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True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, August 01, 1855, Image 1

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P. B. CONN, PUBLISHER
CORNER MARKET AND 4TH
11 AN NU M
INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE,
i
hi
Z. RAGAN, Editor and Proprietor.
lift?!
Song of the Bummer Flowers.
We take pleasure in presenting to our readers
tlie following beautiful lines, written by Emb
xmiS. Smith, for the Hoire Journal. The de
caying Summer Flower, an emblem of our na
ture, she contrasts with our own being, for time
swiftly hurries us from the 'cradle to the grave:'
"We come with smiles of gladness,
Tho' we're followed by decay ;
And we claim a kindly welcome,
For we have not long to stay,
Grant us a gleam of sunshine,
A kiss from summer's breese,
A few of heaven's dew-drops
We ask no more than these.
Then in yonr daily pathways,
So cheerfully we'll bloom,
And 'round your pleasant dwellings
We'll lavish rich perfume ;
Your hours of toil we'll sweeten,
We'll smile away your care ;
And wu'll even bid yoar sorrows
A holy aspect wear.
There are many human blossoms
With natures like our own,
Whose blossom, from eatth's fair bowers,
May be so quickly gone.
Such pure, palo buds of beauty,
Are the angels of life's way,
Oh, cherish them with kindness,
While iu your homes they stay 1
Give them plenty of Love's sunshine,
With Pity's gentle dew ;
And let the breath of tenderness
Their every step pursue.
Then, while they dwell among you,
They'll brighten all your hours ;
And when they pass to heaven,
They'll go gently, like the flowers."
THE MONKEY;
OH
BENEVOLENCE REWARDED.
BT TALBOT OREENE.
The sun sets at night, and fadath his ray,
Yet a light shall remain tho' tho day fade away
Jodgi EusasoN,
"You Kif s ! you Nips ! how dare you
tear my new i'anania Hat, you ugiy nine
scaniD. vou ? I declare, Pa, if it wasn't
against your express commands, I'd throw
him out into the street ; at all events I'll
give the mischievous little brat a whip
vine. Onlv last night, while I was asleep
he tied a dozen knots in my hair, and now
ho has torn the red lining out of my hat.
I can't I won't stand it ! 'There is a
point,' as tutor Dean says, 'beyond which
forbearance ceases to be a virtue,' cried
Charley Dillard, a curly-headed, manly
lookinor little fellow of some fourteen sum
mers, to his father, a wealthy merchant of
Lynchburg, wuo was reclining as was nut
usual want after dinner, on a rich sofa in
a back parlor of his stately mansion on
centre square, taking his accustomed siesta.
"Charley, Charley, my son," said Mr,
Dillard, 'don't get angry at tho poor thing,
Were it an intelligent being, the provoca
-tirri is sufficiently great to justify you in
punishing it j as it is, you should not hurt
it."
"Well. Pa. Your word is law with me.
but I don't see why you protect that ugly
little varmint, there. I do believe you
would not bo so sorry to lose a thousand
dollars' as Master Nips."
"That I would not, my son, I am un
der lasting obligations to Mr. Nips j ho
did mo a great tavor once.
"What I Master Nips ? Ila 1 ha ! ha
nnd the little fellow clapped hia hands with
delight. "Pa, pray toll mo now V
"It's a long story, my son I can al
ways tell it with a better grace before
her."
Sixteen years ago there dwelt in Lynch
burg, Virginia, a young law .student.
Though poor in this world's gear, he was
rich in mental ana personal attractions
He was of tall stature and commandinj
appearance, nnd though his countenance
could not be said to bo handsome, yet it
was one of those which please at first
sight, llis income though small, with
economy was sufficient to maintain him
for some years to come. lie had talents,
enprgyi buoyant hopes, and was conse
fluently happy and content. He was sit
ting ono day in his law office pouring ovr
a volume of Blackstono, when a stout
pountryman rode up and inquired of him
if Lawvar Graham was in. The studont
renlied he was not, ho was off on his cir
cuit and would not bo back for a fortnight.
f'Goodncss. eraoious." cried the man.
"what will I do ? but ain't you a studont
of Lawyer Graham's ?" The student nod
ded assent
"Well now, you'd do jest as well. You
see old Mr, Seady out on Swamp-field, is
liken to die, an' Jie sent me ovor to get
some on ye to write his will."
"Very well, my good man, l ll go with
you immediately," replied the student.
Bo he ordered- his horse and set out on
the instaut. As they had some miles to
ride, and as the day was already on the
decline, and the sky looked rather lower
ing, they pushed forward briskly: the
young man especially so, as this was his
hrst case in the legal profession.
Ou the route they had a long hill, or
mountain to cross, known as 'Linden Hill.'-
As they commenced the ascent, large drops
of raiu began bespattering the hill-side ;
for the clouds had been lowering and
blackening for some time. Lre they reach
ed the summit the wind set in from the
east, and blew almost a hurricane. The
arse pino trees with which the hill was
covered on either side, rocked to and fro
like tempest-tossed vessels, lapping their
bushy heads together, and groaning and
creaking at a fearful rate. Just as they
reached tho hill the young man was start
ed and horrified at the sight or a chaise
and four dashing madly toward him. A
arge tree had been blown down near the
carriage, which affrighted the horses, they
spraug off wildly, threw the driver from
his seat, and dashed madly down the al
most perpendicular road towards our hero
and his companion. What was his con
sternation to behold it tenanted by two
females ! Another moment and they wo Id
lave been dashed to pieces 1 The student's
heart almost ceased its palpitations, for
his blood froze in his veins. His com
panion stood paralyzed, but our hero see
ing tho danger, sprang out recklessly into
the road, but on a second thought saw he
might as well try and oppose the passage
of a mountain torrent, so- with the agility
of light he sprang back, drew a revolver
as the only and dernier resort, and fired
on the two wheel horses; who with one
fearful leap foaward, fell dead, and were
dragged along with the caniago by the
two remaining horsos many paces ere they
stopped.
Having calmed the horses he now sprang
forward to the aid of thoso whom he had
so fortunately rescued. One of them, an
elderly lady, apparently a governess or
confidential servant, leaped out and assist
ed him to lift her companion, a beautiful
young lady, from the carriage, who over
come by her Iright, had swooned away.
She was one of the most beautiful beings
imaginable. Full eighteen summers had
passed ovor and ripened her charms to per
fection leaving tho bloom of health upon
her cheek and the dew of love upon her
lip. And as the student gazed upon her
sylph-like form, her largo lustrous eyes,
her polished brow, ho lelt as it ho was
gazing on a thing not of earth one that
he could love aye, worship. And as she
gave him her hand, and with sweetest
i i i- i ..il l l.; i
voice inanKea mm ana canca mm tier
dear preserver, ho could not but aoknowl-
edge to himself, that he did that ho did
love her. By this time her companion
and the driver came up, the latter having
only been stunned, and assisted in repair
ing the carriago and harnessing in the two
remaining horses.
In a few moments they were again ready
to set out: and at the invitatiou of the
lady, our hero most willingly excused him
self to the countryman, sprang into the
carriage, and in a moment was winding
his way baek to tho city. Ho soon ascer
tained tho fair one s name to be Alice
Smith, daughter of ono of the wealthiest
and most aristocratic merchants of Lynch
burg. But it was with sadness, with a
sorrowful heart he became apprised of it.
lie was already, he acknowledged, deeply
smitten ; but what chance would he, a
poor, obscure student have with the weal
thy, accomplished, and courted bolle of
one oi tne nrst iamiucs or. Virginia i ue
acknowledged it was folly to indulge even
a hope yet, he did not act according to
his acknowledgements, and while soated
by her side, could not rofrain from feast
ing his eyes, his soul, on so many charms,
so nianv perfections. On arriving in the
city, he delivered up his precious charge
to her tmrenta. who were profuse in their
thanks, threw open their doors and invited
him to make their house his homo wnen
ever he chose, for he should ever be a wel
come guest. It is not to be expected the
invitation was neglected : ho became a con
stant visitor, and was ever at the side of
the lair bolle; and though sue naa scores
of wealthy, talented and noble suitors, yet
he never altogether despaired, but pushed
his suit with the greatest tact and zeal
The most ardent of his rivals was a gen
tlcman from Washington City, whoso fine
person and fortune, proclaimed him to be
a dangerous competitor ; especially so as
his suit was favored and urged by her fath
er. But in the face of all opposition he
wooed her woood her successfully and
won. But. alas 1 her parents were strenu
ous in their opposition. Her father
peremptorily forbade him his house, and
torbade her seeing him undor penalty oi
bis lasting displeasure.
But our horo, nothing daunted, waited
on him again, in the fervency of his pass
ion, and found him more violent in his op
position than ever. He rudely inquired
of him what were his prospects, his for
tune, Our hero stating his circumstances,
STEUBENVILLE,
he bade him crush his fruitless aspirations.
"When you can come with forty thous
and dollars, a fortune equal to hers, I will
then give your pretensions consideration ;
till then you would do well to keep aloof
from me and mine. Good morning, sir ?"
and the haughty nabob bowed him from
the floor.
Stung to madness at his disappointment
and the scorn and contempt his preten
sions had received by the proud preten
sions had received by the proud merchant,
he rushed back to his now dreary little
office overcome with contending emotions.
Alas ! how sad was life, how dreary wcro
all things now ! 'Far better would it have
been,' said he, 'that we had never met :
my life was comparatively happy then, but
now all is misery. Though poor, I was
contented, but I can be contented thus no
longer. Gold is necessary to my happi
ness, and gold I must have. I will gather
up my little effects and seek it in a distant
clime. I have a wealthy relative in the
Indies, perhaps he will aid mo mend my
fortunes, so thither will I turn my steps.
It cannot be made hero by a profession ;
already is every court and village thronged
with professional men, so I am determined
on my course. But ere I go, I must see
Alice once more.' And the same even
ing he mother by appointment in the park,
surrounding her father's residence.
The interview was truly affecting. The
student spoke of his ill success consequent
upon his want of fortune, and of his do.
termination to seek it in some distant land
"W.'H you bo faithful to me, Alice, and
think of me somotimcs, whon far away ?"
cried he.
"Oh ! I will," roplied she, as she fell
sobbing on his bosom.
"I know, Alice, my caso is almost hope'
less, but I go buoyed by your promises.'
"I would, sir, I would " and the
trembling maiden cast down her eyes and
blushed scarlet.
"You would what, Alice ?"
"I would willingly follow your fortunes
here though you be poor and unknown,
yet I would rather toil, ah, drudge for you
whom I love, than roll in wealth with an
aching heart."
"No, no, Alice ! you know but little of
tho world, its sorrows, its cares, its hard
ships. I would not lower you from the
sphere you already adorn ; I would not
bring you to want. Have courage then to
bear up, if only for a short while, and al
will be well. I trust we may meet soon
again, and under happier and better aus
pices."
"Oh ! thou, if you will go, bo assured I
shall ever love you you alone j so do not
despair, but hopo on, hope ever. Rcmcm
her
"The sun sets at night, and fadetb. his ray,
A light still remains tho' the day fades away.
"Thank you, Alice, dear thank you,"
and pressing her a moment to his heart,
tho young man tore himself away.
The following week saw him standing
out from Norfolk in the Packet 'Tom Dos
scr.
for tho West Indies. We will not
touch upon his long and tiresome journey,
his depression of spirits, his agony of mind;
but let it suffice, he landed safely after
most tiresome journey, at Port Au Prince,
in Hayti. Hero ho found many things
to interest him. All manner of beings
were congregated in the island, greedy of
gains, and all striving industriously for
that, which, with the world, levels all dis
tiuctions, and places the buffoon on an
equal footing with the noblest ; for the In
dies at that time were tho El Derado
the world.
Hero he rested some days, before at-
temDtiner to cet into business. Situations
sou
could have been had in almost any estab
lishmcnt, but ho was unfortunately with
out letters of recommendation,
neglected to secure thorn before leaving
home. Having made several unsuocestsfu
applications, he set out for tho interior in
search of' his undo. After wandering
over half tho place, he found to his mor
tification, that his uncle had died a few
months previous, and that his family had
returned to England. What to do he
knew not. He could get no situation with
out rocommendation, knew no one on tho
island, and his little stock of cash had do
creased considerably. At this crisis, not
heincr acolimated, the heat, together with
o -
his anxioup state of mind, brought on
tfl American fntcwsils, f itaratort, Retrace, anb
OHIO, WEDNESDAY,
L.
burning fover, with which he lay several
r
months. He was taken iftik at a little inn
near Selma, on the sea-s&Oie, kept by an
henest irishman, to whose kind attention'
ho owed his life. Wbenhe at length re
covered, his little stockjof cam was cx-
1 i J IT . . 1 it 1- . 1
naustea. lie inaue tne (discovery to ins
andlord, who instead el thrusting him
out, bade him make his homo with him as
oug as ho choso. "Far,'.' said he, "I
was once a poor friendless wanderer my
self; Ooh ! an' I'm poortct, but what I
have is all yours." Noto, the physician,
vile Italian who waited on him during
his illness ; he stripped him of everything
ic possessed, even his clothes, all to the
one suit he wore. r
His conditiou was now .truly distressing,
but he was not one to give way in despair;
the parting words of his flear Alice rang
in his cars, and he took (jourage when all
seemed hopeless. He was still too weak to
travel, so with his gun int hand he sauu
tcred daily out, sometimes in company with
his kind host, aloug the sca-shore eudcav.
oring to gain strength, and dispel as well
as he could, all thoughts ot his forlorn con
dition. $
Ono day, when he was Nearly recovered,
10 took his gun down amir wandered con
siderably fan her than wits his usual cus
torn, for this day he fell extremely sad
and depressed. He wandered long with
out finding game. Finally, he nearcd a
clump of cocoa trees by the sea-side. As
he approached, a largo gang of moukeys,
with which the island abouuds, scampered
off, and clambered up the surrouuding
trees ; and one little felluW especially, ran
jttbboring up tho tree Wider ; which our
hero reclined. He kept up such a racket
and laughing and made so many wry-faces
aud grimaces at him, that it seemed to
tho young man as if ho was doing it in
derision and moukcry of his sorrows and
sufferings. He attempted to scare him
out with stones, but the little fellow only
became worse, and even tore off branches
aud nuts and threw back at him when,
getting out of humor as well as patience,
the young man raised his gun to his, shoul
der and fired on tho mischievous little an
imal. Down it came, tumbling from branch
to branch, till it reached the ground. On
running up, he lound he had not Kinea it,
but only broken a leg; and, as is moaned
so piteously, ho thought he would take
compassion on it, and put it out of misery,
lie took off one of his suspenders and tied
a large stone to the monkey, and threw it
in near the outlet of a large creek, or riv
er, where the water was perfectly clear.
He saw it sink headlong to the bottom, a
distance of ten feet, but it immediately
turned towards him, held up its hands,
and fixed its large, full eyes so piteously
upon him, that he turned away in remorse,
and in horror sought to leave the spot.
But he could not fly ; the imploring eyes
of the poor monkey were upon him every
way he turned ; and his conscience cried
murderer I murderer!' so he sprang back,
resolved to rescue it, rather than lose his
own peace forever.
Without pausing to divest himself of
his clothes, he merely threw asido his hat,
and plunged into the water. In a moment
hd arose and drew the half drowned mon
key ashore. After panting a moment he
turned to divest it of the stone hanging
to its neck, when what was his astonish
ment to perceive, for the first time, that it
hold clutohod in its claws a small silver
casket, partially covered with moss, which
he had grappled while in tho agonies of
death. With the loast possible agitation
he released the animal of his incumbrance,
took out hia pocket-knifo and opened tho
casket, which, to his joy and astonish
ment, ho found filled with tho richest and
rarest jewels imaginable bracelets, pins,
rings, necklaces, &c all sot with the
mnst nrpfiious diamonds. They were of
enormous value, and had doubtless been
lost or thrown into the ocean many years,
perhaps many centuries, baek.
He took them out one after another,
gazed on them, rubbed his eyes, pinched
himself and halloed aloud, to make sure
ho was not dreaming; for ho could not
bolieve for some time that such was his
good fortune. From tho deepest despair,
from wretchedness and almost want, he
was now suddenly enriohed, far above his
most grasping desires and aspirations in
AUGUST 1, 1855,
. ;
his palmiest days.
This sudden, marvellous, nnd happy
turn in his fortune overcame him so muh
that he could not move for some time.
He was finally roused from his pleasing
revery by tho moaning of the poor mon
key at his sido; so he gathered up his
precious treasure, placed the monkey as
tenderly as possible on hia shoulder aud
set out for the inn.
On his way he resolved to communicate
his good fortune to no one, but to proceed
at once to Port Au Prince, and dispose of
his treasure. Accordingly ho placed the
monkey under tho protecting care of the
kind host and set out the next morning
with the promise to return speedily. As
ho turned to leave the door, the kind-
hearted Irishman slipped a few guineas
into his hand, telling him he would need
them on his way. And with a heart too
full for utterance at such disinterested
kindness, he strode hastily away, to hide
the copious flood of tears that burst forth
and streamed down his checks.
The day following he arrived at his des
tination, wont round, saw all tho merchants
and jewelers, and after much cheapening
and bargaining, sold them to a company of
London jewelers, who were then on the
island, for eighty thousand dollars, a sum
far exceeding his most extravagant cxpee
tations.
As a ship was about sailing for Norfolk
in a few days he made hasty preparation
to return in it. Having hired a chaise he
speedily set out to the inn, to see after his
monkey, and to repay his kind host and
hostess for all tho kindness they had shown
him in his adversity. He was joyfully
and affectionaly greeted by his friends;
his monkey, too, he found, was almost well
and as antic and mischievous as ever.
The next day he iuformed his friends of
his good fortune ; that, by a kind interpo
sition of Providence, he had become en
riched. Great and sincere was tho joy of
the family, and more so was it when he
informed them he had purchased the inn
aud little farm adjoining, and presented it
to them, for their kindness aud generosity
to him; telling them "I was a stranger
and ye took mo iu, I was an hungered and
ye fed me."
The gratitude of the family knew no
bounds; manifesting their joy by tears
and laughter and tho good mother, for
getting horself in her ecstacy, kissed him
aud patted him on his cheek, as was her
wont to play with the urchin on her knee.
Ho tarried but a few days with tho happy
family, when, taking his little monkey and
treasure, he embarked for Norfolk.
When ho last trod the deck it was with
an anxious and heavy heart, with a mind
bowed down with grief and disappoint
ment ; but now it was far different. Not
a lighter heart beat on the seas, for he was
now rcturnincr to his dear home, to his
dear Alice, and loaded with sufficient to
satisfy the most grasping desires of her
parsimonious father.
In duo time ho arrived and found his
dear Alice more lovely than ever. Her
admirers were still numerous ; yet to all
she was cold, though courteous. The
world wondered at her refusing so many
advantageous offers ; some said she was a
coquette, and others again that she had
"A lover far o'er the deep blue sea."
So speculation was at variance. But her
own heart kuew its secrets best; its hopes;
its fears.
It may be--imagined, not many hours
elapsed after landing till ho enfolded his
dear Alico to his heart. Her parsimoni
ous father was amply satisfied with his
wealth, and but few months passed cro the
now no longer poor, despised student, but
wealthy merchant, led tho choice of his
heart to the altar.
"And on bended knee, I have, my son,
thanked God every day since then," con
tinued Mr. Dillard, "for the merciless
storm that overset the carriago on Linden
Hill, and the remorse of conscience that
made me return and rescue this poor mon
key from a watery grave."
"You, father ? who, what !
"Yes, me, my son, I was that poor stu
dent ; your happy mother there the court
ed bcllo ; and master Nips, the poor woun
ded mon but fio ! fio I son, desist, or
you'll smother him with your caresses."
(General ntclligfitcf.
From the Philadelphia Amoiican Courier.
BEST FOIL THE WEARY.
There is a heaven :
This thread of life ennnot be all the web
Nature had wrought to govern divine spirits;
There is a heaven, !rcause there's misery,
The divine power ever blest and good,
Made not the world for an ill nntur'd jest, ,
To sport himself in pains of those he made.
There is rest for the AVeary, yes, poor
storm-tost voyager on life's ocean, rest for
the. Are you not weary? I know it
seems as if tho clouds would never break,
but the dawning will soon come, and you'll
feel then that the day shines brighter, af
ter such a dark night of sorrow. God has
placed you iu this world of wo, ouly fir a
little while, however, for He is preparing
a bright home of love and peace on high
your rest for ever.
There is a rest for the weary, pale suf
ferer on tho couch of pain. "lis a Fath
ers hand dealing with thee; thine has
been a care-worn pathway; the way has
seemed long and wearisome; you have found
the thorns oftcner than the flowers, but
even now a brighter prospect opens before
you the rest is now at hand; a few steps
more, and tho angels will besr the home,
where there shall bo no more sickness or
pain.
There is rest for the, too, poor mother
less one. Alone you nro treading Life's
thorny paths, but there is One ever watch
ing you, with outstretched arms, ready to
bear you up, should you sink beneath your
earth-cares. As God "tcmpereth the wind
to the shorn lamb," so will He prevent
the cold, rude blast of the sneering world
from blow ing harder on you than that gen
tle spirit can bear. Friends in name have
proved strangers, in heart, cold and un
sympathizing; but that one dear Friend
never changes. You feel very, very deso
late since your mothcias gone to her
rest ; you wander to tho place where they
laid her icy form, and as you sit by her
grave, you long to lie there too, and say in
your agony of grief, "Why, oh ! why was
she taken and I left ?" But He who 'do-
erh all things well" has net erred in this ;
lie is only breaking the earth-bauds that
are coufiuing you below. Bo patient ; tho
end comcth the rest is at hand.
Ye erring ones of earth, who feel as if
you could ne'er find peace, listen to these
words : "Come, ye weary and heavy la
den, and I will give you rest," tho words
of One who would bo a Father, a Saviour
to you, it you would only consent to bo the
child of His adoption, One who has nev
er broken a promise He has made. Why
then delay longer ? Come now, and seek
that rest you so ardently long for. Did
He not say to tho penitent thief, "This
day shalt thou be with me in Paradise ?"
and to the repentant Magdalene, "Thy
sins which are many are all forgiven thee;
go and sin no more 1" Come then, ye sin
ning ones, while yet there is room, and ere
God has "forgotten to be gracious ;" there
is rest even for you.
There is rest for the mourners. Ye sad
ones of earth, that have felt the links in
Friendship's chain crumbling to dust, and
dropping fast away, nnd have seen the
rose-buds snatched from the parent-tree,
in the home garden, by tho rentless hand
of death, there ia rest for you too in
Heaven ; thero you will have all re-united
in a stronger and more lasting chain of love
Tho friends gone before will welcome you
to your rest, the rosebuds 6uatehcd in
life's young morn will bo blooming there
in the Eden bowers. Only a little while
now, and the "oil of joy will be given you
for mourning." for "God shall wipe away
all tears from your eyes."
Aged pilgrim, tottering on the vergo of
life's precipice, you who in your youth
longed for a home for ever in this Bunny
world, as you deemed it then, are you not
now rejoiced in your inmost soul that it is
not always to bo your home ? that you
need not livo for ever away from tho an
gels who hr.ve ministered to you whilo
dwelling in this vale of tears ? You have
toiled manfully for tho right, God has
been approving, your rest is prepared,
for "He giveth His beloved sleep," and
Ha now stands at Heaven's gato, beckon'
mg you onward, whilo lie pronounces
cheering words as you pass through tho
valloy and shadow of death: ''Well done
good and faithful servants," enter thou
VOLUME I. NUMBER 30.
hit i the joy ot thy Lord.
"And will thero bo a rest for me, Car
rie V said a sweet voice at my elbow.
"I to am hcart-wcury and foot-sore, trav
elling life's journey. I do long for my
heavenly home, for I have none on enrth
now my mother in the church yard in
the glen, and father far o'er tho blue ocean.
Oh, Carrie, I am alone, all alone now in
the world ; won't there ever be rest for
me
Yes, darling, but you must remember
that tho heaven must be in your heart ere
you aro called obovo. You must feel wil
ling to bido your time, to "run with pa
tience the race set before you," then not
otherwise, shall you be permitted to enter
into the rest God has prepared for all those
who lovo Him and keep His command
ments. ClRKIK.
Parting Scene with Emmet.
The evening before his death, while the
workman was busy with the sciffold, a
young lady was ushered into his dungeon.
It was the girl whom he so fondly loved,
and who had now come to bid him an
oternul farewell. He was leaning in a
melancholy mood against the window frame
or the prison, and the heavy clanking of
bi3 irons 6moto dismally upon her heart.
The interview was bitterly affecting, and
melted even the callous soul of the 'jailur.
As for Emmet, he spoke little, but. as ho
pressed his beltvcdin silence tohis bosom,
his countcnananco betrayed his emotions.
In a low voice half choked by anguish, he
besought her not to forget him; he remin
ded her of their former happiness, of long
passed days of their childhood, and conclu
ded by requesting her sometimes to visit
the scenes where their infancy was spent,
and though the world might repeat their
names with scorn, to cling to his memory
with affection.
At this very instant, the evening bell
pealed from the neighboring church. Em
met started at the sound, and as he felt
that this was tho last time ho should ever
hear its dismal sound, he folded his belov
ed still closer to his heartj and bent over
her sinking on with his eyes streaming
with affection. The turnkey entered at
the moment, ashamed of his weakness he
dashed the rising tear from his eye, and a
frown again lowered on his countenance.
The mau mean while approached .to tear
tho young lady from his embraces. Over
powered by his feelings, he could make no
resistance; but as he gloomily released her
from hia hold, he gave her a little miniature
of himself, and with tho parting token of
attachment, he imprinted tho last kisses of
a dying man upon her lips. On gaining
the door, she turned around as if to gaze
onco more upon the object of her widowed
love. He caught her eyes as she retired
it was but for a moment, the door swung
back upon its hinges, and as it closed after
her, informed him too surely that they had
met for the last time on earth.
BS.O, it is blessed, when you feel very
vile, to hide in Jesus, and though still as
vilo as ever in yourself, to say "Abba
Father!" In reading a chapter, the only
part I could dwell on at the time, was,
"this same Jesus." It seemed so sweet
to think that it is the samo Jesus who was
so lovely, so gentle, so full of sympathy on
earth, who is now in Heaven, "tho k friend
of sinners," pleading fer them at God's
right hand : that it isjthe same sweet voice
that on earth said to the troubled soul, 'Come
unto me and I will give you rest;" Bo
nar's Stranger Here.
C.1 havo read books enough; and ob
served and conversed with enough of emi
nent and splendidly cultivated minds, too',
in my time, but I assure you I havo heard
higher sentiments from the lips of poor, une
ducated men and women, when exerting
the spirit of sovDre, yet gentle heroism, un
der difficulties and afflictions or speaking
their simple thoughts as to circumstances
in the lot of friends and neighbors, than I
ever met with out of the pages of tho Bible.
Sir Walter Scott.
VkrtPopdlar. "Was Brown a popu.
lar man when he lived in your town?" in
quired a busy body of his friend.
"I should think he was," replied the gen
tleman, "as many persons endeavored to
prevent his leaving us so many having ta
ken a particular fancy to him; among oth
er), the sheriff, his deputy, and several
constables, followed him some distanoo,"
1.
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