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FREE! J N 0 VOLUME II. FREMONT, SANDUSKY COUNTY, AUGUST 31, 1850. NUMBER 2.3. PMM01 Will Y 1 AL FREMONT FREEMAN: J. S. FCUKE, Editor and Publisher. Th Fekmar, is published every Saturday morn ing Office lu Bucklaud'ai Brick Building third Story; Fremont, S-tadasky countv,Ohio. TERMS. Single mail subscriber, per year, $1 50 Clubs of ten and upwards, to oris address 1 37 Clubs of fifteen " 125 Town subscribers will be charged $1 75. Tlie dif - fereiicetti tho terms between the price on papers delivered in town and those sent by mail, is occa sioned by the expense of carrying. ITU .1 : . I f ncii mo iiiuur its II Ul jikiu ill auiBMi;r, as bid pecified. Two Dollars will be charped if paid witr-- ia the year, if not paid until after the expiration of Ttte year, I wo Dollars and my cents will be charg ed. Th"se terms will be strictly adhered to. How to Stoi" a Paper First aee that you have Ttaid for it up to the time you wish it te stop; notify tho Post Master of your dVsire, and ask him to no tify the pubiisner, under his flank, (as he is author ised to do) of your wih to discontinue. RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square 13 lines first insertion. .. ....$0 SO Do ech additional insertion 55 --.Do Three months 2 00 Do Six months 3 50 Do One year 500 Two squares Six months....... .... 6 00 Do One vear 10 00 Haifcnlnmn One year 18 00 One coiu-riii One year.... .... .... .... .... 30 00 Snsittfss Director!). PRC .11 0 X' T FREEMAN JOB PHIJVTIJVC OFFICE! We are now prepared to execute to order, iu a jieat and expeditious manner, and upon the fairest terms; almost all descriptions of JuB PRINTING; . SUCH AS Bests-ess Cards, ClHCI'LAJIS, HiNDBILLS, Catalogues, Show Bills, - JuTlCLS Bl.AM.S, I.wn' Blanks, -Manifest, Bill Hkus, . -Rills ur L-aihsg, CkKTIVICATKS, Drafts, Bills, ,' Bask Chicks, Iaw Casks, Ball Tickf.ts.ktc, etc. We would sav to those of our friends who nre in 'want of such work, vou need not go abroad to pet it done, when it can be done jnst as good at home. - SOXS OF TEMPERASCE. 'Fonr STKPHfcssoa Division, No. 432. Stated cneetine, every Tuesday rvenine at the Division LooiQ io Lta old Kortheru Exchange. CADETS OP TEMPEUAH'CE. Tost Stephkksob SfXTioie, No. 102, meets eve ry Thursday evening in the Hail or the Sons of TTemperaifcfi. - - - " I. O. O. F. Cbooha Lorjor., No. 77, meets at the Odd Fel lows HaH, w iiucklaiid' Brick Building, every Saturday enr. . . HOME UTS, HUBBARD & CO.,, mmirACTcarits or Copper, Tin, and Sheet-iron Ware, AM) Bf.ALKRS IK Stores, "Wool, Ei&s, Slawp-peKs, Rags, '"'""- Old Copper, Old Stores, &c.,dic.: JUO, ALL SORTS OF OKSUISK YANKEE NOTIONS Peases Brick Blocfc, No. I. FREMONT, OHIO. 92 STEPHES BCCKXAJaTM & CO., DEALERS 1ST Drugs, Ulediclncs, Paints, Dye-Stuffs, Books, Stationaayj &. , ' FREMONT, OHIO. UAtril P. Bl7CKI.A.(It Attorney and CeneHer at Law, And Solicitor iu Chancery, will attend to rofess loual buaiuessin Sandusky and adjoining counties. OSes Second story f Buck land 'a Block."' FREMONT, OHIO. - JOHN 1j. OHEE1VE, ' ATTORNEY AT LA Y, And Prosfcalin? Attorney, for Sandusky county, will attend to all rfofessional hnsirwaa eutrusU-d to tiis care, with promptaess son Sdvlity. Office la the second story of BucVland's Block. FREMONT, OHIO. - -- ' ' CIIESTEB EDOEBTOSt ' Attorney ana Counsellor at Law, And Solicitor in Chancery, will carefally attend .0 all professional hnstnesa left is) his charge. H will aiso attend to the collection of claims &c, is Ibis and adjoining counties. Office Second stow Bockland'a Block. x" FREMOMT. OHIO. 1 - - M. J. UAIiTliETT, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, WiII give hi undivided attention ts professional business in Sandusky ami the, adjoining eon u ties. ; Office Over Opnenheimer'a Store. FREMONT, OHIO. . - 1 IaA O.. RAWSOSl PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON, Office North side of the Turnpike, nearly oppo site the Post Office. FREMONT, OHIO. 14 PIGUUG BEACGBAXU: PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON, Respectfully tenders his professional services to the citizens of r remont aud vicinity. Office One door north of E. N. Cook's Store, PORTAGE COUNTY -Mutual Fire Insurance Company. - B. P. BCCKIaAJVW, Aent: . FREMONT, OHIO. POST OFFICE HOCKS. The regular Post Office hours, nctil further no tice will be as follows: ' -From 7 to 12 A. M. and from 1 to 8 P. M. - ' . Sundays from 8 to 9 A M, and from 4 to 5 P M- W. M. STARK, P. M. Farms to Iet! r SEVERAL FAKMS, near Fremont, and conve nient to the Turnpike, ST TO RENT. ,B Some of these have Eighty to Ninety seres clear ed thereon, with comfortable Houses, Barns &c. Enquire of SAML. CROWELL, General Laud Agent. Muskalange, March 2, 1850 51-5 F BE M 0 NTH 0 USE; AND GENERAL : f REMONT, SANDUSKY COUNTY, O. WJI. KESSLER, Proprietor. - MR. KESSLER, announces to the Traveling Public that he has returned to the above well known stana and is now prepared lo accommodate in the best manner, alt wbe may favor biro with tfietr patronage. No efforts will be spared to promote the comfort and convenience of Cueats. HT Good Stablisg and careful OsTLIRsin at "tendance. . Fremont, November 24, 1849 36 rpLIE choievst Liquors and Wines for Medicinal L tu4 Mechanical purposes for sale at , . Bucklawd's. $ o t tr jo. Beautiful lines to a Bereaved Farent. The following lines by James Elttssell Lowell, we find in the Knickerbocker Magazine for the present month: When on my ear your loss was knelled, And tender sympathy upburst, - A little rill from memory swelled. Which once had soothed my bitter thirst And I was fain to bear to yon Some portion of its mild relief, - ' That it might be as healing dew - To steal some fever from your grief. After our child's untroubled breath Up to the Father took its way, And on our home the shade of death Like a long twilight haunting 1st; . And friends came round with ns to weep Her little spirit's swift remove, This story of the Alpine sheep Was told to us by one ws love: ' They, in the valley's sheltering cure, Suon crop the ineaduw's tender prime, Ami when the aun grows browu and bare The shepherd strives to make them climb To airy shelves of pastures green That hang along the mountain's side, Where gross and flowers together lien, And"down through mist the sunbeams slide. - ' But nought can tempt the timid things " That sleep end rugged path to try, . Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, Aod seared below the pastures lie; " Till in his arms their lambs he takes, - Along the dizzy verge to go. Then herdlesa of the rifts and breaks, They follow on o'er rock and snow. " And in those pastures lifted fair. More dewy soft than lowland mead, The shepherd drops his tender care And sheep and lambs together feed." This parable, by nature breathed. Blew on me as the south wind free. O'er frozen brooks that float unsheathed From icy thraldom to the sea. ' A blissful vision through the night, 'Would hII my happy senses sway, i Of the good shepherd on the height, Or clambering up the stony way; I Holding our little lamb asleep; i And like the burthen of the sea, i Sounding that voice along tile dep, Syiu2, BISK AKD FOLLOW MS." Ill i s c 1 1 1 a n e o n 5 . THE STUDY. BT MISS S. a EDQARTON. - A mile from the vilWe of W. stood an ele gant residence, known about the country as the Appk'ton Place. It was surrounded by green tields and noble parks, with many little gem of a Gfarden scattered about Its sunny nooks, and bordering the gravel walks that ran in every direction through the grounds. Fortunate was the owner of this splendid courtry-seat fortunate, not only in his worldly possessions, but peculiarly so in his domestic relations. He had a lovely and amiable wife, to whom be was fondly attached, and an only son, just escaped from college bondage, and now "running wild amid the rums of the old Republics. But though Che owner of the place was in deed fortunate, be had- a gardener who suc cessfully rivalled him in happiness. True, Tliomas Margrave owned not one rood of land on the face of the globe; he eould not even lay claim to the pmks and roses that scented his door-yard ; but what cared he, so long as the eofl furnished Lira with food, and the frees yielded him their shade and fruit; so long as he could breathe the perfume of the flowers, and sleep beneath the roof of the prettiest cottage in New England, what cared he wheth er the nominal possession were his or not ? Enough for bun to enjoy. He was too wise to covet any other terlure than that which God had given him in bis senses. ' ; iiut I nomas had one possession of which he was equally covetous and proud. He had a young beautiful daughter the heroine of our story the sweetest flower that bloomed in the shades of Appleton Place. Phebe Margrave was a gloriously bright creature. Lips, lucious as ripe melting straw berries; eyes like the shaded springs of the woodland ; cheeks warm and rich as a carna tion ; a brow like a sunny snowbank, and curls as dark and glossy as the wing of the young crow she tamed and petted all these, perfect as they were, were lost in the brilliancy of Ihe intellect which shone undtramed through her pure, transparent face. - Descriptions of beuty are hackneyed and Phebe's loveliness was really loo fresh and spiritual to be painted by a pencil as unskilled as ours. She was a most gifted, but most artless being, and had the excellent judgment which is too rarely an accompaniment of a beautilul person and a poetic temperament She was not above her condition, and yet she knew that she was capable of tiling any sta tion to which her destiny might call her. While simply a gardner's dauihter, she was satisfied to tend the flowers, and arrange the bouquets and garlands for the fetes at the Place. She, with her own hands stamped the butter, and picked the strawberries, and skim med the cream that was daily sent up to their table. JSlie did tine sewinar, too, for Mrs. Ap pleton, and clear-starched her muslins and linens. All these little duties were pleasant to her, and made peculiarly so by the deep love she bore to the family for whom they were performed. We will open Upon a page or two of her earlier life. Tliomas Margrave took possess ion of his cottage, nnd entered on his services on his wedding day. His wife, an innocent country girl, had a wild enthusiasm for flowers and witten pot-try. No marvel that with such a passion, hourly gratified, too, her child should have entered the world impressed with every beauty of hue, and form, and motion. No wonder that she moved like sephyrs, and sang like the birds, that her eyes were dewy, and her lips sweet as moss-rosebuds. Upon this little flower of God, therefore, the mother now centred her fresh pure love. - She had no trea tise upon maternal duties to consult, but she read the holy book of nature, and copied its rules in the education of her little girl. Eight years she waited on this -young spirit like a guardian angel and then God said the spirit must be its own guardian, and called the moth er to the duties of a higher life. Appleton Place and its enclosures formed a domain distinct from the world around it. Phebe grew up therefore, with only one play mate, Gerald Appleton, the heir of this fine estate, and a boy worthy to be the son of a prince. Their intimacy was encouraged by the parents of Gerald, who thought a sweet and gentle girl a much better companion for their bold and impetuous boy than one of the same sez arid similar character. His feelings gained a tenderness and refinement from in tercourse with one so soft and innocent, and his manners displayed none of the rudeness so common to healthy mirth-loving boys. In short, Phebe put all those little finishing touches upon his character, without which no model is perfect; and he, in turn, peformed an equally good service to her, in strengthening her judgment and directing her tastes. All the good counsel he gained from hU tutor he imparted to his dear little pupil ; and so they grew up together, intelligent, loving and pure. But it is not permitted us to dwell in Eden forever, and at the age of fourteen Gerald was sent away to college. Phebe was quite desolate lor many weens; but gradually she involved herself with a, va riety of pets, such as flowers and birds, and rabbits, and made an estimate of the amount of knowledge she must acquire before Gerald came home at vacation. But it must be confessed poor Phebe was sadly disappointed when vacation came. She had rapidly improved in her studies, and cal culated on receiving much praise and assist ance from her young tutor; instead of this, he brought home with hira a classmate for a com panion, and spent the whole vacation in gun ning and fishing, seeming to take no more in terest in poor Phebe and her studies, than he did in the affairs of the chambermaid. Gerald was not fickle. He would hare been very angry if any person had accused him of neglecting his sweet friend ; but like other boys, he was charmed with the novelty of having a male companion who could share in those wild and daring sports he so dearly loved. Phebe did not neglect her studies, however, because she was neglected by her tutor. She loved knowledge too well to be discouraged in its pursuit. Mrs. Appleton, who really loved the beautiful child, found it an interesting amusement to teach so quick and thoughtful a mind. The only book Phebe hated was her arethmelic. Geogrpphy she loved, particularly the diseriptive portions; but it was to botany she devoted herself with the most passionate ardor. She lived, breathed and had her being in flowers. She did not care so much about the beautiful ones around her door, as for the lonely blossoms she found far away among the rocks, or hidden amid the roots of old trees. There was a sentiment in these pure and sol itary things that bewitched alike her fancy and her heart. She did not talk of them, or wear them in her hair, nor gather them often for her little vase; but she sat down beside them in the lonely woods, and gazed and gazed at them, till her heart ran over with poetry and love. Four years pased away, and Gerald Apple- ton graduated with high honors. Phebe flat tered herself that she should now renew her intercourse with her old friend again. She was disappointed. A day or two after his return from college, he met her walking in the park. 'Ah, my sweet Phebe, how do you do ? I am glad to see you again. I shall never for get the happy days we have spent .together. When shall we renew them ? Ah, Phebe, perhaps never! for when 1 return from Eu rope, 1 dare say some other young tutor eh? Phebe! will have borue away our fairest flower! 'Europe! you are not going to Europe, Gerald V 'I am, Phebe, so happv. I shall never rest contentedly in Appleton Place, till I have seen somethingof the world abroad. Never shall I have a better opportunity. 'J am young now, entangled with no domes tic or business ties, with my head full of clasic al associations, and all the enthusiasm requi site to make me enjoy to the fullest, a visit to the shrines of the olden deities. More than all, my dear chum is going, and entreats me to accompany him. rather has consented, and we shall start early next month. My head is full of nothing but i-urope now. .'So I should suppose. What a delightful time you will have! But we ab, we shall miss you very much ! 'Dear Phebe ! But the absence will be short. Only two years, and then back I shall hasten to Appleton Place, lwving it more than ever. After Gerald s departure, Phebe applied herself with fresh ardor to her studies, bhe took a sudden interest in history especially did she delight in the histories of Greece and Rome the countries where her friend Gerald was to spend so many exciting months. She used to sit long afternoons, reading upon these subjects to Mrs. Appleton, and interspersing them with -annotations of her own, such as these 'Ah, Gerald will see that spot!' . wonder how Gerald will feel walking under those triumphal arches?' 'Mrs. Appleton, do you think Gerald will visit the Acropolis" As Phebe grew older, however, she ceased to mention his name so often ; and instead of spending much of 1ier time at the Place, used to shut herself up in her own little room, and pore over a new class ot literature. She bejran the study of the old English dramatists, copies of which she fruund in the Appleton library, and which she soon discov ered were full of notes and pencil marks the work of Gerald during vacations. How mncli taste, what fine criticism had he displayed! Phebe felt almost as much assisted as though she had had him at her side to direct her judgment. After the dramatists she turned with fresh avidity to the. oilier old poets to Chauser, to Spenser, the ballad-writers, down to the poets of our own age.w It was a great study, but Phebe never tho'l of growing weary. Her fine taste, her natu ral passion for the beautiful, her love of mel ody, all aided her in understanding and en joying their merits. It was a beautiful sight to look in at the window of that vine-covered cottage, and see the little modest room and its fair young inmate. With her table drawn up before the window, a flower on her bosom, and another lying before her, a book beneath her hand, ah ! those hands tending flowers had never spoiled them! wearing her favorite dress of white cambric, her dark hair falling in curls over her soft fair cheeks, and her eyes fastened upon the fascinating page, she was indeed a picture worthy of a painter s skill, and a poet's song. ' Sometlt)1e8 she would close her book, and sit with her head resting upon her hand in long and delicious revery. One day this rev ery was more protracted than usual.- The hues had faded from the sky, and the stars came out to fulfil their nightly watch. She looked upon them, arid mused solemnly the while. '0, poetry is delicious !' she exclaimed, duping her hands, 'but will it fit me for actual life, for stern reality? Will it sustain me un der suffering, and console, me in disappoint ment? It has taught me to feel, and to love; will it teach me to conquer feeling, ahd to sub due love? Has it not rather enervated than elevated my spirit?' - She was again silent as though endeavoring to solve these questions in her mind. 'No,' she exclaimed again, more earnestly than be fore ; "Poetry is as good and strengthening as it is sweet and delicious. Excess is what has injured me. I have shut out the world too much from my heart, and studied the ideal too intensely. I .will not forsake poesy. She shall go with me into tho world to protect and guide my heart. I will be her pupil, but not her slave.' From this time a change took place in Phe be's habits of life. She loved not nature and fancy less, but God and humanity more. She saw that her life had been false and selfish, and she determined to elevate and enlarge it Almost daily she might have been seen issu ing from the park gate, bearing in her hand an elegant bouquet of carnations and roses with which she designed to brighten some in valid's chamber, or the gloomy homo of pov erty. She formed friendships, too, with the young people of the vilage; made little parties for them at the cottage, nnd exerted her vari ed talents to contribute to their happiness. Her life hnd hitherto been so retired that though her beauty and accomplishments were not unknown, no one had ventured to offer ad miration. Now that she was found to be ac cessible, she was beset with numerous appli cants for her love. Without pausing to anal yze ber motives, she gave them all an instant rejection. Phebe had an ideal which they did not reach. In alternate study and active duty, Phebe reached her nineteenth year. Her beauty, her intellect, her character, seemed now fully developed, if not matured. All that her childhood bad promised was more than fulfill ed. Though the unpretending and familiar associate of the humblest of her neighbors, she was fitted for any strtion m society, and for in tercourse with the highest order of intellect It was a proud and happy day for Apple- ton Place when Gerald returned from his trav els. Instead of two, he had been near four years absent, having spent considerable time in the schools of Germany, and in otherwise adding to his stores of knowledge. He was much improved in manners and personal ap pearance ; had visited courts, and attained all the simple dignity he so much admired in no blemen and princes. His character was as gentle and magnanimous as in the days of his boyhood. Who can wonder that his parents looked on him with pride ? 'Mother, you have beautiful flowers here,' said Gerald, as they sat down to the tea-table. Yes, and they were sent me by a beautiful girl. You remember Phebe?' 'rhebe! indeed I do, mother. -1 must call and see her in the morning. I hardly expect ed to hnd phebe a girl yet It bespeaks poor taste in the village beaux to leave her in the shade so long.' 'It is their misfortune, not their fault, that she still remains unwedded. Poor fellows! they have sued earnestly enough some of them. - - What, Phebe a coquette? Always so with your beautiful girls, though I had hoped bet ter things of Phebe. 'Phehe is no coquette, replied Mrs. Apple- ton. 'But her menial superiority forbids her marrying in her own sphere. If you were as romantic as some young men, Gerald, I should have sent this pretty gardener's daughter out of your way. As it is I caution you to be care ful of your heart! Gerald laughed. 'I have a good deal of affection for her already, dear mother. What ever little softness of character I possess, I owe to her sweet influence. I shall always love Phebe. . The next morning Gerald took an early stroll down to the cottage. There had been a smart shower during the night, and the flowers lay prostrate along the walks. As he turned the corner of a tasteful little summer-house, he come suddenly upon a bed of rich carnations. before which Phebe was kneeling, in the act of tying tlietn up to the rods from which they had escaped. He contemplated her figure a moment betore she perceived him. ahe was very simply attired in a dark morning dress, and her beautiful curls were partially hid by a little drawn cap. But she needed no adorn ments of dress. The glow and lustre impart ed to her countenance by her graceful exer cise made her sumciently captivating. Gerald reached out his arm carefully, and shook the long branch of a rose-bush that hung over her head. A shower of rose leaves and detv-drops fell upon her neck and bosom. She started to her feet with a blush that man tled her whole face. The years since they were playmates together seemed to vanish. Gerald clasped her in his arms and kissed her burning cheek; and before they were aware they were both wiping tears from their eyes. - Gerald led lief into the little summer house, and they sat down together as in early days. 'Why, Phebe!' said he impulsively, 'you were captivating when a child ;' why did you grow up so beautiful?' 'Ah,' said poor Phebe, 'you who have been in the halls of princes, and gazed on the mag nificent ladies of courts, should not talk to a cottage girl of her beauty !' 'Art made their beauty, love; God made yours!" A moment Phebe cast down her timid eyes. Then raising them frankly, she said, 'I am very fortunate in retaining your friendship so long. I think your heart has not travelled.' 'You are right It was born and will die in Appleton Place, I hope dear Phebe will have the same destiny.' 'Perhaps some tutor will steal me away,' said she, a little archly, 'That I forbid. Appleton Place without Phebe! Why it would be a desert!' These earnest expressions, though Phebe had sense enough to regard them as the Care less compliments of a man of the world, did, nevertheless, find their way Into a deep recess of her heart She treasured them all as so many jewels to be counted over with a miser's greediness. 'Let us walk about the garden,' said Gerald, rising and drawing her arm through his. They walked some moments in silence. All at once the contrast between their dress, and differ ent position In society, struck her sensative mind. She drew away her nrm. 'It is not proper for me to walk with you so. Do not make me forget the difference in our worldly conditions, Gerald.' The young matt looked at her with a troub led expression. I do not understand yotl, Phe be. People talk, I know, about a difference of rank, and build up artificial distinctions; but am I bound to recognize lines of separation which have no real existence ? , To my apre hension.all human beings stand upon one plat form. These grades and ranks are only ideal. I will not countenance what is false, Phebe. I will not allow you to allude to any difference in our conditions. You are the peer of the king and the slave alike, so far as they equal you in goodness and truth.' 'You are noble, you are generous, as you al ways were,' exclaimed Phebe; but if you do not, the world docs recognize those differences, and' 'And what, Phebe ? My conscience and judgment are my law, not the opinion of the world.' 'Dear Gerald, it will do very well for you, who are a man, and occupying a station the world will respect, to bid defiance to its opirt ions; but I am a woman 'the child of a poor man, sustaining the relation of a servant girl to your mother it would be folly and disgrace for me to treat the prejudices of the world with contempt Gerald mused a moment 'I respect your delicacy,' he said, 'but if the difference in our worldly conditions be the only objection you have to an intimacy with me, I must insist that you will never think of it You shall re ceive from me, at least, the honor and respect due to a sister, and the world shall be taught to recognize you as sustaining that relation. Phebe, will you take my arm?' ' She hesitated no longer, but walking timid ly at his side, talked to him of what she had done in his absence, and listened to the sketch es of the thousand interesting things he had seen abroad. They entered the cottage together, and in its neat and tasteful decorations, in the ming ling of its books, flowers, and music, Gerald saw evidences of a pure and refined intellect He was surprised in conversation with Phebe to discover so much cultivation of thought and sentiment ; he acknowledged to himself that he had never, in any sphere, met her superior. Her beauty, too, made every thing she said so graceful! After this morning, the intimacy of their childhood seemed restored to them. Once more Gerald was a tutor; once more Phebe measured and corrected her tastes by his. J They played in the garden together, as mer rily and innocently as when they were child ren ; they read together the books that charm ed them in youth ; and compared their juve nile with their maturer tastes. AH this was very delightful and very dangerous for poor Phebe. But she could not stop to anticipate or dread results. The present absorbed ev ery thought An e"ent occurred, however, to recall her to reflection and sorrow. There arrived at Appleton Place a beauti ful orphan cousin,an heiress of immense wealth. She came with the intention of remaining a number of months. The report was very soon current, that a union was to take place be tween the heir of Appleten Place and his ele gant cousin, Leona. Phebe bad been present ed to this young lady, and found her one of the loveliest and most accomplished ot her sex. She was a great favorite with Gerald's parents, and ah ! too surely poor Phebe felt,a great fa vorite with Gerald, also. Many were the festivities and amusements introduced at the Place in honor of the beau tiful guest Walks, rides, sails, and parties innumerable, in all of which Gerald was Leo na's favored attendant At first he had urg ed Phebe to accompany them ; but as he saw these entreaties gave ber pain, and that she very decidedly refused compliance, he soon discontinued them. Phebe was now alone. She neither visited Appleton Place, nor was visited by Gerald or his mother as often as formerly. . Leona sometimes called, and seemed to re gard the sweet girl with somethingof a sister's fondness. 1 nese visits were painful to Phebe, but she strove to subdue every feeling of en vy, and rejoice only in Gerald's good fortune. It was not easy for her to do this. She found, now that it was too late to avoid it, that she had been loving Gerald to much ; that the time was now past when she could look up on his marriage with another, and feel no emo tions of regret He was all that made life sweet and beautitul to her. Without his so ciety, she felt that her future pilgrimage would be without interest; that she would wish only to die. Rumors reached her every day of great preparations that were making at the Place tor the approaching marriage. Mrs. Appleton herself called down to the cottage, and bespoke a large number of bou- qudts for the parlors, and flowers for the bride. Phebe bad an orange tree almost ready to bloom., she gave it plenty ot air, and sun shine, and water, to hasten forward the buds. She would entwine them with the flowers of the sweet jessamine, and her own hands should place them amid Leona s sunny braids. The evening before the wedding, Gerald came down to the cottage. Phebe was in the garden, collecting flowers. 'Roses for the wedding?' said he. 'Ah the loveliest rose there, will be a human flow er.' 'You will have a beautiful bride,' said Phe be, turning away from his gaze. '1 shall indeed. Beautiful alike in face and soul. See here, Phebe,' he lifted two white moss rose buds as he spoke, 'wear these, to morrow, will you not ?' 'Why to-morrow?' 'Because they will befit a bridal. You must stand at Leona s side when the vows are spok en, Phebe.' The poor girl turned pale. 'Oh do not ask it of me, Gerald. You must yourself perceive how incongruous such an office would be. Leona will wear her jewels and her satins; my costliest garb is a plain white cambric ; and jewels I have none, except such as nature gives me in the flowers. Besides, Leona is so gloriously beautiful, no one is fit to stand at her side.' 'None but Phebe. Father, mother, Leona, all of us desire this favor. You will not re fuse, dear Phebe ?' Phebe yielding a reluctant consent, though she felt it was adding a bitter cup to the grief she already experinced. Gerald promised to call for her at an early hoiir, and then took his leave. The wedding morn was cool, bright, and fra grant At eight o'clock, Phebe was attired for the bridal. She wore her white cambric, which made her look like an angel, and no ornament save a rose on her bosom, and a bracelet of her mother's hair on her beautiful arm, What need have you of jewels, love ? You are a jewel yourself!' exclaimed Gerald, as he entered the cottage to conduct her bp to tho Place. Phebe took in herv band the orange flowers and the jessamine for the bride. When they reached the house, a servant led her up to Le ona's chamber. She found already attired in white silk, with no ornament but a necklace of pearls, to which was attached a little locket, set with diamonds. ' . ; . " She received Phebe with an effectionate kiss, and thanked her warmly for the beautiful flowers. She sat down for Phebe to place them in her hair, and then opening a little bos which stood upon the mantel, took from it a hair bracelet with a diamond clasp, and fast ened it upon Phebe's ami. 'It is Gerald's hair, 'she whispered, again kissing the cheek that grew crimson; 'i wove it expressly for you. .;. . 'You should have woven me one of. yours. not ot bis;' replied poor Phebe. . ;-. 'An, l knew it could not be so precious to you,' said Leona, laughing. Then observing Phebe's confusion, she clasped her arms about her, and begged her forgiveness. '" 'Let us go into the antechamber, now,' she added, drawing her toward the door. Our lovers wait us there. Puzzled by Leona's words, poor Phebe was still more bewildered, on entering the ante chamber, to see a stranger gentleman come forward and take Leon;.'s hands, while her own was drawn through Gerald's. Dear Phe be, said he, 'allow me to introduce you to Mr. Waldron, the gentleman who is to lead our fair cousin to the altar, this morning.' Trembling, confused, she received his salu tations in silence. 'Tell me how this is, she whispered, turning to Gerald. He drew her to a seat The bnde and bridegroom had walked out upon the balcony. 'You have been deceived,'. he said taking her band. 'Leona was engaged to Mr. Waldron when she came here. The report of her uni on with me, therefore, had no real foundation. How could you suppose I had a heart for any one but you, dearest ?' 'U, why did you not undeceive me betore 7' Forgive me, sweet Phebe. This opportu nity of testing your feelings and character was too precious to be relinquished. Now tell me, frankly, love, are you glad or sorry to be un deceived at last?' " r She did not reply. 'Phebe, do you wait to be told of my love for you? Have you not seen it in every look and word since the morn ing we first met'after four long years of sepa ration? Phebe! Phebe! question not the truth and devotednessof my affection. Only say whether you can return it' 1 here was no need of words. I he entrance of Leona and her companion at length inter rupted the sweet reverie of love into which they had fallen. Phebe escaped into the chamber to attempt some composure of appcrance, if not of feeling. Leona followed her, and throwing her arm around her waist, kissed her beautiful fore head. - 'I know all, dear Phebe. It makes me very happy.' 'U, how good you nre! It seems all a dream that I should be so loved. O, tell me, do Gerald's parents know of this?' 'Yes, and are almost as happy as be.l They hare always loved you, and believe you to be worthy even of the son they idolize.' Tears fell fast from Phebe's eyes, but they were tears of joy. She was obliged to wipe them away, however, for Mrs. Appleton now entered to say that the guests were all assem bled, and the hour of the bridal had arrived. She took Phebe's hand in hers, and led her into the antechamber, where she met Gerald. 'Shall I give her to you V she asked srail- mS- . . .. . 'Do, dear mother, it you love me.' -: . i Not till she has promised me one thing. 'Phebe, my dear girl, I love you as I do my own child. Make us all happy, then, by giv-. ing this dear little hand away, to-day. The minister, the guests, the bridegroom are all here. It is sudden to you, I know, but it will make us all so much the happier. ' Say, Phe be, will you consent?' Phebehid her head on Mrs. Appleton's bo som, but made no reply. Gerald took her to his own arms, 'iou will not retuse me dear est? Look up, Phebe, 'tis father consents!' Phebe raised her head. Her own father stood by, wiping the glad tears from his eyes. He took their hands, and pressed them to gether with a fervent blessing. Yield to their entreaties, my child,' he said ; 'I can never give you away more joyfully than now.' ' Phebe looked up into Gerald's face. 'I am yours!' she said, in a sweet trembling voice. There were two marriages in Appleton Place, before the sun reached the zenith. One couple departed f r the South, but Ger ald and Phebe sat that evening in the soft moonlight that fell : upon the homes of their childhood, and told over, again and again, the story of their loves. - - Our portrait gallery shall have a lovelier picture than any that yet adorns it, my love,' said Gerald. 'Let us see in what character will I have you taken ? Ah, it shall be in this very dress you now wear, for you never look ed so beautiful before ; and I will have you represented in your little cottage-study, with a book before you, because, much as your beauty of person captivated rae.it was your cul tivated mind which won. toy love, and made us all so proud to receive you as the mistress of Appleton Place. Yes, the artist shall paint you in that character, and we will call the pic ture Tils Studt.' , ' t o, . Durability of Timber. The piles under London Bridge havo been driven six hundred years. On exaniing them in 1846, they were found to be but little de cayed. They are principally of elm. Old Sa vory place, in the city of London, was built six hundred and btty years ago, and the wood en piles, consisting of oak, elm, beech, and cbessnut, were found upon recent examination to be perfectly sound. Of the durability of timber, in a wet state, the piles of tho bridge built by the Emperor Trajan, over the Danu be, affords a striking example. One of these plies was taken up, and lound lo be petrified to the depth of three quarters of an inch ; but the rest of the wood was little different from its former elate, though it had .been driven more than sixteen hundred years. , Dick says about the prettiest thing to be hold is an accomplished woman, after she has upset abd broken her lamp, gathering up the fragments and wiping up the oil. Ten thousand dollars is a large 'sure,' but we have all spent a 'summer.4 soi Two pints make a 'quart, but two bits make a 'quarter. ' sea " ,"' A useful appendage to a vessel is a 'mast,' but her commander is a 'master.' ' : : A storj for Boys. "Bo faithful to your employers, and honest lo every one," said widow Freeman to her son George when he left the charity school to go as errand boy to a- respectable shoemaker in the neighboring town. "Remember that the eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good ; and if you seek to please him in all your w?ys, you may humbly expect his blessing whereever you go. But if you should take to bad courses, you will break your poor mother's heart, and bring down hex gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." - George felt something rising in his throat which prevented his speaking and the tears came into his eyes; but he thought it would be unmanly to cry ; so giving his mother a hearty kiss, he nodded good bye, and ran down the lane as fast as he could ; while the good woman continued to stand by her cottage door, watching him till he was quite out of sight, praying that the God of the fatherless and the widow would protect her darling boy and keep him from all the snares of sin. After a week or two it was seen that George was likely to do well in his new place. . He remembered what he was told, and did as he was bid ; ho gave his mind to fulfil the duties ' required from him, and would make no ac quaintance with the idle boys who were play ing about the streets, and sought to persuade him to loiter on his errands. His master praised his good memory; and his mistress li ked him for his civility and readiness to oblige. Every night ha went home to his mother's cot tage. It was two miles to walk, but George did not mind that, he was young and healthy, and strong; and if he was sometimes tired with running about all day, he always forgot his weariness when be saw bis mother standing to look ouf for him at the cottage door. On Sat urday nights he did not come home untill 10 o'clock; but then he brought his wages in his pocket; and half-a-crown a week was a great sum to the poor widow, who had to work hard for her living. Now, that she had no longer her boy's entire maintainance to pro vide for.she was able to procure many comforts which she greatly needed ; and happily and thankfully were their Sabbaths spent in prais ing God for earthly blessings, and seeking the richer gifts of his Holy Spirit to fit them for bis rest above. . . George had been in his place nearly twelve months, and his obedience to his mother's ad vice had secured for him an excellant charac ter as an honest and faithful servant One evening he was sent by bis mistress to' pur chase various articles at a grocer's shop in the next street, for which he was to pay, and re ceive a sixpencs change. He Was served by the grocer himself, but had scarcely left the shop, when he perceived by the bright light in the window that a half-sovereign had been given to him in mistake for the sixpence Here was an opportunity for a dishonest boy to have committed a theft, without much pro- , bability of being found out! But I do not suppose that the thought of such a wicked action once entered George's head. He direct ly turned back into thsbop and dimply Bay ing, "You have jiade a mistake, sir," he laid the half-sovereign upon the counter, and stood waiting -for bis proper change. ; The grocer looked with a smile in George's honest face, and after a moment's thought, ta-. king two sixpences from the drawer, inquired if he was not in the employ of Mr. Barnes, the shoemaker round the corner. On hearing - George s reply, said he should inform his mas ter of his good conduct, nnd giving the six pence that was due, with another for himself as a token ot approbation, be told him to prac tice the same integrity through life, and he need not fear finding friends. George felt grateful, both for the gift and the advice; and perhaps he betrayed a little self-gratification when relating the matter to his mother, for she thought it needed to warn him against trust ing in bis own strength, reminding him that he had a sinful heart, which nothing but Pi vine grace could restrain from the way of eviL And she entreated him to read the Bible, with constant prayer for his Savior's mercy and assistance, since they are safe whom He keeps, but there is help in none besidu. ; r The next morning, when he arrived at the shop, early as it was, George found Mr. Brown the grocer s'anding by talking to his master at the door. He made his bow, and was passing on, but Mr. Brown put his hand upon his shoul der, and bis master, biddingjurn stop, asked him if bis mother would object to his taking another place. George turned red aod then white, when be heard this question. He fear ed that his master was displeased with him, and all the consequences of being dismissed rushed upon his mind. But before he could reply, Mr. Brown told hira that he tad come to the determination of taking him as an ap prentice, if his mother would consent, and his present master was willing to give him up. The truth was, that the grocer, having been lately defrauded to a large amount by one of " the persons in his cmplyment, was willing to set aside all other considerations for the sake of obtaining a really honest boy ; and was look ing out for a lad of this description at the very time when George's conduct with regard to the half-sovereign called forth his notice and commendation. Mr. Barnes, the shoemaker, though sorry to lose his steady errand boy, was too much his friend to stand in the way of his" promotion ; and as there could be no doubt that widow Freeman would thankfully give her consent.it was soon settled that George should go to his new master as soon as a successor could be met with for his present place. . How the hap py boy got home that night he could scarcely tell. : He hardly allowed himself time to take breath; and when he saw his mother waiting at the cottage door, it seemed to give wings to his feet What joy and gratitude there was felt under that humble roof when Ins tidings . were told no Words of mine can express ; ond it was with a full heart that they both kneeled dowji before retiriug to rv&l, to give thanks to God for his goodness in thus providing for their wants, and rising up friends for the time to come. . . . - . ,.; .-'. .. George has now been three years in the fam ily of Mr. Brown, r.iid the worthy grocer lias been heard to say that he could trust him with untold gold, r Reader, let this example encour- . age you to be strictly honest in all your deal ings. You may not, like George, meet with an immediate reward; but stHi conduct will be sure in the end to procure for you the good opinion and confidence of Others, and it will : bring lo your owu m;nd a peace and "satisfac tion worth more than treasures of silver and gold. Child's (London Companion, - o ; : . . .. You have no business to have any business with other people's business; but mind your own business, and that's htwnrrs vrouoli.