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The Hartford herald. (Hartford, Ky.) 1875-1926, January 20, 1875, Image 1

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84037890/1875-01-20/ed-1/seq-1/

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One iquire, one iniertion......... ....$ )
On square, each additional Insertion
One iqaare. one year......
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One-fonrth column per year,
One-third column, per jear,
une-nau column, per vesr..
One column, one year ........
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Tor tnorter time, at proportionate rates.
One inch of trace constitutes a eqnare.
The matter of yearly advertisements changed
quarterly free or cnarge. or lurinerparucu
lirt, address!
Jso. P. Bakeitt 4 Co., Publishers,
From' the Woman's Journal.
nii friend, on whom I lavish many a thought,
And many a longing waste, by thee unknown,
Sometimes to me, in forebodings brought.
There esmes a time when each shall stand alone;
When each, apart, purines the separate ways,
In wide diverging paths, that no more interlcan;
And time and absence, through all coming days,
Or change,or worse,ehall fall our hearts between.
If any time t noma come so aarK ana ia
That bitter thoughts 'twiitthee and me should
If Under looks shall no more make me glad,
Nor anv comfort come from lovinc eyes,
Nay, though I even seem to shun thee, yet,
My time, my help were thine at faintest cry of
SECBfcT," Jte. &C.
A week passed over; a fortnight passed
over: a month passed over: and still Mr.
Janson was located at Saxonbury. It
may appear curious that the stranger,
come down for only a day or two's vieit,
should remain so long, hut the explanation
is asy. A medical student, nearly quali
fied, and clever in his profession, Lady
Saxonbury, who felt a liking for him
the first moment she saw him, naturally
confided to her ailments. Mr. Janaon
took quite a new view of her case, and
recommended remedies which had never
been tried. Itmay be, that they did not
do her any immanent good; indeed, he
acknowledged the doubt himself; but they
considerably alleviated her daily suffer
ings, and it rendered her tfnwilling to
part with him She besought him to re
main with almost impassioned fervor; she
pressed Sir Arthur to keep him. Mr.
Janson frankly assured Lady Saxonbury
that he did not require pressing: that he
- would remain as long as she liked. His
course of studies in London was over for
the preeent; he was about to pass some
months in Paris, and pursue them there;
and, whether he went a few weeks later
or earlier was of no consequence.
So he staid on. Indispensible to Lady
Saxonbury, winning every day on the es
teem of Sir Arthur, rendering himself
Agreeable to Mrs Ashton, and falling in
love with Maria.
It was the old story over again of Haby
Haby. With one exception There were
morning meetings in the picture-gallery,
and afternoon roamingiin the fat r grounds
of Saxonbury, and evening lingerings in
the deep bay windows, gazing out on the
Folly.on the lovely scenery by moonlight.
Just as it had been in Raby'a time But,
what Raby had not done with all his
poetry and passion, had been affected by
the less poetical, far less impassioned Mr.
Janson he had gained the heart of Maria
Does a woman ever love a man- of a
timid nature? Toor Haby, with his in
nate refinement, his sensitive reticence,
his consciousness of his present fallenfor
tunes, contrived to impart to Maria a
knowledge of his self conscious inferiority.
Mr. Janson, whose birth Vas far inferior
to Raby's, whose position and proppecta
in point of fact, were little, if any. better
than Raby'a fallen ones, gave to her an
ideaof his being superior. Not purposeby:
few men thought lesi about setting forth
Lis own merits, or making himself ap
pear what he was not, than Edward Jan
eon. His frank, open words, his thor
oughly easy and gentlemanly bearing, his
BOtnewhat off-hand manner to the servants
contributed to the impression. Who or
what he was, Maria Saxonbury did not
ask; she had never been in the habit of
troubling herself with such questions
where a companion was attractive: she
gave herself up to the fall charm of
the intercourse, and before she was
aware of it, before she had cast so much
as a thought to the danger, she bad learnt
to love Mr. Janson.
Not before he had learnt to love her.
Every tone of his voice, every glance ol
his eye; every pressure of his hand, given
in common intercourse, told of the secret,
Not a word was spoken between them;
not a word perhaps would be spoken; but
the heart has a language of its own, un
needful of common words, and they bad
found the way to use it
Did either give a thought to the future?
Probably not. The preeent happiness waB
all-sufficient for the present hour. Had
Mr. Jansou soberly set himself to contem
plate that inevitable future, it would have
looked unpromising enough. To imagine
a union with Miss Saxonbury would have
been in the highest degree preposterous;
and on Mies Saxonbury's part, she would
have deemed it a great calamity nay, a
disgrace to wed one so far beneath her.
So the love, though it had come, was but
an unsatisfactory good, take it for all in
And the pleasant intercourse was soon
to have an ending. They were in the picture-gallery
one wet day in February,
Louisa and Fannie Ashton making a great
noise with a ball at the other end of it.
Maria sat on one of the crimson benches,
and Mr Janson stood near her. She was
toying with the blue ribbons that tied her
lace sleeve at the wrist, her eyelids droop
ing. "Why need you go so Boon?'' she asked,
in reply to a remark from him that the
end of the week would see his departure.
"So soon!" echoed Mr. Janson. "I
came here for less than one week, and I
haye stayed more than six. 1 wish I
could stay," he added in a lower and more
impassioned tone. "I wish I could stay
on forever.''
"You have been able to do mamma so
much good, returned Maria, after a
"Could I have done her permanent
good, I should be better satisfied, Miss
"Do you tbink, as others do, that the
illness will last for years that sue may
never, even, get well
"I have given my opinion to Sir Ar
thur," was Mr. Janson's reply, after an
almost imperceptible hesitation. He
could not say to Maria, "Far from getting
well, I fear that a very few weeks will see
trie enaing.
''It will be a marked chance, mv hard
work in Paris after the delightful time of
ol idleness, lie resumed.
Maria played more abstractedly than
ever with her blue ribbon.. "Do you go
on to Paris on direct, leaving Saxon
"I shall star a week on the road with
my mother."
.Maria lilted her eyes. "Your mother?
I don t think I have heard you mention
her. Where does she live?
"On the coast of France. One of the
quiet seaport towns in direct steam com
munication with Lngland. She has lived
there since my father died. Being a Ro
man Catholic, and her income small, the
place suits her.
the words somewhat surprised Maria
You are not a Roman Catholic?" she
said, recalling the fact that he had at
tended church with them on Sundays.
"No. I was reared in my father's faith
Had there been daughters, ther would
nave Deen drought up in my mother a.
i our father was a eoldier. I have
heard you say?
A eoldier and a gentleman, somewhat
poinieaiy rcpnea jut. .J anion, -aut a
poor one, and one of whom promotion
wnl' any: He bad not-eo muc-h as
gained his majority when he was killed."
"Why did you not go into the army?"
"My mother set her face against it:
scared no doubt by my father's fate."
"I think I would have been anything.
rather than a doctor," remarked Maria,
pulling more vehemently at her ribbons.
"Would your I like it. I chose it My
mother wished me to read for the bar, but
I did not fall in with the idea. I have
neither talent nor liking that way."
"1 would have chosen it, ' said Maria.
"Look at the honors open to a barris
"Some few in our profession attain to
honor also,'' he said; "to honor and to
fame. I may: though I do not think I
am very ambitious. The chances are,"
he added, laughing, "that I shall settle
down into a jog trot country surgeon,
keeping my one-horse gig, and doctoring
the parish.
" 1 here: it s untied nowr
Miss Saxonbury had pulled the ribbons
of her sleeve a little too fan a slight acci
dent, and one scarcely sufficient to ac
count for her tone of vexation. She be
gan to twist the ribbons impatiently round
her wrist
"Will you accept of my clumsy tying?"
She laughed, and held out her arm to
wards him. He was in the act of tying
the bow, his eyes fixed on her face at the
same time, as he whispered some gallant
nonsense connected with the occasion,
and Maria was listening with a half-raised
face and a self-conscious flush, when
someone moved towaids them from the
entrance of the gallery.
it was Mr. xorke. And he had time
to take in a full view of the signs and ap
pearances belore they saw him. llie bent
head of the bandeome man, and his whis
pered words; the employment bringing
I heir heads into so clorc a cotiluol; and
the crimson cheeks, the downcast lashes
of Maria. Something very like an ill-
word burst from his lips.
They looked around, and Maria, scar
let now, but not loosing self-possession,
advanced a few steps to welcome him.
lie came on, and the gentlemen stood
face to face
Rivals from that moment: and lliev
both saw it Never destined to be open
ones, perhaps, hut rivals beyond dispute
. .i
ii ineir secret ueuri.
Mr. Janson, Mr. Yorke.''
A gaze from the one to the other went
as Miss Saxonbury spoke. Mr. Janson
saw a tall, powerful man, whose verv
height and strength gave him beauty. -A
fine countenance, too: though, when an
gered, he had a habit of showing too
much of his white teeth. Mr. Yorke, on
his part, saw a frank, open, generous
looking man, whose personal attractions,
if brought into play, might render him a
dangerous rival.
"IIpjv you have surprised me!r began
Maria. "Have you 'seen papa?"
"Not yet," he gravely answered. "White
thought Sir Arthur was in the picture
gallery, and 1 came on here. But I do
not see mm, Maria.
'I saw Sir Arthur walk across the
grounds in the rain an hour ago," inter-
losed Mr. Janson in a clear, ringing tone.
lie has not come in, probably.
A haughty bow in return for the infor
mation, and Mr. Yorke fairly turned his
back upon the speaker. Mr. Janson
walked away to the end window, with
the good-natured intention of looking out
for Sir Arthur.
"Who is that man. Maria?"
"I told you Mr. Janson," she answer
ed: resentment against Ins haughty air, his
assumption of authority, seating itself
within her there and then, and peeping
out in her tone. "He is a medical stu
dent, and a friend of papa's. He was the
death-bed friend of poor Raby Raby."
she added in her spirit of bravado. "He
has been here since Christmas, and papa
likes him very much. We all do.'.
Mr. Yorke's lip curled. A medical
student! Taking the hand of Maria, he
placed it within his arm to lead her away.
'iLetme conduct you to Lady Saxonbury,
Maria. 1 suppose she is isible."
What rebellion she might have offered,
whether any or none, it is impossible to
know, for at that moment Sir Arthur en
tered. The little girla, too, becoming
aware of Mr. Yorke's presence for the first
time, came running from the upper end of
the gallery. Maria seized the opportuni
ty to escape.
Changes came to Saxonbury ere the
week was over. Mr. Janson took a cor
dial farewell of all, and departed, as he
had planned to do. Mr. Yorke also de
parted, but not until he had had a serious
quarrel with Maria Without their tacit
engagement having been mentioned them
or alluded to, it was understood between
that it was atanend,thatthey had parted;
and though the name of Mr. Janson was
not breathed, each knew that but for his
having come to Saxonbury that parting
had not taken place.
It is eminently suggestive of our uncer
tain life here, to mark how time works its
changes. (Sometimes, in an incredibly
short period, changes of the most unex
pected and startling nature will take place.
Thus it was with the family at Saxonbu
ry. But three years have elapsed since
you last saw them; and yet the changes
which that time has wrought seem to have
been sufficient for the marking of half a
Lady Saxonbury died of her malady.
A twelvemonth afterwards Sir Arthur
married the widow of Colonel Yorke, an
uncle of Mr. Yorke's. Mrs. Yorke was
notable for little, save a somewhat frac
tious spirit, and for her overweening in
dulgence of her boy, the son and heir of
the late Colonel Yorke. Six months
subsequent to his second marriage, Sir
Arthur died, and Mr. Yorke succeeded
to Saxonbury. The secend Lady Sax
onbury often called Mrs. Yorke still
by the friends of her old days removed
to London with her establishmen and her
stepdaughter Maria. With intervals of
traveling, they had chiefly resided in Lon
don since. One year they had gone to pass
the autumn at a comparatively little
known French watering-place the very
town which Mr. Janson had spoken of
as being the residence ol his mother.
Some friends of Lady Saxonbury s were
there for a sojourn, and that induced her
to go. Once there, she became impressed
with the idea that a little French school
ing would prove of incalculable benefit to
her son in regard to the acquiring of the
language, and she placed him at the col
lege as an euterne, and prolonged her stay
through the winter. But thejminjufn.
tie man appearedlb"be more apt at pick
ing up the Flemish patois he heard in the
streets, than at the good French drilled
into him in the school.
Maria stayed on, nothing loth, for Mr.
Janson was there. They had metonce'or
twice temporarily since that visit of his
to Saxonbury, and now they were in the
habit of meeting daily at least they had
met daily until within the last few days.
But the crisis had come and gone, and
they had parted.
It was Mr Janson himself who had in
voked it Led on to believe (and there
was every excuse for him that Maria's
manner could afford) that she would re
gard his suit favorably, he atlength spoke
out, telling her how deeply he loved her;
how, if she could but reconcile herself to
become a surgeon's wife, there was a good
practice waiting for hiui-in England. The
terms of purchase were arranged, and his
mother was ready to supply the funds. It
startled Maria beyond every thing. It
brought her to her senses. She, Maria
Saxonbury, sink down to an obscure sur
geon's wife, one who had yet his way to
make! Her brow grew red at the thought,
and she told him quietly thatitcould nev
er be.
"Why have you led me on, then?" he
inquired, his tone one of strangely acute
Why, indeed! Maria could not answer.
She could not tell him that she had loved
as passionately as he did, or that the an
guish at her own heart was great as bis.
And so they parted. .Nothing more
could be said or done. The dream of ro- j
mance was over, and each must make the
best of the future.
About a week went on after this fina
nterview, and the last day of March cape
in. The harbor ot tins nne oia nsning
town was alive with bustle. On the fol
lowing day, the first of April, the Iceland
fishing boats were to go out with the morn
ing's tide. A whole fleet of vessels, some
large, some small; some with their com
plement of ten or twelve men and boys on
board, some with but four or five, who
were making ready to depart on their an
nual voyage to the North fishery, praying
for success.
Yes. vrav'mu. Tile streets were crowd
ed with promenaders, going to or return
ing from the beautiful little chapel of the
port, a chapel especially consecrated to
fishermen. For three days had that small
chapel been besieged, so that it was diffi
cult to push a way in or out. It was a
small building, little larger than a fair
sized room; models of ships were suspend
ed in it, and it was tastefully decorated
with landscape pictures, with gilding, and
flowers, and ornaments, after the manner
of the favorite chapels of the Roman Cath
olics. Some marine views in particular
were attractively painted. They lined the
walls of the porch, five or six of them, in
glittering frames, and represented the vi
cissitudes of a sea-life. One portrayed
calm sea, on which glided a, large ship
with her white sails set, a scene of peace;
another view showed her rocking and
tossing in all the perils of a storm, appa
rently about to succumb to its fury. Here
was a small picture, representing a fishing
boat sinking, sinking hopelessly, beyond
possibility of succor, its mariners' hands
and their beseeching countenances out
stretched to heaven. The frame above it
contained a view of another fishing vessel
approaching its harbor in safety. The
chances and dangers ot its past voyage
were surmounted, and home faces were
collected on the beach to welcome it in.
The chapel was dark; dark even in the
daytime. The windows were sombre with
their stained glass; and the ornaments,
cases of relics, images, and pictures, rais
ed against them, further obstructed the
light It never was wholly dark, for the
high candles on the altar were kept con
tinually burning, and numberless collect"
ions of miniature tapers were lighted up
by the kneeilng women. From sunrise
till late at night the chapel was receiving
and pouring forth its crowds. The sailor
men ar.d boys would come in, sink on
their knees before one or the other of the
images, St Andrew, St Peter, or the Vir
gin, and remain there, still as death for
a couple of minutes, praying to the saint
Then they crossed themselves and passed
out, and the short prayer would last most
of them until their return, when they
would go into the same chapel and offer
as brief thanks. The women remained
kneeling longer: their prayers were chief
ly for a bon voyage and safe return; the
men's for a good haul of cod. Not half
the people who crowded there on the few
evenings preceding the boat's departure
could get an entrance into the chapel;
therefore many were content to kneel out
side on the enclosed space of waste ground
aroundit,and there pray. They all man
aged to steal a look through the open door
at whichever iraage'they patronized, bow
ed to it, made the sign of the cross, and
o departed iu peace.
There glided a lady into the chapel this
evening at the dusk hour. She looked of
superior class, and was handsomely but
quietly dressed. She drew aside to the
remotest obscurity of the chapel entrance,
and leaned against the bar that was placed
there to guard the paiDtings, waiting till
her turn should come to push in with the
stream. She was a middle-aged woman,
and must once have been beautiful, but
her features looked clouded with care.
A young woman followed her in the neat
dress of a French domestic servant, wear
ing the universal dark cloth cloak, and
close snow-white cap. The lady was anx
ious to pray, and soon passed on; the maid
was more anxious to look about her and
to gossip, bo she stopped at the entrance
Presently an acquaintance came up, an
other woman-servant, who accosted hen
"Hey, Therese, is it you? Who have
you come to -pray for? I thought your
i. it :.. ,i.:. ....
"I am attending madame."
"Madame Jansonl What does she do
here? She has nothing to do with the
"I can tell you that she has, though,"
was the reply of Therese, "andafine way
the house has been in, through it. You
know her son?"
. "Who does not? A rackety blade."
"Rackety! Well, he may be a little.
Everybody likes him, though."
"Well, what of htm?"
"He is going out with the cod-boats to
"With the cod-boats! That young Eng
lishman! Why, what on earth it can't
be." . .
Therese nodded her head several times
in succession. "Some whim of his. He
goes for pleasure, he says."
uuiiuu uuiuuiuraE was ncTMrh
er heard of as going with the cod-boats for
pleasure. It s a precious hard voyage and
hard life. Besides, the crew don't want a
fine gentleman on board."
"Oh, what do they care? He has made
it all right with Messrs. Vandersphinks,
the owners."
"Vandersphinks! Which is he going
out in; then?"
"The Rushing Water."
"Well, he has got a taste! To go out in
a dirty cod-boat to that cold barren Ice
land, a handsome young fellow like that!
Will he share the sailors tare.
"Not he: any more than he'll share their
labor. There's some tins of preserved
meat gone on board for him, and a big
hamper of prime Bordeaux wine."
"And that brings his mother here to
pray for his safe return! Therese, its a
lucky thing she is not a heretic, though
she is one of them English, or she couldn't
have come here to pray for it at least,
with any chance of St Teter listening to
her. But, I say, he is a heretic, isn t he?"
Therese nudged her comptnion for si
lence. And the woman, looking round,
saw close to her a party of "heretics;" two
English ladies and a child, who had come,
full of British curiosity, to witness the
praying in the chapel.
"You sbouldn t call em so to tneir la
ces, whispered the tolerant iherese.
They are as good as we are, for all 1 see,
Therese broke off suddenly, and dropped
upon her knees. Her mistress was com
ing out again, after her short prayer.
"Therese. have you not been in?" de
manded Mrs. Janson, in very good French,
her tone betraying reproach and surprise.
"Couldn't get in, madame, answered
Therese, without thinking it necessary to
add that she had not tried.
It took some time to get out Several
were pushing out, as well as themselves,
but they were obstjubcted by the numbers
pushing in. Immediately following Mrs.
Janson were the two English ladies men
tioned, the yoangw.Kwli R n ele
gant girl of remarkable beauty, remon
strating at their leaving so soon.
"Henry is so troublesome," replied her
companion. "I could scarcely hold him
still, do all I would. He waited to run
inside, amidst the mass Kneeing there.
"1 told vou it would be so, mamma.
You should have left him at home."
"Oh, of course, observed theelderlady,
in a sharp accent "I know he is an eye
sore to you, Elizabeth."
Mamma, you Know maim is noining
of the sort 'But he is the mcst trouble
some boy that ever existed, eipecially to
i '
lUKe uuywuefc.
Miss Saxonbury was right; ttr it was no
other. Never was there so Moublesome
a child as Henry Yorke. He was a slen
der boy of ten, fair and delicate, with well
formed features and long wavy hair, the
combing out of which every morning by
his mother, and the coaxing into curls,
kept the house in an uproar for an hour.
He was one of those precocious, clever
children, who, to use a familiar phrase,
are "awake to every thing," restless, mis
chievous, and wilful. Yet the boy had
admirable qualities, had they been allow
ed fair play, but his mother pursued a
system of ruinous indulgence. He was
the pride and delight ot her lite, and the
torment of every one else's. A whim had
taken him lately to call his half-sister (if
she might be termed such) by her second
name. Elizabeth. lie detected that she
did not like it, and therefore he did it, for
mischiefs sake. Lady Saxonbury fell
sometimes into the same name. Maria
felt convinced that it was done to please
Henry and vex herself.
No sooner were they outside than Hen
ry managed to emancipate himself from
his mother's grasp, and she had the satis
faction of seeing him rush hick again,
twist himself amidst the blockade at the
entrance and disappear.
"There!" uttered Lady Saxoibury, "he
is gone just like an eel! What am I to
do to get at him? Wait here, Maria."
"Therese," said Mrs. Janson, who had
seen and heard this bit of by-play, "go
home fast and get supper ready. If Mr.
Edward should beat-home, tell him I shall
soon be in."
Therese went off. picking her way
through the lines of kneelers on the earth,
and turning her head and her drooping
gold ear-rings from side side, in search of
a gossip to walK witti. miss oaxonoury,
who had drawn aside to be out of the way
of passers-by, found herself suddenly ad
dressed. "You are Maria Elizabeth Saxonbury?"
"Yes." she replied, wondering at the
stranger's familiarity.
"1 knew you by vaiuuion. i nearu
Miss Saxonbury was of rare beauty, and
I have not often witnessed beauty to match
what I now see in you. If it shall prove
the blieht to others that it has to me, bet
ter for you that you had been a model of
"I do not understand you, haughtily
snoke Miss Saxonbury. "I do not know
"I Lave given vou no opportunity to
to know me. I am Edward Janson's moth
er. I have lived in this place many years,
holding myself aloof from my countrymen,
wh'o flock "here to make it their few years'
residence, or their few weeks sojourn.
am too poor to compete with some of their
ostentatious purses. I am saving for my
son: and I am too proud to risk familiar!
ty with doubtful characters as many of
them arc. Therefore your family and I
have never met I wish I could say that
vou had never met my poii. You have
JANUARY 20, 1875,
played your beauty off upon him, flirted
tVlth l 1 TT1 nilrtnl ll 1 m nao I'm. !.
Mis Saxonbury! and drawn him on to
love you. When that love had reached a
height that it could no longer be suppress
ed within the bounds of prudence, and he
torn it to you, yon rejected him. It may
be, with scorn, because he was poor and
you were rich; 1 know not; rrom him I
have learnt nothing. He has kept his own
counsel and your secret: but I have watch
ed closely; and know the day that brought
to him this despair. In blighting his hap
piness you nave oiignied mine."
MariaSaxonbury s glowing features had
turned to paleness, and now. they were
glowing again. The words told home,
ohe appeared too confused to answer, and
Mrs. Janson continued
"He came over here to pass a few weeks
with me before he should settle in his pro
fession, in his own country. Those weeks
have been passed with you. rather than
with me, and now he is going out with
these wretched cod-liahero and may r
"Going out with the cod-fishers!" me-
"Yes, he
is," replied Mrs. Janson-
"When he came home, two days ago. and
told me his. intention, I thought my heart
woum nave broken; and in my haste 1
wished that you had been dead dead.
young lady before you had lured my boy
on to love you, and then treated him so,
that he must go this hard voyage to for
get you and strive for peace. I have pity
for miflfnrlnnp " riMa1 Hfra .Tflnann "hn
I have none for wilful fault, for the sinful
indulgence of vanity. I do not wish you
ill, Maria Saxonbury; I trust I have too
mucb Christian charity deliberately to
wish it to any one; but I cannot help feel
ing that, should your existence become as
bitter to you as you have made mine, it
will only be a just retribution."
Withoutanother word, she turned away,
leaving Miss Saxonbury rooted to the spot,
and miserably conscious. All that Mrs.
Janson had reproached her with was, in
the main, only too just In the old days
at Saxonbury she had first flirted with
Edward Janson for" love of admiration's
sake. Now that the love which super
vened had been spoken, she meant to burv
hers within her own breast, to stifle it, to
extinguish it; and she had turned him
adrift to do the same.
"I was obliged to hold up a five-franc
piece to bribe him to come out," said La
dy Saxonbury, emerging from the chapel,
hot and red, the truant a fast prisoner in
her grasp. "And glad enough to get him
out on terms so easy: he had got close up
to that lighted altar at the other end."
Miss Saxonbury took hold of the boy's
other hand, and away they went; Harry
delighted at his five-franc piece, and kick
ing up clouds of dust as he walked between
The morning rose bright and clear.
The tide served at eight o'clock, but long
before that hour the port was taken pos
session of. Half the town was there to
witness the departure, thronging the piers
and the heights. It was a stirring sight
Vessel after vessel, hoisting its sails, came
.smoothly down the harbor, each receiving
an animated, nearty cneer ot hope lrom
1 1 ! ; rtr' .
iiuuureu ui voices. r ives, momera, sis
ters, and little children, leaned over the
nearly unprotected sides of the piers, to
wish good luck to the several crews, and
ulter the last farewell in their familiar
One vessel in particular came gaily
down, a trim-built craft of middling size.
A sunburnt boy, in a fishing-cap, and red
flannel shirt, was in the bows, grinning.
"Here comes the Mushing Water, cried
a spectator. "So, she is taking out young
Paul!" he added, as he caughtsightof the
boy's face. "The crew of the Fleurde Ma
rie would not take him."
"Why not?' inquired those around.
"He has been in three different vessels;
three years running, has that monkey,
and they all had enough of him. A worse
boy never sailed than that young .Paul,
he is made up of ill-nature and mischief.
The Rushinp Water must have been hard
up for hands to take him.'
"The Rushing Water is taking out a
hand or two short," chimed in an old fish
wife. "Some getleman took a whim to
go out in her, and he wouldn't be crowded
he said. They took this young shaver
aboard last night he can be put any
Leaning over the side of the pier with
Henry Yorke, and attended by a maid
and footman, was Miss Saxonbury. The
Rushing Water came gliding past, and her
cheeks expressed plainly their conscious
ness of it Standing upright in the boat,
in a jaunty sailor's costume, was Mr. Jan
eon, handsomer than ever. He looked at
her with a face schooled toimpassiveness,
and gravely lifted his hat in token of
adieu. She forgot her resolution for a
moment: her eyes, were strained yearning
ly on him, and the tears shone in them,
as she waved her handkerchief in answer.
Another grave bow ere he resumed his
glazed hat, and the Rushing Water glided
down the harbor.
A gentleman stood at Miss Saxonbury's
side, somewhat behind her. He had
seen the signs of her emotion, and his lips
parted with a defiant expression. He was
a tall, powertully-built man, ol nearly
thirty, with remarkably white teeth,which
he showed too much. Without perceiv
ing him, Miss Saxonbury turned to pur
sue her way to the top of the crowded
pier. It was a work or dithcuity, and
Henry Yorke exercised his feet and his
Harry, if vou behave so rudely, if you
push the people unnecessarily, I will send
John home with you.
"That you won t I would jump over
the pier first, and go home ducked, on
purpose to get you into a row with mam
ma, you know you are not to dictate to
"Hush ! Be a good boy."
"I say, Elizabeth, don t you wish' you
were going out with Mr. Janson?"
It was a telling question, innocently
put. And he who was following close
behind, saw that her very neck was in a
"I do," continued Harry. "It is so
nice to sail over the sea. I'll be a sailor
when I grow up."
"Nice to sail over the sea!" cried Miss
Saxonburry. "Don't you remember how
ill vou were, only crossing here from Lon
don?" "It was the nasty steamer made me
ill. I do mean to be a sailor, Maria, and
I'll bring you lots of things home from
foreign countries. Mamma thinks I only
say it to tease her, when I want any thing
NO. 3
that she won t give me. I'll bring you a
monkey from Africa.''
Every inch of ground, towards the ex
tremity or the pier, was contested for.
tnat being the best gazing place. Tht
sea was calm and lovely, the light wind,
which served to spread the sails, scarcely
ruffing it: more than thirty boats were
already out studding the marine land
scape, and the morning sun shone bright
ly on ine canvas, as tney skimmed over
the water. Miss Saxonbury was strug
gling on,' when a crash and shouting be
low, and a worse press than ever to the
side of the pier, suggested that some un
toward accident had occurred? The Rush
ing Water, in going out of harbor, had, by
some misnap or mismanagement, which
none on board could account for, strnck
against the end of the pier. The bov.
Paul; had been left for a single moment
near the rudder: could he have miscbiev
ously altered the boats course?
What damage is doner Inquired Miss
I Smrnnrmry of. albysiander, - fisherman,
when the excitement was abating.
"2sot much, as far as I can see. They
will have to put back, though, till the
"Good morning, Miss Saxonbury. You
are out early.
She turned sharnlv round at the voice.
to encounter Mr. Yorke. He wasetavin?
in the French town also, herself, no doubt,
his motive power. Perhaps he was wait
ing the oportunity to say to her what be
had thought to say years ago.
"We came to see the boats go out." she
said, giving him her band.
"1 should scarcely have thought a fleet
of paltry fishing-boats would be a suffi
cient attraction to call a young lady from
her bed,"
"Oh, Mr. Yorke! Look at the num
bers of English around: nearly every one
we know is here. It is a sight which has
the charm of novelty for many of us."
' 1 see your young friend Janson s cour
age has not failed him at the last," he
said mockingly. "We shall be rid of him
for a time."
"For good, probably," she replied with
the utmost apparent indifference. "Be
fore he returns, we shall no doubt have
left for home."
"I hope so. I wonder at Lady Saxon
bury's having brougnt you here at alL I
wonder that she should remain here I
These continental towns are not places for
Miss Saxonbury.
"She remains for Henry's improvement
in French," said Maria.
"And, that he may gain facility in
speaking it, she sends him to the college,
where he mixes with a dozen other Eng
lish boys,'' said Mr. Yorke. "And they
abuse each other all day in genuine
Queen a English."
"We are not going to associate with
those pigs ol French beggars,'' interposed
Master Yorke, shaking back bis pretty
curls in token of scorn.
Pigs!" echoed the gentleman. "You
are polite, sir.
"At any rate it is what they all are al
ways calling us." retorted the lad. "Grot
eoehpns Anglais.''
In returning down the crowded pier,
they got separated from Mr. Yorke, also
from the servants. As Maria and .Henry
were passing through the old fortified
gates of the port, thre: or four lads, all
older than himself; came up to hold a
conference with Harry. It appeared to
be productive of some pleasurable excite
ment, for he turned to bis sister with
sparkling eyes and an eager face.
"Maria, may l go out nsmngr -"Fishing,
no! You would send mamma
into a fever. You know she never allows
you to go near the water."
"There's no danger Miss Saxonbury,"
spoke up one of the inviters, a boy of fif
teen or sixteen. "We are going up the
canal in a boat for a mile or two, and
then shall land and fish. He can't come
to any harm; we are accustomed to the
managemeut ot a boat, and we shall take
our provisious with us. we mean to
make a day of it
It is impossible that 1 can allow mm
to go, replied Maria. "He can ask his
mamma if he like; but I am sure it will
be useless."
"It's a shame then! ' exclaimed Henry.
"I can never do any thing that I like.
Won't I when I get biggerl
He walked sullenly by his sister's side
until they reached the streets. As they
were passing the college, one or two boys
were going in at the scholars' entrance.
and the old church clock, further off
chimed out nine.
I shall go into school now,' said
"Nonsense." returned Maria. "You
have not had your breakfast"
"I don't want any. I don t want to be
marked late. It's your fault for stopping
so long upon the pier. So good-bye,
"Good-bve." she repeated, scarcely
heeding his departure or what she said,
for at that moment Edward Janson ap
peared, crossing the street, having landed
from the Rushina Water. The sight made
her oblivious to every thing else.
At six o clock, when they assembled to
dinner. Henry was missing. Lady Sax
onbury supposed he was kept in at school,
not an unfrequent occurrence, ana began
dinner with a very bad grace. She in
quired of John wbat-time he went back
to school alter luncneon: sue ana .Diana
having been out in the middle of the
"Master Henry did not come home to
luncheon, ma'am."
Ladv Saxonbury was indignant 2o
breakfast, and keep him from two meals
besides! ' she uttered, "it is enougn 10
throw him into consumption. The mas
ter must be a bear. Go at once and bring
him home, John; bring him home by
force if they object, and threaten them
with the police. 1 11 summons tnat mas
ter before the Criminal Tribunal."
The footman went leisurely enough to
the college; but he ran back again at full
speed. Master Yorke bad not been into
class that day, and he was to be punished
for it on the morrow.
"Not into class!" repeated the alarmed
mother. "Elizabeth you told me you left
him at the college.
"So I did. 1 saw him run to the gates.
I I think I saw him enter." she added,
more hesitatingly, trying to remember
whether she did or not
"You think! What do you mean by
that?" demanded Lady Saxonbury, who
really cared nothing for anybody except
her son. "You saw him, or jou did not"
"He never can have gone off with those
boys!" suddenly exclaimed Maria.in alarm,
remembering the luhiDg expedition.
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"What boys? Why don't you speak
"Jones and Anson, and a few more Eng
lish lads, were going, up tjie canal iu a
boat to fish, and ihey wanted Harry to po
with them," explained Maria. "I refused.
of course."
"Then he is sure to be gone! and if he
is drowned you will have been the cause!"
screamed Lady Saxonbury, in agitation.
"After such a thing as that put into his
bead, you oughtto have brought him home
and kept him here. You know what ha
There was no further peace. Lady Sax
onbury not only sent about the town, but
went berseir, to the houses ot the boys
parents, and to every place where there
was a possibility of hearing of him. The
other parents were alarmed now. With
some difficulty they discovered which ca
nal theyounggentlemen had favored with
their company, and bent their steps to it
in a body, Mr. Jones carrying a' lantern,
for it was dark then. They had not pro
ceeded along its banks many minutes when
they encountered a small army of half a-
dozen, looking like drowned rati. It
proved to be the young gentlemen them
selves, who had all been in the water,
through the upsetting of the boat
"Where is Henry?" asked Lady Saxon
bury, trembling so that she could rcarcely
put tbequestion. "Has he been withyou?"
"Yes, he has been with us.
"Where is he? Ob, where is he?"
"He was in the boat when it capsized.
We can't make out where he is. I'm sure
he scrambled out"
Maria was very pale. "How are you
sure?" she asked, in a tone of dread.
"I am positive I saw him, cried Philip
Anson, "and I spoke to him. I said to
him, 'That was a splash and a near touch,
wasn't it, Hal? and he answered, 'By Jove,
"No. it was me answered you that,
Phil," interposed a little fellow about
Henry's age.
"Well. I m positive he is out," rejoined
Phil Anson, "for I know'I saw him, and
his hair had got the curl out of it and was
hanging down straight."
"Did any of the zest of you see him?"
inquired Maria, in painful suspense.
All the boys began talking together.
The result to be gathered was, that they
could not be sure whether he was out or
not; it was all a scramble at the time, and
nearly dark.
"Ob, mamma, ao noi aespair. implo
red Maria. But Lady Saxonbury had
fainied away, and was Iying on the tow
Continued next week.
The Grange Objects aad Bene
At the receht installation of officers
of the New Hampshire State-Grange,
an excellent address was delivered by
Col. D. "Wyatt, Aiken, from which we
extract the following paragraphs con
cerning the objects and benefits of the
The lounders, seeing now mucn co
operation and concentration were doinc"
for every other, association, conceived
the idea that the same co-operative
principle might be employed for the
benefit of the farming class; and the
people for whose benefit it was con
ceived saw that it was good, and took
hold of it in earnest.
One great object of the Grange i3
to elevate farmers. From the nature
of their calling they are much isolated,
and this isolation tends to make them
unsocial and selfish. The farmer's
wife never goes anywhere, because her
husband cannot find time or disposition
to go with-her, and she becomes un
social and selfish also. This is charac
tcristic of the farming community
from Maine to Texas. In the Grange
they are brought together, and their
social natures are developed and eleva
ted. He had been in many btates,
but he had found none where the far
mer and his wife did not find time to
go to the Grange after they had once
Then the Grange is educating pow
er, tie believed it required more
mind, thought, energy, to make a suc
cessful farmer, than any other avoca
tion in life. I his is an age of progress.
and the man who stands still and
don't study to improve, will go back
ward. Fanning must be studied.
Agriculture is a Targe science, and the
more we study it the larger the fields
spread out before us. To be a true
farmer, a man should study to prepare
himself as much as for any of the pro
fessions. In the Grange the latent in
telligence of the farmer is brought out,
and each can learn of the other soma
new idea or method. Two heads are
always better than one. Not only does
uie urauLts tiupiuve mux euucuuuuaijy
and social, but morally. The farmer
ought above all others, to be a Chris
tian. His avocation should peculiar
ly lead him to look through nature up
to nature's God. The Grange makes
him charitable,
Itefemng to the secrecy of the Or
der, he said it was that which gave it
, J - , T .
coneston unu permanency. in an
trades and professions there h a degree
of secrecy, and themost successful man
is he who keeps his plans to himself.
In the Grange there is just enough se
cret to make it attractive.
The Grange also does what no party
or organization has done, unites the
people ot all parts ot the country. It
says to every man in theTJnion: "Come
in, and 1 II give you the hand of friend
ship." It knows no north, no
south, no east no west. It bridges the
bloody chasm which has divided differ
ent sections.
The constitution of the Grange Pro
hibits the discussion of religion or polt-
tests for memberships are allowed.
Yet this means o exclude only secta
rianism and partisanship, for religion in
it3trt:& sense is always taught here,
ami there is no fitter subject than poli-
government for our comidcnitiptu

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