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, (! 5 i !; ' i:f)n: Of! , : -. ; !$i,50 P.E R lN N U M .'' '; . '. M TAID IH AJYASCE. , .',..: . i .'.;"c ',. Z. RAGAN, Editor and Proprietor.;. .- ,'AN EXCELLENT STORY.' .Tne J?rlroner , Child, ' mr nia. mary a. denisos. It WBsearly;morhing. 41 Is ibis the Way to Sing Sing ?" YeV? roughly, replied a brown faced countryman, and passed on. It was afternoon. The child was some' . what fragile . in her appearance. Her bonnet was of broken straw ; her shoes were much torn ; the sun played hotly on her tender forehead. She walked on and on an hour longer. ' . : tIs this the way to Sing Sing!" . " Yes, little girl.but what are you going there fori", ,Tbe child trudged on, her lipquivering, but not deigning to answer the pleasant faced old man who had stopped the jog ging of his borso to note her bin lied man ner, and who liked that little face, anxious and sad as Its expression was. The dew was falling- Katy bad fallen ifio, almost. . A rough siono, by the way, imbedded in moss, received her tired lit tle frame. ' She looked so vrierd and aged, sittings theie, her tangled hair falling on the. hands thai were clasped over her face! By the shaking of her frame, ' the tears were coming too, and she was bravely tryinrf to bold them back. "'... Ji.Why,: what is this dear Utile girl do ing here !"'. - . .The exclamation catna from a pair of eager young lips. ; . . , . j., " A curiosity J . I declare !'.' exclaimed & Jbarsher voice, and Katy, looking up suddenly, cowered away from the sight, of n pielty young girl, and her agreeable looking companion. i?vVhat ever are you doing here little girl.? asked; Nell Maywood, moving a little nearer towards the frightened child. Going to Sing Sin?,'! said Katy in a scared waj . . i" " Did you ever, (George ! this child is going to Sing Sing; why it's ten miles off. .:. Child, did you know it was so far off!?.. W tKaty shook her head, and wiped away the hot and heavy tears one by one. '.' Why, yes, you poor little goose. What are yon going to Sine Sing for.. Have yon had your supper t , ;Katy shook her head, j " Have you had any dinner !" Again the sad child shohk her head. y. Nor breakfast I Why, George, the poor, little thing must be almost starved 1" iff I should think so," mechanically re plied. hor brother, just recovering from a yawn, and showing sign of sympathy. !' Look hero j what's your name ? Well, Katy, you must come up to. the house and get something to eat. ' Going to Sing Sing cm foot ;' dear me how ridic ulous ! follow me, Katy, and we'll take care of you to-night, somehow, and see about your going to Sing Sing to-morrow." Katy followed. What a glorious vision burst upon her view 1 The palace house; the rocks reddening in the low, western sun ; the shining river; the signs of lux ury on every hand. ( -J v. - They walked up-the wide avenue. Elms and oaks spread their branches on each side ; here 'and there a flower bush might be. seen ; vines crew around thai noble pillars, twisting up, up to the glit tering windows. . SuBan, give this poor child a good supper;, bhe is hnngry, and tired too, I imagine. After that, I will see what can ba done for her." . Susan wote a mild face. She looked pleasantly down at the poor, tired little one, and taking her band, which trembled now, led her into the kitchen. ' ; . Meanwhile her Btory, or that brief part of it which we know, was being told in the'drawing room. The sylph figure in white, lounging gracefully in the midst of delicate cushions, accompanying her nar ration with expressive gestures, and now and ihen a little laugh. . ' V I thould. like to know what she is going to Sing Sing for 1" sho said' leaning languidly back. We must get hemp something to wear ; a bonnet; a pair of shoes ;' and then, maybe, we can manage to, have her carried some way. if her mis sion is of any importance. Oh I -such an odd looking little thing." - ' ' Who is that," my-daughter V ... - r " Oh, papa, you are come home ; why I was talking about a mite of a child ; sheN cart t be more than ten, ii that. .1 saw .her out here sitting on moss ' rock ; the most forlorn object. She says she is go ing to.Sing Sing.".' ' . ; - ri I " I met her on my way,"1 said the plea sant faced old man ; ' she asked ma about it and I wonld have stopped her, but she trudged on. Where is she T It was noon when I saw her" , : ; . vjn the kitchen, Papa. : Susan is ta king! good care of her, I expect, and when she has had a bearty supper we will talk with her.'.VV!Ma...i,..;iti. - i.-v,: c A cay tiio of young girls eame in. The hetliiigii wero put- up ; tho gas burned brightly; and music and mirth banished 1I thoughts of care. .Suddenly, Nell May wood romembered the little odd figure and clapping her hands, cried, ' Oh, I ':: ":;.':;:': rV SI N G L E C Q. P I E s t . ,, - '- --v . ,, ...... . FIVE CENTS . ' v have something to show you, girls," and disappeared, . - , , . ,i . .-..i., Susan was picking"' gooseberries hear the pantry in the kitchen. " ' Where is the child, Susy V asked Nell Maywood. ' ' " On the door step, Miss," Susan re plied, picking away. " Why, no Susan, there's nobody here nobody to be seen." ' " Yes, Miss." Susan placed her pan down, held her apron up to catch the stems fif the berries, and walked deliber ately to ti" door. Why, she" sat here sometime after supper. ' I (nrnej and came in ; she was sitting there looking up, at the stars, I expect. I thought she was almighty quiet child ; but she's deep, deep Miss Nlly ; she's gone. Lot me seO there ain't any silver round I should be afeard she'd took something ; they are mighty artful." . ' ''Why, didn't yon tell her she might Btay all night t" Nell Maywood was peeping here atid there,' to spy her if Yes.' Miss Nell ; and I told her wtiat a good bed there was over the woodshed; but she looked strange out of them large eyes of her's, and never seemed to hear." " Tke poor child is in trouble," said Nell, quitp sorrowful that sho could ho further relieve her necessities. " I'd have given her something to wear, and sent her to Sing Sing; but perhaps she will come back again ; if so, you'll Bend her to me f" " If she do, I will, Miss," snswered Susan, going at the gooseberries again. But little Kate did not come back. She had been watching her opportunity to get off, and bad already been gone some time. She slept in an open field : crawled into some hav ; she would have walked all night, if she had dared '. but eho was amid of the darkness. - Mr.' Warden, there is a queer case over at m'y, house," said a bluff looking lellow, meeting tne wnrdon of Sing Sing prison. We found her last night, in 6ome out ot .the way place, and nothing would do but my wife must take her in. We can't find out her name, except that it is Katy, and I expect she wants to see somebody in the prison. But we can't get anything out of her where she came from, or anything about it." - "Bring "her over here." said the War den, "my wife is wantintr a little srirl for help ; maybe she's just the one." So Katy stood, trembling more than ever, in a tew moments, in the presence of the Warden and jailor. Katy was a pretty child. Her large blue eyes wore an ex pression of intense melancholy , her hair had been nicely combed and curled, and some one had put a good pair of shoes on tier leet. . ., , 1 "Well, my little girl," said the War den, kindly, for he was prepossessed in her favor, "whero have you come from !" "New York." said tho child, faintly. The men looked at each other incred ulously. ; . - "Do you mean to say that you have come to Sing Sing, from New York, on foot!" "Yes sir," said the child, frightened at his manner, which had in it something of severity. .;..... . "And what hive you come for ! ''To see my father," the child burst forth with one great sod, and for a mo ment her little frame was shaken with a tempest of feeling. . "And who is your father t" asked the Warden, kindly. "He is Mr. Loyd," said the child, as soon as she could sneak for her rushing sobs,".. ': .' , The Warden looked at the jailor. "Loyd: there are : three-Loyds here: Jim, Bondy and Dick," said the jailor. - "i ney may not be tneir proper names," responsed the Warden. ! "That's bo," said the jailor, 'bul I can try 'em all. Little one, was your father's name Jim V ' :4 The child nodded her head,' or they thought she did ; she was all convulsed with the reaction brought on her by the termination of her journey. t "If it's Jim, he's a bad one," said the jailor, in a low voice, "he's in irons this morning, for 'tempting to break jail, he don't deserve a little gal as looks like that one, the villin. Come, Child, I'll go and find your father.", - 3 He took Katy's shaking hand, with the other she dashed the tears away fast as they fell. It frightened her almost into calmness,' to see the ponderous door at wnich tne jailor applied the great key, and the stillness of the long stone passa ges, and dimness thrown; over all,' the constant succession of bars and bleak black walls was terrible to a sensitive mind like hers. How the heavy tread of tne jailor, ana tne treaaot the Warden behind him, echoed through the "gloom and the space It was in truth a great tomb through which tuey moved, a tomb in which .rife confined living'" hearts, whose throb could almost be heard in the awful stillness. On, on they went nal, )fl)otcUo giitcricait jitois; ffitrateK, incite,' anil, ; STEUBEN VILLE, OHIO, WEDNESDAY,; now ' through this ; massive door, now through 'that passage way.: Everything spoke of crime of fierce passions subdued and ; held in stern control, everything, from the grim face of the ferooious watch dog, to the sentinels armed. 1 Then they turned and went up the stairs, the jnilor holding the scared bird close to his side with a tender clasp, the Wardon following. Another tramp, and at last they came to a stand still. The jailor-rapped at a cell door. Slowly the figure of a man with a harsh, hair-covered face appeared. "Here's your little girl come to see you," said the jailor. Little girll hem I you're green." said the man, in grum 'accents ; "I've got no little girl, or you wouldn't catch me here." "Father," said the childish voice. It sounded so sweet, so childish, in that terrible prison. But, as the scowling fi.ee came closer to the bars, the child hid her heau" quickly in the jailor's arm, half -sobbiag; ixwasn't him. "We'll try the next one." He walk ed further on, and spoke more pleasantly this time. "Well, Bontff. here is little Katy; don't you want to see t?r I" 'Little Katy " there, was . long pause. "I had a Katy once not a J.'ltle Katy I broke her heart God pity me. Go on, it can't be for me." Again the sweet voice rang out, "Fa ther." Tho piisoner came up close to the bars ; a youthful face framed with light wavy hair ; a face in which the blue eyes looked innocent ; - a face that it seemed a sin to couple with a foul deed, gazing out. It saw the child's earnest, pleading, tearful eyes ; a dark expression rolled like a wave across his brow ; a groan came up from his bosom, and with a low mo.m he staggered against his bed, crying, "tako her away ; I can't stand the sight of ftuytliing pure-like that." .r Katy had hidden her face a second time, as she feebly cried, "it isn't him ;" so they kept on to the third cell. "Jim here's a little girl, little Katy, your aaugnter, want a to see you." A stupid "what ! came from the bed : the man had probably just awakened. "Your Utile daughter!" . There was a sound-of rattling irons that made the child shiver. Dimly ap peared the face and outlines of a well- made man the countenance handsome but evil. He seemed not to comprehend. But as fast as his chains would permit him, bo came forward and looked out at the anxious face below. It was almost too much- for the child. With a loud, convulsive cry, she exclaimed, "Father I Father 1" and fell nearly senseless against the jailor. "Katy I" exclaimed the man, and there was a nervous twitchinor about the mus cles of the mouth, "What in Heiven's name has brought her here 1"-. The jailor was calling the child to con sciousness, ,-,.. "Shall we let her come in the cell !" asked the warden. , , Jim was dashing hisv band across his face. A smothered "yes" issued from his lips. They opened the ponderous door, and put the child within. Her arms were outstretched ; his were wide open, anq tuey came together with a clanking sound ; together about the form of that poor little child. "Oh, Father V "Oh, Katy Katy!" and then there was a quiet crying. By and by the man lifted the little head whose glossy curls were falling on his shoulders, and oh ! what a sharp rattlo of the chains smote on the ear, and looked in her face. After a moment's; irresolu tion he kissed her, and then his bead fell under her earnest, loving look. "Katy, what made you come T" Wanted to see you, Father," and the head was on his shoulder again. "How did you come, Katy, never mind the noise, they are loockng up, they will be here again, and let you out, how did you come, Katy r" . . . . "I walked here." ,, v. ',: , v "From New York, child V Yes, Father I" .." -: ' ' There was no sound, save that of the chains, as he strained her closer to his bosom. "And how did you leave her Katy your mother!", ; i ; The question was fearfully asked, but not responded to. He gazed eagerly in the child's face, her little lips was quiver ing. - , . ' "Katy, tell me quick !". ' . "She diod, Father 1" ' A groan, a terrible groan followed, the convict's head fell into the lap of his child, and he wept with strong cries' The jailor and the Warden said that they never saw a sight so woeful. ; And the child tried to comfort ; him, till his strength, seemed to be gone; and his sobs were like gasps. ., . , i -,..,. f . "Oh, Katy, when did she die t Oh, my poor May I nay poor girl ,., , "Ever so long ago, I guess, ever so many weeks," replied the child, ''but she told me to come and see you, and comfort you,"-' . mh. . ,.. "Oh God J this is hard, she always forgave me.M. V'? '"f 1 ' 1 Site-told me to pray for you,' too, she told me to ask you would you bo real good after you ' come out, and meet her in Heaven." . "In Heaven I in heaven," groaned the man, giving way again to his agony. The child was angel-gnided. Her soft touch was better for his soul's good, than the strifes and the chains; He had been hardened, her little love had moiled down the adament, had found the locked-'up good of his nature, and she had sent her sweet smiles through its prison door. Long he sat there, Ids head in tho lap of his beautiful, quiet child. None dared disturb him, jailor and Warden walked to and fro. "Father, when you come out, Til take care of you.h He lifted his head, his eyes red with weeping, were fastened on her face. "Mother said I might." "God's blessing on you, my angel child,1 you may save your miserable Father!" "I will save you. Father." ' ' - The Warden cleared his throat, the jailor spoke roughly to one of the prison ers, it was to hide his emotion. "You had better come now," he added, going to the cell. "Katy, you must go, will you come again-; my child ?" . . ' Gaif't I stay ?" . ' 1 "N, dea'?'.. but you shall come and see me again."'' ' ' . ': They took hor gently from tho dark cell, -she sobbed very, quietly. In the Warden's room stood a pleasant faced old man. ' ; "I have come after that little g'jrf," he said. 'She must go home with me. I'l! take4 good care of her, I've heard hor story, and when her father comes out, if he's a mind to behave himself, I'll give hm plenty to do Besides that, I'll bring ner up once a week to see bim. What say, little one, will you so with me ?" and good old Mr. Maywood stroked her hair, as he Baid, pityingly, "poor child I poor child I" . t Reader, ten miles ftom Sing Sing, thore is a little cottage occupied by a laborious man and his one daughter. She is ta king care of her father, and he, thank God, is taking care of himself I Men respect him, and God has forgiven him. . Genius of John Howe. Considered intellectually, Howe may be affirmed to have combined many great qualities, the possession of any one of which in an equal degree would have been sufficient to raise him to eminence and fame. Excelled by Baxter in pulpit or atory, and by Owen in theological learn ing and exegetical tact, he was by far the most profound philosophical thinker of all the Puritans, and perhaps produced a greater number of original and uncommon thoughts than any theologian of his age. Scarcely surpassed by Edwards in logical acumen, or by Butler in ingenuity and depth, how far does he transcend both in pathos and imagination ! And yet his imagination does not overlay his thoughts, as is sometimes the case with Jeremy Taylor; it is a trained faculty, the beau tiful handmaid ot reason, bearing it up into the sunlight ''on wings . of silver and foathers of yellow gold. His writings abound in sublimity, but are comparative ly passionless. In this respect Baxter's style resembles the impetus flow of the broad river, Howe's is that same river expanded into a calm lake, whose quiet depths are .the. mirror of innumerable stars. , One characteristic effect of his writings is to tranquilize and elevate the soul. You feel yourself seated on some lofty mountain, in a serene air, and look ing down upon clouds and storms far be neath your feet. As we read him, he brings up Milton's picture of uontempla lion to our thoughts, . ! t , . . . "With even step, ana musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies." Yet, as a writer, Howe is not without characteristic faults of the Puritan divines. The tendency to dilate on' what should only have been touched, and to check the continuous flow of thought and stylo by minute and perplexing subdivisions, has seriously diminished his popularity as a writer. Often his diction is not equal to his thoughts, and we almost wish, after he has brought out and shaped the marble that he bad invited Hates or 1 illotson to add the tracery ; though in some of his greatest passages, such as his immortal comparison of the soul of man to a temple in luins, the flight is nobly sustained and his words come with all the opulence of Jeremy Taylor s finest passages, and take their place as if guided by a magician's wand. , But when all these deductions are made, John Howe roust be recognized as one of the primary stars in tho firnament of English divines, shining with a serene luster peculiarly his own: and if Jeremy Taylor. has been styled the Sponsor, Howe may with, equal justice be styled the Milton of English theology. Dr. Andrew Thompson in tho Encyclopedia Britannica, ; . , , ; September 1, 1858. . t A HUM6ROUS SKETCH. " ' ' Matrimonial Stratagem.'""" . -v . . a :. ' HOW TWO HOUSEHOLDS BECAME . ONE. .. , Mrs. Benoni Benson was .fat, fair and forty-four, when her husband, a soap boiler in very good circumstances, was called from his l'fe-task of contributing to the general purification of mankind. Mrs. Benson took refuge from her grief in a pretty cottage, situated on the principle street in the town of G. At first she was inconsolable, and she used to say with solemn emphasis, which carried conviction to the hearts of her hearers, that nothing but the thoughts of her daughter Florence would have preven ted her from terminating hor existence by the intervention of poison. Mrs. Benson was in no small degree In debted to her daughtor since in less than three months, she threw aside her mourn ing and became as lively as ever. Touching Florence, she had now reach ed the mature age of nineteen, and began to think herself marriageable. She was quite pretty, and tolerably well accomplish ed, so that her wishes in that respoct were very likely to be fulfilled. Just over the way, lived Squire Mark ham, the village lawyer, just verging on filly, with his son Charles, who was about half his age. : Boing a young man of agree able exterior, the latter was quite a favor ite with the young ladies in the neighbor hood, and considered in common parlance, quite a "catch." ' As yet, however, his affections had not been seriously entangled, and might have remained so, had it not been for the sud- don ajrwriticti, 6na morning, of Florenco Benson, r'.dinff on horseback. It struck him at once that she was re raarkably gruceftfl and really pretty. Thereupon he cultivated hor acquaintance with increased assia'olty, and after while aeked the fatal question , ' Florence answered in the affirmative, and instead of referring him dutiful? J" to her mother, hinted (being a romantic young lady) how charming it would be to steal away to the next town and get married, without anybody being the wiser. Charles Markham caught at this hint, which chimed with his own temperament, and he resolved to adopt it. In order that it might be carried out with perfect success, it was resolved to seem Indifferent to each other until tho day fixed, in order to ward off any suspicion of what was going on. Not so with Squire Markham. He had obtainod a cluo to the affair in some man ner, bo that he not only discovered the fact of the elopement, but even the very day on which It was to occur. " Sly dog, that Charles," though he to himself, as he sat down beforo the fire, in his dressing gown and smoking cap, lois urely puffing away at a choico Ilavanna. "But I don't wonder at it, ho only takes after me. Still , I owe him 'something for keeping it so secretly from me. It would be a good joke if I were a little younger, to cut' him out and marry her in spite of him." Squire Markham was one of those jovial widowers who "take Ufa as it comes," mused more and more on this idea, stuck out by chance as it were, till he really be gan to think it worth something. " After all, shouted he, " I am not so old either, or at least the ladies say so and they ought to be good judges of such matters. I have been a bachelor a good while, and ought to have found out before this how much more comfortable it would be to have a protty wife to welcome me home, and do the honors of my table, and to help me koop that rascal Charles in or der. Egad ! I've half a mind to do it.", Squire Markham took two more whiffs and exclaimed: 1 "I vow I'll doit."- ' ' : What this i mysterious it was,' we will leave tho reader to infor from his very next movement. Ringing the boll, he inquired of the servant: ; .. . ','.', Is Charles at hornet" V' "."' " No sir, he went out this morning, and will be gone all day." - w , , "Humph, that will do. So much the better for my purposes," thought he when ione. rv,,H;: Z:uu'i " Now I shall have the ground luft to myself. ' Let me see j the raBcal Intends running away next Thursday evening, and to-day is Monday, , .Nothing is like etri king while the Iron is hot. I ll write to her in bis name, telling her that I have altered my mind and will go just at dark to-morrow night. Sho won't suspect any dtitepl : Inidlipctv thing until the knot, Is tied, and then what a laugh, wo shall have 1" ',' 4 . .m Squire Markham did not consider that it might make a little difference with the brido expectant. H considered it a cap ital joke on his son but looked no farther. He accordingly drew his writing materials toward him, and indicted the following epistle : ' ' " ? Dearkbt Florence : I find the dav fixed for our elopement on some accounts objectionable, and would liko, with your iiciuiiBBiun, iq Duusiiiuia 10-morrow even ing. If I hear nothing from you, I shall infer that you assent to this arrangement. I shall have a carriage in readiness under the old oak tree, at half past eight o'clock. You can walk there . without attracting suspicion, and as there will be no moon, we shall be able to carry out our plan with out fear of discovery. I am happy to say that the governor don't suspect in tho least that a daughter-in-law is in store for him. Won't he be ashamed 1 Your devoted ' Chariey."' " Egad !" said Squire Markham, laugh ing hoartily,'" that isn't so bad. especially about humbugging me. Charloy couldn't have dono any better himself.'' .. 80 saying, he scaled it up and sent it over by a littlo Irish boy in his ; employ, having first marked " private" on thecor- nor. . ! " Bo careful Mike to give It to Miss Benson, and don't -let any one else see it,' was tho parting injunction. , , Mrs. Benson was sitting in her quiet parlor, casting her eyes over a late num ber of Harper's Magazine. .. Florence be ing absent on a shopping excursion, she was loft alone. The ringing of the bell brought her to the door. With surprise, she taw that the person wh 0 rang the bell was Mike, Squiro Markham's boy of all work. ' ', ' ' - " Please ma'am, said lie, holding out tho missive, " a letter for Miss Benson, an' it's very particular that no one else flhould see it." ; The air of mystery conveyed In this characteristic address aroused Mrs. Ben son's curiosity, especially, whon she obser ved that it was addressed to her daughter and not to herself, as she supposed. She had returned to the parlor not to read Harper's Magazine ; that had lost its at tractions. - "What in the woild can it be," she thought, " that they should be so secret about it! Can Florence be carrying on a clandestine correspondence 1 It may be something that I ought to know." Stimulated by her feminine curiosity. Mrs. Benson speedily concluded that she would be false to the responsibilities of a parent if she did not unravel tho mystery. " Here's a pretty doing," she exclaimed, as soon as she could recover breath. "So Florence was going to ran away and gel married to that Charles Markham, without so much as even hinting a word to me." , She leaned her head upon her hand, and began to consider. She was naturally led to think of her own marriage with the late Mr. Benson, and the happiness of her wed ded life, and she could not help heaving a igh at the recollection. . ' " Am I always to remain thus soli taryl" he, thought. " I've half a mind not to show the letter to Florence, but to run away Wmorrow night with Charles on my own occount. It's odd if I can't pursuade him that the mother is as good as the daughter,", and she glanced complacently at tho atill attractive face and furiu reflect ed from the mirror. Just then she heard the door open, and Florence entered. She quickly 'crumpled up the letter and thrust it into her pocket. Florence and Charles did not meet during the succeeding day, chiefly in pursuance of the plan they had agrood to, in. order to avoid suspicion. . Squire Markham acted in an exceeding ly strange manner, to his son's thinking. Occasionally he would burst into a hearty laugh, which he would endeavor to suppress and pace up and down the room, as if to work off some of his superabundant hilarl ty.'- ' -, '.y ' What's in tho wind I" thought Charles to himsolf.. . It can't be that the govern' or is going cmj." t. , v,. Somethtng was the matter beyond a doubt but what it really was he had not the faintest conjecture. : ' 1 At the hour specified the squire had his carriage drawn up at tho appointed rendez vous. : He began to poer anxiously in the dark for Florence. At length a female form well muffled up, made its appearance, Thanking her in a very low whisper, leet it might be suspected that he was the wrong person, be helped her into the carriage and drove off. Their destination was the house of a Justice of the peace, at a distance of eight miles. ' ..: : - V,. .6 V, . VOL. 4 NO. 35. ' r During the firet part of the jou rney noth ing was said Both parties were desirous : of concealing their identity ' At length Squire Markbam, considering that after all, ho' could not marry the lady without her consent, and that the discovery, must be made before the marriage, decided to I reveal himself, and then urge his own suit as well as he might. ' " "My dear Flprcnce," he continued in ', his natural voice. ; .:. ,: " Why !" shrieked the lady, I thought it was Charles." ... ,; ,,, And 1," said Squire Markham, reeog-,. nizing Mrs. Benson's voice with astonish- r ment, " thought it was Florence." v " Was it you, sir, who was arranging to - elope with my daughter V ''-.' ; " . ' " No, but I concluded it was you ma'am who was meaning to elope with my eon." ' ' 'Indeed Squire Markham you are wrong; . the affair coming accidentally to my know- ledge I concluded to take her place'eecret ly, in order to frustrate her plans." .i , J. Egad ! the very idea I had ; myself," said the squire laughingly ; but the fact is ma'am, we've both of us beon confounded ly Bold, and 'the mischief of it Ib, I left a letter for Charles, letting him know it ; so, undoubtedly he will take theopportuni- ty to run off with Florence during bur ab sence, and plume himself, the rascal, on the way in which I was taken in." y ' " I confess that I left a note to the same purport.' How she will laugh at roe. What an embarrassment, v - f ' '." I tell you what," said the squire, after a moment's pause, " wo can carry out our -plans after all.' - We each came out with the intention of getting married. -Why ' not marry each other, and then 'you know we can make them believe we had it in Tiew all along, and only Intended to fright- . en them." . ., , .. . Mrs. Benson assented with a little urg ing and in the course of an hour the twain were made one. ' , 7 :' They immediately returned, but found, as they had anticipated, that Florence and Charles, discovering their departure, had . themselves stepped off in a different direc tion with a similar intent. : They made their appearance .the next morning, prepared tojlaugh heartily at tho frustrated plans of their parents, but learn ing with no little astonishmout that, they had struck up a bargain for themselves. Squire Markham and his new wifo had the . address to convince them that it was all a s premeditated plan,' and to this day the ; younger pair are ignorant of tho plot and ; counter-plot which led to this double union ' of the two households. . f- ." , . ' "' '- The Sea. ' ;' ' I must confess that no one thing irn piesses me so much with a sense of divine order and goodness in the material world, ' ' with conceptions of a stupendous machine ' which the Almighty wisdom has designed, ' and which Almighty power keeps con-' 1 tinually in operation as this wondrous, 1 " beneficient, magnificent system of ex change between the land and , the sea, ' : carried on through the pipes of the at.nos- ' pbere, and veins that cross the azure floor ' . of heaven ; this mighty wheel that turns ; this way and that, and keeps the pulse of every living thing in motion. "A 'great' J waste" is the expanse of water that chafes . the "vexed BermooiheB,, or lies swim ming under a tropic sky. ." ' ; 'V r. ; . But far inland the great bean of tho continent pants for its blessing, and stalely A forests sigh for it through all their leaves; A and to-morrow this out-lying element that quivered like molten lead or dashed in feathery foam, has descended on the lawns of England, the vineyards of the Rhine,' and the wheat-fields of the WeBt. " It haa touched "with tender coolness the wide prairie, and it opens its' lids more innu merable than the eyes of heaven. - .The humble plant lifts up its grateful bead, as , though it felt God's care for it, and the , . orchard and the garden breathe rich in- i cense of thanksgiving where it has passed ' along. The utile brook babbles with joy over its new-filled cup; and Mississippi and Onuoco, back among their bidden in springs, send np their great voices in ex-;.; nltation. iiut the vast wneet Keeps turn-j ing, and, as it were, to-morrow again, the moisture that triclled from the rock, or dangled like a thread Of diamonds in tho crass, is surging in that mighty pulse, the gulf stream, scoffing at the Orkneys, or sparkling in a wake of glorious light un- v der the southern cross. .Rev- E. II. . chipin.: ,., , . , 5 , ;;;,;., , , .J ! XSTAnybody who would study human! . nature much, would find that it is one of the most dangerous amusements to bring ; people together to talk who have but little , to say. . . " . 'l ' " .' '." . ETDr. Franklin usod to say that rich widows were the only second hand gcoth f that sold at prime cost. - : 1 v.