Lancaster Examiner and Herald

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VOL. XXVI.
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 21, 1853.
NEW SERIES, VOL. XlV-NO. 8.
PUBLISHED BY
EDWAKD C. DARLINGTON,
orriei; in north (jrEE?* strcet.
The EXAMINER &. DEMOCRATIC HERALD
is puWiBhed weekly, Dt TWO Douaas ayear.
Advf.htiskments not exceeding one square
¦will oe inserted three times for one doUar, and twenty- five cents will be charged lor each additional insertion. A liberal discount allowed to thOBe advertiBlng by the year.
I moment for lingering has arrived, and the preach lie was not, that he need no preiencea. He waajhera ; her present opportnnities for study were I could command my countenance, to read their ; er and the old folks Iiave moved decidedly for not profligate, unprincipled, or insensible to absolutely nothing, and her mental octivitiea hopes and fears in ita exprcBsion 1 Howelectri- , the door. ^'S"t' he waa only an Irishman ; and that hin-) were now, on account of their nature, aa well j cal the focus of such burning eyea, the centre of
From Sartain's Magaxino.
ELIZABETH BAETON.
BY UR. WILLIAM ELDER.
I IIAVE a Story to lell, noi to make. Ii is T"*^ to a thought; true ns my senses receiveiJ it into my feelings and reflections, antl I am very sure that it has sufi*ered no disiortion or e-xaggcration there. ,,
The occurrences are now .wcniy years oiJ ; the locality is middle Penn^ylvnnm, in a narrow valley. lying between ."o of the eoaiermost ridges of the Allegheny Mouniaiiis.
I had just finished the usual term of medical study, and aitcntled one course of lectures at Philadelphia. Of iJie e.vpcriencc common lomy tribe, I had my average—an exhausted purse and adisappoiniment in a love afltiir. Under the compulsion of iheso, and the nolion that a little practice of my own with ita attendant respon- sibilities {for which I believe I was better pre¬ pared iliau usual) would be fine training for my last session at the Medical College, I planted myself at a "X roada," in the centre of a good settlement. A grist-mill, saw-mill, disiil- lery, smith-shop, and retail variety store, did the business of the neighborhood ; a weekly mail brought us our letters and newspapers ; and I undertook the health of tbe vicinity,—iliat is to say, of a region of hill and valley forty miles in compass.
A mile below us, on the stream that watered our pretty valley, there stood a long, low-roofed, rough-built, one-slory stone liousc, which was called the " Union Schoolhouse." Its primary use waa for the instruction of ihe children of ihe district, but as it is was the only public building in the neighborhood, it was used occasionally for all sorts of public mceiings. and on Sundays regularly, under some tacit agreement, hy half- a-dozen sects, lor preacliing and social worship. There, about noon on a summer Sabbath might be found (at the time I speak of) the persons whom 1 wish to introduce to the reader's ac¬ quaintance; and, assuming that everybody knows enough ofthe general character of such audien¬ ces to answer our present purposes, 1 will con¬ tent myself wilh describing particularly only three or four persons in the congregation, whom we are concerned to know more intimately.— They are not the only noteworthy people of lif- ly or sixty present; for life is not so poor in va¬ riety and interest among our mountains; but I cannot pause in my narrative now lo illuminate its margins with gratuitous poriraiiurc.
The clergyman is entitled to our first aticii- tion. This is ibe first year of his ministry. Ho is a stray slip of Virginia aristrocracy, who has found scope lor his enihustasm or relifftous sen¬ timent, and opportunitv for his generosity of self-denial, in circuit preachina through a moun¬ tain range of three hundred miles compass, which he must traverse once every month, preaching, on an average, " once every day and twice on Sundays." He is marked by belter education, better manners, and more refinemem than the men among whom he ministered ; but he subdues his tastes, and conforms his general demeanour, to the coarse conditions of his work, with all the duvotiona, but happily, none of the pretence, of a martyr. In goad truth, he is very much oui of place in ihia rude region, e.\cept for the rare spirits, one in a hundred or a thousand who, perchance, m.ty apprehend him. But he came among us in such singleness of heart and cordial devotedness of spirit, that he ia as much disguised, to selfish and superficial people, as a prince in icmpurary banishment. And he would have it so, for he wants the discipline of such duly ; and the concealment ol Ins accustomed style of life is necessary to the free working of the experiment.
The congregation fell that indefinable some- thiog in him which disJinguisijes the gentleman- bred, but missing all the pretence and manner¬ ism which, in their idea, marked it,ihey general- ly accepted him at his own modest estimate, and the secret of his family and lortune escaped gossips. He accepied his hundred dollars : year, made up by some ihiriy liitle congrega lions, as composedly as if he needed such a pit- lance, and he took ihe hospiialiiiea of the circuit as contentedly as i( their beat waa someilii quite agreeable to him.
Not unfreqiienily the position ofthe preacher, in this rugged region, is a matter of ambiiious aspiration, notwiihsianding the rudeness of the people and the hardness uf the work ; for some of our mountain clergy are the coarsest men within the boundaries of the brotherhood ; bui often, very often, the service is a sacrifice of rich sensibiliiieaand a dedication of fiiie lalciiis to the most repugnant forms of duly. Such was the peraon, and such the attitude to this work,o( our friend, the Rev, George Aghleigh. It were well for our new world if the ministerial ofiit;e were generally filled by such men as he.
Among the women belonging to this society, there were two girls, whose characicr were brought well enough to the surface by the events of my story 10 allow the hope of adequate pre¬ sentment,
Nancy Barton's general characlor was strength and style. Her religious impulses were very active, her social aeniimeDis free and strong, and her selfish feelings, also, sharp and importunate. She was defective in imaginaiion proper, but the life of passion warmed and strengthened her thoughts mio grandeur, and her verbal eloquence was oflhe highest tone conceivable in a woman dealitule of literature and ihe culture of refined companionship. The cusiom ofthe church ad¬ mitted of female participation in the public devo¬ tions, and Nancy found scope in a stormy elo¬ quence of prayer and exhortation, for talents that had no match in such use wiihin the circuit of a hundred miles.
She was strongly rather ilian handsomely made. There was afirmness, weight, nnd force, with such elegance os belong to ihcm, in her make and manner, ihat kindled admiration, un¬ mixed, however, with tenderness and afiection- Her face, well fitted for the elocution of her strong thoughts and burning words, waa airik- ingly brilliant, and even handsome enough, wilh¬ out being quile agreeable or, in any fashion, fas¬ cinating, it turned, it may bo, too fully and boldly to one's gaze ; it confessed, perhaps, loo much coiisciousneas, and too much of ihe pur¬ pose of iis own working, even in the rapture of iiH exciiemeni ; for there was a little of that sys¬ tem in lis passion which corresponded to the full elaboraiencss of her robust oratory. The trou¬ ble was, thai, while her rhapsodiea were in the vein ol inspiration, the delivery intruded the feeling of much study and large practice wilh an aim.
Nancy was an orphan, and dependent for her support uiHin her industry or the hospitality of her church Iriends. as she pleased lo choose be¬ tween those two sons of rciiancea. She com- promised and mixed them as her lasie and pur¬ poses required. She had made a long visit, the year before, to a distant town in one or other of tliese characters, and had returned with no slight advantage of travel and observation from the trip. A few weeks in the family of a lawyer, who had lately joined the church, put some poi! iah upon Nancy's manner, and worked some no¬ tions into her understanding, which were not a little available, bolh for her private and public uses in our Jjitle valley. It was evident to me,' at least, that it might somehow concern the young clergymen whom the fates should favor with appointments to ihis circuit for a year or two to come. It was, however, so obvioua, that Mr. Ashleigh waa not a marrying man, lhat Nancy made no demonstrationa in ihat direc¬ tion, and, I believe, his generol demeanour ef¬ fectually protected him wherever he went from the uaUBi liabiliiiea ol his exposed poshion.
But now thai Nancy has had her usual fore¬ ground privileges and preferences, and made her due impression upon the company; and, after ahe has shaken hands with everybody entitled to that ceremony before the congregation separates; and while she occupies Mr. Ashleigh wilh ques¬ tions about the result of the last camp-raeeiing, ioJIowed by mquiricR about ihe health of the most interesting members in the most fashiona-
Elizabeth Barton waa something above the | middle size, and might be taller still, with ad-' vamage, if her bearing had but a little pretty pride in it- She was finely formed, with such a , mould of limb, agd style of carriage, and rhythm of movement, as re£ults from the best combina-1 tion of strength and grace in form and arrange¬ ment, the best health and habits, and the besi tone of mind and feeling, which the laws of cor¬ respondence can any way achieve in actual life. Hut bund and foot, especially, were models, and fa.-e, in everything but the consciousness of high mental powers, waa perfect in appropriate beauty. Her bead had that symmetrical ele¬ gance tbit is never wanting in a fine character.* Her ciiinplexion waa rich and very pure, and the feaiun-a regular and finished, but (he forms and tints, though faultless, seemed subdued to ihc air of a hard service ; nnd her dark chesnut hair, checked of its fullness and effect, was ahnost hidden from view by the severe restraint of its arrangemeni. My first sight of her was such a glimpse as I am now giving to the readtr. I mark'd then the rich resources of physical bcau- [¦ly Hi:i; l.iy covered there and unpronounced, the ¦<Thu,> air uf dedication 10 aome onerous duty, md ihi.' deep rcligioua renunciation ofall the de- igliis of sense and all the pride of life. She ipokc modestly and kindly to those who were nearest lo her, while she adjusted her bonnet and waited till the company gave her room to pass ; and, when she moved, it was remarkable for noi hing so much as its quick directness and unobtrusiveneas. She seemed to have no gos¬ siping to do, nnd no time lo spare, as she step¬ ped rapidly from the door, and, turning the cor¬ ner of the building, bent her course toward home. She had two miles to walk ; most of it over a rugged ridge, which separated the liltle glen where she was borne from the valley in wliich the Union -Schoolhouse stood. It waa, in fact, but a rift made in the hills by a watercourse, with a narrow border of arable soil, raggedly ir¬ regular ; in spots affording room for a cottage, a little cornfield, a garden, and so much meadow as mig;hi feed a cow or two through the winter. Just where Tommy Barton lived, (he rivulet was a little more liberal of margin, and gave space within a mile for three other tenements; one, occupied by Elizabeth's grandfather, anolh- by her uncle, and a third, by John Brown, who renders us the service of escorting our he¬ roine across ihe ridge on bad nights, when she is obliged to be abroad, and occasionally per¬ forming other duiies ol kindness and courtesy, iuch as his aupernumerary sort of character owes to useful people in the world who are their nearest neighbors. By the way, this waa ihe only noble office lhat the poor fellow overfilled, and wc ought to be thankful that he was good nougli, and good-for-nothing enough, to be al- i^ays ready for the duty. Brown, though a mar¬ ried i;;an, of about fifty-five, is Elizabeth's only beau, but we may accompany her in imagina¬ iion to her cottage home in the glen. The foot- P,ath lies straight up the hillside, leaving ihe winding wagon-road abruptly and plunging di¬ rectly into ihe thick bushes, A sharp struggle with ibe steepness, a brisk squabble with the loose stones which slip and tumble under the foothold, and we have gained the flat rock lhat caps the ascent. But it affords no oul-look.— The broad-limbed chesinuts, scrub oaks, and undergrowth of bushesj hide everything but patches of tiie sky, and glimpses oflhe tree-tops on the mountain range before us. Besides, we are ou the way to Tommy Barton's and there is nothing in our aearch thai matches well witb grand scenery and pretty landscapes. We must get down the rugged pathway, with our atten¬ tion sharply employed upon our footsteps, and when the feat ia well accomplished, we are ou the margin of the little rivulet that unrolls fike a silver riband beiween the hills. Stepping daintily upon the plank, that swings and dips till the surface of the water steadies it, we reach the worm fence ofthe Httle meadow, which is cross cd by a stile, made rudely enough of an upping block on one side, and a stump upon the otlier. The cabin aits fifty yards before ua, upon a nat¬ ural terrace ; n rocky blufi"rises rapidly behind it, like a giant stairway to climb the mouniain, which swells away in'o the mid-heaven, so steep and barren, that it seems built there to dyke out the nnrihcrn storm-waves. This cabjn is a rude, unshapely piece of architecture. Originally, it wosu square pen, built of unhewn logs, about a foot in diameter and twenly five in length ; but, as ihe necessity for roam increased with an in- creasing family .addilions of similar log-pens were piled up at chher end, until it stood sirechcd out in line, three houses made one, by cutting out the end walls of the first one, and throwing all the rooms into one great hall, which, without partition, blinds, or curtains todivide them, scrv ed for kitchen, dining-room, t-nd bed-chamber for the old folks, and cubbies for haU-a-dozen of the young ones ; besides, room fora hand-loom and its appurienancea, in the corner farthest from the kitchen end of the building. A half-story above this long range of rooms, accessible by a ladder, instead of stairway, wilh a clap-board roof for ceiling, and divided into rooms by drop curtains, of heavy home-mada canvass, afforded the girls a dormitory at one end, and the oldest boys a like accommodation al the other. The family, all told, reached the round Tiumber of fourteen children, of whom Elizabeth, the eldest, was about twenty-two, and the youngest child four years old, at the dale of our story.
Tiic mother was one of those indistinct no bodies who usually figure at the head of such a regiment of children ; bui the father waa an Irishman, and had as much of that in him as would serve lo "set up twice as many heirs," as the saying is, " in extravagance." He was one of the Bartons of the North, and, according to his own account, " of a dacent family, that lived on their own land itt home, and nivor a one of the name was iver known lo be a Papist." Tommy's zeal for the true faith, it was easy enough lo perceive, was the old grudge, nnd only another phase of his pride of caste and boaat ol blootl. He was religious, of course, or he might as well have been born anywhere else as in the Couniy Antrim. A dozen years before, he had been a member of the society that worshipped nt the schoolhouse,—that sort of a member that can neither be kept in nor out of the Church but by the severest measures and the hardest fighting. Tommy left the brotherhood but two choices:—cither to put him out, or to blow them selves up. Accordingly, ihey expelled him on sundry charges, among which were hard swear¬ ing, occasional intoxication, and perpetual con lumacy. The in;"uryof this expulsion was noth ing, in the account ihat Tommy opened wiih them for it; his pride fed fat upon his injuries everything, everybody, injured him. In fact, he had all his consequence in his injuries. Their' greaineaa served lo measure ihe magnitude of his rights, and were welcome to his magnani¬ mity ; but ihc insult was too much for one of the Barton family to bear. Tommy waa elo¬ quent by birthright, but, unhappily, ho was nev¬ er genial cxcepi when he was boring somc gen¬ tleman in good broadcloih, with the proofs and l indications, historical and fanciful, ot his family's gentility. Ill luck and ill treatment ill conduct and ill conditions (Tommy never had any other sort of cither), had curdled the wit and humour inherent in hia blood, and kept it for ever boil¬ ing and bubbling with Irelfulness and passion.— Yet, fjueer, crazy, and absurd as was ihe mix¬ ture in this proud, weak, worthless, high-apirit- I cd old man, Elizabeth derived, it secma lo me, I her Kieady nobleness from his impulsive aspira- litms, her fine enthusiasm fronThia wild fire, and her ijeneroaiiy from his Iriah pride.
1 be chemistry of matter knows how to con¬ vert ibe elements of charcoal into diamond; and the modifying iorccs of the vliaj laws are equal¬ ly adt-quata to all the difference between this
dered him from being either worse or better.—' aa of necessity, almost wholly introverted. In- i The raw elements of every human excellence deed, she was one of those instances of ade- were in him in rich abundance, and in great quaieness, fiir the severest trials and highest du-' confusion, too; but in Elizabeih they hod crys- lies, ny. tbr the noblest styles of life, wliere lalized imo the most efficient forms and moat the intellect is only moderate, but the harmony perfect beauty; forall of icxiure thai was want- and richness ofthe moral nature supplies it ing in her parental blood waa supplied to her by with inspiration, giving it range and strength her mate'rnal grandfather, who wag an unmiii- and certitude, quite beyond its own independent gated Scotchman. ' capabilities.    Three  centuries ago, there  were
With his beggar's complement of children, ^ peers of England who could neither read nor and general unthrifiiness of character. Tommy write; and the highfeat fame in all ihe ample was, of course, poor to the very verge of deati round of his'oric greatness beloygs lo a man, lution. He had grown sleady,—that is, sober, i who in speculative ph'.losophy and general liter- —lately, ond he waa not lazy; but it waa aa! aiure was neither proficient nor remarkable for much  because  his  heahh had   failed, nni age   hia capability.
waa beginning 10 stiffen the machinery, as from Elizabeth knew everything that her life de- any principle, that he was amending in his hab-   manded, ihough she had learned so Uttle.   She
ble parts of the circuit ¦ health of '
¦ n I, T. ^^'^ especially for tho • x:-u ^r°^l^"'^'^'-^'^"." ihePresid- mg Elder, and of Brother Sandford. the elo ,,quent young preacher, that ia the present a^ony among church-gossips,-a 11 uttered in tones of unimpeachable meekness and pleasing melody touched with the fllight abstractedness of a del vout spirit,—let me introduce you as -vvell as 1 can to her cousin Elizabeth; whom Nancy's pres¬ ence has corered and shadowed until the laat
foolish old father and his noble daughter- There waathatinhi^.Udi.by looking for it. one drmie ?"¦''''"'^"-"'"Slmgandsteadier OS 'but T " "•?¦" '^'^ *^^^^ "-« °nd high- had'd"'t"'°^^'^E in the settling, had produced metead-an Irishman.-which take It. as a rule, is nearer ,o a natural  noble
man, and yet furiher from a rea^nn„M    i
.1 . ,.       '^^'isonable  hewe.
than any other variety of the human race
The difference in resulto between these two persons was ao great that thoy never actually touched, even at ihe borders; yet an intrinsic re semblance could be traced in every fibre of their respec'ive constitutions.
Tommy could get lipay occasionally, lalknon- sense mixed up wiih poetry and lime, and brag like a jockey about everything that in any way concerned him. He wag, moreover, incapable in business, unsteady in labor, and given to sub- Biitute the aeiiiiment of duty ror ita practice, and to content himself wilh fine speeches in place of' noble actiona; all wilhout a shade of hypocrisy, for he waa in fact so proud of what he waa and BO ready with reasona atid apologies for all that
It must be allowed, also, that he was feel ing Elizabeth's influence with steadily-increas¬ ing force. There was dignity wiih its incident authority in her deportment; not of the impos¬ ing kii.d, nor by any moans directly and dis- lincily shown and felt; it was more like that en¬ ergy of gentleness which shapes iha bone to the brain's steady pressure, the frame work of the chest to ihe resiliency of the lungs and heart, the viial power that in the lenderesi ffower-stolk pierces and mellows to conformity the hardes( cold.
The very poor are unapt to respect each other or to rcj;ard, amid the rude familiarities of their daily intercourse, the noblest qualities. Nor, indeed, is it easy for them to discover ihem in (he coarse dressof circumsiances which poverty imposes. Ah! it isihe hitterestof Poverty's ten ihousand curses, that it denies the conditions of decorous association and refining intercourse; that it prevents that discipline which habitual proprieties ol demeanor only can enforce, and destroys all pure and healthful self-respect, by the undignified and delicate prrsonal relations which it compels. And it is uttering a volume of commendation in a word, when I say that Elizabeth had conquered her father's refractori¬ ness, and secured (rom him a deference which almost inverted the Irish order of domestic life. Five years before, when she atiached herself to the church, the very chureh which had ex¬ pelled liim, he drove her wilh violence from the house, with aa great indignation as if she had stained his name and honor with the deepest shame. A weary, wretched year she endured the exile, earning her support by labors lighter, indeed, upon her hands than the ;ask she had performed at home, but heavier upon her heart; for she could do nothing for that large famiiy that needed her now every day, more and more, in every office which a woman can fulfil lo a household of small children in great need. The mother was whal the coumry people called "a doloss creature," and the sister, next in age to Elizabeth, was delicate in heahh, and too fee¬ ble in character for the service. The weight that lay heaviest upon her heart, were half a dozen of liltle sisters, as beauiiiul as birds, want¬ ing, most of all things, the governance and cul¬ ture of an elder sister's nursing love and control¬ ling prudence. They were crowded there to- geiher, like a heard of orphans in an almshouse, exposed to their father's petulance, and lo each other's selfishness and tempera, and suffering many things, besides, which childhood cannot suffer without having the very fountain? of it? life poisoned by the deprivations ; and, all with¬ out the mediation of that wise, good hear, which was aching in its exile, to render its self- sacrificing services. There were frettinga and fightings there, tears and turmoils, injuries in¬ flicted and endured, and with all, and above all, the absence every hour felt, by the hourly re¬ curring need, of the ministering angcl of the household. Especially through the long, gloomy winter, the days, and weeks, and months wore wearily away in lhat wretched cabin. All suf¬ fered the penahy of the father's pride ; but fionc so keenly aa himaelf, for to him tt brought all the privation, wilh the sin and folly added. But he would not yield lo tiic constraint he felt, and the necessities he witnessed; because it would have been in such circumstances, not o reconciliation, but a surrender; and, the reiTac- lory old fool would dash the teara out of his eyes, with the pretense that it was paasion, and not sorrow that moved them ; and with an oath refuse her permission to return. At last, when things had become intolerable; half a dozen children and the mother sick ; the whole house¬ hold suffering, and the faiher at Iiis wit's end ; ahe bravely forced her way inio ihe wretched hovel. It required a little more resolution than ihe old man could musier, to make resistance and he silently and sullenly submitted. It was enough; she waa installed again, and ahe had returned strong m purpose, and very rich in re¬ sources for the exigency,
A year's experience, a larger sphere of thought and broader observation, had done wonders upon her earnest character. It seemed natural enough that she should be a little strange for a few days after her return; moreover, she waa atill under ban, though the banishment was remitted; and these things together served to explain her difference of manner and general demeanour to her father, and old familiars, and to protect her peculiariiy from impertinent re¬ mark.
She left them before her religious enthusiasm had time and opportunity to seitle imo form, and take the habitual direction ot her conduct. Residence among strangers, wiih its modicum of leisure and privacy, had invested her with her proper individualism ; and the severe disci¬ pline of mind and feeling undergone had work¬ ed its permanent results into the texture of her mc.ital consiitniion, which waa remarkable at once for its aptness and tenacity. The control¬ ling quality of Elizabeth's mind was, very plain¬ ly, in its intense rcligiuiis devotedness. which, m her, not only sublimed, but strengthened her natural atfeciioiis, held ilicm well and wisely lo their office,and gave v, ihc simplest duly which had anything of sacrifice iu it, the tone and de¬ termination of a sacred obligation.
Her ideal of a religious life is, in the phrase of her church creed, called sanctificaiion, per¬ fect love, or Christian perfection. This concep- lion waa her standard. The instant aspirations of her]ieart were for angel purity and excel¬ lence. Her understanding, in its enthusiam, rejected the logical mnnceuvring, by which the requirements of the highest law are reconciled to habitual delinquencies of life; nay, she fell weakness iiself like a crime. Her meekness bore withoui apology the burden of her offen¬ ces ; and, self-justification on the ground of not- ural infirmity of nature, would have felt to her the very boldness of on appeal from the law of conduct prescribed for her by her Divine Eath- cr. The soul held in such a frame, grew and gushed like the flowers and fountains under the kindliest influences of heaven. In iho calm of her holy reveries, blessing lay like dew upon her offecijons, and in its exultant moment, the Divine Presence flooded her whole being with its lighi and life, like a sunburst on a mountain top. It needed only a clear insight, to perceive that her essential life was '• hid wilh Christ in God ;" that there was a constant rapture in the soul under the tranquility of the senses,—a ful¬ ness of the diviner life susiaining a level of per¬ petual calmness on ihe surface, which the for¬ ces of the outward and accidental had no power to disiurb. This supremacy of tho central, took nothing from ihe wanted energy of the love ahe owed to the worid without; il rather adjust¬ ed, steiidied, and supplied them with a reoreat- ing strength, a constant freshness and untiring patience. If her fadh and fervour bordered on fanaticism in sentiment, they neveriheless, in all the verities of use, flowed like life blood through her moral eysiem, feeding with vhal force all the faculties which perform the benign offices of love nnd duty. A deep peace ruled her apirit, and wove its quiei into all the solici¬ tudes which she ausiaineJ for others ; and holy rest within, compensated and repaired the waste of toil wilhout.
She held herself aloof from the coarse com¬ panionship around her, without offence, for it waa seen lhat she had no leisure for idle courie- siea ; and the restraints which occupation would not account for, were credited to her devotional habits. Besides, however strange it may seem, with all her dignity, beauty, and efficiency, she was not GspecioJly attractive to (ho undiscerning boors about her. Her riddle waa quite beyond Iheir reading; andher charms were not in direct fliray to their apprehensions ; for, in all ita pro portiona, that saying of the apostle has accurate application, that "spiritual things are spiritual ly discerned," and not otherwise. She waaqui- ct consiitu.ionally, more so slill by the high oc cupationof heriboufihta; and ahe was, besidea, really not eloquent in words, nor copiously fur¬ nished with thoughts and utterance for conver- sational uses. Her eariy education had been aadly neglected by that improvident father of
could not work miracles in the domestic econo- my-of the burdensome household.. She knew how to rule without usurpation, where authori¬ ty rather required her to obey ; and the younger inmates, refractory to all other force, yielded to the charm of her goodness, and tho mixture of gentleness, steadiness, and address which she had the grace and patience to employ. A juit analysis of her agency in that family, would make an excellent treatise upon domestic con¬ duct, though ahe would probably have been bolh silent and incapable in a discuaaion of the prin- ciples and policy of her system.
Her mind and feelinga, more than any other that I ever knew, found their manifestation in action, duty, practice; and less in utterance and social demonstration. Her reaerve, indeed, seemed like an incapacity, and its rigidness scarcely cscoped the censure of her kindest friends. Nothing could draw her from thai everlasting loom, except some household duly, No visit paid there seemed to include her in its courtesies or idleness. If a direct question in¬ terrupted the ffying shuttle, and her hand paus¬ ed a moment in its office, it was only for the in¬ terval required by the shortest answer that could be made in kindness and cordialiiy. The thread of her w'cb resumed its race oa quickly as the urgency of interrogation would allow, and her patience under persecuting complaisance was even equal to her perseverance ; but few as there were who understood it, or the proprieties which it exacted, there were still fewer who could raise the liardihood lotest forbearance very severely. Her steady manner settled it wilhout appeal; for it really gave no offence and left no dissaiisfac tion. She was busy wiih a warrant, and the vis¬ iter always made her apology, so as lo.teave the pleasure of the call marred by no feeling but the sense of hia own loss.
J have seen but few women who sat aa well al the piano, and when she had a fine linen web io the loom, and tbe weather allowed ol open doora,clear air and summer neatness in the array of the cabin furniture, nothing could be more becoming than her occupation.
It was not monotonous; for her face was full of thoughtful light and changeful feeling. Her perfect gracefutnesa of motion and simple ele¬ gance of form, her felt airengih and quiet beau¬ ty, which, withcut challenging admiration, gave deep, pure pleasure, preserved an air ot nalural- tiess to the picture which allowed it lo glide un¬ questioned into the spectator's feelings.
Thus I found her and her surroundings when I called occasionally as a visiter; but, when I went profcEsionally to sec the children jn their liiilc illnesses, difficult as order waa in such cir cumatanccs, the whole feeling of the scene was changed by the effect of her changed attitude.— She stood foremost then, the mind that took the direction of affairs ; her manner iniimaiing the highest qualities, and her whole action impress¬ ing me with feeling, that she was my equal and something more, e.Tcept in my professional of¬ fice. In a ihousand women I have met none hose mental sympathies nnd intuitions felt firmer and broader than did that rustic girl's.
After a year's occasional intercourse, but more than occaaional interest in her, the relentless severity of her toil and unrelaxing strain of her mental excitation, conspiring with the recur¬ rence of the epidtmic season and an utusually Tfet auinmn, broke down her airongth, ned I was summoned to her bedside, by her faithful old friend and servant, Brown, witb a rap on tho window of my shanty, I know not how long after midnight.
" Doctor, you're wanted badly at Tommy Barton's. Elizabeth is down, I'm afeard, with the fever; and she wouldn't lel me trouble you till, I doubt, we've waited almost loo long ; but, I hope not."
" Why, Brown, is lhat yoit ? Are you alooj ? Il must be pitch-dark on ihe ridge just now."
" Yes ; I had no horse ; and I'd rather walk such a night as this than ride, anyhow. I don't know how you'll get along in the woods, Doc¬ tor !"
" Don't bother your brains about lhat, Brown. Old Barney will find his way across ihe ridge for me, as soon as 1 turn him into the track, by the sense he has in hia toe-nails, if it is as dark as Egypt. There is a good fire in my office ; you can find a plank in the floor soft enough for you to sleep on and you may eat my breakfast lor mo in ihe morning, and get home at your leisure by daylight.'
In len minutes I waa mounted, and Barney and I were swinging down the valley road, with such confidence ond alacrity as nothing animal or human can feel, in the deep darkneas of a star¬ less night, except a country physician and his horse. But, I must not indulge in iho rehearsal of a night ride along the mountain foot, the fre¬ quent fording of the volley stream, and the thick palpable blackness of the ridge before me.— What of it ? My faithful horse had the sirengih of a steam engine, and the elastic action of a leopard. Ah! we understand circh other per¬ fectly ; and, while I adjusted myself in the sad¬ dle, and he took in hia first long breath to ease the girths and prepare for his first playful spring I could feel lhat his heart swelled lo welcome the sympathetic pressure of my knees. And when in the silence and vastnees of the night, I danced ia Ibo stirrupa for very joy. the little diflTiculiies and shadowy dangers of the pathway served on¬ ly to frame in the dream, and define it into fact and give iia enjoyment firmer reality and finer edgodness. Why, bless your cautious indol- ence. I was but twenty-two, and had not lost a single patient in six monlhs' full practice! ] was in love wiih nature nnd all the world jusi (hen ; for I had convalesced from my lost attack, wilh the trouble all gone, and the tenderness alt left, swecl and fresh ; and waa just hovering on the verge of another and deeper passion, with¬ out exactly knowing or fearing it. So, hurrah for the night, the mountains, and the sky of heaven, ihat I touch now in the vibrations of these stooping clouds!
'* Ho, Barney ! step a little gingerly ; my hat is down, but it wasn't your fault, my fine follow; and that blow of the bough in my leelh closes the conversaiion with nJ] oui-of-doora for the rest of the ride-" And so, sealing inio ihc proprieties of iho occasion, I ride a little more warily, and soon reach the livulet, find a hitch, ing place for my horse, near the stile, and the cabin door ia reached with a spring or two, by the light flashing from all ita windows, and showing the agitation of its inmates. • * • Ay, fever it is, and a ferocious one. It has set in with such a storm of general disturbance, lhat my best judgment cannot predict the re¬ sult. I see it all, all but the issue. A long des¬ perate Biruggle—weeks of baiile between this vigorous Hfe-force and the avenger of the much- wronged organism. Elizabeth ! tho very glory of thy beauty is upon ihee now. Smitten, aa the swooping mountain wind dashes down upon a sleeping valley lake, arousing its billows into answering madness; and, with the lerror of the eiorm, too, this liberated life has come; for there is desolation in the wake of all its grand commotion! Dreary, dismal, chill and hope¬ less, the winter that may follow ; and the flow- era of the coming spring—how aad, in tlieir fresh gaiety, will they bloom to mo, if they shed their sweetness on thy grave !
Such were my sensations under the first shock of the threatening gymptoma. The flushed check and flashing eyes; tht; nervous energy, bordering upon delirium; the throbbing, wiry pulse, and burning heat, crisping over all that snowy purity of complexion;—all these arrayed against tho roused restatance of that noble con¬ stitution, unfolded like a battle-chart to my aiariled apprehension. And the grouping ofthe anxioua family, which always has its force in medical prognosia; the father, with his look ofl fear and helpleaaneea, breaking into teara and tendernesaea, ao unusual with him; the mother, looking that complete break-down wretchedness which she felt; Mary, busying herself with nursing duties, which she is inventing to crowd out the thickening ihoughta of danger; and the children,, with eager alarm in their little faces, peeptnfitfrom under cover in,every, corner that
such whirling thoughts, becomes! ond how much depends, to the patienl, family, and phy- dician, upon the impresaionaof that first fronting with the malady ! Its inlcnsity must be broken by a movement of professional authority, and hearts got relief in the activity of the hands, or mischief will follow that cai.not be repaired.
" Bring me some waler, Mary, freah from ihe spring—a large bowl full and a thick towel for her pillow. We must sponge her head and hands, liU the excessive heat ia well reduced ; and, Mary, bring her a tumbler, lipping full, to drink, too."
"Oh, thank you, blesa you. Doctor; I'm burning with ihis thirst and fever! All day long the water in the spring-run has been rip¬ pling jus: beyond my reach—the sound of its dropping falla like blows upon my ear; it boils upon my hot tongue; and ihe stream of it fills and seethes my very brain. It runs away be iween my spread fingers, when I try to dip it up, and it bursts out into a flame as soon as it touches my hot lips. Oh, give me "some cool, fresh, sweet water, and let me rest, for I'm so weary; and—and—I have so much to do when I waken."
¦' The trouble on her mind is for us, as it al¬ ways is," groaned out the father; "and she's just killed wiih labor. I wish it waa myself thoi wos lying there, and as well prepared, for I'm no use now ; and she'll be hard to spare in this desolate family. She has kept us together, with hard struggling, many a long day, and I thought she would be spared to us, and then we would hardly want any thing else in life. Must we lose her. Doctor, dear, do you ihink?"
" J^ose her ! No, it is iihpossible. It is not in the harmony of things. Wc love her aa well, and need her more, than the angels do; and we'll hold her here with a heart-atrengih that will not fail us. Fear nothing, believe and wait."
My own prophecy did but little to assure me; but fear answered oa well when hope foiled, and without bating a jot of efibrt. I gave her such skill of medicine and nursing, as head and heart could furnish for nineteen days and nights ; do¬ ing double duty with half rest, in order to dia- iribute evon justice to my other paiienis, and watch for the changes that I feared in her case. How silU my heart stood at that cottage door-; step, when I made my visits- in the night, while I paused to catch, by the well-known s'gus of i the sick-room, how the patient waa aupposed to be by her attendants, before the courage could be summoned to meet the facts in all their cer¬ tainty- And when, day after day, the same changeless stupor hung upon her brain, the same hot pestilence rioted through her frame, till she lay a wreck upon the fever surges that were slowly wasting her,—oh, what questionings of my own competency; what doubifulnesa nf my profession's truth and usefulness ; what prayer and wrestling with the Power that held the is¬ sues of her life, for deliverance from the impend¬ ing danger!
At Inst, one fine November morning, when faith and hope, and even affection, had worn weak by their own exhausting tension, and "the suspense, grown into a habit, held our hearts in a mechanical, steady stupor, suddenly the clouds broke, and ihe heavens and eanh smiled out wilh joy "gain, like the waking of a summer morning after rain. The crisis was past, ond she was given back to ns. and we s,it down together like children, and played with our recovered blessing, ay wiih a new toy, given by a loving parent on the morning of a holiday.
Critical itincsi often work other changes in the patient, besides ihe various physical phases of their progress—chonges that become perma¬ nent in the habits of feeling and character of thought. These discovered tbemselvea in Eliz¬ abeth, during her convalescence, by a happy consciousness of all ihe interest ihot we feh, and a gaily frank acceptance of the services which we rendered her. No weight of work and duty lay heavy upon her heart now, and her affections flowed out rich, gcniol, and gener ous, without check or censure from an over se vere sanciiy of spiiit. Afle.>A"onatc tenderness flowing in upon her for the first lime in her hard life, had its natural eff*ect j her mental tension nnd strictly ruled emotions lost their strained resistance under the influ.x of loving kindness.— The rigid habitude uf devotedness and seli-sac- rifice was rcla.xed by bodily feebleness, and her present feolsng of relcaso from carefulness for oihers; mid, her long-checked affections opened broad and bright, like the flowersof a late spring in the first full flood of sunshine.    •
It was about ihe third day after tho happy turn, when the hope of her recovery felt well aa- sujed, thai I was first impressed with these thoughis about her. Mary had succeeded in thoroughly dressing her luxuri-ini hair; the bed, made up in the tone of the new hopefulness, was snowy while in iis orray of fine domestic linen, manufactured by Elizabeth's own hands the year before ; and ;i pink gingham bed-gown, which I recoiinizcd as an old acquainiance doing a new duty, lent its delicately.relieving lints to the exquisite fairness and fineness of her pure ' complexion, still ico pole from her recent illness. | The windows were open to the genial air, the! sun-light lay mellow upon her pi'low, and a| smile of holy sweetness upon her face. We stood in the conscious communion of her inmost life, and saw the real as in a vision, and felt the true, us it were a dream. The imagination hod iliere maleriala for its brighiest faniasies ; but there was a soul wiihin, and a simplicity of fact beneaih this transfigured life, ihat might stand the ordeal of the hardest-baked philosophy. I marked the fact that she had now first awaken¬ ed to the full consciousness of her own loveli¬ ness. Its proper joy gave iis light to her eye, and ii3 melody to her voice, that morning, just as Ihe breezes, birds, and rivulets breathed, and sang, and smiled om the gladness and glory of their own beauty. The severe resirainia of her girlhood, which had garnered wliile the} repress¬ ed her life's natural outflow, now gave way un¬ der ihc new impulse. The reverent tenderness of those whom she most loved had fonnd occa¬ sion in her illness for auch manifestation, that she could teel, withoui ihe abatement of self- reproof, her own real worth, and a divine bles-: sing in the sense of it. It rested Hke a crown upon her natural nobleness, converting lhat cot lagc into a very presence-chamber; and the bed» and beauty which rested on it, seemed an altar with its nngel. It came to me like a religion^ and lent a lasting beauty to my life—an abiding sense of the sacrednessof pure womanhood.
That winter I had devoted to the compleiion of my tollegiaie term of study. Three precious weeks of the session had gone by, while I lin¬ gered with Elizabeth ; for I could not leave her till her health was certainly re-established ; and I may, perhaps, as well confess (hat I was in no special hurry to take my own discharge. After all, it waa only one of ihe professors, whom I cared very much about losing for ihc first month ofthe course, and so 1 took a liiile more time than in strictness might have sufficed for prepa¬ ration for departure.
Returning from the country town one evening, two daya before the morning fixed for leaving for ihe city, a furious atorm of wind and rain drove me for ahclier into the farm-houae of a friend and sometime patient, where I waa delighted to find the Rev. Mr. Ashleigh staying for ihe night. He had been absent from the circuit for a month or more, on a visit home. Hia brother had died, and left him guardian of two young children, whose care had a little while detained him.— His greetings wcro unusually earnest and impres¬ sive ; they made mc know that he had some thing to say to me in trust, or ihat I could do aomeihing for him- We had not been friends before, exacily, but near enough to it, to become 90 through the sympathies ot the first scrape thai either of us might loll into. A private interview was impossible, for ibe rain kept ua in the house, and the family wouldn't miss a word of the conversation of the Preacher and Doctor, or leave ns o moment alone, for the world. They were too polite and respectful for that I And ae il rained on severely till neariy bedtime, I ogrced to slay with them.
That night wo occupied the same bed. Two hours, full, ho talked, as Ifelt, abooieverything but the master on hand, until I grew wcary.and withal solicitous to know what exactly was the matter wiih the fellow. At midnight the sky cleared, and a bright moon burst gloriously out; its light fell full upon my face, ilirough the win¬ dow ; I marked it, and turning toward him, jocu¬ larly said: " Brother George, did you ever walk out alono, on a fine night, to talk to the moon, and when you met her face to face, didn't know what to say to her, eh?"
His whole manner changed ; hia fine face fill¬ ed full of high emotion ; he rose upon one elbow, and laid hia other hand upon my heart; tbrlliing with the appalling meaning of its; touch, and
looking steadily and largely into my eyea, he j said, alowly and impressively: " Doctor, do you know Elizabeth Barton?" His look held the question where his words had put it, with such j impressment, that I lay still under iis Jmpoaing i eameainess, iill it was hard to make my anawer ' fittiiigly. My mind monteuvred for a moment or two, for an escape, but ii wouldn't do; " tho iruth. the whole truih, and nothing but the truth," was the demand, and in all plainness it rose spontaneously, and I could only touch it as it passed my lips, with a relieving ahade ofhu- [.mour.
"Know her! my dear fellow; know her! why, I don'i know anybody else."
He fell back upon his pillow, as if he had fainted. This brought mc to my elbow, to gaze in turn into hia face. He hid it with hia hand, and whispered slowly: "Wait a moment and I'll tell you"
" That'a you," said I; " unbuckle your bud¬ get freely, and let me look over your nssonment I'm reody for anything that you have on hand ; eapecialJy, anyihing about Elizabeth." My gaiety relieved him ; and rising again, quite as earnest, but not quiie so awful as before, he aaid in tones as mellow as pity for himself could make them, I
" Docior. I love that girl to desperation." " Whew: whew '."
" Hear me, Doctor, do hear me; I know what I am saying. It is as true as heaven, it is (he only live truth lelt \n me. I love her aa never man loved woman before. What shall I do ? " "Do—do—you superlative simpleton! why, get up this moment, go saddle your horse, gal¬ lop over the ridge* kick the door down, throw yourself at her feel, tell her you love her, wiih your face set to the same expression that you have told me ; and if she dont accept you on the spot, lake your boarding, or lall sick, and stay till she does. Now, my poor fellow, He down and cry, and you'll feel better. I'll 'sit up with you until the crisis is past.' There—there—on your own side, please ! you're smothering me ! and more than that, Toby Myers will hear you bawling out; I heard him turn in his bed just now ; he'll be up here directly, if you don't be¬ have, nnd then I'll have to tell some capital lie for you, about the nightmare, to account for ihia blubbering. Come, do behave yourself, will you ? "
In a few minutea he reined up and carried himself ateadily, and then he lold me how he had been impressed by his first aight of her; how he kept thinking about her; how he preach¬ ed an entire sermon lo her, soon afterwards, and how, after a Ihile while, he could acarcely preach at all, becauae she was present with her earnest eyes fixed so steadily and cooly on him: how ht called as often as he t:ould invent occasion, at her father's ; and how incessantly ihat overiast- ing loom went on with its work ; how many ef¬ fort's be hod made to gain some conversation whh her, and how completely he was always baffled by her busy occupation, and her reserved demeanor, until he felt worried out of his fife with disappointment and unceriainty. " Uncertainly," said X, " what about ? " " What about! " he answered sharply, almost angrily ; " what about! why, Docior, what do I know about her? Can she read and write ? I'm hardly sure that she con talk. Do you know that I am a gentleman ; or must I tell you? And more than that, • I am not ijuite a fool, either.— My family ia fashionable ; I am wealthy,—and I cannot marry an uneducated wife,—a womon that I musi blush for, lill I grow ashamed even to love her.    Oh Lord ! what shall I do ? "
" Do, I'll tell you what co do. Just hold your i tongue lill ycu hear me ; and then hold it after¬ wards till you lell your siory to Elizabeih'and j hear what she has to say ; for you have not wit enough now to lake care of yourself."
"That's iiol very hard to say, I reckon, for it hasn't to be felt first," was his reply. Then pausing for five minutes, he added slowly, and as he thought, very resolutely, " I'll do nothing more about it, I must go home again in Janua¬ ry to attend to business, and fhere he drew the clothes tight about his alionlders like a man de¬ termined to sleep,) I'll not be sent back to this penitentiary circuit again, I suppose ; so, if I can forget ber, ahe ia dropt, that's all. But, if the good Lord thinks otherwise, why, I suppose it will be brought about somehow. Let me see— you start for the city in a day or two. Of courae. you think it safe to leave her. And, maybe, I shall never see either of yon again. Cod blesa you Doctor, I'm glad and ihonkftil thai you are her friend."
Anoiher long silence, and he turned up upon his elbow again. " See here, my dear brother Docior: you are in love with fliiss M. Now, I don't ask your confidence—I don't want it; but tell me just one thing. If you marry Miss M., and I inerc to marry Elizabeth, would your wife viaii mine, there in that old cabin, among those looms and pota, and rikety old chairs, and, i don't know wliai all i"
This brought me to my elbow decidedly ; and thrtisiing him down upon hi^ pillow, and laying my shut fist upon his breast, instead of an oath, I answered him with a ring of the real metol of my meaning in every word : " If she wouldn't, she shouldn't live with me, that's all;—so please don't make a special fool of yourself,"
The poor fellow's eye moistened, his face softened iulo a happy smile, and laying his open palms upon my temples, he whispered, "The good Lord blessyou;" de.aining every word as it passed his lips, to give it all the earn- set ter.dcrness that was welling up from his full heart.
The next morning, I inferred ihat he had slept as I did ; he looked so fresh and happy. I wait¬ ed for breakfast fur the sake of his company homeward, and I noticed that Miss Myers mel¬ lowed her voice and looked more womanly than usual when sho spoke to him, at the table— Something had turned within him that tele¬ graphed itself to her instincts, and made him benuliful exceedingly thai morning. I knew it,—he had got his own consent, nnd given free wing to his idolatry ; he had, in a sense com¬ mitied himself lo Elizabeth, by opening his heart to her friend, ond the poor fellow of yes¬ terday, waa rich now in the unchecked over¬ flowing of his own soul.
But, wasn't I fidgety and foolish ; didn't I «/- /nosl tell something that nobody could under¬ stand, when next day I visited Elizabeth? — Wasn't I provoked that ahe wouldn't knew aiic was queen of a new found world, and wduldn'i echo all my exultations obout—nothing at all. when it came to be staled in clear terms ? And didn't I neariy swear her to a promise not tc work lhat winter in my absence, but read ond write, and visit my sweetheart and her friends, and get well nnd strong against the next spring, when I should return to set her free from my amhoriiy ? Moreover, wasn't I so glad of ev erything, and so full of robust rejoicing, thet I rudely stole a kiss, and felt particularly awk¬ ward when I discovered that I could have it willingly, and that much the better, in the pres¬ ence of the whole world ? And—and-then I turned away as a tear of gratitude and blessing glistened in her eye, blurring the laat look she should have of me for many months, wiih all the shadow of life's risks thrown over the pros¬ pective absence. I had my reward ; I waa paid for all that I had done and suffered in one moment—I .¦^tood clear in the apprehension of one pure, noble soul; the angel-life within me was atirred and realized in her recognition, and I knew again that the divine ia true, and that the highest and brightest is the moat real. But the conditions of the outward life were upon me; devotional joy quickly resolved itself into gladness of nerve and heart, and Barney won¬ dered what waa the matter with me, I thought, by his plunging and blowing before he had climbed lo tho top of the rough ridge. By the time he got into my secret, as usual, I waa qui¬ et, and rational, and orderly ogoin. A horae may bear a burden that will lift bis service into ihe fellowship of a grateful sympathy. Poor fellow, he soothed mo in many a moody hour ; he understood mo,—and I love his memory now. By this time my readers are beginning to like me, 1 fear, and in ihat proportion, lo withdraw their interest from the principals of my story. I will indulge ihe generous sentiment wilh a word only. My letters came to me during the aca- sion to ihe very hour. I found them every Sat¬ urday morning upon my plate at the breakfast table, where my good old land-lady persist¬ ed in placing them, to have the pleasure of the explosion, whicli I could not learn to master when I found them wiih tho right post mark and image on the seal. So the studies at the college, and the preity girls at my boarding house, did me no mischief, and I got along liie a young bear, or a man with a wheelbarrow— my troubles all &(/orcmc. The winter was a severe one, the snows deep, and the roads in the valley desperate ; and I heard scarcely anything about Elizabeth, e.xcept that she was "doing ; well."
Ofall the  days in the year, it was St. Pnt igarda than such as beciime OUT church connec       ^'   .   .    ,      ... ^,-   .    , rick's day in the morning, that I was  wakened | tion, improbabilities would have  checked me    ,      ^°^ T^?^ "^^   Ehzabcth say, Ashleigh, af- from the absorption of my own afi-aire, lo a re- j but I did not.   Mr. Ashleigh (reaching outher     ! I? ^°''*, " '
newed interest in ihe events of my atory, by re-, hand to him), T tell vou, truly that I do nof  • ,   ,       ^^   ^'°'' ^''''''^^ ^'" '"•^' '""'•^ '^"¦' ^"
ished, and sot astonished nnd speccblpbs  tin 1
An hour after she
ceivinga brief note from Elizabeth inviting me to her wedding, and conveying Mr. Ashleigb'a request that I t.ould stand groomsman for him, with my own sweetheart, who wos to play bridesmaid to her. Thia was all tempting enough, but ihe session had not closed, and it wos impossible. I was obliged lo do as the court¬ ly iMr. Dapper did, when it suited his business to leave church bg^rn rfie servioc had tfommenc*- ed,—send my " car*with regrets " to the altar- The day after I arrived ot home, 1 crossed the ridge by the old route to see the "new married pair." It may seem odd, but the thing did not feel quite so like a romance, now that it wos settled and consummated, as it did the last time I travelled thai same road. It was all over, like a ball or a battle, and the hopes and an.xieties so inleresling while the plot was opening, were re placed now by those commonplace ceriainiies, which belong alike to oil new marriages, shar¬ pened and deepened, indeed, in this case, by the apeculaiion.s of curiosity and the feeling.tjof friendship which specially belonged to it.
How il had been brought about waa yei a se¬ cret to me; but the route has usually lust it; chief interest by the lime the rendezvous is reached. This feeling came down upon me like mountain mist aa I crossed the hill again, in cir- cumstancea eo much altered to all the parties in¬ volved in my story ; and when I mei the happy couple in the cabin, with all its furniture and conditions, and tlieir own manner and relations changed so greatly for the belter; and, especial¬ ly Elizabeth, in a new altitude which severed the old relations, and broke up the dependence upon myself, which had grown so familiar to me, and so pleasant, I confess, my enthusiasm flattened oui a little. There she was before me in full health, her lace more beauiiful even than ever, but of a different style of beauty ; her rich chesnut hair had been shorn in iier con¬ valescence to prevent its loss, and was now confined by a cap that helped to mark the tran¬ sition from the rustic maiden to the married lady, whh the most exquisite grace and fullness. Her new character, wiih oil its claims finely aa- serted, aai upon her aa easy aa if she had been "to the manner born;" and I felt the improve¬ ment, but I felt the difference, too, and I believe ' I checked my first greeting in mid volley, and changed it somewhat sharply into the proprieiiea of the new order affairs. Instead of ihe cnperg and confidences that I had promis d myself in the consummation, we conversed and then dined, actually dined, in tliat same old cabin, ina way that 1 thought none of ua were exactly accus¬ tomed to. Tbe fashion of it wasn't Philndephin, nor waa it Virginia, and, I'm sure it was not nny nearer Tommy Barton's style, than it wasioeiih er of the others. It was a sort of a compromise of the three, and so an immense improvemcni upon the past, but, without iis natural relish. I didn't quite want the old order rcsiored agoin, but I missed it.',
Could I have been a Utile mean and selfish, because, with all my red generosity, it was ve. ry pleasant lo ploy patron to a very pretty girl, —because my occupation, wiih i:5 pride and cir¬ cumstance, was, like Oihello's, gone.—and, be¬ cauae, I was of no real consequencp lo anybody there, and hod only to be thanked, and disi-harg- ed from office, ond, maybe, patronized bcsidea. at the next turn afiaira might take in our respec. live fortunes/ Heigh-ho I it really i.t more blessed to give than to receive ; and, lo be drifted i^ito an eddy, while the current that we rode so grandly on, drifts by without us. makes it a liltle difliicult to be liberal in sympathy with the dash¬ ing waves thai leave us by the way.
Mr. Ashleigh had been married almost a month, and he looked already :i.s if it were quite ,
0 settled mailer with Iiiin. He ."poke to his' wife .-IS politely as if thirteen children, a couple ] of old folks, and a younggenileman with a sharp eye in his head, were not lo be laken deep into the connubial confidences. I ihoughi he did not fully believe in my profound respect for every¬ body and everihing that surrounded him, and I was tor a moment shabby enough lo hope it was nothing worse even than that.    But no inniter—
1 had business over the ridge a iiitlc earii^r and more urgent than I hnd ihougbt of uniil now, and was about shaking iiands respeci fully, when Elizabeth, the Elizabeth of my memory, peeped out of the new Mrs. Ashleigh, and asked me for*"' a word in private I gave her my h.ind,—wc walked to the spring-head, a few paces from the houae, and quickly found ourselves all right again.
Turning to me, she said, " Dot:!or. I owe you, along wilho/A<T/Ai7iir.t, a bill for medical aiicnd- ance."
" If you do, Elizabeth, you will have to owc it, along with the other ihing*. and p.iy it in the same way."
"I'm glad and ihanktul to iiave it so," she answered, in a manner full of beauty ; " 1 do not wish to owe you less, to lake one grain's weight of my debt from my m/^mury or nffhct ion.'', but [ thought il due to Mr. Ashleigli to renew it in his name, if you would not let me p:iy it.— ' We will be separated soon ; we may never meet again, and I wish all your recollections of mc to be happy as ihey can be ; and I cheerfully re¬ main your debtor, that tho clink of money may not seem to cancel any bond between iis. (iod bless you, Doctor!"
She took my hand, and stood f^jt amouiont in rapt devotion, aa I hnd seen her before under triah and in triumphs, and 1 felt its iniliicnce, —its hallowing iuHueuce,—like a new baptism. Then, changing her whole manner, i-he aaid lightly " Doctor, I'm very happy,—it is all right,—I havo uot a word tn siiy that you uocd to know. Your warmest wi-shcs for me are more than fulfilled ; be sure of this. But, did you know that Cousin Nancy was not ut our wedding .-"
" No."
" You must ask my husbaml for the reason He will tell you—I c.iuuot. There, ho is get¬ ting out hia horse to go with you, I suppose,— What a talk you will have! 1 shall be along with you, in fancy, and overhear every word. Oh! I wouldn't miss your part of it for the world; especially, the sight of your face, which I shall have by my own inaigiit, in a place or two in the story that I know of Good-bye.— You will be with us tomorrow. We dine with Misa M .•'
We were scarcely mounted, when Ashleigh looked at me, just as he did on the morning af ter our moonlight bed scene. Like his wife, he thought and felt much more than his face usually confessed, and, like her. when hia heart opened, tho revealment was full and absolute. The road was narrow; but we di.l not want a wide one. He seized my hand, ond gave me a look, that begun with a pleasant, cunning, self- congratulating meaning, which soon sobered down into deeply-earnest feeling, then rose again into tbo tone of a guy triumph, ami burst out, finally, into l.iughter, which set every nerve in hi.s body to d.-iDciog in it.-i oirn glad¬ ness.
There needed no introduction,and thcro was no danger of impertinences in bis atory. He began natur.illy, just where I left him, and went on, only lightly now gaily, with hia diffi¬ culty of getting access to hia sweetheart's pres¬ ence. He tried every way but the right one, until, when there was no other left, he discov- ered that.and then hia troubles were well over. He asked her to walk with him up the valley, having something to commuuic.tte, he said, which greatly concerned himself; and thoy were immediately on their way, and out of ear¬ shot of all the world. Ho h.id learned the ne¬ cessity of directness by the failure of all his Uttle dodges, and he had crossed the Kuhicon himself, and felt the overncas of his position. Hia words were few, but full. 'Ihey needed no explanation, and they left no doubt. And when he had opened hia heart, and emptied it utterly before her, he tul-ned, and asked her if she could love him. She answered him will: equal candour and directness : "Mr. Ashleigh I do not love you. I have never thought of such a thing. I have esteemed you as a preach¬ er; and, as a man, too, when that point has presented itself, I have sufficiently admired you; but I saw you were a man of good birth and gentle breeding, good talents nnd educa¬ tion, with the world open to you, by virtue of yonr social position,and, perhaps, wealth; for even the signs of that were not nil concealed under your careful modesty of manner. Am I right about your circumstances:" said she, pausing for a reply.
" Yea, Elizabeth," he answered, "I am what 70U would call rich."
Well," she resumed, "I knew all this; and, ^ if I had thought of giving you any other re-
hand to him), T tell you, truly, that I do not
love ynu.   It is anew feeling to me    Perhaps,)].,-,,^   ,
I do not very well understand it; nor. will you '     ''"' '" '''''''' ^''''''-
expect it to come liko a ready answer toa short
question."
Good!Uood!"lflhouted. "Whata glorious girl! What a world of genius in lier simple truthfulness!   IVhat did you say to that, Ash-
Icig\?;'
,'^ByHoit? just hold still, and you shall hear. Of course, you can't guess; for you didn't see her face, at a moment, nor read its meaning, as J did. Ab, my dear Doctor! it was worth living all one'fl lifetime, and abetter life than mine, to witness that transfiguration of perfect womanhood! I wonder if she is not sometimes literally inspired! * Well,' I answer ed: 'you do not love me, Elizabeth, but could you not.'' I waited long enough toreaditall in her fiice, and then it came in words.
" Mr. Ashleigh, it is iu my heart to love you, for you are very noble; aa this world goes, more than noble, generous, without a p.irallel. And, air, I am tvhal 1 am; not unworthy oi the love you offer me, nor incapable of return¬ ing it. I can marry you without a fear Nowj leave me, please ; I wish to be alone.
" And so did I," he added, musingly ; " it seemed as if eternity hnd opened lo me; and I wanted to be alone in the universe with my emotions."'
A long pauao followed, which I felt; for his band, nnd eye. and voice helped tne to under¬ stand it. He resumed : •' Enough of that.— Vou understand ii, or will, when you get big enough. We have reached the spot in the road, which I wish you to mark particularly, for it concerns yourself more than anybody else, I believe."
"You recollect," he began, "our talk that night at Toby Myers's. "Well, whether our friend Nancy got Jn gossip there, or guessed her way to all she diacovcrcd, I don't know ; but it was not longaftcrl knewmy own secret, that she had it very fully. Ofcourse, she no¬ ticed my visits to the glen, and f had paid but few of them, after my return from home in February, till she knew uU they meant. One day I was coming over, and she knew if, and contrived to have me overtake her near tbe top of the hill. Supposing that she was com¬ ing down to her uncle's, I, of coul¦sc,diamo^Ult- e(l, and, leading 1113' horse by the bridle, walk¬ ed beside her, 1 didn't like her, and I didn't like that she should be in my road where 1 ivas going, either ; but 1 must lie polite and hear it.
"Wc walked on, I in the mood that you may guess, and she occupied and .agitated in a fash¬ ion that was decidedly alarming. Her man¬ ner wft.s more than usually impressive, touch¬ ed with a little more of that soft sediictivcnod= which Coarse people use to humbug venbinl ones, than was common with her. Sometimt^:. she fell suddenly silent, witli nn air of trou¬ bled .absLractednoss, from which slic would rouse boraelf with a sort of inipnssiont-'d reck¬ lessness, which would soon give place again to a turn of tenderness, that, alijgetlier, m.adt tin nbje.ct of me, and shook my nerves into a dtate that put me at her mercy.
" When she talked, it was in her style ol glowing eloquence, with, 1 thought, increased concentrativcnesa of conception and ntienincc She W!is, in short, inspired with a.strong pur¬ pose, nnd T caught it hy contagion. I didn't know what it meant, nor whither tending ; but I was feeling and believing something great or terrible in advance, and was prepared for the fuct or fancy, when it should come
came tome, nnd aaid : "George, I have poured out my thanks to Heaven, and I come to blea^ you, that you did not in :my manner mention this to me before our marriage; fori never could have fulfilled my engagement with you.
?»^«ti ^"Ji^Si^ ^"^^S*^'^ "r* between us. AgrflnSie promise is^i^ed to mc, ' l/pon all thy glory there shall be a defence"
The solution is cisy, N.mcy had wakened up witb a surprise, to ficd the Hevcrcmt Mr Ashleigh, a splendid preacher, n gentleman of rank and fortune, in love with her poor cou¬ sin! poor, in a sense, to Nancy, that took all^ tbe pity out of it; a spiritless, meek beauty, unconscious of Iier availabilities in the market, and .stupidly devoted to silence, sacrifice and duty. To be undermined, and, in some sense, defrauded. )>y ^o simple a sheep of the flock. was almost incrcilible, but it wag not the Ic:^s certain. And counting upon Mr. Ashleigh.-) softness, by thesame rule which had already mi.'^judgod l:;iizabeth, her jdot was iidjusted. with great skill tothe caao, and as well exe- cutwl.
But, the devil would be only a fofd in hea¬ ven, and wouhl fail to make the angels misun¬ derstand each other, whatever other succcs.i his villanicg might meet with ; for the fniih of n pure heart " tries the spirits," ami <lijicerni vital truth by its own instinct.
E M L. E N   F ja A N K L I N,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
Office ill  South  Dul-e Street,   nearly opposif
the Farmers Bai'l,
l,mica*t**r, .N.>v -Jt; .Vj
ISAAC N. ELLMAKER, ATTOUXEY   AT   LAW,
Lancaster, Pa.    Office with T.  K.
HIKSTKJI. K.-i]. nearly oppo.'^itL- Ili-init^hS hrui^
Stori? Ka-vt, King Strt-.-i. March 19 l.-l.',
OR. S. WELCBBAIVJS,
OFFICE—In Kramph's Building,
.VORTHK.-v.ST  CyiJNKR OF
Orange and XortU Quecu Sts.,
LA'Sr.ASTVM.VA. ,Inly 30 ly-:;.^
D. HARRINGTON, Dentist, riioM nnL.M)Ki.i-iir.\.
ITAVING located himself in Ihiy .JL cily. ri-.-iiutirully on.T-< liU urulit^^irjiial EtTvicvs
pul.lk",
li'i-i- ])i-r,'*'Mifl wjio may nft kii'''^" him liy rcputa-
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Iln- hij:lie^t. Miuro-.^ the city r.f riiii;.Jfl[.hi.i c;.n fur-
ll, viz : Krom I'rofi-.v^or.-; in tin- ibr-L- |>r)'icipal .^ItU-
1   iJoll-m-,^  .lu.liiort fjf   iJoiirts,  ..\tn.rii.'ys   at Law,
iTi'-iilciits   fif   M-v-Tal  Collr-^if^. .Mt.-Jicnl   s<!ntlf;men.
Ktl'vuh-'u and .\lt,-rffh«nt';.
(IfliL-.'-tNiriK-r of Oran^^L-.-in'i North Q.i!-jlu *t=., fr.r ii-rly r,rciipii-(l Ijy Dr. Kv.in-;. Dciiti-t. KL-t.trL-Dci'i iu tbi.s ricy Ili-v. br, Bowmiiii,
A. MuhkMib.-r(;.
Tho:i
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ON AVEDNESDAY EyE^IX(; .M:.\T, tli<- -Jl.-^t in.-t . .-It 111"   llytc! c.I J.,Iiii .Mi
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£iui-i-ii Stroi:t. I,.iiici -ors of Columbia T{:inkjind Rridgo Stock New Uoll:m-.l Turnpike Comp'y St-jck L,anc;is:ur,  Mount joy,   Eliz:iberIiioivn and Middlelown Turnpike i?i"eh M.mor Turnpike .Stock. L;inca:<ter Bank Stock.
¦> riniun.?!!'-" .-it T o'cloi-li in the '¦v»iii-- t--Jt-7| A   W   I!US-<i:i. ki.d
I.ANCASTEK BANK STOCK.
ONE  Ilundi-etl Shares  of Stock ill ll.c ],;ui;-;i>l.r Uauk. fur -n\f ut   loin  to   ^ui!
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she know it. She;^topped suddenly, nud turn-} ^\ rn.Mi'A.s v —i.i-^t < ed full upon me; looking, I confess grandly,— ft little toograndly, to be sure, but still it over¬ came inc. Besides, she had taken advantage of the ground, and so had me in all respects just right for her purposes.
" • Brother Ashleigh,' saiii she, with a niea- suied earnestness that made my heart beat, 'you love Elizabeth, I know it; nor do I wonder that it is so Slie is an angel of beauly and goodnos.s, I know her, as a ivoman only can know anothor ; and I declare foyou that I never knew Iier equal in every excellence ol heart nnd life. Jler chiMhood wns purer, 1 believe, than any other, and she Ik«.s Uvod n sinless life, if ever humnn soul did, oh I .she has borne the selfishness, the very sins of oth¬ ers, like a saint: she has iiorne injno, till 1 feel bumbled boliii-o her. And if slie had luit an ciinal intellect, an eiiualsliarpncs> nnd stvcngtli of umlcrstnii'liug for her own ilcfencc, shv would be the very parngon of tlic world : an-l. alas! would be ns h.-ippy now as i^he is goo'I and beautiful.'
"Here she sioppel, and looked mc so pity¬ ingly in the face that i Jield my breath with tear. She ^-.iw it: and, clasping ber Imnd.-i up¬ on her bosom, she turned her face toward hea¬ ven, with all her passions vrorking into pmyer in it, till it grew grand, and almo.^t beautiful I sec her face now ; I could paint it at a d:ish. if I were a p.iinter; I couM stifk it in thi.' inist here us plain and palpable as life.— Wherever I look I soo it: it repeats itself, like- masks in a fiincy dance, wherever my cyi turn.-; The pearly tear ihatglisteua so grace fully in her eye was upon duty, lookiug like :i iireat rain-drop upon a leaf, with the sun bia? ing ou Jt,~all but the innocency. An impri*.- sive moment she stood, wrapt in a seeming ag ony of supplication ; then her face c.mie down again from its high; pitch to the tone of pity She hcsitatetl ;—-admirably the Iic-ii.'itioii was done:—she trembled,—tlie saint sank in the woman;—she bent her head upon my shouUlers, and subbc.l out till 1 sliiuMercd— Then slie roused herself, dashing the tears out of Iht eyes, and spoke f[uiek, nnd nlinoi-t pas¬ sionately :—
*" Ui-otlier Ashleigh, the Ooetor urgt-d (hi^¦ cngngeraont; be used all his art of persuasion, all his power, upon your noble confidence : an'! he .abused your trust. U'hilc he seemed only to answer your wishes, he in fact started thciii in your feelings. I know it must have been HO, or you couUl not liave been so horribly de¬ ceived,' "
"Well.'" said I, turning my hor.sc giiuart across the road, imd clutching his by themano, " Well r
" Well, then she dropped her head again, and seemed really convulsed with grief. Her tears rained upon my shoulder, and ' My poor, poor, ruined cousin ! my good, augcl cousin! my heart's sister !' seemed to wrench lier ve¬ ry life out in the utterance. A momeni's si¬ lence, strong shudder, and it came. Turnint: quickly from mo, she stood dronpingly, while she said, in the deepest tones oi grief at;d ahamc : * Ilcr beauty led him inio j^in,nnd he must find some one to marry Iicr, for he wiis himself cngngcd, and could not;' and with a bound, she dashed dowu the liillside, anl was hid from mc in the thicket."
" Ashleigh 1"
" Doctor !"
I believe 1 did as much hard swearing as might serve a pirate for a voyage, in tho ue.\t thirty seconds. I saw the wretch's picture as plainly tis Ashleigh now, awhile before, ami |,. there seemed to me but one word in Ungtish profane enough to name it by,— that word wa? Nnnuy.    It was .an oath to me for years after.
When I looked round iie.xt my friend wns just iu sight, 1 waited for him, and, when ho join¬ ed mc, he was huiuming a hymn tunc, long metre, very solemnly.
" Have you any more refreshing entertaiu- ment for me, Mr. Ashleigh.'*' said I;" there U a relish about that last tit-bit that gives mc an appetite. Why, what a gem of u gipsy wc have among us! That girl ought not, to be' thrown awiiy ujion trillcs ; sho iafit to plot for! a kingdom. Among tho fools aud scoundrels of the great world, sho would make a figure- But, tell me what you thought, and .'^aid, anil did about it. Your first thought, first,—I'm curious."
" My thoughts! I believe I did no thinking of any kind for an hour. .My soul stood still, liko a frozen cataract. I passt-d ihc night in a very quiet sort of stupor. The mere mechan- ism of the mind carries on one's life pretty well, you know; and in the morniug I simply told Elizabeth that Nancy must not be invited to our wedding. That waa all. And I never paid a word about it to her till last week, when sho urged me for my reason for the re¬ quest."
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TWO   I.AKGE   MAUBLE LIO.V.S,
IN' FilOXT 01-'
KOWELVS NEW MARBLE WOKK'S, North Queeu Street.
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