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VOL. 4. BELLOWS FALLS, VT., a FIUDAv JANUARY 28, 1859- -r; i v .! i. j ' ! NO. 4. BELLOWS FALLS TIMES., . rru A M ': SWAIN.: . . - i t., jr...', IDITOR AKT PtiLHUBB Bubterlbunffho take It at the offlce.tn advance.. , . $ 1.93 .., Village iubecribera who retelre thlr paper, bjr - . parrier t advance,, .'.. .. . . 1.50 inolubi.ln Windham and Wlndeor, Couotleii, In " .dT.noe,'..'..'lw.;..'.i.;..U.u......,;....l.a.i " tf payment be delayed ni roontbi,.'..,., .,.v.... 1.50 "' Mall eubiwrlberi out of Windham and Wihdim f-ii OountlesDTarlablyla advance,. ....,$.... 150 ! RATES OP aOVEBTUISGi ' Teroae aquare, one Innertlo,. ., .i...... ....... .7. ct I : Twelve and a half eeata will be charged for eachadditlona i nwertloB. i . , , , 1( .. , . , ..'.,... Legal adrertlMmenta Inserted at the nenal rater and iberal Jiieount m kde to thou, who advents? ear y ' 'j - ;J0B PUINTINr,.' V Ouroffioelsfurnlshed with the moptapprovc material: need In tlw rt, for doing JOB PRINTING In allvarletin a.t short notleennd on reasonable eerme. POETRY ' A 1'7 whoM bufbaad wu not cruel hat 1 u patient placed the flkiriDg beaoMful tvproof orer the looking; glaw tlmt b oiilit nee himself lo t true light And sow lair la die, whom hnabanda need the admooltirm, quirt Ij take s your tdaon and nit tbia out for jour looking glasnea. BE GENTLE TO THY WIFE. Pe gentle you little know How otanjr trial rise. Although to the they ay be unall. - To br of giant Be gentle, though perchaoce that Hp Ma; frpeak a mtirtpuriog tone, Th heart may ajjetUt with kindneaa yet, And joy to he thy own. Be gn tie ; weary houra of pait TTia wuuao'4i ot to bear ; Tlten yWld her what support thou caoat, And all her anrrowa rhar. Te g ntle, for the nob'et hearts r At tiuieaniurt have sotue grief ; ' And even in a pettish Word! May terk to And relief Be gentle, none are perfect here! Thou art dearer Er than lift ; ThB hnxbaod bear, aod still forbear. J gnil t0 tky cifi. P. MISCELLANY. The .Mouiifiiiu Kuad. V" I can not write the -tory with mr own bands, but I shall dictate it to a tried and trusty friend ; for I must have , the public know all that I can tell respecting that, strangi. and mysterious d'-alli. Sly name is Henry Wilde, and I was present when it happened. It was a week ago, and in Uody i have ben utteily heldes since that day. I do not think that my intellect was n.ucli disordered by the shock; and yet I seem to have lost, in some denree, control over my mind the power of condensation. Therefore I must it II this story in my own way. If I nm prolix if I linger too much over detail not connected with the act it self it must be pardoned me. I am not a young man. I have known Steven Cranston for more than forty years . ever since he and I went to school to gether in our pinafores. I tn foriy-eiglit now. Last week I j-hould have said that he was two years younger; hut he stands, to-day. where they do not reckon ages by earthly measurement. Many who will read ' these words know what he was as a man stern, dark-browed, silent, and mysterious. He waa all this even as a boy. At the district school we attended tog'-th-er he seemed to like no one. He '-might - have been a favorite it ho would ; for he had the most physical courage I ever knew . any boy to possess. He literally feared nothing. : lie had no equal in the various at h lei in games with whh h we whiled away ' our noonings ; and the.-e two trails, of darinvr and agiliiy. are potent to win the suffrages oT bojis. Any one else pos-essinjr them lo ; such extent would have become a loved and recognized leader; "rut Steven Cranton was too sih-nt, too forbidding and unsoeial. No one would have dared in any wise to in trff.r with him. I.li t he bad mine nf those i dear boy-friendships, those brotherhoods of j the soul" whose memory, in after years, has ' . power to thrill so many old nv-n s hearts find make them happy In arts again. ' I said he seemed lo like no one. I should have made one exception. Hearlv opposite to him, on the ."girls' side" of Ihe long red .school house, sat Lucia Reynolds, the daughter of one of our wealthiest men. She did not owe her popularity to this cir cumstance however. Looking back through the mists of twenty-eight years, I can see Lucia Reynolds as she was at fifteen, and I ' know that I never saw a fairer face. 1 met her the other day a woman of forty three she is now, and older than her years, with a look of patient waiting in her eves, a settled sorrow round her lips; a woman . to whom you would not even pay that sad dest compliment "She mus: .have been .beautiful once" and I turned my eyes away, and back through the fair country of - the past, tdt I could see her. as I saw her twenty-eight years ago, beading over her -desk in Ryefield school-house. . . 14 Slight, girlish figure; small' but perfect features; eyes or the bluest ; dehcate rose tint on the dimpled cheeks; full, smiling month 1 saw them all in the light and glo-y of youth, untouched by time. She had a ch ar, ringing voice, a dancing step, and, better than all, a heart full of love for every living creature; and so everybody loved her, and every body included misan thropic Steven Cranston. . Indeed, his sen timent for her seemed no met childish Lking. U was more the blind devotion f a Romanist for his natron saint. He would - ait and watch her for hour with a look of rapt adoration. Lucia had the heart of a woman, and she could not help recognizing ad likinz this homaae. She accented. ; -With the gruriorjsoese of a gentle queen, the ! rare flowers and fruit he used constantly lo seek for her, ami she befriended him in her lunt. . She was his warm defender when any one ce-isured hia coldness and misan thropy, "and more than 'once predicted he would some day win her for liis wife. never thought so. however.' I was five years older than Lucia, and I think I un derstood her. I fell certain that must he very different from Cranston who would arouse her heart from its long, delicious, dreaming girlhood, and quicken it inio wo manhood s, passionate yet steadfast love. And yet I used sometimes to fancy that' he loved her with a man's passion even the 1. 1 If file could have returned it how different mijjht have been the current of bis future ! I v ii nrrf aeem as if there wert some liva to which Detiny is pitiless ? lins from which the only vup in all the spheres which could work their healing is dashed remorselessly? When Lucia Reynolds was sixteen I left, the place, and fur many years I went back there but seldom. I kept up, however, a 1 me sometimes by his mmmscences or hair constant correspondence with my sister Bell, ' breadth escape on the high seas and in and through her was made it courant in far-away lands.. He was a link between all l he gos.-ip of Ryefiuld., i memory and the dead and buried boyhood Two years after I left a stranger came to' days, and so we were a good deal together, live there a Colonel Easlman whose fam-j It is just a week ago to-day that he rode ily consisted of an invalid wife and a son, into the yard on his strong bay horse. I a young man who had nearly fiui-hed his ! was silting under the apple-tree. collegiate course. When this latter person - age came ho ne for his first long summer vacation alter the establishment of the fam - ily. Bell s letters were quite full of him he was so handsome, so gallant, so generoos ! '' t's a nice time to tell it, this Sen fend gentlemanly ! Soon she wrote that he tember morning. Let me see, September had made the acquaintance of Lucia Key-, the 17th, 1858, isn't it ? Yes, it s the best nolds. ,She believed that it was nearly a. cae of love at first sight on both sides. I She wrote me thai l hey were always eether. that they seemed just suited to each! other, and Lucia was gi owing prettier than ever in her happiness. To one of tlieae descriptions she added, playfully : "I suppose 1 m too bad to break your heart, brother Harry I I remember your old ad'niiation for Luein; but I seriously hope you won't look as g'um as Steve Cranston did when Robert Knst "an first c ime. lou would have thought he d lost his last friend ; bul he seems to have gotten i bravely over it now, and is more cheerful and good-rumored than I've tver seem him before. Indeeil, I don't know but I shall lay siege to hi.- heart myself!" I don t reniemtier that I tliong'.t much of what Bell said of Steven's clam looks, it I did smile at her allusion td breaking my In art". 1 coniii nttortt lo tangli at such things in those days. I loved no mutter; I am not telling my own story. There is a little whi'e stone in .W'ewnouth church y inl, and it is the sole meinoi ial of the only ilream Iever dreamed of love and woman! Yet 1 have not lived a sad or gloomy life After death comes heaven ; and I shall find my virgin bride there. It was early autumn when I received a letter fiom B II full of tragic gloom of sor row of desolation Young Rohert East man, whom every body liked, had been fuund dead in the Mountain Road, m ar the lilack l'ool murdered, evidently. iso i blood had been spilt, but the marks around his throat showed that he had been si ran- gled. He was robbed also, and had doubt- h-ss been killed for the sake of a consider - able sum of money which he Jiad drawn from the bank the day before, and was car- rying home to hi father. As yet, sh said, suspicion was directed to no one f but it 1 . .... .. .... was sj sad so ternuie just as lie liait oe- , . i. . I Come engaged to iucia loo! It would I break her heart ; and his poor sick mother had nol spoken since. I was too hnnnv in those davs for the stcry of this tragedy to sadden me as deep- j Iv as it might have done at another rime ;j still I fell it keenlv for the sake of Lucia, my dear fiiend and school-mate. , j t rom time to tune UeU wrote me ot theien roau, ana l iookcu arotina me wuti a apprehension of several persons faintly sus-; pected of the dreadful crime, hut no en-1 denee c uld be brought against any of them. I and thev were all discharged, it was not long before I heard that the poor young f man's mother had followed him to his long ; home in Ryefield church-yard ; and, soon after. Colonel Easimatt, unable to live on ! and bear li s sorrow in the scene of hi double bereavement, sold out and moved away. - - It was not till, three years after, when my own life's trouble had already cone to me, that I saw Lucia Reynolds again. She seemed nearly as old th.-n as she does now. Her mouth was rijrid ; lie look of patient waiting had grown into her far-seeing blue eyes. Slit never laughed, and she spoke low and seldom. At the same time I saw Steven Crans ton. Over him too had passed some inex plicable change. More glum, forbidding, and unsocial than of old he could scarcely be; and yet there was something in his face, in his manner, which seemed to say that,, whereas Hope and he knew each other once, they had parted company for ever now. ; I did not see much of him or Lucia after that until this summer. I came to my old home last June an invalid. I felt that the free winds blowing over the Connecticut hills would bring me health and healing ; and. though my dearest hope is in the Be yond, still I love life I cherish IO misan thropic lo..ging for death. Coming back to Ryctield, I fou id Lucia Reyno'ds and Ste ven Cranston the only ones of all my schoo' m ites who were unmarried and in their old homes. You must bear in mind that near ly twenty-five years had gone' by since voung Eastman's sudden and terrible death. Lucia had nased all these in Ryefield very nuielly. She had not mingled at all in so ciety so-called, but her face was known in the abodes of the poor, the sick, ai d the eorrowfnl. ha had dne mocb e?d in her ow n unohtru-ive way. ' - - I hair. . It was nothing short of imdne-s, hut "in his pocket-handkerchief ; and dropped half an hour under the trees bat as the Steven Cranston hud led. rumor said, a if she eould have loved me buck again I ' them into the Black Pim1. They cleft tlie , lust words fell from hia lipi he struck the wild life during these twenty-five years. . A1 mifjht have been a good man.- With her dark , water and sank heavily. In an in-j one he rode sharp, quick blow, and dash litile more than three years after Robert f-r my puardian anel, I helieve I o.uld taut they were lost to aiaht forever. . I left j ed away from me. Breatldes with terror, Eastman's death he had gone to sea, and have won through and s.aled heaven.. Well, he miniature which I longed but did not I hurried after him. I was only in time mct .r I.:- i.r- hA tn ,A ..n ' I snnimse. I shall an lo comnanv that's dare ' to keen anon his person. I cave si-e him throw himself from his horse ai,d ilia ocean and in the different norts to which he had tailed." He had crown rich.l, , 1 ( J I I l" I ! . which I did not pay much heed. Count try ess given to gossip; and ours was no exception to the i.u .. .1,... ,!; ,:i , . ; t", ... . 1 ' At all events he had come back the au - tutnn before mv . rdturn to Rvetield. and given out that he had been to sea long enough, and was join to 6eftie down now I and end his dav amons his own townslilk and kindred. I think people liked ; liinv. somewhat belter than they used. r He was j a trifle more communicative and neighlvr- J ly. I ca il say that I, however, felt much I-real rt gard for him. Yet he entertained 1 '"Come, Hairy, he called tome, "get your horse saddled, and ride out on the : .Mountain Road. I've a story to tell you madd r and jollier and merrier than any of tune m the worhrto tell that story. Itstru.kme while I was throwing the to-'sad.ile on Blaek Richard that his manner was very peculiar., ll was said that he i was a hard drinker, ihougli Iliad never ' 8, en any signs of it before. 1 thought the brandy might have flown to his head. How ever, I got ready, and we started on our ride. .. ; If any, unfamiliar with the locality, should read this .-tory, perhaps they would like to understand better the physiognomy of the Moun'ain Road." In the northwestern part of the town is a-very 'high hill, known in as 'The Mountain." A road i that region was laid out, in the town's infancy, along the base of this hill. It was the nearest cut then to some of the neighlioriiig towns, but a better one was made a few years ao on the oiher side of ihe hill.' In some portions of the way it is as utteily solitary as a wilderness. To the right hand rises the mountiurt, overhanging it. high and steep an! f. owning. To the h-fl stretch away rugged pasture lots, used only for sheep, rocky, and hern and there interspersed wiih wood. On this road there is little travel, and for nearly two miles there is not a sin gle house save one, ruinous and dilapidated enough now, but wl ich used to be. in my boyish days, the resiil-e of olit-.ry mH calh d old Wrath Spauld'tig a bad ar.d reckless man, in whose very i nme lurked terror. He died long ago. and Ihaveneer heard hut that he sleeps quietly eno'igh in his lonely grave in the rear of his old tumble- 'down house. A little beyond this place U he half-way house in those des data two j miles and just concealed from it by a turn 1 i't the road, is a deep po 1 at the base of J the hill, known to all the townspeople as the "Black Pool." It looks as if it might j have been dug out by the giants of dead j centuries. lis waters seem fathomless in! ,i i, , . , . . . 1 uepui. hiiu one can noi gaze tiown on mem .... .1 l: - . O.J. -.-I,.---! " mey ne mere, uihck, sun, ireaeuernus. without a shudder. Ir used in other days to be separated from the road by a sort of paling, but this has fallen down now. aud the way is so seldom traveled that no one has taken the trouble to replace it. There is a strange charm in the rnggedness of the scenery, the very desolation of this untrod- keen sense ot pi. asure as we slackened our reins ana lurnea inio it. Though it was September, the lnndscape was still a freh and verdurous as in July. You could under-tand the poetical license of the term "living green" as you looked at it. You could almost see the trees gr w and the grass spring up. The sky was blue, deep, cloudless, untroubled. The mist, golden and white and rosy, was melt ing away over the hill-tops, and, it seemed to me, eartli, air. and sky were as ulorio'is as when ih t Father first pronounced them "good." Absorbed in my own thoughts I had almost forgotten Craustou'a presence until he spoke. 4I promised you a Story," he said, riding up close lo my side. "It'll be a queer one a love story about murder," and he grin ned a ghastly grin. fcI don't think you ever heard just sitch a one a tale with its hero for the teller." He paueda moment, and the September morning seemed to grow very cold ; I think his manner chilled me. Pretty soon he spoke again.. - . -- "I don t know as you ever mistrusted that I loved Lucia Re) nobis. There was a time, 1 think, when people imagined thai e took a fancy to one another, bul nothing came of it, and they gave up ihe idea. I don't know as there was ever any founda tion for it on her side. She must have re turned such devotion as mine was with at least a kindly liking. I think she did 1-ke me and on that I built wild hopes. Love does not at all express what I felt for her. I worshiped her. Sullen and morose and "Iximy as every bodv thought me, one simile of hers would make a I ght bright as l.H...n in mv heart. I would have died. 1 1 forth- J l,nM thi she ' ' ii i ...- t;.- wouiu weeu uicr hit i;"" c 1 - 1 Hiathadbent under her light footsteps. ll v..... ,.,A lilrB anmethinT Kucred. a 1 fl" Hi r8d dmnP-d mrt rjf r rrettT ! more of my kind than saints and aniels. -I went- to ea her one day when she i . ..:..t,.An ..n.l e.vl.l l.oea n,k.. ( fshe had been to me all my lifeever since f the days when she used to sit opposite to I me in school, a little eight year old uhild, , in , hr ml (1 reuses ana . ulnie anions, t J j tried to show her the height, and breadth, and depth of my love. I think I made her understand hv as "'well as her grntle nature t could understand -4 he wild passion of mine. Mie: heard me alt tnrongti, ana tnen sh began o cry. ts.tiave neaia ot women weeping at such times, for love and joy and hashf illness, but I knew well enough her ! tears were not of that kind. ' They fell fast. f They 1 were born rf her tender pity her sorrow ht giving me pain and they an sweied me as well as wids. r Soon she commanded herself and spok". She talked like an angel. She fold me how much she had always thought of me, and always should. She would be my sis ter, she said ; a fond loving sister, I ut such love-as I asked for she could not give me. "wept then too. It was the last time any tears ever fell from my eyes, but I bow ed my head on her lap I was kneeling at her feet and the flood broke loose. 'Even after that I did not quite give up all hope. Time, I .thought, : might work wonders, i Any way, she had been the life of my life too long for me lo shut her out ot my heart. 1 went on worshiping her, and 1 comforted myself it was the only comfort I had with thinking that even if she did net kive, me she loved no other. -It was just before then that Colonel Eastman had moved to Ryefield, and very soon his son Robert came home to pass the summer. He met Lucia, and they secm-d at O' ce "ready interested in one another. It was not strange. He was of her kind gener ous, genial, and loving. ? I suppose they were just suited to each other. Well, I ha'd him.' That was not strange, either. I hated his handsome f ice, his social man ner'. I gave to every, one of his good qualities a di-tinct and separate hate ; and, because her eyes looked on him with favor, this still, deadly hate grew dailv deadlier and more murderous. But T dissembled. I even eultivnt d his friendship. I was more social and good humored than I had eer been before, and I begun to gain pop ularity. But the smilus 1 wore were like flowers growing over a volcano. "Afiei a while I hea"rd that he and Lucia were engaged, and then I resolved thai he should die. I met him just as usual, with this deadly purpose in my heart. I even congratulated hint on, his happiness. But I watched his every movement, close, dose. Soon after there came a lime which placed bun in my power. He was to conie from Windham, one day, with five hundred dol lars he had drawn from the bank the day before.' He would cmne this way.5 Ire solved to meet, him hcra. He was not ex pected until afternoon, but I came early in the morning I was determined he should not escape me. ' I stationed myself behind that clump of poplars, near the Black PooL Lightning has blasted them since. No wonder! I had not been there very long before I heurd a horse's footsteps. I look ed out, cautiously.' It was he. He " had started early perhaps to make the journey in the coolness of. morning; perhaps I gnashed my teeth in silent, futy at the thought perhaps he was in haste to see again his fir betrothed..' ' '' "I had laid my plans as coolly as I tell them to you now. 1 had armed myself, and resolved, as soou as he should reach me, to spring from my concealment, fell him from his horse, and murder him then and there. Of course there was always the chance thai lie should defend himself and master m the yet more dreadful chance that, if I killed him, I should expiate my crime up on the gallows; hut, physically, I am no coward. I had made up my mind, and there was no fear that I should fl nch. ? "But it happened better than I had plan ned. For once S.Uan favored his own. Before he reached me he dismounted and; tied his horse to the fence on the Other aide of the way." The animal looked fin d, aniL I suppose, his master was in the mood to be j Sometimes, where the figure-head of the merciful. Then he camw'cioss the road, I v eased should have'; beeuI seemed to See and sat down in the Very shudow of the I Lucia' stand that same withering fire in poplar behind which I, his deadly enemy, l'vr co'"l eye, and her thin hand pointing was hid. He took off bis cap and bared I down, ever down, to the dep hs below, the his forehead to the Septera' er morning air. j tortures that waited for me there. Do yoii Then he drew from his pocket a miniature,' wonder I fled from such visiorr? I came and bent over it, lovingly. I was nlmosti here lor rest and quiet, but he pursues me near enough to hear him breathe. I could 'ght and dav his vo:ce calls for see the features as Well a he. . Lncia was blood, for blood. I have told you mv s'ory theie Lucia, with her soft hair, Iht eyes because I could not die with my crime lin of viob t blue, her bewildering smile. . Af- confessed, and I am too tired of life to keep ter a mome t he pressed it passionately to my secret any longer. Now you may go his lips, murmuring, fondly,. j and deliver me up to the Phili-tines." ' " 'Oh, Lucia, my bride, my darling, my j He stopped. . His voice had risen,4n the dear, dear love T j latter p'rt of his confession, to a wild, fierce "If I had meant to spare his life before, shriek. A glare as of madness was in his I should have killed him then, i might eye. It seemed to me that it would be but never win her love, but lie should not live a short step from this excitement to ui act io bak in her smiles to claim her to hold frenzy. I strove to soothe him. s her in his arms. V j "No," I said. "I will not betray yon. "Softly as a cat I sto'e from my conceal- Heaven is infinite, and there may be mercy ment. Absorbed in his happy thoughts, he jet, even for you. She spared you, and so neither saw nor heard m , tiniil I stood be- will I. Cry to God, and He may yet hear hind him and my hands were clasped around his throat tight, tight. 1 Hen, indeed, lie . struggled madly for his life. But I never relaxed my hold. ' AH hi ll could not have shaken it off. Soou befell down at my ri ..ill .1 aiitr ainirrcrlinw nn lonirer . . -. - co a c. , . . . ' (W. "I was calm still. I rifled his pockets, 1 took the five hundred dollars and hia watch nd td them, heeJT oo i him, a he lay there, one lonjr. triumpl ant gaae, and then quietly walked away home, kBut not even vet was my ha'red sati fied. - The dead man lying there, stark and iCoM, wiih hi face upturned to, the Septem- j her sun, was yet, to my thinking, better offj man i. . uiuuiy. av, etauiy, woum i nave taken his place, and lain there, dead, but to have once heard tier lips call me the be loved of her soul to have carried . the memory of ber kisses into the hereafter of spin's. 'For a time I half expected lo suffer for my crimea fidon soom," but suspicion never seemed to point my way. 1 hat af ternoon- his horse, which I -had left as he had tied it, broke from its fastening, and rushed, riderless, home, j Then they found his body, The robliery which had been committed seemed to indicate the money h had with him as the motive of the deed, and led to the apprehension of two or three persons hitherto suspected of theft. But they were all discharged; and after Air Eastman had died, and the Colonel moved away, the matter pretty much ceased to be talked ot. "The 'fir-t pang of remorse I ever suf fered was when I saw Lucia standing at Mrs.' Eastman's grave. I had not seen her before since that day. She had changed in those few weeks so that you would hardly have known her. tier whole luce Seemed frozen. Her cheeks anil lips were ashen; the smiles had all died out forever from her face ; the joyous light from her eyes. I loved her so that I would have died, even then, to bring back her happiness ; but I would huve seen her die. before, if the pow er had been mine, I would have restored her lover to life. ... "Three years after that I went to see hfrr. In all this time 1 had never oicq seen her alone., ; Now 1 could wait no longer. I had not much . hope, yet I longed lo tell her again of my love. She came into the room where I waited for' her, and stood before me.' A mortal terror seized upon n,e, and seemed to chid the blood in my veins. I read in her cold ejes that she knew my se cret. ' "'Listen tome, Steven Cranston,' she said, in her low yet distinct voice. 4You have come here to ask my love. Hear what I have to say, and consider whether I am likely to give it. I loved Rohert East man better than my own life. Every hope I had for all the future centred in him.; I saw Ueavun ite!f through his eyes. If lightning had struck him, if sudden fever had drunk up his life, or slow disease wasted it, I would have been faithful to his meino ory forever. How much more now 1 You, you who professed to love me and care for' my happiness, you murdered him. : lou took away all the hope I had in the world. I know thi from my owu sure instinct the instinct which makes every pulse quiver with, aiding at the sight of your face or the sound ot your voice. But I could not have proved it against yon. Even if I could I would not. I had rather you should live, that, perchance, in some eleventhhour, even your soul- may find mercy of God. Besides, the time will come when worse than any mere physical death will be the torture of your spirit. He will be avenged by the remoise which shall dog your loot steps like a fiend.' :. j t -. ; n "As he said these words her cold gray eyes flashed fire upon me as jou have sometimes seen the lightning fl ish from the cold gray depths" of a winter cloud. 'I did not answer her a word comrite con fession, bold den;al. were alike impossible. 1 slunk out of the house like a coward. I have never entered it since.' '" : ' '' ': "Soon after that I went to- sea. nml I have followed it for more than twenty years. Oh 1 could I ever tell you what I have suf fered ? Nights when I would ha.k into the waters and see, plain as I see it now, this Mountain Road, always with Robert East--man l)ing dead and ghastly under the pon lars noons, when tli winds suing by me would shriek with wild, accursmg voices in ny ears, and 1 would wonder that those not hear that purning cry. 'around me did and hang me in their midst as a murderer. you. , - a wiiu girara suot ac-.ios- i.ii u..-r, I ; "No," he cried. "God's mercy , I ask not j for man's m- rcyl w.,1 not have. My ; hour of doom has come, I lend wait for j me. Twenty and five yearj ago this seven-1 , , . , . . , . . i ,U ..r i. ...... n.l-H I? nla . iTaatmnit A,aA . ' I' Cll.i) 1. 1 .n mciiiwi . .v i . -...-. u v.- ' . . .. . by my hand. To-day. to-day his unquiet I ghost shall ba avenged 1 I Our bor hJ b-en Vtafag rtill f ! ' plunge into the Black Pool. I pranjr t I t Iim nMiiml aiiil rnel.Mi tt tftA itiaafvvi2 lirinlr As I looked in I hail one momentary glimpse of a white, jrbasily fax on which sat the impress of everlasting despair I heard one wild cry, "Lost !ot lost r. ana the ts- i uuu iuichi, I hurried tu the proper authorities and told my atory. No one dreamed of ques tioning it. Then I came home and threw . mvself on this tied, from which ! mat not soon arise. There are few' who could bear such a scene unmoved ; and to me, with my nerves already weakened and disordered by' illness, it had well-nigh proved fatal. It will be long before I shall cease , to sea that wild, despairing face to hear that last cry of mortal agony ; but calmness will come back to ' me in time if not in this life, in the land where there is no work and no device where the yew and the wiHow wave forever over the great city of the si lent. Harvn't Mamnrine, , . i ,u i . Tlie WoiiilrotM Harp, , , , . '' There fs a ruin adjacent to Ludsdorf. oa the right bank of the Rhine, between - Col ogne and Bonn a low square tower of un certain origin of which the following sin gular legend is related:" In the time : of the Merovingian monarchs the htth and sixth centuries of the Christian era theia dwelt in the castle f which this ruin is said (o be the remains of ihe keep, a power ful chief, who ruled the village of, Luds dorf, then a posession of the Ripuarian Franks, and the circumjacent country along Ihe shores of the noble-river. His -name has not been , handed doyn to posterity! hut the remembrance of a domestic ' trage dy which took plai e in his family, still lives in the tradition of the dwJIers on the mar gin of those waters. The chief had tw daughters, both of surpassing : beauty ; but both as dissimilar in, appearance and dispo sition as may be imagined. One was lair as the morning when it burst forth all sunshine and smiles: the other was dark as a starless i ight between the tropics: The fair girl was to be wedded to one who bad loved her long and well, one whom the loved fondly to j but her dark sister , was still un wooed of any. The nuptial day was lixedjand every necessary preparation was made for the joyful ceremony. - Sis ter dear! sister dear 1" spake the dark lady to the fair, on Ihe eye ot the morning when the marriage was to take place, "come, let us walk forth on the shore of the shining river. The sun is in the west 5 the clouds are like cushions of gold and crimson, o i which angels may repose ; the wafer rip ples like mu-k- s the air is cool and balmy : every little wave is a mirror to reflect the glories of the sky and earth ; and we shall be so happy. She sighed in a very sad fashion as she said; these words, but her sister noticed it not; and they walked forth together... Hand in : hand they wandered along the banks ot the broad Rhine, mak ing tlie shores vocal with their songs. ' It was deep twilight before either thought of returning: so pleasantly did the time pass that they percieved not its flight. . . Tbey were just then at the point of that almost peninsular piece - of. land,- formed by; the reach of the river, between Zundoif and Ni' der C'a.-sel, directly opposite the present village of Nieder W'esseliug, which at that" period had no existence. .Then, "as now, the land Iwas ' marshy, and covered f wiih willow: plants to the ; stream's edge ; and among the, willow . twigs grew the broad : leafed lotus, and other -water flowers, in rich and rank luxurance. 1 u Sister dear I sister dear 1" again spake the dark beauty, "oh reach me one of .those lovely liliiesl Faiu would I -pluck it myself, but I fear to fall in the water."' The "gentle, fair girl, stretched forward over the edge "or -the stream to gratify her sister's - desire ; but just as her luind had grasped the prize, the traitoress pushed her in. ; She sank in the bubling waters with the stream, and, in a moment, was swollowed up in the depth of the river. : Sitter 1 sweet ' sister I"- she shrieked as she rose again . to ; the surface, still struggling wiih eng-r element which gathered round to devour her. a Help I help ! Give me but your hand til! I' g-t to the shore, and you shall have my girdle of red gold.". 11a 1 ha l" laughed the dark girl." For all on this broad earth you should not have a hand of mine lo held you. Perish 1" It was thus she: answered, as her sitter sank once more. , "Sister I sweet sister !" again shrieked the drowning maiden, once more rising to the surface ; and her cry was piteous to hear, commin gled as it was. with the gushing .current which gurgled around her ; 44 help I help? Only hold out your band till I get to the shore and you , shall have, an' you will, my beloved bridegroom." Ha ! ha ! ha !" asaitt laughed the fie.nd in female shape. - Your bridi gro.iro shall be mine at any rale now ; but all the bridegrooms on this broad earth should not buy you from the grave which goes to close over-- you.' Perish !" The struggling victim sunk again, and the bub bling current rose over her. . Sister ! s weet sister F once more shriek the gasp ing girl, emerging for the last time from . " V" " "' . slave for ever and ever. Save me 1 s.nk ! I omk . -l en-h! was the only . reply of the female tend on St.. re. ; , The waters rolled over the spot where , ... , , i . , tllM tilt- imnorlll flUtA OH 11 Ixit ITUHAHnl ht , ... --- - . --- ... ii r i , 1 fore struggled yai.ily agmnslW fate, and only a single npple on thesmeoia, fooe ;of rirr poirWd out the p-o wbssa bt) - ."