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.- P. B. CONN, PUBLISHEE, COMER MAEKET AND 4TH SIS. 2 PER AN N U My INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE, - Z. RAGAN, Editor and Proprietor. :Ad Silt From the Waverly Magazine. TWO SIDES OF LIFE'S PATHWAY. ... 8T AMAXDA M. DOUGLASS. . CHAPTER 1. 'Ti love alone that makes this earth Less dreary Mian a desert wild." It was even ide the slow decline of a fair summer day. The western fires had tot all burned out, and indolently stretch ing themselves over the horizon were gold, -blue, and crimson clouds, commingling together, as if fearful night should steal away day too soon. Tho air was balmy with fragrant odors tho last sigh of tho flowers ere they folded their petals, and were lulled by tho stfutb wind to sleep. The rivulets, too, seemed to feel a change, for, instead of the gay, glad dashing of mid-day, they wound along softly trilling their evening hymns stopping a moment to return the kiss of overhatfging flowers, or tall grass, while tire tlttc night star . peeped up here and thcrc,'tycuing its tiny leaves to receive the genial dew, and greet its sister spirits when they-.igfct'dance on ; heaven's broad plains Arotad tho edge .'. of the forest, twilight was dimly stealing, f nd the littlo firo-flics lit their lamps and t-darkpsed them again, half unconsciously Jsveahng the deeper darkness, while voices Innumerable sent forth from their leafy Invert a concert of wild, unwilttcn, yet ; tweetly varied music brokcn occasionally by tho shrill scream of the night-hawk, or ..the lingering sadness of the whip-poor-wills t Jay .'v The day had been beautiful; but evening, as it came to the weary spirit, toothed each rising fear, imparting a Be- . fene calmness to the soul, until it half started from its dreamy sphere to 'hold 1 -tommunion with those above. f J Allan Everard walked along the road -'jiile, unheeding aliko whether there were i roses, planted by loving angels, in his path, i W thorns sown by demons whether there vires a glorious eky, painted by nature's great limner, God, over his head, or the f loft velvet turf under his feet, bespangled tith buttercups and daisies; it mattered ".but littlo to him then, for memory, with 3ier countlesslihgers, was busy at his heart, Imi bo tightly were the chords drawn, that 1 etch one she touched woke acute mental Htuffering yet no sound passed his lips, no i look indicated his agony, save perhaps the ' lines on the brow. were deeper, and the lips tightly compressed these alone spoke J of suffering, yet a stranger would only have noted Btcrnnces. ' Silently he walked along. On one side . were large trees, where', ever and anon the fairy fingered zephyr swept the wind harp, reverberating molody through the giant oaks, that had for centuries defied the blast ; pine, laurel, cedar, all inter mingled, weaving one mass of statelincss and grandeur. On the other side lay Rosedell, calmly sleeping in the hazy twi light, while guardian-like the broad river flowed around, as if the massy waves would engulf one who dared stop on the shore of that Eden spot with a thought of desecra tion in his heart. Allan Everard was an ardent enthusiast. From boyhood he longed to steal away from the busy, eareless crowd, and pene trate the deepest reoesscs of nature wan der where the finger of God alone had tra eod but none of these things filled his heart now. It had been bliss to rove with a spirit free and untrammelcd with a soul full of lofty impulses, that might be felt but not uttered; there wero opening flow- en to Bmile on such a path there wero . singing birds, and nature's multitudinous voices to inoite tho spirit to its utmost; but when a stranger hand had despoiled . those flowers, and loft but the impress of misery where lately all was joy and beauty; there eould be but little bliss, left for the offerer. Neither to the right noi the left did he turn, except when a neighbor passed and ..aid, "good even' " and then he merely .nodded his head, as if fearful of losing ' eelf-control if the Kps were opened. Once thej would have looked up cheerily and asked, "How is Luoy and the little one ?" Irut now their unspoken pity almont chafed i vMeeklg Journal jjpetotefo to American ntensis; fiterato, 3tmttt anb feral Jntdliptt his proud spirit, and he bit his lips until the blood came. ' At times Allan Everard was handsome. There was a high, commanding brow, shadowed by jetty locks, that spread them selves in wavy lines a full black eye, firm and unshrinking as an eagle's hand somely arched cyc-brows, whose very dig nity lent a nobler aspect to the whole countenance. "When joy gleamed in tho eye, and the lip spoke gladness, there was something in the enthusiasm of the finely sculptured features' that won admiration, not for the mere beauty, but spirituality and intelligence. Tho features were not less handsome now, but there was an inde finable something in the firm setting of the ips together, that destroyed the half- wrought dream, and left a dim remem brance of the forest oak, when the light nings have shivered its branches, and the warm sunshino comes only to reveal the deeper desolation. Presently he turned from the road side into a large lane, bordered by tall poplars, on whoso heads seemed resting the fleecy clouds above, aud in a few moments he reached the garden gate. Oh ! how love ly the pure white cottage looked, half em bowered by fragrant vines, where slept alike, the butterfly and the humming-bird where the south wind breathed melody, and the rain came in gentle patters, as if fearful of disturbing the blessed ones with- in Ilis hand trembled as he Unfastened tho gate latch, and his car vainly listened for some sound to break upon the oppres sive stillness. There were no merry voi ces of childhood no ringing laugh no sweet soug mingled with harp-strings, to wake an echo in his breast no wifo or child bade hira welcome home Homo there is a home in the hearts of beloved tones, and bright eyes watch for us speaking a strange language, in mute but eloquent tones, that none but ourselves may read ; there is a homo on the deep blue Bea for tho sailor, and the sparkling waves smile answeringly to his fearless greeting : there are tones of lovo for- the weary laborer, when tho day's toil is over; and though the fare be poor and scanty, there are sweet smiles and kind words to buoy tip his heart for the coming morrow : thcro is a joyous hum to greet the honey laden bee at night-fall : there are soft rust lings for the bird, and silver murmurs for the brook : all have their welcome. But oh ! how dreary to reach tho spot called home, and find no answering tones no eyes reflecting our own emotions no vol ces to fall upon our ear in the rich tones of unasked sympathy : but sit down by the fireside, and gaze in the vacant chair, feel ing loneliness utter solitude and this was Allan Evcrard's welcome. There was a timo when his wife would have been listening for his foot-fall, and sprang to meet him. Where was she now ? dead ? If the noiseless King of the shadowy realm had sent forth his rilandato, summoning her to that, and "where there is no sorrow, nor any crying, and all tears are wiped away," Allan Everard could have folded tho lilly hands across her pure breast, kissed her cold brow, and laid her down to her dreamless rest, with a hope, a hissed hope of re-union in that fair land of bliss ; that hope would havo lighted up his loneliness. But a worse blight than death had fallen on Lucy Everard the puro wife of his bosom ; the wifo of all his dreams was faithless. Slowly did tho desolate man open the door and gazo furtively around, as if fear ful of discovering some forbiddon occupant; but, save the child that lay sleeping on the floor.' no human bcinc but himself was there. The sound of his footstep woke Ircarily in that silent room, until he half started at the echo and then the proud man knelt beside his sleeping boy. It was a scene that a painter would have joyed to look upon that pure child in all its innocence and beauty, with its fore head scarcely less fair than tho snowy pil low it rested On, and partly shadowed by a profusion of rich auburn curls, that fell lovingly around the transparent temples, where the blue and red veins intersocted eaoh other. . The features had a feminine softness, such as is often observed in young children ; but the mouth, in its sweet re pose, was lupre like an opening rose-bud in its first freshness, ere the leaves hav STEUBENVILLE, ost one ray of color, and gemmed with dimples that lay like ripples of a fountain, or dew in a violet's cup. The lips parted, and a smile so sweet broke over the features ns the father lean cd over, and it murmured, "mother, dear mother," that an unbidden tear starts 1 to his cy5. One tiny' hand clasped the gilt band of his drum, whilo the other was en tangled in the long silky threads of his hair, while the little blue coat displayed the fair, round shoulder, exquisitely moul ded. The embroidery on the child's dress, aud tho tastefully arranged room, all told of woman's hand; but oh! could it be woman's heart to leave such a paradise ? Again the child murmured, "mother 1" and, as Allan Everard kissed the fair brow, the golden eyc-lnshcs slrwly parted, disclo sing large, lustrous bluo eyes, so pure and holy that angels might have seen their images reflected therein, and claimed him as a gem of light. "Where is my mother ?" the child asked in trembling tones, while tears glistened in tho radiant eyes. . Poor child ! had'st thou asked for wealth for glittering' baubles for any thing money could have purchased, thy request need not to havo been deuied thee but nought can buy a mother. Allan Everard procured a light, and then took the little one on his knee, say ing, as he displayed a gaily painted toy, "see, Eddy, what father bought you!" The child turned sadly away, and laying his head on his father's bosom, sobbed half iunudibly, "I want niy ' mother you said maybe she would come back." The father bent down his head on his hand, and thought whether ho should lull his child's young spirit into forgetful ness, or read to him tho sad story. Perchance, in after years the tale might fall withcr ingly on his heart, when told by the scorn ful lips of strangers : no, better to tell him now, and ho raised his head, saying, "Eddy has no mother now." The child clung closer to his father as he asked, "Will she never, never come back to us?" Allan Everard kissed his child's fair brow as he replied, "no, she will never come to us again ; and father must hush you to sleep, and hear your prayer now, for you have no other friend. " Tho little ono put his tiny baud to his brain, as if ho would have, dispelled the mist of childhood, and then he said, slowly "It was a long time ago, when the ground was all covered with snow, that I asked her where the pretty flowers were, and she told mo the angels had folded up their leaves so the cold winds might not hurt them ; but when the warm sunshine came, so I could run out of doors and play, they would all be here again, and I watch ed by tho window for them until they came; if I watch for her, will she not come, too ?" The father shook his head, for his heart was too full for utterance; but the boy continued "Sho is not dead, for they did not put her in a coffin and bury her in the ground like old Margery. Why will she not come back?" and the blue eyes were fixed anx iously on the parent's face. For a moment he paused, and then an swered bitterly, "Because she did not love us any longer; she was very, very wicked, and now we must never mention her name, for she is unworthy to be remembered." An hour later, and Edward Everard knelt, for tho first time in his life, at his father's knee,' and breathed the orisons his mother had taught him. Ero he had fin ished, he opened his eyes and asked, in a low tone, "must I not pray for her ?" But tho father's heart was fearfully proud, and he whispered, "forgot her you have no mother now." Only a moment did the ehild linger, and his lips moved as if some forgotten word was silently added ; and then his lips were pressod to his father'i cheek, and the little one went to the soft, dreamy land of slumber, ' Allan Everard eat by the table, whereon lay bis wife's harp, twined with withered flowers fit emblems of her love; and his heart went back to other days, as if it would have fain gathered an, antidote for the sorrowing presents The shy, proud boy, with hit heart longing in wild inten OHIO, TIIURSDAY,. sity for something to love something on which the busy world had lo claim; but no such flower came to twiic its tendrils round his path alone, ull alone, with a heart formed tor sympathy and compan ionship; and what wonderj then, if pride should usurp the place whurc love might havo reigned. Wealth dni fame ! but they would not bring to the care-worn spirit, rest tho blessed rest he longed for; and many a time, in hipl onward path did his step well nigh falter, and his eye grow dim, when he thought, were the fu ture's wildest hopes realized, there would be none but strangers to smile upon him. There was a tiny maiden, with blue eyes and golden hair, kneeling beside a new made grave, feeling this utter solitude. But of late, loving eyes had beamed on her, and a kind heart shielded from every suffering ; but now they were hushed in the quiet tomb, and henceforth her por tion must be a cold world's grudgingly bestowed charity. The sunlight foil in bright waves around her, but it did not warm tho heart within. Anon, a stran ger stood beside her,-and though stern ness was visible on his brow and in his eye, the traces seemed moro the impress of suffering than natural hardness, and his kind tones won the young orphan's heart, aud she laid her fair head on his bosom und sobbed out all her grief. Tho busy,' restless man, had found a gem to love a flower, whose brightness and fragrance might light his own path aud carefully did he cuard it. All the furmer aspirations uf Lis boutwoto forgoi-l teu in this one wild, intense dream of bliss. Each fond word of greeting that passed her lips every smile that lit up her radiant faco, was garnered in the store-house of memory; and tho proud, talented Allan Everard, knelt to the crea ture of his bounty sued for that which one word from his lips might have gained from wealth and beauty worshipped pas sionately and truly at tho shrine of love; and the being, who but for him might have been a homeless wanderer, was taken to his bosom to be loved and cherished till only death separated. The world wondered at his choice, and grieved that one so well calculated to fill life's busy sphere, should bury the light of genius in a simple cottage ; but it mat tered nothing to him what they said. The vague dreamings of boyhood were in part realized but bliss like this had scarce been thought of ; and when the little one came, in all its smiling unconsciousness, Allan Everard felt that his cup was in deed brimfull and. running over j ith God's choicest blessings. A change came over the spirit of his dream. There was a handsome stranger at Rosedell, whose eye glittered with fas- ciuation, and whose lip spoke a strange, intoxicating language; and skilfully did he weave a net, strand by strand, for the fair victim but Allan Everard saw it not; only this he read tho wife of his bosom was changed. When the stranger spoke of the sparkling gaiety of the city ita blazing lights, and undimmcd enjoyment describing its voluptuous splendor in glowing adoration, Lucy Everard's heart turned from her cottage home, in its boundless wealth of love, and sighed like a prisoned bird tor tho eonreous citv: and when her husband turned coldly from her request for an exchange of homes, and bade her be reconciled to her own home, she turned away in tears not of sorrow, but anger, and willingly sought the stranger, whose poisoned tongue had infused discontent in her every vein. Allan Everard had been walking, and, as he ncared his home, he heard the gush ing Bound of his wife's harp, and listened to words that had not fell from her lips for many a long day ; and with a softened tread did he linger at the latticed window, to catch the light of those features ere the expression of the song had faded, but oh how bitter was the disappointment that awaited him. Beside his wife knelt tho stranger, twi ning the long wavy hair round his fingers; and, aa the song ceased, her bead leaned lower and lower, until cheek met cheek, and the lips murmured low words, whilo the hands unoonsoioualy sought each other. The husband turned away, and with hur ried step sought the forest depths, for his MARCH ' 15, 1855. heart was full of bijter imaginings. To see the prize he sued for, and so long cal led his own, given to a careless stranger to gaze upon another kneeling where none but he had a right to kneel 0, God! how she must have fallen. When next Allan Everard met his wife, there was deep, bitter scorn written in every feature, and the glance of his eagle eye told her every innermost thought was read; yet she quailed not beneath the haughty look, but rather strove to return it. There passed angry and passionate words between them bitter upbraidings and mutual accusations and he. who had promised "to love and cherish," bade his wife begone from his presence, and prayed never to see her face again. Twice 6he waited not to be told ; and from that hour, neither Lucy Everard nor the handsome stranger were seen at Rosedell. This was woman's lovo. All these thoughts passed through Allan Everard's mind, and there came no sorrow, for pride whispered he had acted rightly, and the teachings of love were all hushed. No prayer passed his lips for the erring one no wish that God would lead her back in repentance. Far away from the calm, quiet Rosedell, in the crowded city, dwelt Lucy Everard. Tho air that played among her silken tres ses was close and confined, while a hum of many voices and rattling vehicles drove all thoughts of peaceful harmony from her mind. Her hands were tichtlv elasned. and her eyes fixed on the floor with pain ful intensity. Was her heart weary al ready of this new path, and bitter regrets her portion ? No, none of these, for she, too, was proud. There came thoughts of an early home, and a mother's voice then her first deep sorrow, with the full, rich tones of a stran ger's sympathy, and all the wild love she had lavished on him. True, ho had be friended her his bounty had surrounded her path with every luxury that wealth and ardent love could suggest ; and when he bore her to tho cottage home at Rose dell, Tier young heart was full of joy and happiness. Her child, her blue-eyed boy had been a connecting link between them, and God only knew how she loved both. Why her husband had changed in his love for her she could not tell ; but she noted his moody silence and compressed lips, and turned away seeking gayer ones. Her heart was filled with warm, ardent blood ; that stillness like his, well nigh congealed what wonder, then, if sho willingly 1S- tcned to a serpent, whose winning tongue and skilfully arranged words fell as a balm on her sad spirit. If her husband loved as he had said, why did he not Btrive to retain the jewel ho had won ? Sho had been the creature of his bounty too easily won perhaps but slightly schooled in the world not his equal, for she must smile when be smiled, even if her heart was breaking, and weep when he wept, though it were the gayest hour of her life. Proud, arbitrary, and selfish, oh ! how blinded she had been, when, in young dreams of bliss, she fancied him almont more than perfect ; and, as the bitter words and scornful looks came over .her heart again, she sprang from her Beat and paced the floor, while her thoughts formed themselves into words. "Oh, God !" sho murmured, "to be told there was a blight on my brow, and sin in my heart that love for a stranger had perjured my bouI! Never did I dream such words would pass his lips. And be driven from my home a wanderei" a fugi tive cast upon a stranger's charity oh, this is indeed bitter ! Well, be it so. Day by day I will toil for my bread j and when health, strength, and all are gone, I can die in a stranger land, and for charity's sake they will not refuse me burial. This is man's love." And the proud woman threw back her silken tresses, exposing a pure, transparent forehead, and tearless eyes, for there came no regret, no sigh pride had well nigh drank up the spirit of lovo. '' Ee long she knelt beside her couch, and in that moment pride gave way to memory. There wore soft wings rustling against her heart tones that fell in sil very cadence, half wreathing the word, "mother 1" yes that tamed tearrully on her tiny hands waiting her impress, and lips, soft, warm lips lingering for only one kiss aud as she pressed her hand to her brow, a pearly tear came through the long lashes and crept slowly down her cheek, telling nought could sever a mother's love, theugh others might pass aWay and be forgotten ; aud fervently did she pray God to encompass him with holy angels and let his life be as a summer day ; could she pray for him who had caused the part ing that rent asunder ties of long years' fonnatlon ? When but a littlo ehild she had read, "Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you," and the forgiving woman murmured gen tle words for he whose proud lips would have curled in scorn even to hear the name of her who prayed. There were throb bings in her heart that would not be stil led, and in tho hazy light of distance, viewless fingers were constructing a strange fabric a fairy-like cottage, with its trellis vines and honeysuckles, aud eyes that beamed gently on her but no, no, never again would she be there. (CONTINUED NEXT WEKfc.) For tli True American. WRITTEN LANGUAGE NO. 5. The reform proposed is styled the Pho netic Reform. It applies to both writing and printing. That which is applied to writing is termed Phonography, signifying writing the voice, or writing characters to represent the sounds of the voice. That which applies to printing is denominated Phonotophy, by which term is-undcrstood the sounds of tho voice represented by characters made with types. By the former art the spoken word is as quickly recorded. It is easily acquired, and is of incalculable advantage to man. But it is to tho latter I propose to call your attention. This reform is based upon the principle upon which written language was first founded, vizi that every sound should have its respective sign. The present Phonetic alphabet is the joint invention of Mr. Isaac Pitman and A. B. Ellis, A. B., of England, assisted by suggestions from the members of the Phonetic Society, in England; improved by English and American rhonetic Societies; and more recently by the Grand Council of the American Phonetic Society. t i This alphabet consists of forty-three let ters. These are those of the common al phabet, except, o, q, z and twenty addi tional ones. This reform is not the mere whim of a few visionary and crack-brained reformers, of the present day. It has been the de sire of many of the wise and learned, for a number of years. The principles of it were ardently advocated by Dr. Franklin. It has received the unqualified approba tion of such men as Georgo B. Emerson, Esq., Dr. John C. Warren, Francis Bowen, Esq., editor of the North American Re view, Cambridge; Judge Phillips, Cam bridge; Dr. Oliver Wendal Holmes, Bos ton ; all members of the American Acad emy of Arts and Science, the oldest scien tific body in tho United States. It has been highly recommended by the Rev. Edward N. Kirk, the Hon. Amasa Walker, the lion. Charles Sumner, and the Hon. Horace Mann "tho world renowned friend of Education. Lorin Andrews, Esq., formerly the effi cient agent of the State Teachers' Associ ation, and tow the President of Kenyon College, Gambria, 0., is the present Pres ident of the Ohio Phonetio Association. This association is composed of many of the most distinguished teachers and friends of education in the State. The advantages to' be derived by the introduction of the Phonetio alphabet, are numerous and highly important, while the disadvantages are but few, and easily over come. Persons, who can read the English lan guage as it is, can, in an hour's time, read it as it ought to be. Those who cannot read it, can learn to read it as it is, by first learning it as it ought to be, in one third the time now required. To learn to read it, all that It necessary, Is to acquiro the alphabet, which takes but little more time than for the present one, and then to learn to combine the letters into syllables and words. "When this is done thoroughly- VOLUME I. NUMBER , 11. occupying in the' handsof th'o poorest teachers, but a7cw mouths, while the heart. i teachers, .with pupOs. of Jiut .ordinary ta pacities, huvo taught it iu three weeks . the child enn read, well, any book printed phonetically; and in a , short time, any book in the common print - Proof, abuu daut, and substantial proof, can be givuu in support of these assertions.. . -. It is the present object of the phohetie reformer, "to teach the present genoratitJi to read the books of the present genera tion, but to do it iu such a manner as, ta lead a future generation to make those changes for which the present it not pre pared." Their main object, then, is to shorten the time it reouires to learn the common print. They -desire its universal adoption. They hopo for it. They pray for itL They use this as the means by which this "cousiuation devoutly to be wished," iny and will be affected. ; -j As some of the advantages of this alpha bet, 1 shall name a few, without comment, but am prepared to defend theiu if ueu-i- It would render the task of learning u read not only less difficult, but it make it a pleasant employment for both teacher aud scholar. It will save a considerable aniountof time to each individual. It will open the road to knowledge to many whew it is now locked ip. It will remove tl.o great, insuperable barrier to the universal ity of our language, aud etentually merge into it all other languages. . It will tend to preserve inviolate our form of overu ment. It.-tvill be of -important 'service i the tlisseiuiuatiou of religious truthj'.-4 ' These aro facts that can easily be prov en. Can he, dare he, who calls himself a true reformer overlook them, or without investigation pronounce them a 'humbug.' Would such a one be possessed with the true spirit of a reformer? ' ' It is true uiau cannot be active in every reform. . . r He must uetessarily have his prefer ences. The reform that agitntes the pub lic mind at present is the Native Ameri can Reform. This is a noble and a glori ous reform. Its principals are based oh truth, and ''truth is mighty and will pre mil" ' ' But would that Native American refor mer be consistent, who would refuse to at least, investigate another reform which pro poses to aid so essentially in the advance ment of his cherished reform? Can the Native American reformer be a "one idea" reformer ? Will he discountenance a re form, and call its advocates enthusiasts i be cause it is dry and uninteresting to' him f To persons desirous of investigating this reform, I would refer them to the ex tensive and well kuown publication house of Longi.ey Brothers, Cincinnati,' from whom documents explanatory and recom mendatory can be obtained at tho rate , of 10 cts. per hundred pges. . ' , I would also refer those desirous of read ing in this utilitarian reform to "The Type of the Times" a mammoth weekly newspa pe published by them, printed partly Miu thenew type. : ;yl, The price of the Timet is $2,00,;Jbut such is the arrangement of the publishers that each subscriber will receive an, addi tional premium in books ranging in price from 50cts. to $3,00, according to the number of copies taken at his office. .This arrangement will be faithfully complied with, by the Longleys who are responsible men, and enterprising publishers! Address Lonolit Brothers, Cincin nati, 0. A Novel Pledge. In Sullivan coun. ty one of the candidates for county clerk was pledged to give one-half tho proceeds of the office to the widow of the late clerk, and . the other promised, In the event Aof his election, to marry the widow.. 0i C4 "Have you 'Blasted Hopes r-ai4e(T a lady of a green librarian, whose face was much swollen by the toothache.: i f'No, ma'am," replied the youth, "but I've got a blasted toothacho." ' ; ' 3""Why don't you go to work and fctop pioking your nose,? "It'e my nose aint it? andit'i Fourtfuf July foo.' il'IIpU thunder out of it; if Fre t mind too"