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5 ^ BY A. .1. JOHNSON. Seek ye the light of knowledge. For wisdom is more than wealth; It gives to the mind the blessing Of spiritual strength and health. Learning is great and noble When ripened in purpose high. And its beauty and perfect glory Shall never, never die. One may have fame and beauty, And riches rare as >f Iud; But when he sails over the river. He must leave all these behind. flew into liis face, and stunned for a moment, he dropped the pole and fell on his knees. An Indian sprang into view on the shore, uttering a loud yell, and old Carson let go the sweep, sank down on one knee and said: “If he’ll wait five seconds, I’ll drop him in his tracks.” His eye ran over the sights, his finger pressed the trigger, and the Indian leaped clear of the ground and fell back at full length, shot through the heart. The men crouched down behind the heavy bulwarks, expecting to have a volley fired at them; but the boat floated quietly along, and by and by turned the bend, and not another Indian had been seen or another shot fired. “I can’t make out why he was there alone, and should have opened fire on ns,” said Carson; and for an hour the men kept close and main tained a strict watch. The afternoon passed without further alarm, or without sight of another Indian. The boat had been pushed along so fast that the Landing would be reached some time before noon the next day, unless the night brought trouble. The river was now broader and deeper, and there was not so much danger of an attack from the shore; yet when night came the men pre pared to exercise the greatest vigilance. Up to midnight, the night was dark and gloomy, but after that hour the c» -.ids broke away, the moon rose, and both shores of the river were plainly visible to the watchers. At two o’clock, the boat was not over eight or nine hours’run from the Landing, and some of the “You cannot mean it, Mary; you only say men were inclined to smile at their fears that j this to try me—to prove my love; as if more the settlement had been troubled during their j proof were needed than Mis,—that a glance of absence. I your eyes, a touch of your hand, thrills me as At two o’clock, old Carson resigned the sweep j no other glance and touch have power to do; [For The Sunny South.] THE LIGHT OF KNOWLEDGE. but it was quietly done, as she did everything in ' glimpses of sanity. When her eldest step-son overcame her dread, and refreshed ^ lUUt Utl WAVHV., J 1 11 1 1 T these latter days, and a visit to her sanctum was married to the sweet and winsome daughter cious coolness of the waters, am ^ n et } would have explained the work of her leisure hours. Entering here, you would never have decided it to belong to a woman. No feminine trifles brightened the room ; no flowers shed their fragrance there. Books on grave themes, generally so little liked by women, were piled here and there. The pictures might have been the work of some stern man, unforgiving of some great wrong. Every phase of nature’s of one of the few women she had cared to call “friend,” she bade them, with all her old impe riousness, dress her in her most elegant gar ments; and as the bridal company neared the house, she sat gazing intently at the blushing bride, and murmured sorrowfully: “l'es, she loves him—poor young thing ! And when did love ever bring aught but sorrow?” tender tinkling, she fell asleep under the great shadow of its clustering vines. The hours crept away unheeded by the slumbering child, and shadows were beginning to lengthen across the fields and ripening grain, when she awoke with a start and looked about her. The chirping ot a robin red-breast overhead attracted her atten tion to the boughs above her, and she saw some- But knowledge, if true, is eternal. And beyond the other shore ’Twill become a joy immortal— A crown forevermore. [For The Sunny South.] MARY MOORE’S SIX —AND— ITS PUNISHMENT. BY FIDELILAS. lien U1U IU»e C>C1 ttugiii uiu auilun . ,.*,.,** iv. "o ’ ' . .1 . A f „ When she became so violent that it was not thing shining very brightly in the meshes o unrest and human sorrow looked down from her possible to keep her longer at home, her hus- tiny nest. She looked at it long and curious j. walls—notone bright view or happy face. i band himself accompanied her to the state asy- Could it have rained, and a drop^ot ^ water thorns in—not weakness' calm and self-possessed. She had said to her- played, had outlived her reason. - _ self years ago, “I can bear Anything I trill to When at last they telegraphed to him that rea- to tear it from the twig, when a thought occnr- bear,” and her health was generally good, but son had returned and that she had not long to red to her to take the whole nest from the une she suffered at rare intervals from prostrating live, he traveled night and day, frantic with and carry it with her to the castle, fearing lest nervous headaches, and at such times her hus- haste to reach: her. She lived a week after he they might not believe her strange story. Her band’s devotion and anxiety were touching in reached her side, but of those fleeting days he kind heart pitied the beautiful bird as she heard ke; let us believe they atoned in their its mournful cry, berett ot its tender home, but viwuuu™ H1UVUOUUIVH-UV..IU.V ^ ^ „„„ are my best medicines.” And if he ventured to to one of the men and walked forward to the ! that I so long for your presence that I cannot ; J !l - ^is hand tenderly, as it in blessing, on her bow and sat down and carefully scanned the • remain absent from you. even when in coming I s ^ e tHrned ^ llI . n . so decidedly that Ohio shore. As he watched, his eye suddenly endure insults from j our father to which I there "asnothing left tor him but to obey and fell upon a floating log. After a moment, he would not tamely submit from another man.” saw that there was some other propelling power j The young man spoke rapidly, vehemently, than the current, and that the log was floating and drawing a hard breath, added: diagonally across the current in a manner to “Tell me you were only jesting, Mary, my head off the boat. Mary !” lingering lovingly over the name as if it “Hist! here comes a red !’’ he whispered, and was sweetest music, the men left the boat to drift while they crouched j “But I do mean it, William,” she said coldly belrnd the bulwarks. j and with perfect composure, though she was Old Carson alone kept his head over the | deadly pale. “I have promised to be your un it kept its course j cle’s wife, and I will keep my word. I will the extreme. He hovered around her bed, an- never spoke; .... —— _ . ticipating every wish, anxious to be of service, brightness for her long night of woe. she felt that slie was doing right, and so stilled gazing with fondest affection upon the pallid When he returned, bringing her poor body to the tender pleading for the lonely mother, face and closed eyes, and when he could control rest where he might be buried by her side, he Footsore and weary though she was, she began his anxiety no longer, exclaiming in his great was bowed and broken and gray, as if years had her journey to the little town. It was just over love and anxiety, with pathos blended in his passed over him. the brow of the hill, and she teared to go to her tones : The actors in this tragedy have long since “Oh, my dear love, is there nothing I can do passed away. We have seen how good Matthew for you ?” Cantrell’s death was like the close of a calm, Then the eyes, impenetrable as a starless mid- sweet summer day—fitting end of a blameless night in their blackness, would unclose for a I life. We have seen how the broken lily,William moment, and the languid voice reply gently, j Cantrell’s first wife, noble as only a good woman respectfully, but oh, so coldly: “Nothing, ex- can be, lived her life of self-sacrifice without a cept to leave me to myself. Silence and solitude murmur, and when her burden grew too heavy home, for her aunt might discover her secret that had come to her through her morning’s un happiness, and the little walk was begun by the desolate child. Twilight, like a misty mantle, was beginning to cover the earth when she reached the castle and asked to see the Princess Ursula. The little one was carried to the room of the great lady. go sorrowfully out. William Cantrell’s words had proved a proph ecy. He had made, in the eyes of the world, a success of his life—had won wealth and the respect of his acquaintances, and had married a beautiful young girl, the very opposite of his first love. She was fair and graceful and fragile as a white lily. Time had been when she was sweet and innocent and confiding as a little child ; but years had given her dignity, and if they also for her shoulders, was taken home. ‘Joy for the freed one—she might not stay, When the crown had fallen from her life away; She might not linger, a weary thing— A dove, with no home for its broken wing; From the long heart-withering early gone; She has lived, she has loved, her task is done.” planks and watched the log. as true as an arrow, and in five imitates would j keep the name, though I change the bridegroom “nobodv was'Vhc ri.ms Mmw 'Cantrell, whose first sin made the ress'tlm ml-evld chiidi' > be alongside. The old man had no doubt that you see; .and as she spoke, she drew the handl wil lUl Gmtrell seldom smiled, seldom misery of*so many lives interwoven with her told the lady her sorrowful a dozen Indians were concealed on the further he had taken in his own in the earnestness of ! side, and after satisfying himself that the river toward the other shore was clear of any floating object, he silently called the men to his side and prepared to give the red-skins a prompt and se vere repulse. Nearer came the log, and the men drew back the hammers of their rifles and prepared to fire love would never fail me, idiot that I was! I a volley. j have the less to regret since I have not lost the “ Wait till I fire !” whispered old Carson, and ! love of a woman - only the smiles of a coquette !” his breath came faster as the log drew nearer, he added, in a tone o'f bitter contempt thatstung When it was only thirty feet away, a white hand ; her to the quick; but she gave no sign of and arm were shown above the log, and the old wounded feeling, this proud young girl—only I ^ osl D Ill “ evul ’ "as u man caught the glitter of a gold ring. The hand swept him a mocking courtesv and turned away. tile families mut been who welcomed the child very kindly, and called her the blue-eyed stranger of the May-feast, j She smoothed the sunny hair from off the white forehead, and bade her rest while she ordered some wine and biscuits for her little friend. Great was the joy of the gentle Princess when • the nest was shown her, and she marveled much Margaret, too, is gone — young, beautiful, that the charm was ever found, woven as it was guilty Margaret, whose death-bed was so dark so dextrously into the tiny nest. It had fallen and doubting—so all-despairing. And the hero from her chain and lodged on a little twig of a and heroine of this “o’er true tale,”—poor Wil- still' kind of weed that grew on the margin of the liam Cantrell, sinned against by his best-beloved green, of which material birds usually wove the and by his daughter—sinning in taking to his outer forms of their nests. home the young creature whose blighted life will Princess Ursula could do nothing but look at rise up in judgment against him, and the impe- the amulet, so miraculously recovered, and ca- When Gretchen had historv, she decided his pleading from his grasp, and stepped back, laughing a low, mirthless laugh. “Then you have never loved me!” he said fiercely; “you have led me on to try your power over men’s hearts—to display the depth of my love for your amusement! and fell and a head rose above the Iol called out in whispers: “Ho! the boat! Father!” “My God! that's Callie!” exclaimed the old man as he rose up; and he called out: “Callie—gal—is that you?” “Yes, it’s Callie!” came the answer; and next moment the log touched the boat, swung around, and she clasped her father’s hand and was drawn aboard. “Hush ! there are Indians on the shore!” she warned, and as the men crowded near her, too astonished to speak, she continued: “ The settlement was attacked this morning. Mrs. Godfrey, her boy and Mrs. Bradly were murdered, and the rest are holding one of the houses against the Indians.” Godfrey and Bradly were two of the men with nl <1 fovcon oj- tvovo cn Tt sudden and awful news that they could only wring each other’s hands and groan. In a few words Callie explained what followed the attack, and how bravely the two men were holding out, and she stated her fears that the house would be captured before the night passed. She told them how she had escaped; how she had seen the light of the burning cabin as she passed swiftly through the forest, and that, after a walk of six or seven hours along the bank, she had concealed herself to wait the appearance of the boat and save the men from floating into the hands of the Indians. She had heard Indians moving in the forest, and being afraid to signal the boat, she had rolled a log oil' the shore and guided it out to intercept them. “ God help you two poor men!” said old Car- son to Godfrey and Bradly; “but you must for get your grief just now and plan with me to save the other people, if they have not already been tomahawked !” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Long Trains. “Mary,” he called; and as she turned calmly and faced him, he said in measured tones: “Be sure you have not wrecked my life; I shall not die of a broken heart. I will make my life a success, and win the wealth for which you sell yourself to the old man who loves you bet ter than you deserve.” “You have my best wishes, William. I do not fear for your heart since ‘men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’” With which reply she turned with her own haughty grace ami with exasperating composure, and walked with steady steps to the old man sion, near which she had given her betrothed this final interview. Up the flight of steps to the deep portico, through the great hall, up the long stair-case she went with steps that never faltered and without a sign of emotion; but inAiirlo liorAWTl vnnw ond Irk, 1 « took an interest in any conversation except upon business topics, and seemed to know and care liltle about his home, farther than giving his wife a liberal allowance of money for herself and children. As the children grew up he gave And I thought your them every advantage his wealth afforded and - - the eldest of them were elegant young ladies and gentlemen when their fair mother laid down the burden of life and went to rest in the old church-yard. Her husband’s first love, for many years his venerable uncle’s wife, attended the costly funeral, as was right and proper, though as strangers all these years, albeit living in the same pretty village, attending the same church, sitting at the same communion table, and moving in the same circle—the aristocratic one of beautiful Clyde, the county town. But good Matthew Cantrell own. Matthew Cantrell, lonely in life, rests to keep her in the castle and be henceforth her alone in death; the others sleep side by side. friend and sister. The five thousand thalers Passed away from earth, they are gone to the were laid by for the future, and Gretchen lived land where “they neither marry Dor are given very happily with the Princess. She often vis- in marriage,” and where the wrongs of earth are ited her uncle's house, and gave Una many all righted at last. [For The Suimy South.] QRETCHEN. BY MARY PATTON HUDSON. It was grand festival day at the village of Da- „ tenheim, on the banks of the beautiful Kliine. Gretchen, Una became a nobler and better girl. costly gifts, and freely forgave her aunt and Una all their past unkindness to her. When Una's mother died, Gretclfen besought the good Prin cess to let Una, too, live in the castle. She could deny the little one no wish that she ex pressed, and so consented for Gretchen to share her home with the lonely child, and under the gentle companionship of the Princess and The sun fell in showers of golden beauty, and The story of the amulet was often told, and the blue waters of the rippling river danced and everyone in the kingdom had heard it repeated, sung under the mellow light of its bright rays. The people lost their dread ot the Elfin Spring. It was a double anniversary—one in which all 1 and the legends of its dark depths were no longer remained at home, though his great heart was | classes* joined and were happy,—May-feast and held in awe by the simple peasants and village I'm. the birth-day of the fair Princess Ursula. The dames. Gretclien’s life was like a fairy dream full of pity for human suffering in every form The old man had long been failing, and he was now confined for the most part to the house, moving slowly, feebly about his beautiful home, cheerful and uncomplaining still. He lingered thus for months, gradually losing flesh and strength, and his wife nursed him faithfully, gently, respectfully, but without a shadow of tendern , \n_ her manner toward him. The patient SrifL , y ' no word of complaint. He had.', ”, , 11 hope ever to thaw his beautiful lost " 111 human villagers had merrily danced around the Mav- at the castle, and each night she thanked God ised and locked, she dropped' into the nearest f**® cam Ov.F Tl as calmly as a fired club air and murmured bitterlv: to s , ee P- t\ hen he was-Thorne to the c “I am a good actress. I meant that he should - vart1 ’ Lls WI . fe tol , lo ' ve( , 1 the e0 ® n as chief 11 Closed chi never suspect it hurt me. It will make it easier for him,” she continued, in a softer tone ; “for me it doesn't matter—neither will I die of a broken heart. I am made of sterner stuff.” May Moore had been a blithe, brilliantly- beautiful girl, the youngest daughter of a proud old man, who, to keep up the ancient glories of er, so deeply veiled that no could be seen. pole, and the musicians were resting beneath the trees. The little children had strewn flow ers in the path of the good princess, and she had rewarded them by kind words and gentle smiles. The day was almost done, and the little villagers were beginning to imitate the sleepy primroses, and droop their heads as they journeyed home ward. The Princess Ursula was in sore distress, for an amulet of diamonds and pearls had some- vas almost done with how been loosened from her chain and lost on jpgs, and when the I some portion of the green. It had been a love- tuld slnhy ; gift from her betrothed, and the loss of it boded church!- I much ill to her, she feared, for amulets were mourn- considered, in those days, tokens and foretellers for leading her to the Mulnow vine, and giving her so good a friend as the Princess Ursula. Tlit* Proposed Monument to Byron. jlimpse of her face For years, she lived alone in the old house to which she had come a bride, a kind and indul gent mistress to the servants, who were fervent in their praises of the silent, stately lady. She made few visits—encouraged few visitors. Grad- of good or ill. The day following the festivaUon the green, she dispatched messengers to the house of every citizen of Datenheim, and all those who hail taken part in the day’s festivities, to apprise them of her loss and the offer of five thousand thalers for its recovery. On Friday, July 10th, 1S24, and the day follow ing, the body of George Gordon, Lord Byron, which had just reached his native shores, from Missolonghi, lay in state at a house in Great George street, Westminster, almost beneath the eaves of the old Abbey. With.all liis and they were neither few noil small,” there were those.who thought that “ there was but one cemetery fit to contain liis remains,”—the great Abbey. But this was not to be. Still, as in the his house—to retain the broad domain bequeath- ually the man she had once loved with all the ed from father to son for generations—was ready warmth of her nature—the only man she had to sacrifice his beautiful child and persuade ere/' loved—became a visitor at her house, at himself that her heart would suffer little, while first making short calls at long intervals, and the unlimited wealth of her elderly lover would losing little of the reserve he had practiced so give her the means of gratifying any wish. “I long. Hut as the months passed, his visits in- have only to choose between murdering my own creased in frequency and length, and finally at heart and murdering my father,” she had said midsummer they were quietly married in the when the subject was first mentioned between presence of a few tried friends. They had no them, “since to lose this grand old place would wedding festivities. They would have been out kill him. Hearts are at a discount, and mine of place attending the union of these two, whose In the suburbs of the village, there dwelt the family of the old miller, Hans Elprecht, his wife, their little Una, and an orphan niece. Now, Una was a very plain child, while the young maiden, Gretchen, had pretty blue eyes, like azure-liued gentian flowers, and soft, golden hair, that would cluster around her head in numberless tiny rings, despite the frequent clip pings it received at the hands of her ill-tempered aunt. She was very jealous of its beauty, for Una’s hair was coarse and dull, and could not case of him in regard to whom the sentences we have quoted (so singularly applicable to that man, whom their writer called “the most cele brated Englishman of the nineteenth century”) were penned, “the place was not ill chosen.” On the 12th day of July, 1824, a funeral proces sion left Great George street, and, turning its back on the Abbey, took the direction of the Great North road. At a point two miles distant the procession paused, and most of the mourners returned to town, while the hearse continued its course toward Notinghaiushire. On Friday Kith, the interment took place. The scene of the ob sequies presented as strong a contrast to the great Abbey as one church could offer to another. It was the humble church of Hucknall-Torkard, a secluded village about 12!) miles from L< - . r . , . „ — ndon, can die and make no moan.” And she made lives were “in the sere and yellow leaf;” but j be made to hang in graceful waves, and her neck and near liis beloved Newstead. Yet the place her choice, and completed her sacrifice without bride and groom seemed quietly happy. She; was long and brown, whilst Gretchen's little was rich in antiquity, association and farnilv giving a sign, save that the brilliant girl lost her "' as not demonstrative-—it was not her nature, i shoulders were white like the mountain snow, tradition. The ground in which he was laiil “Our landlady some pretensions bonnet well back to be a mark of high breeding. She wears her trains very long, as the great ladies do in Europe. To be sure, their dresses are so made only to sweep the tapestried floors of chateaus and pal aces; as those odious aristocrats of the other side do not go dragging through the mud in silks and satins, but, forsooth, must ride in coaches when they are in full dress. It is true that, con sidering various habits of the American people, also the little accidents which the best-kept side walks are liable to, a lady who has swept a mile of them is not exactly in such a condition that one would care to be her neighbor. But con found the make-believe women who have turned loose in our streets. Where do they come from ? Not out of Boston parlors, I trust. Why, there isn’t a beast cr a bird that would drag its tail through the dirt in the way these creatures do their dresses. Because a queen or a duchess wears long robes on great occasions, a maid of all work or a factory girl thinks she must make herself a nuisance by trailing about with her— pah! that’s what I call getting vulgarity into jour bones and marrow. Making believe what you are not is the essence of vulgarity. Show over dirt is the one attribute of vulgar people. If any man can walk behind one of these women and see what she rakes up as she goes, and not feel squeamish, he has got a tough stomach. I wouldn’t let one of ’em in mj r room without serving them as David served Saul at the cave in the wilderness—cut oft' his skirts, sir, cut oil' his skirts. Don’t tell me that a true lad}’ ever sac rifices the duty of keeping all about her sweet and clean to the wish of making a vulgar show. I won’t believe it of a lady. There are some things that no fashion has a right to touch, and cleanliness is one of those things. If a woman wishes to show that her husband or father has went on. She smiled bitterly to herself when it °* youth to her face. All the warmth and fervor too large for the delicate feet. Una had a cun- successors, and for the soul of Alexander de Chi- reached her ears, and went calmly on her way, °* her husband’s nature, so long repressed, ning little bed, in which she slept, and a beautiful nej-s gave to God and the church of the Holy Trinitj' at Lentou, and the monks there servin'' carrying herself more haughtilj’ erect—glad that awoke again anil spoke in every tone of his china mug. in which she had her porridge, while she could so cover her wounded heart. voice in addressing her. It is impossible ever Gretchen had only an earthen cup and brown This woman’s self-control was something won- to set ‘ anything, more beautiful than the tender bread, which she ate in silence the while she en- derful. She conducted herself with becoming manliness of his manner to his wife. They vied her cousin Una the snowy rolls, of which propriety on her wedding day, donning the loved each other truly, tenderly, unselfishly, she never got a share. glistening bridal robes, and fastening in her ant l were blissfully happy at the quiet watering- The miller and his family were at breakfast glossj' black hair the orange flowers, accepting place amid the mountains where they were the morning after the May-feast, when the cou- with but a slight bow and no word of thanks spending their honeymoon. rier arrived from the castle, gave them a descrip tive jewels that were her future husband’s bridal With the approach of autumn they returned tion of the lost amulet and the promise of a re gift. She did not shudder at the sin she was ; to town, and the husband took his wife to his ward if found. Una and Gretchen had been to committing as she vowed to “love, honor and own house. They were quietly welcomed by the green, and Una was just giving her mother obey until death do us part,” the man who held his young daughter, who gracefully yielded her an account of the many pretty things she had no place in her heart; but a bright, r d spot place at the head of her father’s household to seen there, and how well they said her dress be- burnt on either cheek, her unfathomable eyes were feverishly bright, and when tin newly made husband would have claimed a husband’s right to kiss her proud mouth, she drew back, saying briefly, “Caresses are distasteful to me.” Well, women have thus perjured themselves from various motives in all ages, and women will continue to do so until the end of time. God, one cart to be continually wandering about to gather up for them his dead wood of Huck- enliale.” At length the place came back to the Byrons, as perhaps Newstead, which has twice changed hands since the poet sold it, may yet do. The church became the burial place of the family, and when the remains of the sixth lord were borne into it that summer’s day in July, 1824, there looked down upon them the monu ment of a gallant ancestor, Richard, the second baron, who, with his seven brothers, bore arms for his king “in the troubles.” Here, soon Let us leave them to the merciful Judge who her dead mother had never penetrated knows what a bitter mocking is a marriage unhal- I inner sanctum, the holiest of holies.” To 1 her step-mother, only closing closely the shut- came her, but Gretchen had nothing to say. after was raised a less pretentious memorial, ters and locking the door of the room hallowed Her dress had been of coarse, brown stuff— whose modesty assuredly compelled a mere tab by her mother's presence. j goods that was warm and untidy—and her heart ! let, in these words: This elegant girl was her dead mother’s image, I was full as she remembered all the unkind j “ In the vault beneath, where many of liis an- and her step-mother’s rival in self-control. But things that had been said of her, in which I na cestors and his mother are buried, lie the remains she knew the unhappy story of their youth, and had joined. But there was one sweet drop in of George Gordon Noel-Byron, Lord Byron of her heart was filled with bitterness against the her cup of bitterness, and this was the memory Rochdale, in the county of Lancaster, the author woman who held a place in her father’s heart of a sweet smile the Princess l rsula had given of (Jliilde Harold’s Pilgrimage. He was born in the ! her, as she laid her jeweled hand upon the ; London, January, 1788; he died at Missolonghi, inner sanctum, the holiest of holies.” To her dis- ; golden curls and said she would like to have in Western Greece, on the lfitli April, 1824, lowed by love. torted imagination her mother seemed wronged hair like hers, and such lovely eyes, like dewy, engaged in tlie glorious attempt to restore to The doting old man brought his young wife I by the love her father bore this woman —the love spring-time violets. Gretchen was sure she that country her ancient freedom and renown, home and introduced her proudly to his friends, which, alas ! was destined to prove the bane, not must have thought her foolish to let the tears His sister, the Hon. Augusta Maria Leigh, placed And she dressed elegantly and entertained his the blessing of her life. She did not remember, come into her eyes, but how could she help it this tablet to his memory.” when they were the only kind words that had been said to her since her mother died and she had lived with her aunt, who was cruel and never called her meine Icinde, as she did Una ? Gretchen could have wept for pity to hear of the Princess’ loss, and she thought how happy it would make her to find the amulet and return out to walk, but let her unpin it before she goes into the house.”—Oliver I Vended Holmes. Prosperity has its “sweet uses” as well as adversity, for no sooner does a man conie into a little property than he instantly learns the num ber of his friends; whereas, if he remained poor, the chances are that he would have died in per fect ignorance of the fact. Dr. Johnson once dined with a Scottish lady who had potch-potch for dinner. After he hail tasted it, she asked him if it was good. “It’s good for hogs, ma’am,” replied the old doctor. “Then pray,” said the lady, “let me help you Ito some more.” guests faultlessly, and won golden opinions ; or if she remembered she did not care, this vin- only people who had heard of her brilliant, i dictive Margaret, that God had said, “ Yen- sparkling beauty and warm cordiality wondered geanee is mine—I will repay;” and she deter- liow marriage had suddenly transformed her j mined to avenge her mother’s loveless life and into this pale, stately woman whom nothing early death. And night after night she glided moved. | through the door of her own mother’s room into Time passed, and the genial, kindly old man her step-mother's chamber, clad in flowing white was as proud of his young wife as at first, but robes, and parting the curtains of the bed, stood it to the sweet-voiced woman who had spoken lie never committed the mistake of showing his looking upon her with sad, reproachful eyes, kindly to her and twined her curls around her fondness now, and their beautiful house was and hand threateningly raised, personating her white fingers. Days and weeks passed away, and no tidings come to the Princess of the lost charm. She was unconsolable, but she had forborne to tell her in the grand, lonely house—no pretty litter of night, in the confusion caused by her step- lover, hoping each day that something would be children s toys and plays was seen there, and mother’s terror, she escaped undetected; but at the good old man who “loved God and all little I last, faithful Cora, Mrs. Cantrell’s own maid, children,” won the little ones of his neighbors caught the flowing drapery as she was ascending to his side as they passed his door, and the wife the stairs leading to her own room with swift and noiseless steps, and she stood unmasked. Uunmasked. but too late to repair the mischief she had done. Her step-mother never heeded Cora’s explanations. Her mind, so long and never interfered when they gathered around “ Uncle Matthew” for the coveted story, with the youngest and fairest of them all folded to his lonely heart, and the bright little head rest ing confidingly on his shoulder; only “Uncle Matthew” never ventured indoors with his pets. His wife’s fair hands had never rested with Un heard of it. The burnin*; July sun was swathing all the A few years ago steps were taken toward re pairing Hucknall-Torkard church, which had fallen into a sorry plight, but nothing was done to raise any suitable memorial to him who gives it a supreme interest in the eyes of all to whom association with greatness is dear. A genius such as Byron’s belongs to the world generally, if to his country particularly, and next to his country, to those who hold its* litera ture in common. When the late Lord Dudley heard of Walter Scott's ruin, he exclaimed, “Let every one who has read his novels, give sixpence, and he will rise to-morrow richer than Roths child.” So we would say as to a fitting monu ment for Byron, which it is now proposed to raise at Hucknall-Torkard, ‘ Let everv one who sorely tried, gave way at last, and all her hus- until the shadows of night came on. Greti Ts tender care and the attentions of eminent was weary and hungry too, but she dared yellow fields with its fervid glory, the thrush’s has enjoyed ‘Childe Harold’ send a dime, and song was loud and full, and the careless twitter the memorial may be worthy of the "enius of of meadow-larks was heard afar. Gretchen was the man.” Mr. Disraeli is chairman of'the-Mon in disgrace for some work she had left undone, ument Committee, and Captain Webb, the pres and her aunt had beaten her and bade her go ent proprietor of Newstead Abbey, is'amon** its away, she cared not where, to return no more members. Gretchen baud’: not . An old gentleman of great experience says he physicians and constant change of scene were of disobey. Covering her shining hair with an old never satisfied that a lady understands a kiss gering touch on one of these innocent little no avail to bring back the light of reason to her warm hood, she wandered away across the fields unless he has it from her own mouth. heads. Matthew Cantrell’s wife was unceasingly clouded mind. For years, her husband watched in the summer sun, until she came to the Elfin , busy, but none of the dainty work generally so over her with tender solicitude, hoping to keep Spring. Many weird, strange stories were told Warm weather helps one to be good. That is, fascinating to refined women ever occupied her her with him all her life. Sometimes, for a of this old moss-grown well, and Gretchen was y° u don’t care whether your neighbor has shapely hands. She was a notable housekeeper, brief interval of a few hours, she showed { afraid to go very near; but weariness and thirst | "'ood-pile or a small one.