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forenoon passed and the afternoon was waning, when a shadow fell across the threshold, and Callie looked up to find an Indian standing in the door. She started hack in alarm, but was reassured when he entered and said: “Girl no’fraid of Black Fox !” It was an Indian who had been a frequent and welcome visitor at the cabin. Black Fox had hunted with her father, paddled Callie up and down the river in his canoe, and had more than once slept in front of the cabin fire. The girl was reassured at hearing his voice, but was sur prised at his presence. “ War coming ! ” he said as he stood before her; “ better run off! ” “ Are the Indians going to make war upon us ?” she asked, laying lieiphand on his arm. “Indian heap mart—got war paint on—old Carson better git ’way quick ! ” “ Why should the red men make war on us ?” she asked, her face growing pale. “ Can’t tell,” he answered, moodily. “Black Fox want you to get away—bad times coming. Where old Carson ? ” “ Up the river.” “Ugh—bad!” “ How long before they will attack us?” she asked, following him to the door. “To-night, maybe—maybe to-morrow!” he replied. She wanted to question him further, but hav ing accomplished his mission, he would not tarry another moment. None of the rest had seen him come—no one but Callie saw him depart. When he had gone, she ran up to the other cabins and spread the alarm. Her pale face and anxious look corroborated her words, but the men an nounced that there was no reason to fear an attack before midnight, and they refused to par take of the excitement. All the women and chil dren crowded into the cabin which had held them before, but after an hour or two they began to dodgeout after articles which had been left behind in their cabins. The men scouted ail around the clearing and failed to find any traces of the red-skins, and half an hour before sun down, Callie ran down to her father’s cabin to secure the keg of powder under the floor. Two women and a child passed out at the same time to obtain something from another cabin, and no one dreamed that danger was near. Callie had just reached the cabin when a fierce yell startled her. Turning around, she saw a band of savages pouring into the clearing and dashing into the cabins. As she stood there, horror-bound, one of the women was tomahawked at a cabin door, and a scream from the other and a cry from the child announced that they were in the power of the dusky fiends. All this transpired in a moment, and as a bullet whis tled past Callie’s head, she sprang within the door and dropped the heavy bar in place. The shutter was secured next moment, and just ns the girl retreated from it, a dozen Indians leaped against the door and uttered such fierce yells that for a moment she came near fainting. Re covering control of her nerves by a giftat effort, she threw 7 some dry limbs on the smoldering fire, and then placed powder, caps and bullets on the table and prepared to defend the cabin. The crack of the pioneers’ rifles now echoed across the clearing, showing that they had barred their cabin and were defending it; and with their yelling and firing, they made a din little less than horrible. They dashed against the stout door of Carson’s cabin until the whole building trembled, and a dozen rifles buried their bullets in the shutter every moment. The savages had burst into the clearing with out an instant’s warning, and their tomahaw r ks had found work to do. By great good fortune, the door of the larger cabin had been closed against them a moment too soon to prevent a horrible butchery, and Callie had escaped death for a time at least. Cut off from all hope, a score of blood-thirsty -Si'W's uTTSJ 61 ?. JK&'lf Trial ve girl’s courage left her for a moment. (TO BE CONTINUED.) [For The Sunny South.] THE BROOK'S WEDDING. BY MBS. MARY WARE. A bright little brook went dancing by. With many a glance at the soft blue sky, And saying as plain as words could tell: “Come to my forest home and dwell! “Come from the din of noise and strife.— Come from the busy haunts of life,— Come where the sky is bright and blue,— Come where simple hearts are true!” And singing, dancing and Hashing along, Its life grew into a beautiful song; It woke up the violets early in spring, And they smiled to hear the brooklet sing. And they opened their blue eyes wider still When they felt the kiss of the laughing rill: And they could not tell which most to love— The sky in the brook, or the-one above. And some water-lilies, stately and fair, Look'd down in the brook and trimm'd their hair; Each smiled and nodded with peculiar grace, As it gazed and wondered at its own fair face. But the merry brook went dancing by, Loving most of all the bright blue sky, Till one day, when the sun was warm and bright, A fairy creature of wondrous light Bent over the stream, all light and love, With eyes still bluer than the sky above, And radiant tresses sprinkled with dew, Like a rose-tinted cloud in the ether blue. And what do you think? This beautiful sprite Was the spirit of song from the regions of light; And when summer lay on her rose-curtained bed, The brook and the spirit were solemnly wed! Now, the graceful lilies grew stately and wise, And the beautiful violets drooped their blue eyes, And the sky sometimes looks angry and tried, But the brook still clings to itB pliant■ on bride! Stretched on his snowy couch Our noble chieftain lies: 'Tis sleep, but not the sleep of death, that shuts those noble eyes. oa ; fire that flamed and roared and crackled in so rudely aroused them from their Christmas- [For The Sunnv South, t e ancient fire-place, and threw out such floods night slumbers. The scene was further enli- ValoiltillC’s RpCHIllbPllt Ntittuc Of Lt'C. of generous. ruddy light, that cowardice crouched ( vened by violent screams, interspersed with down ashamed, and the phantom occupants of hysterical laughter, from the chamber of Miss the chamber— if such there were—glided for the Rosalinda Belmont, a sentimental young friend tune out into the stormy night. of my aunt’s, who was noted for “sensitive 1 prepared for repose with quite steady but nerves,” and was addicted to spasmodic “turns.” remarkably tardy fingers: read a long chapter in In the midst of this agreeable hubbub, my my pocket Bible: studied diligently the uncouth aunt’s shrill voice had never ceased demanding: decoration of the upper wall; then made another ‘-What is it? Are you killed? What is the survey of the tapestry, and speculated in regard matter ? What has happened? Sakes alive, to what battle was there represented, and whether James! do you think she has seen -has seen-— there ever existed a race of men with such pre- “Yes.” I broke in at this point, getting up posterously long legs and such full-blown-rose into a sitting posture and taking in the whole cheeks. Finally, I was forced to own that there situation at a glance; “I have had a terrible was nothing els$ to delay my retiring. The last nightmare, and through its kindly aid. your footsteps had echoed along the corridors more matter-of-fact niece, who possesses. you know, than an houF'ti^ffrfe-the lights were all extin- such an nnusnal amountcf ‘practical good sense,’ guished—the whole house was sunk in profound has actually seen, talked with, and been invited silence. The huge oak tire had nearly burnt to visit, the ‘ murdered bride of Ravenswood!’ ” [For The Sunny South. THE down, and threw long, uncertain lines of fading light across the floor; the candle was sputtering in its socket. Evidently, unless I sought that grimly-expectant couch soon, the perilous ascent must be made in darkness; so, with a prayer that I might pass unscathed through the trying ordeal before me, I consigned myself to rest. To rest?—but of this the reader shall judge. I sup pose I must have fallen asleep in a few moments, despite my dreary forebodings, as I had taken a long drive that day in a cold wind. The silvery stroke of the hall-clock, proclaiming two, sud denly awoke me. The nervous terrors of a few hours previous had quite disappeared. I was perfectly calm and composed, and felt a delight- | ful sense of luxurious rest and refreshment. The room was utterly dark—so dark that for awhile, in the absence of familiar objects by which to locate jnyself, I was curiously uncer tain where I really was. Presently, however, I became aware that a vague, singular light was dawning in the cham ber. I say dawning, for at first it was so ineffa bly faint, so blent—if I may use the term—with the darkness, I doubted whether it were not a trick of the imagination. But it widened, and rose, and deepened, until the apartment shone j.with almost insufferable splendor. It was un like any light I had ever seen. It glittered, and scintillated, and gleamed, and at intervals, flashes of the fire shot through it like the swift Just from the battle-field. Clothed in his martial suit. His sword beside him. let him rest. His vigor to recruit. ******* More than two months have elapsed since the removal of the recumbent statue of General R. E. Lee. Never was public interest more plainly mani fested than it was during the exhibition of this life-like piece of statuary. For several days after its completion, the stu dio was thrown open to visitors from nine o’clock in the morning until sunset. Hardly a minute during that time was that studio unfilled: for the citizens of Richmond were wild with enthusi asm, and townsmen and countrymen from afar, “Will you stop that crying, sir? or I'll see if as many as could raise the means, came to our I cannot make you.” ' favored city to pay their tribute of love and re- But still the' tear-drops followed each other spect for tiie dead in effigy, and to show their down the little grieved face, and the suppressed appreciation of the genius of the sculptor, sobs shook the little frame. The design of this work was formed over “Oh! Horace, surely you will not!” cried the three years ago, and was doubtless adopted by young mother, as she saw her husband take the Mr. Valentine as much for its novelty as tor its [For The Sunnv South.] THE FATHER’S LESSON. whip. “I do not think he is well, and then he is only a baby yet.” “Only a baby, hey?—and three years old. But I have stood his crying long enough, and am going to put a stop to it;” anil the blows be gan to fall on the dimpled figure, every one fall ing as hard on the mother’s heart. Mrs. Fane at last, unable to control herself longer, snatched her darling boy to her breast and cried: “ Oh ! Horace, I did not think it of you ?” Mr. Fane did not reply, but left the room whistling, though his conscience was not quite easy. He was in fact a loving father, but had, as most young fathers have, an idea that chil dren must be perfect, and was very strict ac cordingly. Amy sat for awhile with her child pressed closely to her heart, petting and soothing him as only mothers can, and then went with him to beauty. Recumbent statues are rarely seen in America; but I have heard and read that some of the most successful works of the European masters are cast after this model. Indeed, I believe Mr. Valentine himself, while a pupil of the German sculptor. Kiss, was particularly fond of this style of sculpture. Hence it is, doubtless, that we see his finest and most conspicuous work mod eled according to this design. Mr. Valentine was engaged for many months in forming the various casts of this recumbent statue. The first was only a few inches in length, and was cut with a pen-knife out of potter’s clay. The next was larger; and so on until the figure reached the size desired. The last cast—the one which was adopted as a model for the statue proper—was made of plaster-of-Paris. That made, the work vfas but commenced: for marble SPECTRE OF RAYEXSWOOJ). darts of polished steel Whence it came I could ! t!l1 ’ cozy little breakfast-room; but the nice little of sufficient purity was doubtless hard to find, not divine; but a* I gazed in breathless aston- meal had lost its relish for both and was par- ” fi " ishnffmt thereby/ from the centre of this daz- takeu of almost in silence Mr. Fane at length ! _,ia ‘ -i ...i. i c 1. n _ arose from the table and left tor his daily busi- BY FLORENCE HARTLAND. zling' nuTTancc a white-robed female figure evolved, as it were, from the very heart of the flame—a tall, exquisitely formed woman, dressed in a ball costume of a century ago. The lus- “ You are quite sure, Fannie,” said my aunt, ! trous brocade fell in heavy, trailing folds on rather anxiously, as she deposited the candle- the floor, and the quaint, pointed corsage, cut stick on a spindle-legged table, and turned to j to reveal her magnificent neck and shoulders, give the fire one more vigorous poke before bid- j was thickly embroidered with gems. Her hair, ding me good-night, “that those silly stories in black as a raven’s wing, was arranged high up regard to this room have not made you in the : on a massive silver comb, such as I had once no- slightest degree nervous '! It is unfortunate that ticed in a portrait of my great-grandmother; but ness. “I feel so sad,” Amy mused, after her hus band had gone. “I feel so unusually sad. I am afraid Arty is not well; but then his eyes are bright and his cheeks rosy,—ah ! that is it! they are too rosy and his eyes too bright. “Come, my pet; want to sit in mama’s lr._ and hear pretty stories?” “ Y'es’m.” and carvers of sufficient skill were still more scarce. But at length he was enabled to find them both. The writer distinctly recollects the morning when the huge block was rolled in on massive wheels; and he thinks with gladness of the even ing when that piece of marble was carried forth in state—no longer a shapeless rock, but trans formed, by the heaven-imparted genius of the ■'ulptor, into a grand and almost living figure of our noble, patriotic Lee. Several times dur ing the week of exhibition, the writer went in to all the spare chambers are just now occupied, and that of necessity this falls to your lot, as the last comer. But it is certainly as comfortable a room as any in the house, and you surely are not weak enough to be influenced by those ridic ulous hobgoblin stories. Too absurd of Horace, I declare, to rake them up again to-night.” The good lady spoke with unusual warmth the luxuriant masses, partly escaping from con finement, fell in several long, wavy locks to her waist. For a moment, this beautiful apparition stood motionless, with her gaze riveted on the floor; And the little head snugs down on her slioul- look upon the noble work. Stretched upon his der with such a feeling of perfect safety there, j snow-white couch, under an unspotted coverlid, One story follows another until the little head resting after the labor of the day, with sword droops, little eyelids close over the pretty blue . beside him, and his noble countenance calm in eyes, and Arty is asleep. ! the quiet joy of sleep, lay the “Chieftain of the “See, he smiles,” said Amy to herself. “My | South.” Around him. speechless, gazing mutely, then, while the blood curdled in my veins and f?“ rs are Probably groundless. I must be get- adoringly, stood an unbroken throng of enrap- the enlit Lender! foreLend she ting nervous. I will not disturb him, but let tured visitors. There, in that august the cold perspiration beaded my forehead, she «“g nervous, i win nor aisturo mm, our let tureu visnors. Auere m imu august presence slowlv approached mv bed. Not until she stood him have a quiet nap. stood young and old, with uncoiered heads, and tried to assume an air of easy assurance; by me did she lift her eyes; and when she did, little curly head is laid gently on the Age, with tearful eye and sigh ot gratitude, bent but there was so evident an anxiety in her kind their melancholy beauty so thrilled me tht I felt pil ow, the little rounded limbs covered lightly, lovingly over the figure ot him who had endeav- eves as she turned them on me, that the bravado I mv agonv of terror somewhat abated, and re- “d with another kiss on the bright-red cheek, ored to protect its white hairs from the fury of - me uiaiiiuu i . b. . -. It was sbe leaves him to attend to her household cares. ! the foe. Youth, suppressing its levity and [For The Sunny South.] THE CHILDREN. BY VERNE. They are idols of hearts and of households; They are angels of God in disguise; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still gleams in their eyes. God bless them, and make us more patient with their petty faults and misdeeds ! Bright, joyous creatures, sent to refresh and soothe us when we are wearied with the hollowness and deceit which we meet in the busy 7 walks of life ! We wonder, in our calmer moments, how we could ever be harsh or severe with them; and yet, when fretted and harassed by 7 outside influ ences, we too often treat them not only unkindly, but unjustly. When we find them ignoring our petulance, and still trusting and loving us, showing in a thousand little ways their affection for us, bringing their little offerings of love with eyes sparkling with pleasure at the prospect of bestowing happiness upon us, we feel overpow ered with a sense of our sin compared with their innocence, and we echo the words of the poet, who said: “Oh ! those truants from home and from heaven ! They have made me more manly and mild; And I know how Jesus could liken! The kingdom of God to a child." To all those who have charge of childhood’s “sunny years,” we would say, deal gently with the little ones by whom you are surrounded. When they do well, give them words of praise and encouragement. When they wander in for bidden ways, endeavor to win them back by kindness. If you find that they require punish ment, try, before causing them to undergo it, to remove all anger from your feelings. Chasten them rather in sorrow, because they too have begun to show that they are under the dire curse of sin entailed upon us. Throw sunshine around your little ones. Make home happy for them. Enter, when pos sible. into their childish amusements. If harsh words should ever rise to your lips, restrain them and give that “soft answer,” which is more powerful than a “two-edged sword.” Be patient with the noise and mirth. There may come a time, all too soon, when the childish prattle will be bushel, the silvery laughter .will float no longer through the rooms, the echoes of the little feet will be no longer heard, and the tiny hands will lie cold and still above the heart that has ceased to throb with joy or pain. If you thought the time near, oh ! how tender and forbearing you would be with your household treasures ! All impatience would be gone, and yon would give them only kind words and lov ing kisses. Give them at all times, we entreat. with which I had met the announcement of my quarters for the night rapidly evaporated, and I felt a chill creep over me as I.threw a hasty glance around my spacious apartment. For a moment the idea of retreat suggested itself. I could easilv 7 take possession of the parlor sofa, and, with a big oak fire for company, pass a comfortable night. But I remembered my scorn ful declaration of incredulity at the tea-table, when the traditionary ghost was being handed pressed the shriek that rose to mv lips. , , , ,, , ,. only a second, I suppose, that she stood there Though work as she would she could not ban- mirth looked with devotion upon the effigy of me, but it seemed a thousand lsb the sadness from her heart, but every few him who had given those years which he had looking down at eternities until she spoke: “Come ! the hour for the ball is arrived, and I must gather white roses for my hair. See! the guests are arriving.” As she spoke, I perceived, to my inconceivable ““ .d ma.on every side, the parapher- surprise, an nalia of a drjfc^ W Tall Y enetian mirrors c ), a ' 7 — when she saw ling«r;^(|o gaze upon him wli , . —- mJTTSnmSh .e in an o. mnffflWss, earnestness u in intellect who hesitated to passl night in any in different places: antique furniture, grand but awful convulsion. She knew then tw W nnl.tv. room invested with purely imaginary and puer- 'cumbrous, was ranged stiffly round the room; ls ears " ere rea lzec. lie terrors.” To my intense dismay, I found' ' “ -- minutes steals to the cradle-side to look at her wished to spend in calm retirement to the noble baby-boy. At last she is through her morning work of training up the future custodians of the duties and has ordered for dinner those dishes honor ana liberty of the South. Beauty joined of which her husband is fondest; for in her the wistful throng and rendered her sigh of heart he holds first place, loving him even more homage at the requiem of greatness. The mes- than she did her idol boy. But ah ! what is it ? j sengers of Christ, as they trod their paths of Amy’s heart had just begun to grow lighter, and toil, and carried forth the blessings of religion, 'o traze upon him who was the parasron mess, earnestness nun uuristian hu- awful convulsion. She knew then that her militv. Dispatching a ser- Nothing of admiration and love could be witli- tliat my courage was fast oozing out at my finger fore, now in its pristine glory, and gay with tips, and I fairly thrilled with a foreboding of crimson and gold, was festooned from the ceil- _ . o - ! g°ld, what was before me, as my aunt propounded ing. As I stared at all this in frightened bewilder- her anxious query; but pride in the enviable ment, again the lady by 7 me said, “Come!” but reputation I had won as being a young person j this time in a tone so impatient, and with such a cold gleam in her dark eyes, that I rose hastily and followed her. Throngs of guests were now arriving. Proud, utterly free from the weak nervousness so abhor rent to men and so dear to women, was stronger even than cowardice; and I answered with a non chalance that surprised myself: “Of course not, aunt. It is the grandest old room imaginable, and I shall no doubt enjoy a night in it immensely, despite all the ‘murdered brides' in Christendom ! That raging wind with out will only 7 prove a welcome lullaby.” “Spoken like a sensible girl,” said my aunt, in a tone of great relief and satisfaction, as she kissed me an affectionate good-night. “I do ... „ • , ’ vant for the physician and her husband, she held; for he was a grand concentration of the and the old, tattered tapestry of the evening be- ljegan trying 4 a J t simple mea ns her limite ’ d ex - “ true, the beautiful and the good.” perience suggested to give the little sufferer re- The studio of Edward Virginius Valentine is lief. | situated in a quiet yet picturesque portion of “ Oh ! will they never, never come !” she cries the city. A small plot of ground lies between over and over again, wringing her hands in the building and the fence. This space is filled helpless grief. I with beautiful flowers; and climbing the fence Yes, at last they are here. Horace comes first, i and running over the arched gate-way, is a all his father’s heart stirred between love and pretty vine, which is now filled with flowers of remorse. The doctor’s practiced ey 7 e tells him the sweetest fragrance. Here is another illus- . , — boy was surely going. a smile. But we passed these without a word to lose him were bitter indeed, but coupled with and her works; and hence, constrained, in a indeed, there was the silence _ot death pervading that, the knowledge of his morning's work ! He greater or less degree, to “ look from Nature up all and found ourselves, by w hat means I could felt as if he would give y 7 ears of his own life to to Nature’s God. ” not tell, out in the stormy darkness of the win- add to that of the frail being before him; and On the evening appointed for the removal of ter mght. Here, the terror that the sweetness oh ! how good he would be to him! How he the statue, the First Regiment of Virginia Vol- i : f f ° ,— |°‘ the lady s smile had partially allayed seized would shield his pathway 7 from thorns and pluck unteers turned out to escort it to the train. The oiTo it ha i i am V V0U ’ m , y deai ' , me a S am A ? nd * essayed to draw back; but a only roses for him ! But alas, alas ! it is too streets, porches and windows all along the line He® ’HTtahk iJT*-f™ydinary degree. ; hand deathiy cold-so cold tha a chril from ri late! What a golden opportunity has passed ! " ' fo ln rm i fi lnv fl! ; ’ j p, Cr6pt \° *** “ow-suddenly laid hold ot God lent the treasure for a little while, but this you earning it anything is needed. Pleasant me and drew me forward, while the voice I had jjf e dreams ! and my aged relative took herself and heard before said close in my 7 ear: her rustling robes out of my range of vision. “On,—on! Flowers for the bridal!—white “‘Strength of character!”’ echoed I dubi- flowers to deck the happy bride! Come! we ously, as the door closed behind her. “I hope i are nearly there !” ! was too full of thorns for the tender feet, and now he would transplant the fragile earth- flower to a brighter clime, where no fierce winds blow and no rude storms arise. The death-angel is hovering noiselessly in the of march, were filled with persons anxious to witness the last ceremonies of respect which Richmond will have a chance to pay to this most lovely work. The case in which the statue was enclosed, and the wagoiv which carried it, were both laden with flowers ifnd evergreens—tokens of the presence of woman, who is ever ready to to heaven I have enough to carry me creditably ! Even as the words cleft her lips, we paused darkened roornT and the devoted mother felt gladden with her smiles the leisure hours of tol 0 of S mvoin 11 nowe ; r« b ” t 1 ““ W ° fuUy distras t- j befo ^ ala rge iron gate, and I noticed with hor- a i most as if her i ife was going out with the bright ln L 01 111 3 °' vn 1 )0 "ers. ror that it was the entrance to a cemetery 7 . ----- - — - Then I took up the candle and proceeded to Still powerless Aj^resist, I followed her in. examine the chamber. Numberless graves—some with gleaming mon- It was, I was forced to acknowledge, much as uments, others humble and uncared for—lay I would have preferred to pass a different judg- - around us. Hurrying from one low mound to ment, a ghostly-looking apartment —vast in pro- another, my shadowy conductress stooped to portions, and finished in an old-time sty 7 le that gather something from each, until at last, her might have once been grand, but was now in the ghastly work complete, she turned towards me highest degree gloomy and depressing. The j with a hollow laugh, as I stood, frozen with hor- walls were painted a dark, funeral brown, and ror near her side. She had woven a chaplet of were hung with some remnants of faded tapes- the rank weeds that spring so plentifully from •try that had commemorated a famous battle, putrefaction; the damp, slimy green was coiled and were once gay with gorgeously-uniformed in her jetty hair, and fell on her white forehead. when the ,. ttle ia ,. ud low and the young life of the little being in her arms. If her grief was so hard to bear, what must have been the anguish of the father’s ? Aye, the iron had truly entered into his own soul. Oil, parents ! y 7 ofl who have your little ones around you, shield their tender forms from the storms of life while they are young—the cares and vicissitudes will come soon enough. Do not let their bright, sweet faces catch the frown upon your brow. Do not utter one harsh word or cause their little hearts one sorrow with which you will have to reproach yourselves when the little head is laid low and tiie flowers coated cavaliers. But now the venerable hang- rescence—an unearthly brightness, impossible t il , • , ings, like the lair fingers that had wrought them, to describe, and supremelv fearful to witness- h ' , a an S e . ' were mouldering to decay, and waved mourn- and by this awful illumination I saw that her fully in tattered strips from the walls, like the white dress was stained with large clots of blood f l fi ^ Alin 1 J torn banners ot a vanquished foe from the castle which welled slowly from a wound in her side. ’ 11,1 ramparts of the conqueror. The ceiling was “Come!” she again said, in a tone that will tL | H^Tj^ parted in a'smile7as if in a glorious immortality. Never more will the little face be tear-stained or the little bosom curls lie very 7 smoothly now by the marble brow. The laugh ing blue eyes are hid beneath the long lashes; high, and was carved in grotesque arabesques of haunt me to my dying day, and even now, years ‘ , -. ,, -. overgrown Cupids, laughing nymphs, and leer- i since that fearful night, I cannot hear that word CaU " Jt h0m etnin ing satyrs. In one of the remote corners stood without a start and tremor; “ come! now we the bed—a huge state affair, with dismal green must home and sleep awhile—the night wanes.” curtains and cumbrous canopy. I groaned audi- Hurriedly seizing my 7 hand, she touched the bly as I surveyed the towering featherbed, and door of a massive vault, and the ponderous reflected that in case of a precipitate descent, hinges turned slowly, revealing the sickening whether induced by 7 real or imaginary terrors, a interior. broken neck would, without miraculous inter- Up to this moment the spell of silence laid on position, be the inevitable consequence. me had sealed my lips; but now the certainty of By this time, my state of mind was anything my appalling doom swept ov£r me with such rather than enviable, and my hand shook so that greatness, to decorate his brow with laurels gath ered by the fingers of affection, and when the messenger of death beckons him away, to water his grave with the tears of devotion. Escorted by a guard of honor from Richmond College, the statue reached Lexington in safety. At the closing exercises of Washington and Lee University, it will be unvailed and formally ded icated to the sacred use for which it was de signed. Now that this monument, so costly and so grand, has been erected at Lexington, the citi zens of Richmond must relinquish the hope they 7 have long cherished of having his sacred dust deposited at Hollywood, where sleep so many of the brave boys who used to follow him so devotedly. But whether we have his tomb in our midst or not, the citizens of Richmond can never cease to love and revere him. He is one of those never-fading stars destined to shine force that a shriek of mortal agony burst from the candle I carried deposited a bountiful sup- me and cleft the silence of the lonely night. I Thev are little things, "but unlimited" in* their l d y of hot tallow on that unoffending member, called upon the name of God in a tone that must power. They may be a life-preserver to vour : Determined to rally my flying courage, if pos- have tingled to the listening stars and moved children in 'after* years. Benjamin West said ! sib ^ e > 1 made a desperate effort to reason myself the interposition of angels in my dire extremity, that his mother's kiss made him a painter. How into composure. I even hummed a snatch of a Methought I heard the swift rush of wings, as many have been kept from taking the fatal down- P°P ular song, as I walked across the creaking my. prayer-brought defenders were hurrying to ' ' 7 floor and placed the light on the dressing-table; me; but it was too late! I felt myself sinking but the tarnished, ebonv-framed mirror reflected down—down ward step by the remembrance of a mother’s kiss, only the searcher of hearts can know. If your children arrive at the years of manhood and womanhood, sorrows and temptations must be met. When the “ evil days draw nigh in which they shall have no pleasure,” when the seasons come in which the “clouds return after the rain,” let them have a bright period to look upon. Let these loving home influences which depend on you go with them through life; “On through the dark days, fading from their prime, As a sweet dew to keep their souls from blight.” of heaven’s glory ere he reached the gates. White flowers are clasped in the tiny hands that lie so quietly now on the pulseless breast. The little feet will make music no more along the hall-way, nor the little face peer so longingly through the glass by the door way to see if “father’s tomed.” There’s a long, dark shadow now athwart the home circle. How hard to look at the cradle with its dainty ap pointments that almost show the impress of the daintier limbs that so lately reposed there; to see the little chair by the fireside and know that its little owner will never need it more; to gather together the neglected toys, and turn where you will, to see something to remind you of the little one who was lent to you for so short a time, and then took its flight to brighter worlds than this. To return to the author of this lovely piece of workmanship. It is to be hoped that neither Virginia nor the Sontji will forget to encourage and sustain a son of such wondrous talents as those with which Valentine is endowed. In spite of the bickerings of a jealous and criticis ing few, this work, it is universally conceded, has raised its author to a considerable height on the ladder of fame. If Valentine be spared to prosecute his labors, and if Southrons act well, their part, the South will yet be proud of the day on which his eyes first opened on the world. a face so pale and discomposed, that I smiled grimly remembering that complimentary allu sion to my unusual stock of practical good sense. However, the recollection of my boasted lack of nerves really for the time produced a desirable effect. I vowed that my head should not be turned like that of a nurse-frightened child. I mentally threw down the gauntlet of defiance to I think if Horace Fane is ever blessed with an other child, he will make a kinder, gentler father than before—will feel that children have A heavy jar aroused me, and at the same mo ment a loud, cracked voice, strained by appre hension and terror, called my name beseech ingly. I opened my eyes and found myseh - . . _ lying on the floor beside the high bedstead'that childhood s griefs had filled me with such forbodings the evening * be ones we suffer in maturer years, previous. My aunt, in night-dress and cap, *"*"* stood by me. holding a candle-stick in her shak- Physician—“So you’ve taken all the medicine “I want it nice, and strong, and snug-like,” said the widow, exhuming a fresh pocket-hand kerchief, and controlling her sobs with difficulty. “Oh, that’s all right, ma’am—that’s all right,” returned the undertaker, tapping the coffin; “he couldn’t get out of it, ma’am, if he had a mind to.” A gentleman who went to Europe to escape opened* mv"eyes and**found""mvse*lf rights and privileges as well as old persons, and the Tilton-Beecher trial, last fall, burst into tears e floor beside the hir-h LedsteerVtLaf that childhood’s griefs are as real to them as on his return to New York, last week, when he heard at the wharf that it was still in progress. i, xv v- a a,- - , , - “ ,, , Don’t be envious. Half the beautiful cakes all tiie hobgoblins that might people earth.-air ing hand, terror written in every line of her ven- and find no relief, eh ? \\ ell, we must try some- y OU see sticking in other folks’ windows are and sea, and resolved proudly to climb the giddy erable face; behind her loomed up the portly thing else; so to-morrow I will call, the first only saw-dust covered with icinm "— 1 — 1 — l7 -' 17 — J ~ figure of my uncle, with eyes distended to a re- -- 11 — — A - 1 1 “““ 1 height of that sombre-looking couch, and vin- thing in the morning, and shave your head, . .... , . . dicate my right to a night’s repose there, or per- markable degree, and clutching a rustv fowling apply a blister, cut the nerves in your upper . \\ aggish fellow who is cotirting a pretty but ish in the laudable attempt! I think now that piece in his nervous grasp: down the corridor I jaw, and pull your back teeth; and if you find 3\ hat is the difference between a belle and eyed dressmaker savs that her looks are i this momentary gleam of courage was due in a heard hasty footsteps coming, as half-dressed, no relief then, why, we’ll have to give some- burglar? The belle carries false locks, and the j great measure to the cheering influence of a big frightened visitors poured out to know what had thing stronger.” j burglar false keys. INSTINCT PRINT