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Ba&&B^OBVXXAB
OR
To My Mother.
BY CORILLB.
I love to see thee sitting there,
Quietly in that old arm chair;
With folded hands, and half-closed eye,
Dreaming of days long, long, gono by;
Treading again in Fancy’s glow
The pleasant paths of “Long Ago.”
Thy hand fs weak and shrivelled now
And time has farrowed deep thy brow;
Has ditunied the lustre of thine eyes,
And blanch’d thy lips with many sighs;
Blown from thy cheek its roses fair,
And whitened o’er thy silken hair.
Thy hand is weak with toil for me,
But mine it strong to work for thee;
Thiue eye is dim with watchful tears,—
I'll be thy sight in failing yeais;
My arm shall thy faint steps support,
Mako smooth thy path, and cheer thy heart-
Thou gav’st me life and all I have.
I’ll nourish theo e’en to the grave;
None can replace if it be gone
The love, the care, so long my own;
To craving spirit earth doth lend,
But only once so true a friend.
’Twas thou who cheered my life with love,
And watched my hearf like brooding dove;
Who taught me pleasing voice to shun,
And showed how honor's fruits were won;
And if men wisdom find in me,
’Tis but reflected here from the.
Thine eye could trace some good in me,
When others only ill could see;
And when my latest hope was gone,
Thy stronger spirit love me on;
And if success .attend my path,
Tis but in answer to thy faith.
’Twas thou in infancy and youth
Taught me of God, and Heaven, and
Truth;
And if this willful, wayward heart,
E’er finds in Heaven its better part,
O Mother! it will be thy prayer
That turned my wandering,footsteps thero
A Wife to her Husband-
If I Lave sought by art the gifts
Of nature to supply;
Or, ever asked for beauty’s charm,
'Twas but to ploase tlnne eye.
If I with labor strove to make
The stores of learning mi]ne,
Twas that I might befittingly,
As thy companion shine.
Pisttltoms.
If I have seemed with tireless zeal
To seek for earthly fame,
Twas that thy heart with pride might
At mention of my name.
The praise of other lips than thine
Is less than nought to me;
I know no world where thou art not,
N o life apart from thee.
thrill,
The True Woman.
Her name shines not in bannered fields,
Where rights and wrongs so boldly war,;
Nor rings her voice in any cause
Which men and women battle for ;
Yet in her presence, subtle, sweet,
You long to kneel and kiss her feet.
No wondrous romance wreathes her life;
Nor hath she led a martyr train ;
Nor beautiful nor rich is she,
But poor—and some would call her plain ;
Yet in her two dear eyes you see
A beauty shining constantly.
No silken robe enfolds her form;
No dainty leisures hath her hands;
Her jewels are a single ring ;
A ribbon binds her hair’s smooth bands;
Yet in her garment’s simple graeo
Her soul’s regality you trace.
No gift hath she to shake and thrill
A thankless world with warbled songs;
And art that wakes the ivory keys
To other hands than hers’ belongs ;
Yet in her words of tender cheer
A richer music charms the ear.
She walks in humble ways of life
That lead oft times through gloom and shade;
And cares and crosses not a few,
Are on her patient shonlders laid,
Yet smiles and drinks the bitter cap,
Aud keeps her brave oyes lifted up.
And homely ways she wreathes with grace,
Harsh duty turns to loving zest;
And cheery hopes and steadfast will
Are at her side in work and rest;
Yet never dreams she who can spy
The angel looking from her eye.
8.
SPARTA.
A
GA
P
One of our young acquaintances,
not long since, was endeavoring to
enjoy an evening in the company of
a young lady, fair and entertaining,
upon whom he called, but found a
serious obstacle in the person of her
stern and not very cordial father,
who at length ventured to very plain
ly iutiinate that the hour for retiring
had arrived. “I think you are cor
rect, my dear sir,” returned the un
abashed man, “we have been wait
ing to have you go to bed for over an
hour.” He did not wait much lon
ger, however.
At a wedding recently, when the
officiating priest asked the lady,
“Wilt thou have this man to be thy
wedded husband ?” she dropped the
pretties* courtesy, and with a mod
esty whieh lent her beauty and ad
ditional grace, replied, “If you
please.”
Greely wrote something about
“Suburban Journalism Advancing.”
The compositor thought it was one
of his agricutural articles and launch*
ed out wildly on “Superb Jerusalem
artichokes,”
{The following Story, written by 4 ftftoi
Southern venter, is endtotdas a competitor for the
1100-00 prize sffatHy Messrs. R. A. JT«r-
rison $ Bro.,for “The best erigmal contri
bution” furnished their papers, during the pres
ent year.
HIST2B8S
CHAPTER IX.
“Bid Elsie come to me,” I heard
my uncle say to Janet; and well
knowing that he had been consulting
with my aunt about my welfare,
knees trembled under me. Not
Not often of late, had he bidden me
come into his presence, though often
he had made me seek the company
of Janet, or more haply, mine own
sorrow in ray room. Twice had I
seen strange men; and one, a sea
faring man, closeted with him for
hours together; and of late, my
aunt had overlooked her linen
closets, parcelling off such things, as
she told Janet, would do for me.
“Dear little mistress, let Janet
straighten thy gown,” the kind crea
ture said ; and when she had
so done, she sent me as my uncle
bade her do—saying gently, “Do
not look so down-hearted, good Mis
tress Elsie; it seems to me the tears
be standing in thine eyes already.”
Never before had the greatness of
my uncle’s wig and chain so awed
me; never had the majesty of his
presence so impressed me ; and the
distance between his chair and my
position on the hearth, seemed mag
nified lour-fold. At first I did not
dare look up; but presently I breath
ed more easy, and turned my eyes
towards him, wailing his good plea
sure to address me; for it is not
mannerly to speak before our eld
ers—the more if they be great folk
like my uncle, set off with wigs and
chains. His look was better than,
of late, had been its habit; and
some little hope came to me, as I
thought, “who knoweth but he hath
softened toward my dear John
Gray”—finding him so comely in
his demeanor—“and hath sent to
inform me thereof;” but full soon,
all such happy frame departed from
me; for he spoke, and on this fash-
opportunity was come to beseech
bis mercy; so I just put my bands
together, as I clasp them to say my
prayers,—may God pardon mineof*' der shepherd’s training.”
“Elsie, maiden, I have a few things
to say unto thee, and to acquaint thee
with ; and which ’Lis needless to re
mind thee, that thou as my ward,
shalt see fit to observe. Hast heard
me ?”
I bowed my head.
“Of late, no little injury hath come
to me through thee”—
I raised my eyes to his in sudden
fear.
—“Leastwise through thine ac
quaintance, one John Gray!”
Some new grace seemed given
me to say fearlessly,
“He was betrothed to me, before
1 ever saw thee, dear uncle!”
“Hear the shameless maid, to
speak such like, so openly!” my
aunt cried.
“Fcace woman, leave the matter
in mine own hands,” he said, with
great sternness; and in the moment’s
calm, I heard a faint sound in the
hall like Janet hovering at the door.
“I made no marvel at thy being
betrothed to a shepherd boy, when
he was equal with thee ; but since
thou art come to abide with me, it
behooves thee to look higher !”
His tone was not unkind—though
full positive his manner—and he
seemed to wait to hear what effect
his words had upon me. They had
none; so I held my peace.
“Hast any answer to make me on
that matter?” he asked at length, as
if weary of my silence.
“Dear sir,” said I, “miue eyes
can look no higher than my dear
John Gray; I have nothing else to
anwser.”
“Then hark ye, my modest maid
en, ’tis time that we—that is, thine
aunt and me—looked higher for
thee; no man or boy shall grace a
prison-house, and then come wed
my niece!”
I knew whose hand it was had
pul John into prison : I knew whose
hand might take take him there
from ; and I thought that now my
fence—and turned towards him.'
Something like a sob fell upon my
ear, from the door-way, but 1 drd
not heed any thing save the prayer
on my lips in behalf of my dear love.
<rr Tis not his nature t<#be in such
a place, dear sir; ’tis no fault of
his. He was a harmless shepherd
boy, and most kind to every one,
when mine own letter—writ to waru
him from reading the gospels on the
hill sides—brought him into such
woful lot as is bis dwelling now!’
“Good man how can you list to
such dissenting talk ?” my aunt ex-
claimed, waxing very wroth.
“Good woman, 1 know mine own
business, without thy prompting!”
but 1 saw that his face showed no
signs of the mercy I besought, and
I drew nigher to his chair.
“Have pity on him, kind, good
sir, have pity; and I will promise
thee to go with him to the eod of the
world, and never vex thee more with
my presence!”
“A pretty tale to travel up and
down the street—the Magistrate’s
niece has wedded ‘the jail bird !’
my aunt cried, in great displeas
ure; but I only looked into my
uncle’s face, nor heeded one word
she said. It seemed as though 1
was asking for mine own life, and
that the verdict tarried a far ways
off, on purpose.
Poor sorrowful heart, that should
beat in a childish bosom wiih all the
restless care of greater age—that
should be blighted, as the untimely
hoar frost blights the early leaves,
in spring-time!
“Peace gu - L” I taorj «*
“peace once and for aye; ’tis a mat
ter of my conscience: and I will a-
bide by it under all trials,- when I
enforce the laws on such stubborn
folk. Canal promise me lie will de
sist if I let him go ?”
But I knew that I could not prom
ise, yet it seemed a cruel thing
to shut him out from air and sun
shine, leaving him to die by slow
degrees—breathing the noisome riv
er vapor.
“Peace, once for all, hear ye ?”—
there was little danger I should fever
cease to hear his words ringing in my
ears—“And now list well to my
words, for I have a goodly message
for thee—more gracious than such
ill manners deserve ! A noble gen-
tleman beyond the sea, hath sent
asking thy hand in marriage—a right
noble gentleman, as puls thy shep
herd lad to the blush, for very shame
of quality—and he dwells in the col
ony of his Majesty, the King. I have
seen fit to accept this worthy propo
sal in thy behalf, and have sent him
an answer to the purport that thou
wilt be bis faithful wife, and strive
to be obedient to his slightest wish—
knowing the honor he hath done
thee, to seek thee from such dis
tance, and to wed thee on my s:ate-
ment of thy comely looks and gentle
breeding. All this have l done for
thee, out of mine exceeding love,
and—”
But I stayed his words, by kneel
ing at his feet—my arms twined a-
bout him, and my face raised to his,
the while I cried—
“Dear, dear uncle, lake those
words back; take them clear away,
for the love of God! I pray thee
thank the gentleman for his courte
ous proposal—but I beg thee on my
knees to be good to Elsie, and make
known to him how all my heart is
gone to another!”
“Tilly-vally, PH hearken to no
such words!” he said angrily, and
he made as though he would have
loosed my arms, “Pll not give in to
any such fool’s deed, as breaking off
this fair alliance!”
“For her sake, oh, my uncle!
that left me to thy love and care,
bring not ibis great sin upon me!”
“What sin, thou distraught maid
en ?”
“The sin of loving another better
than her husband! O spare Elsie
from such grievous wrong,” I cried,
and as 1 spoke 1 put my lips to his
hand and laid my cheek against his
knee.
“Spare thee, fiddle-slicks!” he
exclaimed, his voice so harsh and
loud, I crouched down lowlier yet
“ ’Tis all a story hatched from yon
•'“No story, indeed ; I tell no false
hood, good kind sir. ’Tis only late
ly that I promised to love him for
ever and fi^ver!”
Was there no remembrance in his
■“*Ji
heart of a time he once had loved
some one—not the cold silent wo
man beside him—but some gentle
little maiden ? Was there no memo
ry in his heart? Did nothing stir the
waters that now moved slow and
turbid in age, recalling his sister who
had so loved hitn, when they played
together on the hills and in the coun
try lanes, before ever the glare and
wickedness of the great city had
hardened it alike to love and truth ?
Not one memory of those days seem
ed to haunt him ; not one to touch
him for my misery—for the lone
some, friendless maid, more child
than woman, who knelt down at his
feet, her face well nigh the floor in
the anguish of her supplication.
“I will give him up—wilt never
look upon his face, if thou but leave
me to love him all my life and do no
sin in loving him,” I cried; and
put my hands together and looked
into his face as I shall never look in
to another, until l go from hence;
but I saw no pity there—no sign of
relenting from his fixed purpose—
and gradually his features faded to
me, and 1 heard as coming from a
distant place, the words—
“Take the maiden out from my
sight, and let me not be so torment
ed with her importunities!”
Some motherly arms lifted me up
gently, and I felt my head laid a-
gainsl a woman’s breast. No dead
irtiui cttu.e over me in mercy blotting
out my suffering, only a numbness—
a dimness of sight, and the weary
world seemed fuller of weariness
than ever.
Janet laid me upon her own bed,
and I could hear Donnel and herself
moving about me softly—she minis
tering to me, as she would have
done to her own dead child ; and he,
rough serving man, walking aS light
ly as he knew how, and speaking
in whispers to Janet—one upon ei*
ther side the cot.
“Janet, my woman,” he said gent-
y, “ ’tis only to-day that I can say,
‘God’3 holy will be done, and His
name be praised,’ that he saw fit to
take from you and me, our own little
maiden.”
Aye, Donnel,” was the smother
ed answer, as she smoothed the pil
low with her hand—“we w'ould ha’
loved her better than this!” Show
ing how the poor woman yet clung
to her child, submissive in obedi
ence, yet not to praise.
( To be continued.)
A S2LFUL LITTLE ENfiDTEEB.
On the first of January, 1830, a few
friends in Newcaatle-on-Tyne, England,
met for the trial of a new steam-engine,
built by Mr. Robert Stephenson, for the
Liverpool railway. Railways and loco
motives were at that time great novel
ties. He was pronounced to be a great
mechanic, but a member of the party
undertook to introduce to them one still
more extraordinary. The next morning,
on one of his friends calling upon him,
he brought out a tumblerglass with its
contents. In this glass prison was a lit
tle scarlet-colored spider, whose beauty,
with its bright yellow nest on a spring
of lanrustinus, had induced a young lady
to pluck it from the bush where it was
growing. When brought into the house,
it was placed on the mantlepiece, ar d
secured by a glass being placed over it.
In tbe course of a very short time,
this most wonderful little engineer con
trived to accomplish tbe herculean task
of raising the spring of laurustinns, a
weight several hundred times greater
than itself, to the npper part of the glass,
and attaching it there so firmly that, af
ter thirty six years, it it is still suspen
ded where it was bung by the spider.
In the Bible we read: “The spider
layeth hold with her hands, and is in
kings’ palaces but in its glass prison
there was nothing for it to lay hold of—
no peg, or beam, on which to fasten its
threads; yet in a short time the little
insect bad nearly filled the interior of
tbe glas* with minute, almost invisible
threads, by means of which it bad ac
complished its task.
It is believed that this kind of spider
alwayB deposits its nest upon trees, and
never upon tbe ground ; and such may
have been the reason for its wonderful
effort to raise the branch to tbe upper
part of tbe glass.
It may still be seen, dead and dry,
hanging by one of its tbroadsfrom the
top of its prison house, with its little nest
npon • leaf of the Uuruetinus,
«... Tbe gnglishm&n’s Fox 'Uni
The Washington Capitol has a racy
account of how the Joint High Commis
sion, were treated to a fox hunt—a real
fox and real (carriage) horses having
been provided for" the occasion. The
weather was bad, unfortunately. As a
punning friend of our Washington cor
respondent remarked, “it continued to
reyncurd (rain bard) all day.” But the
jovial fox ’unters managed to keep as
wet within as without and so staved
off the iafineoza and tbe rheumatism.
On acriviag at the residence of Mr.
Suit, somi six miles from Washington,
where the hunt was to take place, the
.hunters -punched and lunched—the
punches being ’ot, as the weather was
“blarsted Cold, you know.” Then the
party mountel, the fox was turned ont
the bog and started with a yim, and
the hounds let loose. The Patriot tells
the tale of this lively dido, in which it
will be seen the learned Akerman flour
ished:
“The fox, with great good taste, kept
running round the baronial castle, and
as the hunters kept after him, it was
hard to tell whether the hunters were
chasing the fox or tho fox chasing the
hunters. As for the hounds, they un
fortunately took after some Southdown
mutton that they happened to see in a
distant field, and they didn’t get back
for a week.
Tbe hunt continued around tbe
house, and tbe fox would undoubtedly
have been caught out for the singalar
and eccentric conduct of the horses.
Whenever spurred to their noblest ef
forts they would stop and kick, and sev
eral English noblemen and all the A-
merican members of tbe Joint High
Commission were sent sprawling upon
the grass. We are pained to write that
Earl de Grey’s gallant steed and Gener
al Schenck’s carriage horse fell down,
and when the nobleman was set up on
end it was found that his aristocratic
nose was severely skinned. When ex-
Attorney General Hoar was thrown, he
lost some time looking for his specta
cles, but when found, he continued the
chase on foot. Being somewhat be
wildered he turned and ran in the op
posite direction of t^c hunt, and spoiled
it all by meeting the fox instead of tak
ing after him, as he ought to have done,
like a genuine fox hunter. As it was
he nearly frightened the fox to death bv
L; ( _ ;• _ uu.u.1 uoiHte uiat a
low sort of stratagem had been resorted
to instead of fair fox-hunting, such as
he had been accnstomed to.
“As it was, the animal headed off in
this extraordinary way, took refuge in
the stableyard, and was about hiding
himself in a hencoop, when the Attorney
General caught it by tho tail, and hold
ing on with great vigor, found himself
possessed of the bushy narrative, for the
fox was so weak and exhausted that he
let his tail go. All the gallant hnnters
rode up, and, surrounding the ex-Attor-
ney General, blew their tin horns while
congratulating him upon securing the
brush.
“After tbb there was more lunch,
more hot toddy, and then all mounted
and went off in Bearch of another fox.
There was no fox to be found, because
Suit had only bought one. He said
that if he had known that fool Yankee
was going to put an end to the sport in
that way, he would have had another
fox, so as to have a real good, long
hunt.”
Our correspondent sends us this:
One incident of this excursion does
not appear in any of the published ac
counts, though it is food for the Wash
ington gwsips. It appears that a certain
elevated dame, not altogether discon
nected with the American half of the
Joint High Commission, became seri
ously affected by tbe rain, tbe cham
pagne, the chilly weather or tbe hot
punches, and “went on” at the dinner
table at a fearful rate. Sbe is said to
have confided to her neighbor that she
was dreadfully disappointed in tbe
Britishers, that they were horrid ugly
men, and that Sir Edward Thornton
was the only good-looking Englishman
she had ever seen.
Moral, (which is addressed to tbe
ladies solely) Don’t endeavor to keep
pace with fox-hunting Englishmen, at
thelnnchand dinner table.—Constitu
tion.
The mortality in the ranks of the
English peerage, during 1870, has
been considerably less than in the
course of the previous year, when
the deaths of thirty-two lords spiritual
and temporal, were recorded. Last
year, one bishop and eighteen temp
oral peers diea.
London is well provided for
amusements, supponng thirty-eight
theatres and twenty-six music halls,
besides the opera, Cremorue Gar-,
den, and one or more circuses.
Over seventeen hundred performers
gain their living from tbe music-halls
alone.
The present style of men’s hats is
an exact representation of the fash
ion of 1840. The present scrambl
ed style of ladies’ head-dress is of
older origin, being, according to a
conlemyurary, the identical fashion
which prevailed before the invention
of combs.
A gentleman who was shut np in
Paris during the late siege says that
he ate rat at a restaurant, served up
in a salmis with gravy and toas, and
found it excellent. He says: “I
have no objection to repeat the ex
periment to- morrow. The flesh was
white and delicate, like young rab
bit, but with more flavor.”
wm
