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178 feeble, and seldom leaves her home. A jour ney of a few days is, in her mind, a thing to be dreaded. But come, let me read my let ter.” “ Well, love, have you finished ?” u I was right, Charles; mamma cannot come. She wishes to see us, and soon. A friend, an early friend of hers, she says, is to visit her from the North, and we must come to assist in making Oakville pleasant for them. She says too —I will read : “‘ My friend has a sick child, who has been advised to visit the South as a last re medy for a disease which it is feared must prove fatal. She will now embrace the long standing invitation, extending from our school days, and will bring her suriering daughter, perhaps, she says, to die with me; yet this is her last hope. Come then, Meta, with Charles. I am not strong, and your presence must enli ven the home which has been all -too lonely since you left it. My friends are expected daily.’ ” “Is there no name, Meta—who are these expected guests I You have heard your mo ther make mention of this school-friend be fore V } “ Oh, yes, she has many ; but among them all [ cannot think who this can be. Strange, even the place where she resides mamma has neglected to mention: she had been much agitated when she wrote. We must prepare immediately.” “ Yes, Meta, we must go.” “ But what ails you, dearest 1 you are pale, and—do you not wish to leave home ?” “Certainly, Meta: we will prepare to-day. Our parents here will care for all things till our return. They will be lonely without their pet, sweet one.” “Yes, Charles, 1 love them. But, my own dear mamma—oh ! I shall see her soon!” And Meta, in her joy, forgot the cloud upon her husband’s face, and thought not of the dying creature who was the immediate occa sion of her visit to her childhood's home. — Meta longed to see her mother once more. Did Charles forget and No: the letter of Meta’s mother had had a strange effect upon him, which he could not account for. There was no clear idea on Charles’ mind of what he had to dread ; yet an indefinable sense of horror was taking possession of him, which he vainly strove to conquer. The preparations were completed, and they left their home for a season. Charles was still moody and absent; Meta was all joy Lizzie Carlton, the sweet, pale, dying Liz zie, lay on silken pillows, in the luxurious dwelling of her mother’s early friend. The southern breeze blew gently in through the opened casement, but she breathed it as if in pain; sweet southern flowers lay around her, and Lizzie saw their beauty, but they wooed her back vainly to a world on whose borders she only lingered. White as the magnolias that she gazed upon, she lay await ing the last embraces of decay. Near her sat her mother, and h-xr mother’s friend. Neither spoke to the other of hope ; they knew that for Lizzie it was a vain word, and they look ed only for death. Sooner, by a day, than they had been ex pected, the daughter and her husband arrived. No one met the carriage at the door-step, and the impatient Meta bounded in, without a word, to her mother's favorite parlor. Her husband followed. Meta, quick as thought, was folded in her mother's arms. Charles Ashford followed his young wife, hut paused when he had reached the centre of the apartment. Fascinated, spell-bound, he stood and gazed. “ Lizzie!” “ Charles!” A dark-red stain flowed over the white folds on Lizzie’s bosom, and her mother, shrieking, fell helpless at her side. Charles became suddenly active; he was kneeling in a mo ment by the suffering girl. Her head was raised to his shoulder; the purple torrent ceased, and Charles wiped her fading lips.— She whispered; he bent to hear. “I dreamed you would come to me,” she faintly murmured; thank God! I am dying! dear, dear Charles; help me to die!” Bewildered, awe-stricken, Charles could only draw her closer to his breast. “There, you are helping me ; oh! now how easy, how heavenly! You did not know, Charles, how I loved you when we said that cold ‘good bye.* I was deceitful when 1 laughed, and seemed unfeeling; but oh! I was myself the most deceived. Tears came after wards, and reason came with tears: I knew then my mind had wandered. Do not be sor ry, Charles; you weep!—oh. this is Heaven begun—l am so happy!” A beautiful expression stole over her face, as the tears of hint thus loved unto death fell warm upon her forehead. As in the em brace of ecstacy. poor Lizzie closed her eyes. § ® m& a m mitsie&sb'y ® ®sitit s * “ Charles—God —Heaven !” The breathless ones who listened could dis tinguish no more. Closer, closer, Charles still held her to his heart. Once more her eyes unveiled themselves, and looked up beamingly into the blushing sky, now bright with the sun-set glory. The lids fell then, long and silky the lashes lay upon the mar ble cheek —and Lizzie Carlton was dead. New- York. CMtmps£3 of Nm Books. CAPT. WEATHERSFIELD’S STORY, OR A REMEDY FOR HYSTERICAL WIVES. [From “ Pete r Schlemil in America,” a new work published by Lea & Blanchard.] “‘You must know, that last October was a year, when I arrived at Babylon with a car go of teas from Canton, and as soon as it was possible, I left the ship, and under the high est steam-pressure, set out for my little nook of a village, on the Hudson, where my whole stock of human hopes and affections lay in vested in a wife and three children. It is sin gular, perhaps, but so it is, that I never have any dread that anything can have happened to my family, till I get on soundings, and then 1 can neither sleep nor eat, till l get in to port, and have seen my owners, and found out if all is well at home. 1 had the happi ness to learn that my family had been increas ed by a line boy, born one month after my de parture. You may guess my impatience to see him. 1 sent oil’a letter announcing my arrival, and the day on which I should be at home. My welcome was as joyous as I could have wished it to be. The boy was a noble fellow, a year old, and as like me as two peas. These are bright days of sunshine, which re pay a sailor for some of the storms of his ocean life, and of which his owners, though they get all the profit of the voyage, can’t de prive him, though they would do so if they could, for they grudge everything to their ship-masters. “ ‘After I had been at home three days, 1 returned to finish up the voyage with the own ers, and haul up the ship. This done, 1 re turned. bag and baggage, to my wife, to make a long stay at home. The opening of a sai lor's boxes is always a matter of interest to captaino’ wives, and I hud piucuicd ieft my self all the presents Canton provides. Two pieces of rich silk for dresses, a set of lac quered tea-tables, a set of carved chessmen, and things of that sort. I saw a look of dis appointment upon my wife’s face, but she said nothing, and so the matter passed otf. But when Sunday morning came, my wife was exceedingly cross, and declared she w ould not go to church, though she was as regular as the sexton, “ for,” she said, “ I’ve nothing fit to wear.” I thought it very odd, but said nothing, and taking my little boy and girl, set oil'for church. Everybody was glad to see me, and I quite forgot that all was not right at home, till I found my way hack into my house. There my wife stood, ready to scold the children for muddying their shoes, and would have spanked them on the spot, if I had not interfered, with a good deal of firm ness in word and look. The children were undressed, and dinner served, and nothing on the table was cooked fit to eat. And so the next week passed on. My coffee was as thick as mud—my turkeys done to a crust, and 1 well knew the devil was about to be let loose, but for why, I couldn’t guess. In the mean while, my wife’s sister, who had been a sort ; of ship’s-cousin quartered upon me. ever since ( my marriage, looked all the while as demure i as a Connecticut deacon under the parish pul | pit, and gave no sign to show me what all this was about. “ ‘On the next Saturday afternoon, as I was sitting with my wife and children, I heard a knock at the door, and called out “ Come in”—and in came my old friend, Capt. Thom as Bowline, and his wife, in all the splendors of anew rig. He had returned the week be fore me from Calcutta, and we were the on ly sea-faring men of the place, and though our wives were neighbors, it so happened, that we had not been home, at the same time, for years. “ ‘I was delighted to see them both, and my wife. I thought, was wonderfully cool, though exceedingly polite. I soon forgot all about her manner, in the pleasure of talking over our several fortunes since we last met; and as we had not met before, he havingbeen absent from the village since my coming home, we had many things to talk over. They made a long call, and when they went away, my wife went up to her room, and I saw no more of her, for when tea was ready, she sent word down that she had a headache, and had gone to bed, “ ‘ The next morning matters wore no more pleasant aspect than they had done, and when the first church bell began to ring, my wife burst out into a flood of tears, and set ofl for her chamber. I followed her, and there she lay, on the bed, in a regular fit of hysterics. When she came to herself, I asked —“Why, what on earth! what is all this about'?”— She rose, and putting her hands on my shoul ders, looked me full in the face, and said— “ Captain Weathersfield, if you don’t know, you ought to know” and I wilted down under her look, like a boy caught in the act of play ing truant. “ ‘There’s very few men, who, after along voyage, could have stood such an appeal as this. I felt some rascal had been telling sto ries out of school ; but for the life of me, couldn’t conceive who it could be. And then my wife went off again, into another fit, worse than the first. 1 took off her shoes, and her feet were as cold as ice. As I rubbed them, I conjured up all the recollections of my voy age, and they were not half as pleasant as I could have wished them. But finding it im possible to restore my wife, I ran down stairs, leaving the doors all open behind me, to the kitchen, to make some mulled wine, and there was my wife’s sister, with her demure face, which helped to irritate me no little. I call ed for wine, and spices, and a porringer, and while it was heating she began, by saying— “ She wished to Heaven her sister knew how to treat a husband as he deserved to be treat ed—that if she was a wife, she should know how to prize a man who did everything a man could do to please her.” I was in no humor to hear my wife abused, and so I burst out up on her in a rage, and told her “ I believed she was a snake in the grass, and that 1 had rath er have her sister, than ten thousand such hypocrites as she was; that if there was any mischief made between me and my wife, I knew who to thank for it all.” She lifted up her hands, and said : “ She believed all men were fools, and of all fools I was the greatest.” This brought on a spirited alter cation, in which I spoke my mind pretty plain lv. So soon as I had heated the wine, I de canted it into a tumbler. My wife’s sister had r( commended hot vinegar, but I told her “I would leave the vinegar cruet all to her self ; i knew a better thing than that for my wife.” “ ‘On my way up stairs, I thought I heard my wife’s footsteps about the chamber, but oil entering, I fuunil liei lying on the bed, cry ing in a very sensible way, so I found no dif ficulty in persuading her to drink the mulled wine, and then I set to work rubbing her feet again. She now began to sob, and to say, “ She didn’t deserve to have such a husband —I -was too good for her —nobody would love her—nobody ought to love her.” I felt en couraged to leave rubbing her feet, and take to rubbing her hands, and to kiss her, begg ing her to tell me “ What was the matter.” And then she fell to crying again, and sob bing, she said —‘ She couldn’t tell me, for I should hate her, and she deserved to be ha ted,” and all that sort of thing. The more she decried herself, the more penitent I be came, and was on the point of making a clean breast, and asking her forgiveness ; but luck ily, I did no such thing, for after sobbing, the secret came out—“ Captain Bowline had brought home to his wife a Cashmere shawl, and I had only brought her a silk dress.”— “Is that all!” I exclaimed, and I kissed her as heartily as ever a woman was kissed be fore. And now ’twas my turn to complain, to tell her “ how unkind she had been to keep me in such suspense all the while,” and then came her turn to put her arms round my neck, and to kiss me, and beg to be forgiven. All which, 1 assure you, was a very agreeable winding up of this scene. “ ‘ I was not long in discovering the whole secret of my wife’s grievances. She thought 1 didn’t love her as much as Captain Tom lov ed his wife, because I brought China silks from Canton , instead of an India shawl; but I explained to her that Cashmere shawls came from one part of the world, and silks from a nother; but these women believe shawls are made everywhere beyond the seas. “ ‘Now, every woman has her Napoleon Bonaparte , and my wife’s was Mrs. Tom Bowline , and the thought of being outshone by her at church had caused all this commo tion, now so happily ended in a clearing up shower. I told my wife her wishes should be gratified so soon as ever I had it in my power to do so, and intended that this should be done as soon as ever 1 could find a shawl to my mind. “ ‘By dinner time my wife, was dressed, and as we sat down to dinner she looked as happy as a bride, and as for myself, I never was happier in my life. My wife’s sister looked on with astonishment, and I was sur prised to see for the first lime, that my wife spoke to her with a little tinge of sharpness. I had reason to believe afterwards, that mv wife hearing our loud talking, had come m the head of the stairs and overheard us t was one of those few instances in which sis/ eners hear good things of themselves • - ln ] resulted in my wife’s sister finding the house too hot for her; so she married herself off t a saddler, and removed to Babylon. “ ‘ But to go on with my story; the next day my wife and I set out for Babylon, she to have her China silks made up, and as for myself, I really had no other business than to accompany her, and to buy a shawl, which should outshine Mrs. Tom Bowline’s. For tunately, I found my old friend Briggs, of Sa lem, just in from Calcutta, with a half ’dozen magnificent shawls, of which lie allowed me to make my pick, at cost price, and a hill made out at any price I pleased to have affix ed. So I modestly told him he might receim a bill for one at seven hundred and fifty ( j 0 J j. lars, for which I paid him three hundred.— This I had safely stowed away in my trunk as a coat I had been buying. I purchased besides, a fine satin bonnet with a plume that drooped down on her shoulder in the most bewitching style, and she was perfectly de lighted with her visit. We remained in town a w r eek, when her silks came home from the milliners. Her dresses were just as she liked to have them; a most rare thing, 1 can tell you, and as to the bonnet, no language could express her admiration of it. And so we reached home on Saturday night, perfectly well pleased with everything in the house and out of it. “ ‘The next day was rather a bright fros ty day, and my wife dressed in her beautiful bonnet and rich silk dress, certainly looked charming. She had a pretty fur cape on, and with a sweet smile said, “Now, dear, let us go, for the bell is tolling.” You must know my wife never goes into church too soon, but just before the minister commences his prayers. “ ‘Why, my dear, where’s your shawl ?” “Oh ! I don’t need a shawl to-day.’’ “But, love, just please me, and wear one ;” she was for an instant a little displeased, but quelling the feeling, she ran up stairs, and there lay my splendid present on her bureau. She came running down with it on her arm, and throwing her arms round my neck, burst in to tears. As I knew these tears did her good. I let her cry them out, and so soon as they could be dried away, she put on her shawl, found it all right, and though I say it, there never was a finer looking, nor a happier wo man in the world than my wife at that mo ment. “ ‘ We walked up the head of the broad aisle, in presence of the whole congregation, to our pew, next to the minister’s, and it would have done your heart good to have heard her sweet, clear, ringing voice, making the responses ; she seemed especially desir ous that all the congregation should know what a miserable sinner she was. and how “ she had done the things she ought not to have done ; and when the service was over, she had a kind word for every one, especial ly was she anxious for the health of Mrs. Bowline, and all her children, and on the church steps she lingered to speak to all our neighbors, high and low, far and near; so it was pretty well advertised before we got home, that my wife had a splendid shawl, the pret tiest bonnet, and the richest silk dress ever seen in that parish. As for poor Mrs. Tom Bowline, her dinner was spoilt for one day- Nor was she the only woman made misera ble by my wile’s finery. Many an old cloak and shawl, which in the morning was thought good enough to last another winter, was now taken off with a feeling of absolute loathing. 1 he wives of all the parish praised me up to the husbands, as “such a kind man,” “one who loved to see his wife look like some body ;” and the daughters teased their fath ers for new bonnets and shawls, so that I was abundantly abused on all hands by the men, for spending all my money on my wife’s back : and when the secret leaked out what my wife’s shawl cost, for I took care to hide ih’iggs’s bill, where my wife was sure to find it, the admiration of the women, and the contempt of the men, rose to the highest pitch. One thing is certain —never had the parish church worn such a fashionable air before as it did that winter. “ Now,” said the Captain, with a thump on the table which made the glass es dance, “there’s my method of treating wo men with the hysterics. And I will give you, sir,” addressing the priest, “ the exact propor tions of spice to be put into a pint of wine, and in your next edition of Conjugial Love. I beg you will put it in as Captain \Veathers field’s remedy. Women will sometimes be cross-grained; it can’t be helped ! but instead of breaking up all the relations of husband and wife, mother and child, the most terrible of all calamities, let everybody try my pr e ” scription— a pint of mulled wine taken warm on going to bed , and a Cashmere shawl in the