FREMONT, SANDUSKY COUNTY, AUGUST 31, 1850.
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FREMOMT. OHIO. 1
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Enquire of SAML. CROWELL,
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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
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No efforts will be spared to promote the comfort
and convenience of Cueats.
HT Good Stablisg and careful OsTLIRsin at
Fremont, November 24, 1849 36
rpLIE choievst Liquors and Wines for Medicinal
L tu4 Mechanical purposes for sale at ,
$ 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
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 .
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
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
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
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
'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
'Europe! you are not going to Europe,
'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
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
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
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
'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
'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
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 what, Phebe ? My conscience and
judgment are my law, not the opinion of the
'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
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
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
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
. 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
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
'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 ?'
'Because they will befit a bridal. You must
stand at Leona s side when the vows are spok
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
'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
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
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
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
'I know all, dear Phebe. It makes me very
'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
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
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.
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