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HIV .. ’• . • ” 1 ’ V %Hl>VElil|''v ‘ 1.1.11. k mwmm Fiiai ieirn, mimm m ummm rai mts mb scimbs. mb to cmml arnyfim For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. THE RESCUED YOUTH. ■ from TIIE GERMAN OF HERDER. find a puro and unpolluted soul, -a high prize—but higher far it is ’o rescue and to save the noblest one, 1 hat seems to human minds already lost. ►t. John, returning to the rocky wastes l)f Patmos’ Ide y was ever, as is wont, ■’he shepherd of his flock. He gave to them l\ r atchinen, attentive to the inner man. km it l the crowd, he saw a fair young man— Frolicsome, joyouslicalth . beamed in his gla’ cc, ’Ruined his sac—and, from his sparkling eye”, •4>>k<* out the loving, full and ardent soul. ‘This Youth,” earnest he spako’unto h : s Priest, Take in thy charge ; aud, with this trust in h thee, ■I hold thee bound for him—and, Christ the judge, The < liurch is witness between me and thee.” The l’ilest received the Youth, and brought him up, Aud soon he saw the fairest f.ults within lli> bosom glow—and, with confiding trust. Relaxed o’er him his holy, watchful cure. And freedom was unto the Youth a snare ; For, borne away by sweetly flattering words, 1 1*- idle grew —a prey to wanton joys— To all the of deceitful art— Then to the charms of power—and soon lAronud a troop of friends he drew, and fled To forests dark, and reigned a Kobbcr-chief. ■Wh n John unto his Isle returned again, ■h irst question to his shrinking Priest he put, ■ Was, “Where’s my son 1” “lie's lost and dead,” replied ■ The oVI grey headed man, and dropped his eyes I When! how!” “ Unto his God forever dead, I Aud now, with tears I say, a Robber-chief.” From thee this young man’s soul,*’ said holy John, |“At throne of God I’ll claim. But where is he 1” I “On yonder mountain-chain.” “See him I must.” I The Saint, approaching to the forest drear, Was prisoner made, just as he even wished. “ Lead me,” he calmly said, “ unto your head I” fTc stept before them—and the changed Youth Trembled, for well he knew that holy look I Could not be borne: he turned. “Fly not, O, Youth! Fly not, O, Son! Your aged, feeble sire, And weaponless. 1 have devoted thee Unto my Master —must for thee account— Aud oh! how joyfully, if such thy will, •Give hero my life for thee ! Thee have I pledged, With my whole soul, unto my Maker, God.” Weeping, the young man cast his arms around The grey-haired man—covered his tearful face, Silcrtand stiff—then gushed, in lion of words, FortWrom his eyes a stream of bitter teal’s. Wars passed, and still they undivided lived, All to each other —and, n the fair Young Man, John found a pure and unpolluted soul: Vow say, what was't which they perceived— The heart of Youth, and knew, and inly healed — And found when lost, and sav and foreveimore 1 The faith of Holy John—deep trust in God— And love, rndying love, for fellow-mat).” For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. THINK OF THEE!” Tp'rk of tlico ! oh! may I never Breathe Love’s holy vows again, If forgetful of thee ever, 1 should give that bosom pain. IV ik of thee ! there is no hot—, Or bright or sorrowful it be, In Which uffcctiou’s gentle power lucitos not hope, and thought of thee. Think of tliec ! oh! what were life— Its dark and changing scenes—to me. If in its wild and heartless strife, 1 could not fond'y th’ ‘k of thee. 1 hink of thee ! oh! yes, forever W*ll I think and dream of thee ; And tell me, dearest, wilt thou never Breathe a prayer of love for me 1 P. H. H. i - For Richurds’ Weekly Gazelle. LINES Addressed to ayAi’ng Friend, on leaving School, Written for her Album, at her request. lady, soon wilt thou leave those halls of learning; * ‘ll! take with thee, for thought, this parting les son : Beneath yon cold, sepulchral marble, where I he willow hangs its drooping head, there lies “lie in the bloom of youth, and full of promise. * s 'hc was the young companion of thy tasks — • s hared with thee all thy sports.—Pause here n moment: I‘ rotn that fresh tomb, bedewed with Friendship s tearc, ’dethinkK a gentle voice calls thee to —pause — To think npon that solemn hour, when t'cath Summons both young and old< perchance to tlice hike as,it came to bar, ill Youth's bright morn— liven so may he thy doom. Oh! liocd that voice ; I rom Him seek refuge, who alone can save. ‘'ay. seek, at onoa, llis face—He calls thee to Him. E. H. J ‘hmitrlmi, Mity, 18-10. For Richards’ Weekly Guzetto. EXHORTATION. INSCRIBED TO A YOUNG FRIEND BY C. L. WHELER. Wishing—wishing—thus, day by day, Thou triflost all thy life away ; Wishing thou wert but groat as he,* Whose name's a nation’s history ; Or he,f whose song a kindling ago Lntranced with soft, poetic rage. Wished they, perchance, when they was young, For greater fame than Homer sung; But not like thine were all their days Past in dull Indecision's maze. Theirs, like every noble soul, Marked, at first, the beck’ning goal; Then, step by step, they upward clomb, Until they reach'd Fame's dazzling dome. Never by idle longings came The hero’s wreath—the poet’s fame : Fame, alone, bestows the palm To giant mind and stalwart arm ! If thou'd't be great, no longer dream, Nor bask thyself in Pleasure’s beam : Up and onward ! nor trials heed. Though soic they progress thy impede. Made by toil and trial is each name, That brightly shines in scrolls of Fame: All who reap Time's noblest spoil, Must win the prize by endless toil. Fix upon some glorious end, Then calmly, firmly, onward bend; Nor loiter with a watch less eye, Lest sweet Success shall pass you by : And if, perchance, (hy cheek may pule, Still on ! —“ there’s no such word as fail !*’ * Bonaparte. 1 Byron. Allusion is made to a con versation. For Rickards’ Weekly Gazette. LIZZIE NORWOOD. BY ALECK. CHAPTER ONE. “ Slit- was a form of life anil light, That “Oca became a part of fight; Anil rose, where’er i turned my eye, The morning star of memory.”—Byron. Harry Bradford resided in one of the most beautiful little towns in the Southern country, lie was the son of poor parents, and inherited nothing at their death but a strong arm and a stout heart. He knew that he was poor, and that he must win his way 1o fortune and influence by applica tion and perseverance. At the age of six teen, he lost his only surviving parent— his mother. Until her death, he had con tinued at school, and, by close attention to his studies, had acquired a good common school education. A short time after her death, he hail entered a Printing-Office, in his native town —where, by his industrious habits, good disposition, and correct deport ment, he had won the esteem and confi dence of his employer, insomuch that, in a few years, he became foreman of the of fice. Nor was his mind, in the meantime, in active. Numerous articles from his pen appeared in the magazines and newspa pers, evincing talent of no common order. Many were anxious to know who it was that wielded so powerful a pen, under an assumed name; but, as Harry’s name nev er appeared with his articles, their author ship and his literary merit remained un known, save to a favored few. But ‘‘a change came o’er the spirit of his dream.” He was in love. He had seen Lizzie Norwood often on the street, but only thought of her as a laughing, bright-eyed girl of eighteen—until a few nights before our story opens, when he met her at the house of a friend. A few hour's conversation with her convinced him that she was a girl of no ordinary merit. And, indeed, she was all that he thought her to be. We will not attempt a description of her person, for we should fail to do her justice. Suffice it to say, that she was a beautiful little creature, possessed of a good and well-cultivated mind. No ex pense had been spared, by her parents, in giving her an accomplished education. In conversa tion, to use the words of Capt. Cuttle, she “ was surpassed by few, and equalled by none.” We need not wonder, then, that Harry lost his heart, “at first acquaiu- I lance” The day after, his proof wns very bad. “Doublets” and “outs” presented them selves in rapid succession. His fellow workmen had to repeat their questions twice, and often thrice, before they were answered. Poor Harry was decidedly “ bad off.” He was in love; that was a conclusion which forced itself upon his mind. But how was he to act? How could he expect the rich and beautiful Liz zie Norwood to notice him—a poor prin ter ? For her father was one of the vil lage aristocracy, and prided himself upon his family, albeit his grandfather was an honest shoe-maker. How could he hope that she would notice him, when there were wealthy young men addressing her ? These thoughts, for a time, presented them selves, and he knew not what to do. “ There’s one thing very certain,” solilo quised lie, “that lam in love. There’s a kind of an ‘all-overish’ feeling about me, that I knew nothing about until I saw Liz zie, last night, and, by George, I must see her again, if it kills me. But there’s the old man—he's as proud as Lucifer; and I shouldn’t he at all surprised, if he wanted to cane me, if he was to catch me at his house, and knew I went there to see his ‘ daughter. But 1 the course of true love never did run smooth and 111 go to see ! her, to-night, if the old gentleman meets me j at the door, and orders me off.” He went, and, from the good humor lie manifested, on his return, we feel war ranted in saying that he was kindly re ceived. At least, his visits became so fre quent, afterwards, as to attract the atten tion of one of his friends, who said to him, one morning: “Harry, you must he quite interested in Miss Norwood, as I see you visit her pret ty often, lately.” “Jim, my dear fellow, can you keep a secret ?” asked Harry. “Can I? Os course I can, my boy. and, if I can't, I’ll do like the Hibernian, and tell it to somebody that can.” “Pshaw, Jim, I don’t feel like joking, this morning. Talk seriously: shall 1 make a ‘confident’ of you ?” “ Ah, ha! some love-scrape, eh ? Well, Harry, 1 make it a rule to have nothing to do with these affairs, but, as it's you, why-, old fellow, I'll keep your secret. Drive ahead.” “Well, Jim, in the first place, I'm in love, and with Miss Norwood.” “That’s no secret; 1 have known that for some time,” said the wag: “give us ‘the second place,’ now.” “I intend, to-night,” continued Harry, “to bring matters to a close. 1 have been visiting her for three weeks, and she must have made up her mind, whether or not she likes me.” “Then, you intend to pop the ques tion ?” “Yes, and this very night.” “Take care, Harry, you may get ‘hoist ed.’ There's no knowing how to take these girls. At the very time they look handsomest, they may be plotting the down fall of some poor ‘ greenie’ like you or I. I pursue the safest course.” “ What is that, Jim ?” “By having nothing to do with them. But I promised to meet a friend at six, and it's about that, now; so, bon soir, mon cher anie CHAPTKR TWO. “ Thou, thou hast metamorphosed me ; Made me neglect my studies, lose my time.” [SHAKSPKARE. j “ Oh, that a dream, so sweet-, so long enjoyed, Should be so sadly, cruelly destroyed.”— Moore, j After leaving his friend, Harry went immediately to his room. Here he sat long, in a deep study. He was unable to ‘ determine what to do. The allair must be brought to a denouiment , that was certain, as he could bear the suspense of uncertain ty no longer. He could not muster suffi cient courage to tell her his feelings, in propria persona , so he at length determined to do so, par billet. A sheet of note-paper was obtained, and, after sundry trials, he succeeded in writing a letter, which suited him. He told her that he was poor, but that, in a free country, poverty was no crime. It was a long letter, and in Harry’s best style, and was calculated to make a decided im pression, even if none hail been made be fore Early next morning, before the arrival of the first mail, the letter was placed in the Post-office. Six long hours would pass before he could receive an answer, as he expected one when the second mail was 1 opened, at noon. How long it seemed to him! He was unable to centre his mind on any one thing, and did nothing hut walk about the office and make mistakes, lie attempted to “make up a form,” and pul the marriages under the head of “ Im portant Ncv's," —the last speech in Con- gress was denominated “ Poetry,” —and the notice of a “ Political Barbecue ” was placed in the “ Chapter of Accidents .” At these faux pas the editor looked grave the ‘boys’ tittered, and Harry blushed. At length, the hour of twelve drew near, and Harry proceeded, with a faltering step and palpitating heart, to the Post-office. An unusually large mail had arrived, and the office was not opened. How lie felt, while waiting at the office, we shall not at tempt to say. Those who have been simi larly situated, will know; and thise who have not, will never know, until expe rience teaches them. When the ofice was opened, he received the letter he wished for, enclosed in a beautiful envelope, and addressed, by a lady’s hand, to Mr. Henry Bradford. With a trembling h-avt, he hastened to his room, determined that no one should witness his success o; disap pointment. In his room, he broke .lie seal and read: “ Miss Norwood regrets that Mr. Brad ford should have construed her friendship into love, and should have proceeded so far upon that misconstruction. If it were pos sible for her to entertain for lnm a feeling of love, a proper regard for her family and standing in society would prevent her from marrying one so far beneath her in both. “ Tuesday Morning.” “Decidedlycool, by thunder!” exclaimed Harry, as the note dropped from his hands, and lie sank into a chair. For several minutes, he appeared to be in deep mental agony, but, recovering himself, lie rose and said: “So far beneath her! All! she knows me not. I have loved her as no other will ever do. Ten minutes since, I would have died for her, but that note has wrought an entire change. What was love, is now deep and abiding hatred. She must have known bow itoftplv and how ardently I loved her : she shall know how danger ously I hate her. From this moment, 1 shall only study how to he revenged. How little did 1 think, while in her company, and receiving such marked attention, that 1 should ever he treated thus by her! Ah! I loved her as my very life. 1 could have borne misfortune in its worst aspect, and could have laughed the world to scorn, had it turned against me, if she had loved me in return. But, “ The conflict is o’er, the stragglo is past— -1 have looked, t have loved, 1 have worshipped my last; And now back to the world, and let fate do her worst Oil the heart that for thee such devotion l ath nursed. To thee its best feelings were trusted away, And life bath hereafter not one to betray”— “ Except a feeling of revenge. She shall feel, though I am ‘so far beneath her,’ that my love is far better than my hate. ‘lf it were possible for her to entertain a feeling of love’ for me! Tt would have been better for her, if such a thing had been possible, for then she never would have felt the force of my hatred.” From that time, Harry Bradford was a changed man. He became morose and dis contented. The true secret of the change was known to hut one of his friends, who was 100 high-minded ever to refer to it. Ilis fellow-workmen saw that something weighed on his mind, but, as lie shunned conversation, they made no efforts to dis cover what it was. One morning, a few weeks after the re ception of the note, he was not atthe office at the usual hour. For a time, nothing was thought of it; but, as the morning wore away, and he came not, they became alarmed lest something had happened. One of their number was sent to his hoard ing-house, to ascertain the cause of his de lay. He returned, in a short time, with a letter directed to “James Graham.” The land-lady, at whose house Harry hoarded, slated that he had left there the night be fore, saying he woTifil be gone all night, and probably next day. He requested that the letter might be delivered to his friend, to whom it was directed. In it, he stated that, sot certain reasons, he thought it best i to leave his native town —it might be, for ever. He had preferred going in the way he did, to prevent his friends from attempt ing to dissuade him from his resolution. All his debts had been settled, and he left H a free man. Sad were the hearts of the little circle, who had gathered round, when the reading of the letter was finished, for they all loved Harry. Some of them had known him in timately for years, and “to know him was to love him .” but all of them had known him sufficiently to become charmed with his goodness and amiability. CHAPTKR THREE <• Von sha'l res, anon ; ‘tis a knavish piece of work”— SuAK*rEARE. “ With wild surprise. As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless sbo stood.” Thompson. One bright May morning, about two years after the occurrence of the scenes re lated in our last chapter, the usually quiet little village of H was thrown in to an excitement by the arrival of young Lieut. Elford, of theU. S. A., who expected to spend several months with a friend in the village. Ilis arrival was duly ascer tained by some of the gossips, and. before lie had been in the place a half day, every young lady had been informed of it. Un fortunately, they were like the ladies of too many towns and villages of the United Slates—very partial to brass-buttons and gold-lace—and the young Lieutenant was looked upon as a prize, which some of them must gain before the summer was over. The windows of the different houses, fronting on the principal street, were thronged, during the day, by the /air se.v, who were anxious to get a glimpse of the young olficer. In the afternoon, he made his appearance, much to their relief, in company with his acquaintance, young lawyer Selden. He was rather slightly, but handsomely built, and his neat undress uniform gave him quite a prepossessing ap pearance. Add to this a fine intellectual face, adorned with jet-black whiskers and a slight moustachios, and you have him as he appeared on the afternoon in question. A ; crowd’ of young ladies had gathered at one of the houses, who made him the topic of conversation after he had passed. Miss Arabella Acid thought him “very handsome, but he put on too many airs for her, entirely. - ’ Miss Priscilla Prim said she liked him “tolerably well all except them whiskers, and that nasty little mus tach.'’ Miss Jemima Clark had “no use lor ‘l,o. o Util* officers, who were lit for nothing but to strut about for people to look at.” Elford, in the meantime, pursued his walk, ignorant of the conversation which he had called forth. About dusk, he re turned to the hotel, ate his supper, and, as the land-lady remarked, went to bed “just like common folks.” The next evening, as Miss Lizzie Nor wood sat at her piano, practicing the last piece of Music, she was startled by the ringing of the door-bell. Ilefore she had time to guess who it could be, Lewis Sel den and Lieut. Elford were announced. The usual introductions were passed, and the Lieutenant, with his usual easy and graceful manner, soon felt “ perfectly at home.” The evening passed away very pleasantly, and, when the hour for depar ture arrived, he felt that it would he a pleasure to fulfil his promise to repeat his visits. From this time, his visits to Lizzie be came frequent, for he had really fallen in love “at first sight.” It was soon report ed all over the town that they were en gaged, and some of those good people who attend to every one’s business but their own, went so far as to appoint the day'. But how did matters really stand 1 Our readers may ascertain, if they will pay par ticular attention to the following conversa tion, which occurred between Lizzie and one of her particular friends : “And so, Lizzie, you are really enga ged I” “Oh, yes, I have heard so from a good many of my neighbors, who ought to know.” “But arc your neighbors correct"? Are you not engaged to Lieut. Elford?” “ If it will afford you the least gratifica tion, l can tell you that I am. - ’ “ Why, dear Lizzie, you appear to be ashamed to acknowledge it, and I am sure I can’t sec why. Lieut. Elford is a prize any girl might be proud of gaining.” “Ob, no, I am not ashamed of the en gagement ; I hope 1 shall he very happy. My father is very anxious I should marry him, and I feel disposed to please him, even if 1 were not pleased myself. For tunately, in this instance, I do both.” Tlie house of Mr. Norwood was bril-, liantly illuminated on the evening which , had been appointed for his daughter's mar riage. All the elite of the village were j assembled. No expense had been spared in preparing for the occasion, and it prom-! iscd to be the most splendid affair ever seen j„ ii , Elford, during his stay in the place, ha 1 become very popular, and all thought Lizzie was going to do exceeding-; ly well. Everything was ready for the ceremony, yet the bridegroom came not. Various were the conjectures as to the cause of his delay. Some thought he had repented of his bargain, and had left the place; others, ! that he was si<-k Lizzie and ber friends [ knew not what to do. The hour appoint led for the marriage was eight: it was now half-past eight, and he had not arrived.— j Soon, however, a carriage, was heard ap proaching, and F.lford, attended hy his friend Selden, entered the house. He gave as a reason for his delay, that his watch had stopped, and he was ignorant of the hour. The true reason will appear soon, i In a few minutes, the two were on the ; floor. Behold them: a handsomer pair was never seen, even by the “ oldest in-1 habitant.” Harry has doffed his uniform, and is dressed in a beautiful jet black suit. ‘ Lizzie is arrayed in spotless white, as pure i as her own guileless heart. A single white i rose-lmd adorns her hair, which falls in j beautiful ringlets over her snowy neck. All is ready. The minister asks, in a i clear and distinct voice— “ If any here know aught why this mar- 1 riage should not proceed, let them now, make it known, or ever after hold their peace.” There was a silence of several moments, t which was broken by one who was least j expected to speak. Elford, dropping the hand which was in his. stepped forward ( and said in a clear voice— “l know why this marriage should not proceed. Three years ago. I resided in j this town, a poor hut honest printer. I of- i sered myself to this lady as a lover, but 1 was spurned and mistreated 1 determined ; on revenge. Willi the assistance of these,” tearing from his head and face the wig and false whiskers, “1 have found it, and am revenged.” Saying these words, Harry Bradford, for it was him who had spoken, left the house, before the assembly had recovered from the surprise his words had occasioned. Such a scene of confusion as then took place, beggars description. Lizzie fainted, old Norwood raved and swore, and the j crowd broke up m a “*•*• CHAPTER FOUR. “ Change is written on Ibe tide. On the forest's lenfy pride ; On the streamlet glancing bright, | On the jewelled crown of night:— All, where’er the eye can rest, •Show it legibly impressed.” Her. J. 11. Clinch. On a pleasant afternoon in October, sev eral years after the occurrences related in another chapter, as the last rays of the setting sun gilded the tops of the trees and houses, the stage coach drove up to the hotel in'the village of H . There was nothing very remarkable in this, as the same coach drove up to the same hotel daily, “ Sundays excepted,” and haJ done so for months. Neither was there any thing very strange in the appearance of the man who alighted and gave orders for the removal of his baggage. He was evi dently a stranger, and a man who had seen something of the world. We should guess his age to be thirty-five, or thereabout.— His slight but well-built figure, was clad in a neatly-fitting sack coat, of plain black cloth. His fashionably tied cravat, and general appearance, denoted one who be stowed considerable care on his dress; and his handsome, good-humored face, shewed him to be at peace with himself and all the world beside. After seeing his bag gage safely deposited, he look a scat at the cheerful fire, which crackled and spar kled on the hearth. But who isthis slian ger ? and what has he to do with the sto ry ? Be patient, my friend. Let us leave him to a good night’s rest, and to-morrow we shall be apt to find out, The next morning, it was whispered about that a member of Congress was in town, and was at the “Washington Hall.” Now, a number of the good people of H had never seen a member of Con gress. They had heard of them, had read their long-winded speeches, but had never seen one of the genus. Therefore, nearly everybody was on tip-toe to see him.— About ten o'clock, a considerable portion of them were gratified with a sight of the “ wonder,” as lie was seen walking tip the principal street of the village, in company of Judge Selden. Our readers have no doubt guessed that the traveller and the M. C. are the same: and if they will pay at tention to their conversation, they will make still further discoveries. “Well, Lewis, everything has changed since 1 left here, ten years ago. All my old friends appear to have forgotten me: 1 sec very few familiar faces around me, and I suppose l have altered in appearance, as well as they have.” “Yes, Harry, I hardly knew you. You have grown stouter, and have otherwise changed, since you were here.” “ What has become of most of my old friends, and what are they doing 1 Where is my old flame, Miss Norwood ? -Mar ried and doing well,’ doubtless:” “No! she is still single,ndnppears"de ; termined to remain so. She has been a dillerciit creature, ever since the night you were revenged. She lias had many good i offers, but lias refused them all, and.seem , determined to die an old maid.” 1 “ Poor creature! I was sorry for her, and hail half a mind to make it up with ; her that night. But the thought of how she had treated me, flashed across my mind and re-kindled my anger. She is the only girl I ever loved or ever will love. Ilow does she look, Lewis ?” “Remarkably well. Old Time lias laid his finger very lightly on her brow, and. but for a more womanly demeanor, you would think her sweet little Lizzie Nor wood of eighteen, so little has she chang ed.- ’ “By George, Lewis, 1 will call on her to-night, and see if she will treat the Hon. Henry Bradford, M. C. from Wisconsin, as she did poor Harry Bradford, the printer. But I must conceal my real name, as I have a little plot in view. - ’ i “ Very well, we can manage all that. - ’ After supper, the two friends made the contemplated visit. Judge Selden intro duced his friend as the Hon. Mr. Jones.—* After a very short but animated conversa tion, Selden arose and remarked that he had a client to attend to, who expected to leave town very early next morning, and as the business was of importance, he hop ed Miss Norwood would excuse him for a short time. This, dear reader, was hut to allow Bradford to make himselPknown. It was some time after they were left alone, before he could muster up courage to introduce the conversation which lay nearest his heart. Strange that a man who had chained the attention of the House of Representatives by his matchless eloquence, should be embarrassed by one lady--yet such was the case. The truth was, that he loved her still. He thought that his ; affection for her had ceased, but a few mo | ments in her presence renewed it. ! “You will probably be suprised, Miss Norwood,” he said, at length, “to know that I have called on you to-night to make ; an apology.” “I am truly so, sir,” replied Lizzie, looking up in wonder, “for I do not know that we ever met before this night. - ’ “We have met before, but under very’ different circumstances. The world now calls me honorable , but I was once a prin ter, in this, my native place. 1 loved you as my very life. You, as you had a right to do, refused to love me in return. It was not that, however, which inflamed my an ger, so much as the manner in which it was done. But enough of that. I deter mined to be revenged. You know the manner in which I was revenged. My visit here to-night is to beg you to pardon me for the way I acted on that occasion.” “ f have long wished, Mr. Bradford, for this time to arrive: for, l am sure, if you had known all, you would not have acted as you did. 1 have always loved you r and had your note reached me, a very dif ferent answer would have been written.— But, unfortunately, my father took it from the post office. lie knew it to be from a gentleman, by the writing, and opened it. He wished me to marry a fortune, and of course wished to put a slop to your vi sits. He knew the best way to do it was to write a note, as if from me, declining your otfer. He did so, imitating my wri ting, and you know the rest. I could nev er account for the discontinuance of your visits, and thought you had found some one more worthy of your love. You may’ judge of my surprise, on the night I was to be married to you as Lieut. Elford, for, until that time, 1 was entirely ignorant of your having addressed me.” “Is it possible, then, that I have wrong ed you sol” exclaimed Bradford. “And, dear Lizzie, can you forgive me ?” “We were both deceived, Harry, and therefore nothing is to be forgiven. My father regretted on his death-bed that he had ever deceived me. and I am sure I have long regretted it.” “ Dear, dear Lizzie, we shall only be happier, for having loved each other so ( long.” And they were as happy a pair as were ever wedded. If any of on r readers should ever travel west, they will find none hap pier in the State of Wisconsin, than the Hon. Harry Bradford and his accomplish ed wife. Athens , On. Riches cannot purchase mental end ele ments. —Nobut, as the world goes, they make a very excellant strcccdaneum, for all that. In the false scales of popular judgment, metal endowments will send your “ mental endowments -- to I lie beam ii - owe thing of a hurry.— Poston Post