upon my bitterest foe the j j torture I now feel, but I say to you calmly, I do I' not blame you. I shall go back to my poor house j yonder and endeavor to forget you?but now, beV fore we part, I will utter what has boiled in mj ' breast for months, almost for years! I love you, j Honoria! I love you neither as your friend 01 your cousin, but with a man's love for a woman! i Love does not express my feeling?no word car convey it. The very ground your feet have touch i ed, has been dear to me ! Your glove or bracelet J or anything you have worn, have been more pre K cious than tongue can tell. I have loved youB loved you night aud morning, in joy and in sorrow Bfhr ?as my only solace. You took the place cf fath er and mother and family?you were my all! The light of my poor lonely life, the hope of the future, \ the pride and joy of my heart! That is all! You know it now?and now?farewell!" He extended his hand, but suddenly the young girl's form wavered, her head fell languidly, and had not Innis caught her in his arms, she would ( have fallen to the earth. Overcome by the long ? and passionate conflict, too heavily taxed for the strength of the young heart, and nearly suffocated t with emotion, Honoria fainted in the young man's arms. 1 They were on the margin of the stream, and the \ contact of cold water on her forehead, speedily re- 1 vived her. ? Innis would then have withdrawn his support, 1 but to his inexpressible surprise and joy, the fair i arms clung to him, and the face of the girl was t buried in his bossom. t "Do not leave me!" she exclaimed "Oh! do i not go, Edmund! I, too, have loved dearly?loved i you!" i And as though the avowal had exhausted her ? strength, the young girl, clasped the raised arms i round his neck, and hiding her blushing cheeks, shook with a vague, delirious tremor, in his close t embrace. t A few words onljr, a glance, the pressure of two - - - - - -- i/?i i 1 fond hearts beating rapidly ; and a great gun naa i opened between the past and present of the youth and maiden. i Innis raised the blushing face from his breast, 1 and with a long kiss, the youthful lovers sealed i their troth. i Such were the events of a morning. < xn. j DOUBTS AND FEARS. We may live monotonous lives from month to month, and from year to year, but comes the mo- j ment when a simple word, a tone of the voice, a ( gesture, throws a gulf between the present and ] the past j That brief interview between Edmund Innis and , Honoria Brand, shaped all their future lives. 1 The young man had acted without reflection?on < the spur of the moment He had yielded to the j fiery impulse of his heart, and with a delicious terror, a fearful triumph, he contemplated the chang- { ed relations between himself and Honoria. The old coldness, doubt, misunderstanding, all had ( passed away like mist before the sun; and in the ; blessed hour which succeeded that long embrace, ^ their hearts were opened to each other, and evajy- j thing explained. But their happiness was not Q without bitter alloy. :( What hope could they have of conciliating Sir D Rezin and gaining his consent ? That was the wo- i ful question. They well knew how ambition ruled with the baronet, and scarcely a possibility existed c that he would give his beautiful daughter, at oncef( his darling and his pride, to one so poor as Innis. p His views upon this point had never been a secret^ Sir Rezin had invariably impressed upon the young)n lady, the absolute necessity which rested upon one^y so high born, wealthy and beautiful, to match hery; self with none but the highest in the land ; and noW he would be called upon to give her to the povertyon stricken youth?to part with this pearl of greaijf price, to a very beggar! ( All this pressed gloomily on the youthfafo hearts, still trembling and agitated from the suddeiy. load of happiness. And Innis had still anothe^ subject of disquiet. "Would not his course be mis^"y interpreted and attributed to the basest motives y. Would not Sir Bezin meet him on the very thresh old with an insult?with the charge that he ha^ vilely abused the trust reposed in him, and take advantage of that intimacy at Haddon, to practi ^ on the inexperienced heart of the young heiress' at The youth's proud heart grew chill at the ver idea of such an accusation; and he felt what te, terribly false position he was placed in. Wb ya could he do, but protest his innocence?declare i ^ charge unjust? He knew Sir Rezin perfect ^ however, and felt that this would be wholly va wj The reply would be another insult?they woi ^ come to open quarrel?then?what ? The baroi was Honoria's father, the master of her destir! He, Edmund Innis, could only leave the houses ey which he was insulted?and leave Honoria. As these thoughts chased themselves throti the youth's mind, his brow overclouded, ande ye girl, who had surrendered her whole being toe delirious influence of her deep feeling, could )t gj, drive away the shadow. an "My poor darling," said the youth, pressingis at lips tenderly upon the blushing cheek, "I fearit this day will prove the beginning of many sur- cc ings for you. But let us trust in God and be en for the best I sec little hope of moving Sih- y. zin, but time may remove these obstacles id ec| make us happy. If you love me?and you dore th me, Honoria, do you not?" The reply was a closer embrace, which madll words unnecessary. fu "Then," he said, as though she had sptn w; - ' ? ? vr /? ,i in audibly, "we need iear notning. lour iatneiui fu never force you to wed another, and you will it ]0, for me. Now to repair the indiscretion whi l gj. have committed in speaking to-day. You nt, dr at once, tell your mother all that has happened#! an follow her advice." . av "I intended to ?at once, Edmund," waaie an murmured reply. ~~ (j0 "And I will act as she bids me," he said. ">w jU; let us return." ^ Another long, close embrace, a lingering 33, pi and the two young hearts were separated. ^ Innis and Honoria returned slowly to the li jn The young lady's interview with her mier ,U( soothed and reheved her feelings, but gave hiit- cu tie hope. * # aT1 "My poor, poor child," said Lady Brand, vw; ing the form of the sobbing girl more closely tier side and smoothing the disordered hair, "Ive yj, long feared this, and trembled for your hap^ss sh without the heart or strength to arrest the frse ;n of things. Your growing attachment to Edind th has been 110 secret to me, and now that hias tii ; spoken, I can only bid you wait and hope fihe K i best. Were I alone to decide, I would not ian gu instant think of offering opposition, for Edm* js a noble young man and fully worthy of you. iut he is poor, and you know your father's viewaon M the subject I can only say now, that sonieng may occur to remove these obstacles. Edud ^ may make his mark in the colonj^ and th%i]] i change Sir Rezin's views materially. Thifall i that I can now say, my own Honoria; you seiat w( ! I am almost as much agitated as yourself-ou m. have done right in coming tome. Godk<us . from suffering and misfortune." j, ; Another fond embrace and the mothe,nd daughter parted. tjc Honoria remained for many hours alone aer :n ; chamber, and we shall not intrude upon herVa- aD ; cy. When she rc-appearcd in the drawing 0m ^ ! her face and demeanor were calm and collect<for ) she had prayed earnestly, and summoned jjer i aid both religious trust and the courage of he^e. Henceforth, she would be a woman?no lov a ' giddy girl; and would brave herself for thetrd , struggle which she saw before her. er Innis, by her own request, had left the ha^ut ex ! with the logical inconsistency of love, she lonj to na i look upon his face again, and blushed ahe ye - thought. For the first time, it seemed styt in* , how dearly, how absorbingly, she loved him. re' When she laid her head that night up^e - pillow, her lips still murmured a prayer; i jn fit 7 her dreams, she saw before her the beloved^ m - the noble smiling lips and clear blue eyes. T er Between her past and future, a great gulf had ruh yawned. Henceforth, she must ad. XTTT. * FATING THE DUMB CAKE. Ue festivities at Haddon were drawing to a lose The guests had exhausted eveiy species of untfement, and were about to separate. One ceremony only remained?the Eating of feDumb Cake. 1his singular rite?if we may call it such?had kA from time immemorial, a popular amusement vitk young people in the Colony. The object of ^ceremony was to ascertain the personal appearin# of a maiden's future husband: and to achieve coveted end, solemn and mysterious devices ,v<je resorted to. First, a bucket was filled from mystic locality where three streams met, and hs was placed in the chamber of the young lady vb would make the essay. Upon retiring, she nftaontne garment nearest ner person, dip tne -i/fct-sleeve in the water, and placing it upon a i&air, fix her eyes upon it when the clock struck ijjuight. The figure of the future husband was sure to ijiear from the folds of the garment, and the fu*e thus lie patent to the eyes of the maiden. Such was the ceremony called, for some unoown reason, Eating the Dumb Cake. The merry guests unanimously fixed upon Honoi for the present occasion. She was little in the imor, however, for amusement, at the moment, ( id at first refused. This refusal was not listened The gay crowd protested agrinst her indiffer- ] ice to the important result, and declared that |e "must be engaged to somebody without her Mier's consent," or she would never be so obsti- , ite. j At these words, Honoria gave a sudden start, i id the little maiden who had uttered the words, ied out and clapped her hands in triumph, ad- ( ng that the only proof which she could give of ] ir being "in maiden meditation fancy free," ] juld be a compliance with the wishes of the com- ] my. _ , Honoria, fearful of discovery, and caring little r the idle ceremony, which was easily complied < ith, thereupon consented; aud the night preceng the departure of the guests was fixed upon, j The meny crowd had their last dance together f i the appointed evening, and many jests were ut- ( red at the expense of the heroine of the night le party was all the more merry, from the fact ( at a violent storm was raging fearfully without, ] d the old negro fiddler sawed away at his instru- , ent with a happy consciousness that he was "in j ,tof the weather," with a smoking supper in ] e distance. As the night advanced, Honoria appeared irra- , inally gay. She joined in the dance, the war of 2 )rds, and the general merriment with unusual j irit Something feverish might, it is true, have , en perceived in her voice and gestures, but no j c stopped to regard her. The youthful compa' were determined, apparently, to end their frolic j th unabated gaiety. The hour of eleven finally arrived, and every e, weary of the revel, separated for the night? J any jests were uttered at the expense of Hono- { i, and when she retired alone to the chamber ^ ;ed upon as the scene of the ceremony, the som- | e silence grew oppressive. She felt tliat the ( fd merriment which she had taken part in, had ] ertaxed her strength; nnd as she now sat by the using wood fire, and leaning her head pensively ( on her hand, listened to the roar of the storm i thout, a profound lassitude, the result ofre-ac- j n after exoitement, seized upon her. Her nerves d been too violently agitated, and she trembled every sound. As her eyes fell upon the bucket, filled with wa- 1 r by a ready-handed and superstitious maid sernt, from a spot on the Haddon estate where . ree rivulets met, she realized, for the first time, e meaning of the ceremony?half grotesque? ' rich she had undertaken to perform. On that 1 glit she was to see the form of her future husband, ' d the face of Edmund rose to her mind, and 1 ide her blush crimson. Could any other person ( er sustain toward her, that most sacred relation? lis it within the bounds of possibility, that any * her human being could be her husband f At the ( ry thought, the cheek, which had reddened so ' ipulsively, as quickly grew pale; and the young rl sat, like a marble statue, staring at the tall dirons, whose grinning heads seemed laughing j and mocking her. By degrees, the nervous agitation which had sue- ] eded the wild gaiety of the drawing room, deep- 1 ed. The storm roared with a fury far more som- 1 If .1 .1 c and appalling tnan oeiore; me tsuuuuwa usouuirnore threatening shapes, and at every sound * e young girl started, looking around, and shud- * ring. j This nervous excitement finally grew so power- ' 1, that she scarcely dared to move. With a treming frame and colorless cheeks, she listened fear- < lly: and once she almost screamed aloud, for a ] v painful breathing seemed to issue from the ' eat white bed, which, with its spectral curtains, 1 awn together like a shroud, alternately appeared ' d disappeared as the firelight leaped aloft or died ray. The breathing had scarcely ceased, when I .other sound of terror was presented to her. The < rk-browed scowling portrait of an old ancestor, < st above the mantelpiece, seemed suddenly en- 1 wed with life, and the cruel, stony eyes, were i ainly eyes of flesh and blood, which glittered as ey were fixed upon her, with a heartless triumph ] her agony. As she looked, the eyes became / ore threatening and fierce, the heavy moustache rled aloft, the white sharp teeth grinned at her, i d the form seemed on the point of stepping from ] e frame into the chamber. i Houoria started and rose to her feet, trembling 1 olently. Her fear had reached its climax; and e felt that unless she dissipated the influence clos- 1 g round her, she might faint from terror. She < ought of calling for assistance, but the fury of e storm, now spending its last strength, would ndcr her voice inaudible; and she shrank from ch an exhibition of weakness. 1 No, she would not become the laughiug stock of e crowd; she would perform the ceremony, and . quietly to sleep. If she really thought there j is more than a foolish jest in it, she would not ] us tempt Providence?it was only a jest, and she i >uld play it to the end. 1 nn lnncrnr m pill lit T milfit nfflVe ttlVSelf ft 1 jl am uv iviigvi w j ? ? r. , ^ )man," she murmured "for his sake, if not for 1 jrown!" ( And partly disrobing herself, the young lady t need tbe snowy garment upon the chair before ? c fire--first dipping the right sleeve in the mys- ? ! water, and fearful, trembling, holding her breath ' spite of all her brave resolves, knelt and prayed; ! d then retired to the great spectral couch, which ' e dying fire made more than ever like a ghost ( raiting its victim. 1 XIV. f THE EVENTS OP A NIGHT. The occurrences of that terrible night were nev- I clearly explained by the young lady, and she 1 hibited throughout her life, a manifest repug- j nee to any allusion to the subject That they t ry seriously affected her character, and made an j iellible impression upon her mind, there is no j ason to doubt. ( What we proceed to relate was gathered rather >m her broken exclamations on the succeeding ( orning, when, with her face buried in her moth- , 's bosom, she spoke with sobs and nervous shud- ' dcring of the event, than from any connected narrative. When she retired to her couch it was nearly midnight This was established by the fact that the company separated at eleven; and the young lady's reverie by the fire in her chamber had not contin- i ued more than half an hour. She hod always been famous among her companions?in addition ' to all this?for the singularly brief time which she j expended at her toilette, night and morning, and \ all these circumstances taken together, seem to es- i tablish that it was probably about a quarter of an < hour, or twenty minutes before midnight, when 1 with a fearful heart and trembling limbs, she j sought her couch. She hod slept but a brief period, she declared, ] when the vague sense of something hostile and i threatening near her person, dissipated her slum- j ber. Some one, or something, seemed to have entered her apartment; and she heard again the ( VaAniliiMM atwl flia anting IVTT yaiuivu Vicauuu^] i>uv vuowuvw dvuuu V* a footfall on the carpet floor. She was enabled to distinguish this ruinate sound from the fact that the storm had expended its fury completely and died away; the drifting clouds revealing, as they swept away, the great blood-red moon, which was then just rising, in sombre majesty, above the eastern forest. The fire had nearly all died out, and a quick leaping flame, which from time to time licked the expiring embers, lit up the white garment on the chair, to plunge it suddenly into gloom again. The horrible breathing continued, and the young lady lay shuddering on her couch, gazing with distended eyes upon the objects in the apartment.? Again she heard the footfall distinctly, for no other sound was audible throughout the silent mansion; and this time it seemed to approach close to the bed. With a sudden movement, the result of the deepest terror and nervous excitement, she shrunk beneath the covering of the bed, completely hiding ber whole person, aid lay thus for some moments listening. The breathing ceased and she again cautiously raised the covering and looked forth.? As she did' so, the huge clock upon the stairs without, struck slowly?twelve! It was at this moment that the strange and almost incredible part of the adventure began. As the young lady's eyes fell upon the opposite wall, she raw in the mnonlicht a ricantic shadow, an parently thrown by a man holding a' dagger?and ( this shadow struck three times, at the snowy garment resting on the chair before the fire. The j foung lady uttered a low cry, and closing her eyes j Pell back fainting upon the couch, from which she i lad half risen. How long she lay thus, she could not tell, but 1 ivhen she came to her senses the moonlight had dis- 1 appeared, and the apartment was illuminated only j 5y chance gleams of fire-light as before. Tliis dis- ( ippearanoe of tho fearful shadow gave her cour- j ige, and summoning all her philosophy to her as- f dstance, she endeavored to dissipate the effect of i ler late terror. In this attempt, she so far succeeded that she ? jrew alarmed of her nervous fear, which she now egarded as the result of a disagreeable dream ; 1 ind with a sudden effort of resolution, determined 1 o issue from her couch and examine the garment jefore the fire. She proceeded to do so, with a ^ jembling frame and blanched cheeks. The apart- ^ nent was bitter cold, for the dying fire gave out t io warmth; and her bare feet shrank from the 1 jhill floor. She courageously approached the fire, i aowever, caught the garment with an uncertain hand, and shook it nervously. No sooner had she done so than an antique dag- 'J ;er, with the hilt curiously carved with armorial j levices, fell rattling upon the floor: and in the areast of the linen three gashes were visible. The remainder of the young lady's narrative may 1 be briefly given. A strange recklessness seized her, she declared ; and grasping the dagger, she hur- ^ ried to a great old chest of drawers in the corner, . jpened it, and hid the weapon. She walked with { uncertain steps to the bed, fell upon it, and lost 1 jonsciousness. 1 When the maid entered in the morning to make f ;he fire, the young lady was lying in her thin night } Iress upon the outside of the bed, asleep or un- \ jonscious, and almost paralyzed with cold. i For three days she had a burning fever, but at 1 ;he end of that time, her native strength of consti- 1 sution overcame the terrible fright and exposure. ] Honoria soon made her appearance in the drawing room again?now free from guests?and aided ? n the preparations rapidly being made for the j visit to Williamsburg. As to her night's adventure, she had communi4-/% AAmnaninno Tho frQVITlPnf ;utcu liUtiling IV 11C1 WiUpaillVUOi AUV ^imwvmvj >n examination, was found unharmed?no rent was risible?and the great chest of drawers was fast locked, as it had been, for twenty years. The events of the night were not spoken of exjept to the young lady's mother, but the gay pouths and maidens declared that Honoria "must have seen something," and her fever was long talked of in the region, in connection with subsejuent occurrences. And now what shall we say of the whole narrative ? Was the young lady the victim of a morbid Iream? Was the terrible "breathing" in her ihatnber simp.? the low rustle of the autumn leaves without? The shadow on the wall, cast by i great bough of the spectral"oak in the moonlight ?and half seen., half felt, in her troubled sleep?? Did she dream that she arose from her couch, and shook the white garment, and hid the dagger ?? Was the whole adventure naught but the result of nervous agitation, or that superstitious fear implanted in the girl by those old nurses, who invariably warp the youthful mind with their weird ales? Let him who can do so, reply to all these questions. We cannot. The profoundest intellect that ?ver dwelt in human brain has said : "There ore more thing* in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamed of In your philosophy." Aud no one, ever yet established Hamlet's mad- j less. r [to be continued next week.] What Luther Loved.?Luther, when study- c ng, always had his dog lying at his feet?a dog he lad brought from Wartburg, and of which he was i rery fond. An ivory crucifix stood at the table be- a ore him. Ho worked at his desk days together 1 vithout going out; but when fatigued, and the c deas began to stagnate, he took his guitar with lim to the porch, and there executed some musi&1 fantasy (for he was a skillful musician), when c .he ideas would flow upon him as fresh as flowers y ifter a summer's rain. Music was his invariable f solace at such times. Indeed, Luther did not hesiate to say that, after theology, music was the first if arts. "Music," said he, "is the art of the jrophets; it is the only other art which, like theol- <j )gy} can calm the agitation of the soul and put the j levil to flight," Next to music, if not before it, t Luther loved children and flowers. That great c jnarled man had a heart as tender as a woman's. The Journey of Life.?Ten thousand human icings set forth together on their journey. After en years one-third, at least, have disappeared, e it tne middle point of the common measure of life, c )ut half are still upon the road. Faster and faster, o is the ranks grow thinner, they that remain till iow become weary, and lie down and rise no more, r it three-score and ten, a band of some four hun- o Ired yet struggle on. ; v At ninety, these have been reduced to a handful >f thirty trembling patriarchs. Year after year t hey fall in diminishing numbers. One lingers, li lernaps a lonely marvel, till the century is over.? e IfYe look again, and the work of death is finished. fjpsMlMMitiS martini}. JACK SPROUT'S CONVERSION. Jack Sprout swore a terrible oath. In fact he swore a number of oaths, for he was very angry.? It was nothing wonderfulfor Jack Sprout to swear, even in the presence of his wife, for he was sadly given to the habit of using profane language. And yet Jack was a good husband; an indulgent father; an honest, industrious man; an accommodating neighbor; and he possessed many other excellences of character which might nave made him a valuable member of society had it not been for certain loose habits which had marked his course from childhood. His parents had been careless and profane before him; his father had been a tough, rough customer; so Jack naturally enough came up in the same track. But he was good looking, and kind hearted, and genial and social, and so he had gained for a wife one of the very best maidens af our country town, as well as one of the handsomest Master Freddy Sprout, aged five years, stood by his mother's side, with a sadly begrimmed ana tear-streaked face, and his stoiy was that Solomon &ordon had whipped him with a stick, and the boy's legs still bore a few slight tokens of the castigation. Two other boys had come home with Master Freddv. and their testimony corroborated that which the sufferer had given. Freddy, with 3ome of his playmates, had been throwing stones it Mr. Gordon's dog, and one of the missiles hurlad by Freddy had hit the animal and caused him to howl with pain. Of course the stone thrown by 3uch a tiny hand could not have inflicted much injury upon the canine brute; but Solomon Gordon loved nis dog, and when he saw what had been lone, he caught Master Freddy and gave him a thrashing; for, be it known, Solomon Gordon was lust sucn another man as Jack Sprout?warmhearted, generous and neighborly, but rough, unjducated, strong-willed, ana impulsive. Jack Sprout put on his hat and prepared to sallv forth. His lips were pale and tightly compressed, ind the huge muscles in his arms worked like buniles of rope. "Dear Jack," pleaded his wife, "don't go out 10W." "Let me alone. Abbv. No man shall strike a ;hild of mine without having a chance to strike ine. I shall go and see Sol. Gordon, and I'll give him such a licking he won't forget it in a hurry I" A.nd Jack closed the sentence with a terrible oath. "No.no, Jack; don't go. What good will it lo? Wait until you are more cool!" "Pshaw I Go away, Abby. There is not elough power on earth to save Sol. Gordon from a Irubbing; and I'll give it to him before the sun joes down!" And as Jack Sprout looked, at the moment, he jave awful eyidence that he was physically able to nake good his word; for a more magnificent struc;ure of frame-work and muscle was not to be found n the town. "Dear Jack," cried the wife, taking her husiand by the arm, "Oh, do listen to me one monent Freddy is not much hurt, and he ought lot to have thrown stones at Gordon's dog. You mow, both Solomon and his wife set everything by ;he little animal, and he would not bark at the wys if they did not plague him. If you go and ind Gordon as you are now, you will only make natters worse. Oh, I wish yon would drop it" Jack only shook his head, and smiled one of hose smiles which are terrible upon the face of m angry man. _ "On, Jack, ifvou would only try the effect of rindnpaa nnnn Snlmririn f "Ha is .1 ffond man at leart?" Jack interrupted his wife with a derisive sneer. "Don't laugh at me, Jack. I tell you it would >e better to do so than to resort to blows. If you vere attacked, I should not blame you for fighting ;o protect yourself; but this is not a case that calls 'or your strength of muscle. There is a higher ind a nobler strength that you can use now." "Oho!" uttered Jack, "you are preaching.? ifou are giving me some of your Sunday school essons. But I don't want'em. You may expedience religion as much as you please, but you uustn't preach the stuff to me." "Jack," spoke the wife, with stern solemnity, 'have I been any worse since I began to have an nterest in religious things?" "No, Abby?you were always good." "Then why will you not listen to ine? If you vill stay with me now?if you will wait until your mger is cooled?and then go and speak kindly to Solomon Gordon, I give you my solemn pledge hat you will feel a thousand times better than you vill if you?" But Jack would not hear his wife out. He had iworn that he would keep his word. His temper was at the boiling point, and he was fairly aching jo get his hands upon the man who had dared to striae his boy; for Freddy was his pet, and every jlow that had been laid upon the child's body had nade a mark of fire upon his own heart. So he Dut his wife away from him and hurried from the louse, slamming the door after him. Away went Jack Sprout with rapid, heavy strides; and had Solomon Gordon fallen in his way ust then, he would most assuredly have been severely beaten; for though Solomon was a stout, jold man, yet Jack was a veiy Hercules. But Jack was destined to get pretty thoroughly jooled off before he met the object of his wrath. \s he approached the bridge that spanned the iver just below the falls, he heard loud cries of darm, and upon hurrying forward he found that 1 boy had fallen from one of the projecting timbers into the water. He looked over the railing md saw the little fellow just coming to the surface if the foaming, boiling flood?a curly headed boy, ust about the age of his own darling Freddy? stretching forth his tiny hands in an agony of desDair. It was a terrible place, that seething, roarng pool, where the waters of the great river came xmring down from over the high dam; but Jack lid nothesitate. He forgot his enemy?forgot everything but the danger of the little one?and only itopping to kick off his boots, and throw aside his ?at, he leaped down into the angry flood. He jaught the boy in his arms, and then struck for ;he shore. It was a mighty, mighty conflict, but he strong man persevered. More than once those vho had gathered upon the bridge and upon the ocks had reason to fear that neither the man nor he boy would come forth alive; but Jack held his )wn against the mighty torrent, and finally reached he shore, where many hands were ready to help lim. As for himself, a few minutes action assurid him that he was able to walk; and he had susained no injuries save a few trifling bruises. As or the boy, he had come forth in safety; for Jack lad held him high above the water during all the ime of his struggle. And when Jack Sprout had regained his strength, ind was able to speak, he looked to see the hoy hat he had saved, and he saw that it was Andy jrordon, a bright-eyed, curly-haired, fair-faced boy, jot a year older than was his own son Freddy. "Where's papa," asked the dripping child. "He is comiDg," answered some one in the xowd. Jack looked up and saw Solomon Gordon comng?Solomon, pale and terror stricken?and with dl possible haste he seized his coat and boots and mrriod aw.iv. He could not meet Solomon Gor ion then. "Mercy! What is it, Jack?" Mrs. Sprout was alarmed. Her husband was Iripping wet, his step was tottering, his breathing vas labored, and there was a livid mark upon his orehead as though he had received a heavy blow. "It is nothing, Abby." "Has Solomon " "Pshaw! D'ye think Sol. Gordon could have lone this? I have been in the river. A little boy lad fallen from the bridge right into the flood beleath the falls. I jumped m and brought him ?ut" "Alive?'/ "Yes, alive and unhurt." ' 'Oh, thank God 1 Whose child was it, Jack ?" "Don't stop to ask questions, Abby, but make oe a cup of strong tea, while I get on some dry lothes. My soull I think I had a narrow dodge fit" Jack put on dry garments, and when had he ested awhile, he drank his tea; and in the course f an hour all traces of exhaustion had passed arav. I tell you, Abby, I have had a good many ough jobs in my day, but I have never had one ike that before. A weaker man than I could nevi have brought out that child alive." "Oh, how grand it is, Jack, to use one's strength in such a cause I But whose child was it? Bo you not know?" Before Jack could answer, the outer door was a! unceremoniously opened, and Solomon Gordon en- h tered the apartment Abbv shrank back in alarm it ) when she saw how pale and excited the man look- o ed and how he trembled, for she did not notioe ii the moist brimming light that shone in his swol- p len eyes. a I "Jack I" spoke the new comer, in a gasping man- a ner at the same time holding out both his hands, h ; Be choked and stammered, but presently gained o strength to add: "Oh, my God, what can I say, 01 , Jacki Jack! Jack!" Here the stout man broke a entirely down, and burst into tears. ^ # t< Jack almost as much affected as was the visitor, f( arose, and took the extended hand. tl "Never mind, Sol. It's all right 1" h "No, no," cried Gordon, "it isn't all right It d never can be right 01 what can I do? Jack, ? if I could only go bock u. where I was this morn- n i ning! My God! I beat your child for a trifling p thing, and you have saved mine from a terrible g death ? saved him almost at the expense of your own life. Bo any thing you like, but only for- v give mo for what I did to your little Fredd v?for- o give me so that this saving act of yours shan't be h olmoTTQ Ulrn n Vioan nf nnolo nnnn mv VipaJ !" il And then with sudden impulse?under the in- si fluence of such an emotion as he had never before a experienced, Jack Sprout said: # . J Solomon, I tell you it's all right You have il i no more reason to thank Ood that I saved your tl child than I have. When I went forth from my d house I was full of wrath and madness, and curses d were upon my lips and in my heart I should u have sought such revenge as the wild beasts seeks, m Is it not better that I found your little Andy in n the flood? and is it not better that my great fi strength was used in saving his life ? I forgive ii you, sol., from the bottom of my heart And now, p I say, it's all right." _ -a And so was cemented a friendship, holy and cl lasting. a Seemingly slight perturbations in tho current of tl a man's life sometimes work marvelous changes for good or eviL "Abby," said Sprout? it was late in the evening, and they had been sitting for some time with- ai out speaking ?''I believe I am converted.'' n "Jack!" a; "Yes, Abby, I am converted. Saul of Tarsus, b that you read to Freddy about last Sunday, was si not more suddenly brought to light than I have tl been. Jteally ana truly, there is more virtue in ? kindness than in enmity?it blesses everything and tl everybody. He who bestowsit is as much blessed b as he who receives it" ti And then the wife, with her arm placed gently n around her husband's neck, gently, kindly said: ti "Dear, Jack, wouldn't we both be happier if we y would try to live bv the blessed rules laid down tl by the Saviour. On! I know that they were given by One who sought our highest good, and I think tl we should find much joy in trying to square our lives by the golden rules.'' And Jack, with a kiss, made answer; "My dar- a ling, we will try." o ? ?? n THE FEAST OF CHERRIES. tl I Tn fVn nonlw norf r\P Tio OirfAAnfll A^nHlTV nllpp. JLU VUV VM11J |yi?i V U* VUV UlAWVUIMi WllVtMJ] wuw* ries were very rare in Germany. There had been . a rot, and it was with the utmost difficulty that any could be preserved. < But a citizen of Ham- w burg, named Wolf, had in the middle of town a n ' walled garden, and in the garden he had gathered the rarest of cherry trees, and by constant watch- . fulness he had kept away the disease from his fruit, so that he alone possessed healthy cherry trees, ? and those in great abundance, bearing the juciest P of cherries. All who wished cherries must go to him for them, and he sold them at the highest prices, so that every season he reaped a great har- e vest of gold from his cherries. Far and near, Wolf's cherry trees were known, and he grefr rich- v er and more famous. One season when his cherry trees were in bios- a sorn, and giving promise of an abundant crop, a _ war broke out in the North of Germany, in which ^ Hamburg was invaded. The city was besieged, aud so surrounded by the enemy that no help could & reach it Slowly they consumed the provisions that were garnered, the famine was staring them in the face; nor did they dare yield to the enemy, for in those days there was little mercy shown to the conquered, and while any hope remained the ti people held out, making vain sallies into the ene- k my's camp, and growing weaker daily, as less and h less food remained to them. _ Meanwhile, the enemy grew more fierce with- y out The heat was intense, and had dried up the n brooks and springs in all the countiy about, so that t< the besiegers wfere becoming wild with thirst; it ii made them more savage, and the Commanding h General would listen to no terms, but swore to de- S stroy the city, and to put all the inhabitants, sol- ti diers and old men, women and children, to the C sword. d But would it not be better thus to be killed out- a right; than to suffer the slow death of famine ?? d Wolf thought of these things as he returned one le day to his garden in the midst of the city, after a fi week of fighting with the enemy. In his absence, n the cherries had ripened fast in the hot sun, and k were now superb, fairly bursting with the red juice, p and making "one's mouth water at the sight vi A sudden thought came into his head as he look- b ed at his cherries, and a hope sprang up that he (I might yet save his fellow-townsmen. There was t< not a moment to lose, for twenty-four hours more h of suffering would make the town delirious. He tl brought together all the children of the town, to tl the number of three hundred, and had them dres- p sed wholly in white. In those days, and in that ir country, the funeral processions were thus dres- h sed. He brought them each into his orchard, and hi loaded each with a branch, heavy with rich, juicy w cherries, and marshalling them, sent them out of the city, a feeble procession, to the camp of the enemy. The dying men and women filled the b streets as the white-robed children passed through ri the mites and out into the country. S The besieging General saw the procession draw- ai ing near, concealed by the boughs they were carry- fir ing, and he suspected some stratagem, as if it were st Birham Wood coming to Dunsinane. Then he <x was told that they were the children of Hamburg, tl who had heard that he and his army were suffer- ei ing of thirst, and were bringing luscious cherries tl to quench it. Thereat he was very angry, for he al was of a cruel and violent nature, and said that in they had come to mock him, and he would surely b< have them put to death before his eyes, even as he re had sworn he would do to all the people of the tl city. of But when the procession came before him, and ei he saw the poor children, so thin, so pale, so worn pi out with hunger, the rough man's heart was touch- ai ed; a spring of fatherly love that had been long to choked up in him, broke forth; he was filled with ai pity and tears came into his eyes, and what the h< warriors of the town could not do the peaceful in children in white did?they vanquished the hard 01 heart. That evening the little cherry bearers re- ti< turned to the city, and with them went a great pro- M cession of carts filled with provisions for the star 01 ving people ; and the very next day a treaty of h( peace was signed. > a In memory of this event, the people of Ham- to burg still keep eveiy year, a festival called the cil Feast of Cherries ; when the children of the city, clad in white garments, march through the streets, holding green boughs, to which the people coming dii out of tneir houses, hasten to tie bunches of cher- l0i ries; only now the children are chubby and merry, and they eat the cherries themselves.?Riverside ]|n I Maaazine for Younn People for March. ag * na Anecdote op Talfourd.?What a true gen- its tlemen did Justice Talfourd show himself to be gr when, on a certain occasion, a young barrister be- co ing about to plead before him for the first time, th overcome by nervousness, seemed unable to col- oh lect his thoughts. To give him time, Talfourd ad said, "Excuse me for interrupting you?but for pa a minute I am not at liberty to pay you attention.'' ca Whereupon the judge took up lus pen and wrote tai a short note to a friend. Before the note was tei finished, the young banister had completely re- ce: covered his self-possession, and by an admirable ty speech, secured a verdict for his client A highly ce nervous man, he might on that day have been Dro- mi ken for life, like Ellenborough's victim, by mockery; but fortunate in appearing before a judge J whose witty tongue knew not now to fashion un- ol( kind words, he triumphed over his temporary ta weakness, and has since achieved well deserved sa success in his profession. Talfourd might have ye made a jest for the thoughtless to laugh at; but he as preferred to do an act on which those who loved sy him like to think. tw \ -J</.: TALE OF A RATTLESNAKE. During the summer months rattlesnakes geoerlly go about in pairs; so that if one is killed, the nnter had best look out for the other. Thishab; id not confined to the rattlesnake Most venomus species observe the same rule. A negro slave 1 St. Domingo once took advantage of it to peretrate a most foul crime. The negro had joined conspiracy to revolt, but being suspected of luke'armneas in the cause'was commanded to destroy is master's onlv daughter, as a proof of his seal, r suffer death nims^L He discovered the haunt f a pair of deadly snakes, and by means of those rts peculiar to the half-savage race, enticed them ) the neighborhood of the house. He then injrmed his master that he had reason to 'believe lat there was a venomous reptile in the neighborood of the house. A reward was offered for its estructionj which was gained by the negro himjif, who killed the female snake the following moring. His courage and devotion were highly com- J limented by the master, and an additional reward iven by the daughter of the planter. S The moment the negro was unobserved, he set to 'rrrt tr, MmnW? Viin nluM. ffft rfmilM thAlm)v T f the dead eoake? aloof the around, through the pose into the young lady's bed-room, and allowed ; to remain for some few minutes between the beets on the bed. This done he concealed the sake about his body, and carried it to a distance, fight came and the surviving snake began to seek a mate. The scent was still on the ground, and be reptile followed it up to the door, and than died across the hall to the chamber or die planter's aughter. The trail was quite warm; the snake rorked its way beneath the coverlet to the nlace here the other had been; and when the un&rtuate girl moved her hand in her sleep to brush it rom nerneck, the fangs of the enraged reptile were istantly buried in her throat The deep deep reduced by a sultry heat was upon her, and she woke no more. When the parents visited their bild in the morning, an offensive, putrid mass of nxuptioD, in which they could hardly recognixe be loved countenance, was all thai met their oght "AJTD THEN," " Many years ago there was a good manwholived t one of the Italian universities. Oneday a young tan ran up to him with a face beaming with joy ad said that his greatest wish was now falfilied, is parents having just given him permission to tudy law. "So now I am come," ne added, "to be law school of this University on account of its reat fame; and I mean to spare no pains to get brough my. studies as well and quickly as poodle." In this way he went on talking for a long me. When at last he come to a stop, the gooa ian, who had been listening to him with great paence, said,(' WelL and when yon have got through our course of studies, what do you 'mean to ao ben?" "Then I shall take my Doctor's degree," said be young man. "And then?" asked St Filippo Neri again. "And then." continued the youth, "I snail have number of difficult cases to manage; and I shall itch people's notice by my eloquence, my zeal, ly learning, my acuteness, and gab a great repuition." "And then?" repeated the holy man. "And then," replied the youth; "why, then bere cannot be a question, I shall be promoted to. imft Tiich nr nth at Vipaidps. T bVihII rnntp loney and grow rich.'' "And then?" repeated St Filippa "And then," added the young lawyer, "then I ball live comfortably and honorably, in health and ignity, and shall be able to look forward to a hapy old age." w Oh! was not all this to "look at things seen."' But the holy man had not done. Again he askd. "And then?" And then," said the youth, with a faltering oice",?"and then?and then?then I shall die." Here St Elippo again lifted up his voice and alemnlv said, And then?" This last ^ "and then ?" was brought home by rod's Spirit to the young man's heart From bat time he ceased to look at things seen, fie egan to feel the power of things unseen. Exchange. ? A MEXICAN STORY. An extraordinary story comes from Mexico relave to Flour. It appears that an old miller in that >cality had a very beautiful young wife, of whom e was jealous in the extreme, and took out his yulagenient of that feeling in thwacking the lovely oung being. There was a certain code, of the rale species, young, handsome and fat, who came ) the mill from the hotel to buy flour, and hearlg the distress of the lovely one first and seeing er seoond, became, of course, dreadfully in love, ome one told the miller. All the town began to dk of the fact, and to laugh at the floury one. ? Ine day the cook and the lovely young wife sudenly disappeared, and merrily laughed the Mexims at the miller's misfortune?nothing went own but the scandal of the elopement of tne mill's wife and the cook. The miller scowled vengeilly upon all the town, and so time passed by; othing more was heard of the cook and the mill's wife by any one. Two years after, the miller leased to aie, and to inform the world in a paper, 'hich was left to be opend after his death, and to e published in the town, that the cook and his the miller's) wife, had by his planning, eloped in) an oven two years since ana been baked; that e would have got rid of them elsewise, but for le jeering of the public; therefore he had ground lem up in a large mass of corn, which the towns eople were pleased to compliment him for, as be ig exceedingly ncn ana nutritious, ana ne omy opes they will enioy the reminiscences as much as e did the remainder of his life that he was spared, henever he looked apon a townsman. A Generous Offer.?Mr. W. H. Gibbs has sen in this city some six weeks selling patent ghts of Graham's.Cream Churn for the several tates. This churn has been effectually tried here, ad it invariably produces batter in one minate om the rime the cream is pat in it, his saooesB in :lling oat has been almost as magical as the suc:ss of the churn in making butter. He has sold le territory of this patent to four States, at an av age of $1,500 per State, and has now left only le territory of Alabama and Mississippi. Being x?ut to return home, and at the same time wishg to gratify his benevolent impulses which have ;en excited by the accounts he has heard and ad of Southern destitution, he offers to give to ie poor of the South all that he can get for either * his two remaining territories. He considers ' thcr of them worth $1,000 and thinks that the irehaser at that price will soon rlrrrr d fboyin id on the investment He therefore will refuse i consider any bid of less than five hundred dollars id will take all he can get, and will try to get all i can, as the whole sum is to be devoted to feedg the starving. Who bids? Will not some of ir capitalists see that Mr. Gibbs' generous donam brings its full value ? This is genuine charity, t. Gibbs having sold nearly all his territory witnit making a gift as an advertisement, aid we :artily hope that he may make a quick sale and V good one. The money received will be paid over I the Southwestern Relief Association in this V y for distribution.?LouigvSle Courier. An Idea of Heaven.?Dr. Wright closed a \ scourse on the happiness of heaven with the folding beautiful metaphor: "To the eyes of man t he sun appears a pure ;ht; a mass of unmingled glory. Were we to Bend with a continued flight towards this lumiry, and eonld, like the eagle, gaze directly on i lustre, we should in our progress behold its eatness continually enlarget ana its splendor heme every moment more mtense. As we rose rough the heavens, we could see a little orb, nnmn? m-orlnollvT infa o. crroof. vnrl/1 fttui Ail WA vanceot nearer and nearer, should behold it exuding every way, until all that was before us heme universal glory. Thus the heavenly inhabiot will, at the commencement of his happy exisice, see the divine system filled with magnifi* ace and splendor, and arrayed in glory and beau; and as ne advances over and through the sucssive periods of duration, will behold all things are luminous, transporting and sun-like forever. ' A long time ago, & little boy twelve years 1, on his way to Vermont, stopped at a country vera and paid for his lodging and breakfast by wing wood, instead of asking it as & gift. Fifty ars later the same boy passed the same little inn George Peabody, the banker, whose name is the nonym of magnificent changes the honored of o hemispheres. *