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WILD WORK; A Study of Western Life. BY MARY E. BRYAN. An honr afterwards it was again dark. Zoo sat where she had been sitting last nigbt when Hirne threw himself at her feet and told her the storv of his turbulent life. She tmd been look ing for him every hour ot the day. She craved his coming that she might hear from his own lips the solution of a doubt that ached at her heart. 8he longed to hear from his own lips that he had not disregarded her prayer, that if it was true these men were murdered, he had no hand in their massacre. She sprang up esgerly when sho beard some one ride up to the gate. But it was Henry Bronn’s low, sturdy figure that came up the walk and stood before her. holding out his hand. . She grasped it and looked hard in his face. .. „ , ‘You have corn" to answer my question Henry, she s<»id. ‘What has become of the parish officers yon went to guard ?' ..... . His hand shook as she held it, his eyes drop- ^•Miss Zoe, they got what they deserved, I reckon,’ he said at last. ‘Henry, do you mean to tell me they were killed ? „ , •Thev are dead, Miss Zoe •Oh God ! all of them killed-Omar Witchell too-that gentle-hearted, inoffensive soul, and young Edge field, and Devene. who has just mar ried one of our Southern girls; gray-haired How ard, and Wallace and Hollin, who have wives here in onr midst and little children; were all theae killed.’? > ‘God have mercy on the soul that planned this dreadful deed, and the hands tba £ exec ]> t ® < * ‘They deserved it Miss Zoe. ^ They tried to stir up a riot among the blacks.’ •I am glad you believe so. I am glad to think that most of these men-slayers believed they were doing a just act, that they were executing rightful punishment upon criminals. 1 tear it was a mistake, or a deception. I fear a great wrong has been done. . .. ‘Miss Zoe, you know that Captain Witchell ex tortioned upon the people. , , •Should his sins be visited upon the heads of these men ? or should a suspicion be punished as if it was a certainty? But al discussion is wasted breath now. The deed is done. There is one thing I must know; you say the guard did not kill the men—who did ?’ ‘A mob that followed us. ‘And who composed that mob ?’ He shook his head. •There were so many strangers here, he said evasively, ‘no telling who did anything. ‘Why did not the guard try to defend the men that were in their charge ?’ ...... Again he shook his head. ‘They never helped, none of them that I saw,’ he said, back to the tnen pretending to stroke his horse s neck, taWMes Blair’s picture out and look at it, and his face got sober as he looked. Home of the men were cutting watermelons: waldon was standing by his horse, looking down the road we had just come over. Omar was telling me not to go away after we got to S- without - - - ■ > u o letter f»r when ‘but- must’nt say, though; I wont accuse anybody, for I don’t know. But it was very strange. I know I never once suspected. It came so sudden and awful; it makes my head whirl to think otit. 1 see it all before me every minute: I see Omar s face, I hear their groans in my ears. Oh Miss Zoe, it served ’em right I s’pose, but it was aw- * U ‘Henrv will you not tell me who did it ? Zoe cried, trembling. The thought that Hirne might be the leader in the assassination was ag- ° D ‘I wilitoll you all I know. We started to car- rv the men out of the State. We started m good faith; at least I did. I don’t answer tor anybody fclBC, beoar.ee I don't bnotr. I hnrdlj Unevr the CaDtain ol the gnard, beseemed a clever enough fellow. The officers picked-us out; Omar chose me. I knew him right well; we had camped out on Lake Clear, and fished and hunted together. He was a first-rate fellow to camp with—so good- humored and so full of dry tun. Edgefield was with us too. He was a splendid shot, and could tell such tales of wild adventure around the camp fire. Oh. to think of how I saw him this morning-; ’ ‘The sun was an honr high when we started. The men had sat up all night fixing up their business and writing letters. I carried the let ters up to their wives and brought back the things they wanted to take with them. Hbd they not see their families to say good- by * e \o it was against orders. The women had honed to see them up to the last. It was rignt niuful to hear them cry over the letters. I sa “ nn t he gallery while they read 'em and oacked up the 8 things. I knew Mark Hollin’s wife They stopped at our house when they firit'eame to this country. She came out to me, nnd tcok mv hand and said, ‘Henry, stand by Keep gomT faith with them an, “ D j we will pray for you forever. Her little boy knew me and threw his arms around my n „ck- ‘I send this kiss tc my pa, be said, tell him we’re cornin’ tc him soon. Ma hae sent him my picture and hers, and I put ms diamond buttons in his shirt myself. Mamma, what makes you cry so? you know we are going where na is right soon.’ I think A itcheli s sisters had fears of what would happen. But the men seem ed in pretty good spirits when we started. Tney looked pale and anxious, but Omar spoke to. us pleasantly and so did Devene, though he kept f a eye s looking over the heads of the crowd at the house we could just see, where his wife stood at the window kissing her hands to him. She had been bent on coming to see him and he had to r d a special messenger to tell her not to try it. V,Icefield joked and laughed. He had sent a fitter by me to Auzete Blair the night before, and I bad brought back an auswer to it and her picture - I saw her crying as she wrote. There was a crowd round the door when the prisoners came out and mounted, but they all fell back and we rode out quietly, nobody following us. Alver pledged them that they should be taken care of then he came up and took Kick Waldon —the Captain of the guard-aside and talked to him for some minutes, and then a big, dark looking fellow they called Cobb spoke a few words to Waldon and laughed; I saw that same man afterwards with the mob that did the kiil- inc. He bad his hat slouched over his eyes but I knew him. , , „ •\Ve took the road up the river to S—. Tee officers were riding fast horses; they were fresh and wanted to go. ‘Not too fast, the Captain said and we checked in a little. We baa put a good many mihs between us and Cohatchie, when “e mounted a hill, Wallace looked back and Tmmed to a cloud of dust way behind us, half nSSteiJUofc »■>« -wtotvaar and Bick told him it was some of tne boys of the guard, whose horses could not keep up Ev ery time we mounted a rise, we saw that cldud M-Vnst and once we saw men on horseback through it, and Howard said: ‘Lets ride taste , tnroagju > a quicker pace and we seeing him first, as he would have a his wife he wanted to trust to my care; suddenly Howard cyied out: ‘Look! see R- ttiose men with guns; what does, that mean . We turned our heads and saw a parcel of armed men on’horseback turn the bend in tho road, and come galloping up to us. Devene cried out: ‘Mount, and ride for your lives. They ran for Their horses and sprang into the saddles as quick as thought, but their pursuers were upon them. The foremost man cried out: ‘Sur render,’ and the others yelled the word after him. The mob begun firing. Omar turned in his saddle with tbe blood running out of a wound in his neck. ‘Give me a gun. I don t wan . to die like a dog! he cried.* The bullets rained on him and he fell under the horse s feet. Edge- field cried out: ‘I’ll die, but I wont surrender, and he dashed ahead and reached the top of the hill, when a bullet struck him in the head ana he leaped up out of his saddle and fell dead to the ground. Devene was killed too. Wallace and Howaid and Mark Hollin got away, but they were caught and taken to Bard s store, a little way beyond. Howard was the first one shot. The old man trembled like a leaf. He got down on his knees and begged and prayed them to spare him. Wallace too, asked to be spared. He said: ‘God is my witness I have never done a wrong to any man in this country. I am only a magistrate. Mitchell sent for me here to superintend his business. He was kind to me, he gave me a home in his house and this office. I have only held the office a little while. I have tried to do what was right.’ They shot both of them. I counted the pla ces where ninety buckshot had entered How ard’s body. Mark Hollin stood and saw them shot; when they came to him, he said: ‘Let me say a prayer before you kill me ! and he knelt down and prayed silently. Then he rose npand said calmly: ‘There is only one tuing I ask of you; that is, for God’s sake don’t harm my wife and little child. Let them go away, in peace. That is all.’ , , ‘He was so cool and brave they stood and look ed at each other with their reloaded guns in their hands as if they thought it almost a pity to kill him. He had been in the country only a little while, you know, but he was so friendly and free hearted one could’nt help liking him. As they were going to shoot, a man galloped up and offered a thousand dollars to have his life spar ed. ‘I do it on the part of another man,’ hesaid, —a man that got a fall from his horse and was’nt able to come on, but he is just behind a few miles and he’s got the money, tor I know h.m. He said he’d give a thousand dollars for every life you spared, and I am only in time for one, I see.’ ‘Some cried: Humbug !’ and some ‘Plank out your money, let’s see it,’ and several called out to Mark Hollin to run into the cotton; they’d give him a chance for his life. But he stood still and said: ‘You’ve killed all my friends, now kill me. I will not run for my life.’ And he too was shot. I went up aud looked at him. his face was as calm as if he had dropped to sleep_ I don’t know what they did with tbe bodies; I came awav. I felt sick and stunned-like, as if I d had a bullet in my own head. The looks of those dead men will never get out of my mind. As I rode back and passed wherg the others were lying, I saw one of the men taking r ff Edgfield’s watch and chain; his pocket book lay on the ground, and by it was scattered Miss Auzete’s letter and nicture. I picked them up and brought them to rive to voa for her. I saw some one taking out tbe diamond studs from Mark Hollin’s Bhirt—the same his little boy told me be had put in. I couldn't help feeling sorry to thick of the child and the wives of the men, that were hoping and praying they were safe while they lay there dead. I knew they deserved to be pnnished but it looked like a bad day’s work Miss Zoe.’ Horror had kept Zoe mute throughout this re cital. When she spoke it was in a hoarse, unnat ural voice. , , , , •Yon said the party of lynchers had a leader; who was he ?' „ , ‘They said he was a Texan. I don t remember his name. They called him Captain some thing.’ ‘Was it Hirne?' ‘I think it was. He was a man with long hair and a keen eye; a splendid rider. Do you ----- :j wan tired and our horses were oetting 1 blown! He would not go a step farther until he rested; Here was a watermelon parch until farther off, was a store and fctsteTn We’d strike a halt and send for water a cistern. t v, e horses took a rest. So wASTdown. It was just beyond our parish we got down •> j d gonie b 0 dy “"■J ””d q-icUj- « Witeh.ll BR y so, disturbed, but Omar didn t Beem to aDd d hfiMook He was sitting on the grass and m,D pale and absent minded Edgefield was P . _i j saw him wjitn ho had his know him ?’ q_ I believe I do:’ She articulated faintly, her hands were tightly locked; her features drawn, and pale. Henry Bronn looked at her with distress in his good natured face. ‘I am sorry I told you that dreadful affair. I see it hurts you so." I am sorry it happened, though I dont think the men were so wrong to lvncfi the officers, because you know they were accused of inciting the negroes to kill aDd rob the whites. But it was an awful thing; they swooped down on ns so sudden and we> i through their w ork so quick that I was taken all aback and never thought about defending the men, and the Captain of the guard gave no orders for us to do so. Do you blame me, Miss Z je . ‘No Henry, I do not ever, judge the men who did the deea. I have no doubt they believed they were justifiable. They believed they were avenging a crime. In an excitement like this, reaso"!! ceases to operate. The men were decei ved. They knew not what they did. But it is a sorrowful business; when the excitement is over, they will feel it so. . . ‘The wives of these men, she said at last, ‘have they heard the fate of their husbands ?’ ‘Not yet; some one will be sent to-night to tell them. All the mcney in the parish treasu ry could not hire me tc be the one. Zoe turned awav and walked to the end o. tiie gallery. To the picture of the murdered men that rose before her, was added that of the snriek- inc- wives the frightened and weeping children. And before and around this dreadful picture, glared as if in lines of fire, the words: ‘He was the leader in this dark work; he was chief of the assassins.’ , , ,, Her endurance had been strained to the ut most. She could no longer bear to listen to Henry Bronn or to speak to him in return. ‘Supper is ready,’ she said to him, ‘I know you are hungry and tired. Go in and see Hugh, he knows you are here and will be glad to see ^ It was a relief to be alone, that she might go out into the orchard and fling herself down on ‘he grass and let the dew and the coolness o, the night quench tho fire that burned in her temples. The man she loved was unworthy. She knew now, by the sharp pang at her heart, that she uid love him. He had been foremost in the work of death, though, unlike the others, h6 had been warned not to take the lives of these men, lor in all probability they were innocent of any criminal plot against the people. _ She had told him her reasons for believing this Dan Nolan had confirmed her words,and yet —he had disregarded her r. quest, her pleadings, but had fallen in with the treacherous plan to pursue and kill the officers who had been spared by the Committee of citizens. Such ferocity 1 such a cruel, savage spirit! Could sue ever lo^e its possessor? No, she must put the thought of him away. He was a monomaniac, or a born savage, his bravery was an instinct for blood, his strongest passion was revenger No wonder he had not returned; he could not face her with his hands stained with the blood of tbe men she had implored him to spare. She would not see him ii he cams. She determined never to see him agfci. She must not think of him. She must for^ those passionate, melan choly eyes that hp) made her unfaithful in thought to her betqthed. They should not again come between^* and her plighted faith. This night she wolfl write to Roy. She had not answered his las jitter, In which he urged her to name a day fo |he marriage she had so long delayed. She \jpld write now and name a day—an eajly day must be. She must put the irrevocable vows ejween her and this man who had so strangely ^thralled her. When she was the wife of tbe h^rable, true-hearted gen tleman to whom she as promised, mistress of his pretty home, Bounded by his elegant friends, in the deligbnl society in which she had moved before deh and misfortune broke up her city home, shefonid forget this roman tic dream. It was on a passing lancy, a law less growth, a wild sd, passion-blown, that had dropped in her hm’s garden, and fastened upon its soil, until—! what a pang it cost to root it up. Tho next day came, iff its hours glided on tranquilly, as Summi hours do. Hirne did not come. Zoe caughtjraelf watching for him. Parties of horsemen ro down on the opposite bank of the river and cased,from time to time. Some of these were meiom Sabine returning to their homes. Seven,! them rode up to the gate and asked for wateof one of these, Zoe in quired for Hirne, and l-»ed ‘that he was com ing, but he was pretty*jly worsted aud Lis horse too.’ The men ai^red little inclined to talk. They seemed dissented and troubled. The fever of exciteme|ad died out; in the cool light of reason theilsty rush to the res cue seemed to them a errand. They all disclaimed any participtp in the murder of the Radical officers. Noon-came on: there ^ no more men cross ing the river. The shad, began to lengthen; the dreamy quiet of a Sqaer afternoon steep ed ' the scene. The beouzzed lazily in the deep-hearted blossoms oje vines, the young orioles dozed in their ne the deep blue of the sky was unbroken except two or three slow- circling vultures. Zoe ceased her restless flitting about the house tyard, and sat where the breese-rippled leavesa tree soothed her with their pleasant whis The peace of the hour dropped its balm u, her heart, and for an instant, as she lay ban the cool, cbiDtz- covered chair, the horrilevents of the three past days seemed a kinf night mare. Her eyes fell upon a pair of lv negroes, lying in the shade of a fig tree anuciiy sucking the crimson-hearted fruit. ‘Look at dem buzzards fo’ up yonder,’said one, and the other answer‘Dey come from de swamp. Dey's been eatin’ole Levi.’ Zoe sprang to her feet ai stung. She had been drifting into thoughbHirne—murmur ing to herself one of his sc. The spell was broken; the late horror and part he had play ed in it, came to her; but it came the feel ing that her heart was wead hardly to bo trusted. She ought to go t before he came. She heard her brother’s voicing out: ‘Here’s a boat at last.’ The river been so low there had been no regular naviei. She went out to the front piazza, where Hin his cool dress ing gowD, lay upon the lou ‘She is blowing her whisid going to stop. It’s the Mabel that hasn’t blown this sum mer. Likely Mondes mo* *j on board. She was coinine is soph of his rheumatism. T ▼- The boat stopped; a middle-aged .lady got off. came up to tnet and tfas soon fold ing Monde and the neiiy in h?r am pie arms. The boat made fast tOgetre»on the bank, preparatory to taking wood. A sudden thought had come to ZShe said to her sis ter-in-law: ‘Now youlher has come to stay with you, I think, if sure you can spare me, I will go on the Mgown to N— and rest a while at the convent.ther Doremns gave me permission. She uy teacher at St. Jo seph's before she cam( to be Mother Su perior of this convent, ‘Certainly we will syou, Zoe. You do need rest badly. Yoo* done every thing for us, and it has madi paie. Let Mandy help you dress quickl take your trunk to the boat.’ A traveling dress wickly donned, a few changes of clothing p in a little trunk, and Zoe hurried to the ley as the Mibel sound ed her warning whisfl was soon on board the little craft anam-ing slowly down the river to her desti—the convent of St. at the town of )ut thirty miles down power should be wet with so much hlood ? When the news came he turned deadly pale, and said, ‘I would give my right hand that this had not happened ’ Was it so that his plot hadgone beyond what he purposed? That iiavmg summoned the red fiend, Riot, to do his work, it would not ‘down’ at his bidding? His female accomplice had counted on this, when she said: ‘Once set the ball in motion, and ieuve results to chance.’ Even she turned pale and trembled when she heard the screams of the bereaved wives. She whs riding on horseback that evening when the news of the massacre-came suddenly upon the inmates of Omar's Cottage, where the wives ot the officers had gathered like scared cloves for mutual sympathy and protection those shrieks of mortal agony. They pierced even her heart of marble. The hand that held the bridal rein shook; then, sharp4y cutting her horse, Bhe fled from the sounds. I TO BE CONTINUED.) HARVEST. From the Diary of a Layman. BY JO. BEAN. “These were liis exact words. The circumstan ces oft iie pursuit and killing of these officers are given here almost word for word as they were told me by one of the guard who accompanied the pri soners The sum offered to have the life of Ho 11 in snared was three thousand dollars,however, and the man who offered it was a Southerner aud a staunch Democrat. the river. Scarcely was thee of the boat out of sight when Captaine rode down to the river bank on the sidsite to Vincent's store and hailed for tbe fli brought over to him. He looked pale and there was a trace of bodily pain on his fit his brow lighted, as looking over to toe t cottage, he caught a glimpes of a ladies o tho gallery. ‘Are all saftaand W9 asked of Tom Ludd, who came in tne fia him across. ‘Yes sir, Mr. Hmp. Miss Zoe is jes gone away.’ ‘Gone?’ the ligh out of the Captain,s face. ‘Where did she g< ‘She we,nt on de fat Mabel to de city. Heap uv her friendhie and de gen’leman she’s goin to marry and his sister come up here las’ spring a mighty handsome gen’laian and richais. Won't you go by de house Cap’n andglass uv clar't wid Mars Hugh ? Mam carried your coat up dere.’ ‘ No Tom,’said thin gloomily. ‘I’m tired and must get ing the coat out to the gate for me. I leg by a fall yester day.’ Tom brought the ‘ God bless yot Hirne. Me and Mandy’ll never forfie said as his fingers closed over the hal: Hirne had put into his hand. 1 So that’s all ove&xan said to himself as he rode away- 'fool’s hope anyway. I might have knoWald not care for me. What is there in S woman like her to care for ? But I WC loved her. Oh God ! how I love her ! | is foolishness must stop, I’ll Bhut dow. once. My will shall crush it. I'm us««J bufferings.’ But the thund4i>w gathering in the east was not gioonhis face as he rode on and entered til The flower of‘ifai!s to bear the bit ter fruit of punifltfofully was Marshall Witchell punishj|fins of gr^pd and am bition. They h*Jto bring down doom on the heads of I he loved, the brother he cared for as to living thing. When the news of the came to him in the beautiful seasid is friend, General S., near New Orlea id to his feet with the white agony of is face. For an inst ant it seemed i 1 for belief, then, as the terrible r |ched itseif into his brain, he fell t in tones that none who heard bin ‘Oh! my brother, my brother, wonlc id died in your place.’ And Alver; 1 nt that his scheme to rid the parish rule should end in | this? Had helkt his path to political Terrill Courtland never closed his record of a day with more hope and satisfaction, than on the eventful afternoon after hours of greater trial and excitement than any during his brief and brilliant career. Having sealed his last letter and snatched his hat, to change the close air of his office for the pure atmosphere outside, he felt that his mind had been so taxed all day his body demanded exercise and* he determined to walk to his home t) ough some miles distant. He had never possessed over his clerks, great er influence than his genial and courteous man ner secured to him now. With each one he shook bands cordially, and thanked them for their extra services rendered during this his most arduous conflict. Then with his usual impulse he rushed from the room, but as quick ly reappearing on the threshold he said: ‘•Jennings, please be sure the poor woman gets her woou this afternoon or she will suffer, and oh ! I came near forgetting a sick boy in the alley that I promised to feed. I’m all worn out, please do it for me. ’ He smiled back at the accustomed ‘yes sir,’ and crossed his door, how little did he think so, the last time forever. In all the land there was none to be so much praised as Terrill for his beauty, and now as his splendid figure with head erect swept out into the crowded thoroughfare, he justly felt that he was the greatest man in all this multi tude. One month ago in defending what had been pronounced a hopeless murder case, he had won it, prevailing over the united efforts of the two great champions of the bar, and to-day in the State Senate where he was representing his district, he had fought a measure, at first against every member of the house, and argaed it until the question called, showed votes unan imously his. As these little waves of vanity broke softly over his soul, a voice seemed speaking from the soul itself. ‘Rejoice oh young man, in thy youth and let thy heart cheer thee, but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judg ment.’ But these waves of vanity silenced that plea for eternity. His face was still flushed, his heart still beat fast from the exciting triumph of the morning, V-Wt iij .rta pig and reflection. All this achieved, vanity whis pered, and you scarce twenty-five ? Go on at this rate and the next eleotion makes you governor of your state; a glorious administration and then your path is straight for the U. S. Senate.’ Alas ! this vanity did not ponder, ‘with God’s blessing I will advance,’ it was proclaiming, my own power and talents shall effect my ends, and a neglected God was pronouncing: •Thou fool, this nignt shall thy soul be requir ed of thee.’ ‘Why, Terrill,’ shouted one from a crowd of bis friends, ‘our modern Cicero, your hand old fellow; your speech was the grandest effort I ever listened too. Everything goes your way now.’ ’Tis sweet to be flattered. A thrill of pride passes over the young hero, as one bv one they grasp his band and sound his praises, but ho is a loving son, and he takes leave of his satellites to meet his father and mother whose idol he is, and whose loving looks and words his heart is now craving. •One drink, old fellow, one drink at least,’ his companions insist as he struggles to get away, and they drag him to the wine room near by. Terrill’s greatest fault is, he cannot say ‘no;’ his kind heart makes him a social martyr, and his motto is, ‘what’s the good cf a man if he doesn’t live for his friends?’ So glass by glass, the sparkling, rosy wine is drunk, and Terrill at last, with confused ideas leaves the room, though not so confused as to entirely silGnce tee conscience once more rous ed to action. With a noble nature, the purest promptings of heart and religious influence from birth, Terrill Courtland commits no sin of which he is not, aware, but he always relieves his mind by the reflection, ‘tis my unfortunate good nature,’ and so with him religion becomes a mere caprice. He does no: draw the greet distinction,between right anrl wrong and forgets that is not for the kingdom of heaven is against it. On his way homo Terrill is stopped a hundred times by friends who clasp his hand and praise him for his rising power and renown. ‘Good-bye, Terrill,’ one of them shouts as he leaves him;‘go with me to the play to-night, the tragedian is sublime aud just your style.’ Terrill says to him as he says to all, ‘yes, with the greatest pleasure,’hurries on nnd then re flects: ‘I cannot be there, I must stop this habit of saying yes to everything. I wonder that I have friends after so many broken engagements and a conscience after so many untruths. Perhaps I had better turn now and tell him, but no some other day I’ll be stronger and say no.’ He goes on and now a beggar with ■ tattered garb and haggard look, holds out his withered hand. ‘Why not work ?' asks Terrill. The beggar with one hand points to heaven as he murmurs: ‘Long illness.’ Terrill’s heart cannot witness suffering, it sends his hand into his pocket which returns with all the contents, a ten dollar note and which he hands the beggar without looking. The astonished recipient holds it up for the donor to see and Terrill calling ‘keep it,’ half smiling and half crying hurries away to avoid the poor man’s thanks. A little further on the young man is met by his pastor who baptized him in childhood and who now takes his hand as he proudly says: ‘My boy has outstripped them all, Terrill, have you ever thought who gives you all these honors ?’ The young man’s face grows pensive. •I have not sir,’ he says ‘thought as I hope to think; you must talk and pray more with me.’ ‘It is the time, my boy,’ continues his pastor, ‘when your creator loves to hear you best. Oh, Terrill, remember him now while the evil days come not nor the years draw nigh when thou shalt have no pleasure in them.’ ‘I will strive to sir,’ and the young man with that reverence which is so becoming m> the young presses the old man’s hand and hurries on. He is soon at home with his father’s smile up on him, his fevered brow, upon his mother’s lap, while his brothers and sisters crowded around him eager to catch his accents. ‘Oh, father ! I was so excited until my mo tion was called,then as I rose my thoughts were ‘how father’s and mother’s happiness depends on my success.’ Then a vision of yon all pass ed before me, until my voice loudly and clearly pealed out, and I lost Terrill Courtland nntil I found him, surrounded by senators and law yers in a maze of hand-shaking3 and congratu lations while my ears were deafened with ap- S'ae heard j plause. Then I thought how happy father and mother and all of ns will be, and it brought to my mind those halcyon days when at the head of my class your wishes urged me to control my college honors, and gave lustre to that diploma up there, which otherwise would have been to me but a dingy sheepskin.’ The proud and happy parents can only gaze and dote upon their beauty, their eldest born, while he rattles on. ‘No, No! do not make me vain, there are many drawbacks and deficiencies about- me. I was shocked to-day on thinking that I have not said my prayers for a week, and I am terribly care less about promises. I say yes to everyone and think no more Rbout it, but this excitement over I hope to do better and join the church. Don’t be shocked at my confession, mother,’ he added laughingly, ‘if life were guaranteed to me, I’m living splendidly, but it is not and I am not prepared to die.’ The last strange allusion drilled his paren,.-' heart. Why in his random talk should he spea: of death? They chided him gently for his lev ity and would have exhorted him to think on heaven, but just then the tea bell rang and away he merrily ran. He partook of a happy and a hearty meal; he was unusually gay and affec tionate with his brothers and sisters; he sat with them to a late hour of the evening discussing hopes and plans, and then he kissed them all and left them for the night and—forever. Here as he pauses on this threshold, let us al so pause and gaze on him in the zenith of his splendor, the meridian of his beauty and pow er, for the silver cord will soon be loosed and the golden bowl be broken. Whh an unsullied name, the admiration and goodwill of his fel- lowmen, and the affection and gratitude of his parents, even Jesus looking on the young maa loved him, though departing he must say, ‘yet one thiDg lackest thou; follow me and I will give thee eternal life. He that acknowledges me before men, him will I acknowledge before my Father in heaven.’ ‘Terrill Courtland as he passed into his own room, passed into a reverie, and slowly pacing up and down the floor, he gave full sway to deep and earnest meditation. The little monitor within his breast kept urg ing into his soul, the words which his pastor had uttered that day, and as his mind would recur to the happy faces of his earthly parents, his guardian angel without and the holy spirit within, would plead with him to raise his heart to that great and loving Father on high, who had crowned him with such loving kindness and tender mercies. Three times did he fall upon his knees to mak6 his peace with God. Three times did Sa tan enter his thoughts and lead his mind so oip- tive away, tha: feeling ne had sinaed in the presence of Jehovah by making other gods be fore him, lie would rise from his knees and pace his room, until overpowered with remorse, he would once more bow in the presence of his in jured Creator. When for the thirjTtime he had vainly wrestled long in prayer, and the hopes of eternrd heaven were blotted by the recollec- i tions of earthly triumphs aud temporal elysium, 1 he rose to his feet and let the full tide of vanity sweep over a soul enraptured with aud worship ing itself. As bis consciousness of legislative influence faded before the softer dreams of social fascina tion, he dwelt with pride on his personal attrac tions, and instinctively ho strode to the mirror and there stood gazing on the lofty brow, o’er- shadowing those lustrous, dreamy eyes, the handsome features and luscious ivory neck that lost itself in majestic shoulders. T’was strings ! Nothing stirred within the room; he stood there wrapt in self contempla tion, when the mirror into which he was gazing tell forward, and ere he could spring and arrest its course,was shivered into atoms. He was not superstitions, but looking round to find the cause of his image being broken, and seeing and hearing nothing but the shadows and the silence, a horror of being alone with an injured God, fi-11 upon him and he roused to pray again, when the midnight tolling of a city- clock reminded him of his broken resolution, to retire early that night. ‘I am too weary and exhausted now to pray’ he sighed, but determin ing -I will rise to-morrow an hour earlier for prayer,’ he lulled his conscience by taking his bible to read. T’was strange! the chapter that by chance opened be ore him, was the same quoted by his pastor that day urging him ‘to remember his creator now,’ and once more he roused to pray, when the reflection ‘this is childish,’ stopped him. Almost, but not altogether,he was persnaded and the holy spirit sent its pleading tones no more. There was no more struggle now; earth tilled his soul, and as Iris head lay back upon the pil low it. builded fairy castles in the air and linked its thoughts to worldly pleasures, until his con sciousness took wing in a realm of dreamy splen dor, and the shadows thrown by dickering em bers on the wall, seemed subjects bowing down to do him homage. Next morning when the old servant who al ways waked him, knocked at his door the laugh ing voice did not make reply, anu when he knocked again and still no answer came, the old man thought, ‘he is weary and needs rest,’ and so he left him. But as the morning hours rolled by, and still to their repeated summons, no answer was re turned, they forced his door, then shrieked and stood aghast at the pale white form that never more would warm to their caresses, and the laughing eyes forever closed to earth. Upon the face there was no symptom of pain or suffering, upon the body no sign of disease or violence. No one could tell when the 3onl that had strug gled so hard for its salvation, had quited its fair exterior, the star so lately shining with such brilliancy had gone out into the blackness of darkness forever. It was appalling to stand beside the clay-cold forn and know that this man, so grand in the image and attributes of his maker had gained the world, but lost his immortal soul. Riches, Many a man is rich without money. Thou sands of men with nothing in their pockets are rich. A man born with a good heart and good iimbs, and a pretty good head piece, is rich. Good bones are better than silver, and nerves that flash fire, and carry energy to every func tion, are better than houses and lands. It is better than landed estates to have had the right kind of a lather and mother. Good breeds ex ist among men as really as among herds and horses. Bducation may do much to check the evil tendencies, or to develop good ones, but it is a fine thing to inherit tbe right proportion of j faculties to start with.