Lancaster Examiner and Herald

              VGLXLIY.
LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY, JANUAEY 19, 1870.
NO. 10.
KXAMIKTEB A:  HEBAXD.
PTTBLISHED EVEE7 WEDNESBDAT, At HO. 4 HcTth Queen Street, lanoaitar.Ft
T£R:>ES—82.00 A TEAJl IN ADVAKGE.
JOHN A. HIESTAND & E. M. KLINE, Editors nnd Proprietors.
IN SCHOOL-DAYS.
SLllI sits tho school-house hy the road,
Araggetl beggar suunlm;; Around it still f.e sumach's iirow.
And Elaclcberry vines are running:.
Within, the master's desk Is seen, Deep scarred l>y raps olllclal;
Tlie warping floor, llic battered seats. The jack-knife's carved initial:
Tho clmrcoal frescoes on its wall;
ILs door's worn sill, betrayin.i; The feet that. croeptuR slow lo school,
Went htornilns out lo plnyinj;,
T^ons: years afjo a winter sun
.^h'oneorer itat setting; Lit np its wcjstern window panes.
And low eaves' ley fretting.
Tt touched the tangled golden curls.
And brown e.ves Tull of grlfVlns, or one who still her steps delayed.
AVheu all tlie school were leaving.
For near lier stood the little l>oy.
Her childlsli favor RhiKled; His cap pulled down upon a face
Where pride and sliaine wero mlnsl*?'!-
Poshinsiwlth restless feetjthc snow To rl-ihtand left, he lln;;ered ;—
As resilossly her tiny hands Tne bluc-checked upron lln<;cred.
lie saw her lift hor eyes; he felt tfhe sotMiand's ll^^lit caiv<:sln^.
And heard tbetreniideof her vtdce, As If n fanlt confessiUB.
"I'm Koriy that I spelt the word;
J Imlc to go above you. Hecanso"—llie bniwu eyes lower fell—
" IJecause, yon see, I love you I"
Slill memory to a -jr-iv-liaired man Thai sweet ehlUl-race Ls showing ;
Dear girl I ihe j;r.asse* on hor grave Have forty years been growiug!
Ifc lives to learn, in life's hard school.
ITow few who pass above hini Laiuent their triumph and Their loss.
Like her,—becauset hey love hiui.
MOTIVES.
A J,.VY SERMO.N'.
" Wiicn any great desi:;n thou dost intend. Thlulc of the nieatus. tile inauuernnd tlieend."
How many people are there, who practicalJg believe that motives qualiry, aud give character to nets'? Wo linow there are very iiiaiiy wlio profe^&ctUy believe it, but the tjiiestion is, do they practiuallij believe if.' ' Well, but,' aslisoiie, 'u-liati-s pr.actieal beJief'i" Wc vill endeavor to answer the query, for it is a rational oue, and one which every bodj' does not ^o to tlie trouble of mak¬ ing. Yonj)7'o/c.vs a belief iu Revelation, aud iu the subliine maxims enjoiueil therein. Yougetilown upon your linees and penitently and piously say "For¬ give us our tresspasses as we forgive tliosc wlio tre.spass against us," and then you get up and act tis: unforgiving as you diii hefore you repeated the peti¬ tion. Tliat, is not a 2yractical belief in tlie prayer. Or you say, " Thy will be done, as it is done in heaven so also upon the earth," and then you go forth, sternly intent upon executing your own self-will. Neither is that a, practical belief. Again, you professedly believe in the Golden Jlute, " Whatsoever yc would that moil should do uuto you, do ye even so unto them," and then you go immediately and do as tliey do unto you, and not n.s you would they shouhl do. These illustrations of lip- belief are evidently not heart-beliefs, aud therefore i\ol2iractical beliefs; and having a lucid conception of what a thing is not, we may, by inductive rea¬ soning, arrive at a just conclusion of what it is.
These views may be practically ap¬ plied to all our moiires of action iu this life; for it is not sullicient for us to profess to helie%-e tliat they givcquality to those actions, but we must really Hve as if wc believed it. There are many people—more 1 ween than are willing to acknowledge it—who believe that "actions .=))eak for themselves," without regard to the motives which prompt those actions. This is a great falaey—even if po2)uIar—tlie more pop- ultir, the more fallacious and damaging it is. Wliat, for instance, would be tliought of tlie motives of a man who had rescued a virtuous female I'loni a conflagration or a flood, only that he miglit have au opportunity of mining her afterwards'? ."jurely such an action ¦would not sjieak creditably for itself. Even if the act had been prompted by the external motive of rescuing a liu¬ man being from impeuiling death or peril; still, if a sellisli or sensual grati- lication was at the bottom of it as an ultimate, it would give the direct lie to a pure and disiuterested motive.
There is great obtusety pervading society, in regard to the motives wliich give cliaracter to the acts of its various members. JIany jieople never reflect upon the quality of their owu motives, aud never scan them in others. Even if an act results in a benefaction, or a positive good to thecommunity, if such good is contrary to what its executor intended, the very good which others experience, will be an evil, if not a hell I to him, because his motives were sellish or impure. A rigid self-examination ¦will sometimes reveal a liidcous aspect of our motives; nevertheless, this is essentially the lirst ^jraeWcai step we can take to eflect their puriflcation. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right .spirit within me," will furnish a stall* lo steady our steps. Well, but, says one, "If 1 contribute liberally to the support of the religious and benevolent ins itutions of my country, aud those contributions inure to the physical and moral welfare of the recipients of them, surely I atn per¬ forming a gooil that will be placed to my credit in the "Lamb's Book of Life." Ouly so far as 3'ou have been influeuced by really charitable and dis¬ interested motives. Otherwise you may make a blurred record in your own iJooio/i7/c,whicli willappearin judg¬ ment against you, but it will never tind its record in tho Lamb's Booh of Life. Saint Paul thoroughly understood all this, and plainly wrote of it eighteen hundred years ago. "Aud though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give tny body to be burn¬ ed, and have not charity, it profltcth me nothing."
Charity then consisLs in somelliing more than merely external giving,—it is at the bottom of, and anterior to the giviug, aud constitutes the proper j)io- tires, from which lo give. Charity is simply unselfish, unadulterated, aud practical goodness, and these are the constituent principles of true motives; and where such motives give a color¬ ing and a quality to actions, no matter how much they may conflict with the sentiments of the profane, the selfish, and the wordly, they will yield nu in¬ ward peace totho.se who are the sub¬ jects of them.
There is very little profit iu looking for examples of motives, in "high life," to govern the cnndnct of the lowly. Profitable instruction is nearer lionie than that. I have just been leading a paragraph in a local paper, in refer¬ ence to alleged briberies in tlie ca.se of Presiiieut Johnson's impeachment trial, in which it is said amoug other things, tliat a Senator returned a bribe of .S3I),- OOO, "as he had become convinceil that to vote for acquittal would ruin his political prospects." There aro doubt¬ less .some people—perhaps more than ¦we arc aware of—who may regard this as a projier motive, if not a very high one, in refusing such a temiiting bribe. In an only ordinarily moral view, it is an exceedingly sellish one, if notavery shabby one, and ought to consign a man to almost as deep au infamy, as if he had taken the brilie, anil voted ac¬ cordingly. In his view, according to the language quoted, we may infer, that his own moral status was nothing, the welfare and the honorof bis countrv ¦U'as nothing, Imt " Ms oK-n political prospects," were everything. It is prosuraed that he has never learned that all maimer of evils and crimes should be shunned because they are sins against Ood, and not merely on account of political or worldly disad¬ vantage or disgrace. Tliereare degrees of quality iu motives, but anj'thins short of the foregoing, is not a true christian motive.
Jlotives are the motor or moving power of the human mind, and it is dillloulttoconceive an act, done in free¬ dom, that is destitute of a motive, al¬ though the actor himself may not have an intelligent conception of thequality of the motor powerof the act. AVauton, careless, thoughtless people do not care to dive down so deep into the origin of their actions as to develop or discover the true motives which have influenced them in acting. It may be that there are some people so listless and indiflTer- ent, that U can almost be said they act without a motive, but such persons must occupy some of the lower strata Df the animal kingdom, ¦where the sub¬
jects of them strongly verge towards the Tegetable, and where the individ¬ uality of sex is obliterated, iJnd you designate them by the name of things.' If it is possible for a sane man to act without a motive, that man must pos¬ sess an element of character which is •capable of a greater degredation than he ¦who acts from impure or wicked mo¬ tives- becauseofacold,callous and flxed mental or moral status, which never could be shocked or moved by its own atrocity. There is more hope for the mail who can smite his breast and say —"God he merciful to me, a sinner," than there is for him who self-aserip- tively says—"Thank God, I am not as other men."
Perhaps tliere is no sphere of hu¬ man thought aud .ictiou, which ex¬ hibits more lair.ontahle evidences of corrupt or selfish motives, thau tho political sphere, where it is coveted as an occupation. And that sphere will never he purified and ils odors rendered fragrant, until that Inqipy lime arrives, when iu reality the " Oilicc sliall seek the man, and not man tlieofUce." This maxiiu is deeply significant, although it h.ts become hackneyed, and often gro.ssly perverted.
[But perhaps the politician is not any more at fault for the course he pursues, than the people who encouragu and support him iu it. Here is an illiter¬ ate, coar,-e, vulgar man, reveling in wealth, sinister iu all his motives, aud receiving the adulation aud homage of the world, while his neighbor, pos.-cssed of education, refinement, aud boundless philanthropy, is almost without the necessaries of life. Cunning rogues suc¬ ceed in business or professional employ¬ ments, when honest aud deserving men fail. The highest offices in the .State may he tilled by unscrupulous intrig¬ uers, while modest merit is neglected aud passed by. We nitiy well be inilig- nant at tbe spectacle, but before it will disappear from our view, something more etl'ectual than iioliiical or social agitations, or even' legi.shuions, will have to be resorted to. We ourselves must cease to smile upon the prosper¬ ous, only because they are prosperous, and allow ourselves to be made the tools of the ambitious. We must destroy iu ourselves those iustincU of selfishness, and those evil motives, or ciuIh, which are now used to Bucli advantages by skillful self-seekers. When the whole peoiile deinand virtue, intelligence and ability in their governors tlicy wiil get them ; and that they do not have them now, is a proof that they really do not want them ! Tliere can be no general reform, apart from the reform of every element of which the common moss is made up. Each man must take hiiu.self ia hand aud correct Ihe evils lying witliin his owu control, hefore the ag- great evils of jiolitics will be rctiched. Citizens must give their votes aud their political infiuence it) accordance with the dictates of true patriotism, and wilh- imt regard to partizanship, and their own private and personal interests. Ncetiugs, and speeches, aud agitalions, and law-making will accomplish little or nothing, so long as the outer life and conduct of the people arc influenced by base, selfish, sensuou:!, aud corrupt inner motives.]
It may not tie witliin the province of human criticism to exercise an intelli¬ gent and charitable judgment in regard to the motives which inlluence particu¬ lar individuals in their outward actions, unless they become manifest through unmistakable corroborative testimony, or by their own voluntary confessions. The motives of some men lie so deeply hidden in the inner chambers of their minds, tbat it is almost impossible for an ordinary intellect to divine them, and lieuce, we should he careful to "Judge uot, lest we be judired," or if we rfo judge, to " Judge righteous judg¬ ment." But if our conceptions of mo¬ tives are to receive a color from what is said of each othpr by politicians them¬ selves, within their own political fam¬ ilies, we may safely conclude that the motives of many of them, are most foul, selfi.sh, and corrujit. Tliey, in many cases emit an eflluviatliatisexceedingly nauseous to the nostrils of any pure and disinterested,man. Evil motives are. liowever, not confined to politics and politicians merely. It is feared they pervade every sphere, occupation, pro¬ fession and condition of life. Jlotives determine and give quality alike to the actions of the laborer on the street, the farmer in his field, the mechanic inliis shop, the merchant iu his store, the manufacturer in his mill, the conimer- cialist in liis ship, the doctor in his ofllce, the lawyer in his forum, the min¬ ister in the pulpit, and the judge on the bench; and whatsoever other craft, calling or occupation, intermediately between these, there may be necessary, in making up that human conglome¬ ration, called society, both male and female.
Siuee then there can be no energy, no concentration, and no progress in our actions, either upward or downward, wilhout motives, it behooves us to sufler those onlj- that are pure, unselfish, and elevated, to be thegoveruingprinciples of our lives. But says one, " It is not possible for men to act, iu this life, un- I der a total abnegation of self." Inreply to this, we may he permitted to. say, tliat self-love is the root of lUl the evils wilh which this world has been aftlict- cd from the days of Adam down to the present time; and yet, self-love mtiy not be arbitrarily culpable, under legit¬ imate restrictions, or when it is subor¬ dinated to the love of God and the neighbor; otherwise, it corrupts or perverts our molives as much as impu¬ rity or any other evil does. Legitimate self-love bears correspondentially the same relation to the love of the neigh¬ bor and of God, as a valley does to a hill, aud a hill to a mountain. Of the trine in human love, it is, and ought to be, always essentially the lowest.
What a liappy condition of things there would be in this world, if in all the various phases of society there was less sellisliuess and more disinterested motives, in tlie intercourse of its mem¬ bers.   Selfishness is, however, uot nec¬ essarily an element in the cliaracter of all those who are diflidotit, secluded or seemingly unsocial.   It very often hap¬ pens  that the most alFable, the most social, aud the most seemingly benevo¬ lent, are at the same time the most selfish,   for these very  characteristics may have something beneath them, as a motive, for tbe nccomplishmeiit of a selfish end.   In  Heaven no one acts from self, but all have relerence to the good of others, and in this way all are ministered to.   And although it may seem impossible that men and women should do so on this earth, yet, it is within the experience of many, that the happiest moments they ever had in this life, was when they made an appro.xi- mation to that state of things, in their intercourse with their fellow-men.   Jn proportion to the puMty of tlieir mo¬ tives—even when tbey were mistaken in both  motives and actions—in that proportion,   have    they    experienced ''that inward peace whicli passetli all undeistanding."   It is folly to wait for a spontaneous desire to act from good motives.   That desire can only come through cultivation, whicli   will cost many a fierce struggle with a liost of predominating impulses, lu a contrary direction ; but with proper resolutions, "the virtuous impulse may become the victor."    No  man reaches the lower depths of corruption and fraud atasin- gle plunge.   There may have been a lougprevious preparation, mentally an.1 morally, that was all unseen by mortal eye, during which lie was building his moral structure, williout a foundation, upon the sand, and tlieii, when the deep temptation came, it fell.   .So also, all upward moral jirogress is " little by lit¬ tle," until the foumlation isaolidly laid, and the  super-structure  sul'Sl.aiitially eiecteil.    This cau  all he done if we work, not" alone by our own strength' but by the   power of Him   who   has promised to be within us " both to will and to do." Gkantellve.
THE FADED BIBBOIT.
" It wa.s my heaven's extremest sphere. * The pale which held that lovely dear; ,; My Joy, my grief, my hope, my love.
Did all within this elrcle move.
A narrow compass; and yet there
llwelt all that's Rood, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this ribbon bound.
Taice all the rest the sun goes round."
—iraHei'.
In the course of a long and eventful life I have met with few persons whom I esteemed more highly than B'teileriek Halslon. For many years he was my intimate friend.-;I knew him well, so far,as his character and dispositon were concerned, and can bear willing wit¬ ness to hia high-minded and exem¬ plary course as a Boston merchant of extensive operations, and his intrinsic wortli as a man. And yet his true cliaracter was known to fe>7, and hy many was egrcgiously misunderstooil. Although successful in busiuess, and possessing means to command the lux¬ uries of life, Italstou lived lonely and retired. He was seldom seen in what is known as society. But he possessed a highly cultivated mind, and iu his seclusion from t!ie world books were his favorite companions. Few men were belter read, through the medium of translations, in the classics, or more familiar with the best of English aud French authors and the current liter¬ ature of the day.
Hia favorite amusement was angling, a solitary recreation, to enjoy which he would often, when temporarily relieved from the cares of business, visit the wild regions in the upper part of New Hampsliire, aud bury himself for days and weeks among the sublime scenery and stupendous gorges of the White Woiiutains.
By some genial souls, who lived in the wliirl aud excitement of society; llalaton was looked upon aa a misan¬ thrope. But nothing could be more unjust. He lovod his fellow.men.— Hia heart overflowed with the milk of human kindness. He took an interest in all public improvements. Helooked on the brightest aide of human nature. His charities, liberal and discrimina¬ ting, but not ostenttitious, showed the goodness of his heart and proclaimed a knowledge of the true uses of wealth. By some persons who were familiar with the routine of his bachelor life, and saw how studiously he avoided the world of fashion where woman reigned supreme, he was looked upon as a wo¬ man-hater. But there never lived a man wlio cherislied a deeper respect or more cbivalric devotion for the gentler sex than Frederick Ralston. And why, it was often .isked, did he shun the society of beauliful, gifted, accomplish¬ ed women'? Why did he regard them as objects to be revered, worshiped and loved, yet never to be approached ?
His character was an anomaly, a riddle which no CEdipus conld interpet. Those who knew him well and could appreciate his worth, felt convinced that some serious misfortune or deep disapointment in early life had secretly preved ou his heart, aud without sour- ing'his disposition, leftsaddening traces which even time could not obliterate. One afternoon I called upon him at his lodgings. The door of his library wasojnr; I gently pushed it open and entered ihe room. Ralston was seated at his writing table, hohling in his hand a ribbon, which appeared old, stained and discolored. His eyes were fixed upon this faded strip of silk with a mingled expression of grief and ec- stacy. He might have been taken for a pious monk, gazing ou the sacred relic of some blesseil matyr.
He looked up as I entered the room, and lor a moment seemed slightly em¬ barrassed. He folded the ribbon and carefully deposited it in a box, elabo¬ rately carved aud inlaid with ebony; then, indicating by a gesture a wish tliat I should be seated, he proceeiled
in a calm and deliberate manner tograt- ify the curiosity which must have been strongly expressed in my features, and unfolded the great secert of his life.
There is something truly ennobling in work. It imparts a sense of power; I really pity, more than I despise, silly girls and fine laiiies, who languitlly as¬ sert, and apparently priile themselves upon their ignorance of work. Good heavens! do they know what Ihey miss"? What a wretchedly vacant life they must lead! I would not change places with any one of them for the money of the Rothschilds. For our happiness depends not all upon the money we have, but upon what -wa are and what we do.
We know that we live now—we do not know that we ever lived before-we hope that we shall live again. Let us try to make the bestwecau of ourselves, while we are sure of the chance. Let everything we do be the expression of ourselves. And let us above all things, remember that while it matters very little what we do, it is of the greatest possible importance how we do it.
" You are tiware, my friend, that at an early age I was placetl by my father in the couuting-rootnof oneof the most enterprising and respectable merchants in Boston. By close attention to my iluties and a zealous regard for the in¬ terest of my employer X wou his confi- deuce and esteem. Coining to Bosttni, a stranger, from another State, and lieing of rttiring disposition, lied, dur¬ ing my minority, a quiet life, aud luingleu but little in female society.— And it^is not rem.arkable that I form¬ ed no particular, attachment, or even dreamed of changing my bachelor con¬ ilition, until an incidentoecurredwhich exerted a marked influence on my sub¬ sequent life. Tills seeming indillerence to the charms of woman had its origin not in a cold, callous,, nnstisceptible lieart, but iu a native diffidence, which burdened nie wilh a jiainful restraint when in the presence of those whose all- commanding power and magic influ¬ ence spread sunshine througliout the civilized world.
One morning, while walking along oue of our principal streets in this city, I saw on the oppo.sitc sidewalk ayoung woman whose surjiassing loveliness elided my admiration. Her ligure was faultless,"her movements were the em¬ bodiment of grace, her expressive fea¬ tures, finely chiseled, proclaimed in language which coiihl not be mistaken that in this place dwelt a mind pure, intellectual and refined. Sho was sim¬ ply attired, yet wilh taste and elegance; but of her particular costume I took no note, save of a broad ribbon of rare device and remarkable lieauty, which she wore round her slender waist.
On reaching a corner she crossed over and was advancing ill the direction wliere I stood, like another Cymoti, gazing in wonder on the lovely vision, when a clumsy fellow ou a heavy truck horse came riding down another street, utterly regardless of the litnhsand lives of foot-passengers, and, suddenly turn¬ ing the corner, would have inevitably trampled down and maimed or disfig¬ ured for life this ma=terpieceof nature's handiwork had I not instinctively sprung forward and, regardle.'^s of the risk of serious injury to myself, caught the horse by tlie bridle, and, exerting all my strength, brought him to a stand still with a sudtlen jerk, that threw the rider over the horse's head, sprawling on the pavement. He was fortunately but little iujureil, and after giving vent to his outraged feelings by pouring out cataracts of abuse on me, aud probably restrained from actual violence only by the manifestation of muscular power he had juat witnessed, he again mounted his horse and rode oft'.
But my attention was directed to the bright being to whose rescue from a great danger I had so opportunely has¬ tened. She was startleil al the unex¬ pected incident, and shuddered as she thought of the peril lo which she had been exposed. In tremulous accents she thanked me again audagnin forthe service I had rendered, declaring she was indebted to me for her life, and glailly aecepteii my escort and my arm during tlie short remaining distance to her liome.
On reaching her home she urged me to enter the honse, assuring me that her mother, Jlrs. Leslie, and her brother Walter wouhl welcome me as a frientl for my promptitude and courage in snatching her, at the risk of my own life, from almost certain death. Ilongeti to accept the invitation, but, restrained by a sense of propriety, declined, ami plneing a card in her hand gaveher my promise that I wouid soon call and in¬ quire after her hetdtli.
I left the liou.se bewildered, fascina¬ ted, eusl.tvcd! Aa if touched by the sjiear of Ithuriel, a transformation had been inslantaneoualy eft'eeted iu my feelings and character. I went out tliat morning feeling unusually languid and dull; but now a new world, glorious and blooming as tlie garden of Eden, was spread out before me. I floated in air. I rejoiced that I had not liveil in vain ; that I had done some good thing in my day and generation; and that, haply, a lot was in store for me more radiant and more blissful thuti mortals ever realized or poets ever feigned.
On the evening of llie following day, carefully arranging myself in my mo^st becoming costume, ¦\vith a fluttering heart I left my lodgings to call on the maiden whose charms had exercised such an influence on my feelings. I was received by Margaret Leslie with a grasp of the hand and a smile of wel¬ come which I would not have exchang¬ ed for a monarch's sceptre or a mine of gold. I made the acquaintance of her mother, a woman of intelligence and refinement, and of her brother Walter, who had just completed his studies at Cambridge, but whose pale complexion and languid appearance told a mourn¬ ful tale of aufl'ering from ill health. I was received in the most cordial man¬ ner by all the members of the family, and the service which I had rendered Margaret was greatly magnified, and
acknowledged ¦with the deepest grati¬ tude. And my gratification was com¬ plete when I was assured by Mrs. Leslie that my visits as a friend of the family would not only always be acceptable, but regarded as a favor, and the speak¬ ing smiles of her son ami daughter showed that they gladly indorsed their parent's hospitable invitatiuu.
Margaret Leslie wore that evening as a belt the ribbon which had attracted my attention on the previous day; aud when I left the home of the Leslies aud relurned to my solitary chambers, which for the first time seemed gloomy and uncomfortable, I turned over the leaves of the British Poets until I came to Waller's inimitable lines "On a Girdle." I read them with rapture, aud afterwards repeated them again and again with a depth of feeling which had hitherto been alien to my character. Those lines I have never forgotten. I cau repeal them now."
Aud it was atrange, but deeply inter¬ esting, to listen to this old, misanthrop¬ ic man, wlio was believed by the world to have never experienced one tender emotion, or to have gazed upon a woman with otlier feelings thau indifl'erence, perhaps contempt, repeat with a degree of fervor, as if springing from his very heart-strings, those celebrated slanzaa. He paused for a few moments, as if la¬ boring to suppress some deep feeling, and tlien resumed his narrative—
" A few evenings passed and I called again on the Leslies, and was welconaed Willi that frank, open, unceremonious hospitality which placed me at my ease, on the footing of a valued friend. I found there a cousin of Mrs. Leslie's, Captain Christopher Dalle, master and part owner of the brig Jacqueline, lying at India wharf, nearly ready for sea.— The illness of young Leslie becoming the subject of conversation, and the mother involuntarily betraying anxiety on her son's account, the generous- hearted sailor, after making a few in¬ quiries, remarked with a degree of energy that carried great weight, ' The poor boy is worn down with hard study and want of exercise, cousin Florence. All that is ".iranted to make him strong and hearL.y is a change of scene and the sea air. '. ;.»re is nothing that invigo¬ rates an exi:.iusted system likesuufflug the sea breezes for a succession of weeks or months, and changing luxurious living for rough exercise and saltwater diet. It will not only do Walter good, but all of you, to take a few months' voyage with me across the Atlantic in the Jacqueline. My brig is a fine, com¬ fortable vessel, was formerly a packet between Richmond and New York, and has capital accommodations for passen¬ gers. I am bound on a voyage to Gib- ralter and Malaga, shall be absent only about four months, during the pleasant season of the year, and will engage to return you all before the middle of October safe and sound, in excellent health and every way in good condi¬ tion, especially Walter, who will then, if lam not mistaken, rejoice in the con¬ stitution of a boatswain and the appetite of an albatross.'
Walter's eyes kindled while listening to this bold suggestion of the enthusl- asticCaptain, and he looked inquiringly at Ills mother, but Mrs. Leslie shook her iiead.
'Come, cousin,' continued the friend¬ ly Captain Dalle, ' I know the exact condition of your affairs. I also know the energy of your character. What¬ ever you undertake to do you will do. You can get ready iu a week as well as in a month. It is now Tuesday; I shall call in all likelihood on Thursday of ne.xt week, and will go to work to-mor¬ row morning making preparations to receive you all on hoard on that day. Not a word now,' he added, as JIi's. Leslie was proceeding to demonstrate the impossibility of acting on the Cap¬ tain's suggestion. 'The thing can be done, and must be done. It may be the means of saving Walter's life, and so the Doctor will tell you if his opin¬ ion is worth a rope yarn. Think of it, talk of it, discuss it at every point, and turn it end for end, and I will drop in to-morrow morning aud learn your de¬ cision. It must be in favorof my plan.' Mrs. Leslie smiled incredulously as Captain Dalle rose from his seat and abruptly left the house; but the last argument of the Captain evitlentfy made a strong impression on her mind. Unwilling to be a restraint on conver¬ sation among the members of the fam¬ ily while they were engaged in discuss¬ ing a subject of vital importance to their welfare, asuhject in which I, also, though unknown to them, took a deep interest. I soon followed in the wake of the Captain, fearing, but hardly expecting, that tlie good lady would accede to his strange proposition to start, on a week's notice, witli her daughter and invalid son on a voyage across the Atlantic. Surely, I said to myself, as I slowly took my way to my loilgings, the idea is too absurd, it will uot be entertained for a moment.
But I was wrong in my calculation. Mrs. Leslie, as Captain Dalle iutimated, was a woman of energy and decision. On calling at her house the following evening, I found, to my unspeakable sorrow, that the invitation so frankly given by tlie whole-hearted sailor to embark in the Jacqueline on a trip to the jMediteraneau, had been finally accepted. Mrs. Leslie, on consulting her physician, was firm in the belief that the voyage would restore heatlli to the invalid; and tliere were uo obsta¬ cles which could not by prompt aud vigorous action, be overcome.
'riiis was a severe and unexpected blow. My philosophy was at fault. I railed at Fate for thus spiriting away thia charming girl just iis I hoped to awaken an interest in her heart. In the bustle of preparation for the early de¬ parture of the family I could see Mar¬ garet but seldom; but the moments I passed in her company were truly gol¬ den moments, the most precious of my life. And although at such a time, and on so short an acquaintance, and witli a claim on her gratitude, it would have been worse than folly to have made her an ofier of my hand, I could not alto¬ gether conceal the true nature of my feelings, aud the manner iu wliicli she received my attentions were not such as bade me despair. On the contrary, aided by a strong imagination on my part, it opened to my view a blissful prospect, and led me sometimes to be¬ lieve that my journey through this world, notwithstanding the meddle- .some interference en tbe part of Captain Dalle, would yet becheeredand bright¬ ened aud hallowed by the richest gift which Heaven could bestow.
Time flew by wilh more than light¬ ning speed, aud the brig Jacqueline completed her cargo and was ready to sail. Captain Dalle notified the Leslies of the exact liour when they would be expected on board, and at that hourthe brig was lying alongside the wharf, held by a single fast, in readiness to be cast oil" at a signal from the pilot.
His hardly necessary to say that at the apiiolnted time I also was on the wharf, and handed the Leslies from the carriage, and escorted tliem across the gangway plank, and saw them firmly standing on the deck of the vessel des¬ tined to convey them to unknown scenes, far Irom their pleasant home.
Margaret Leslie neverlookedsolovely and interesting as at that moment, when about for a brief period to bid adieu to her friends and her native land; aud when tbe pilot came on board, and during the confusion inci- dentto.setting the sails and hracingthe yards, carried away by the inteusity of my feelings, I dared whisper in Mar¬ garet's ear my regret at her intended absence, and beg that she would some¬ times think of nie as one wlio took a deep interest in her happiness, an in¬ terest ot a character far nearer and dearer than a mere friend, or even a brother, the blushing girl met my eager gaze and iu a low aud trembling voice remarked: 'When I return, a few months hence, I will listen to all you may have to say. Perhaps you will forget me before that time arrives; in tlie meanwhile farewell, and may (iod have you in Ills holy keeping!'
Ami thus we parted. With a fine ¦\vesterly breeze the Jacqueline started on her voyage. But I lingered on the wharf, und waveil my handkei'cbief as thebrigwith her living treasure swiftly glided Irom my view. I relurned to my lodgings a lonely, solitary man, but my lieart bounded wilh rapture as I dared indulge the consciousness of being loved, and looked forward to an earthly Paradise in the distance, with an aiigel ever by my side.
Thegirdle which spanned the slender waist of Margaret Leslie on the day when I flrst beheld her, and also when I parted from her on the deck of the Jacqueline, in all ils dazzling beauty seemed to be actually before my eyes. I repeated the lines of Waller, but they did not express the fullnessOf my heart. They seemed tame and insipid, and I recited aloud Homer's glowing descrip¬ tion of the cestus which adorned the
Goddess of Love and Beauty and added to her attractions a hundred fold: • In this was every art and every charm. To ¦win tbe wisest nnd the caldest warm: Fond love, the gentle vow. the gay desire. The kind deceit, the still reviving fire. Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs. Silence tliat.spoke,and eloquence of eyes.'
I was madly in love. The arrow of the fabled archer had penetrated the very depths of my soul!     -'
A few months after the Jacqueline left our shores, I was taken as a junior partner into the business concern in which I had labored in a subordinate capacity for nine years. My prospects, in a worldly point of view, were most flattering. I felt myself fairly estab¬ lished in business, Willi a prosperous career before me. I was proud of my position; proud inasmuch as it was fairly earned by unremitting diligence and unwavering iidelity to my employ¬ er; proud and elated wheu I felt that I could now look forward witli confi¬ dence to the time, not far distant, per¬ haps, when I might win and wear on my bosom the Hviug jewel which I coveted.
You may imagine, my friend, with what eagerness 1 scanned the shipping list in the morning papers, and watclieil the items of marine intelligence on ToplifF's bulletin hoard. From these sources, iu due time, I learned that the Jacqueline had touched at Gibralter, after a short and pleasant passage. A week slowly passed, and intelligence was receiveil of tho safe arrival of the brig at Malaga. This welcome news removed froin my mind a heavy bur¬ den. I felt grateful to Providence for extending its protecting power over that vessel during the passage across the Atlantic. AH danger seemed to be over. It hardly occurred to me that perils awaited the Jacqueline, or those who had a home iu her cabin, on the homeward bound passage.
I called on a sister of ilrs. Leslie, and learned that she had received a letter giviug the glad inlbi'mation that tbe ladies had enjoyed Ihe trip exceedingly, and that tbe sea air and sea living, as Captain Dalle had predicted, had prov¬ ed of great benefit to Walter, who, in all probability, would return to Boston in the enjoyment of robust health.
A few weeks passed away, when a short arrival from Gibralter reported that the Jacqueline sailed from Malaga directly for Boston, on the 16th of Sep¬ tember. It was now the 2Gth of Octo¬ ber, consequently her arrival might be looked for at any hour. But a slight cloud came over my hopes when I re¬ flected that the Jacqueline was a fast sailing vessel, in good trim and well found, and Captain Dalle was famous for making short passages. Ihe Jac¬ queline had been out forty daj-s!
Another week glided by, and nothing was beard of tlie brig. A dark spirit whispered in my ear tbatsome disaster had occurred which would cast a shad¬ ow over my future life.
About this time imporlant iutelli- gence from abroad reached our firm, that made it necessary for me to pro¬ ceed with all convenient dispatch to St. Ubes, and a vessel being advertised to sail from Boston in the course of a few days for Lisbon, I engaged a passage for that port. I was reluctant to leave Bos¬ ton at such a critical moment, but could assign no reason for decliuiug the mis¬ sion without revealing my secret, and avowing sentiments aud feelings which no one could appreciate or even under¬ stand. With a heavy heart I made preparations for my departure.
Day after day passed in quick succes- siou, and there was no news of tlie Jac¬ queline! Fifty-five days liad elapsed since the brig was known to have sailed, and a vessel had arrived in Boston from Malaga wliich liad left that port a fort- nightaflerward. Itiahardly necessary to say that I was tortured by the moat gloomy apprehensions.
Still there was another side to the picture, which I occasionally looked at. A vein of head winds, or aome occur¬ rence neither unuaual or alarming, might have lengthened the passage; and at limes I not ouly hoped, hut ac¬ tually believed, that the Jacqueline would soon make her appearance in the harbor, with colors flying, and Marga¬ ret standing near tlie gunwale by tho side of Mrs. Leslie and Walter, her fea¬ tures beaming ¦with smiles and looking witli longing eyes toward the shore.
Under the influence of this feeling I wrote a letter to Jfargaret Leslie, iu wliich I explained tho cause of my temporary absence, tivowed my undy¬ ing attachment, explained my situation in life, aud prospects in tlie future, and earnestly pressed her to share my for¬ tunes, whether in weal or in woe. This letter I put into the hands of a friend, Willi an injunction to deliver it into Margaret's own hands on the arrival of the Jacqueline in port.
I sailed from Boston in the little brig Nonpareil in a state of mind hardly to be envied. My bosom was still agittiteti liy conflicting eniotions, aud if some¬ times 1 indulged in a pleasing dream that, after htiviug successfully, accom- jilished my mission, on ray return to Boston, I sliould find the maiiien I loved at her mother's fireside, blooming and happy, and ready to listen with a smile of encouragement to the story of my affeotion, the vision would suddenly vanish, aud in its place I beheldsceues of peril, sufl'eriug, shipwreclc, aud death!
In a few weeks after my arrival in Lisbon, I received a letter from aconfi- dential friend in Boston conlaining in¬ telligence which added to my anxiety. Tlie Jacqueline had not heen heard from since siie sailed from Malaga, and the owners, who had expected to realize large proflts from her cargo, and the underwriters, indulged in gloomy con¬ jectures respecting her fate—and more especially as il was ascertained that a .severe gale of wind amounting to a hur¬ ricane, had swept over a large belt of the Atlantic, between the latitudes of tliirty-five and forty degrees, about twenty days after Capt. Dalle had sailed from Malaga.
My busiuess in St. Ubes being con¬ cluded I proceeded to Gibralter, wilh a view to complete some mercantile ar¬ rangements and embark iu a vessel bounil to a northern port in tlie United State. While in that city I received anotlier letter from Boston. Nothing had been heard of the missing ves-iel. On 'Change it was generally supposed the brig was lost, and her name was in- cludeil in llie list reported under the gloomy title of 'missing vessels.'
I could no longer cherish hopes of the safety of the brig. She liad doubtle.'3 met with some fatal accident; never¬ theless, it did not necessarily follow that if the Jacqueline was lost all on board had perislied. Even if the brig had foundered in a hurricane, been cap sized in a squall, or run down by a ship in a dark night, Margaret Leslie might still be living. I would not abandon that flatteringliope. She with others might have been rescued by some passing ship bound on a voyage to dis¬ tant seas. They might have escaped in the boats and reached Madeira or tiie Azores, and perhaps even now, after a long and painful detention, were on tlieir passage home in a more fortunate bark to their native land. And when I embarked in the ship Roderick, on my return to Boston, I strove hard to con¬ vince myself that glorious, soul-stirring news was awaiting me in the busy, bustling city to which wo were bound. We had been at sea a fortnight, when, soon after breakfast on the morning of tlie foiirteeiith of February—St. Valen¬ tine's Day—a day which I can never forget, consecrated as it is to the most mournful recollections, as we were sail¬ ing along under a cloud of canvass, with a fine breeze from the northeast, and while Capt. Foster was spinning, for my entertainment, alongyarn about a grampus, which, approaching too near the ship's quarter, lie once harpooned in about those latitudes, a man who iiad been sent aloft to splice a rope in the wake of the foretopsail-yard called out at the top of his voice, " WhkC'K ho!" 'riiis announcement caused quite a seiisation throughout the sliip. The oldest sailors looked grave and anxious, and I asked myself, ' Can this be lite wreck of the Jacqueline?"
'Where away?' shouted the captain from the quarter-deck.'
' About three points on the lee bow,' was the reply.
'AVhatdoesit look like?' asked the captain.
' Like a vessel water-logged, with two lower masts standing.'
Captain Closter immediately ordered the helmsman to keep her oil' three points, and called ou the steward for his spy-glass. The object which had at traded tlie attention of the man at the mast-head was soon visible from the deck, and as we rapidly drew near, the studding sails, royals and topgallant sails were taken in, the courses hauled up, and the ship put in readiness to be hove to, until we could investigate the character and condition of the wreck. It proved to be, as the sailor said, a
vessel water-logged, with the stamps of two lower masts standing, and the wa¬ ter washing across the decks aa she wallowed in the sea. A single glance was enough to show that no living per¬ son could be attached to the wreck.— But as we ranged along, a short dis¬ tance to windward, Capt. Closter order¬ ed the maintopsaii to be laid to the mast, the quarter boat to be lowered, and the first ofilcer, with a crew of four men, to go to the wreck, ascertain its precise condition, and, if possible, the name of the vessel that had met with such a teri-ible misfortune. Impelled by a mingled sense of curiosity, appre¬ hension, and an indescribable monltioQ from some unknown source that the fate of the Jacqueline, so long hidden from the world, was about to be unfolded, I accompanied the mate on his investi¬ gating cruise.
We soon reached the wreck. The sea was rough and there was a heavy swell; nevertheless we ventured alongside.— This still floating hulk was a brig, with her masts broken off below the tops, and a glance at her decks and her de¬ plorable condition told the tale of her disaster as clearly as if it liad been re¬ corded in tbe log-book.
Her decks were slimy, and branch- bills and barnacles had already fastened on her sides. Her bulwarks were gone, even most of the stanchels were broken oft; the galley, spare spars, boats and every movable thing, had been swept away. The top of the companion-way liad been wrenched off, and the hatch¬ ways were open, all going to show that the brig had been struck by a mighty, combining wave, while lying to, or attempting to scud in a furious tempest, and thrown ou her beam ends! Tho conultiou of the unfortunate ves¬ sel was such that uot a doubt could be entertained of tlie entire and sudden destruction of every soul on board at the time of the disaster! ' Poorfellows!' exclaimed the mate, in a tone of deep emotion, as lie cast his eyes along the the deck, 'Lucky for them if their reckoning was well kept, and their yards squared by the lifts and braces!' Was this the brig Jacqueline? Not¬ withstanding the tophamper which was still clinging to her, we dropped under tbe counter, but our endeavors to learn the name of the vessel were fruitless. Once only, when the stern was lifted high out of the water, and the hulk having a strong list to port, we caught a glimpse of the place to which she belonged, which appeared to be ' Bos¬ ton.' Tliere was nothing on the decks calculated to indicate the name. The nature of her cargo could not be ascer¬ tained. She miglit have been lumber- loaded, which would account for her buoyancy, but she was too far to the northwaril and eastward to be bound for the West Indies or South America. She might have been from tlie Medi¬ terranean, with a quantity of cork on board, which would keep her for a while floating on the water. But nothing appeared calculated to furnish tbe slightest clue to the truth. One of tbe sailors said he liad seen the Jacqueline in Gibraltar the year before anil been on board of her, and he was confident this vessel was uot the same. Although the mate attached but little importance to this statement, I blessed the man for the glad tidings and warm¬ ly shook his hand.
We again went alongside to take another and a last look before we re¬ turned to the ship. The water was washing across the decks, and the decks were evidently as slippery as glass, which prevented our going on board. The doors of tlie companion-way, as well as the lid, had been forced away, and just as the mate gave the order to 'pull away for the ship,' I saw some¬ thing like a rag or the shred of a gar¬ ment clinging to one of the lower hinges of the companion-way. It was washed to and fro as tlie wreck rolled in tiie trough of the sea. X saw that it was parti-colored, and my blood coursed rapitlily through my veins as it flashed upon me that tliat floatingahred might reveal the secret of the vessel's name, and whisper a tale which would rob me of every glimpse of hope, and banish peace from my bosom forever.
But I was determined to know my fate. ' Hold on!' I called out in a loud and commanding voice to the men, and as the boat rose to a level witli the plankshear, I leaped on the deck of the floating wreck. As my feet touched the slippery iilauks I fell heavily, aud by a sudden roll of the vessel was thrown to the oilier side of the deck, where I was brought up against a broken stanchel. After regaining my feet, and waiting a moment for the waves to be still, I rushed to the companion-way, seized the object which I sought, jerked it from ils fastenings and sprang into the boat with my prize. It was the zone, tlie Cestus, the girdle, which was wont to compass the sylpii-like form of Jlar- garet Leslie! But its brilliancy had de¬ parted. It was bleached and faded by being ibr months immersed in the salt water.
And where was she who wore it so gracefully, and whose lovliness impart¬ ed a magic charm to every ornament which ilecked her person? Where? And the murmur of the waves as they dashed against and broke over the wreck seemed to repeat in a tone of mockery, ' Where!'
We returned to the ship. The helm was put up, the yards were squared, and all the canvius was again spread. We proceeded on our voyage and arrived safely in Boston. This was the last that was ever seen or heard of the Jacque¬ line. The details of the fatal catastro¬ phe, and fate of the passengers and crew, whetlier they were drowned in their berths at the dead hour of niglit, swept overboard from the decks by an overwhelming wave, or perished mise¬ rably in a vain attempt to save their lives in the boatf, is all a blank, which lias never been filled—a secret whicli will uever be revealed until time shall be no more!
In order in some measure to assuage tny grief, I applied myself closely lo business, and iu a worldly point of view liave been successful far beyond my ex¬ pectations. Nevertheless I have reali¬ zed in its fullest extent the conviction which crossed my mind wheu I recog¬ nized this ribbon on the slippery deck of the Jacqueline, that peace would never more be an inmate of my bosom. Even Time, which often proves a remeily for grief, and has been styled 'the Great Consoler,' has had no sooth¬ ing etlect on my feelings. I often dwell on the picture of happiness which for a moment was ofTered to my view nnd then snatched from my sight forever, rhe form and features of Margaret Les¬ lie are engraven indelibly on my memory. Bometimes, in a bright ec¬ static vision, I see her sitting in the clouds above, covered with a mantle of glory, and beckoning me to join her in the realms of bliss.
It is needless to tell you, my friend, who know me so well, that this ribbon, so faded, and all its original brilliancy and beauty departed, is the most valued treasure I possess on earth. Sooner than lose a shred of this precious memento I would sacrifice all the riches I have acquired during a life devoted to busi¬ ness. I gaze upon it once at least every day of my life. And it is my wish that when I die it shall go witli me to my coffin aud occupy the place nearest my heart."
It is hardly necessary to say that the dearest wish of Frederick Ralston was complied wilh. Within twelve months after the one groat secret of his lite was revealed, all that was earthly of my friend was transported to the shadea of Mount Vernon. I religiously fulfilled his solemn injunction. With my own liands I deposited in the coffin, and nearest his heart—a heart which had tliroblied witli benevolent impulses and tender emotions, to the latest hour of his life—The Faded Ribbon!
MAEEYIHG A WIDOW.
Thirty years old to-day. Could it be possible  tbat I,  Mark Marks, had jumped from my teens so suddenly on to the threshhold of thirty summers?   I asked my mother.
Bhecountedherflngers, naming John, Joe, Charley and Henry,.Maria and Susan, Betsey'and ^Eliza, jerusba and Hannah, Ellen and Sallie, Annie and Julia, Marion and Minnie, and the rest of her small family; finally she said I was thirty years old. This settled the question.
I was unmarried. I had resisted for ten years all matrimonial temptations ; but now, feeling the infirmities of age creeping on, I concluded it would not be an unhealthy thing for me to secure a wife. How to bring this determina¬ tion to asuccessfulconclusion, demand¬ ed my consideration. I pondered and continued to ponder.
Possessing a modest disposition, tlie idea of going about in the society of marriageable girls on a hunting expe¬ dition, didn't suit me. Finally I made up my mind to dodge this difflculty by advertising. Therefore the columns of the Podwick Daily Eagle, one flue morning in Juue, contained the follow¬ ing:
Matui.moniat,.—The advertiser, a young man tweuty-five years old, pre¬ possessing in appearauce, intelligent, of good habits, etc., desires to corres¬ pond with some young lady with a view to forming a matrimonial alliance. Address, and send carte-de-visite to " Anxious Seat, Podwick P. O."
Three days after tlie publication of this I had received seven hundred and fifty replies. I was encouraged. Such generosity assurred me that I wasn't the only person iu the vicinity of Pod¬ wick wlio had a hankering after con¬ jugal felicity.
I opened the letters and devoted two whole days to their perusal. The one that suited me best was enclosed in au envelope surrounded with black lines, an indication that the writer had re¬ cently attended a funeral, which, con¬ sidering the nature of the correspond- edce, was evidence enougli that she didn't allow grief to interfere with any thing that promised consolation. Her uote was as follows : —
"Mr. Anxious Scat:—I notice that you desire to correspond with a 'youug lady ; ' but perhaps you may not wish to iiear from one who, though young, is a widow. I am tweiity-lhree years of age, have an amiable disposition, I be¬ lieve, and as for personal appearance, 1 leave you to judge from the enclosed carte de visile. Should you desire to know me further, please address Julia, EastHaddam."
Her visile was a beauty. Slie struck my fancy exactly. But she was a wid¬ ow. Here was an objection ; yet I con¬ sidered the matter thorougiily, and instead of allowing my predjutiices to run loose, took what 1 conceived to lie a sensible view of it. I rea.soned thus— She's a widow. Being thus, her ap¬ plication is au argument iu support of my resolution to marry. Why? Because she has been married, nnd liked it so well she's willing to marry .ag.ain. Mat¬ rimony, therefore, must betbetruestate of liappiness.
I wrote her a letter, and in due time received a reply. Otherepistles follow¬ ed, and finally,onepleasantafternoon, I found myself in EastH;ddani,in the presence of Mrs. Julia Wilsonburg.
It is sufficient to say that the inter¬ view was mutually agreeable. The young lady ¦was attired in deep mourn¬ ing, which was bo becoming to her complexion that I never once thought of Wilsonburg deceased.
Her politeness was charming.   Her
convei'salional powers were superior,
" Her volee was ever soft.
Gentle and low;  an excellent thing in^v
man;"
her figure natural, not being made to
order, by supplies of whalebone; and,
altogether, your humble servant was
completely alive toller virtues, and if
she had auy faults, was very blind to
them.
I was ready to be married, being so enthusiastically smitten, right "on that line if it took all summer;" but pru¬ dence dictated tliat we hadn't better be in a hurry—folks.would talk about it, etc.—and our decision was to wait a few months, and then settle down in Pod¬ wick togetlier.
Time passed at a remarkably slow gait through the days aud weeks which fol¬ lowed. Christmas atlastcame, aud the day following had been agreed upon for our wedding festivities.
Now I desire to ask the masculine reader who has a wife and babies, if his feelings were anything like mine during the day preceding ills investment of five or ten ilollars in ministerial hand for " services rendereii." It was the most nervous day I ever experienced, and it being the huit of my single-blessedness, did not furnish aa much serenity as many wliich liad passed. Yet my con¬ victions on tiie subject of marriage were not to be shaken. And I may remark liere that it is raj' belief that tbe man who has been on a matrimonial anxious seat for several months, when brought to within a few hours of tile consum¬ mation devoutly wished, has as perfect and clear ad idea of his situatiou as pos¬ sible to human nature— "So clear, so Rlii uiiing. and so evident, That It will glimmer through a blind m.an'6 eyes." The imporlant day and important liour arrived at last, and Mrs. Julia Wilsonburg and Mark Marks, esq., of Podwick, were tied together, so to speak, and set adrift iu this wide world.
At last we found ouaelves engaged in housekeeping, opposite the village green in Podwick.
We had occupied the premises two days, and on tlie evening following re¬ ceived a uumber of calls.
" Mark," .said Julia, beforeany of our visitors arrived, '• I'll wear my green silk to night, I guess. Mr. Wilsonburg thoughtgreen as very bocomingtome." " Anytliing," said I, " that you please;" but I omitted to add, "hang Wilsonburg;" though I had not, by any means, just that moment forgotten the deceased.
Mrs. SnuflTers, aged forty-nine, was our flrst caller.
I greeted her cordially, and introrluc- ed her to my wife—" Mrs. Snullers, Mrs. Marks."
A sign ofmutual recognition followed, attended bv looks of suprise.
" What!" exclaimed Mrs. S., "is this
you, Julia?    I thouglit you  married
iTohn Wilsonburg, of East Haddam."
" So I did, but he has been dead some
time," resiionded Mrs. Marks.
"Has he?" mournfully queried Mrs. S., and she immeiliately turuetl about and surveyed my person.
Great minds run iu the same chan¬ nel, und for that reason, perhaps, I was
the deceased Wilsonburg continually fresh In my thoughts.
I stood it bravely, giving no sign of uneasiness, uutil au incident occurred which appeared to call for some decis¬ ion on my part.
I had heen a parent for three weeks.
The new comer was a boy. "Mark,"  said my  wife  one  day, " what shall we call tbe little fellow?'''
"I don't know; I haven't thought any thing about it. Most any respect¬ able name will do, i suppose.,"
"What do you think of John W'il- sonburg?"
Tills was too much.
I straightened myself up in a digni¬ fied manner, and proceeded to remark : " Madam ! Wilsonburg may liave been a respectable man, for all 1 know. If he had lived, and had become a pa¬ rent, he would liave had a perfect riglit to name his own infant."
Tliis wasn't very strong Language, but it was strong enough to tiring tears from the eyes of Jlrs. Marks, and cause lier to say—
"You are cruel! WilNonburg never talked so to me."
" Wilaoubujgbe-be-be—hanged! He never was a parent."
And then there was a scene—the flrst in our married life-whicli had its continuance at regular intervals, until iMrs. Marks, through irritability and exhaustion, faded like a flower and withered like a leaf. Her last words were—" Bury me by the side of Wil¬ sonburg."
Tlie request was granted.
This occured two years ago. There is to bo another wedding sliortly, after which the hopeful youth who ciills nie daddy, will have an opportunity to di¬ vide his alieetiona.
She who is lo be the bride this time, perhaps it is ivell to remark, hasn't had auy experience in the husband liusi- ness.
I may he promitted to add that I have no prejudice whatever against widows—I like tliem ; but I wouldn't advise any one to marry one unless she furnishes good evidence that she does not carry with her the ghost of her de¬ ceased comrade.
Then again {and it is only fair to say it,) fatidiousmen, if thevmarry widows, should do so wilh the full understand¬ ing that there is a did'eienec between widows and maids, and make up their minds to be always charitable when ne¬ cessity requires.
The beat course to pursue in order to have harmony, is this: ijCt wiilowers marry v.idows ; then, if the latter shall refer to the virturesof thedepartiil, the former may dwell upon the.satne theme, and between both, the dead will receive praise they never druameil nf before "shaking oft' this mortal coil."
A HEMimSCENCE.
It is the old story—a disagreement over some trifiing mailer. We (liflcred ill opinion ; liesaid with aman's sneer, that I took a woman's view of the ease, and that angered me, till presently we were quarrelling, iind the dreadful words escaped me— " I wish eilher j'ou or I wrxn dead." It shocked him; he asked me if I meant it, and I repeated,
" I am sorry we were ever married, and I do from my heart wish one of us was dead." He grew pale.
"It  is time we  parted,  then," he said. " Tho sooner the better," I rejoined. Tlius I took upon liiysclf the double burden of loneliness aud calumny.
My husband went out of the room, never looking back, and left thehouse. I trembled for what I had done. I felt oppressed and loneaonie; but thought he would come back. Music, embroid¬ ery and reading, I tried successively, but failed tn be either amused or inter¬ ested. I dressed myself in my best, and walked through the most popu¬ lous streeis, hoping to meet him; I passed his store, but could uot see hira there. Who would have thought, looking iu my smiling face, that my heart ached? I met my fashionable friends, and accepted an invitation toa party. I consented to be one of a com¬ mittee to raise funds for a cliariiable object.
X went home .sorrowful. Anight of anxiety ensued. Tlie niorrow came; but no iiusband.- Jly sorrow was chang¬ ing to anger. I resolved to go lo his shop; and put my resolution into prac¬ tice. Everyiiody was tliere but tny husband—hia partner waited upon me wilh alacrity. I liought a few trifles, and then asked, wilh as liltle apparent concern as possible, "O, Jlr. Sau uders, where is Charles ?'' He gave me a strange looli; his eyes dilated.
"You must know that he sailed for Europe, yesterday."
How I looked, what I said then, I know not. I seemetl to live an age in a moment—an age of bewildering, liid- eous recollectiou. When 1 came to myself, I wasgraspingtlieeounterwitli both hands. Mr. Saunders held achair and was begging me to be scaled. I shook my head, and in tbe full belief tliat I Wits dying, got into a carriage and was driven home. Calling my servant, on my arrival there, I asked iter if Mr. Warren had been home since the previous morning?
" O, yes, ma'm," she .said, " he came after you went out, and I helped him pack the leather traveling trunk. He said he was called away in a liurry, and tliat was all. Then he had left no word for me. I grew cold; my very teeth chattered,aud I had ouly self-command enough to dismiss the servant. What could they think of it at the store, for of course more than Mr. Sau uders saw how terribly startled and distressed I was. How did they look upon a wife who knew nothing of so important astepon tlie part of her husband? Misery aud I wero companions now. I lost all ill' lerest In my household; my friends flrst condoled with, then deserted me, ou account of my gloomy countenance.— Why I was thus abatuloned wasa mys¬ tery to all but myself. .Sicknessof boily followed sickness of lieart. I had no relations; X had been an ouly child; my parents were bntli dead.
After my recovery from a discouraging illness, I reccivctt ii visit from my hus¬ band's partner. He was a hundsomu man,not even rahldle-aged. and inuc aduiiretl by everybody. His manner was so kind that I was gradually led on lo confide my troubles to liitn. Alius! his coming boded no gooil. He brought the astouiidin.g inleiliiieiicc that my husband had dissolved partnership wilh him—that the business had been carried ou by writing, and througli the medi¬ ation of a friend—and that he knew nolhing of his whereabouts. This was Ireadful tidings to me.   I liad heard uo
thinking of the deceased just at this   word from him—I was not rich in ray
darkest intentions. It was a terrible situation—something worse than rieatli stared me in the face—humiliation, dishouor. I hail no friends; I was a deserted wife. My boarders liad gone, and my scholars were gradually leaving me. My prospects were cheerless in¬ deed, but God was still mv frii'n.l. I repelled the advnnijes of this fl-nHiu • human shape, and he left me in a tov.-- ering passion. Malevolent reports v»'en: spread about—I was in despair. Bi- cause X preferred virtue and jioverly to dLsgrace aud the cmolumeuts of a nii.-'- tresa, X wus to be despiaed.
Misfortune continued to follow me. My remaining lurniture was aolil lo pay Mr. Sauiiders What to do, f knew not; that wretched man followed me like a. fate, from place lo place. 1 obtained a situation as nur.sery-gov- erness; his blasting breath poisoned the atmosphere, and I wtis obliged to leave it. 1 got situations in .stores and show-rooms, but invariably he contin¬ ued to injure me in such a way Ihat my services were dispensed with afier a few weeks. At last I found employ¬ ment in tlie Lowell milKs. I deported myself with the greatest circumspec¬ tion—made but few acquaintances, at¬ tended faithfully to my duties, but after a while the same persecntiotis would begin. Tlie men about the es¬ tablishment who were not gentlemen, addressed me in a moat insolent man¬ ner—and I knew that my husbatid'.s partner was still secretly perseciitin'.; me. 1 went to the proprietor only to he told that wonveii who con¬ ducted themselves willi projiriely were never inaiilted. Besides the fact always preceded me, or hccanie known in some manner, that I was a dcMUt'ji! wife-anil it told powerfully agiiii-i. me, particularly with my own sex I was as near despair as I enuld he- driven almost wild by tlic neglect of those immediately arotitid me, and .still followed by the man who w.as the caii.sc of all my sufiering.
Well, he is dead no'.v—and sometimes I find myself wondering, curiously, if God can forgive him.
One day, ni\ employee finditig me alone in llie work ninm, anxious to finish a task I had underlakeu, placed his hand on my neck, and called mi! his darling. All my spirit was roiiseii, and with one vigorous blow I sent him reeling to tlie floor, and left him lyiii*.^ there. I shall never forget, how exul¬ tant I felt, seeing him at tny fei.-l, .sliinned for llie motneiit. The ni.xt tlay,-meeting liim, f took from umli-r my apron a small jiislol wliich I had procured.
" You see that I nm able, now, to de¬ fend my.self," I said, " touch tne, or speak to me again while 1 am here, at your peril."
He went immediately and rcpori.''il that I carried conce.iled Wfa[ions. 11 was proveil that I ilid, and tliectn]iloy- er gave me notice to tjuil the estaiili.-'l'.- tueut.
When I look back upon thtit perio.l, sometimes, I wonder tliat f kept my reason. What to do now, I knew no;. It was impossible to jilace myself ln.- yond the power of that terrible man my husband's former partner. I wrote lo Ilia mother, beseeching her to use iier influence to protect me. It was an un¬ wise move, for he had her ear. I never received au answer.
Providence gave me a friend in llie lierson of a sailor's widow. Her son was purser's clerk, or.something of tliat kind, on oneof llieEiigliah steam- era between New York anil Liverpnol, aud through his luollier's exertions 1 was provided wilh a place aaflewtiriloss. I exulted now in the thouglit llial T should no longer lie followed hy lliv cruel persecutions of tlie man wlm i'lul become my deadliest enemy. My plans were secretly arratigeil. I proviil.d some plain dressea, cut- my hair ahuri, wore a false front ami a hiileou.- Iilai'k. cap, and Ihusalliren, took my iiiiiiili''.- position Willi thunkl'iiliK'ss.
'i'he voyage proveil a siorniy one— and I had several sick persona on tny liands. One morning, when tlie win-i was blowing a perfect gale, one of tin' surgeons came to me, and wisiietl iiic to lake care of a gentleman who had come on board sick. He liad iu|dtirid a blood vessel, he said, ami neeiiefci ex¬ tra attention, tliough he was out vi' i:ii- niediate ilanger.
I w.as conducted to the state room, wliich was quite dark, for the iiivali'l had been asleep. I gave oue look at the pallid, sufiering lace, whiler ihnii Ihe pillow on which it laid. Tlie lilmul receded to my bean—for there befoie me lay—my husband.
I heard vaguely the words of the sur¬ geon, "paid assistant"—"capital nitrae" —and then I wiui left alone, witli "lie whom I felt had deeply wronged inc.
" Will you give me some waler!" lie
asked,   faintly—and   then,   " what' U
your name, my good woman ?" .
I quietly replied, " Bartlett."
He looked steadily at me, aa f spoke,
and grew pale as 1 put the que.stion.
"When have you heard from your wife?"
"Wh.atdoyou know about il?" he cried eagerly—and then—in a lower, sadder voice—" I have no wife."'
"Pardon me, sir—hut I know your wife, I know your history, .save tlio years you have been away. Y'our wife has been a noble, virtuous wouiaii— f think lean say ihat."
"Who are you?" lie cried, starling forward.
"My name is Barllett I know your wife," X answered steadily.
"When I left," he said, uneasily, " I left a note with my jiartner, lo give lo her. Ill that I told my inlentions; in that I asked her to reconsider—tiud Ihat any time, she could call me back."
" That note your wile never receiv¬ ed."
" If I could only bclies-e it," he to marked—"but Saunders was like a brollicr lo me." '
"Saunders w.as a liar and a villian.' "He told  me  but a IVw days .'ii^o' when I came back to t'ltiti her, that he bail forwarded all tny rcmitlaticos, imt
that she was leading the life of a "
" Hush !" I cried, in sucli a vnice that he looked up with a kind nf terror.
" You shall never, in my liearing." f went on, "couple her iiaiiie with the word you were alinut lo speak." 'I'lnn I took off my cap, and my lal...c hair ; he gave a great cr.v, anti in aoothi-r moment he had caught me in hi.sarnis. How mucli we had to tell each ntlitr on Ihat stormy voj'age! He iielievi-ii nnd piled me. X believed ami pilicd him.
His partner n^ver matle resliiution, for when we relurned home, lit* wa.-^ gone tu his long acciunt, hut tny heart, aches every day iyr.the helples.s women who are thrown adrift it|i<>ii Ihe^rt-Mt world, of whose struggles lo mainlaiti tliemselves nnd lo keep uprigiil none but God knows.
Nature teacliea us what we should do; and that is to work toward some end— for the attainment of some object—un¬ ceasingly, aud find in our worlc our happiness. Happiness pursued is never attained ; but it comes to us like an angel, in unexpected places nnd at un¬ expected times—very often when we had anticipated a cross, and courageous¬ ly made up our mind to bear it.
" There is no secret about success in life," said CommodoreVanderbilt; "all you have to do is to attend to your busi¬ ness and go ahead—except one thing," added the Commodore, " and tliat is uever tell what you are going to do till you have doue it."
An advertisement lately appeared, headed: "Iron bedsteads and bedding." We suppose sheet-iron is used for linen.
"My Lord," said the foreman ofa Welsh jury when giving in the verdict, " we find the man who stole the mare not guilty."
particular perioil of my existence.
This conversation on the topic intro¬ duced, terminated abruptly by my in¬ quiring of Mrs. S. if sbehadhctirdfrom lier son John in llie army.
Seventeen callers came and departed during the evening, without developing anything new or particularly interest¬ ing.
I observed one thing, that they all said a gooil ileal without saying much.
W lien the house w.-tsqiiiet, Mrs. Marks suggested to me that sho was afraid some of our viailors would think I was not polite enougli, and she was sorry, because on such occasions people were apt to indulge in severe criticisms, 'i'hen she added :
" When Mr. Wilaonhurg and I re¬ ceived calls after we wero inarrisd, everybody complimented me upou his being so perfect a gentleiuan."
This remark didn't remove from iny mind any impressions X had previously received relative lo the memory of tlie departed, but I maintained a respectful silence.
After breakfast the next day Mrs. M. asked me if I liatl ever eaten a "Chulle- wug pudding?"
" No."
" Well, we'll have one to-day; I think they are the nicest dessert ever put upou a table. Mr. Wilsonburg used to say he never saw any thing to equal them iu all his traveling in France."
We had one.
On the Sunday following we attended church for the flrst time in Podwick. A smart young man preached the ser¬ mon.
Mrs. Marks appeared much interest¬ ed, aud as she walked home, said itwas the best discourse she had listened to for a long time.
"Isn't he a fine looking man? What a good voice lie has! He reminded me very much of Mr. Wilsonburg. You never saw him, did you ?" j "No, X never saw him; but I've heard of him," I replied.
!   Soil was; wherever we went, in the house or out of it, the natural simplici
own right; bills were coming in con tiuually; I still lived extravagantly and knew not which way to turn.
My husband's partner came to the rescue again.
" Give up your house," he said, "take a smaller oue in the suburbs, aud if you will allow me, X will pay oue year's rentiu advance, and help you to find means to live." I thought he was a very augel for kindness, and in ray de¬ pendent state, wa's ready lo follow his advice in every particular.
Femalk Labou.-"Jennie June," iu Dcmorcsl's Monthly, talks sensibly ou the sulijecl of feuialejubor:
" Women have yeti to learn to c.xprcss themselves in work—tliat ia to say, in work that coramands wages. As a rnli' they underthke it as a leiiiporary expr- dieul, and neither Ibitik it necetsarv lo acquire practice before, nor perl'eciioii after, in the business lliey luu'eclio.-;i'i:. The utiiyersal complaint is, of itielli- ciency in every department in which women   are employed.     As dotni-atic
I owned a grand piano.   By selling   servants, they arc dirty, waslefnl ami
that nnd some of the furniture, I man nged to pay most of ray debts, and by giviug lessons iu music on a hired in¬ strument, I supported myself. Mr. Saunders seemed always ray friend. X tliought him the soul of lioiior. If he paid mouey for rae lie placed it to my account, and in ray ignorance of liusi- ness, I felt that X could repay him some¬ time.
A year passed. I had taken boarder.", a man and his wife, and had three or: four pupils who paid me well, I began toget used tomy strangesiiuatiou. Mr. Sauuders culled once iu a while, and the only thing that troubled nic, now, was my obligations to him. He lintl ex- jieuded nearly two hundred dollars for me; and I had repaid liim only a small sum. His manner towards me, gradu¬ ally changed ; it became a trifle too fa¬ milial'. 1 detected an exprcs.sioii in his eye that alarmed me, and yet I hardly knew why. The lady who hoarded with roe, took tlie liberty of asking me if he was a relative. It made me angry, and I replied loo carelessly. The next week my boariiers left me—and lo my grief, llie woman I had harbored proved to be a scandal-monger, and my reputa¬ tion .sutlered.
Before long it became too painfully apparent that Mr. Saunders was not what he seemed. One evening lie sur¬ prised rae with a passiouale avowal of love. I was shocked beyond all de¬ scription, and answered hini with pas¬ sionate vehemence. Ho was coldly sarcastic, taunted me wilh my oblign-
ty of Mrs. Marks—who, of course, In-   tiona—said  that  my  reputation   was tended no oflTece—kept the   virtues of | already  suffering  and  professed  the
iHattentivc lo rules and regulation: seamstreasca, they are ignorant ami idle: aa saleswomen, thev are complaiucil i.i for carelessness, and impolitene-^¦ i" custotners; and in llie art of tj pc scr- tiiig, to whicli they haveonly ju.-it luen admilled, tbey are said to make pioit':- sii incorrect or dirty, as tlie teclmiu.ii phrase is, tliat it can hardly' be read.
Theae coraplainta are too general imt to have a foundation in trutli, and tbey are not repeated here for the aaki- i.i* being captious, or injuring the caujf'c of working-Tft'omen, hut simply to show Ihat one of tlieir great trot hies lies within themselves, and is in their own power to remedy. The secret of such ineflicicncy is simple enough and nal ural enougli. Work of any kiiiil-;h.'i.s not been considered honorable for wo¬ men ; and women and giria, I'luupilled to labor, have done so under a kind of perpetual protest, and wilb an idea, somehow, that doing'it tiadly was an assertion of their iudepcndence, and reluctance to do it at all.
But whatever may come aboul in tlie future it is necessary now that women should work; and itwould beinfinilely more credituljlelo tbem to do it iu tlic best way tbey can. X^et them think for one moment that it is for tiiat iind that ouly, that we come into the'world. God surely never intended that our buaiiiess' here should be to dress, drive, go on pic-nics,to the theatre, or to ptirtiis, exclusively—be always cured for, never earing for. In fact. He has anangiil so that we cannot live for ourselves alone without doing great injustice, at! i3 creating great contusion ami disorder.
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