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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.