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b y g. w. bliss. gunnel Joint f riNnn J EVERT Tt'BShAT MO XXIX B, ~ stone Ultck, Third Floor, on the Corner uj 1 ‘"" til ~-Mi Streets, Mineral Point, Wis ,bf **' GKOK LI E W . BLISS. TEKM3: lajici liters, 1 y eiir i : $2 00 •* 6 months, 1 40 .* 3 “ :::::: 74 1 Mail Subscribers, 1 year, ; : ; : : 140 •A* .... e q months, ; t ; 74 ... “ 3 “ ; ; 40 \ cx , than three months, 5 cents per number. K vTLS OF Ail V EBTISING : ,12 lines or lets,) one insertion, : : $1 00 ase month, ::::::::: 14j ilirw: months, 'titilt. 3 ’Ji. six months, t t i I I t ! ii 000 ' u one vear, 800 ./ a column, one year, 13 Ov • half a year, : : ; : : 800 , . eotuam, half a year, 12 00 “ am year, 18 OO nsa, half a year, 18 00 ' ■ me veer, 30 00 r Professional Cards, by the year, first 3 add.tional line 50 cents. \ advertisements ordered in without specifying .1, “„( tune, wiU he inserted UU ordered out, and j&ioral, State £ Counts Officers. .national administration. • >f !c US:::: Franklin Prthcr, of N K Suit* . : : : : William L Makct, of N Y r*r.:. ? the 0 f thr Intel ir : Robert M’Clellaxd, if Mich r .f the Navy : : Jameb C. Dobbin, of N C “• . Wir :: : : ; J Davis, of Misei ki-i-r Gfoeml : : Jambs Campbell, of Pvnn tea ral : ;: : Caleb Cushing, of Maiti | r of Supreme Court : Rookk B. Tankt, *f M<l Associate Justices t v. rtf Ohio Samuel Nelson, of X Y '. V Wayne, of Geo Koukrt C Grier, of Pa P—iiMiß K Ckivu, off Han . tN k . *l Va John A Campbell, of Ala STATE ADMINISTRATION. \V.- -u-in : Coles Bashford, of Ot*hk*>*b. t: , u ; S:.ile : HITiU W Jones, HeliuDt .. t , 4 r-r : Charles Kueun, Two Rivers h -u.Tii . Wiliaum R Smith, Mineral Point i;>t n : A CONSTANTINS BaKKV, Had. o ; trailer William M Dennis, Watertown ~.T7 C.iHiiu’r . Edward M’Garky, Milwaukee u y iuj Court : Edward V Whiign, of Janesville Associate Justice v,ra, of Milwaukee j oksamls Cole, of Poto#l Circuit J , M Keep, Beloit 6 George Ga’ k, La Cro**** Waukesha 7 Gko W Cats, ritwens Pt. . riKAhKK, OxUllkt* 8 8 N FULLER, Hudson . , .-.slink, Sheboyg’n 9 Alkx I.Collins, Madison j. Cothhsx, Wiu’l Pt. 1U S H Cotton, Green Bay O •UNT V ADM IN tSTKATU >X. i nty Lyman M Strong, of Ili^blam! : : I.KVi Sterling, ot Mineral Point ♦ Court : : James Hi t< hi son, *• “ rLemuel W Joiner, **f W\omin_ Arthur Britt an. Mineral Point Joseph Lean, of Dadi'oville r John J Uken, of Mineral Point ■ .rm*y • Lons M 1 > Crane, of ; John B Wkitklaw, Mineral Point liroicssioiuil business (Carts. • l WASHBURN & CO., 3 IST KL E H 8 , Y ASHBraX, : H P (JKORGK. : L, H. WHITTLRSKT. wn direct on the principal citie* of the V. >. xchange on the chief town* of i H Gain, France. llo|):ini, (•cncany and S xritrrrSand. tentinn paid to collections nod proceeds lit- 1 h* current rates uf exchange, without . t charge. - -* Notes, Dmfts,Certific<iet*s of Pepofdt, and - (10M and Silver Coin. WISCONSIN SHOT TOWER HEJ.KXA. WIS. >1 Vlt K ( OKUI .V \ TxR'S H HUC and Con •iyancer. Office in the N ’ iii tntr, Mineral Point, kw.t Cos., Wis. 1 II tJ. Stiff, , i. . p'-ttlert Dry Good** Groceries, Provision* I v*. Yellow Stone, Wis, Nov. 12, IH.VC 1> and ii nii itMim f - deuce at Arena, lowa Cos., Wisconsin. * f 32-ly IwKO. i>. WiIJIKK, M. IK, 1 !.V r, s ’ • jr*tii. - Prof.-—d*n in all It- branch - ■■ ’* • . sir-l door ! e-lo v Aimlt*} a Tnunel** store. . k bpiiding >wuthwest of the brick -9 !. 11. MOFFETT, M. !>., \l' ’♦ —pecttullr Under his professional oervice, M ui/eu* of Mineral Point, and \iclnily. p r .>i!.- (he L nited States Hotel. 9-1 m nwiPi.iP; bk. i>, M f the Cm liege of Physio'an* and Surgeons, r-ity rt the State ..f N. Y., tender* his servi" •;Uzeri* of l>dgevilUs and vicinity as Physician, " n and Acc*ucher. 9 MRS. MI KA OTIS, MNKU, int Dt-idcr in Millinery Good*, Ladies " i luminirs Fancy Gneiis, Ac., next door to ilsuse, Mineral I’winl. 9-1* J. K. MKBSM9KK. t Dim ,V MKrS>|OKK, \ n..\>.V‘S aT LAW, Mineral Feint, Wls. Office i .I' rr a Trmel> store. 9-1 j PiJLLEI KITOS, V \D COUNSELLOR HT LAW, Mineral; •U*c‘.l**us attended ta. Officii A Tramel’s store. 9-1 X. 15. Ml IK>, \ ■'• FV AMI (Ol NSEI.LOK AT LAW, Mineral " t'Sca in Milton s Stone Block. 9-1 J. 11. CLARY, \ ; V AT I. AW, and Solicitor in Chancery, Mm • ‘'*v-e in Tinvnae - new Usck. 9-i “■.* pvstji. arCHArn i.. bkap DUNN & READ, \ VS A NO COUNSELLORS AT LAW. and Pn * ' m Chancery, Minora! Point. Office in Mii • B.ck. ’ 9-1 BAMcioL ( KAWFOIin, \ AND COCHBEUIK IT LAW, Hacnd * ’• " 1- . a ill practice in the Supreme and Circuit ' Stale, and in lire U. S. District Court. Of- K ir Hilton’s store. &- t.EOKCK 1.. FKOST, \ AND COViOBUM AT LAW, Mineral “t • Will attend to land negotiations, and trans — - .unected with his profession. Collections attended to Office in County Building. 9-1 UH IS n. u. nu>H, t SKY AND C 'UNSF.LLOK, Solicitor inCahnce -1 n;d General ..and Agent Dodgeville, lowa Conn "l'Censin. 9 — l I*. . PHI KST, A 'HNF.A tND COIN akILOR AT LAW, Richland -A litre, Richland I ounty, Wi* All hasines entrus :t ns carp promptly attended 10. 9 I le >l. STttllNG. A T oNKV AND COCSSKU mK at UV.ffickM, - V 1 A ounty. TA is. Collections made, and aii husi * ~ntrusted to his care promptly attendesl to. 9-1 CHASLBB K. LM atk, I ' ; N KRAI. LAND AGKNT, opjH.site the U S. Hotel V- High-st., Mineral Point. p_j ’ imvmMmm aurncv. ■ N'i’R.tNCK O'MI’ASV. • • It • 4 b a pita I, £9X1,900. Office over Milton's stoic, v.,-. M X. B- HOYDEN, Agent HKNKV PKIA’IL j. 1 y ONABI.E TAILOR, would tender his thanks to - f Mineral Point and vicinity for ps_-t fa tnat he is -till at the old “ Tkibias office,” ■ > Book Store, High-st.. Mineral Point. Gen - ■ . th.es cleaned and presses! on short notice. 9-1 M.HIHXS A KVANS, 1 r h ast TAILORS, Uigh-st., Mineral Point, Wls., ’• * >h*r of public* patronage. Thfir work will * “ p rtyle, *nl on rr(**nnnbl# ' ' order tnd warranted to **iido tip p-j MINERAL POINT TRIBUNE. Seit ct c ®aX t . [From the Missouri Republican,j SPA n. K s A CHRISTMAS LOG. CHAPTER 11. BAC A AND INDIANA. ( Vtmlinmil ) “ You’re right, child, don't snuff 'till you’re fifty. ‘ You like the hox—a trifle —interesting perhaps from ass iciation.’— When Picton was in the trenches before Badajoz—this liox “ Lor, nia! leave Picton in the trench es.” “ Well, as you please, my love, though its a capital story if you’d only hear it.— Attention! Special Order No. 1. We are going to have a snug little bit of sup per, at which your presence is command ed,” to Peca. 4 ‘ The bouquet will be up in an hour. Commanding Officer, Gen eral ('rowdies.” “ < >f course she v ill come.” said Indi ana, and now he ofl'. my veteran.” “ We meet at Phillippi, then ?” The relect gathered up her faithful au aconds and the door mat. “ Right face, wheel, march.” And the General stalked out with mili tary step, trumpeting “ The Girl I left behind me,” in feeble imitation of a mil itary full brass hand *• Isn’t she an odd fish, Beca ?” “ I owe her more than I can ever pay— and you—” “ There, there don’t t;ilk of pay; you don’t owe me anything, bless you.” “ My heart thanks you, nevertheless.— You seem tired ?” “ I’m worried, child. A note thrown in a bouquet to-night.” “ Another admirer ?” “ Another ape, you should sav, or worse.” Opening the note —with a blush through the paint on her cheek, and bitter scorn on her lip—“ Love ! adoration ! Beca, this, such as this is the nightly in sult a dancer has to meet. Be thankful in your prayers that your lot is not as a* mine. She is sobbing, with her head in Beca’s : hands. “We are outcasts, all—public property for man in his viciousness to scoff at— would I were dead !” “ Why do you not leave the stage and marry ?” “ What can I do off it ? Born, as i* were, among the footlights, I know no other world. Marry ! Who would mar ry the public dancing girl ?—no. no, that is an idle dream.” Beca whispered a name in her ear. “ No, no, misery surely follows mar riages off the stage. His, poor follow, is an admiration coupled tvith light and tinsel and display at which my send re volts, and yet is necessary to my life now. It has no deeper growth, believe me.” “ If all know you as I know you.” “ Bless your unsullied nature for that.” The “ belle,” wiping her eyes and shaking out her rich curls—they were a pretty frame to her face and she knew it —put ou the old smile again. “I am not long depressed. Mecurial sylphide ! what have I to do with senti ment ? Poor Mr. Timber-what’s-his name, 1 must nip his worship in the bud. He deserves a better fate than me. You now——” Beca’s hand is to the other’s mouth, and : the blood is mounting to Her temples “ Hush ’ hush, pray ” tyttt rg. THE.HEART. Tbe heart that’a once been rendered cold, B> 'light, or worn, or jeer. Can Borer .'-I lon's warmth again. So thankful or sincere. Fer, as the newly budded rose Doth foel the wintry blant. So doth the heart grow weak and sad, When Might is o'er it cast. Xo balm of friendship e'er can heal The wound so deeply riven ; No consolation e'er can soothe The pang that's once been given. The thorn that has been planted there Can never be withdrawn ! Nor can the heart be glad again Beneath the hand of scorn. Though it may seem to join in mirth, And strive to hide its pa ■ , Still how that aching La-. doth feel— Its cere Is rent in twain. The pulse beats with maddening grief. Its vitals throb with pain ; And all its blood that once was warm. Both frevse in every vein. THIMX AMD MINE BY LOTTIE LIXWOOD. Hopes have budded and then withered E'er they opened into bloom. Like the early flowers that perish 'Mid their sweetness and perfume ; And around Affection's garland. Clings the mournful cypress vine ; Wrecks of earthly hopes and dreamings, Withered flowers, are thine and mine. Faith, all rosy as the sunlight. Gives us hope that cannot die ; And its light around our pathway Sheds a radiance constantly. Looking unto rest eternal, Best in love that is divine— All our earthly dreams forgotten. Heaven and peace are thine and mine. MINERAL POINT, WISCONSIN, TUESDAY, JANUARY 20, 1857. “ And why not ?” Beta’s face from matching scarlet has changed to deathlike pallor. In a mourn ful whisper she says— “ You forget; pray do not. You dis tress me more than you can suppose.— My life is plain before me—alone in the world, alone !** It is Indiana’s turn now to piay the comforter, and for some moments there is a silent, communing sympathy between them. The wind howls and screams, the snow whirls fiercely by, the little clock ticks pertly to the shadow's on the walls, and the bells, rollicking bells, are pcahng as if in mockery of the troubled heart. There is the sound of a powerful voice calling from somewhere remotely in the distance. Indiana looks up. “ That’s the General. Come, Beca, let us look bright and cheerful for the festi val.” She has crossed to the door and set it wide open. Beca has laid by her work ; it is nearly completed, and smoothing her hair with her little hands, is about to rise. I “ Let me assist you.” ‘ Thank you, I am becoming quite strong again,” Beca answers as she red dens, and stoops to draw from under the table by her side—crutches. She is a cripple ! Hurried along by a mad crowd, hurled down and maimed and mangled among a hundred others by panic stricken people, seeking to escape from a tottering hall of worship. Poor girl ! Poor human nature ! How frail is the clay tenements which our souls inhabit. “ Why, so you are indeed,quite strong,” Indiana cries. “ So very much stronger than I was, you see.” “ We shall be leaving these friends aside, soon.” “ The friendly flattery is 100 transpar ent, and the sufferer will not lake the precious hope to her heart.” “ Never, my friend, never.” “ Yes, yes you will. Put come, we will have no more sadness to-night. This is a sorry opening of Christmas. Come, as the General would say —on to the ban quet.” It is mournful to watch that shadow on the wall, moving slowl} , slowly on, while the other by its side, seems like the form of Mercy fulfilling her mission. So the shadows glide on through the open door way, to he lost in the common da kness. CHAPTER 111. THE STRANGER ON THE OI.D BRIDGE. Mr. Timberwilk had done all honor and justice to the famous compound of the Washington Saloon. There never was a more “ polite and experienced bar-keep er” than the Colonel ever paraded before a discerning public by a flattering county reporter. The Colonel insisted that Jef ferson should “ smile” with him in honor of Christmas, and he “ smiled” several times in consequence. There never was a jollier fellow than the Colonel, nor jol lier fellows generally than two or three Captains, a Major and a General present; nothing under a Captain, all select and proper. But the best of friends must nart, and so with one of the Colonel’s El Sols of choice brand, and reserved for choice spirits like himself. Mr. Timber wilk set out on his walk back to the cavern and the sprites, with Ins martial cloak around him, in a much warmer condition of mind and body than when he had started. “Capital nog,” said Mr. Timberwilk to himself for company sake. “ Nectar for god. Essellent fier, Colonel.” Jefferson was merry, although the wind blew as rudely and the snow whirled as madly as ever, the warm within defied to its very teeth the cold of the man with out. He was approaching now a narrow draw-bridge, much broken and worn through in places, which served as a rag ged pass-way over a neck of stagnant water, fed from a basin somewhere re mote in the lower part of the city. This basin, long out of use, served for nothing but the generation of sickness, a manu factory set up by Death, and doing a good thriving business. Toads and snakes sported on the banks among the long weeds and rushes, that served as a lior denng to its festering filth, which also served as the last resting place of the de funct cats, dogs and carrion of the sur rounding neighborhoods. Few cared to trust the rottenuess of the bridge, even in the broad daylight, and by night none who knew another from the island—which formed the river front of the city, op which Mr. Timberwilk lived—by the new bridge, ever come that way. Wild screams are heard at lone hours I by the bridge ; marks of desperate strug gles are detected,'telling clearly of deeds j of violence on the stranger, seized and j robbed and thrown from its sides or ! through it? papmg hole? which show like i looms of sudden death, there to drown, perhaps to be carried slowly out to sea, but more likely to be thrown among the fringing of horror with the carrion around it, there to lie with face upturned to heav en, stark and bloody, and corrupt until no trace is left of the thing it was. It is a “ shorter cut” in the short distance from the Colonel’s to Mr. Timberwilk’s cavern, and Christmas or something else has made our traveler bold enough to take Hell Hollow bridge for his way home, for by such is the place krown and bas been for years. “ A queer place, a particularly odd place,” said Jefferson, stepping carefully on the bridge, and not without misgivings, ‘ Hallo! who’s there ?” A man in the gloom with the snow fall- I ing around him like a veil. He is stand ing on the edge of the bridge where the rdling has been torn away long ago for | fire-wood. The dark stories told of the place come up very vividly, indeed, before j Mr. Timberwilk. “ I’ve only got a small ' case of lancets with me,” he thought, “ but—perhaps he’s admiring the pros pect—an artist, perhaps.” “ Who’s that ?’’ “ Pass on,” a voice answered sharply, *• pass on in God’s name.” “ He isn’t a thief,” thought Jefferson. “ Arn’t you well ?” This was asked, for there was a tone of feeling in the general gruffness. The man said he was well enough if ° | that would satisfy him. Mr. T. was of an enquiring nature—he ! came from Vermont—and it didn’t “ You'll excuse me, but really that is surh a very—you understand—such a very, I may say melancholy look out that —there is nothing very remarkable in a man's standing on n bridge, indeed, men often stand on bridges; but on such a bridge and on such a night —” “Well !” “ Well, echoed Jefferson—“ there,don’t move, my dear sir; there's a large hole by you. Well, as you say, for I presume you put the ‘ well’ interrogatively, under these very uncomfortable circumstances, you will excuse my curiosity, I know ; I should like much to learn the result of your nocturnal investigation of Hell Hol low, as made from its ancient bridge. The man laughed, and said Mr. Tiin herwilk was “ cool, very.” “ I’m seasonably,” he replied, looking the adventurer boldly in the face now, “ just seasonable.” “ Were you ever tired of life ?” the man asked, turning abruptly, facing the murky stream. “ Bless me, no ; certainly not,” replied Mr. T. A light was breaking in through the nog. “ I am. If you hadn’t come upon me as you did it would have been over now. Go on your wav.” Mr. Timberwilk was a creature of im pulse. lie was by the man’s side in an instant, and dragging him with all the force of his strength away off the bridge “ No you don’t; not quite.” “ Quit your hold,” gasped the man, and struggling fiercely, for Mr. Timberwilk had coiled his grasp round his cravat, and he was in some danger of being strangled. “ Presently,” cried Jefferson. “ I’ll do that, then, will make you.” But the descending arm was caught, and the grasp was tightened. The would be suicide was no match for the younger man. “ Let me go,” gasped the man, “ and I’ll promise.” They were now off the bridge. “ Promise what? Not to attempt that kind of thing again ?” “ And if I don’t ?” “ I shall be compelled, my aqueous friend, to hand you over to the police, and you’ll be fined five dollars in the morn ing.” “ Pshaw ! What good would that serve ? Well, I promise.” “ There,” releasing him, “ mind you keep it.” Timberwilk placed himself between the stranger and the bridge. “ It’s a wonder we didn’t fall through,” he said, looking back upon it. “ Stran ger, you’d better go home.” “ I have none. Home, indeed.” “ Do you mean to say, being of sound mind and body, which former allow me to doubt, that you havn’t a home ? Des titute, and that style of thing, eh ?” “ No roof but that,’ said the stranger, pointing above. “ Pleasant covering in summer,” said Jefferson. “ Not agreeable about Christ mas. Come with me.” “ 1 didn’t promise that.” “ Whether you did or not, come.” W’ithoul wailing for an answer, Tim berwilk seized the man’s arm, and with out other word of explanation, hurried him off at a fair compromise with n run to the corner cavern The bells had suspended operations ; but the wind and the snow kept up their wild saturnalia, and they had the night all to themselves, and were making the most of it. There was a cheerful glowing fire in i the stove, and the little den felt warm and grateful, end quite like a fairy palace of tranquil delight, after the old rotten bridge and its surrounding scenery of gloom. After thawing the encrusted snow from ' his eyelids and hair, and requesting the | stranger to make himself at home. Jeffer son's first act was to force his visitor into a chair, then to hurry into thegcavern to pour something of a dark liquid nature into a curiously shaped glass with mystic lines and caballitic characters on its sides, then to hurry back again, then to force the glass into the man’s hand and there j to stand waiting the effect of the opera tion. “ Off with it, its not poison." The stranger smiled a languid smile. He drank off the contents. “ Not bad to take, is it ?” “ An unusually palatable dose for a drug store.” “ The stranger was about forty-five, not a year older. He had been a portly, good looking man enough, but stern deep lines about the mouth and forehead told of strong passions and time roughly handled. His dress neither new nor shabby, nor wanting in seasonable warmth, showed that poverty had no immediate share in the recent attempt. The scene on the bridge had effectual ly cleared away the effects of the nog, and the re-action coming after the ex citement left Timberwilk in a condition to take an invigorator himself. So filling a little saucepan with water, he put it on the stove and set down to preside over its boiling. “ Perhaps I ought not to recur ” “ You may if you like.” “ Then I like. Calmly now,” laying his hand on the stranger’s knee, “ and dispassionately, don’t you think you were about to commit a foolish, sinful act ?” “ Calmly and dispassionately then. No. A man without hope and without a pur pose to live for is wise to die. Why did you bring me here ?” “ Yon said you had no home. Is that an answers I was thinking of some such man to-night, and 1 wanted to see him in the fight. Stop until I have made the punch and then I'll draw the portrait!” The steam from two tumblers of punch is curling through the den. The stran ger's eyes wink again. “ My canvass revealed,” commenced Jefferson, after tasting and venting his approval in a hearty smack, “ a man in rags, with grey hair, whose life had been spent in work-house and pet-house alter nately; no wife, no children, no charac ter, no anything; haggard in heart as in looks ; too palsied with disease to work, too idle to labor, if he were not; nothing to look forwaid to, nothing to hope ; with no courage to die, no energy to live, but with enough of desperation in the man, in any sudden fit of despair, to dash at eternity without a thought. My picture was out of drawing. You are not the man.” “ You are mistaken,” —steadily, and without looking up. “ Your portrait is a true one, in part.” “Oh! in part,” echoed Jefferson. “ Shall I tell you a story? A Christ mas story 1” “ About yourself ?” His guest bowed. “ My name is ” Timberwilk was about to add, 1 Norval,’ but looking in the other’s face, he didn’t. “ Never mind the name.” The stranger took a draught of the punch. He was thawing and getting an other man altogether. He had come out of the shell of his frostiness. “ Years ago, my father, with his wife and a cousin, came to this country from a small town in England. The cousins, in business, prospered beyond their hopes, certainly beyond their expectations. My father loved ease, a table closely packed j with friendly faces, an open house after old country notions of hospitality. The other was his opposite—griping, plodding, scheming to add.add to that for.which he had no future. He was a dark man, lock ed up so close in self that no one ever saw him clear. Business losses came, not to any very serious extent, as was thought at first, but heavy notes went to protest, large demands came in, and the house was bankrupt. The affairs were settled. Demands were bought up by I the cousin. My father was a beggar— the other was the wealthy, griping, plod ding, scheming, dark man, still. Do I interest you enough to go on ?” Jefferson signified his assent by a nod, | as he filled his dilapidated meerschaum “ I had been bred a gentleman, that i !‘o say 1 had no trade no profession. noth ing hut extravagant tastes. My father died, my mother soon followed ; it was a happiness scarce looked for so soon.— I married, married on nothing. I did I that as I had done everything else in my life, without a thought. I applied to the man, my griping cousin, who by false looks, false debts, false deeds had beg gared mine and me. He had me driven from his house, not that my father lived in, for his soul was to small 10 fill a gar ret corner. My wife died. How I loved her. He who heard my prayer to-night on that old bridge knows money might have saved her, but I had none, and so eighteen years ago, I was left alone, no —not alone, would that it had been so.— j She left me a child, a girl. I became reck- i less, turned to anything for daily bread actor, scribbler for the daily press. Too unstable for these, for anything. 1 went low, lower, and then to a gambler. My child was cared for somehow. I made j enough to do this. Desperate one night, I saw the man again. I asked but for a ' mite of what was my own by right, and |he cursed me for a strolling thief. What has since been my lot, let me blot out.— Drunkenness became a passion. I tould not help it. I was chained in a mad house. My child cared for by strangers I saw but seldom, and that always in such wretchedness and ruin, that at last I was forbid the house. Again and again I saw 1 that man. The fancy possessed me it came upon me in the mad house—to haunt him hke a ghoul on Christmas, to make him fear it as a day of death, to make him count the time by days, seconds as they flew, bringing me nearer to him. I looked to find him dying at some such moment that I might gloat over his gnsp ings, that with his latest breath he might take fresh with him my look of hate down, down. For five years I have not seen my child ; she must be a woman now.— Seeking to do well, to do better, among thousands of broken fortunes such as mine, I went to California. 1 toiled and toiled tor her, all for her, but the good time had passed. I have returned little better than I went. I hurried home to make my Christmas visit. It look near all I hail, but I would not miss his death for worlds. Something, who ran tell what, made me ! desperate to-night. As you said, 1 had i no courage to die, nor energy to live. Chance led me to the bridge. A moment came when ail my life, in its waste, was j full before me ; there was nothing but a blank—hate for enemy, love for child, all i gone ; a momentary phrenzy—and you came.” Timberwilk’s pipe wns quite out. He was looking steadily at the dying fire. “ It was lucky that I did,” grasping the other’s hand. “ Whether you did well or not is a prob lem yet to solve. You meant well, and perhaps I may live to thank you for it yet, who knows ?” A clock in the vicinity was striking.— The wind had lulled, and the deep tones sounded like solemn warning. “ One,” tr'iid Jefferson, rising and turn ing down the clothes on the lounge.— “ Come, my friend, turn in here; after all this wear and tear, you will sleep without rocking. Yours has been a hard lot in life, but of that no more to-night.” “ I will sleep where I am, in this chair, if sleep I can.” Timberwilk would have dissuaded, but there was a decision in the man’s tone, that shut out all remonstrance. Jefferson had taken off his coat, when the bell labelled “ night on the outside,” was rung violently. The stranger start ed, and Jefferson, with an eye to the en durance of the wire, enquired, in a loud key, whether it was meant to ring the house down. It would have startled any but a goblin, but master Cheep slept on. “ It’s a damaged ‘ Pointer,’ exclaimed Timberwilk. 11 A what ?” *' A ‘ Five Pointer !’ 1 wish they would get their pugilism over before this time. It don’t pay.” He passed into the store, and having scratched off another spot of salts looked out fogily at the alarmist. If all the bells that had rung out so merrily that night, had presented themselves before Mr. Timberwilk to be treated for sore throats, arising from their previous exertions, he would not have been more astonished. La belle! Perhaps he might have stood there and looked at her through the glass as at some strange animal, or curious specimen in a medical museum; he was so paraiized for the moment ; but the girl’s mission was urgent, for she said ; “ Let me in quick, please He had doubted his eyes before she spoke. He opened the dooi, and th-- danseuse, with a cloak loosely thrown around her (shoulders, enter- <i Jefferson was in a Hr-nn He could have regarded it ts an e.-p--cial favor, if VOL. X. NO. 3. j some kind friend had inserted a large si/o pin into his person at that instant, j “My mother is ill, Mr. Timberwilk.” He felt bound, under the circumstanc. to say something professional, though be (could have stood there, with the door in | his hand, looking at her forever, as he ! thought. “What symptoms?” “ Apoplexy.” “ Bleeding,” said Temhenvilk mechan ically ; “ bleeding and blue mass.” Th is was the orthodox treatment in the disturbed district surrounding Rutlernn> street for almost every complaint amon ■ the • pointers,' and some constitutions w ith stood it. “ Will you come with me ?” Would he go with her ? Would lie stand on his head at the North pole and ■ing comic songs for her sake, if such an act were practicable ? Coating himself again and insisting on throwing his cloak around his fair visitor, (like another Raleigh, he would have car peted the snow w ith his entire wardrobe had it been necessary, he bade the strang er make himself cheerful ami not permit the leeches to run away, and set out again. “ I will take your arm, Mr Timberwilk. it's so slippery.” He had a sensation of a small stream of ice water trickling on his spine. There he was with his day thought and nightly dream tucked cozily under his arm. It was astonishing how glassy and unsure oi foothold the sidewalks were, and how much trouble Mr. Timberwilk had to pre serve the perpendicular of himself and companion. “Poor old General.” said Indiana, “ I'm afraid one of these attacks will car ry her off.” Something like a suffocated sob follow ed this. There was nothing of the tights and tunics about her now. Jefferson pressed her arm as closely as he delicate ly could • he might have done so tighter still for all that the girl noticed, and they were soon at the door of the Butternut Hotel. (to bk contixckd. . Lirt uv an ExciNKtß.-The lifeof a rail road engineer is graphically depicted in the following extract from the Schenectady Star ; ' But the engineer, lie who guides the train by guiding the iron horse, and a’- niost holds the lives of passengers in his hands—his is a life of mingled danger and pleasure. In a little 7.\9 apartment, with square holes on each side for win dows, open behind, and w’ith machinery to look through ahead, you find him. He is the ‘ Pathfindei ; he leads the way m all times of danger, check the iron horse, or causes it to speed ahead with the velrc - ity of the wind, at will. Have you ever stood by the track, of a dark night, and watched the coming and passing of a train ? Away off through the darkness you discover a light, and you hear a noise, and the earth trembles under your feet. The light comes nearer, you can com pare it to nothing but the devil himself, with its terrible whistles ; the sparks you imagine comes from Bel/ebubs nostrils, the fire niderneath, that shines close io the ground, causing you to believe that the devil walks on live coals. It comes close to you ; you back away and shudder ; you look up, and almost on the devils back rides the engineer; perhaps the ‘ machine’ shrieks, and you imagine the engineer is applying spurs to the devils sides. ‘ A daring fellow, that engineer—you can t help saying so, and you wonder wherein lies the pleasure of being an en gineer But so he goes, day after day, night after night. Moonlight evenings he sweeps over the country through citie and villages, through fairy scenes and forest clearings. He looks through tin square holes at Ins side ar.d enjoys tin moonlight, but he cannot stop to enjoy tin beauty of the scenery. Cold, ram\ muddy, dark nights, ills the same Per haps the tracks are undermined o. uv flown with water ; perhaps some scoun drels have placed obstructions in the wav, or trees been overturned acres tin track, and m either case it is almost in stant death to him at least; but he stops not. Right on is the word with him, and he goes, regardless of danger, weather and every thug save the well do! ng of his duty. Think of him, ye who shudde through fear in the cushioned seats of tin cars and get warm from the fir-, that kindled for your bench*. £6s'* Those who admonish the.r t .-m: says Plutarch, should observe :hc- ■■ • not to leave them with sharp exprns.-or:-. 111 language destroys the force ot repr* hension, which should be always gr > n with decision and circumspection . , 6?3 r * When - char-’v ~ke a ter ; W h<*n t bog-ms 10 H'