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Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, January 13, 1853, Image 1

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A Journal of Political and General New7—An Advocate of Equal- Rights.
VQL- VII‘ _BATH, MAINE, THURSDAY MORNING, JANUARyTsTI853^ NO. 30.
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THE STORY TELLER.
Mrs. Kirkham’s Boarder.
BY FAN FEATHERBIE.
CHAPTER I.
* Boy, you will break my heart.’
4 Mother, you would not only break my heart
buttny spirit also, yet if I can help it, you
shall do neither.’
» No impertinence, Edward ! Again I com
mand you to take this note to your teacher ;’
hind with flashing eye and knitted brow looked
bard in her son’s face.
fMward Kirkham did not reply,'and for a
few moments both were silent. The little
porch upon which mother and son stood was
shaded and entwined with the creeping wild
rose and scarlet trumpet-flower—the bees hum
med merrily about the fragrant blossoms, and
from the spreading branches of the tall trees
near, the morniug song of joyous birds floated
forth. Mingled with these sweet sounds came
the silvery gurgle of ‘Blue Stream,’ which
passed through the village, flowed down the
fair meadows, and widened as it entered the
deep wood. At these melodies of the strange
silence, Edward Kirkham’s heart seemed
touched. The fierce scowl fled from his face,
and turning away from his mother’s steady
gaze with suffused eyes he murmured:
4 Please don't ask me to take that note,
mother, 1 cannot do it.*
41 don’t ask you—I command you to do it.
Ned, will you obey me?’ Mrs. Kirkham
spoke harshly, sternly, as one who expected
rebellion, and she seemed not surprised when
the answer came—
4 In all things reasonable I will obey you—
in this matter, never.’ Young Kirkham fold
ed his arms as he spoke, and turned full upon
his mother a gaze of defiance.
4 And do you look that way upon your wid
owed mother? you, whom I have carried in
my arms, my first-born, my only boy!’ The
widow’s lips quivered, but she did not weep.
Again Edward Kirkham seemed moved;
again he spoke in the language of entreaty :
4 Mother ! I love you,’ he pleaded, ‘I will do
anything for you, but I cannot go back to
school with that note.’
* Your boyish whims shall not interfere with
your obedience to me. Ned, take the note,
and I forgive you—disobey me, am! you cross
not my threshold again.’ Mrs. Kirkham set
her teeth firmly together as she spoke these
bitter words; her fierce temper was fully up,
and the same spirit lived in her son.
* Very well, I’ll drown myself in ‘Blue
Stream,’ ere I carry that cringing note to yon
school house. Mother, you have no respect
for your son, but he has some for himself;’
and turning away, Edward Kirkham was about
to descend the steps when his mother laid her
• _ . i
hand upon his arm.
1 Boy ! you have a frightful temper,’ she
muttered, ‘but your threats shall not frighten
me from my duty. My command stilt rests
upon you.’
‘Does it!’ carelessly returned the boy,
springing down into the road.
4 Take your books,’ called Mrs. Jvirkham
from the porch, flinging the school-satchel af
> ter her son ; ‘and don’t come home uqtil you
have obeyed me;’ then going in, she closed the
house door with a violent bang.
For a moment Edward Kirkham stood ir
resolute, and then a sudden thought flashing
through his mind, he picked op his satchel,
and his slender, boyish figure soon disappeared
amongst the trees. Two little girls sat upon
the top rail of an old moss-grown fence, near
the entrance of the woods. They were evi
dently expecting some one ; had lingered there
a long while, that bright June morning, and
their school-books were idly scattered about.—
When Edward approached, they raised a shout
of joy.
‘ I told you, Mabel, he would come,’ said the
younger of the girls, springing to his side;
then looking up in his face she artlessly in
quired, ‘What ails you, Ned? What does
make you look so sad !’
* Not much, Allie dear—never mind just
now, but here, take care of my satchel while I
tell Mabel something, down by the spring yon
der.*
* And not to me ?’ asked Allie, looking re
proachfully at her brother.
* It is nothing that you would care about 1
hearing—nothing funny that I am going to tell 1
Mabel, and we won’t be gone long; and with !
this promise and a bunch of wild flowers, the
little girl was satisfied.
‘I will tell you, Mabel,’said Edward Kirk
ham, as he walked away with his counsin, ‘as
you are two years older than Allie, and not so
childish ; besides, I know that you will always
love me.’
' * To be sure I will, dear Ned,’ returned Ma
bel Lynn, pressing close to her cousin’s side.
‘I believe you, Mabel, darling, yon know I
am nearly sixteen (and the boy proudly raised
his head ;) well, this very morning, mother
ordered me to take a mean, cringing note of
apology to Master Jones; an apology for an
offence I was never guilty of;—it would have
been a disgrace to me to have offered it. I
told mother this, but she believed me in the
wrong, and urged, until at last she looked and
talked more like a fiend than a woman.’
‘Ned! Ned!’
* Hear me, Mabel! she ordered me from her
house, and I shall not darken her doors again.
I stopped to tell you this, and bid little Allie
and yodrself good-bye.’
‘ Where are you going, Ned ? Are you nev
er coining back again?’ gasped Mabel, eagerly
clutching her cousin’s arm.
‘ Don’t ask me where I am going. Don’t
ask me when I am coming back ; I can’t tell
you Mabel dailing, but promise always to love
and remember me !’
‘Always! always!’ returned the affrighted
little girl, and then sobs choked her voice, and
burying her face in her sun4jiti|iet, she cried
passionately. When at last she checked her
'y grief her cousin reminded her of Allie ; he
bade her dry her eyes, and they returned to the
fence. In vain did Mabel implore her cousin
to tell her where he had so madly resolved to
go in vain she tried to soften his boyish
wrath against his mother. Edward Kirkham
was firm, and ere they had reached Allie she
had ceased to plead.
‘Good-bye, my sweet Allie!’ said Edward,
fondly kissing his little sister; and then turn
ing to Mabel Lynn, he kissed her trembling
lips, and pulling his cap over his eye3, to hide
the tears, he turned away.
‘ Ned. why do you bid U3 good-bye ? Ain’t
you coming home for dinner?’ asked Allie, in
surprise.
‘ No, darling, no !’ and Edward hurried to
wards the woods. Allie Kirkham looked after
her brother in mute amazement, and for a mo
ment seemed lest in thought, but directly a
bright butterfly sprang up before her, and the
gay-hearted little girl forgot Ned’s ‘queer be
havior’ in the merry chase. Mabel Lynn was
sad and silent all that morning; she said noth
ing to Allie of Edward's strange determina
tion, although it sorely troubled her heart.—
Edward Kirkham did not come home fur din
ner, and when evening shades darkened the
village, was still absent. Mrs. Kirkham grew
uneasy; the little girls frightened; and when
a second day had nearly worn away, and Ed
ward came not, she began to think it wassome
ihing more than ‘one of Ned’s mad freaks.’—
Ere the third day fleeted by, the villagers went
forth to seek Edward Kirkhanr. Mrs. Kirk
ham's passion had now gone, and her heart
seemed almost wrung to anguish. Nut until
the close of the fourth day did any light break
upon the disappearance of Edward Kirkham^
A mournful cue was then furnished to thfe
mystery. His jacket was found floating upon
the waters of‘Blue Stream,’and on the bank
near by lay his handkerchief and school-satch
el—his foot-prints were traced in the soft
earth, close down to the stream’s edge. ‘Blue
Stream’ was dragged, but the body of the poor
boy could not be found ; there was little doubt
that it had been carried far down, and lost in a
wider expanse of water. Mrs. Kirkham now
fearfully realized the truth of her sou’s threat,
and for weeks seemed bereft of sense. Sud
denly she regained her stern, calm composure,
and after listening with whitened cheek to Ma
bel Lynn’s tale, forbade that her son’s name
should ever be mentioned to her again. The
villagers respected her grief, and Edward
Kirkham was remembered by them only in si
lence or in tearful whispers at their own fire
sides. Mrs. Kirkham felt that she had pro
voked that storm of passion in which her
proud, yet noble-hearted boy had rushed into
eternity, and with this conviction she was mis
erable. Mabel Lynn and Allie often spoke to
each other of Edward, and as months flew by, j
their pafe, sad faces loftMittW truly they yet
mourned for ‘Poor Ned !’
CHAPTER II.
Seventeen years had fleeted by since Mrs.
Kirkham’s fearful bereavement — seventeen
long years. Mingled web3 of mercies and
chasieuiugs, joys and sorrows, had passed over
the village. It had changed ; its houses were
more numerous, and a spirit of life and activity
had sprung up in its very midst which seven
teen years before had slumbered. There was
a ehange in the inhabitants, an absence of well
known familiar faces, a presence of new and
strange ones. In her old home Mrs. Kirkland
Mill lived. Her step had grown heavy and
her eye dim. Silver threads glistened from
beneath her widow’s cap. The weight of
years was beginning to press hardly on Mrs.
Kirkham, though her spirit had lost none of
its energy. Time and bitter grief had softened
her fierce asperity of temper, and Mary Kirk
ham, sorely chastened, deeply sorrowing, was
a subdued and altered woman. Allie Kirk
ham—'.he gay little girl of seventeen years be
fore—was a widow. Childless and alone, her
mirthful spirit saddened. Allie Dale returned
to her mother's house poorer than when she
left it. Mabel (sltll Mabel Lynn) lived with
her aunt. Her brow was smooth and fair, as
in earlier years, yet her large black eyes had
a mournful gaze,and her cheek was very pale.
Many wondered that the gentle and lovely Ma
bel Lynn had passed thirty tears of her life,
unsought, unwon ; yet Mabel was calmly
cheerful, and repined not at her lonely lot.—
To her aunt's heart she was very dear. Allie
and Mabel were Mrs. Kirkham’s treasures—
all the old lady had.
Mrs. Kirkham grew poor. She had nev
ber been wealtny, nut now her little fortune
seemed fleeting fast away. Unless help came
soon, ‘the homestead’ must pass into strang
er hands, and this Mrs. Kirkham shrank
from. Mabel and Allie bent over their nee
dles from morn till even, but their labors seem
ed in vain. Prospects darkened—money les
sened. As a last resort, Mrs. Kirkham decid
ed to lake a boarder—a gentleman boarder—
and for his use she would appropriate her best
bed-chamber, a pretty room, over the neat lit
tle parlor. With the aid of her old domestic,
she could manage household affairs, and her
neice anti daughter might still pursue their
sewing. Allie and Mabel approved of this,
and the next week the foilowiug notice ap
peared iu the village paper—
‘ A pleasant room and boarding for one
gentleman, to be had on reasonable terms.
Apply at Mrs. Kirkham’s.’
No one responded to this advertisement,
and for the fourth and last lime, it filled a
corner in the ‘Weekly Herald.’ This time
it was successful.
A stranger whom the stage had brought to
the village a half horn before, carelessly
picked up the paper. Sylvester Trelnn, for
so lie had booked his name, read this notice
twice and then, having apparently arrived
at a satisfactory conclusion, desired to be
shown the way to Mrs. Kirkham’s. Daring
a walk of some minutes, Mr. Trelan asked
muny questions of bis little guide, con
cerning the Kirkham family, expressing his
determination, if he liked them, to remain
some weeks. I don’t know, render, what
< pleased Sylvester Trelan so much at the
cottage, but this I do know, that after gazing
round the pretty chamber, with its old-fash
ioned red and green carpet, long white cur
tains, and neatly made bed with snowy Mar*
I seiiles quilt, and after a very brief conversa
tion with Mrs. Kirkham, he engaged to be
i her boarder for several months, at least un
til autumn.
Sylvester Trelan was a tall man. Hia fig
ure was good, his eye dark blue and pierc
ing, his features regular, and when he smiled
he looked plensant. But he was not hand
some; bis complexion was deeply bronzed,
and he wore his dark brown hair in thick,
clustering masses over his brow; which add
ed to his habitually stern expression of coun
tenance, rendered him rather unprepossess
ing in appearance. Sylvester Trelan had
travelled much; his home had been in for
eign countries; and therefore, when he
chose, his conversation became singularly
interesting and pleasing. He was wealthy,
and paid generously, and Mrs. Kirkham was
well satisfied with her boarder.
Allie and Mabel did not like him ; at times
his manners were strangely abrupt, and ere
Sylvester Trelan had been two weeks in her
house, Mr3. Kirkham adopted their sentiments ;
her feelings underwent a sudden and violent
change towards him.
‘ I heard something at the village to-day,
which interested me exceedingly,’ said Trelan
to Mabel Lynn, as he sat with her one evening
upon the porch.
‘Indeed! what was it?’ listlessly asked
Mabel.
* Ait old tale to you, I presume ; I refer to
the drowning of Mrs. Kirkham’s son, years
ago.’
Mj A deep blush spread over Mabel Lynn’s face,
and her voice quivered as she spoke. ‘ An old
tale, indeed, and bee full of misery. Don’t
talk to me u^NeafMr. Trelan, you don’t know
what heart-rending memories your remark has
awakened.’
‘ I am surprised, Miss Lynn ; you talk as if
you loved this Kirkham.’
* Loved him ! Yes, child as I w-as, I loved
him dearly sir; he was my cousin—my broth
er. On Ned! Ned !’ and Mabel Lynn wept
bitterly.
Mr. Trelan looked troubled, earnest and per
plexed. * Pardon me; I knew not this subject
was so painful to you.’
‘ You light have known,’ quickly returned
Mabel ; then, checking herself, she added,
promise never to mention this subject in this
house again, especially to my aunt; we never
speak to her of Ned.’ Ere Trelan could reply
they were summoned to tea.
As Mrs. Kirkham took her seat at the tea
tray, Mr. Trelan fixed his large blue eyes in
tently upon her. ‘ Madam,’ he said, in a low
thrilling tone, which caused Allie Dale to start,
and Mabel to look imploringly on him, ‘ Mad
am, I heard to-day, for the first time, of your
son being drowned near this village, many
years ago.’ A quick contraction of the mouth
a deadly pallor of the cheek, and otherwise
Mrs. Kirkham was salm.
‘ 1 alk not to me of Edward Kirkham,’ she
said hoarsely ; ‘he went to the bar of his God a
wretched suicide.’
‘And pray, Mrs. Kirkham, why did he com
mit suicide? had he just cause for it? was he
unhappy?’ coolly asked Trelan.
Mrs. Kirkham's hand trembled violently,
and she sat down the coffee-pot. Allie Dale
burst into tears, and Mabel leaned back in her
chair, and covered her eyes. Notwithstanding
this, and the horror-stricken looks of the old
servant, who, fly-brush in hand, stood as if
petrified, Trelan calmly repeated the question,
* Had he cause ?’
‘Oh, misery! yes—but who are you, that
you dare speak to me of Ned ?’ Mrs. Kirk
ham rose from the table with a sudden shudder
and Allie followed her. Sylvester Trelan’s
confused apology was lost upon Mabel ; she
seemed scarcely to hear it. Shortly after, when
he took his hat and left the house, Mahel sought
her aunt. That night, the first time for seven
teen years, Mrs Kirkham spoke to Allie and
Mabel of Ned.
CHAPTER III.
It was a stormy eve ; fleeting clouds dark
ened the face of heaven, and wailing winds
and dashing rain sounded mournfully.together.
Mrs. Kirkham sat alone in her parlor. The
small lamp threw its rays full upon her face ;
it was pale, sad and anxious. For a long
while she was silent, and then, the mother's
heart throbbing wildly within her, she moaned
forth her grief. *Oh, Ned, my precious lost
boy, would that my tongue had been palsied,
ere it spoke those bitter words! Oh, misera
ble child, and still more miserable mother!’—
Tears burst forth, and Mrs. Kirkham laid her
head upon the table.
‘Did you address me, Madam ?’ asked Syl
vester Trelan, stepping from the deep win
dow recess, where he had been standing unob
served.
‘ Address you? No ! I knew not that you
were in the room,’ returned Mrs. Kirkhdfn,
hastily subduing her grief, and rising from her
chair.
‘ You appeared to be mourning for your—’
‘ Don’t mention his name to me again,’ vio
lently interrupted Mrs. Kirkham, her whole
frame trembling with emotion.
Sylvester Trelan covered his face with his
hands, and muttered, ‘ it is well.’ When he
looked up he was alone.
‘ It is cruel, unaccountable, his behavior,’
said Mabel Lynn, as she listened with flushed
cheek, some minutes after, to ber aunt’s inco
herent tale. Why this man seeks thus to tor
ture you, I know not.
‘Mother!’ exclaimed the impetuous Allie
Dale, fondly kissing Mrs. Kirkham’s faded
lips, ‘ Mother ! Sylvester Trelan shall stay
here no longer. Let me this very night bid
him seek other lodgiugs; it matters not if we
are poor, better so than to have your feelings
crushed.’
‘ Allie ! stay a moment. Our poverty does
matter much ; we cannot so hastily cut off
from ns the means of support; but, daughter,
I promise you, if Sylvester Trelan mentions
my boy to me again, he leaves this house for
ever.’
41 am satisfied,’ murmured Allie.
Another evening was stealing over the vil
lage ; not a dim, misty, weeping one, aa that
I of yesterday, but radiant with golden light,
balmy and fair. Allie Dale sat upon the porch
step ; nature was joyous, but she was not; and
whilst the birds sang, she sighed.
4 You are sad this evening, Mrs. Dale, and
wherefore ?’
Allie turned and saw Sylvester Trelan ; a
shiver of dislike crossed her, and she answered
proudly :
4 You need not ask, Mr. Trelan. Permit
me to inquire why you have twice cruelly
wounded the heart of my mother? and not two
weeks have flown since you entered our family.
Why have you done this?’
‘For my own satisfaction,’ hurriedly re
turned Mr. Trelan.
* 1* your heart of adamant? Yon know not
what agony to my mother is in the mention of
Ned; even Mabel and myself have never dared
to advert to him, by word or look, for years ;
and yet you, a stranger, cooly delight iu her
misery.’
4 Not so—not so ; I have an object in view,’
said Trelan, with strange emphasis.
Allie Dale did not reply. Again she sighed
and again her companion inquired the reason
of her grief.
4 I will tell you,’ she answered suddenly,
4 although you have no feeling. To save
mother, Mabel and myself from bitter poverty,
I have partly consented to wed one I can never
love; and now a path of wretchedness lies be
fore me.’
4 De comforted, Allie—Mrs. Dale ! In that
path you shall never walk. I will save you,
so help me heaven!’
Allie looked up throu'gfi lier tears at Trelan,
but he turned away from her earnest gaze, and
left her alone.
An hour later, Sylvester Trelan entered the
parlor where sat Mrs. Kirkham, Allie and Ma
bel. A chill silence followed his entrance.—
It was bruken at last by Trelan.
4 Mrs. Kirkham, I wish not to torture yon,
but I implore you, tell me, do you love your
son l' As Trelan paused, his frame shook
with violent emotion.
4 lo mercy, speak not hia name again to me!’
gasped Mrs. Kirkham.
4 In mercy, answer my question, and I
pledge my sacred honor that I cease to trouble
you.’
‘Man! tormentor! You have pitilessly
torn my bleeding heart since you came to this
house ; now leave it and take my answer. 1
love my dead boy with a mad, passionate, un
dying love !’ Mrs. Kirkham almost screamed
these words out, and then clasping her hands
tightly together, she pressed them on her
brow.
4 I have probed your heart but to heal. Oh,
mo*her ' mother* I have 4»er Shved ye*, I have
pined for you ; mother, behold your son !’—
And with a convulsive sob, the strong man
threw himself on hi3 knees before Mr*. Kirk
ham.
‘ My son !’ exclaimed the bewildered woman,
looking wildly on Trelan. ‘Alas! no—my
poor boy was drowned.’
‘ Mother, he was not, I tell yon. / am
your son. I am Edward Kirkham. In a mo
ment of fierce anger I vowed to be dead to you,
and left my clothes and satchel on the bank,
that you might think I slept beneath the wa
ters. Oh, mother, forgive me!' As Edward
Kirkham spoke, he swept back the masses of
dark hair from his brow, and his high, bold
forehead was uncovered. A deep red scar
glowed upon it. As Mrs. Kirkham’s eye fell
on this, she uttered a scream of joy.
* You are my Ned ? That scar was on your
brow in childhood. I know you now. Oh,
child, for seventeen long years parted from
your mother, you are mine again ! My God !
I thank Thee. And Mrs. Kirkham’s arms
were wound around her son’s neck, with a
wild rapturous endearment.
Allie and Mabel knelt by Edward Kirk
ham and when his mother’s head was on his
shoulder, and their soft kisses fell upon his
cheek and lip, the weary wanderer of sev
enteen years acknowledged with a grateful
heart that God had richly blessed him.
' I have gathered wealth ; 1 have brought
home gold, mother—it is yours! You are
poor no longer. Sweet sister! darling Allie !
you shall never walk in the wretched path
of which you told tne an hour ago.’
Allie Dale looked fondly in her brother’s
face, as he spoke. ' I said harsh things to
you one hour ago. My precious Ned, can
you forgive them ?’
‘Think not of them. Mother,’ said Ed
ward, turning to Mrs. Kirkham, ‘forgive my
strange conduct since 1 came to your house.
I know my questions seen' ed cruel, lint 1 felt
such a wild yearning tw'liear from voui* own
lips whether you had forgiven and loved me
yet, or had cast me off forever. Had your
heart seemed closed against me, I would
have left you, unknowing that other than
Sylvester Trelan had crossed your thresh
old.’
* Forgive me. O Ned ! I have been fear
fully punished fur my bitter words to you on
that dreadful morning. My heart has borne
a load of misery ever since, my precious
boy.’
Mrs. Kirkham’s arms were around Ed
ward again, and mother and son felt that, in
that earnest, holy embrace, both were for
given, and the shadows of the past forever
effaced. Mrs. Kirkham chided herself as
one blind of heart, for not knowing her son ;
but as Mabel and Allie declared, there was
little wonder she had failed to do so.
Seventeen years work deep changes, and
in the bronzed muscular man of thirty-three
none could have traced the fair slender boy
of sixteen. The dark tinge had rested too
long on Edward Kirkham’s cheek to lightly
pass away ; but as he tossed back the rich
masses of hair from his brow, and suffered
bright heartsome smiles to light up bis coun
tenance, Mabel and Allie declared he was
their ' handsome Ned ’ again.
Burning with boyish rage against bis
mother, young Kirkham went to sea a few
days after bis flight from the village. For
years he never wished to return; but as he
advanced in life, a wild desire sprang up to
revisit bis home, and share with bis mother,
Allie and Mabel, the fortune he bad gained.
When he came to the village, and ere he
had time to inquire for his frirnda, the no
tice in the paper met his eye. As be read,
a strange fancy struck him: it deepened into
as strange a plan. Reader, this plan and
the sequel you already know.
‘Mabel! sweet Mabel Lynn.' for whom
have you kept that heart iree so long? You
were the idol of ray boyish days-you are
now the idol of my proud manhood. Dar
ling Mabel ! will you give me your priceless
heart?’ To this earnest question of Edward
Kirkhatn’s, 1 know that Mabel auswered
‘ yes'
Some weeks after there wns a wedding in
the * old homestead,’ aod Edward Kirkham
took to Itis true and noble heart the fair Ma
bel Lynn. Allie Dale ever smiles when she
speaks of Sylvester Trelan, and her motheri
declares that a blessed day upon which he
crossed her threshold. There was no small
excitement and joy in the village, when it
was known that the long-lost Ned Kirkham
had come back; and down to the present
time the villagers regard ‘ Mrs. Kitkham's
boarder.with wonder and interest.
MISCELLANY.
A Merchant’s Revenge.
Making haste to be rich, leads the young
man to violate the golden rule, and thus
wound his conscience. An illustration of
this occurred some years since in one of the
American cities. A built a very expensive
warehouse on his lot, and after it was com
pleted, B, his next neighbor, discovered that
it was a couple or three incites on his lot.—
A surveyor was sent for, and A discovered
his mistake, and freely offered B a large sum
' if he would permit it to retiit.»n. B knew
| that he had his wealthy neighbor in his
j power, therefore he seemed unwilling to sell
| the narrow gore lor twenty times the value
of the land, lie only waited fora larger
! bribe to be offered, believing thut before A
i would pull down Ins warehouse, he would
I pay half its value. But A, finding that B
| was deiermiried to he satisfied with nothing
hut extortion, began to pull down his noble j
j jptildmg. Then he miglil have settled on !
I his own terms, hut he had no offer to make, i
! The last foundation-stone was removed. ' i
i ortler to revenge himself, A ordered his |
builder to run tip the new edifice a couple of
' inches within his own line ; anil it was done ;
and the noble huilditig again wns completed,
j A short time afterwards, B commenced the:
j erection of his splendid warehouse directly
j against Itis neighbor’s, and of course, two
| inches over on the lot of A. The trap laid
; had succeeded ns he expected ; and nfter B’s
I building wns completed, and his ftiends
{ were congratulating him on his noble ware*
: house, A steps up and informs B that his
; edifice e»K«rnaet»^s or* l*i» Intut. B laughs
at the thought, for amid the rubbish and
' deep foundations, a couple of inches cannot
j be delected by the naked eye.
A surveyor was sent for, and Conceive the
blank astonishment that filled the rnind of
B, when he found himself at the mercy of
one whom he had so deeply wronged. Then
would have been the lime for A to have
shown the sordid B what a magnanimous
heart could do! How much better, nobler,
happier, to pass hy an insult! It is the glo
ry of the Christian to be able, willing, and
rejoice to forgive an enemy. But A was
actuated hy simple revenge, and that neigh
bor can name no sum at which he wutdd
even look. He offered him half the cost of
his edifice, if he would suffer hint to let i:
stand. No ; he must pull it down, and down
it came, to the very foundations! This!
neighbor, in placing his store within his own
line, and thus setting n snare, was as cer
tainly guilty of falsehood as Ananias and
Sapphira, although he had not said a word.
For B to take advantage of the unintention
al mistake of hisneighhor, and then endeavor
to extort some thousands of dollars from him,:
was nothing hut attempting wholesale rob
bery. It is hut the same thing in retail
robbery, which prompts one 10 take advan
tage of the ignornnt neighbor, or that neigh
bor’s servant or child.—Mercantile Morals.
The Snake and the Crocodile.
The following thrilling account of an en
gagement between a bon constrictor and a
crocodile in Java, is given by an eye wit
ness :
It was one morning that I stood beside a
small lake, fed by one of tbe rills from tbe
mountains. The waters were ns clear as
crystal, and everything could be seen to tbe
very bottom. Stretching its limbs close over
this pond, was a gigantic teak tree, und in
its thick, Bliining, evergreen leaves, lay a
huge bon, in an easy coil, taking his morning
I nap. Above him was n powerful ape of the
baboon species, a leering race of scamps, al
ways bent on mischief.
Now the ape, from his position, saw n
crocodile in the water, rising to tbe top, ex
actly beneath the coil of the serpent. Quick
as thought fie jumped plump upon the snake,
which lell with a splash into the j iws of the
crocodile. The ape savetl himself by cling
ing to the limb of a tree, but a- battle royal
immediately commenced in the water. The
serpent, grasped m the middle by the croco
dile, made the water boil hy his furious con
tortions. Winding his folds around the body
of his antagonist, he disnbled his i wo hinder
legs, and hy his contractions, made the scales
anil bones crack.
Tbe water was speedily tinged with the
blood of both combatants, yet neither wne
disposed to yield. They rolled over and
over, neither being able toohtaii^a deeided
advantage. All this time the cause of mis
chief was in a state of the highest ecstacy.—
He leaped up and down the branches of the
tree, came several times close to the scene of <
the fight, shook the limb of the tree, uttered a
yell, nnd again frisked about. At the end of j
ten minutes a silence began to come over the j
scene. The folds of the serpent began to be j
relaxed, and though they were trembling
along the back, the head hung lifeless in tbe j
water.
The crocodile was also still, and though
only the spines of his back were visible, it
wus evident that he, ton, was dead. The
monkey now perched himself on the lower
limbs of the tree, close to the dead bodies,
and amused himself for full ten minutes in
making all sorts of faces at them. This
seemed to be adding insult to injury. One
of my companions was standing at a a short
distance, and taking a stone from the edge of
the lake, hurled it at the ape. He was to
tally unprepared, and as it struck him on
the side of the head, he instantly tipped
over, and fell upon the crocodile. A few
bounds however, brought him to the shore,
and taking to the tree, he speedily disap
peared among the thiek branches.
It is not decent to spend your money in
foolishness, when you have debts that ought
lo be paid.
Serenading a Yoang Lady.
A friend tells tbo following:
In my young day* 1 wa* extravagantly fond
of attending parties* and somewhat celebrat
ed fur playing on the flute. Hence, it was
generally expected that when an invitation
waa extended, my flute would accompany
me.
- 1 visited a splendid party one evening, nnd
waa called upon to favor the company with
a tune on the flute. 1, of course, immedi
ately complied with the request. The com
pany appeared delighted, but more particu
larly ao, was a young lady who raised her
bands and exctautied it was beautiful, de
lightful, Ace.
I, of-course, was highly 'c^ftlttei?, and itn
medMteiy formed Si resolution to serenade
the young lady on the following night. 1
started Hie next night, in company with sev
eral young friends, and arrived, as I sup
posed, at the Indy’s rested nee, but made n glo
rious mistake by getting under the window
ot a* old Qua kef.
“Now, boys.” said I, “behold the senti
mentality of this young lady the moment I
strike op the 'Lust Rose of Summer.’ ” I
siruck up, but the window remained closed,
and the boys began to smile.
" O” sni<l I, “that is nothing; it would not
he in good taste to raise the window on the
first air.”
1 next struck up “Old Robin Gray.”—
Still the window remained closed. The
boys snickered, and 1 fell somewhat flat.
“Once more, boys,” said 1, “and she must
come.” I siruck up again—'“My Love is
like the Red, Red Rose.” Still there was
no demonstration.
“ Boys,” said I, “she’s a humbug. Let us
sing ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ and if that doh'i
bring her, I’ll give her up.”
We struck up, and as we finished the last
line, Hie window was laised.
“ Thar’s the ticket, boys. 1 knew we could
fetch her.’
But instead of the lienutiful young lady, ii
inmeil out to bo old Quaker in his night-cnp
and dres«ing-gown.
Friend,’ said he, ‘thee was singing of thy
home—and it I recollect right, thee said
there was no place like home ; and if that is
| true, why don’t thee go to thy home p Thee
is not wanted here—thee, nor none of thy
company. Farewell.’
We, nnd our hujs, went home.
An Anecdote.
The following anecdote from the New
Hampshire Telegraph is too good to be
lost:—
Many years ago there was in the eastern
part of Massachusetts, a worthy old D. D.,
and although he was an eminently benevo
lent man and a good Christian, yet it must be
confessed that he loved a joke much better
than even the most inveterate jokers. It
was before church organs were much in use,
it so happened that the choir of this church
had recently purchased a double bass viol.—
Not far from the church was a large town
1 pasture and in it a huge town bull. One hot
SnhlKith in the summer he gql out of the
pasture and eidne bellowing np the street.—
About the church there was plenty of untrod
den grass, gre£n and good, nnd Mr. Bull
slopped to try its quality, perchance to ascer
tain if its location had improved its flavor, at
any rate the reverend doctor was in the midst
j of his sermon, when,
* Boo-woo-woo,’ went the bull.
T he doctor paused, looking up at the sing
ing scats and with a grave face said:
41 would thank the musicians not to tune
their instrument during service time, it an
noys me very much.’
The people started and the minister went
oil.
4 Boo-woo-woo,’ went the Lull again, ns he
passed another green spot.
The parson paused again, addressed the
choir:
41 really wish the singers would not tune
their instruments while 1 am preaching, as I
remarked before, for it annoys me very
much.’
The people tittered, for they knew as well
1 as any one what the real state of the case
| was. Ttie minister went on again with his
discourse, but he had not proceeded far be
fore another4 Boo-woo-woo,' came from Mr.
Bull, when the parson paused once more, and
again exclaimed :
4 I have twice already requested the mu
sicions in the gallery not to tune their in
struments during sermon time. I r.ow par
ticularly request Mr. Laievor that he will
riot tune his double bass viol while I am
preaching.’
This was too much. Lafevor got up too
much agitated at the thought of speaking out
in church, and stammered out:
4 It isn’t me, pntson B-, it’s th-that
-town bull!’
--
A Busy Pay Day.
A profligate young fellow, a son of a lawyer
of some emiuece in Rhode Island, on a cer
tain muster or inspection day, purchased a
horse of an ignorant farmer, and engaged to
pay for it on the next inspection day. He
gave a note; but instead of inspection he in
serted the word resurrection—making it
payable on the resurrection day !
When the next inspection day had come
and the farmer, unsuspirious of the trick, j
supposed the note to be due, he called outlie
young man for payment. Tlie Utter ex
pressed great astonishment that he should
call on him before the not* was out.
4 But it is out,’ said the farmer t ‘you prom
ised to pay me the next inspection day; the
time Inis come and I want my money.’
4 if you will look ut the note again,' said
the young man, coolly,‘you will Arid it has
a very long while to run yet.’
The farmer was sure the note was due or
ought to be; but on spelling over carefully,
he found to his astonishineut that it was iioi
due till the resurrection day. He remonstra
ted with the young scape-grace; but all to
no purpose, and he Anally laid the case be
fore lus father, the lawyer. The latter took
his son aside, arid told him he had better set
tle the thing at once.
‘For,’ said he, ‘though the pay-day is far
distant, you are in n fair way to have busi
ness enough on your hands that day, without
having your notes to settle.’ The advice was
taken.
Solomon's Song. A New York paper
relates the following:
A gentleman entered Tohnan’s music
store a day or two since, and stated his
wishes in this wise:
4 Have you Solomon’s Song? I want to
get a copy.’
4 No,’ said the salesman, not being able to
recollect at that moment any lithographed
sheet with that title. ‘No, I am alraid not.’
‘Ah,’ said the amateur, drawing on his
kids,‘perhaps it isn’t out yet. Our pastor
spoke of it last Sunday as a production of
great genius and beauty, and I want iny
daughter to learn it.’
The shopman, with what gravity hecould
command, regretted that he had no copies
in yet, and and the customer left just in sea
son to snve the vest buttons of the book-keep
er at the desk.
.
A Merited Rebuke.
A correspondent of the New York Time*,
writing from Boston, gives the following
incident, in hit travel to thnt place i
‘Among the crowd in the cars, at we came
up from Fall River, was an old man, an orig
inal. I mutt tell you something of him, for
he is a type which you would find nowhere
except in Ameriea. A Lynn shoemaker
oner, with a most simple air and stupid Yan
kee drawl, but the sharpest wit under it.—
Aa Hawthorne saya—‘there are no rustic*
now in New England, they are all eynicaand
philosophers. Some young gentlemen in Ik*
car thought they would have fun out ot the
old yankee—they commenced by asking him
impudent questions, and he auawered in hie
simple, drawling way, and they wera led on,
until at length it began to appear they bad
got hold of a Tartar. They tried to flip out
of it, but the old man stuck to them, turned
the Inugh ot the whole enr on them; and be
fore we reached Boston, U* green Yankee
had given such a lecture and sermon to the
young men, as they had not had tot a twelve
month. It really solemnised them. I can
not give the whole conversation. A few of
hie sharp things will show the style.
‘One of the young men aaid somethin* h»
the conversation against women. 'Young
man,’aaid be, 'I have lived a good' while in
this world, and have seed a good many
things at one lime or t’other. Aud 1 have
observed this here fact—give me a family,
with a fayther na bad as Hell wants him—
and that’s pretty tad—a casein,’ drinkin’,
fightta’ chap—and a mother, who’s ooe of
yer out-and out God-fearin wimmen. Let
th$ old wouiaa bring up Ute nJuldrea to
pray—let her teach ’em to my aa »oo« as
they kin talk,‘Our Fuyther in heaven,’and
lei her be a genooin one every day in thin
here way, nnd 1 have always kind a’ noticed
that (hem children didn't take arter the lay
ther. They are very apt to mm out Well! —
Don’t ye think so? And I'll tell ye what I
told a teller wunce, that was blackguardin’ a
woman—says 1,'Jnhe’—And I allers spoke
kind o' Ireely to Jabe—said 1,‘Jabe ! I’ve al
lers noticed that the man who speeks disris
pec dully of a woman, is very apt to be an—»
in-fer-nal scowndrtl!'
An Elephant Fight in the West.—A
lively correspondent ol the Baltimore Patriui,
writes from Athens county, Ohio, as follows j
I have just been wandering through the
country in search of land, belonging to some
chants of mine, and in doing ao have met
with tmoy amusing incidents. Only th«
other day as a caravan of rare animals, in
cluding one that tinveled with a trunk, was
passing up, not Federal Hill, hut Federal
Creek, in Athens county, Ohio, it encoun
tered n sturdy Buckey driving a large hull.
Now this bull, unlike some people, had nev
er seen 'the elephant’ before, and when the
‘critter’ came, in sight, commenced making
his fore feel Inmiliar with the 'free soil,’ and
his lungs familiar with their nrcustommed
exercise. 11 is driver ami owner warned
Baknum's agent to get his elephant out of
the way. But Mr. Baknum's agent said he
‘ would risk his elephant if Buckey would
ri-k his bull.’ Whereupon the Western
Taurus renewed Ids bellowing, and made a
desperate lunge at (he huge monster ol India.
The contest was somewhat similar to certain
political cues, for the elephant with one
blow from his trunk, stretched the bull upon
the ground, breaking three of his ribs, nnd
driving the breath so far from his body, thnt
it has utterly refused to return. Mv Buckey
friend was obliged to be content with Mr.
Bull’s beef, tallow and hide, while the ele
phant went on his way, driven by his whist
ling and whitting attendant. True, the beef
owner consoled himself hy saying that he
hail been saved a great deal of trouble, and
the fight had turned out just ns he expected.
This should be a warning to all Durhurns
never to attack Elephants.
Important Discovery. —■ An excellent
method of applying electricity hue recently
(been discovered and applied, in New York".
Sulzer observed that when two pieces of
metul of different kinds, as copper and Bine,
lire placed one above and another beneath the
tongue, as ofieu as the projecting ends are
broughr into contact, a remarkable metallic
tasie is perceived. This led to what i« call
ed voltaic electricity, and also the galvanic
lings, the efficacy of which perhaps many of
your readers are aware of.
The important discovery is this!—If a cyl
indrical piece of zinc is placed near the top
of n broom handle and another about fifteen
inches helow, connection being made be
tween the two hy means of a wire, n person
taking hold of the top piece with tfie right
hand, while the left is placed on the cop|»ef
or lower piece, forms a voltaic circle, which
heroines more powerful ilie more the broom
is used. The hands must be without gloves
so that the metals are in contact, and the
windows of the room should he open when
the hrootit is used, so ns to admit the air
freely. The discovery is invaluable to fe
males in a weak state for want of active life,
and for males it can be applied to axe han
dles.
Hott to Prevent Wet Feet.- The Me
chanics' Magazine says:—I have had three
pair of boots lor the last six years, (no shoes)
and I think I shall not require any more for
the next six years to come. The reason is
that I treat them in the following manner!
I put a pound of tallow and a half pound of
rosin in a pot on the fire; when melted nod
and mixed, 1 warm the boots and apply the
hot stuff with a painter’s brush until neither
the sole nor the upper leathers will suck in
any more. If it is desired that the boots
should immediately take a polish, dissolve
an ounce of wnx in a teaspoonful of lamp
black. A day after the hoots have been treat
ed with the tallow and rosin, rub over them
this wnx in turpentine, hut not before the
fire. Thus the exttrior will have a coat of
wax alone, and shines like a mirror. Tallow
or any othet grease becomes rancid, and rots
the stitching as well as leather; hut the ros
in gives it an antiseptic quality Which pre
serves the whole. Boots and shoes should
he so large as to admit of wearing cork soles.
Cork is so bad a conductor of heat that with
it in the boots the feet are always warm oil
the coldest stone floor.
First use or Mahooant. Dr. Gibbons,
an eminent physician, in the latter end of the
Seventeenth' century, had a hroflier, a sea
captain, who was the first that brought from
the West Indies some mahogany logs to
London for ballast. The doctor was thetl
building him n house in Convent Garden,
and his brother, the captain, thought they
might be of service to him ; hut the carpen
ters found the wood too hard for their tools,
and it was laid aside as useless. Soon after,
Mr. Gibbons wanted a candle-bog, and got a
cabinet-maker to make it out of the useless
wood lying in the garden. The box was
made, and the doctor was so much pleased
with it, that lie got the cabinet-maker to
muke him a bureau of it, and the fine color
and polish of it induced him to invite a great
number of bis friends to see it, and among
them the Dutchess of Buckingham. Her
Grace begged the Doctor for some of the
wood, and got Walleston, the cabinet maker,
to make her a bureau also, on which the fame
of mahogany and Wullasion were much
raised, and it became the rage for grand fur
niture. No other wood exceeds it yet.
Long Winded.—The Carpet Bag tella the
story of a preacher who delighted in long
sermons, nnd who once exchanged with a
brother preacher who always delivered short
ones. At the usual hour for closing tbewr
vices, the people became uneasy, and be Of
inspired with the love of warm dinners ra
ther than long sermons, went out quietly
one by one, till the preacher was left alone
with the sexton. The preacher feeling that
he must do his duty, still continued to Me**
away, till that functionary, seeing no pros
pect of a close, walked deliberately u|f the
pulpit stairs, snd handing him the key, re
quested he would lock up when he got through,
and leave the key at hit house a*he went along,

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