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VQ3^ 13. . YORKYILLE, S. C.;, THTJB8DAY, NOYEMBEB 29, 1867. 3STO. 81. N.
Jto ?rigittal fjhravtlette.
Written fbr the Yorkville Enquirer.
TBI WEALTH OF HOME.
A STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE.
BY MBS. M. A. EWABT,
AUTltORESS OP "ELLEN CAMPBELL, OB KINO'B
MOUNTAIN," AND OTHEB STORIES.
CHAPTER IX.
"Janie, Mr. Dunbar has called; do you fed well
enough to see him ?" said Mrs. Carter, as she entered
Janie's room, at a late hour the following
day.
No, mamma," said Janie, languidly, as she
turned away her head.
"Do you feel very sick, daughter?" said Mrs.
Carter, anxiously, as she approached the bed.
"No, mamma," said Janie, again, in a tone that
indicated she did not wish to be disturbed.
Mip. Uarter took her hand.
"Why, Janie, you have a hot fever; your handa
are burning, and your face crimson. I must send
for a physician."
"Indeed, mother, you shall do no such thing,"
I said Janie, springing out of bed. "I am going to
get up now."
She took two or three faltering steps, then sank
insensible on the floor.
Mrs. Garter rang the bell violently. Amy almost
immediately entered.
"Help me place Miss Janie on the bed, and call
Annie," said Mrs. Carter.
V^xen Annie entered, Janie was recovering, but
only from insensibility to delirium. She upbraided
Annie for striving to keep her from the duty which i
was her only refhge against memory. She be- '
sought her mother, in the most beseeching manner,
to allow her to fill her time in order to crowd i
past, present and future, out of mind and heart, i
and give room for no thought but that of active 1
work. i
Then she wept over the unsatisfying good, and I
prayed for some Lethean stream, where thought i
might be forever buried in oblivion. Then vowing ]
to be utterly silent, if her heart broke in the strug- j
gle, she turned her head from them and refused to j
open her lips. i
"Send for Dr. Hartly, immediately, Annie," i
said Mrs. Carter, while Janie was recovering, and i
in a short time the Doctor entered. i
He pronounced it nervous fever, with symptoms ]
" tending to the brain, and although he did not tell
Mrs. Carter, he feared the most sudden and alarm- ;
ing results. ]
His face, however, indicated enough to alarm
the anxious household.
As the day advanced, Janie's crimson faoc became
almost purple and her eyes gleamed like balls ]
of fire. She grew insensible to every presence,
and shrieks, sharp, fierce and long, issued from her
parched lips. ,
^ Her father's face, stem in the manly effort to (
subdue a parent's tenderness, bent over her; the ,
watchful mother, denoting only by the dilating of
the anxious eyes, and the pallor of the face, her ,
agony, kept unceasing guard at her pillow. (
Margaret's face, whiter than it had ever been ,
before, was constantly near. John, scarcely re- ,
straining the passionate tears that were no disgrace (
to his manhood; and Annie, her blue eyes heavy ,
with unshed tears, comforting her father, watching ,
in tenderest solicitude her darling mother, coaxing ,
Margaret to take an hour's rest, cheering and en- (
couraging John, was the comfort of every one and <
the blessing of the house. ,
As day succeeded day, and still no respite of that
terrible sleeplessness, Dr. Hartly's face grew more ^
anxious, his watchfulness, if possible, more unwearied.
At last there came one, when those ?
. thrilling shrieks ceased, and the raving delirium j
subsided into muttered insanity. Her eyes roamed i
f restlessly, and she clutched the bed covering with ]
nervous grasp. t
"Is this for better or worse, Doctor?" said Mr. j
Carter, with all a father's anxiety in his face. ,
The mother clasped her hands convulsively, but r
save a deeper ring around her eyes, gave no evidence
of more intense suffering.
The Doctor compressed his lips and shook his
head. 1
"If she does not deep now, the delirium will 1
return with greater fierceness, and ?he put his *
hand upon the pulse, "God help you both, she
cannot live twenty-four hours."
The father gave a gasping sob and left the room.
Mrs. Carter's lip quivered, as she felt Annie's j
lips on her brow. For an instant she rested her j
head on the young shoulder, and then turned in (
agony, too deep for tears, to her suffering child. ]
Poor Janie, it was still the earnest plea of work, ]
work, work. Not now to shut out a memory, but ]
to teach patience, submission; not now to erase a {
love-written record, but to be remembered for what j
she had done; not now a haunting pain, but a dis- \
gust, a horror, a loathing of a crime to her judg- ^
ment, her reason, her soul; not now a mourning i
and rebelling, asking for 'some other cross,' but a ^
\ sweet murmuring of 'whate'er His love sees good c
to sendnot now the agonized cry of rest, rest,
rest, but 'as Thou wilt for me.' ;
Her voice grew shriller and louder. j
"I'm weary, Oh 1 so weaiy, but, 'beyond remem- ;
bering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Love, rest j
I and home,' will soon be mine. Where is papa? a
Has my waywardness wearied him, as it has done
all the rest ? Dear papa, I know I would not be a
controlled, and yet I love?'I love the fold, I love
his home.' .And they have all left me, and I am
alone, alone ! Well, 'beyond the pulse's fever 3
beating, I shall be soon.' Have I not been alone j
all these weary months, till I doubted the love of j
father, mother, sisters, brother. Oh ! could they ,
not see the earnest longing of my restless heart, as '
my jealous spirit almost forgot its duty to God and
man! But why do I blame them; there was
nothing in me to love ; no gentleness, or faith, or
patience. Mother, mother!'' and then the screams
rang out again.
Mr. Carter entered the room hurriedly; he
called the Doctor, and they spoke carnostly for a
few minutes. They both then came forward, and
whispered to Mrs. Carter.
Percy Dunbar had seen an opiate administered,
in the East, by a Jewish Rabbi, which he believed
would save Janie's life, if permitted to use it It
was obtained from the capsules of the finest specimen
of the opium poppy. The milky juice which
exudes after the incision of the lancet was gathered
before the sun touched it Before kneaded into
cakes, it was mixed with the juice of an herb of
deadly narcotic properties, and was then prepared
in powder for use. Its almost miraculous cures
had induced him to obtain a small portion at great
expense, and only after royal influence had been
exerted in his behalf.
Failing of success it immediately put an end to
life, and Dr. Hartley candidly told them it was the
chance of an hour against twenty-four, for Janie's
case was hopeless.
Mrs. Carter bent her head on her daughter's
pillow for a few moments. "Choose for me," at
last she said, resting her head on her husband's
shoulder. *
His lips quivered, but he did not speak.
"Mamma," whispered Annie, "let me go down
and ask Mr. Newton about it; he is down stairs."
The mother nodded her head I
After awhile she came back, I
"Mother, he says he would trust the deares
thing in life to Mr. Dunbar, and Mr. Hunter beg
ged you to allow him to try it Mr. Dunbar has i
with him and will administer it himself. He beg
you not to defer your decision too long, for he sayi
every moment is precious."
"I cannot decide. Oh 1 my darling I" cried thi
mother, as another startling scream broke from Ja
trie's lips.
Annie's face was very pale.
"Mamma," said she, "if Janie dies to-morrow
you will wish you had -consented; if she dies to
night, we will rejoice that she is outof such misery
Oh! papa, try it"
"Ask Margeret and John," said Mr. Carter
"and do as you think best; I cannot oonsent t(
part with my darling one moment before God take;
her."
Annie hurried out of the room. In alittle while
she returned with Dunbar.' Margaret and Johr
followed him. He walked immediately up to Janie's
side. His face was white as marble, and the
lines around his mouth fixed in such rigidity, as tc
appear chiseled, but his eyes were gleaming like
8tars. His coal black hair was pushed far back
fVom his high bold brow, and there was an air oi
determination, of settled purpose, pervading the
whole person, as at once to give the family a confidence
they had been far from -feeling.
Janie was tossing from side to side, now moan
ing in low agony, now starting wildly with a shudder
and groan, or shrieking in peals of terror. How
beautiful she was even in her agony 1 True, hei
merry laugh, her playful wit, her light, graceful
movement, her gentle, winning ways were gone;
but now, as she lay for a moment quiet, she looked
like a sleeping child. The drooping eyelids, with
their heavy fringe, so veiling their burning look, as
now to seem softened to tearfulisadnoss. The skin
still preserved its velvet softness, though the face
was crimson in fever. Her hair, pushed back from
her temples, was only partially confined by the delicate
lace-cap which she wore, and was stealing out
in rich curls upon the pillow. She would not suffer
her cap to be tied, nor the fastening of her gown
to be caught, and her beautiful throat was partly
bare. Her face looked attenuated and sharpened,
though its perfect oval was not yet lost Her
mouth was the only feature that retained its perfect
beauty; with its full red lips, , and exquisite
form and the half pouting, half playful expression,
still lingered around it; suddenly her brown eyes
opened to their fullest "Mother, mother, give
me rest" Oh 1 that terrible cry for rest, would it
never cease ? Dunbar placed his cold hand on her
bead.
"Yes." said.he, in his firm clear tones, "you
shall have rest; drink this now." He offered the
potion he had been mixing to her lips.
"Away with your drugs?I'll have none of it,"
said Janie, striving to dash it from his hand.
"Janie," said he, in a loud decided tone, fixing
bis eyes with an almost basilisk gaze upon her,
"drink this now, and then you may sleep."
She looked at him steadily; suddenly starting
up she caught the glass, drained its contents, and
lashing it to the floor cried, "Now wjiere's your
sleep? Don't you know the wretched he forsakes?
[ tell you I believe it is a myth, a popular delusion,
m ignis fatuus which lures with its Uircean hopes
jnly to engulph you in deeper gloom, or more
maddening desires. Tired nature's sweet restorer,'
is a poetic license which is palmed off on poor
lehided mortals as a tangible reality, and we do
not discover the Tantalus delusion till the very
moment of gratification leaves us famished, weary
?nd wretched. Poor Sancho was privileged to
leal in follies, or he never would have blessed the
sphemeral divinity, and covered himself in his imaginary
cloak."
"Drink again," said Dunbar, offering the glass
a her lips.
"To be fooled by more promises?" said she, as
ihc almost clutched the glass. She drank the ininitesimal
contents. "John would call that mull7/m
inparvo," said she. "Now if ignorance is
jliss, what blessed ignorance equals this, to sleep?
ind not to know it. You recollect those lines of
Hood's?
O bed, delicious bed, that heaven on earth 40 the weary head.'
rhere, I've forgotten, I used to know it all, but I
an remember nothing now but?mother, what's
hat about 'a day's march nearer home?' you remember
we talked about it the day we were talkngabout'forever.'
Drink again?" said she, as
he glass was pushed to her lips.
"Now, in a first class carriage of ease,
To the land of Nod, or where you please?"
"Strange how I forget?its gone again."
But the opiate, instead of quieting her, seemed
to excite her to the wildest fury. She now raved
in delirium. She was a child again at her mother's
knee?but a weary child crying to 'fold her
eaves and be a bud again.' She was again in her
usurious home, enjoying, to the utmost, all its
beautiful surroundings; but still wailing slippery
iteps and heavy burdens; still finding a perilous
jatb, and weeping in home sickness. Then she
vas at her work, striving to fill the restless longing
vith 'creature duty,' and still the ceaseless plaint,
I'm weary, Oh! so weaiy,' and her heart's watch
vords, 'Love, Rest, and ilome, sweet Home, Oli I
ome!'
Dr. Hartley looked anxiously at Dunbar. If it
vere possible for that rigid face to grow stonier,
n the last hour it had grown so; and there was a
lark circle creeping around the eyes, that told of
ntense feeling. He did not speak, as again he
idministered the opiate in double quantity.
Dr. Hartley shook his head as Janie's ravings
iguin became more connected.
"Why don't you both quarrel?" saidshe, "don't
rou know honest Sancho says, 'the safety of the
jatient consists in the quarrels of the physicians?'
['11 never get well at this rate; you just stand there
ooking as 'grand, gloomy and peculiar,' as two
Sonapartes. No," said she, correcting herself
ind looking at Dunbar, "you look like the Arabian
Nights Entertainment, though I declare, ifSchah iar
wore such an expression as that, I would
lave been the Scheherazade to strangle him, injtead
of tickling his fancy with Aladdin tales of enshantment"
"Tell me one now?but not of that awful char
lel-house of Mt. Sinai's convert. Oh! the lioror]
)f that wan bedstead," said she shuddering, "with
ts decaying remains! And then the cemetery of
xrnes, paved with thirty thousand sculls, and teemng
with its piles of human boues; the old and the
roung, the good and the bad, the bold and the
imid? '*"Janie,
Janie," pleaded Mrs. Carter.
"Let me alone. Who are you ?" she cried imratiently.
" You did not hoar of the young beauy,
lovely as a light from heaven, leading the dance
n the royal palace, decked out in her coffin in her
rhite ball dress, complete to the slippers, her jew:1s
still worn as in time; lying there, dry, black and
hrivelled, the rosy lips gone, and the grinning
eeth glittering, a wreath of roses on her head and
rer hair curling in the hollow eyes, and this was
leath, death; death that comes to all?that is comng
to me, for hark!
ly pulse, like a son drum, beats my approach, to tell the angels
that I come,
Lnd slow my marches be, 1 shall at last be home."
"Oh! Mr. Dunbar, give her no more, "said Mrs.
barter, "she is worse now than she has ever been;
ee her veins are swelling like cords, and her whole
sountenace is changing.''
He did not answer, but poured a larger draught.
"Dootor, don't let him," pleaded the mother.
'It is of no use, and my child will die, and not
t know me." And burying her head on her hus
band's shoulder, she for the first time, burst into
t tears.
s "Dunbar, 'tis of no use," said the Doctor, "you
b are only hastening a horriWe death, she will die
raving."
i "Let me alone," said Dunbar, shaking his hand
- from him. "Go on, or stop now, she will die in
ten minutes if this does not quiet her."
With extreme difficulty he got her to take it; in,
deed it was partly foroedupon her, and Mr. Carter
- buried his head, unable to witness hisohild's strug.
gles.
After awhilo the startled screams ceased, the wild
, ravings sank into low wailing tones, now and then
> they could distinguish the words. Then the voice
5 sank to a low murmur, and she repeated some favorite
hymns in a sweet, touching tone. "Mam;
ma?" she Baid.
i "Janie, do yon know mo?" asked Mrs. Carter,
bending over her.
i "No, I don't know you; but I have seen an an?
gel-face like yours sometime; it was long ago
s though," and she feebly raised her hand and strok
: ed her mother's faoe. After awhile she murmured
f in faltering tones, though every word was distinct
s and clear,
"One sweetly solemn thought
Come to me o'er and o'er,
I'm nearer my home to-day
Than I've ever been before.
Nearer my Father's house
% Where the many mansions be,
Nearer the great white throne,
Nearer the jasper sea.
, Nearer thebnund of life
When we lay our burdens down,
| Nearer leaving my cross
Nearer wearing my crown."
As her voice closed in a whisper, she nestled her
hand under her head, and in an instant was in.
heavy slumber. There was a movement in the
room. Dunbar motioned them all out; and the
parents, the physician and himself were done with
the suffering girL
Margaret went down into the parlor. Stephen
met her at the door, and taking her hands in both
of his, drew her into the room.
"And what news of our dear sister?" said he,
in his tenderest tones.
"She sleeps/' said Margaret, bursting into tears,
the first she had shed during those long agonizing
days.
"Do not give way yet, my brave girl," said Stephen,
feeling a novel sensation about his throat
and eyes, at seeing the grief of the woman he loved,
and which he felt in some indefinable way it would
be a shame to his manhood to be overcome by,
"Janie will, I trust, soon be better now." He ;
spoke hesitatingly.
4 'Do you not think so ? Is not the crisis past ?''
said Margaret suddenly, drying her tearful eyes. ,
"Hope for the best, Margaret," said Stephen,
and his manly voice trembled; "but the crisis is
the .wakening, the danger is of sinking then."
Margaret arose, every nerve strung to new ten- ;
sion. i
"Where are you going?" said he; "you had. i
better rest here awhile?do not go back, you look
worn out" i
"No, I am not tired, I am going to Janie. Time i
enough for rest after?" her lip quivered, and she i
was silent <
"I will wait here for Dunbar," said Stephen, i
loth to leave the house. She had reached the
door, but there was an unconscious entreaty in the
tone that touched her heart She turned, and.
placing her hand for a moment in his, said, "Ste - 1
phen, in this hour of sore sorrow, my heart turns i
to you with a trust that you will meet all its need? i
that loving sympathy, tender forbearance will be i
given; and though present joy may be shut out; <
by this mightier grief, you will not doubt that i
come what will, my heart will at last turn to you
for the protection and sympathy which it craves. <
Let me be wilful now, there is an impatience in ]
grief which will not brook control, but spending its ]
sound unrestrained, it will settle into a submission ]
which, underlovingforbearanoe, becomes peace?" \
Her eyes were full of tears, as she so sweetly ]
pleaded for his trust; he could not answer, but .
pressing his lips to her hand, he allowed her to
leave him. ]
Before she reached the head of the steps, a sound j
of hurrying feet and confused voices came to her ]
ear. She hastened on, and entered the room to
see her parents kneeling by Janie's bed. Annie ]
and John had just entered, and were standing m
silent horror at its foot J anio was lying speechless
and unconscious. Herfeatures looked pinched and \
livid, and only the faiutcst breath gave evidence of
life. The change had been almost instantaneous, j
and Dunbar, who had been sitting with his finger
on her pulse, was the first to perceive it He had j
striven to rouse her, but in vain, and was now endeavoring
to administer restoratives.
"Brandy?not wine," said Dunbar, in excited 1
tones, dashing the glass from the servant's hands.
Annie sprang across the room. i
"Here it is," said she, as she presented the glass, j
He glanced up. 1
"Miss Annie, you aro always prepared." <
"Janie," said Dr. Hartley, shaking her, "rouse
and take this."
There was no answer.
"Whose voice has the most power over her?" 1
said Dunbar, hurriedly. "Let her mother speak (
to her. Speak cheerfully, Mrs. Carter," said he, i
in clear distinct tones.
"Janie, Janie darling 1 Oh! she'll never hear i
me again," said Mrs. Carter, bursting into passionate
tears. i
Janie gave a faint moan. i
"Oh! Janie, dear sister," burst forth Annie
and Margaret; "do try and take it?mamma and
papa beg you?we all beg you to try." {
A low moan again replied.
"She is conscious," said Dunbar; "give it to }
me. Nature is doing something, and child and ?
sister-love is doing more. She hears the voice of s
affection and is struggling to reply.'' He took the
glass, and carefully raising her, ho cried, "Janie
help us; we want you back. Come birdie, tell us
you are coming.- Try if you can drink what I hold x
to your lips." j
He spoke in a clear, cheerful tone, and Janie j
answered by opening her lips and swallowing a little.
j
"That is well," he cried, "try once more." g
Gradually rousing, she opened her eyes arid a
drank freely.
"That will do now," said he, as he placed her j
tenderly on the pillow. "You can rest now.'' I
She looked around and whispered, "mamma."
"Don't speak," said Dunbar to Mrs. Carter, as a
she kissed her child's pale face. a
Janie looked curiously at Dunbar.
"You know me, Janie?" he whispered. ^
She smiled feebly and moved her hand over his v
as it lay by her side. Then closing her eyes, she l
gave a long sobbing sigh, and was asleep.
For a little while, the breathing was faint and
slow; then it became calm and regular, as she fell
into deeper slumber. t
Dr. Hartley sat for a little while by her side;
then whispering to Dunbar, "you can do without
me, now," he beckoned Annie out "Annie, get. J
your mother to go to bed; Janie will do now." j,
Annie did not speak, but followed him to the t
foot of the steps. v
"Is she out of danger?" she whispered, still op- g
pressed by the solemnity of the sick chamber.
"Yes," said he, positively, "out of danger, by u
the blessing of God" a
Annie burst into tears. The old man gathered
her to his heart . a
%
"Come, come my ohild, Dunbar calls you 'the
never failing comforter,' the 'friend in needhe
never wearies talking of your unobtrusive promptness
and activity. You must not fail us now, when
the worst is over critically, but when so much depends
on good nursing and watching,"
Annie smiled through her tears.
"I am not going to foil you and lose such a flattering
character," said she; "but just for the moment,
I was overwhelmed by such a sense of gratitude,
such a spirit of earnest thankfulness, that I
could not restrain my tears.!'
"Do I hear Miss Janic is out of danger ?" said
Newton.
Annie did not know he was standing by her side
till he spoke. :"Yes;
sleeping quietly and peacefully," said
she, with a happy smile. His face did not answer
her emile. thnnirh he said earnestly. "I am fcmlv
rejoiced to hear it"
"Will you notrcomein ?" said she. "Mr. Hunter
is in the parlor, and Mag will be down directly."
"No, thank you," he replied; and Annie, without
knowing why, felt chilled by the tone.
"Good night," said Dr. Hartley. "Newton;
will you ride up ?"
"Yes?no," replied Newton, "I believe I will
walk, the night is so fine."
He went out on the piazza.
"Come out and look at the night with me, Miss
Annie,'1 he said. ''It will rest you after your long
watching. Everything is so peaceful, so holy here;
everything is full of teeming life, from the gemmed
heavens to the earth, replete with autumn harvests
; and yonder," said he, pointing to the faint
light from Janie's room, "a soul, on the very eve
of full fruition of light and life, given back a little
longer to cheer and bless us. Did you feel as if
you could have given her up, Miss Annie?" he
asked.
"Yes," she simply replied, "ifGodhad so willed
it Janie told me long ago, To live is Christ, but
to die is gain.' I think that for some rime, she
anticipated this attack. She used, frequently, to
come on such nights as this, when we were alone,
and put her head on my lap, and beg me to repeat
as she would say, some of the songs of Zion. It
seemed, at first as if Janie wanted to laugh at
me ; she, you know, has Milton, Shakspeare, all
the old English poets, and modern ones too, at her
tongue's end ; and why she should fancy my simple
hymns, I could not understand. You know I
I .... *_1?i. i. .-wv?
liuvc uu uucui, vi auytiiiug iv iiimu ui/oou ogiccable
to any one. I shall never be other than simple
Annie," said she, smiling.
" 'Unless ye become as a little child, ye shall not
enter the kingdom of heaven,' " half murmured
Newton.
"Well, one night Janie said to me, 'Annie, I
bave found my own old cross again, and do you
know what it has taught me ? That it is the only
one that is good for me. Margaret's jewels bear
me down, I cannot support it; and your flowers
pierce me with their thorns. Hove my own, now
that I know by whom it was sent, and that its end
is to accomplish His will.' Janie had always,
at least since we have been here, applied The
changed cross' to our several trials. You recollect
the lines ?"
' He did.
"Croaae* of divers shapes aad slae were seen."
"Well, since that night, Janie's constant cry has
been' 'Nearer, my God, to thee.' You know now
why I could give up Janie," said the sweet girl, as
she finished her simple narrative, all unconscious
if the gentle christian character which had so quijtly
won Janie, first to admire, then to investigate
and last to follow.
"Yes, I know," said he, "and tome it is sweeter
than the 'whispering grasses,' these 'sweet
psalmings of a child.' Precious gleanings you
bave gathered, Miss Annie; your seed sown, I
bave no doubt, in tearful prayers, has enabled you
to 'return, bearing your sheaves with you.' But I
keep you from your mother; good night Oh! is
Dunbar coming ? I will wait for him, if he is."
"No," said Annie, drawing the hand Newton
bad forgotten to relinquish, timidly away. "I do
lot think father will allow him to leave. But Mr.
Hunter is; will you wait?"
"No," said he, hurriedly, "I will go on." But
be did not go; he stood knitting his brow.
Annie's face indicated deepest sympathy.
"Mr. Newton," said she, timidly, "do you know
;hat Margaret and Hunter are ?"
Ol a. 1 1_1 L* J j 1.1! i.
one Htoppeu, uiuswng ana neniunug iti* ucr uwu
;emerity.
"Engaged? yes," said he, "Hunter told me long
igo, he would make her his wife if he could." '
"He did?" said Annie, in surprise.
"Yes," hesaid; then laughing, "Why, do you
;hink it was a disappointment to me ?"
"Yes?no?I don't know," said Annie, blushngand
trembling under the quick penetrating '
jlance. "I thought so; yes," said she, resolute- ,
y, her innate love of truth conquering even her i
imidity.
"You did, Miss Annie?" he asked. '
"Yes," she whispered.
"And you did not know, that next to God and
ETeavcn, I loved?but good night," said he, sudlonly
springing down tho steps, and in a monent
he was out of sight I
"Very strange," thought Annie. "I wonder if ,
tis Janie?"
She gave a little sigh, stood a moment in the .
noonlight; then with a start, "I almost forgot ,
nother," she hurried back to the sick chamber.
Janie was still sleeping quietly. ]
"Mamma,," whispered Annie, "you must goto
>ed?Margaret and I will watch." i
Mrs. Carter shook her head; Annie looked at
ler awhile, then softly stole out of the room. In
i little while she returned with a waiter of hot tea ]
md tempting bread. i
Mrs. Carter smiled faintly. "I cannot, my i
laughter," she said. i
"Yes.you can, dear mamma, and you will for |
knnic," and she knelt by her mother's side, coax- ^
ng her as sho would a child, to take some nour9hment.
' 1
At first, Mrs. Carter ate to satisfy Annie ; but l
is she felt revived by the needed food, nature as- j
erted her claims and she enjoyed it as satisfying ]
ictual hunger. t
"Now, mamma," said Annie, "I will not beg \
'ou to leave Janie, for I see you will not do it; ]
>ut you must let us make you comfortable.'' }
She then softly rolled a lounge to the bedside, ,
rrangcd pillows in the most comfortable manner, (
ind prevailed upon her mother to lie down.
"Papa, you and John go into the next room; e
vo will call you if there is any change, and mamma e
rill be more comfortable if she thinks you are re stag,"
said Annie. c
.Mr. Carter kissed her fondly. (
"Our comfort,'' he whispered. i
"Annie, darling," said John, "don't forget to i
ake care of yourself.'' {
She smiled cheerfully. . i
"As soon as I get you all to bed. Go now; t
rlary will not know you in the morning?you will f
X)k so much better. Poor child I she left me
his evening perfectly worn out, declaring she only 3
rent because she could uot refuse me when I beged
her so hard to rest." t
"I should have sent to tell her Janie was bet- t
sr," said John; "I forgot it entirely. ITl go now
ndsend." c
"I sent long ago," said Annie, "and wrote her
little note, saying we would keep you to-night, t
as mother seemed to depend so much on your be
ing with her."
"God bless you, Annie; you think of every
thing," said John, kissing her.
He stole softly up to his mother, to whisper i
few words of cnoouragement and a good night
Mrs. Garter threw her arms around his neck.
'Ton have left Mary to stay with me in m;
room ?" she said.
"Sow little that is for you, dear mother; but!
did not come here to talk?we want you to sleep
Good night" he said, kissing her. "Come fnth
er, you need rest as much as any one; let us see i
Annie's room will prove the comfort she is."
"Margaret" whispered Annie, "there is a warn
cup of tea for you down stairs, and Stephen is wai
ting to hear the last news from Janie, and to bit
you good night Will you go down, or shall I?'
"I will go," said Margaret, rising softly an<
leaving the room.
Dunbar looked at Annie and smiled.
"Now teaser, you are owning to disturb me,'
be whispered, as Annie leaned on the back of hi
oEair.
"Yes," said she, "I am going to send yw
home."
"No, you are not," he answered positively.
"Bat you have been sitting here since noon, an(
now it is eleven o'clock," said Annie.
"And if I sit till noon to-morrow, or till elovei
o'clock to-morrow night, I will not move till sh<
wakens.1'
"Please," she whispered; "you will bo won
out"
"Don't you see I can't" said he impatiently
pointing to the hand which still lay upon his.?
"And worn outl there is elixir enough for me,'
looking into Janie's placid face.
"And you won't go7" said she coaxingly.
"Don't make me swear," he answered, lookinf
up with his keen glance.
There was a look in the iace that determined
Annie not to tempt him, so she quietly left the
room.
In a little while she came back with a cup o:
ooSee, delicious enough to tempt a Turk. Dunbai
gave her a glowing look, which made the readj
color mount to Annie's cheek.
"I do not know whether you are a serpent, or t
dove, Miss Annie," said he, as he took the cuj
from her.
"Why?" she asked wonderingly.
"Because you have the wisdom of the one, anc
the guilelessnes of the other," said he.
She did not answer; indeed she seldom did tc
such speeches. Not from unconsciousness, or warn
of perception, but her wisdom taught her a reply
generally provoked farther compliment, and hei
very meekness counselled absolute silence. The
long hours wore on; it was twelve when Margarel
came back.
"Stephen says, will you come?" she whispered
to Dunbar.
He shook his head without speaking, as he bent
to look at Janie's face.
"A little wine, Miss Annie?quick," said he, ic
a whisper. .
Annie promptly offered it A slight movement
of the muscles of the face, a faint motion of the
little .hand, discovered to him Janie's waking. He
dreaded the sinking again. , ,
"Janie," he said, in a low clear tone, yet not
loud enough to disturb Mrs. Carter, who was sleeping
quietly, "Janie, drink this." She opened hei
eyes, and as he raised her, she drank the contents.
"Mamma," she whispered.
"Sleeping by your side," he answered cheerfully.
"Annie, Maggie?" she feebly called.
"Don't speak," he whispered, as they fondly
kissed her.
She gave a long trembling sigb, then opening
wide her languid eyes, she looked earnestly at
Dunbar. ;
"You know me, Janie?" he asked, and his voice
trembled.
She smiled.
"And you will let me stay?" he said again, as
she continued to gaze with a long anxious look.
She took the hand that held hers, feebly raised
it to her pillow, rested her cheek upon it, and the
next moment was asleep.
Dunbar's swarthy cheek turned crimson, he bent
his head on his hand and did not raise it for a long
hour.
Annie's touch then aroused him,
"Do lie down," she whispered, "or rest by the
window," as he' shook his head. "You have
scarcely changed your position since morning; let
me take your place for a little while," she urged.
"Not for Paradise," he answered vehemently.
u"Rnfc vnn mnvhrinir mft a enn of coffee."
Margaret was sleeping in a chair by her mother's
side ; sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.
As Annie left the room, Dunbar bent oyer Janie.
Her faoe was scareely whiter than his, as he
seemed to study every line of that sleeping countenance.
Her cheek, so soft and white, rested upon
bis large hand, half-hidden as it was by a thick
curl, contrasting finely in its waving blackness with
the alabaster skin. He could feel every breath, as
the gentle respiration faintly fanned his hand.
He started, as Annie asked, "Is she waking again?"
"No," said he, "I was only striving to realize if
this prostrate girl was the same I had seen a few
nights ago, so full of life and gayety."
"In the midst of life we are in death," halfwhispered
Annie, as she took her place at Janie's
ride."Miss
Annie, lie down, or take a chair and rest
like Miss Margaret," said Dunbar.
"No," said she, "I am not weary?I can watch
rery well."
He looked at her curiously.
"How is it, Miss Annie, that when strong men
break down; when Miss Margaret's stoicism gives
way; when even mother-love yields to naturo'scall,
jou can support it ? You have done more than
iny of them; you have watched more ; you have
sorrowed, I know, and what elixir keeps you up
whon every one else is exhausted ?"
"I know of no elixir," replied Annie simply, "I
bave not Margaret's fortitude, nor Janie's energy;
but I have greater powers of endurance than ether,
because when God denied me great capacity,
be gave me a child-like faith that enables me to
iccept, unquestioningly, all that He does. So
hat when fortune takes wings, it does not trouble
^ XT- 1 . ? i?AAm?aA nrltAn ArtAmrla
116) lor X1C IJthS Illy liTUiUMU C j nucix IIH/UUO uuovi v
ne, I do not grieve, for He never forsakes; when
lear and dear ones die, He takes them, and with
iveiy loss gives me an added blessing.
"How did you attain such faith, Miss Annie ?"
aid Dunbar, surprised as much at the trust, as the
dmplicity that avowed it
"It came long ago," replied Annie, with her
luiet matter-of-fact manner. "I used to think no
>ne loved me, and as this morbid feeling was cor ected,
and our blessed poverty taught us the volte
of home love, I felt that God was giving me
pace to win each' heart, till they all loved me as
nuch as I loved them. So now, when he chooses
o deny me a good I ask, I do not nlurmur, for I
eel it is only to give a greater good in store."
"On such a Rock, Miss Annie, I do not wonder
rou can laugh at fears and storms," said Dunbar.
"No; not laugh at them," said she, "I feel
hem, but I can bear them, when I see the bow in
he cloud, when I feel the Rock beneath my feet"
What a solemn beauty rested on the sweet face
is she spoke.
"No wonder Newton calls her angel," he
hought
!- The sun was tip clear and high the next morning
when Janie at last awoke. The agony was over,
- the danger passed, and though not quite secure,
every heart in the household was rqjoicing with
a keen joy.
Then came again the trembliDg anxiety, as Janie
seemed to hover on the very threshold of eternity,
y struggling with weakness, with prostration.
Bat her youthftil vigor, and naturally good conI
stitution, at last triumphed, and days of convales- ;
i. cence followed. Her lively spirits, her wonderful ,
- powers of recuperation, rapidly hastened these to i
f days of health. i
[to be continued next week.] |
a [Back numbers of the Enquirer containing so
- much of the foregoing story as has been published,
1 can be furnished, if applied for early.]
'
%
3 A/A/ tm A/
ipsmiattflrtw ipatuug.
From th? Pitubnrg BepnbUc&n.
8 SAGACITY OF~THE HORSE.
%
An aged and venerable friend, residing in one
of the cities on our Eastern seaboard, a gentleman
of character and worth, once related to us the fol,
lowing anecdote of the horse, illustrating in a remarkable
manner the sagacity and memory of this
nnimrtl;
3 "At the close of the Revolutionary war, when
2 everything was unsettled and in disorder, an acquaintance,
residing on the Boston road some thir1
ty or forty miles from New York, lost a valuable
young horse, stolen from his stable in the night
' Great search and inquiry were made for him, but
no tidings of him could be heard, and no trace~of
him could ever be discovered.
"Almost six full years had now elapsed, and the
recollection, even, of the lost animal had nearly fe?
ded from the mind. At this period a gentleman
. from the East in the course of business, was traveling
n horse-back on this road, on his way to |
3 PhilarU _' ja. When within four or five miles of
p a village on the road, the traveler was overtaken
r by a respectable looking gentleman on horseback, '
r a resident of the village, returning home from ashort
business ride. Riding alongside by side, they
t soon engaged in a pleasant desultory conversation.
TVin orrmflptnnn wan immpdifttolv fttracf - with the
appearance of the traveler's horse. And every 1
glance of the eye cast toward him seemed to exI
cite an interest and curiosity to look at him, and .
to revive a recollection of something he had seen
) before, and soon established in his mind the im- '
t pression that, for all the world, he looked like the
r horse he had lost some six years ago. This soon '
? became so irresistibly fixed on his mind that he re- '
( marked to the traveler:
. "You have a fine horse, sir." j
"Yes," he replied, "an exceedingly valuable and ;
i excellent animal." 1
"Whatis his age, sir?" *
"Well, I suppose him to be about ten or twdve
' years old." 1
"You did not raise him, then?"
"No; I purchased him of a stranger, a traveler, *
. nearly six years since." - * ;
| "Do you reside in this part of the country?"
| "No, I reside in the Bay State, and am on my *
way to Philadelphia, on business. How far is it to 1
.New York?" _ J
' "Well, sir, I really regret to interrupt "you, or '
. put you to inconvenience, but I am constrained to '
say I believe "you have in your possession a horse J
that I must claim." The
traveler looked with surprise and amazement,
and replied: ,
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I believe the horse you are now on, in truth, J
, belongs to me. Five years ago, the past autumn, y
a valuable young horse was stolen from my stable.
Great search was made for him, but no tidings of ,
him ever came to hand. In color, appearance and
movements, it seems to me he was the exact conn- *
terpart of the horse you are on. It would be hard- 1
ly possible, I think, for two to be so near alike. 1
But my horse was an uncommonly intelligent, saga- 5
cious animal. And I will mako a proposition to
you that will place the matter in such a position c
that the result will be conclusive and satisfactory, 2
I think, to-both of us. We are now within a mile 8
- a
of my residence, which is on the road in the center 5
of the village before us. When we arrive at my c
house, your horse shall be tied to the east post in 8
front of my door?the horse I am on to the west *
post After standing a short time, the bridle of *
your horse shall be taken off, and if ho does not go
to a pair of bars on the west side of the house, and 4
pass over, and go around to the east side of the a
barn and pull out a pin, and open the middle stable ?
door and enter, I will not claim him. If he does, I e
will furnish you conclusive evidence that he was T
bred by me, but never sold; that he was stolen from ?
me at the conclusion of the war, about the very
time you say you purchased him." '
Tho traveler assented to the trial The horse
was hitched to the post as proposed; stood a few
minutes; the bridle was then taken off; he raised ,
his head, pricked up his ears, looked up the street, f
then down the street several times, then deliberate- u
ly and slowly walked past the house and over the
bars and to the stable door, as described, and with
teeth and lips drew out the pin and opened the
door, and entered into his own staff We hardly n
need to add he was recognized by his neighbors, r
who fully attested the facts stated by the claimant, a
and that the traveler lost his title to the horse.
t m t o
THE FASHIONABLE BUTTON MANIA. *
Fashion, especially among the female* portion of
the upper, classes, is one of the most unrelenting
tyrants that rule the present age. This is a feet ?
conceded by all, and that it is so is greatly to be j?
deprecated by all persons of good sound sense.
Yet, notwithstanding it has been ridiculed by the
press, condemned by the pulpit and represented on
the stage as a deformed monster, it has many votaries,
often the unwilling slaves of its power, be- ^
cause, forsooth, a few leaders in the interest of the
tyrant proclaim that this and that shall rule the
hour, no matter how ridiculous it makes them- g
selves or their followers appear in the eyes of the j
world. k
But the latest innovation is the new fashion, ^
lately adopted by, must we say, silly women, called g
the "string of buttons." These strings consist of tj
a stout cord on which innumerable buttons arc m
strung through the eye, varying in quantity, qual- m
ity, color and value, according to the length of the ^
purse or begging qualifications of the owner. The
* 1 n 1*1 __ j? ? J - - Waw? A IVvnnn
fashion was nrst mtroauceu m now xuuauj, j.
two years ago, by the little girls, who, by begging, ^
buying and trading, soon succeeded in making their
strings quite lengthy, and the purse strings of their
parents and friends correspondingly short. ^
In proof of this we will state that a gentleman's
daughter, of this city, has a string which cost him 10
$175. There are others who have them worth ft
from $50 to $75, and we are informed thata young jn
lady of Louisville has one valued at $1,000. Eve- qc
ry girl must have a string of buttons, and they are fr,
called small affairs that cost from $25 to $50 each, d
To such an extent has the passion taken posses* he
sion of the girls, that they think of nothing else. T1
A few days since a gentleman who was importuned ca
by a little girl to buy her some buttons, went into
a dry goods store, picked out about a dozen and jjj
handed them to her. He was astprashicd when
the salesman informed him that $3.50 was the a- J
mount of the biH re
You can hardly meet a young miss but you see a
the never-ending string of buttons swinging from Ci
her hand or dangling at her side. Indeed, the
fashion has taken possession of the young lathes,
and to some extent it has affected married women,
who rival each other in the ooetfisnees of, as they
call them, their "gems." ' The
button mania has beoome, it may be said,
almost universal, and the manufacturers are reajh
ing a rich harvest The buttons for this trade are
not put up in sets, but are of all colors, sorts, sizes
and prices on the same card. Every dry goods
store has them, and as a matter of course, it is the
ambition of women to have them, no matter what
they cost, so that their string excels that of their
neighbor.
We know a married lady, who is not possessed
of a great amount of sense or worldly goods, who
boasts of having a string of five hundred buttons
of the finest quality, which she values at one hundred
and fifty dollars, but which for any practical
DUTDOSG is not worth a ce#L Thev are certainly
very beautiful to behold, But their dazzling brightness
fades before tibia thought how much better _ it
would be had the owner spout the meueythey ooet
for something useful. This prodigal west* of
money for a few buttons, simply to gratify a vain
desire to excel a companion, is fraught with evil to
the young, and it is the duty of every parent to restrain
it
As one of the results of the "string" fatt&ra''
mania, we notice that the Kentucky 8tate ,?air
Association will to-day award a premium to the
lady exhibiting the finkt string of buttons. What
good results are to be accomplished fay this pandering
to a silly pieoe of nonsense and extravagance
is beyond our conception, but w? presume
we have just entered the era of "button?button?
who's got the button ?"
- < NeM Atomy Ledger. '
* W s ...J,.;-ft'' TIME
AT HIS WORK. ?
I saw a temple, reared by the hands of man,
standing with high pinnacle in the distant plaim
The streams beat about it-r-the God of mdxcfe nurled
his thunderbolts against it, yet it stood firm as
adamant, Beveby was in the halls;the gay, the
bappy, the young, the beautiful were thine,. I returned?and
lo!?-the temple was no miofe. Its
high watts lay in scattered ruin; and at Abe-midnight
hour the owl's long cry added to the deep
solitude. The young and gay who had reveled '
there had passed away. % ,!: 1/ _'
I saw a child rejoicing in his youth, the idol of
his mother, and the pride of his father. Tietumed
and that child had become old. Trembling
with the weight of years, he stood the last of ins
generation, a stranger amidst tJft desolation around
{aim. . K *
I saw an old oak standing in all its pride tapOn
:he mountain; thehirds were caroling in its boughs.
[ returned, and the oak was leafless * and sapless,
ind the winds were playing at their pastimes
hrough its branches.
"JVho is the destroyer," said I to my/guardian
">geL f,
"It is Time," said he.' ''When the morning
stars song for joy over the new made worid heoom- x
nenoed his course; and when he has destroyed all
hat is beautiftil on the earth; plucked the sun '
Tom his sphere; veiled the moon in Hood; yea,
vhen be shall have roHedthe heavens and earth
iway as a scroll, then shall an angel firom the'Unrobe
)f God come forth, and wilh one foot upon the
sea and one upon the land, lift up hishaj&fefMfb .
heaven, and swear by Heaven's Eternal, Time is,
fime was, but Time shall be ne longer."
A Mybizrt Exflainzd.?On the night of Jtme
11, 1844, a fool murder was committed in thiscity.
1 Mr. Lyons, an English Hebrew, who kept a
vntcli and jewelry store, and lived by hifnsel$ V
he premises, on East Bay, afterwards occupied as
he Mercury office, next door to the French Coffee
Souse, and who was supposed to be a man of oondderable
wealth, was found dead in his bed the
leit morning, with his throat eat from eat to eif, ,
md no due could be found to the murderer. A
espectable man was afterwards tried for the deed,
rnt there being no evidenoe against him'be was ao[uitted.
The excitement about the murder gradu.llv
died away, and it was only recollected as a .
trange and horrible murder, which had n^r.been
xplained. Day before yesterday, a gentleman of this
ity, received a latter from a tneiwl m Hungary,
tating that a brigand "who had. lately been exeeu
ed, in his neighborhood, and who called himself
ie had murdered a man named X^ons, in CHarW
on, in 1844, when he himself was connected with
t Mr. Epping, in the drag' business.. The Hun- ;arian
correspondent wanted to know whether there
ver had been such a murder committed here, and
rhethcr there was such a drug establishment as
hat of Mr. Epping. From these facts, it seems
eyond doubt, that the mysterious murder of fyons
tas at length been explained.
Charleston Mercury.
Advertising.?Forney's Press, one of the
brewdest and ablest of newspapers, has thefoDowlg
sensible idea on advertising:
"We have for many years studied the art of adertising,
and still it "remains to us a marvel that
bier? is not one hundred times more of it We
ever yet knewa man to advertise his wares libejlly
and steadily, that it did not pay. Yet there
re thousands Of manufacturers and tens of thous ds
of men having articles which they declare
ught to be "in every household in the country,"
'ho advertise as gingerly and closely as though
iey had at heart no faith in it at aU. Bow can
icy expect to get their goods everj^rtaete, unless
jme knowledge of the articles gets into the fami'
first, through the family paper ? If wa waited
11 people learned from their neighbors*. - i might
ait for yeara before the most wpuderfal; mid. useil
inventions became known.7'
>
.11}^
A Vivid Imagination.?A well known merbant
of Warren, Massachusetts, wears fhlse teeth,
s is his inalienable right He missed his pearls
ne morning not long since, and shortly persuaded
imself that he had swallowed them in his sleep,
he disaster preyed upon his mind so much that
e began to experience violent pains in theneighorhood
where the teeth were supposed to lie,-and
cally consulted a physician for relief Tiro or
tree days passed without relief; he made up his
ind to die, and actually prepared hisBafrfefta
ent beiore ne louna ms teem m tne pocket or a
scarded pair of pantaloons. The merchant himff,
his physician and all his neighbors firmly bem
he "would have died from hypochondria if the
eth had not been found, add regard the case as
new and carious illustration of the power elimination.
A Disappointment. ?Somebody tells thefol- * V'
wing joke on that irreppsiphfe genius, George
rancis Train: As an illustfktaon of Mr. Train's
tense patriotism, we may $tste he, on one
casion, sent his wife on 'w ninety days voyage
om Australia to New York, that then: coming
did might he born on American soil, as it would
oome a possible Resident of the United. States.
lie joorney was a most troublous one, and the lady
meyery near being shipwrecked; but last
ached thiscountry in safety. Thechild fas born,
id it was agiil. .
> < -
A colored woman near Savannah, Georgia,
cently gave birth to triplets, two of which were
al black and the other as white as the purest
MiCTiflian, So says the Savannah RepvbKooau