Lancaster Examiner and Herald

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iMCiSTm^
. JANUARY 2,1867,
NO.
7.
PdbUiiiieaiwe^: -WEDNfflDAY, bi the EXAlaai&JtrniDlBtf 27o. 4 5otQi aueua ::: street, Lancaater, Pa.
jN». i.: aariB3TA2n>,'K. m. kmne, t. i. hahtmait '    Editors and Proprietors,
ETTTH.
A SCBIPTDHE IDVL.
"Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return ftrom following after thee."—Ruth 1.10.
ForT)ldme not from following after thee, O, Naomi I iE^ren for dead Mahlon's sake, Unto Belh-lehem, where the corn-reeds shako, My path shall be. H'or look thou hack, nor mourn The dead "WTiose leaf is shed, Whoso sheaf Is bonml; Flowers of thy youth, on Moab's ground, WTiosQ bloom, so llvlng-sweet, no summer shall return.
Orpah, depart!—^ay, go Back to thy kindred, as our mother sayeth;
And kiss the sod for me Where Up of mine no more with weeping prayeth;
The dead have no more woo. But her, the living, will I not forsake.
O, Naomi! if not with me. Where shall thy torn heart still its bleed¬ ing? Orpah departs,—and, see! Even now her steps, receding, Tread down the grass In Moab.   Let mo be Tiie one found faithful.   Bid nio comfort tliee.
liOvo hatli no one sole land. In all land.s".Iove hatli been At God's right hand ; Below, above In every .clime is love.
And still shall be, '\\^lIlQ mingles shore with sea, And silvered upland slopes to golden lea. Where'er we go That sap must flow Wliich feedsthoTreeoflilfeand keeps Itgreen.
Take comfort, then, of me,
O, Naomi; And God, whose will can mnko Now dawns, new hopes, to break, ^Vhose love alone Can grcon the arid heart, as moss the do-sert
stone. Who walks the rustling ways where all dead leaves are strowii. Shall lead tlieo by the liand Back to thine own loved land,
Wliere thou sliait see On yonder once parched plain The ripe oar full again.
KEW YEAU'S AT LEIGH HOUSE.
It was Kew Year's day, and Mr. James Leigh Iiad cousentod to his Iiouse being made a rendezvous for all his pretty daughter's friends, on that evening.— There had been no morning receptions, but invitationB were out for a large so¬ cial meeting in the evening, and more than one pretty face had its bluslies deepened by the thoughtof some special partner with whom to dance at Anna Leigh's New Year's party. It had been a custom of S[t. Leigli's sister for many years to have this annual gathering, and pretty motherless Anna had been allowed to come down in her siunile white dress and partake of the festivi¬ ties, although not " out;" but this year^ the young girl was to take her place as the hostess, having been regularly in¬ troduced into society a few months pre¬ viously.
The little flutter of expectation that girls, heart-whole and free, experience before a party, had given iilaee with Anna to the deep calm haijpiness of loving where she had won the pure de¬ votion of a noble upright heart in re¬ turn. From a child, Harold Leslie had been her favorite companion and friend, and when he camj to her to plead for the sweetest titleman wins from woman, she put no mask over face or iiean, bui let him read the love in her voice and eyes. It was a match that suited all; Mr. Leslie was wealthy, well born, and gentlemanly; sweet Anna Leigh was the only child of a millionaire, a lady in position, education, and birth. So the course of true love ran very smooth, and, as Anna pinned to her dress the sprig of myrtle Harry had placed in the bouquet sent that morning, she had no thought of any jar in the smooth cur¬ rent of her happy life. Before another New Year dawned she hoped to be a happy beloved wife, disjiensing.the hos¬ pitalities of her husband's house.
The large parlors were filled at an early hour by the invited guests, and as Mrs. Morton and Anna greeted one after another of their friends, the older lady had scarcely time to note a missing link in the chain. But the eyes of love, watching for one face, will never for¬ get to note its loss, though the whole world besides crowded round. The hours passed heavily to the young hos¬ tess, for In the brilliant throng there w.TS not one voice that could make the music her heart coveted. Where was • he? In the morning he had called, his bright, manly self, full of life and vigor. It seemed impossible to believe that any ill had befallen him in those few short hours, yet equally impossible to think anything but an imperative necessity could have kept him from her side.
"Father!"
It was late in the evening when the word fell, in pleading accents, upon James Leigh's ear. He had withdrawn a little from his guests, and stood look¬ ing over the room with a gloomy brow and firmly-set lips. "Well, Anna?"
" What was it Mr. Hunter said, just now, about Norris Leslie. Harry is not here!"' The last sentence whisper- eil low, as if the utterance choked her. " I'll tell you to-morrow. Go dance now, child; and see here, Anna, don't be too stiff to young Slarkham; he comes of good stock. No swindlers in his family, I'll be bound."
" Father, what is it ?   Tell me now. Come, we are not wanted.   Come into the library." "To-morrow, child, to-morrow." "Now.   O father, come now." The white face, imploring eyes, and the suppressed agony in the 'voice were more than the loving father  could re¬ sist.   Beluetimtly he yielded to the hand that led him from the room, but before the library was gained his  arm  was wound round the young girl's waist, to keep the trembling;, shivering   figure from falling.
"Is Harry dead?" she  said  as   he closed the door. " Dead I no!   Better if he were!" "No, no, father; you cannot have such desperate news as that for me !" " Anna, you must tear him from your heart, blot him from your life.   Norris Leslie absconded to-day with the funds of the bank of which he is president- he is a swindler "— " But, father, Harold!" " His son accompanied him." .   She dropped at his feet as if the sen¬ tence had shot lier dead.
" Itjs apretty mess, altogether,"mut¬ tered the merchant, as he lifted the lit¬ tle figure m his arms, and carried it to a sofa, "andmy little pet -will be the iworsiosnfierer. I'd like to have them for one hour," and he ground his teeth together. " Now, if I call folks in, this will be all over town to-morrow, and-I loon'rhave Anna's name banded about in this connectlpn. Fortunately the engagementjs not jntieh known. An¬ na! darling! Aima!"
But ttiere was no answer to his loving call. I'AB'paioasideath the girl lay, un- conseloutrof her father!3 Voice and lov¬ ing cSress. Crushing the bright dress and flowers she had put on with sueh
dainty care to please the eyes of him she loved, she lay cold and insensible like a crushed lily.
" Anna! Speak to me, pet," pleaded her father. "I must call Kate. Con¬ found the fellow."
And Mr. Leigh strode off to the par¬ lor again, to find his sister. Of course she had to be hunted up, as people wanted in a hurry always do, but he found her at last, and, taking her place, sent her, with a whispered caution of quiet, to the library.
Utterly ignorant of any cause for the illness, the good lady was bewildered to firid her niece lying in a fainting fit on the sofa, as unlike the gaj' pretty little belle of an hour previous as it is possible to imagine. Her womanly skill and tenderness soon put the proper remedies to work, and when the father returned a sUb-rt time later, he found Anna con¬ scious, but evidently unable to face her guests again that evening.
" I'll carry her up stairs, Kate," he said, " and you must make the best ex¬ cuse you can."
"But what is tho matter?" inquired the bewildered lady.
" To-morrow—I'll tell you to-morrow. Go back now, and make the best storj^ you can. If she don't know herself she can't toll anybody else," he muttered, as his sister left the room. " Come, birdie, put your arms around my neck, and I'll carry you to your room."
She clung to him fondly. This was a love she could confide in, pure, true, unshaken from her infancy. Her little figure nestled into his strong arms, as he lifted her from the sofa, and her head sank down wearily yet trustingly upon the broad shoulder that never yet turned away from its pressure.
Yes," he said, as he i)ut her on her bed, and sat down beside her, "yes, pet, I see what your eyes are asking me, and I will tell you all I know. Better tell you than have you in a brain fever with conjecture. You see they calculated to have a. twenty-four houre' start, as this is a holiday, but there was some suspi¬ cion roused by Mr. Leslie's proceedings yesterday, and to-day some of the direc¬ tors went to the bank, too late to pre¬ vent, but in time to discover the abduc¬ tion. They went at once to the house. The old gentleman left early this morn¬ ing ; Harold at noon. It is a bad busi¬ ness ! If it was onlj' a money loss, ijet, I would not play the stern father to your love, but disgrace has never touched our name."
" And shall not, through me! It will bo a hard fight, futlicr, but I will liveit down."
'¦ That's my brave girl! Shall"—and the loving voice sank to a whisper— " shall I say a jirayer for ray child to¬ night?" " Here—now—papa." And while the eeho of the band jilay- ing a Strauss waltz came floating up the broad staircase, and the faint sound of moving feet and merry voices mingled with the music, in the room above the father prayed that the young girl, for whose pleasure the gayety had been awakened, might have strength to bear the sorrow that evening had brought to her happy life.
Many of the guests had departed be¬ fore the host entered the drawing-room again, and soon the quiet of the house was unbroken, save by the stealthy feet of tlia servants, as they made all fast before retiring. In the cold gray light of the early winter mornirig, alone in her room Anna Leish loolieU tipon her dead past and her future. She was a very fairy in face and form, this little heroine of mine; was small, graceful, and wonderfully prettj-. Her deep blue eyes were childlike in their frank inno¬ cence, and round her shoulders clusters of sunny curls fell like a shower of golden threads. From her babyhood she had known no grief. Her mother died before she had learned to lisp her name, and her father's widowed sister had filled her place from the hour of her death. Loving her tall magnificent father with an almost worshipping love, Anna had been repaid by the ten- derest, most caressing atTection ever bestowed upon a child. Surrounded by the purest Christian influences, her re¬ ligion had been one of the beauties of her life, gilding and refining all else. Then the love that had grown so un¬ consciously in her heart was almost a childish passion, so long ago seemed its commencement.
As she sat in the low arm-chair be¬ fore the fire, on that cold morning, she let her thoughts dwell upon Harold as she believed him to be. The tall, manly figure, the frank, open face, the voice, ringing and cheerful: not one memory was there of an actor word that was not open and frank as the sunshine. Har¬ old Leslie a swindler! It was very hard to realize, and the more memory painted of his life, the more clearly she contradicted the supposition.
" It is false!" she said at last, in her heart. "He is noble, good and true, and he will yet prove himself so. I cannot grieve father by any violent as¬ sertion of what I believe, hut I will wait! lam yours, Harry, yours only. My promise was not made for a day or a week, but for life, and if you never come to claim it, I will die, true to my first, only love." She xwessed her lips to tho diamond circlet upon her finger, and in her heai't pledged herself to keep her betrothal vow.
Mr. Leigh looked anxiously at the pale little face, as Anna came in to breakfast, but she gave him a brave, sweet smile, and he was satisfied.
" I never dreamed the little witch had so much pride," he said to his sister.
" She's a true Leigh," was the proud answer.
And Anna only smiled, thiukiug the day would come when she might con¬ fess that more than pride sustained her. - It was a sore struggleatfirstfor Anna Leigh to enter again into society soon enough to prevent conjecture as to her withdrawal.   Her engagement was so recent that no certain tidings of it were afloat, and the New Years' party, plan¬ ned that the loving father might intro¬ duce  his  intended  son-in-law to his friends, had passed without any suspi¬ cion being aroused of the failure of its main object.   The days crept wearily to the girl's darkened life.   In vain she brought pride, religion and duty to bear upon her heart;   there was still ever presenf  the  bitter, wearing  sense  of loneliness and pain.    She loved  her father fondly; she loved her aunt, but she  had  given  to' Harold  a deeper, stronger love than either, and her heart cried out against the cruel separation and the, cloud. upon his nanie.   Could she have thought him the unworthy man the public voice proclaimed him to be, she had pride enough to have thrush his love from her heart, e^ep if she broke it with the rupture; but herfaith was not yet. shaken.   There was some mystery yet to be explained; he had been forced, perhaps to. join his father, implicated innocently.   She knew no¬ thing of business arrangements, but she was sure he would return yet, unspot¬ ted, and prove his innocence.
Nearly a year had passed, and no news had been obtained of the default¬ ers:, Thebaiik:wasclosediand the di- reciprs trying to meet soin^^oif the claims J upon them.   Exeorationa against the
name of the president had gone up from merchants crippled or ruined, from wid¬ ows and oiphans beggared, from old men and women who had been years toiling for the sums invested, from suf ferers and sympathizers, till Anna's heart would cower and shrink, as if from a blow, whenever the name fell upon her ears. Yet in her heart she gave the lie to everj' word that touch¬ ed her lover'sgood name.
Summer was over, and fall brought the Lelghs from Newport to Leigh House, their city home. It was an old fashioned homestead, built during the Eevolution, before the city was more than a village, and. In spite of modern improvements and additions, it retain¬ ed its old title still. Anna's face had changed in these months of suspense and trial. From a careless child she had become a thoughtful woman, bear¬ ing a secret sorrow hidden from every eye. The laughing eyes of old were now earnest and grave; the smiling lips firmer, the fiice less mobile, yet sweet and winning In its e.xpresslonof dignity. A tiny woman, but winsomeand lovely in her dignified grace.
Leon Markhani worshipi)ed her. It is not too strong a word to paint the passionate adoration he poured forth at her feet. He had guessed something on that New Year's night, when he missed her from the room, but her re¬ appearance a few days later, lier gentle loveliness all unchanged, with only a dignity that might be the throwing aside of childishness, completely deceiv¬ ed him. He had none of the claim of childhood's acquaintance, for he had come from a New England home to Anna's native city but a few years .be¬ fore. Tiiere was eveiything to favor him. His position and family were good, ho was wcilthy and talented, so without much fear he went to James Leigh for i)ermission to address his daughter.
The father Wiis delighted. Here was a chance to blot out entirely the mem¬ ory of the prior engagement. If—If— his thoughts halted over that if. Anna's demeanor was not that of one who had forgotten. Yet lie was sincere when he bade Leon Markham good speed in his wooing.
I wish I could paint for you this young New England gentleman, who loved Anna Leigh. He was handsome, yet it was not mere outline of feature that made his face so winning. There wag a charm in the earnest expression of his full dark ej-os, a feeling of security In tho play of the beautiful mouth, a beauty ofexiiression that made trust pling in¬ stinctively to this man wherever he went. He Wiis that rarely perfect com¬ bination, a Chi'Istian gentleman.
Seeing these two in the highest at¬ tributes of their hearts, you c."iu picture the torture of that interview when Leon besought Anna to be his wife. She ad¬ mired, respected, trusted him, but there was no love in her heart for any but Harold.
Notiugthe agony on his face when she told him she could give him only friendship, her womanly jiity was roused, lyjd with the quick intuition of one noble heart reading another, she threw herself upon his generosity, and showed liim her heart.
"The whole world believes him un¬ worthy," she said, in conclusion,' "and I have never, oven to my father, spo¬ ken his name since the fatal New Year's night, but I can bo the wife of no man but Harold Leslie."
"il your i;iitu IS suuKL-ii T" nc .]»..» tioned.
"Jf he iirovcs unworthy, my love may die. I cannot tell, for I cannot believe him what the world says he is."
There was a moment of silence, so deep that oven the breathing of the two disturbed It. Then he rose from his seat and stood before her.
"I thank you for your confidence," lie said, in low, tender tones, "and from my heart I pray that your faith may pirovetrue."
She rose too, as he si>oke, and jjlaced her little hands in his. Twice she tried to speak but the words died on her lips. It had been an houi of intense mental Ijaiu, and slie was delicatelj' organized and felt such keenly. " I am your friend?" he asked. "My brother," she said softly. "So be it. Eemember, if I can serve you, my life is at the call of my little sister," and he bent over her and kissed tlie sunny hair rippling from her low broad forehead, and so left her, com¬ forted and soothed, to carry away his own agon}', and fight down the bitter¬ est torture of his life. Said I not truly this was a Christian gentleman ?
Three years glided away, and Leon Markham had visited many spots in tlie Old World where tourists love to lin¬ ger. His home had grown Insupporta¬ ble when the hope that had made his love-life beautiful was wrested from him, and ho had wandered away in quest of change and excitement. It was early winter, and he was In Italy, when, wandering one day through the streets of Rome, he met what seemed to him the shadow of Harold Leslie. There was a moment's pause, then hand grasp¬ ed hand in cordial pressure.
" You are ill?" was Leon's first ques¬ tion.
" I have been, may be again, so," was the desponding answer, long since you left the States?" " Nearly three years." " Do you hear often ?" " Never, scarcely.    I have no corres¬ pondent."
"Then you—my father? I did not know but"—:, " Wliat? I am your friend, Harold." " My father died, you know, in Flor¬ ence, tliree months ago, of malarious fever. I had never found him, in all these years, but he saw my name on a list of arrivals there and sent for me.— It is a long story, Leon." There was something almost ijltlful in the plead¬ ing eyes he raised to his friend's face.
" Come to my room, and tell me all," said Leon. " It Is no Idle curiosity promijts me."
It was but a short walk, and when once the tale was commenced Harold poured it forth in terse, hurried words. He had found upon his table, on that fatal New Year's day, a note from his father bidding him farewell, and hint¬ ing at his crime.    At once he had fol¬ lowed him, but was too late to catch the European steamer from New York. Waiting until the next, he had tried for three years to find Norris Leslie, and the Last year published his name wher¬ ever lie went, hoping it might catch his  father's eyes.   The one aim and hope of his life had been to persuade his fof^herto restore the ill-gotten wealth, and cleai his name.   At Florence he was summoubd to Norris Leslie's death¬ bed, and gained his point.   All that was left of the money so fraudulently obtained was sent in trusty hands to America; but, mnknown to his son, his father had also traiismitted a letter, clearing the young man's name from all blame, stating his course, and amp¬ ly exonerating him from any share in the swindle, or knowledge of its con¬ templation. It was a long7??4 story. .'¦'I never imew.of: the. letter till I saw it published in the ¦ Gazette," eaid
Harold.   " My father Is buried in Flor¬ ence, under his own name.   His as¬ sumed one was only dropping the sur¬ name, and It is recorded on the hotel register as Norris." " But what are you doiug ?" "Painting portraits. Very poor daubs too, I fear, but I manage to live. "You will return, now, to your hoine?" "Never! I—in fact, Leon, you don't know all."
"But I know this,"  he answered, firmly, though the words  seemed to burn his lips.    "Anna Leigh trusted you through all, and loves you stlU.I' "Leon! You would not deceive me?" "I had it from her own lips." There was a New Year's party at Leigh House a few  weeks after  the above conversation.   It was the first one given since the night when Norris Leslie ran away from his native city, to die in Florence.
Anna Leigh was a graceful, pretty hostess^aiid the light has come back to her eyes, the spring to her step, for be¬ side her stands the tall, manly figure of one who has come home to live down his father's shame, in his own upright life. Leon Markham Is there too, and if his heart bleeds yet from his old wounds, he gives no sign to his "little sister," as she raises her grateful glance to his face, and thanks him for the crowning blessing of iier life.—[Godcy's Ludy's Book.
STOSY FOB, THE IITTLE FOLKS.
I hope , "How
THE LITTLK POST-BOY.
1!V n.W.VRD TAYLOR.     .
In my travels about the world, I have made the acquaintance of a great many children, and I might tell you many things about their dress, their siieech, and their habits of life, in the different eotmtries I have visited. I presume, however, that you would rather hear me relate some of my adventures in which children participated, so that the story and the information .shall be given together. Ours is not tlie only country in which children must frequently be¬ gin, at an early age, to do their share of work and accustom themselves to make their \'my in life. I have found many instances among other races, and in other climates, of youthful courage, and self-reliance, and strength of character, some of which I propose to relate (o you.
This one shall be the story of my ad¬ venture with a little post-boy, in the northern iiart of Sn-eden.
Very few foreigners travel in Sweden in tho winter, on accouutof the intense cold. As you go northward from Stock¬ holm, the capital, the country becomes ruder and wilder, and the climate more severe. In the sheltered valleys along the Gulf of Bothniaand the rivers which empty into it, there are farms and vil¬ lages for a distance of seven or eight liuiidred miles, after which fruit-trees disappear, and nothing will grow in the short,coId summers except potatoes and a little barley. Farther inland, there are gre.it forests and lakes, and ranges of mountains, where beiirs, wolves, and herds of wild reindeer make tlieir home. No people could live In such a couptry unless they were very Industrious and thrifty.
I made my journey in the winter, be¬ cause I was on my way to Lapland, where it is easier to travel when (he swamps and rivers are frozen, and the reindeer-sleds can fly along over the smooth snow. It was very cold indeed, and tho greater part of the time: the
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not found the people so kind, so cheer¬ ful, aud so honest, I should have felt inclined to turn back, more than once. But I do not think there are better peo¬ ple in the world than those who live in Norrland, which is a Swedish province eomniencing about two hundred miles north of Stockholm.
They are a tall, stroug race, with yel¬ low hair and bright blue eyes, and the handsomest teeth I ever saw, They live plainly, but very comfortably, In snug wooden houses, with double win¬ dows and doors to keep out the cold ; and since they cannot do much out-door work, they spin and weave and mend their farming imiilements in the large family room, thus enjoyliig the winter in sjiite of its severity. They are very h.appy and contented, and few of them would be willing to le.ive that cold country and make their homes in a warmer climate.
Here there are neither railro.ads nor stages, but the government "has estab¬ lished post-stations at distances varying from ten to twenty miles. At each sta¬ tion a number of horses, and sometimes vehicles, are kept, but generally the triiveler has his own sled, and simply hires the horses from one station to an¬ other. These horses are either furnished by the keeper of tho station or some of the neighboring farmers, and when they arc wanted a man or Ijoy goes along with the traveler to bring them back. It would be quite an independent and convenient way of travelling, if the horses were always ready; but some¬ times you must wait an hour or more before they can be furnished.
I had my own little sled, filled with hay and covered with reindeer-skins to keep me warm. So long as the weather was not too cold, it was very pleasant to speed along through the dark forests, over the frozen rivers, or past farm after farm in the shelteted valleys, up hill and down, until long after the stars came out, and then to get a warm sup¬ per in some dark-red post-cottage, while the cheerful people sang or told stories around the fire. The cold increased a little every day, to be sure, but I be¬ came gradually accustomed to it, and soon began to fancy that the Arctic cli¬ mate was not so difflcult to endure as I had supposed. At first the thermome¬ ter fell to zero; then it went down ten degrees below; then twenty, and finally thirty. Being dressed in thick furs from head to foot, I did not suffer great¬ ly ; but I was very glad when the peo¬ ple assured me that such extreme cold never lasted more than two or three days. Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with me to bring back their father's horses, and so long as those lively, red-cheeked fellows could face the weather, it would not do for mo to be .afraid.
One night there was a wonderful au¬ rora in the sky. The streamers of red and blue light darted hither and thither, chasing each other up to the zenith and down again to the northern horizon, with a rapidity.and a brilliance which I had never seen before. " There will be a storm, soon," said my post-boy; " one always comes, after these lights." Next morning the sky was overcast, and the short day was as dark as our .twilight. But it was not quite so cold, and I travelled onward as fast as possi¬ ble. There was a long tract of wild and thinly settled country before me, and I wished to get through It -before stop¬ ping for the night. Unfortunately it happened that two Inmber-merchants were travelling the same way, and had taken the horses; so I was obliged to wait at the stations until other horses were brought from the neighboring farms. This delayed me so much that at seven o'clock In the evening I. had still on»m6re station of three Swedish miles before reaching the -rUIage-where
I Intended tv spend the Bight. Now', a Swedish mile is nearly equal to'seven English, scythat this station was at least twenty miles long.
I decided to take sujiper while the horse was eating his feed. They had not expected any more travellers at the station, and were not prepared. The keeper ha4 gone on with the two lum¬ ber-merchants ; but his wife-a friend¬ ly, rosy-faced woman—prepared me some excellent coffee, potatoes, and stewed reindeer-meat, upon which I made an excellent meal. The house was on the border of a large dark forest, and the roar of the icy northern wind in the trees seemed to Increase while I waited in the warm room. I did not feel inclined to go forth into the wintry storm, but, having set my mind on reaching the village that night, I was loath to turn back.
" It Is a bad night," said the woman, " and my husband will certainly stay at Umea until morning. His name Is Neils Peterson, and I think you will find him at tho post-house when you get there. Lars will take you, and they can come back together." j
" AVho is Lars ?" I asked.
" My son," said she. Heisgottlag the horse ready. There Is nobody elseabout the'housc to-night."
Just then the door opened, and in came Lars. He was about twelve years old; but his face was so rosy, his eyes so clear and round and blue, and bis gold¬ en hair was blown back from his face In such silky curls, that he jippeared to be even younger. I was surprised that his mother should be willijig to send him twenty miles through the dark woods on such a night.        ,
" Come here, Lars," I said. Then I took him by the hand, aud sfeked, " Are you not afraid to go so far tji-night ?"
He looked at me with wonilering eyes, and smiled; and his mothei made haste to .say:" You need have io fear, sir. Lars Is young: but he'll tale you safe e,nough. ff the storm dou'l get worse, you'll be at Umea by eleven o'clock."
I was again on the point of remain¬ ing ; but while I was delibtrating with myself, tho boy had put on his overcoat of sheep-skin, tied tho lappdts of his fur cap under his chin, and a tlick woollen scarf around his nose and m.uth, so that only the round blue eyes MBro visible; and then his mother took down the Witfens of hare's fur froni the stove, where they had been hung to dry. He put them on, took a short leather whip and Wiis ready.
I wrapped myself In my furs, aud we went out together. Tho driviug snow cut me In the faee like needles, but Lai-s did not mind it in theleast. He jump¬ ed into the .sled, which he had filled with fresh, soft hay, tuekcd in the reinr deor-sklus at the sidos, aud we cuddled together on the narrow seat, making everything close and warm before wo set out. I could not see at all, when the door of the house was shut, and the horse started on the journej'. Tho night was dark, the snow blew Incessantly, and the dark fir-trees roared all around us. I/ars, however, kue\7 the way, and somehow or other we kept the beaten track. He talked to the horse so con¬ stantly and so cheerfully, that after a wiiile my own spirits began to rise, and the way seemed neither so long nor so disagreeable,
"Ho, there. Axel!" he would say. "Keep the road,—not too far to the left. Well done. Here's a level; now trot a bit."
sometimes down hill,—for a long time, as it seemed.   I began to grow chilly, and even Lars handed me the reins, while he swung and beat his arms to keep the blood in circulation.   Ho no longer sang little songs-and fragments of hymns, as when we first set out; but he y/aa not in the least alarmed, or even impatient.   Whenever I asked (as I did about  every  five minutes), "Are we nearly  there?" he always  answered, " A little farther," Suddenly the wind seemed to Increase. " Ah," said he, " now I know where we are: it's one mile more."   But one mile, you must remember, meant seven. Lars cheeked the horse, and peered' anxionsly from side to side in the dark¬ ness.   I looked also but could see noth¬ ing. "AVhatisthe matter?"! finally askod. "We have got past the hiUs on the left," he said.   " The country is open to the wind,  and here  the  snow   drifts worse than any where else on the road, if there have been no ploughs  out to¬ night we'll have trouble."
You must know that the farmers along the road are oblige'd to turn out with their horses .ind oxen, and plough down the drifts, whenever the road Is blocked up by a storm.
In,less than a quarter of an hour we could see that the horse was sinking in the deep snow. He plunged bravely forward, but made scarcely any head¬ way, and presently became so exhaust¬ ed that he stood quite still. Lars and I arose from the seat and looked around. For my p.art, I saw nothing except some very indistinct shapes of trees ; there was no sign of an opening through them. In a few minutes the horse started again, and withgteat labor car¬ ried us a few yards farther.
" Shall we get out and try to find the road?" said I.
"It's no use," Lars answered. "In these new drifts we would sink to the waist Wait a little, and we shall get through this one." -
It was as he said. Another pull broughtus through the deep part of tlie drift, and we reached a place where the snow was quite shallow. But it was not tho hard, smooth surface of the road; we could feel that the ground was uneven, and covered with roots and bushes. Bidding Axel stand still, Lars jumpedout ofthesled, and began wa¬ ding around among the trees. Then I got out on the other side, but had not proceeded ten steps before I began to sink so deep into the loose snow that I was glad to extricate myself and re¬ turn. It was a desperate situation, and I won-lered how we should ever get out of it.
I shouted to Lars, in order to guide liim, and it was not long before he also came back to the sled. "If I knew where the road is," said he, "I could get into it again. But I don't know; and I think we must stay here all night.'-'
'' We shall freeze to death in an hour!" I cried. I was already chilled to the bone. The wind had made' me very drowsy, and I knew that if I slept I should soon be frozen,
" 0, no!" exclaimed Lars, cheerfully, "lam a Norrlander, and Norrlanders never freeze. I went with the men to the bear-hunt, last winter, up on the mountains, and we were several nights in the snow. Besides, I know whatmy father did with a gentleman from Stock¬ holm on this very road, and we'll do it to-night," "What was it?"
" Let me take care of Axel first," said Lars. "We can spare him some hay and. one reindeer-skin."
It -Was a slow and difllcult task to un¬ harness the horse^ but we accomplished it at last. Lars then led him under the^ drooping branches of a fir-tree, tied him
to one of them, gave him an armful of hay, and fastened the reindeer-skin uji- on Ills back. Axel began to eat, as if perfectly satisfied with thearrangement, Tho Norrland horse.f are so accustomed to cold that they seem comfortable in a temperature where one of oura would freeze.
When this was done, Lars spread the remaining hay evenly over the bottom of the sled and covered itwith the skins, which he tucked in very firmly on the side towards the wind. Then, lifting them on the other side, ho said: " Now take off your fur coat, quick, lay it over the hay, and then creep under it,"
I obeyed as rapidly as possible. For an Instant I shuddered In the icy air; but the next moment I lay stretched in thebottomof the sled, sheltered from tho storm, I hold up the ends of tho reindeer-skins while Lars took ofl: his coat and crept in beside me. Then we drew the skins down and pressed tho hay against them. Wlieu the wind seemed to bo entirely excluded Lars said we must pull off our boots, untie our scarfs, and so loosen our clothes that they would not feel tight upon any part of the body. When this Wiis.doue, and we lay close together, warming oach^ other, I found that tho chiU gradually, passed out of my blood. My hiindsand feet were no longer numb; a delightful feeling of comfort crept over me; and I lay as snugly :ui in the best bed. I was surprised to find that, altlidrigh my head was covered, I did not feel stifled. Enough air camein under the skins to prevent us from feeling oppressed.
There was barely room for the two of us to lie, with no chance of turning over or rolling about,. In Jive minutes, I think, we were asleep, and f rlreamed of gathering peaches on a warrh August day, at home. In liiet, I did not wake up thoroughly during the night; neith¬ er did Lars though Itseemed to me that we both talked In our .sleep. But as I must have talked English and he Swed¬ ish, tliore could have been no connec¬ tion between our remarks. I remember that his warm, soft hair iirossed against my chin, and that his feet reached no further than my knees. Just as I was beginning to feel a little cramped and .stiff from lying so still I was suddenly aroused bj' tho cold wind on my face! Lars had risen up on his elbow, aud was peeping out from under the! skins.  . ;.
" I think itmustbonearsixo'bloek," he said. "The sky is cle.ir,; and I can sec the big star, Wo^cin start in an¬ other,hour.'.'.-:,    . .\,¦¦¦¦¦':   ; ¦     •   :',.
I felt so much refreshed that I w-:us for setting; out immediately ; , but Lars re¬ marked, very sensibly, that It was not yet possible to find the road. 'V.'^hilc we were talking, Axel neighed.
"Therethey are!" cried Lars, and immediately began to put on his boots his scarf and heavy coat.. I did tho same, and by the time wo were ready we heard shouts and the crack of whips. We harnessed Axel to the sled, and pro¬ ceeded slowly in the direction of the sounds, which came, as we presently saw, from a conipiiny of farmers, out thus early to jilough the road. They had six jiairs of horses geared to a wood¬ en frame, something like the bow of a ship, pointed in front and siireadlng out to d breadth of ten or twelve feet. This machine not only cutthrough the drifts but packed the snow, leaving a good, solid road behind It. After It had pass¬ ed, we sped along merrily in the cold morning twilight, and In little more than an hour reached the post-house at
Umea, where.we. found Lars's father preparedxorctiirii'Jibmo".   xr„  iviiiin.i,
nevertheless, until Lars had eaten a good warm breakfast, when I said good by to both, and wont on towards Lap¬ land.
Some weeks afterwards, on my return to Stockholm, I stopxied at the same lit¬ tle station. Tills time the Weather was mild .and bright, .and the father would have gone with me to the next post- house ; but I preferred to take nij' little bedfellow and slod-fellow. Ho,was so quiet and cheerful and fearless, that, al¬ though I had been nearly all over the world, aud ho had never been away from home,—although I was anian and he a young boy,—I felt that I had learn¬ ed alesson from him, and might proba¬ bly learn manj' more, if I should know him better. Aye h.ad a merry trip of two or three liours, and then I took leave of Lars forever. Ho Is no doubt still driving travellers over the road, handsome, couriigeous, honest-hearted young man of twenty-one, by this time.
ON DUTY AS A SPY.
" Where is Sergeant S ?" I heard
a voice exclaim on the morning after my ride with the commodore's despatch. I was feeling very stiff, and but little refreshed with my slumbers, as I opened my oj'cs and saw a head poked into tho tent which I recognised as that of our orderly sergeant.   " Get up at once,"
he says,  " General P has sent for
you. The bugles have sounded hours ago, and all tho camp has been astir for some time. I didn't know you had re¬ turned from your trip, for we all thought that most likely you would get shot on the road. The orderly says that ' Old BullDog'—(the name by which tho commander of our corps was known)— is swearing like a trooper this morning, and in a thundorlng rage, so you luul better look sharp." In a few minutes I was on my way to head quarters—first, however, goingto saddle my little horse, but I found, to my sorrow, that poor Punch was so stlft'that ho could hardly move. So I jumped on one of the extras, and was soon in the General's presence. He had a far from amiable look, and when I was shown into tho room, was abusing a colonel of volunteers. It must have been a blessing to the colonel, my arrival. " Who are you ?" the General said, when he saw mc standing to at¬ tention.
" Sergeant S " I replied,  " whom
you sent for." ¦     '
"Oh, you are, are you? Very well, sergeant, I want you to cross the river to-night with Lieutenant WUlcins and a couple of men, and to report to me the
number of the enemy's guns at ,
and any force that they may have col-- lected there. If you do as well as you did last night I'll remember you. Now go, and come up here again at five o'¬ clock w'lth'two good men whom you can depend upon."
I went back to the camp, had my breakfast, reported to the captain that I was I detailed for special service that night,' looked at my horse, (who I very much feared was Crippled), walked him about a little to loosen his joints, and began to think whom I should select to take w-itli me on my expedition. A host.of names presented themselves, but the owners thereof were either too rash or too cautious for this risky ser¬ vice. I was wondering whom to choose when ray friend Scott came up to t\\6 picket rope for his team. If he'd onlj' go, he was the very man. Yes, he wsis right enough for anything; and so I boolccd him for one. There was an Englishman in another company whom
.1 BcburcJ, Mu<l .»fe fiTTc o'cluUlV- ^^xcoluol^.
the trio were all mounted, and at the place a^jpointed. The lieutenant, who was waiting our arrival, sprung on his horse, and motioning us to follow, we started on a trot down the Missouri bank of the Misslssipiii. I did not like the look of this olHccr at all. He rode ahead of us as if he was too iiroud to speak to any one who had not shoulder straps on, and seemed to lack that man¬ ly, confidential feellugtowards us which those who are sent on a dangerous er¬ rand usually exhibit one to another. To kcei) aloof lu this way was evidence of a moan spirit; and this, eouiiled with a peculiarly sneaking look he had about him, induced me to conclude he was either a fool or a coward. Once I tried to spoalc to him about our arrangements, and he only replied by saylng.it would be time enough for me to speak when spoken to. "He's.a donkey," said Scott, " and if he does not beha\S! him¬ self we. will, go,.on our own liook!" "Cuss him," satU Tom Itobinson, " I'll warrant he's not up to tho work." For sixteen miles we rode along the river side, every now and then plunging Into the fields to escape observation from the rebel giinbo.ats. At the end of that distance wo came to some heavy woods. Into whicli we penetrated for about half a mile, when we arrived at a small creek, and dismounted,, hitehed our horses to the trees, and sat down wait¬ ing for orders, our officer keeping along way off from his men. Itgot quite dark, a;nd a heavy fog settled upon the Mis¬ sissippi, so that a boat could not be seen from the opposite shore any distance from the land. A long time we w.alted, until I grew so impatient that, putting a bold face on the matter, I went up to our commander and asked him when wo had better cross.
" I don't feel verj- well, sergeant," he said ; " I think that I hurt myself on the ride down.    We ought to be off
A SCIENTIFIC OCULIST.
A gentleman tells us the following story, and vouches for Has having actu¬ ally occurred to himself. Some years ago he lost an eye, and having a taste for comely pej.'3onal appearance, he had tho loss of the member atoned for by the Insertion of a glass eye. Tho coun¬ terfeit was a perfect counterpart of the other, and, except those who were told of the fact, none would have imagined him to be the " bully boy with the glass eye." Two or three weeks ago the see¬ ing eye beg.an to Inflame, and knowing, bysadexj)erienee, the dangorofneglcct- ing a sore eye, he determined to consult an oculist, and not knowing which was the proper one to go to, was unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of a man who practices the profession, but who, uutll a short time ago, had beeii engag¬ ed in the butchering business. Calling upon the 'celebrat^ ocuUst and aurist,' he told him that his eyes w;ere afliicted with disease, and he feared he would lose them. The quack examined the optics and pronounced them an easy euro. In fact, he would heal them up at a low figure, only ten dollars a week fur treatment.
"What do you think of ray left eye. Doctor? " asked our friend, whose faith was not very strong.
The doctor examined the left optic very carefully for several moments, and said, "I find the epithelium sligthy opatic, with considerable subcutaneous conjunctiva in the cellular retina of the corneal schlrrhosis."
" Can the thing ever be cured ?" iisked the patient, who was convinced that the fellow was an uumltlgated humbug.
" Oh, yes, I can cure that in a very short time. I have some vegetable acid whichlextractfrom a plant known only to myself, which will render that eye perfectly well in throe weeks.
" Do you really mean to say that I can see out of that eye again ? for to tell you the truth, I have not been able to see out of It for a long time."
" To bo sure I do, just as well as I do out of mine. This 'ere vegetable acid of mine is really wonderful; there are not any eyes that can resist it. It fixes them all."
" Then you can go ahead ujiou that one, and if you fix it aU right, I will let you attend to the other one."
The Doctor took out a large syringe, filled it with his vegetable acid, and ap¬ proached our friend for the purpose of making a'n application, when he raised his hands to his eye, opened tho eyelids, took the glass optic from the socket, and handing it to the operator, said:
"Doc, I haven't time to stop for treatment; you can keep the eye nere, and as aooh as you can get it to see, I will call andget it." ' The oculist's "pheelinks" can be bet¬ ter imagined than described.    ,
Looking him very hard in the face I saw that he was as pale as a sheet, so said, " You are right, sir; you^ are very ill and unfit to cross. Perhaps you will wait until;our return. I can let you know every thingthat passes, and you can report fromour account.''   •
" Thank you," hesaiia, very humbly; " I am hardly equal for the work, but still I will go with you;"
He was trembling violently, and I knew that he was afraid ;   but then, if he Would go, and knew the danger and willing to enter upon the risk, it would bo a triumjili oyer himself.   He is a brave man, I thought, who feels the danger and encounters it.   So I pitied rather than scorned him, as I liad done before, and we at otce set about to get¬ ting our canoe ready.    None of us felt very hopeful as to the success of our trip.    What a pity it was that Lieuten¬ ant Boberts  was  not   of our party! Three times had the bravo fellow cross¬ ed the stream to spike tho guns, and on the third ho was shot in tho attempt.— A giillant young soldier ho wiis,  and worthier of a better fate.   Softly we pu t- out of the little creek into the main stream.   How Quietly Scott used the paddle.' " Turn her bow a little up," I said, fortunately knowing the exact po¬ sition of the "Rebs," aud not hesita¬ ting to give orders now I saw that our lieutenaut was at a loss to know what to do, and was every moment looking more de.ath-likc in appearance.   "Stea¬ dy, Scott!   What is that dark object In front? Back for your life, my boj-, and then turn upwards again, for it Is a Confederate gunboat."    Back we go, and then up once more just in time to escape observation, for wo were so near to her that we could hear one of the watch walking on deck.   Now for it- right across. The current is very strong, and In spite of our efforts it carries us down a long way.   There is the shore— the trees come close down to the water's edge, a capital place for us to haul our canoe up.   "Look to your revolvers, boys;   follow me;" and then we jump on land very quietly.   Hark! there is some one about.   A challenge! It is only the relief. The rebels have a pick¬ et a little way down, and are changing guard.    "Down, every one of you, and not a word out of your mouths!" For a long time we lay quite still, and then, as not a sound was to be heard, we commenced our march on hands and knees.    A little to our left is the main road, on which the Confederates are somewhere stationed.  So we keep close to the waterside.   "We are lost!" I whispered to Robinson, who was close by me, as I touched something that moved, and felt the body of man;  but Robinson was'ou htm, and his hand over his mouth in'an Instant.   "All right! only a nigger, as scared as the
devil," he says, "Outwithyour hand¬ kerchief, for we must save the rope for worthier game; one over his mouth, another round his arms, and then a third round his legs," " Better let us have another," says Tom; "Where's the lieuten.ant?" But there is no lieutenant to be found, " Never mind, we will do better without the fool," says Scott; " the nigger makes sign as though ho wanted to speak; we m.ayas well let him, only if he s.ays a word above a whisper, tell him that you will-piit a ball through his thick head." He tells us that he Is a runaway, and that he knows we are Massa Lincoln's men, and will show us the position. " So he shall, but we must-nbt trust him an inch out of our sight. Keep the hand¬ kerchief over his mouth lest ho should betray us," .So he crawls along by my side for some yards .and then motions me to stop—just in time too, for I hear a sentry on the top of the bank, and I smell the tobacco he is smoking in spite of regulations. " Lie low a .second—wo must have iilni, or else wo can never get uj) to the fort." So Robinson creeps to the right of him and Scott to the left, whilst the "nigger" and myself quietly wait to see the effect of tho maiKeuvre. Ten minutes or so pass away. lean hear the boj-s now on either side of him. The sentry stops; there goes liis mus¬ ket at u-porl arms. " Who goes there?" he says, " Olliccr of tho day," Robin¬ son answers; whilst Scott Is creeping nearer to liim on the other side, "Halt,
olficer of the day, and humph!"
He does not .say any more for Scott has stopped his mouth and the two are on hiin, and in a moment ho is bound down silent. We carry him off his regular beat, for fear of getting found out, and leave him Ij'Ing in the bushes. "Steady, boys! that black lino ahead is one side of the rebel work." Now coracS the tug. "Trust the nigger," says Tom; but he can't do us any good, as he knows nothing about it. Still, he has been very quiet on the journey, aud I see by tha savage glance of his eye that he is in earnest. Ho has a long knife in his belt; it may prove useful if we get into a TOW. He draws it between his fingers to feel its edge, grins horri¬ bly, .and then says, "Me give 'em this!" Wo get a little closer, and then see a fire burning about two hundred yards from the foit. There is a sIeei)j--look- iiig guard sitting behind It. Right! he can't see us through the flames. It had got very dark by this time, and showed signs of rain, so we wait to see if tho weather is likely to aid us. After some minnt/y; bavn iiiussed awav down comes  the   storm.    What a noise it
makes! it is hail. Tiie lazy seiitrj' moves inside a tent.: Now is the time! Over the side and Into the earthwork! Robinson, you get In among the tents. If you can, and find outwhat is in them, and then back to us! " The negro springs forward, and Is over in a mo¬ ment. I hear a gurgle, and as I slii) down the other side see the man, with his wild eye flashing fire, as he is draw¬ ing his knife out of the body of an ar¬ tilleryman with one h.and, while with the other he grasps him by the throat. In another moment Scott and I have a gun each spiked, and make for another when we hear a. voice, " Turn out the guard," and then a shot comes whizzing over our heads, aud some one comes running towards us. 'Tis only Tom.— "Chuck the sentry's body over, aud they'll think we have plunged into the river," says SCott. "No; fling a cou¬ ple of balls over—they will do quite as
-nrcll." ¦  -A.n<loUf.r thpy go ^\:»th Aeplncll,
and over the bastion wc tumble too, and along our old route. " Don't run! hut on hands and knees, softly. There goes the guard Into tho work." "Fire into the water," says a voice, " the fel¬ lows eau't have gone far." And bang goes a whole volley, and an instant af¬ ter the bugles sound and the camp is astir.
We have got a hundred yards from them. "Now for it—for your lives, men, run!" Pop, pop—they have heard us and are coming in our rear. But the r.aceia for the swift; and If so, I will defy wiy of them to catch our negro, who ruiis like a raee-horse.
Cra.sh! ^Vhat Is that? Why, Scott has had a fall; but he is up again, and all right. "Give them a taste of lead if they come too close." Hero's whore we left the sentry bound. What a plague this underbrush is—it makes such li row as we go through It. Tliat confounded picket ahead is sure to hear us'. Now he challenges. No answer. Then he conies down the bank.     The
'liigger" rushes by   him.     "Tom," I
say, for my active companion is ahead of me, 'shoot him!'  The 'Rob' does not wait to be shot, but runs for the buslies too, and as soon as he thinks he.is safe, blazes away with his   rifle.     "Thehca. then has warmed   my shoulder,' says Scott, who had a piece of his blouse shot away,     "Never mind. If he has not killed you!" I answer.   But how close the ra.scals are behind.     "There is a gicat,strappingfellow'almo'stnptoyou.' I can't touch him,"  Scott says; "my shoulder Is so bad."   So I lurii on Mr. Confederate, aud before ho has time  to aim a bullet Is in his leg, aud he is of i no more use iu the chase.    A mnasli in | front.   What's the matter now?   "The 'nigger's gone to the front over our lieu¬ tenant," says Tom.    And so" he had, for, sitting the s.ame place we had left him, and keeping guard over the canoe, wa.s our commander.   He gets up now, and we make for the boat.   All in, and off we push.     A flash of light,   and tlieuaroar.of musketr3-,   tell us that our iiursuers kuo\y that wc are off.   We give them a parting salute by firing our revolvers, hoping that some of tho balls will take cfreetr    Hiss—liis-.s-s!  spiasu —splash! that gunboat has heard the noise.   Thank God for the rain, and the darkness! "Bang!" goes a cannon  on board lier, and the shot flies away, on shore.    Capital!, the flash showed us where she was away on our starboard. "Keep on at that game, my boy,  and you will light us overto the creek." But she does not firo agaiii, and we hear her paddles going.    They are coming nearer; she Is bearing right down upon us.   "Lie to, Tom, and ail ofyou down and she will pass us."    And there she goes steaming by raising a little swell that nearly upsets our frail bark.   Now for it again! Hurrah, there's  our side of the river: and soon we are ashore. It takes some  time to find our horses but when we do wo g.allop off.     They hear us on the boat, and send  a few shells across Into the timber.     Away we ride, and only pull up at our atl- vance iiicket line.    Then Lieutenant Wilkins comes up to me and asks nie what we have done and seen, and what report he shall give.   He thinks I h.ad better  go to  the  general  with  him. When we  are  at headquarters,  "Old Bull Dog," who is In bed, gets up and heare what we  have  to  say.     "Very well,' hesai'S, 'go to your quarters; you have all done your duty."
Two or three days after this I was sent up to the adjutant-general's with some brigade reports, andas I wa&going away I asked an orderly what had be¬ come of Lieutenant Wilkins. " Oh!" he replle.s, " ho took cold that night he crossed tlie river with j-ou, and has gone into the States to join his corps." The fellow was afraid to face any of our party again. None of us, however, said a word which could deprive him of the honor he won when doing duty as a 1 spy-
fFor the Examiner <£ IlemM.i
ATTTOBIOGEAPHY.
Eiglit-and-forty, and .some odd monilis, with my days already pointing towards liis setting sun, my board .sprinkled with tho frost of age, ond my heart beating funeral marches to the gravo. What have I done to make mankiud better or more happy tliat I should exliibit my llfo to the public? Some poet says;, " 'Tis bettor to have loved and lost than ne\'er to have loved nt all."— So 'tis bettor, incthiiiks, toliavostrivcn in speakiiig and writing to elevate the poor, lowly and ignorant, of all peoples and na¬ tionalities (even if that striving did not amount to niiiuh) than to have sneered at theirlowly condition, or done nothing atall Tho Good Book saj-s, "Cast your bread upon tho waters and it shall be found aller many day.s." Cut r am digressing, (if my early childhood I roeollecl little; only those things whleli luailo u strong impri'S- slon on my mind, such a.s my futlior lolling ine I was born in the sign of thecruliwliiirli I suppo.se accounts for my backward Icn- donny through lllb. My mother says, 1 cried almost incessantly for tivo weefc.s aficr first seeing the iigfitoriiouvon.whiclil.siip- poso is l!ie cause of of my having .siij.h a stron,g v.iicr.. wliieli I at times Iinvo used in thocun.woriunnanity. .-Vnollioranrt f am done. T liad a something strange about ni.- which sonji; of in.v fripnd.s tookfortalenl or genius, (Init wliicli T have since to my cnsl found onl wa.-) (.¦conlricilv,) and Ihe.v v.crn coutinnally tolling nil; T would be a great man some day—a in-nphucy which has bee<i covered to tlm Ictlor by the oini- nc;nl Dr. t'rank Unmnw, (now no nioii-.i wlio in a criticism on llie irapaeit^- of a naiiieKakeorniine, said lie wa-s so ju'ar l-.- ing a groat man, there was hut oiio link in • the chain loft oul; that link has played Hit. devil with me. The lir.sl twunly .vear.-i I spoilt on my father's farm. Thero I wa-; noted for nothing but a relentivo meninr.v. and a Willi reekUs.sno.ss, ini.xing in .se.n.;i ol' rDarin-,' riot and dissipation, wlivr.. f learned to swear, uJUDbscenolangnagoaiaJ toss oiruiy glass with Hie best of tlieiii,— so much .so that J had the rcpulalion of li,;- hig Ibo wildest boy in tho uelghborli.-io.l. -• There my character was Ibrmca which v,l!i slick to :iio as long as dust hangs logi-lii,:-. From m.v dear inollicr "who Inng .;iii.v troails the silent courts of air," I Inlicrii :, melancholy and low .spirit that will .sniii.' day drive nio mad by ealing my own li.'arl, biltcr diet. Believing:ls 1 do that wo ai.' llio very .spoi-i, whim and phiylliing of cir. cumslaiiccs, I can accotiiit for niiich of my disposilion wiiich to slningcr.s may snccl; of eccentricity or seem unac.-ountahlc. - Jlolher having lost most ol' licr chlldron In- dcatli concfliUralod hor strong ali'eclions im me ; I was coinplotely polled anil spoilcl getting what I wanted and having m.v own way in alnio.st every thing anri pal at nolji- lug; like the prudent mother with h.-r child, I was not allowed logo into tho wal.ir
whMrHasnot jS'&nft. f'Hlfti4icA!;';.,^^';A' risk ol'makin.g th'rs artioio too long, Id iiiu say to all motiicrs and ljitlior.s who iiia.v chance to road this oralie life of mine, if yon sow the wind yon must cxpocl :¦» reap the wliirlwinil; if you want toboqiiea:h a horitagoof woo or wu to your oflspriitg that will make tlioni hale theuLsolves uiitl others hate them, ju.st lot them do as lli»!.v ploa-so and iiavo their own way in cvor.v- thing.
Again, rhave boon all my life troiihl.'.l with heart-disease, combinod with dy-spep- sia, which is hon-iblo. Tain like a snldb-r alwaj's under fire; I shall drop dead sonn' day, as thon.^li a bullet had passed throu^'li my heart. '.'Vll these Ihing.^i, combined wil li the arrows and llings of outrageous fortune have so shaltorod my nerves as to maUi' mc do manj'strange things. I .sonieliiiic* feel like poor .Swift, as though I shall deca.v at top first.
^^y early education I rocoivod at llu' common schools, and God .knows they were common oiiougli. \Vitli mo It was In liursult of knowledge trador dliTicnUie.s— naviiig lacas, instead ot :uutill<'<1 into mo, literally pounded into 'ine, to .save llu- teacher trouble. Al'lorward T wont to nian.v diQ'oreiit schools. The one where I re¬ ceived llie most benefit, and look back Id wilh most jilcasure, was Dickinson College, Carlisle. Tht'ii came some two or threw years of doing little or nolhing, wilh Iho oxeoption of teaehin.g school ai times: and let mo .say, doing nothing is the hardof^t work any man ever joined.
Xow comes the remaining pari of my life..  My frlends.all thinking I should got married, and being of this opinion myself, with my usual Want of caution I sailed in,. my birds took fright, or at least pretended to, and I was loo green to penetrate the .shell at that time.   Every lady I nodded or spoko to soonicd to think I had designs on iter; and had I wedilud all whom report said I had thought  of marrj'ing, I would have been tlie mo^t consiiiiinialo Mormon in existence.    But I was a fooltlion, and .am not much belter now.   However, iho only way to know women is to live v.-ilh them in tho relation of marriage: and had I my course to run again, I might leach somo of those fair charmers that "Theri'iir.- more lllings i'n lioavon and earth Ihaii \v::h over dreamed of in their philosophy."   Ifad this way of life continued long, the sword would have eaten through the srabljard. To wean mjseirfrom myself, I spent fmir pleas.anl years In tho .slndy of medlcino.    f came near death's door from an oiieralinn porformod on my leg.   Perhaps it woiiM have been bettor for m.v oslate had I died nt that tiiiio; wilh regard to the son!, it would have boon dilVeront, I fear.    1 also got mar- liod, KOttlod in Straslmrg, and comnioncoil the practice of medlcino.   Dissipated, anil troubled with too much money, (an afllii- tioii I pray for at this writing), combiiK-d with other causes, caused my patients lo for.sakomo, and I found if I didnotquiltlic? business tho business would qiiU nie; .si>, I in this case, thinking discretion the bell.-r Xiart of valor, I pulled down tho shingle an. 1 wont  to fanning on   the old hoincslcail, wliero I have been niiio years.
In conclusion, T have tried in each turn most that life can supply—di-ssipation, farming, teaching school, reading iniu-Ii, spending much time among dolighlfni. lovely women, studying and praclicing meilicino, and manj* other tilings too tedious to mention. But I found them all vanity aud vexation of spirit; and now, as 1 l.e- como care mouldj-, Iho only true, lasting, tangible thing that will give pleasure in this worlit ami in the world to cuiiit:, is f Jf>ir.s holy religion. Although not ijrofessilig as yot to belong to a Christian, nor belonging to any Cluirch, I am trying to approiiiniato to those things by degrees, like the law3-ors going to heaven. "When tho'world liasdnuo its best or its worst by u.s—when all is dark in sin, and sad, mehmeholy broodings diy up your blood—then it is that if wo lovo Christ, and Christ loves us, ho pours tho balm of his liolyroligiou on our wound¬ ed souls, and makes all sunshine.
By tub W.ixDERixn Jkw.
Some men are behind their age, and these are the clogs upon the wheels of progress. Others are before their age, and their speculations may or may mil be useful. Buttherealmen, of immediate use, are tho men of their age, " serving their own generation according to the will of God." That's the phrase. It has a divine meaning. It exactlj- de¬ fines the prneticlo philanthropist, the genuine citizen, whose life is a boon lo his contemporaries.
Religion is attractive, in the graces and loveliness whicli belong to It, and never more so than when clothed in the might of its aggressive energy.
Tlie Held for sowing righteousness is so Large that you cau never getout of It. Wiierevcr you go, you are in it still. Wherever you stay, it is all around you.
Never do what you cannot ask Christ to bless; and never go into any place or pursuit in which you cannot ask Christ Jesus to go witli you.
They pray in vain to have sin par¬ doned which seek not also to prevent sin by prayer—even every particular sin by prayer against all sin.