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THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
VOLUME 11.
/ritnii of <T> jhuitihj,
A Weekly Southern Newspaper,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY
rfIWAIID J. PURSE.
terms:
vo Dollars a year, in advance, or Two
fifty if not paid within three months.
BsCRII’TIO.NS RECEIVED FOR SIX MONTHS,
at one dollar, in advance.
,rec copies for one year, or one copy
three years, - -
yren Copies, - -- -- -- 100)
arelve copies, 15 00
* Advertisements to a limited extent,
t ;]be inserted at the rate of 50 cents for a
me of twelve lines or less, for the first in
i>itioii, and 30 cents for each subsequent
r s‘rtion. Business cards inserted forayeai
,• Five Dollars.
■f \ liberal discount will be made to Post
Liters who will do us the favor to act as
qents. y*
Postmasters are authorized to remit mo
v to Publishers and all money mailed in
sence of the Postmaster, and duly for
vqrded b him, is at our risk,
ry All communications to be addressed
,' st -paid) to E. J. PURSE,
Savannah, Ga.
BOOK and job printing.
GEO. N NICHOLS,
i),/ni’ Building, opposite the Pulaski House,)
SAVANNAH, GA.
, pn-purfd to exi'cute all work in bis lino, with
neatness and despatch, and in a style
not to be surpassed.
Prices as reasonable as any other establishment
he city. ly sept 28
JOHN F. SHEEN,
IHSHIONABLE TAILOR,
i jtcrJ. M. Haywood’s llair Dressimr Saloon,
OPPOSITE THE PULASKI HOUSE.
S, Mending and Cleaning done with neatness
: despatch. Work made up as cheap as at any
r establishment in the city. sep 7 21
J, HA3BROUCK & CO.,
\\ holesale and Retail Dealers in
IN A, (1 LASS AND EARTHEN WARE,
■'T>t 21 BROUGHTON STREET, SAVANNAH.
McARTHOR & MORSE,
Manufacturers and Dealers in
‘.AIN, JAPANNED & BLOCK TIN WARE,
HOLLOW & ENAMELLED WARE,
STOVES AND COOKING RANGES,
jin Pick, Sheet Lead. Copper and Zinc,
STORE, 1 ‘.I BARNARD STREET.
A kinds of Copper, Tin ami Sheet Iron Work,
11> in the best manner, at the shortest notice.
.rat ‘ll 1 VT
JOHN OLIVER,
BOUSE AMD SIGN PAINTER,!
GILDER, GLAZIER, &c.,
11l Broughton Street, a fur doors east of
Whitaker Street, Savannah, Ga.
f IE All Uiiids of Paints —Paint Oil, Turpentine,
. nih, Glass, Putty, &,c., for sale. July 20
EDWARD G. WILSON,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
icyancer, Collector, Accountant 4* Copyist, ■
Office under J. M. Haywood’s.
r?*R-tiirn Day, Wednesday, October 23d.
J. DE MARTIN,
DEALER IN
Fruits, Wines, Liquors, Segars.
I PICKLES, PRESERVES and GARDEN SEEDS.
—: also: —
I APPLES, ONIONS $ POTATOES, j
I “• ,, a in scasen, received fresh by every'vessel.
—: also: —
I rs put up to order in from Ito 10 gallon kegs. |
Punier of Bay and Whitaker Streets,
savannah, ga.
JOHN V. TARVER,
ACTOR 4- COMMISSION MERCHANT
I EXCHANGE wharf, savannah, ga.
RABUN & FULTON,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 207 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
RABUN, R. L. FULTON, I. I*. WHITEHEAD, j
LANIER HOUSE,
BY LANIER & SON,
I >e 22 Macon, Georgia.
SY. LEVY,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,!
Office, No. 185 Bay-Street.
E. T. SHEFTALL,
It to r.\ k y at law.
®ay 23 DUBLIN, GEORGIA.
MEDICAL NOTICE.
° c Toli MOREL. Office No. 157 Brough-
I 1 Street. ts mar 23
FRANCIS WAVER,
ROUTING & COMMISSION MERCHANT,
No 107 Bay Street, Savannah, Geo.
ALLEN & BALL,
Motors & commission merchants,
No. 112 BAY STREET,
SAVANNAH, GA.
J. M. BALL & CO,
c °mmission Jttfcchants,
MACON, GEORGIA.
‘Hert A. ALLEN, JAMES M. BALL,
j*pt 20 iy
SAMUEL S. MILLER,
MANUFACTURER OF
VRIUAGES AND WAGONS,
Dealer in hubs, spokes, felloes, &c.
No. 140 Broughton St., Savannah.
J. T. JONES.
hanufactuhi r and dealer in
est Side of Monument Square.
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
JONES & FAPOT,
Shipwrights, Spar Makers,
AND CAULKERS.
’ ri opposite R.&. J. Lachlison’s Foundry.
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
R. H. DARBY,
r,er Broughton and Whitaker Street*,
Jj SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
is prepared to execute all orders for
-- ngoj Cutting on reasonable terms
mar 9 Q j y
DhiiM fa CitmilniT, km? nnii Jlrt, tjje mm of €eut}r?nnw, (S 3\Umm\ nnii tjj t Jiruio tif]|7 l)m|.
PHILIP KEAN.
draper and tailor,
AND DEALER IN
ready made clothing.
I eufield s Range, No. 98 Bryan Street,
Store formerly occupied by J Southwell Cos.,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
J. S. STURTEVANT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Corner Montgomery and Liberty Sts.
All orders in his line will be promptly attended
to, and faithfully executed. ly * j une |
G. W HEDRICK.
house and sign painter,
Gilder, Glazier, Grainer & Paper Hanger.
No. 12 Barnard Street, South of the Market,
IS always ready toexecute all orders in his line
with dispatch, and at the lowest prices. All
kinds of mixed Paints, Glass and PllU3’ kept.
* or sa P- _ lyr Dec 22
A SHORT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Will t;ike contracts for Building and Work in
Masonry of every description. Cornet of South
Broad and WhitaLer stree ts. may 2G
CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER.
The subscriber is prepared to execute with
neatness and despatch all work in the above line.
142 Broughton St. Two Doors West of 1. \Y.
.MORRELL’S Furniture Store,
jmiel ly I. SOLOMONS. Agent.
CLOTHING,
PIERSON ,A 11EIDT ..Her for sale CLOTHING,
Y\ holesale and Retail, at New York pi ice.*, No.
1U Wlntaker Street. upl 2(i
G M. GRIFFEN.
X?- HAY ING puichascd the stock in trade of
JE'y J thelate M. Eastman, would solicit the oon
it.ued patronage of all the friends of the
establishment. All customers shall lie pleased
with goods and salisfioj with prices.
GEO. M. GRIFFEN.
N. B.—Watches and Chroniclers will receive
the personal attention of Mr. G., as usual.
Sept 21
DR. J. DENjInIS,
BOTANIC DRUGGIST,
Next door above L. C. Watren &. Cos,
Augusta, Ga.
Keeps constantly on hand a choice assortment*
selected from the best establishments in the United
States, consisting of Emetics, Cathartics, Diapho
retics, Diuretics, Expectorants, Emmenagogues,
Stimulants, Tonics, Astringents, Nervines, Alka
lies, Alteratives, Rubefacients, and Compounds
for family use. Composition Powder, No. Six,
Lobelia in its various preparations, Ac., also
Medieal Books. may 4
ALFRED HAYWOOD.
CORNER BRYAN AND BARNARD STREETS,
Market Square, Savannah,
Dealer in Choice FRUITS, CANDIES. NUTS,
ORANGES, LEMONS, APPLES, AND PO
TATOES, Wholesale and Retail.
First quality Thunderbolt Oysters, Ki-di, &,e.
Newaik refined Champaigne Cider, and Albany
Cream Al*>, by the bbl.
I Orders from the Country, accompanied
by the cash or City reference, punctually attended
to atg y
GAS PIPES AND FIXTURES.
STRATTON & DOBSON,
Having received an assortment of Chandeliers,
Pendants, Brackets and Portable Gas Burners,
respectfully invite the citizens of Savannah to
call at their store, No. 72 St. Julian street, and
examine the same 4t june 1
JOHN MALLERY,
DRAPER AND TAILOR,
IYO. 55 Bay-st. joining llic City Hotel.
Invites the attention to his Stock of New and
Seasonable Goods, now opening, consisting of
choice READY MADE CLOTHING and 1 PU
NISHING GOODS, comprising every article
of Gentlemen’s appaitl.
Also,a ful supply es CLOTHS; CASSLMERES
and Y'ESTINCS, of various shades and qualities
—which will he made to order in the most ap
proved style, by competent and experienced
Workmen, warranted to give entire satisfaction,
and at prices to suit the times oet 18
NEW FALL GOODS.
THE Subscriber has just returned from the North
with a splendid stock of C LOTUS, C A SSI M E RS,
VESTINGS, Ac., together with a full assortment
of fancy articles, such as Gloves, Shirts, Cravats,
Handkerchiefs, Scarfs and every thing compri
sing a gentleman s wardrobe.
Having engaged the services of M. M. Carry,
who is well known ns an experienced Cutter, he
feels confident of pleasing all who will favor him
with a call, at the old stand, corner of Broughton
and Whitaker Streets, sign of the Golden Lamb.
SAMUEL P. DIBBLE.
CUTTING done at the shortest notice,
sept 28 ts
BATHING HOUSE.
J. M. HAYWOOD respectfully informs the gen
tlemen of Savannah, and strangers, that his warm,
cold ami shower bathing rooms are now ready,
and will be constantly open, east side of t'.ie Pu
laski House, adjoining his Hair Dressing Room.
Price of Bathing, 25 cents.
N. B. I am now prepared to receive yearly
customers. Prices reasonable, according to how
many times they may Lathe per week.
sept 14 J. M. li.
CARD.
THE undersigned respectfully informs his former
friends arid acquaintance®, that he intends to re
turn to SAVANNAH, GEORGIA, in person, ear
| ly in October, and has taken the store No. 1)6 Bry
\ an-*/., one door west of Whitaker, a:d will open
the same with an entire new and large assortment
of SEASONABLE READY MADE CLOTHING,
all manufactured this fall , expressly for this place,
; under his own immediate attention, unsurpassed by
1 anv other establishment.
( * A. P. HOUSTON.
Formerly Hamilton &. Houston.
The above Clothing business will be continued
in all its various departments In ti e new firm of
HOUSTON &GROUNDESON.
Nr. 96 Bryan-st.
j Terms: —Cash or City acceptance.
oct 5 ts
A. CARD.
A lady educated in London and Paris, a good
Musician, Singer, Draughts-woman, and Painter,
who speaks the French Janguagein all its purity,
desires a situation either in a School or private
j family. Terms moderate—references most re
-1 specfable.
| A line addressed to this office, care of E. J.
1 Purse, for D’Este Smyth, will be attended to im
( mediately. june 29
A CARD.
The Undersigned having re-opened with an entire
New Stock of DRUGS, CHEMICALS, AND
FANCY ARTICLES, at No. 139 (South Side)
Broughton street, (formerly Walker’s Marble
Yard) is now ready to furnish anything in bis line
at the shortest notice. SODA WATER, made
’ in his own pecnliar way, sent to any part of the
j city, and always to be had at the store in the
! highest state of perfection.
Prescription* put up with care and despatch.
! The Subscriber having served the public long
j and faithfully, respectfully solicits a share of their
> patronage.
j may 11 TIIOS EVERSON.
WHERE DWELL THE DEAD.
Where do they dwell? ’Neath grassy
mounts, by daisies,
Lilies, and yellow-cups of fairest gold ;
Near grey-grown walls, where in wild, tor
tuous mazes,
Old clustering ivy wrenthes in many a fold;
Where in red summer noons
Fresh leaves are rustling.
Where ’neath large autumn moons
Young birds nre nestling—
Do they dwell there ?
Where do they dwell ? In sullen waters,
lying
On beds of purple sen-flowers newly sprung ;
Where the mad whirlpool’s wild nud cease
less sighing,
h rets sloping batiks, by dark green reeds
o’er hung:
Where by the torrent’s swell,
Crystal stones glitter,
While sounds the heavy boll
Over the river—
Do they dwell there ?
No : for in these they slumber to decay,
And their remembrance with their life de
parts ;
They have a home,—nor dark, nor far
away—
Their proper home, —within our faithful
hearts;
Their happy spirits wed.
Loving for ever;
There dwell with us, the dead,
Parting— ah, never !
There do they dwell!
[/•’, om the Literary World ]
TO JENNY LIND.
A melody with Southern passion fraught
I hear thee warble : ’tis as if a bird
By intuition human strains had caught,
But whose puro breast uo kindred feeling
stirred.
Thy native song the hushed arena fills,
So wildly plaintive, that I seem to stand
Alone, and see, from off the circling hills,
The bright horizon of the North expand !
High art is thus intact; and matchless skill
Born of intelligence and self control, —
The graduated tone and perfect trill
Prove a restrained, but not a frigid soul;
Thine finds expression in such geneious
deeds,
That music from thy lips for human sorrow
plcudfc!
H. T. T.
A SWARM OF BEES WORTH HI
VING.
B prayerful, B patient, B humble, B mild,
B wise as a Solon, B meek as a child ;
B studious, B thoughtful, B loving, B kind;
B sure you make matters subservient to
mind.
B cautious, 13 prudent, B trustful, B true,
B courteous to all men, B friendly with few.
B temperate in argument, pleasure and
wine,
B careful of conduct, of money, of time.
B cheerful, B grateful, B hopeful, B firm,
B peaceful, benevolent, willing to learn;
B courageous, B gentle, B liberal, B just,
B aspiring, B humble because thou art dust;
B penitent, circumspect, sound in the faith,
B active, devoted ; B faithful till death.
13 honest, 13 holy, transparent and pure ;
B dependent, B Christ like, nud you’ll B
secure.
Irltrtrii €n!e.
THE SICKNESS AND HEALTH OF
THE PEOPLE OF BLEABURN.
IN THREE PARTS.
As Mary descended into the hol
low, she was struck with the quiet
beauty of the scene. The last sun
blaze rushed level along the upper
part of the cleft, while the lower
part lay in deep shadow. While
she was descending a steep slope,
with sometimes grass, and some
times grey’ rock, by the roadside,
theopposile height rose precipitous ;
and from chinks in its brow, little
drips of water fell or oozed down,
calling into life ferns, and grass, and
ivy, in every moist crevice. Near
the top, there were rows of swallow
holes ; and the birds were at this
moment all at play in the last glow
of the summer day, now dipping in
to the shaded dell, down to the very
surface of the water, and then
sprinkling the grey precipice with
their darling shadows. Below,
when Mary reached the bridge, she
thought all looked shadowy in more
senses than one. The first people
she saw were some children, exces
sively dirt} 7 , who were paddling
about in a shallow pool, which was
now none of the sweetest, having
been filled by the spring overflow,
and gradually 7 drying up ever since.
Mary called to these children from
the bridge, to ask where Widow
Johnson lived. She could learn
nothing more than that she must
proceed ; for, if the creatures had
not been almost too boorish to speak
she could have made nothing of the
Yorkshire dialect, on the first en
counter. In the narrow street, eve
ry window seemed closed, and even
the shutters of some. She could
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER H, 1800,
see nobody in the first two or three
shops that she passed ; but, at the
baker’s, a woman was sitting at
work* On the entrance of a stran
ger, she looked up in surprise ; and,
when at the door to point out the
turn down to Widow Johnson’s, she
remained there, with her work on
her arm, to watch the lady up the
street. The doctor, quickening his
pace, came up, saying.
“Who was that you were speak
ing to? A lady wanting Widow
Johnson ! What a very extraordi
nary thing! Did you tell her the
fever had got there ?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What did she say
“She said she must go and nurse
them.”
“Doyou mean that she is going
to stay here ?”
“1 suppose so, by her talking of
nursing them. She says Widow
Johnson is her aunt.”
“O ! that’s it! 1 have heard that
Mrs. Johnson came of a good fami
ly\ But what a good creature this
must be—that is, if she knows what
she is about. 11* she is off’ before
morning, 1 shall think it was a vis
ion, dropped down out of the clouds.
Eh ?”
“She is not handsome enough to
bean angel, or anything of that
kind,” said the baker’s wife.
“0! isn’t she? 1 did not see
her face. But it is all the belter
ifshe’s not very like an angel. She
is all the more likely to slay and
nurse the Johnsons. Upon my word,
they are lucky people if she does.
I must go and pay my respects to
her presently.—Do look now—at
ilie doors till along the street, on
both sides the way ! 1 have not seen
so many people at once for weeks
past; —for, you know, 1 have no
time to go to church in these days.”
“You would not see many people,
if you went. See ! some of the chil
dien are following her! It is lon<>
since they have seen a young lady,
in a white gown, and with a smile
on her face, in our street. There
she goes, past the corner ; she has
taken the right turn.”
“I will just let her get the meet
ing over and selt'e lierselfa little,”
said the doctor ; “and then I will go
and pay my respects to her.”
The little rabble of dirty children
followed Mary round the corner,
keeping in the middle of the lane,
and at some distance behind.
When she turned to speak to them,
they started and fled, as they might
have done, if she had been a ghost.
But when she laughed, they return
ed cautiously ; and all their brown
forefingers pointed the same wav
at once, when she made her final in
quiry about which was the cottage
she wanted. Two little boys Were
pushed forward by the rest; and it
transpired that these were grand
children of Widow Johnson.
“Is she your granny ?” said Mary.
“Then, 1 arfi your cousin. Come
with me ; and if granny is very
much surprised to see me, you must
tell her that 1 am your cousin Mary.”
The boys, however, had no no
tion of entering the cottage. They
slipped away, and hid themselves
behind it; and Mary had to intro
duce herself.
After knocking in vain for some
time, she opened the door, and
looked in. No one was in the room
but a man, whom she at once recog
nised for Silly Jem. He was half
standing, half-sitting, against the
table by the wall, rolling his head
from side to side. By no mode of
questioning could Mary obtain a
word from him. The only thing he
did was to throw a great log of
wood on the lire, when she observ
ed what a large fire he had. She
tried to take it off’ again ; hut this
he would not permit. The room
was insufferably hot and close.
The only window was beside the
door; so that there was no way of
bringing a current of fresh air
through the room. Mary tried to
open the window ; hut it was not
made to open, except that a small
pane at the top, three inches square,
went upon hinges. As soon as
Mary had opened it. however, poor
Jem went and shut it. Within this
kitchen, was a sort of closet for
stores; and this was the whole of
the lower floor. Mary opened one
other door, and found within it a
steep, narrow stair, down which
came a sickening puff of hot, foul
air. She went up softly, and Jem
slammed the door behind her. It
seemed as if it was the business of
his life to shut everything.
Groping her way, Mary came to
a small chamber, which she survey
ed for an instant from the stair, be
fore showing herself within. There
was no ceiling, and long cobwebs
hung from the rafters. A small
window, two feet from the floor, and
curtained with a yellow and tatter-
ed piece of muslin, was the only
break in the wall. On the deal table
stood a phial or two, and a green
bottle, which was presently found
to contain rum. A turn-up bedstead,
raised only a foot from the floor, was
in a corner ; and on it lay someone
who was very restless, feebly throw
ing off the rug, which was imme
diately replaced by a sleepy woman
who dozed between times in a chair
that boasted a patchwork cushion.
Mary doubted whether the large
black eyes which stared forth from
the pillow had any sense in them.
She went to see.
“Aunty,” said she, going to the
bed, and gently taking one of the
wasted hands that lay outside. “1
am come to nurse you.”
The poor patient made a strong
effort to collect herself, and to speak.
She did not want She
should do very,well. This was no
place for strangers. She was too ill
to see strangers, and so on ; but,
from time to time, a few wandering
words about her knowing best how
to choose a husband for herself—
her having a right to marry as she
pleased —or of insisting that her re
lations would go their own way in
the world, and leave her hers—
showed Mary that she was recog
nised, and what feelings she had to
deal with.
“She knows where ] came from;
hut she takes me for my mother or
my grandmother,” thought she. “If
she grows clear in mind, we shall
he friends on our o\tn account. If
she remains delirious, she will be
come used to the sight of me. I
must take matters into my own
hands at once.”
The first step was difficult. Cool
ness and fresh air were wanted
above everything. But there was
no chimney ; the window would
not open ; poor Jem would not let
any door remain open for a mo
ment ; and the sleepy neighbour
was one of those who insist upon
warm bed-clothes, large fires, and
hot spirit-and-water, in fever cases.
She was got rid of by being paid to
find somebody who would go for
Mary’s trunk, and bring it here be
fore dark. She did her best to ad
minister another dose of rum before
she tied on her bonnet; hut as the
patient turned away her head with
disgust, Mary interposed her hand.
The dram was offered to her, and,
as she would not have it, the neigh
bour showed the oniy courtesy then
possible, by drinking Mary’s health,
and welcome to Bleaburn. The
woman had some sharpness. She
could see that if she took Jem with
her, and put the trunk on his shoul
der, she should get the porter’s fee
herself, instead of giving it to some
rude boy ; and, as Mary observed,
would he doing a kindness to Jem
in taking him fora pleasant even
ing walk. Thus the coast was
cleared. In little more than half-an
hour they would he back. Mary
made the most of her time.
She set the doors below wide
open, and lowered the fire. She
would fain have pxit on some water
to boil, for it appeared to her that
everybody and everything wanted
washing extremely. But she could
find no water, hut some which seem
ed to have been used—which was,
at all events, not fit for use now.
For water she must wait till some
body came. About air, she did
one thing more—a daring thing.
She had a little diamond ring on
her finger. With this, without
noise and quickly,she cut so much
of two small panes of the chamber
window as to he able to take them
clean out ; and then she rubbed the
neighbouiing panes bright enough
to hide, as she hoped, an act which
would he thought mad. When she
looked round again at Aunt} 7 , she
could fancy that there was a some
what clearer look about the worn
face, and a little less dulness in the
eye. But this might be because she
herself felt less sick now that fresh
air was breathing up the stairs. #
There was something else upon
the stairs —the tread of som e one
coming up. It was the doctor. He
said he came to pay his respects to
the lady before him, as well as to
visit his patient. It was no season
for losing time, and doctor and nurse
found in a minute that they should
agree very well about the treatment
of the patient. Animated by find
ing that he should no longer lie
wholly alone in his terrible wrestle
with, disease and death, the doctor
did things which he could not have
believed he should have courage for.
He even emptied out the rum-bottle,
and hurried it away into the bed of
the stream. The last thing he did
was to turn up his cuffs, and actual
ly bring in two pails of water with
his own hands. He promised (and
kept his promise) to send his boy
with a supply of vinegar, and a
message to the neighbor that she
was wanted elsewhere, that Mary
might have liberty to refresh the pa
tient, without being subject to the
charge of murdering her. “A
charge, however,” said he, “which
1 fully expect will be brought against
any one of us who knows how to
nurse. I confess they have cowed
me. In sheer despair, I have let
them take their own way pretty
much. But now we must see what
can he done.”
“Yes,” said Mary. “It is fairly
our turn now. We must try how
we can cow the fever.”
CHAPTER 111.
Mr. Finch was standing in front
of his bookcase, deeply occupied in
ascertaining a point in ecclesiastical
history, when lie was told that Ann
Warrender wfislied to speak to
him.
“ O dear!” he half breathed out.
He had for some time been growing
nervous about the state of things
at Bleaburn ; and there was noth
ing he now liked so little as to he
obliged to speak face to face with
any of the people. It was not all
cowardice; though cowardice made
up sadly too much of it. He did
not very well know how to address
the minds of his people; and lie
felt that lie could not do it well. He
was more fit for closet study than
for the duties of a parish priest;
and he ought never to have been
sent to Bleaburn. Here he was,
however; and there was Ann War
render waiting in the passage to
speak to him.
“Dear me!” said he, “I am
really very busy at this moment.
Ask Ann Wafrender if she can
come again to-morrow.”
To-morrow would not do. Ann
followed the servant to the door of
the study to say so. Mr. Finch
hastily asked her to wait a moment,
and shut the door behind the ser
vant. He unlocked a cupboard,
took out a green bottle and a wine
glass, and fortified himself against
infection with a draught of some
thing whose scent betrayed him to
Ann the moment the door was again
opened.
“ Come in,” said he, when the
cupboard was locked.
“Will you please come, sir, and
see John Billiter? He is not far
from death ; he asked for you just
now ; so I said I would step for
you.”
“Billiter! The fever has been
very fatal in that house, has it not?
Did not he lose two children last
week ?”
“Yes, sir; and my father thinks
the other two are beginning to sick
en. I’m sure I don’t know what
will become of them. I saw Mrs.
Billiter stagger as she crossed the
room just now ; and she does not
seem, somehow, to he altogether
like herself this morning. That
looks as if she were beginninir.—
But if you will come and pray with
them, sir, that is the comfort they
want.”
“Does your father allow you to
go to an infected house like that?”
asked Mr. Finch. “And does lie
go himself?”
O 0
Ann looked surprised, and said
she did not see what else could he
done. There was no one but her
father that could lift John Billiter,
or turn him in his bed ; and as for
her, she was the only on3 that Mrs
Billiter had to look to, day and
night. The Good Lady went in
very often, and did all she could ;
hut she was wanted in so many
places, besides having her hands
full with the Johnsons, that she
could only come in and direct and
cheer them, every few hours. She
desired to he sent for at any time,
night or day ; and they did send
when they were particularly dis
tressed, or at a loss; hut for regu
lar watching and nursing, Ann said
the Bidders had no one to depend
on hut herself. She could not slay
talking, now however. How soon
might she say that Mr. Finch
would come ?
Mr. Finch was now walking up
and down the room. He said he
would consider, and let her know
as soon as he could.
“John Billiter is as bad as can
be ; sir. He must be very near his
end.”
“Ah ! well; you shall hear from
tne very soon.”
As Ann went away, she won
dered what could he the impedi
ment to Mr. Finch’s going with her.
He, meantime, roused his mind to
undertake a great argument of duty.
It was with a sense of complacency
even of elevation, that he now set
himself to work to consider of his
duty—determined to do it when
his mind was made up.
v He afterwards declared that he
went to his chamber to be secure
against interruption,and there walk-
ied up and down for l\vo hours in
meditalioii and prayer. He t(in-’
l sidered llial it had pleased God that
; he should he the only son of his
’ mother, whose whole life would bd
• desolate if he should die. He
I thought of Ellen Price feeling al
most sure she would marry him
whenever lie felt justified in asldfig
her ; and he considered what a lit
of happiness she would lose if he
should die. He remembered that
his praying with the sick would not
affect life on the one side, while it
might on the other. The longer lie
thought of Ellen Price and of his
mother, and of all that he might do
S if he lived, the more clear end his
I duty seem to himself to become.—*
At the end of the two hours, he
was obliged to bring his meditations
to a conclusion, for Ann WarretH
(let’s father had been waiting some
time to speak to him, and would
then wait no longer.
“ It is not time lost, Warrehder,”
said Mr. Finch, when at last he
came down stairs. “ J have been
determining my principles, and my
mind is made up.”
“ Then, Sir, let us be off, or the
man will be dead. What! you can
not come, Sir! Why, bless my
soul!”
“ You see my reasons, surely,
Warrender.”
“Why, yes; such as they arc.
The thing that 1 can’t see the Yea
son for, is your being a clergyman.”
While Mr. Finch was giving forth
his amiable and gentlemanly no
tions of tlie position of a clergy
man in society, and of filial Coti
sideration, Warrender was twirling
his hat, and fidgetling, as if in
haste; and his summing tip was—
“ 1 don’t know what your mother
herself might say, Sir, to your con
sideration lor her; but most likely
she has, being a mother, noticed
that saying about a man leaving
father and mother, and houses and
lands, for Christ’s sake ; and also—
i But it is no business of mine to be
pleaching to the clergyman, and I
have enough to do elsewhere.”
“ One thing more, Warrender.—
I entrust it to you to let the people
know’ that there will be no service
in church during the* infection.—
Why, do not you know that, in the
time of the plague the churches were
closed by order, because it was
found that the people gave one an
other the disease by meeting there.”
John had never heard it, and he
was sorry to hear it now. He has
tened away to the Good Lady# to
ask her if he must really tell the af
flicted people that all religious com
foit must be withheld from them
now, when they w'ere in the utmost
need of it. Meantime, Mr. Finch
was entering.at length in his diarv,
the history of his conflict of mind,
his decision, and the reason of it.
Henceforth, Mr. Finch had less
time for his diary, and for clearing
up points of ecclesiastical history.—
There were so many funerals that
he could never be sure of leisure;
not, u hen he had it, was he in a state
to use it. Sometimes he almost
doubted whether he was in his right
mind, so overwhelmingly dreadful
to him was the scene around him.
lie mot f armer Neale one day.-
Neale was at his wit’s end xthat to
do about his harvest. Several of his
laborers were dead, and others
were kept aloof by his own ser
vants, who declared they would all
leave him if any person from Blea
buin was brought among them; and
no laborers from a distance would
come near the place. Farmer
Neale saw’ no other prospect than
of his crops rotting on the ground.
“\ ou must offer high wages,”
said Mr. Finch. “ You must be
well aware that you do not gen
erally tempt people into your ser
vice by your rate of wages. You
must open your hand at such a time
as this.”
Neale was ready enough now to
give good wages ; but nobody would
leap an acre of his for love or
money. He was told to be thank
ful that the fever had spared his
house ; but he said it was no use
bidding a man be thankful for any
thing, while he saw his crops per
ishing on the ground.
Next, Mr. Finch saw', in his after
noon ride, a waggon-load of coffins
arrive at the brow from O . He
saw them seht down, one by one,
on men’s shoulders, to be ranged
in the carpenter’s yard. The car
penter could not work fast enough ;
and his stock of wood was so nearly
exhausted that there had been com
plaints, within the last few days
that the coffins would not bear the
least shock, but fell to pieces when
the grave w'as opened for the next.
So an order was sent to O . for
coffins of various sizes; and now
they were carried down the road,
j and up the street, before the eyes of
NUMBER 3i.