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Jt D 1* <( TERMS : Two Dollars a Year, INDEPENDENT IN EVERYTHING ; NEUTRAL IN NOTHING. U Invariably in Advance VOL. II. CLAYTON, DEL., SATURDAY MORNING, APRIL 17, 1869. NO. 51. [For the Clayton Herald.] TRUSTS GOD ALONE. BY ICENA HOWARD. those who write of love— About the aching heart— Compare their theme with those* above The aim of sorrow's smart. They tell you oft of maidens fair. And speak of ruby lips; They tell you of some fickle " star," Who like the phantom flits. Ah ! there They tell y of the fatal hour, When love's uncertain chain No longer sought to sway its pow'r, Or would its trophies claim. Some tell you of their ecstacy, While gazing In soft eyes ; And some there They nothing else could prize.? who more will say, Me thinks I On love's beauteous form, And note the bosom heaving mad, Where passion rules the storm. Me thinks I see the crimson blush Surmount the timid brow, And hear the heart's suppress'd reply: 41 I'm thiue forever them gazing sad, Some tell you of some linppy day, That's flown forever now, And mourn for those who've past away, By death's eternal plow. But to my heart alone ril speak, And soothe its bitter pain, that It should seek, Yen, teach it Beyond this mortal plain. Yea, tench it now that It should seek— Whore bright Immortals dwell— A biding place where none e'er weep— Beyond the gloom of hell. Yea, teach it That God alone Is just, Since It hath found that here below None other it can trust. that it should know, ♦angels, fmaldens' eyes Clayton, April 12th, I860. Written for the " Clayton Herald.' OYER. Suggested on the death of H. F, Thomas. MŸ W. D. N. Over— ruB ering and care— Over the Jasper tide 4 o T 7 ,- T Ï. ~ :crr To tho robes such as angels wear, And the love of the crucified. Over—the last good-bye— Over him spoken; Over his once bright eye, Cold Death's shell doth lie, be broken. That only by God et Over his grave the grass Grows in luxuriance. Where from, in its time, shall pass The prisoner from durance. Over it the flowers shall grow, And the willow shall woep, As if sorry such worth should go So soon toits sleep. Perfect as man can be, Of old Adam's line, How could bis spirit be Aught else but divine? With a heart soft and humane, A hand free and strong, An eye to discern pain, How could lie go wrona ? Over the grave and death, Over his friends below, Crowned with the holly wreath, Gurments of snow. Bits he on God's right hand, And looketh he down On the devoted band, He left for a crown. Over—beyond the tomb, Safe in the shepherd's fold, Clear of earth's sin and gloom, Shielded from heat Resteth he over tho victory won— The loss of aero«« and the gain of a crown. ootd. jcicfttfo Stoijj. How It Was Done. BY AMY RANDOLPH. C hurch torrington wns P or haps the greatest coward in the city of New York. Don't misunderstand us, gentle read er—physically speaking, ro was brave as Bayard, dauntless as Cœur de Lion. But it fair sex were concerned that Mr. Tor rington became a poltroon. A gentlo glance from a pair of blue eyes was enough to throw him into a cold per spiration at any time. by one of the companions of his boyhood and early youth vanished out of the path of bachelorhood and en tered into the Promised Land of matri mony, Church Torrington viewed them with a not unenvious mind. "How the mischief did they ever mus ter up courage to do it?" was his inter nal reflection. And Harry Leslie, a wag of forty, who always had a knack of finding out eve rybody else's weak points, said: 44 All of that-set married except Church Torrington—and he'll be a bachelor all the days of his life, because he hasn't got courage to ask any girl to have him. I don't know though either," he added reflectively. 44 Wait until Leap Year comes around again, there may be a chance for him then !" Nevertheless, in the face of all these obstacles, Church Torrington was in love. Miss Violet Purple was as pretty and youug he where the As blooming a little lassie as ever tripped down the sonny side of Broadway, un der a threadbare parasol on a June af ternoon. She was very plump and ra ther small, with blue grey eyes, eye brows like twin arches of jet, shining chestnut hair, and a skin like white vel vet, just finished with the softest pink on either dimpled cheek. And she had a way of carrying her head piquantly on one side, and spoke with the slightest possible of lisps, and always wore a rose in her hair, and was altogether precise ly the sort of a little girl a man's fancy would be apt to conjure up, when he thought of the gloom of his solitary home. Violet Purple was born to be married —j'ou couldn't think of her as an old maid any more than you could think of strawberries without cream, or a satin slipper without a dainty foot to fit it— and whenever she thought of the proba bility of that catastrophe, a face like the moustached physiognomy of Mr. Church Torrington outlines itself through the misty vapors of her day dream. But Mr. Church was so dreadfully bashful—he wouldn't propose—and poor little Violet was nearly at her wits' end, what to do in this dire perplexity. A girl of any delicacy can't very w'ell ask a man to have her, and Violet had done everything else 1 She had smiled sweet ly on him, and given him no end of rose buds out of her ball bouquet, and had " Philopcened" with him, and sent him embroideed cigar cases, and returned a gentle pressure when he had ventured to squeeze her hand at parting, and, what, we ask the reader, could a girl do more? And still in spite of dll this, Mr. Tor- 1 rlngton persisted in keeping his love to himself. Iff Vain Aunt Sarepta took her work up stairs, and loft the drawing room free to twilight and the lovers,—in vain Violet put on her prettiest dresses and curled lier hair with a special eye to Church Torrington'« taste. And old Mr. Purple—whose name wasn't a bad description of the general hue of hi-, face, began to wonder " what the deuce young Torrington meant by coming here so much aud keeping better men away?" and hinted very broadly at the propriety ot Violet's being more gra cious to a certain banker, his, who was supposed to bo specially attracted hg the blue gra y eyes an d the, jGt>archeat»Trw^r J - And little Violet took to crying of nights on her lace edged pillows, and declining a second plate of lobster-salad at dinner; and Aunt Öaropta, a tall, square, maiden lady, who had only re cent'y come up from the country to take charge of her brother's household, scarce knew what to do. "Violet," quoth the aunty, '»what does ail you #'* "I don't know, aunt !"—(Rather lacka daisically. " Jlow long has Mr. Torrington been visiting here?" 14 1 don't know ; about three y 44 Does he care for you, Violet?" 44 1 don't know, aunt,"—(blushes red and rosy.) 44 Do you care for him?" 44 1 don't know, aunt. * — (More of " Love's proper hue." 44 Then why on earth don't he propose and havedonewith it?" "I don't know, aunt." This time in a friend of sort of ofdospairing accent. Miss Sarepta Purple set herself to un tangle this Gordian knot of circumstan ould have charged at a 44 snarl," in her skeins of mixed yarn ; and when Miss Sarepta set herself about generally in the habit ces as she a thing, she of accomplishing it." 44 j'll go and see him myself," was the result of a long day of méditatif Miss Sarepta's part; 44 and I won't let Violet know about it neither." on Mr Church Torrington sat in his lea ther-covered easy chair looking out a difficult case in "Estoppels," when his clerk announced 44 A lady;" and ning abruptly round, he encountered the gnze of Miss Sarepta's spectacled orbs. tur Ho colored scarlet as lie dragged forth a chair and stammered out some inco herent sentence or other—for not Violet's aunt—the aunt of the fair damsel whom ho worshipped afar off' and in silence ! of I a in she Thank'ee 1" said Miss Purple, depos it) ight iting herself by the chair as set down a heavy trunk,—"I've come on business." * 4 Indeed !" 44 Because," eaid Miss Sarepta, edging her chair a little nearer that of the young lawyer, "I think it's high time this business " What business?" "What business?" echoed Miss Pur ple, with a belligerent toss of the head ; " as if the man didn't know well enough whut I was talking about—why, getting married to be sure !" Mr. Torrington grew a shade or two paler. Was it possible that this ancient maiden still contemplated the probabili ty of matrimony ? Had she then select ed him for her victim? He looked at the back window—it opened on a blind alley which led nowhere; he glanced ut the door—but Miss Purple's gaunt form effectually deburred that means of egress. No—there was nothing but to sit still and face the worst that fate had in store for him. "You see," went on Miss Sarepta, 44 1 getting on in years, and I can see as well as anybody what you moan by coining so oJteu to our settled !" ain't blind if I house. But, still, I think you'd ought to ha* spoke ont like a man. I'm wil ling—and don't s'pose my brother 'J1 ob jebt, as you seem to be able to keep a wife !" '•You—you are very kind!" stuttered Mr. Torrington. 44 Is it to be yes or no—about the mar riage, I mean ?" "I shall be most happy, I am sure!" fluttered our miserable hero. 44 Spoke like a man. It's what I knew you meant all the time," cried Aunt Sa repta, rising to her feet aud actually de positing an ocular demonstration meant for a kiss on Church's forehead. knew I should like you, my boy !" Church startled. This was not exact I jy etiquette, but the whole matter was really so strange and unpredented that he hardly knew what to think. 44 And when will you come around to Brother Jacob's and tell the folks alj about it—for I suppose you'd like to toll them yourself? This evening?" " Y— yes, if you say so !" 14 It's good as any I s'pose. Of course you won't mention that I said anything to j'ou about it? I'd rather il should seem unstudied." 44 Naturally enough," thought poor Church. But he promised with a sickly smile ; and parted from Miss Purple, al most shrinking from the vigorous grasp of the hand which she unhesitatingly be stowed upon him. No sooner was Church Torrington alone than the full horror of his position rushed upon him. What had he done? To what had he committed himself? 44 It serves me right," be muttered, grinding his teeth, 44 when I could have won the love of the sweetest little fairy that the sun over shone on. It was sim ply idiotic of me to allow a middle-aged termagant to take possession of me as though I were a cooking stove or a sec ond-hand clock ! And she'll marry me, and I shall be a captive for life, simply because l was too much of a noodle to save myself. Oh, dear, dear ! this is a terrible scrape for a poor follow to get into ! But there is no help for it liow r . If I were to back out, she'd sue me for breach of promise; if I were to cut for Australia, sho would follow me there, as sure as Fatol I'm a gone individual— a lost community !" And Church Torrington proceeded straight to the brow n-stone nnansi vviL'. - u '-p nn r vm hblo Wor^ 4 ** 1 * Lo and behold ! as he rang the door bell, Miss Purplo herself opened the door, and misteriously beckoned him on fn. 44 1 saw you coming," she said, in a low, eager tone: "I've been on the look out. Excuse me, my dear, but I really feel as if I must kiss you once more.— \\Vre going to be relations, you know!" "Relations ! I should think so !" groan ed Church Torrington taking the kiss as a child would quinine powder. Miss Sarepta patted him on the shoul der. "Then go in," she said, nodding mys. teriously towards the door beyond. "Go in—where?" stammered our be wildered hero. 44 Why, to Violet, to be shuro!" 44 To Violet! Was it Violet that you meant- 44 " To be suro it was ! Whom do you suppose I meant? Me.*" The lust suggestion, hazarded as the wildest improbability by Miss Sereptiq called the guilty color up into Church's cheek. "Miss Purple, pardon me," ho said, "but I've been a stupid blockhead; don't be angry, as yon said we're going to be relations." And he took the spinisterin her arms, and bestowed upon her a kiss which made its predecessor appear but the sha dow and ghost of kisses—a kiss which sounded os if Mr. Church Torrington meant it. 44 Do behave yourself!" cried Miss Sa repta. "Yes, I'm going, too," said Church, and he a alked straight, into the drawing room, where little Violet was dreaming over an unread book of poems. She started us he entered. " Mr. Torrington, is it you !" • 4 Yes, it is I," said Church, inspired with new courage. "Violet, darling, I love you—will you cousent to be my wife?" *• Are you in earnest, Church?" " In earnest?" it's what I've been wanting to say to you for the last six months, but I have never dared to jure. Come, you will not send me way without an answer. Say yes, darling." faintly, that only true love's ear could have dis corned the faltering monosyllable. And Church Torrington felt as if he were the luckiest fellow in all the great metropo lis that night. When aunt Sarepta came in, looking very unconscious, to light the-gas, Cnurch insisted upon another kiss, greatly to that lad'ys discomposure. "For you know very well, aunt Sa repta," lie said, "you set me the exam ple." And aunt Sarepta did not look very angry with him. So they were married with all due flourish of trumpets, aud Violet does not know to this day how instrumental the old maiden aunt was in securing her happiness. ; a ; i of to 1 44 Yes," Violet answered 'Tis strange, yet true, That we must do, as others heretofore have done— Set up this stuff, To make enough, To make this column proper run. THE DISGUISED HEIRESS. M ISS VERNON sat thoughtfully at her window plunged in deep thought. This nfeed be scarcely won dered at, for the question upon w hich she was ponde^htt affected her nearly. She was an heiress, having come into possession, at herpiajority, of fifty thou sand dollars. Sha was prepossessing in her appearsn ceç-n^d this as was natural as usual, was considerably exaggerated, and brought her suiters in plenty.— Among them sho made choice of William Winsor, and in a few weeks they were to be married. William was eimaged In the wholesale clothing business and had the reputa tion of an active, Jbarp man of business. IIo was of good could be judge the heiress. Nothing to his prejudice had come to the ci^s of Miss Vernon un til the day boforo. A poor Vornan had come to the door in evident poverty, and asked for relief. On being questioned, she said that she had been employed in making shirts at tiv o^y c çpnts apiece for wholesale dealer*—flint after making a dozen and carrying. 1 , them to the store, she had been roughly told that they were quite spoiled and that nothing would bo paid her for her work ; but that she migh* have more, if she would agree to make them better. She abided that this was one of the small ways made money out of jj>oor women, by pre tending that their work wus unsatisfac torily done, when really no fault could reasonably by found. The sum, small :.s it was, of which she had been defrauded, was all important to her, as it represented nearly a week's work. nuance, and as a good rpatchfor lur in which the firm 14 Only a dollar and forty-four cents for a week's work?" oxclaimed Miss Vernon, in dismay. "That's all," said ftio woman. "How, then, do yon live?" 44 It cun hardly bo called living. It's just baroly keeping body und soul to gether," said the woman. " And who is this extortioner that first offers you starvation wages then de frauds you of them?" usked Miss Ver very indignantly. " William Winsor. * "Who?" demanded Miss Vernon, firmly, quiclAx * i nm i a ■ ■ » • m winmc "lean hardly believe this, the gentleman." 44 It is true, and if you will investigate the matter you will find it to be so." " l will investigate the matter. Hore are five dollars for your presont needs.— Coino hero tomorrow at this time, I may know have some work for you to do." The woman departed, invoking bles sings upon the heiress. "I will look into this," said Margeret Vernon, resolutely, "and, if it proves true, the engagement between William Winsor and myself shall bo broken. I will not give myself to such a mail. "Nancy," said Miss Vernon tho next morning to tho chambermaid, "have you an old dress and shabby cloak and bonnet that you can lend 44 1 have got some that arc so poor that I am not going to wear them again," said Nancy, surprised at such an inquiry. 44 Will you lend thorn to me?" "Of course,- Miss; but what would the likes of you want with such old clothes? 44 A little fun, that is all, «aid Miss Vernon. 44 1 am going to disguise my self, and see if I can't deceive some body." With this explanation Nancy tent, and produced the clothes. Miss Vernon put them on, and in addition, borrowed of another of the servants a thick green veil, somewhat the worse for wear, and then set out on her mission. , in her disguise, would have recognized the usually elegant and rich ly dressed heiress, Miss Margaret Ver non. Miss Vernon slipped out of the base ment door and ttfok ber way to a large store, on which was inscribed tho name of William Winsor, in large gilt let ters. She entered, and after a while a clerk spoke to her in a rough voice,— 44 Well, what do you want?" "I want to get some work," she said, in a low voice. 44 We can give you some shirts." 44 Anything." —• 44 Can you sew well?" 44 1 iliink so." con No 44 At any rate, we will try you." A half dozen shirts were given to Miss Vernon, and she wes informed that if satisfactorily done, she would be paid twelve cents apiece. These she carried home, slipping in at the back door. About two lio'ur* later the poor woman culled. "Here are some shirts for you to make," said Miss Vernon. " Why, they are the same a« I have been making," said the womau, in great surprise. " That is true, and they came from the same place." "Am I to take them back to tho store?" "No, you will bring them höre. I will pay for the work when done, dou ble the price you bave been receiving." "Thank you, Miss, you are kind." "Sow them ns neatly as possible. I wish to sae whether they will bo rejected us poor work." " Yes, Miss Vernon, I will take pains with them." very Three days later the poor woman re turned witli the work completed. Miss Vernon paid her for them, and request ed her to call the next day. 44 Nancy," said the heiress, after her protege had departed. 44 1 shall wish to borrow your old clothes again." 4 Certainly, Miss," said Nancy, 44 if it is not ashamed you are to appear in such miserable rags." 44 No one will know me, Nancy." 4l Shure, Miss, you can take them when ever you like." 44 1 don't think I shall need them again, Nancy, but thank you all the same. "Not long afterwards, Miss Vernon, in her shabby disguise, entered the es tablishment of William Winsor, with the bundle of shirts under her arm. She walked up to the counter and laid them down. " What have you g*>t there?" demand ed a pert young clerk. "Some work, sir," said Miss Vernon, very humbly. " Well, why don't you open the bun dle," said the young man, picking his teeth with his knife. Miss Vernon did so. The young man deigned to tumble over the shirts, and sneeringly glanced at them carelessly. "Shocking! shocking!" he said. 44 What's the matteT sir !" "They're wretchedly sowed« That's what's the matter. How do you expect we are going to sell such shirts as these?" 44 1 urn sure I thought they were al well done," said Miss Vernon. "Y'ou thought, did you?" repeated the clerk, mocking her. 44 Wo shan't pay you for these shirts. They will have to be sold at a loss." "But what shall I do?" asked Miss Vernon, in seeming distress. 44 That's your business, not mine. We : o. and give y will try you oneo another half dozen shirts. If they done better, you will be puid for them." " These are done well," said Miss Ver non, savagely, snatching the bundle from the counter," and I will show them to your employer." To* he indignution of thë elcfk, Who was not used to such independence in the poor women who worked for the es tablishment. Miss Vernon took the shirts to another part of the counter, whcr ^i she suw W illiainjym solf. ^ x \Vffi tfot pay" mo T lor ftese shirts, says they are not well done. Mr. Winsor took one up and pretend ed to examine it. 44 No, it is poorly done. Wo can't pay you for these, but you may have anoth er bundle, and, if they are satisfactory, you will then be paid." 44 Didn't I tell you so?" said the clerk, triumphantly. "Now, young how much did you make by that opera tion ?" " More than you think, perhaps," said Miss Vernon, quietly. " Do you want any work? 44 No, I don't wish any more," slio an swered eooly. 44 Oh! you are on the high horse, are you? Well, you may bo glad to get work some day, when you can't huve it." He a ►man, That evening w tho one which Wil liam Winsor usually spent with his be" trothod. When lie was introduced, ho went forward, as usual, to greet Miss Vernon. She drew back coldly, and did not of fer her hand to grasp his. "What is tho matter, Margaret?" he asked, surprised and startled. 44 What have I done to entitle me to such aie ecption?" "My hand has taken yours for the last time, Mr. Winsor," said Margaret. "Good Heavens! what is tho meaning of all this? Margaret, explain yourself. I cannot understand it." 44 1 cannot take the hand of one who grows rich by defrauding poor women out of their scanty earnings. 44 Who says this of me? Some one has been slandering me. Confront me with my accusers. There is some mistake hero." 44 1 will do as you desire. Wait just five minutes." Miss Vernon left tho room and soon re-entered in her disguise. Tho young man strode up to tho wo man angrily. 44 Are you the one who has slandered mo to Miss Vernon ?" he demanded. 44 1 told her the truth." The young man reflected. Violent con tradiction he saw would not avail him ; he would try another course. 44 Hark ye, young woman," he said, in a low voice. 44 There was a mistake. I will make it up to you richly. I will give ten dollars on the spot, and all the work you want at double rates, if ycu will tell Miss Vernon it was all a mis take." 44 Too late, Mr. Winsor," said the veil ed figure, throwing up hor veil, and showing the contemptuous face of Mar garet Vernon. Your bribe is offered in vain. Good evening, sir." Confounded and astonished, William Wiusor found his way lo the door, and has never ventured to enter the house of the heiress since. He was paid for his meanness in his own coin. if to I I Our homes are liko instruments of music. The strings that give melo ly or discord are the members. If each is rightly attuned, they will vibrate in har mony ; but a singlo discordant string jars through the instrument and destroys its sweetness. [Written for the "Clayton Herald"] CASADER CHAFIELD ; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE. BY VIOLA. CHAPTER VI. A NEW HOME. W E will pass over four years of Cn Bader's life, finding her at the age of sixteen estdjblit er in a new home. tV friends, Mrs. Cha field had succeeded in moving to a pleasant village in New York State astd there establishing a school. Her education warranted her in taking charge of some branches, and her favorite recitation was history. Sho was capable of teaching it in a manner beneficial to her-pupils, and often added from her stock of information to that given in the book. Sho had several as sistant teachers, including an English, French and music teacher. Her school was for young ladies and usually well attended. Some from the West, Ilia East, the North, and South, came to make their home for a few months be neath her roof. There were several young gentlemen from the town who took lessons in French, and through one of them Casddef became acquainted with a gentleman who will figure in our sto ry. The friendships she formed w many, still only one true friend resulted from her intercourse with so many young ladies. Perhaps sho became too well acquainted to warrant a long con tinued friendship, they might have dis covered her faults and she theirs, and neither party being lenient condemned too severely to promote love. The young lady to whom sho became attached was a pupil of her mothers, and a very intel ligent girl. Florence Harlund was proud, very proud. Weeks passed in which sho and Casader merely spoke as po liteness dictated, they did not seok each other's society or take any pains to be come acquainted. From their indiffer ence an attachment which deatli alone could sever. An ut slied with her moth ith the assistance of destined to ariso tuehment vory raroly formed, or if form ed very soldom continued. They were good history scholars, and from various questions anked by the tofùÿier, inani £ Finally an invitation wus extended to Casader from Flora requesting the plea sure of her company to tea oil a certain Saturday afternoon. It was accepted and the con/f.fsation of and pleasure of that afternoon was never forgotten, for it made them more tliuii speaking ac«* quain tances. Florence was well ac quainted with tho young gontleman to whom Casader had been introduced. Ho was otten at her bouse, for ho was privi - leged as he sustained the relation of cousin. He was in business at New York, but found it convenient lo spend the Sabbaths in Movu,as wo will call the town. Arriving Saturday afternoon ho found it convenient to spend the even ing at Flora's, and sho always liked to huve her friend with liet Saturday even ings. Thefe wits either a read or a duet to be learned together, and so by a littlo persuasion Mrs. Cliu fiield's consent was gained. The first part of tho evening was spent in reading and practising a piece of music procur ed for the occasion. They were both good performers on tho piano and Casa der knowing very well when Flora came to the house, her mother would ask to hear tho duet, failed not to learrt one.— It Was not her intention to deceive her mother, making her think she visited Flora for the simple reason of reading, and playing on tho piano. No iitdeod ! if asked she would have acknowledged the greater part of the evening was spent in conversation, forbearing to mention tho presence of a third party, and that a gen - tleman. That gentleman never failed to mako his appcaranco at eight and of es corting Casader to lierliomeat ten. Mrs. Chufield knew that a young gentleman came with Casader, but supposed it was one of Flora's biothers. She watched tho ripening attachment between the two misses, but only smiled as she thought of similar ones, knowing how they* ended. Never sinco Casader bade her father good bye had she confided any secret to lior mother; she had no confident, if any matter annoyed her she had always kept it to hers ell, pondering why it should be so, but never asking advice of hor mother. She knew her mother was cold, never courting confl denco, and thinking young ladies se crets were of slight importance. Thus the child grew into a woman, learning to keep all matters « oncoming the heart to herself. It is not strange that persons called her cold, haughty, proud, but they did not knew lier heart ; had not inspired confidence themselves, there fore were not capable of interpreting hor actions. Cold, vory distant to stran gers she always appeared, yet there was something pleasing about her, and one was led to think of her after leaving her so fiety. She was notsilly, endcavoringto entertain with frivolous conversation in book to eluding gossip. Neither was sho re nurkably gifted but what sho uttered wns generally woll balanced with com mon sense. We shall not try to make our heroine perfect, or endeavor to en dow hor with any gifts sho does not pos- 1 sjss. Sho is mortal and subject to the same temptations we are; sho failed to do right oftentimes, and sho made blun der« which caused her as much sorrow as ours do us. Slid could spell, read and write, sing, play and dance, she could sew, mend stockings, make her own clothes, embroider and make bu' ter. The last named I never cared lo learn, for I always detested the name.— When I say I have no taste for the last named accomplishments I hope none of my readers will be shocked. I say I have no taste for them, but like the larg er portion of my sex I am occasionally compelled to lend a hand towards the furtherance of plans. Some of those were minor accomplishments, still Wild will presume to say that mending a stocking well docs not belong lo that class. Very lew are •proficient in that jfjmtnch, and / am forced to plead guilty, or igitoraiU. Neitltoi 4 was she an adept in mending, always leaving that ta>k for her mother. To Mrs. Chafield be longs the credit of instructing her daugh ter how to sow, for sho was a beautiful sevVer, handling her needle with care and making every stitch ornament in stead of deface the article. Mrs. Cha field was very liberal in her views every subject but love, and those in trusted to her care she strove to mako happy and contented. She did not look down on people considering them be neath her notice if they did not possess quite as much information as herself.— She strove to improve their minds w hen with her and leave impression that would lust when they departed. In some cases she succeeded, benefitting them moro than they will ever express, are sorry Casader looked down upon those w'lio did not possess as much in formation as herself; sorry to think sho should forget honest and true hearts when she found a rough setting. And the reason why we are sorrow is this, it lay in her power to benefit lier fellow creatures. In teaching them to love her she could have taught them to hun ger for knowledge and put forth etlbrts to attain it ; she could point out faults, and even in condemning draw tlicir hearts closer, making her counsel that of a true woman. No olfenco meant, nono could bo taken, because the expression of her face would tell of hor true feelings and her eyes speak more eloquently than tongue. Dear reader, have y over seun these soul inspiring eyes? these eyes that sparkle and gleam, tell ing of hope aud joy, of sorrow, of do AWli T liifiVl ? 111 " 1 lk ■■ - ■■ ■ ■ Yjww-iÄ.» .1« Wo ■ rrnrtrawt; if you have known then such eye.-» Casa der Chaliold possessed. If she luid cho sen to attract hearts she had the power; had she* desired to make friends for tho summer time opportunities were abun dant. She was proud, she did not court society or ask for flatterers, therefore avoided tho crowd, knowing hypocrites were numerous. If a pe ed who would have been a firm friend she knew it not, therefore lost nothing by indifference. She win happy in her new homo, as linppy as past and future thoughts allowed. She enjoyed the pre sent, still there was a cloud continually flitting across her sky leaving a dark shadow on her mind. Her father's home her mother's home, her own fu ture home would they always be broken homes awakening sad memories? The future homo was not hors, but slio was last approaching the "dream life" of a few months, and who shall not say person figured largely in that " «h could it bo !" Never let your holiest convictions bo . You can no more cxer >n if you live in constant you can enjoy life if you live in constant fear of death. laughed dow ci sc your re f ridicule, th dread If you think it right to differ from the d morals, do it—not for inso tii ioiisly and gravely, as if a lence, out t man wor • a big soul of his own bosom, and did not wait till it wus breathed into him by the breath of fash ion. Be true to your manhood's con victions, und in the end y only be respected by the world, but have the approval of your own con in his vi.l not science. Good Ru les for A ll.— Profane swear ing is abominable. Vulgar language is disgusting. Loud laughing is impolilo. Inquisitiveness is offensive. Tattling is mean. Telling lies is contemptible.— Slandering is devilish. Ignorance is dis graceful, and laziness is shameful. Avoid all tho above vices, and aim at useful ness. This is the rond i come respectable. Walk .in it. Never be ashamed of honest labor. Pride is a curse—:i hateful vice. Never act th*) hypocrite. Speak the truth at all times. Never bo diseoti and mountains will become mole hills. hieb to l»e ged, but persevere. Fifteen Great Mistakes.- -It is a stan groat mistake to set up our dard of right and wrong, and judge peo ple according y. It is a great mistake to measure the enjoyment of others by ;n, to expect uniformity of opin ion in this world ; to endeavor to mould all dispositions alike; not to yield in immaterial trilles; to look for perfec tion in a fallen world ; not to aim at per fection in ou»' own actions; to worry ourselves and others with what cannot bo remedied; not to alleviat * all ti.al no.*d alleviation, make allowances tor the infirmities of others; to consider everything impossi ble which wo cannot perform ; to bei ev » 1 on jy w liat our finite minds can gra>p ; to expect to be able to understand every - thing. The greatest of all mistakes is to ij vo <in lv for Time, ir our power ; not t* raom.'nt he may launch u-i into E'.eruMv.