v c ---v.- .fgg" .. . . SI N G L E C 0 r l E S
.,: -;...:v . .r.... ' : , ',:-; ll-.' V ' : ' . FIVE CENTS. 1 "Y;,
; 1,50 P E R A N N U M :
.;,!,-;, . IF PAID IN ADVANCE, , .
rMedtli ioriraal, ' f elialA to roait Int&is, I ilcraiure, titnte; ; anix ieiural , JnfcIIiprx
'1 f .1
f .;-,f 0,-4 J
Z. HAUAN, Editor and Proprietor.
STEUBEPILLE, OHIO, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 31, 1858.
...vol, i-m 13:;
. The Consumptlon'of Gas. ':
( We find the following communication
in - the Philadephia Ledger. It " was
written by John 0. Cresson, Esq.; En
gineer of ihe' Gaa Works in that City.--It
. contains some valuable hints to the
consumers of Gas.
' Mb'. Editor : Will you allow me
pace for some remarks upon a subject of
interest: to house keepers ana oiners,
which is just now exciting much public
attention. I allude to the complaints
Against gas meters that pervade the
public prints, very much in the manner
of an epidemic. .
The prevailing condemnation of these
useful instruments had its recent origin
in the revelations of a meter maker in N.
York, who seems to have a desire to
atone for his previous dishonest practices
by a public confession of them.
, Whether the frauds he owns are real
,or imaginary is unknown to me, as the
Philadelphia Gas1 Works have never had
any dealings wiih him ; they having with
extreme caution refused to buy meters
from any ma- ufactucers whose work
could not be shown to be accurate and
reliable. As it was naturally to be sus
peeled that doubts and suspicions would
occasionally arise with respect to the
correctness of the measurement of gas by
the meters, precautions were taken at an
early period in the history of these works
to ascertain and establish bv clear evidence
the proper accuracy of every meter before
putting it in use. 1 Lis was accomplished
by instituting a system of minute exami
nation and actual trial of each meter by
competent workmen, carefully instructed
to the exact and conscientious discharge
of their duties, who should record in
books prepared for the purpose the results,
of all these trials.'
These records are preserved at the gas
Works, and show the character of each
meter that has been proved during the
past fourteen years, "amounting to more
than fifteen thousand. The rule of proof
is to reject every meter that varies in the
slightest degree from the prescribed limits
of correct measure men I, anil the recoru
will show that live average deviation of
the whole number accepted for use isj
within a very minute fraction of absolute
accuracy. Any ono who has a competent
knowledge of the gas meter, must know
that if properly made, and kept in its
proper condition, it cannot by any possi
bility record more gas than has actually
passed through it, as it derives all its
movement from the flow of gas, and
ceases to record the moment tlio gas
ceases to pass, so that errors of record
in this direction ean arise only from dis
honest construction of the meter, or its
' The former of these causes of error is
believed to be effectually avoided by the
system of proof adopted at these works;
and as a precaution against the latter
cause of error, all the meters in use are
examined and tested at frequent intervals
by the inspectors, who are carefully train
ed to their duties, and instructed to keep
them as nearly as possible in the proper
condition for correct measurement of the
gas. ' Now is it claiming too much for
these officers, who from the highest to
the lowest have not the slightest motive
from personal interest to inflict a wrong
qdW their fellow citizens, to ask that
' their statements, carefully recorded in
writing, should be received with reason
able confidence, at least until they are
proved to be erroneous T
.But the inquiry naturally arises, how
can it happen, if the meters are so coirect
tbat complaints are so frequently made
of the irregularity of the amount of gas
bills. This inquiry has engaged the at
tention of the ofliders of gas-works for
, many years, who, with an earnest desire
of ascertaining the truth, have patiently
Investigated the subject. v The results of
these investigations show that the com-
plaints arise from various different causes.
; The number of gas bills issued from
tbe office of the Philadelphia Gas Works
is' over 8000 per month, or about 100
000 a year. With respect to the greater
part of these, say about ninety eight per
cent.,, there is no complaint, nor, is it
peleivcd there is any just cause for com
plaint." '.. ... V ;
Of the complaints made, some are found
to be without any reasonable causehaving
their origin in the peculiar disposition of
the individual. Many oi inem, uowever,
jarise from real causes, which are of va
rious' kinds. Some cases are isolated,
others are" common to particular localities,
or nariicuiar. .seasons of the year. For
axamole. the bills rendered in February.
March, and April are usually the heaviest
of the year, and give rise to the most
frequent dissatisfaction 4o persons who,
pix the' approach' of spring, forget the
lengtu or mia winter; evenings, Again
in a dull business season, many stores
and factories cease to light up al night
and lbe: diminished draught on the local
Mains causes an increase of local pressure
whereby the gas bills of the immediate
neighborhood are unexpectiy augiiented,
Both of lb est causes are now most active
y operative, and their remedy is out of
reach of the gas works,, which cannot
control either the seasons or the owneis
of tall stores and factories. An effectual
remedy for the latter case is, however, in
the control of the gas consumer, who can
keep down Ins bills by diminishing the
pressuro in bis own fittings. Many per
sons do this by partially turning off the
stopcock ut the meter, and others accom
plish it more effectually and permanently
by haying the' stopcock in the street
turned partially off, which is done by a
workman from the gas office, whenever
requested by the customer.
1 he latter mode 13 preferable, as it is
not subject to change by the meter in
spector, whoso operations require him to
turn the stop at the meter, who cannot
always restore it to the desired position,
though his instructions are to do so as
nearly as practicable.
1 he effect of lighting tip a lofty
building is to cheek greatly the flow of
gas into ndjacent houses of less elevation
in the same manner as a hydrant let run
in the yard of a house will stop the sup.
ply of water to the balh room, in an upper
story. . 1 lie tendency of gas being to
flow out of the highest .opening as that
of water is to issue at the lowest. The
isolated cases are of two kinds, one in
which there is a sudden increase in
particular bill, and the other showing a
gradual and continued increase duiing
many months or even years.
The former sometimes arises from an
additional number of burners, whose ex
istence is forgotten j sometimes from an
unknown use of light by a member of the
family; sometimes from an undiscovered
leakage in the fitting, and occasionally
from an error ia taking the state of the
meterat that or the previous quarter
The latter cases are easily disposed of by
a correction of the bill as soon as ike
eiror is discovered, but they are of rare
occurrence the average being less tban
ono in a thousand.
The cases of gradual and continued
increase of the bills generally arise from
the gradual enlargement of the burners,
either designedly, or by the chemical and
mechanical action of the burning gas.
the increased consumption ot gaa tnus
produced is not usually accompanied by
a corresponding increase of light, and the
small additional light obtained is general
ly unheeded, probably on the same phy.
sical principle that makes persons uncon
scious of the increased craving for and
use of artificial indigencies.
The proper remedies in these cases is
tho removal of the old burners, and the
substitution of new ones of proper size.
In doing this, it will be most prudent to
obtain ilic-m from some established gas
fitter, and not from itinerants, who haunt
the houses of citizens, to delude them by
specious promises of great saving from
buying their burners and their advice.'
In dealing with these people the citizen
is almost sure of being deceived, without
chance of remedy.
The general regularity of the record
of the meters in this city, in caees where
the circumstances under which they were
used are unchanged, becomes very evi
dent on examining the offico registry of
the bills for successive years. Two
series of those recoids for different local
ities, not affected by tbe vicinity of large
factories, showing the following results :
fwcnly bills, taken indiscriminately,
of houses in the Thirteenth Ward, in
March 1857, amounted to $24?, 15, and
in March 1858, $229 53 ; the difference
$12,52, being five per cent, less this year
than last. Twenty bills taken in like
manner in the Eighth and Ninth Wards,
amounted, in March 1857, to 398,75,
and in March 1858, to $398,07; the
difference being 68 cents, or less than
one-fifth of one per cent.
An Amusing Game.
A small piece of slick is lighted at one
end, and the blaze is blown out, leaving
the sparks, it is then passed from one oi
the company to Ihe next on his right
band, and so on round the circle, each
one saying, as he hands it to his neigh
bor, "Jack s alive, ihe player who
holds the stick when the last spark dies
out must consent to have a delicate mous
tache painted on his face with the charred
end of the stick, which is then teiighl
ed, and the came goes on. Should the
wearer of the moustache have Jack die a
second time on his hands, an imperial,
whiskers, or exaggerated eyebrows, may
be added to his charms. While Jack is
in a lively condition, with his sparks in
fine, brilliant order, he is passed careless
ly from one player to another; but wjien
he shows symptoms of dying, it is amu
sing to see ho w rapidly he changes hands,
for each player, is bound to recoive him
as soon as his ' neighbor pronounces,
"Jack's alive.' In case the moustache
docorations are objected to, a forfeit may
be paid instead, by those who bold 'Jack's
The New Rochelle Blackberry,
t v- sir feaH-s4iTr
fr-'Wiv TiKfy ?wi;
BV SYBIL HASTINGS.
-"When Charles V,' read 'upon the tomb
of a Spanish nobleman.. " here lies one
who never' knew fear," replied, .".then
he never $nyffid a candle with hisfingen.
Dear Doctor Wiih vour Dei mission we wish to call the attention ol ynur rea
ders to a new fruit which by pomologists is justly regarded as the moBi valuable
acquisition made to the list of fruits for many years. We think no one will be sur
Drised at our pood oDinion of it when we inform them that Ihe above cut gives a fair
representation of the actual size, as well as of the general appearance of a cluster of
berries, no larger than many we have seen, handled ami tasteu.
It is a new and perfectly distinct variety, and not the common kind improved by
cultivation. It originated near New Rochelle, New York, and was fysi brought
into notice by Mr. Seacor, who is much belter entitled to the name of it ihan the
gentleman who for pecuniary advantages wishes it to be called the Lawton.
The shape of the Jruit, it will be seen, is not ;nat 01 uie wnu oiacsoerry, oui re
sembles the Hovey's Seedling strawberry,. We are inclined to the opinion that it
is an accidental cross of the common blackberry and the dewberry. We have been
led to this conclusion from the following considerations. The first year the plants
trail on the ground, very much like the dewberry, but afterwards ihey grow upright
ly very stoutly, from ten to fifteen feet high. The shape of the fruit is not mnlber
ry like, as the common blackberry is, but resembles the dewberry, though it is much
larger, and when perfectly ripe the flavor is quite equal.
CHARACTERISTICS OF THE PLANT AND FRUIT.
- The plants are very hard and vigorous, more so than the common varieties,
and stand the cold well. The fruit is juicy and fine flavored, with very few seeds.
The size can hardly bo appreciated by those who have seen only the common kinds.
Of about the the average size, sixty to eighty berries will fill a quart measure; while
of those a little above the medium from forty to fifty will do the same. An inch to
an inch and a half may bo set down as the average diameter, though larger berries
are quite common. . .
- : SEASON.
They commence ripening about the middle of July, and continue "from five to
eight weeks. This is most oppoitune. Ripening as they do just at the season
when there are no other fruits when tho strawberry and raspberry crops have been
exhausted, and peaches and grapes have not yet appeared blackberries could not
v; ell be dispensed with, especially wnen we lake inio consiuerauon uieir uieuicai auu
beneficial effects upon the system during the hot season.
The vield is enormous. One of the editors of the New York Tribune says : "We
received a few days since an invitation from Mr. George Seymour to visit his nur
sery and view several acres in bearing. We arrived on the the ground about 10 A.
RI., in company with a number of ladies and gentlemen, who immediately began to
insinuate themselves ambner the bushes, which were standing very thickly, and all
well laden with fruit. Astonishment sezed the party, and while viewing the gor
geous display we for a time forgot to taste the tempting berries. Ihe bushes had
occupied this field lor two years, ana were weusuppuea wnu siae siuiow, an mnuou
with berr es in everv stacre. from the smallest ffreen to ine largest npo oiacKoeiry,
and ihev were blackberries ! Those wonderful berries produced on the mountain, or
by the old stone wall on the homestead farm, which produced so fine r flavor in our
youthful days, lost all tho deliciousness ascribed to them by a lingering memory
when we had tasted a few of the fully ripe JNew Uocheites. uau we say now
manv bushels of fine fruit are taken" from an acre! We dare not. We had with
us several horticulturists who are engaged in supplying New York with fine fruits.
Fhey counted the berries on several bushes, measured ihem in baskets, and they
were so astonished at tbe amount which it mieht be possible to grow on an acre,
and thev dared not to reneat it to the uninitiated in the wonders of fruit growing.
. ... . . ... ,,,
We had learned from circu ars lhat fiom four to eieht quarts were prouueeu oy
ainorln nanp. snd lhat Sflft to 1000 rine harries were to be coun'ed on a cane of
averace size ! we found one cane havinir over 160U ! oent to tne cuy in quart ooxes
they bring 30'cents at wholesale! Raspberry baskets filled with these berries will
sell for 15 cents, and the retailers get whatever they choose to ask. Judging from
the present demand, we believe 500 acres may be planted to this blackberry, and
the whole results sent to the New York market, they would lau or oeing pienmui
enough to be within the reach of all. In fact we do not believe the market can be
overstocked " - soil
They appear so far to grow well on almost any soil. Some cultivators recommend
moist loam, or even clay. We nave them planted on very lien and poor soil. We
gathered some of our best berries last season from the poor soil. The editor of the
Agriculturist says: "The best growth and fruiting we have seen is upon a rocky
side hill, though perhaps not better than others on dark muck ard peaty soilv"
Lest it might be thought that we overrate this famous fruit, we will add the opin
ions of a few gentlemen who are every way competent to form a correct judgment
of its merits. Mr. Charles Downing, in the Hnrliculturul, thus speaks of it !
""HavinKlienrdagooddoal saidaboutthe New Rochelle Blackberry, for tne past yesrortwo,
arid knowing that many of the new fruits were over-praised, I made a special visit, a ft W days
siiice, to ace for myself, and I can assure you I wag well paid for my trooble. There is no
hurnbug about it, and the only wonder is that it lias not been more ecneralljr introduced and
propagated before. The fruit is large and sweet. It is an enormous bearer j indeed the qnan
tity (considering the large size of the fruit) gurprieed me, and the berries were perfect. As
to its sire, it will surprise wont persons who seo it for tho first time. At Norwalk we saw
several stalks bearing from five lo eight quarto each. We tried some that had been gathered
over forty houra, and found the flavor quite good. A quart of them numbered seventy-one
berries; Wo picked a quart from vines which had received no manure for two yeara past, and
fmm vhiAk h laraooAo inat hum n1ontd for the New Haven Horticultural' Society, and
found that seventy -two of them filled a quart measure. The vines grow quite large many
of them . over an inch in fliameter, and the fruit hangs in cluters, in sue tnore like very large
Clraatt Claim Plnma tliun Tilra Mia nrrlinnrv Rlnnkhnrrv Th flavor is not Bpparer.tlv dirain-
iBlifld hv it lnrim iA nml ifa fnw seed is not the least recommednation. We think this
beny a valuable acqnisition to our domcstio fruits, and worthy of a place in every gardea
American Agriculturist.' , N: " .u . li, JOHN EBERLEIJJ, Sr., Agent.
I . . : t
" He who loveth not, knoweth not God ; for
uou is love I
Some distance back from the road
leading lo the village of Medford, there
stands an old fashioned country house.
Tall elm trees throw the ir dark shadow
over its antique . portico and narrow
casements ; but the glory of a summer
day a day made up of sunbeams and
zephyrs penetrates the affluent June
foliage of those forest trees, and fills every
nook and chamber, except one, with its
spirit cheering radiance. '
In that chamber the blinds are closed.
The muslin curtains 'fall in snow white
folds lo the matting upon the floor. Bat
llie fragrance of flowers. and the perfume
of dewy meadow lands, that sweep in
many a wide acre about the old house,
breathe mockingly lo ihe tortured sufferer
within, of the exuberant beauty and life
without. For a human being lies ihere,
with life's strength fainting into death's
mystery, and resting the while with iho
unconquerablo adversary of mortality.
From the setting of yesterday's sun,
Hannah Worthington knew that she must
die before many hours: and with ihe
ebbing of her strength, the desire for
prolongation or her days had grown
apace. Not that life was dear to her in
its usual aecceptalion much happiness
and near kindred ties. The first frost of
girlish disappointment had congealed into
ice in her breast with the lapse of time
The once gay blue eyes had grown stony
in their expression. She taught herself
to believe that the cold, passionless rou
tine of her daily dunes was alone accepta
ble in the eyes of God, sternly refusing
any natural impulse, every desire of a
And thus she passed fripidfv on for
nearly a half century ; accounting herself
with arrogant pride, her Father in Heav
en's well beloved and faithful child. No
charity for human frailties, in all lhat
time had from her lips ever shed its
divine sunshine over an erring spirit. And
yet none ever craved material aid, who
eft her empty handed.
But woe to her, or to him, who failed
in the measure which she meted out as
duty, if of her they sought .favor. " Go
thou and sin no more !" fell never in
hallowed accents from her lips, when the
broken hearted penitent knell a suppliant
at her feel.
When or where she accepted the stern
creed which she hugged to her heart until
that hour, I know not. Perchance it
was born in that hour of life's bitterest
travail, when love and faith gave way to
to their deadly opponents, falsehood and
despair ; perchance it grew into strength
in the daily mamlestation of her own
father's life a life unhallowed by love
of God or man. However it might have
been, in the end it gained the mastery
over the home circle, and ruled there
with a despotism, like nothing else on
earth. Even the stern old man, who
looked with haughty (It fiance on the
passing of lime, which was bearing him
swiftly onward to the day when his tall
figure -which spurned the usual decrepi
tude of extreme age, shall lie low in the
grave even he felt its sjibtile influence
reacting on him. And now the tread of
many feet in the chamber above told him
that Hannah Worthington, his eldest
child, she who had filled from her youth
her dead mother's place in his home,
was dying : but he stirred not.
Aslant his trey head fell the mellow
light over his withered cheek, his clasp
ed and trembling hands ; but the sunlight
fell cold upon his cheek, with the grey
hue of ashy terror thereon. In the tu
rious carnage of battle, John Worthing
ton e cheek had paled not as then. 1 he
spirit of the old Revolutionist, which had
thrilled to the deafening roar of battle,
lay faint and trembling within' his bosom;
for he knew now of a fiercer conflict
going on beneath his roof.
Once, with tottering, feeble steps, he
had essayed to approach the death bed
but the shrill tremulous voice, praying
" God s mercy for him, the grey haired
sinful old man," and with yet greater
anguish, entreating pardon for herielf,
who had sinned even more lhan he she
who had professed herself the faith fu
disciple of His holy word, calling on God
for yet another life lease, that rising once
more, she might better do His bidding
this he heard, and knew these words to
be to her of bitter significance.
Now in the sunlight sat the old man
driven off from the shadow of that death
bed. which, had it followed a life of wi
der charity, of holier, broader Christian
views had been lit by the ehulgence ol
divine hope and peaceful failb somethin
of its ' peace and trust had, perchance,
dispelled the gloom, of his soul. '
But a sadder doubt than any wbic
grew into dogged, stubborn resolution in
his heart, was engendered that day in the
brain of youth, by another witness of
Hannah Worthingion' death' '
All the morning a boy of eight or nine
years of age had been playing beneath
the. portico, or out upon the lawn, cast
ing furtive and wistful glances at intervals
into the open hall, and up the oaken
staircase leading lo the upper chambers.
I here was an expression of vague
badness and curiosity depicted upon his
expressive countenance ; and more lhan
once he store cautiously into the house,
and listened at the chamber door, only to
turn away hurriedly, to seek the free air
and light of open day with a heavy sigh,
it some new born terror had entered
No ono noticed him. Even his grand
father, who was wont lo pass his band
fondly over his brown hair, and gaze
fondly into his sunny eyes uplifted to his
own, had suffered hi.n to stand by his
side wholly unregarded.
When the sun was near to the meridian
the distant voices of children returning
from school drew him down the lawn to
lo the gate opening to the road, sitting
down beneath Ihe shadow of the lilacs
arching the gate way, he awaited the
passing of his playmate, John Spenser.
By and by, a group of boys come troop
ing along, with his friend among them;
and he perceived him sitting there, de
tached himself from the rest, and sat down
by his side.
To the boy's eager questioning Harry
replied, " Aunt Hannah is dying !" and
then his companion's face took the same
half frightened, awe struck expression,
which Harry's had worn.
The day previous, as they sat there talk
ing, they had anticipated, with something
very like pleasuse, the period of Harry s
release from the thraldom of his aunt's
guardianship ; but now they scarcely ven
tured to give words to the hope which
was swelling mutually within their hearts,
of a less rigorous, a milder sway, on tho
part of his younger aunt. "Dear aunt
Bessie," as he was permitted lo call her,
whose charge he was henceforth to be
come. I here was thai in the near pres
ence of death which sobered even the
sense of coming freedom.
But when John ventured gravely to as
sert, that "Miss Worthington was so good
nerseli, as not to fear death," Harry grew
grave and whispered mysteriously, thai
Aunt Hannah had been bad all along;
great cheat, a wicked woman, and was
afraid to die." He had heard her, he af
firmed, confess this ; and now he declared
that he would "not be good her way any
The hoy's conception of virtue was
strict obedience to the regulations which
is aunt bad laid down for a rigid obser
vance of the Sabbath, and all things ap
pertaining to tbat creed to which she had
consecrated nothing of the beauty of
peace. Many an hour of childish serenity
bad been turned to one of bitterest strife
and passionate rebellion by some chance
oversight of her charge.
For a time the two boys sat talking
together in supduec, whispering tones:
then John arose, and casting a sly, curious
glance towards tbe house, went on his
way. But a long lime Harry at theie,
pondering over the self accusing words of
the dying woman, and wondering if every
body would now know how wicked she
had been. With secret joy he anticipated
telling a certain old lady who had been in
the habit of coming there, and regarding
us boyish toibles with ihe same severity
with Aunt Hannah, counselling him eyer
to better imitation of her virtues, how
le had found her nut, at last, to be no
belter than himself, with all her preten
The afternoon was half rone when he
approached the house, and all there was
still very still. The blinds had been
closed, and the place wore a hushed and
solemn aspect. His grandfather no longer
sat in the sunlight, but in a darkened
room, with his eyes bent vacantly on the
noor; and, as he looked through a half-
opened door, Harry caught from within a
ow, stifled moan from his aunt Bessie.
But not until cveing did the icy terror
of death, which bad been cieeping at
day into his heart, settle down there with
all its appalling realization. The white
sheet drawn straight over the head and
the feet, was turned back : and the vision
of lhat frozen, haggard face, lying there
in tbe still, solt summer evening, fixed
itself forever in his brain.
"I will not be good any longer her way.'
and with this resolve ia his heart, the boy
shut his ear henceforth to a religion
which seemed to him so shallow and nar
row a thing; while . the recklessness of
yuuth waxed apace with tbe dawn of
manhood, and the memory which clung
npas-like, through all years to the recol
lection of bis boyhood.; v i T '
CHAPTER I. ,:;;; '
"To we, a dream without a wane, , : ,
A sadder Ihoaght half-hidded lies ;
To thee, a striy religious flame,.
A fearless spirit in thine eyes." : , '-
. Nearly fourteen years had passed since
the events related in the preceding chap
ter. The roses of June were in their full
glory, and Harry Woithington's return to
the homestead was hourly .expected, af
ter a long absence in foreign lands. ' But
the : roses lay withered and dead on ih
green turf, and still he came not, though
the first flush of early summer had ripen
ed into the rich fruitage of September.
All throagh the morning there had been
an unwonted stir and bustle throughout
the old house, and the sun's rays gilded
portico and casement, as on the faroff
June day when Hannah Worthington had
died But its beams rested on other
tombstones lhan her own, with ihe name
of her family graven thereon. The- old
man had been found sleeping his last
sleep, wiih no trace of the last ba'ltle
which he had fought, on his passionless
flice ...!::'.',., .. .: J
But out of ihe very gl00m of their death;
there had been infused wiih the place
spirit so pure, so joyous; as to irradiate
the whole house wiih its sunshine. ' ! ' '
In her loneliness, Bessie Worthington
had taken a young orphan child, murl
destitute, with no other claim than that U
youth and helplessness upon any bnman
being. She bad been, however, well re
paid for the care and bounty she bestowed,'
by the girl's fulfillment of the promise of
iier cimuuoou, as tne grew in years, with
a face of winning beauty, a gay spirit, and
a wanu, luvuig iiean. . ' ; i - .v.
When harry Worthington had been
last at home, Hope Raymond was but a
child of tender years, whom memory re
called with the recollection of his boyhood.
The grave, sweet eyes, the braided golden
iiair, wnu me uir 'ace mantled with the
flush of youth and health, which he met
upon his return, kindled at once bis ad
miration and his regard.
A connoisseur in ' woman's loveliness
from his long artistic studies of ihe fairest
living euhjecls, and his intimate acquaint
ance with the wondrous beauty of the
finished models of the dead masters' por
traitures of bygone years, he was a ell
fitted for a ready and true appreciation of
uit peculiar anu delicious beauty of the
young, unconscious subieel whn .i h.
fore his easel in the littln at,i;n ,,.u
had been fitted up in the old house for bis
Experience in life's conflict - M.
passage of time, had more than ordinarily
changed the character of the boy. With
m i4ii Btaiuie, spare through study and
vigils, but graceful from habitual ease
his countenance, intellectual and express
ive through tho cultivation of genius.'
native-born and high, which redeemed
from all appearances of imbecile sensual
ity the full blue eyes and expressiva
mouth but with bovhood'e nn i:v
forever stricken from his face hr th. i;r-
which be bad led. Harrv Worth ra
ceme back to his home. -
If in tbe shadow which had Aillor, :
ihe lineaments of youth, one might read
ihe dim outline of a stormy conflict with
1 1 Ia ' n hanrli Jul! . a
uk p uigu uuues yei io come, the revela
tion of his bosom's secrets nM h...
piestiged the actuality of what those fea-
t.ui, uiwiy propnesied ,
w un tne scepticism of his youth grown
into the bold and subtle sophistries of
maturer life, with the highest code of the
honor of conventionalism; which he chiv.
alrously professed; could stand, a shield,
between one who should found a human'
hope on such faith as his and the danger
of that trust. 1 4
The studio which he fitted m Inn titm.
self, with his adroit and ready skill, wis
iu me uyper pari oi tne bouse, hitherto
used but as a lumber-room and it grew,
even in his own appreciation with an.
agreeable abode in which lo indulge bis
reveries; while Hope, chsrmid win the
novelty and congeniality of tho spot, ex
pressed,' with girlish enthusiasm, her
delight ' , .. ' ; it r . '
And not all the southern hue and ple'n
dor of the golden, fragrant atmosphere
and light which had once ill
foreign atelier, had been half so enchant
ing as the chance sunbeam which, fell
over the slight figure standing by his side
wuhd Uc gaiuereu oacit tbe. curtain muf-.
fling the casement, and together' they
gazed upon the far stretching meadow
lands, high woods, and winding river,'
before them; she full of happiness, and,
a grateful sense of the joy and peace of
a pure and perfect life; he half subdued,
and made pure by the contact of her
presence.' ' :
In her -companionshin with ITirr.
Worthington, Hope Raymond experieo
ced none of lhat first reserve aud shynssa
which she would have felt towards one
less intimately connected than be, bad
been for years, and therbfnra , h.J in
stalled him at once, on bis arrival, to the
imrucgea. oi ner nearest friend, next to
her whom she called, alike with himself
"Aunt Bessie.'.' t . ; , .'
And Harry Worthington had joined,' as
her adopted brother. fn her daily pleas
ures, her 'pleasant avocations ; but he
never had for a single moment, forgotten
that ho ties of consanguinity held ihem!
in unison, lie remembored it always'
with a strange, undefinable seuse of pleas
ure, even while he ceased not to recognize
an, insurmountable barrier whirl, 0r.,.
,-.. . .
; ' '-i ": i'':.iv ",(;
xml | txt