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saluted his ears, the music of a fine band swelled | in harmony through the house, the perfume of rare flowers made the air heavy with sweetness.

"Green felt bewildered, a sudden dizziness seemed to overcome him, and he was smitten with strange fears; his thoughts were in a wild tumult, from which he was aroused by Thaddeus endeavoring to close the door upon him. He prevented this by throwing himself forward past the menial, and thus he staggered like a drunken man into the hall amongst the guests. They retired from him as though he was a pestilence, and by the way thus opened through dainty women and shrinking men, he advanced into the still greater throng in the parlor. What a sight did meet his eyes!

The noble room was full of flowers-flowers

upon the mantel-pieces, bouquets upon marble stands, in the hands of matrons, in the bosoms of belles; the lights were brilliant, the company more so. Many familiar faces crossed near him, but he saw them as men see images in dreams. He passed by the musicians—the smile upon the faces of all was agony to him-there was an avenue made for him as he advanced, and his hand swept aside the rich satins and crapes, he respected but little the finest laces or the costliest broadcloth. He reached the end of the room, and there looked upon the bride and bridegroom, Ruth Russell and George Hutchins!

"The bride was attired in the richest satin, with the long pure veil, and the orange blossoms decking her brow; pearls were strung upon her neck, which rivalled them in purity. But her face was pale as whitest marble, her arms hung listlessly down at her side, and her mouth wore a fixed, stony smile. It might have worn the same expression in death. The bridegroom, fashionable and proud, bowed and smiled to his congratulating friends; but a deep, deadly frown passed over his face when he beheld the worn figure push up before them. It was but a moment, and then Green spoke, and his broken voice, yet with a sad melody which seemed scarcely of earth, sounded through the festive

room:

"Ruth Russell, I have come back.'

"Then the bride shrieked as she threw up her white arms in despair, and sprang from the side of her husband to the embrace of the careworn stranger.

"O, Thomas, they forced me to it! I thought you were dead. Treachery, treachery! I am yours alone. I tell you all here I love this man. Father, I care not now for threats. This man is my husband in the sight of Heaven.'

"But Green had fallen to the floor like a corse,

and when they raised him up he was a raving madman.

"His wretched brain gave way,

And he became a wreck, at random driven, Without one glimpse of reason, or of heaven.' "But, little girl, she comes to him sometimes from heaven, and talks to him. She is so beautiful, and there is a strange brightness like beams of sunlight around her brow, and he is always happier after seeing Ruthie. But, dear child, here comes Green. O, hide me, little fairy, do not let him touch me. He will kill me for telling Do not leave me, do not, little child, for you look like Ruth-"

his history to you.

"Come, Mr. Green," said the man from the other side of the room, "you must go with me now, to have supper. This little girl shall come to see you again."

"And the man led Mr. Craige away," said my little girl.

"No, my child," I replied, "that was not Mr. Craige who was talking to you, it was Mr. Green himself, and he was telling you his own sad history; the other gentleman was one of the attendant keepers. You must know, daughter, that it is very frequently the case in certain forms of madness, that the maniac fancies that he is perfectly sane, and that all others are crazy, and also that he is somebody else."

"Poor Mr. Green!" sighed my little girl, and she was unusually sad all that evening.

FRENCH AMUSEMENT.

A new method of amusement has been adopted in Paris. Fashionable people, who do not find private theatricals or private concerts suited to their tastes, give private sermons. A pulpit is takes a great deal of pains to secure a popular erected in the drawing-room, and the hostess and eloquent preacher. Great exertions are made that they are not outdone by their neighbors in eloquence. Of course it is not to be supposed that these services are open to the public, but especial cards of invitation are issued to the matinée religieuse (religious morning party), with careful attention to the quality of the guests invited.-New York Observer.

THE FINGERS.

A master, in illustrating why the fingers are not of an equal length, made his scholar grasp a ball of ivory, to show that the points of his fingers are equal. It would have been better, says Sir Charles Bell, had he closed his fingers upon correspond. The difference in the length of the the palm, and then asked whether or not they fingers serves a thousand ends, adapting the form of the hand and fingers to different purposes, as for holding a rod, a switch, a sword, a hammer, a pen, a pencil, engraving tools, etc., in all which a secure hold and freedom of motion are admirably combined.-Notes and Queries.

[ORIGINAL.]

OUR SAILOR BOY'S RETURN.

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BY E. B. ROBINSON.

He is standing once more on his native shore, Above him his native sky;

O, deep is the joy of the sailor boy,

As he lifts his beaming eye.

He has been away for many a day,

Ploughing old ocean's wave;

He has floated wide, by wind and tide,

Above many a nameless grave.

He has faced the cold, where the iceberg rolled
Deep down in the Polar Sea,

And gazed with delight on the wierd northern light,
As it bathed the white hilltop and lea.

He has paced the green strand of many a land,
Where roses bloomed sweet in the bowers;
But the pestilence grim lay waiting for him,
Among the bright tropical flowers.

He looked death in the eye, when the storm-king on high

His pinions of darkness had spread,

And shrieking aloud from the ebon cloud,
He hovered above his bright head.

With a fear-stricken crew and a lee shore in view,
He stood undismayed at his post;
Though fearful the gale, he bent every sail,
To speed from the drear, rocky coast.

But his perils all past, he is standing at last
On the Kennebec's beautiful shore,
And he lifts his glad eye to his dear native sky,
And thanks God that his wanderings are o'er.

[ORIGINAL.]

IN AT THE DEATH.

BY HENRY MCFARLANE.

"Who is she?"

"A young woman, of course."

"But what is she?"

"You wouldn't have a ghost of a chance. Widows are man-proof-let alone ghost-proof. And if you saw her 'cutting-up,' you'd be glad to go back to the grave again."

"But all this is nothing to the purpose. The question before the vestry is, Who is this solitary, dark-eyed, well-formed and highly dignified young woman?"

"And where did she come from ""

"And who is the little girl?"

As nobody at the Violet tavern knew, there was no answer, but conjecture, to all these eager questions. The lady in question had come to the place with her girl-companion, an utter stranger, taken one large room, and kept herself mysteriously dark and reserved.

All that the landlord knew was that her name was Annie Ashton, and the little girl's Winnie Ashton; but whether they were mother and daughter; whether the elder had ever had a husband; or the younger, who was about ten years of age, was young enough to be the daughter of the other, who did not seem more than twentyone; whether-almost anything else, about them -he could not say-for he dared not ask.

"I have been a landlord for twenty years and more," said he, "and as sure as my name is Prounce, I never met with a woman's eye that I couldn't fairly and squarely face, but hers. I asked her one or two questions-out of my business, I own, but she gave me such a look, from that glowing, high-bred eye of hers, that I wilted, and remembered my manners. Mrs. Prounce, who is good at catechism, says the same. says they are both continually on their guard, the young one watching the old one all the time, as if to give or take a cue from her when they speak. But Dolly likes the lady, though she don't know what to make of her. Strange young creature. What a high-bred eye she has.

She

"My opinion is," said one of the boarders, who was inclined to be superstitious, and wished

"Half dust, half deity, as the poet says, like always to act wisely, "that it is best to let all

the rest of humanity."

"Is she married or single?"

"Or a widow? She dresses in black and

looks melancholy."

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such people alone. It don't do to meddle with odd folks. Sometimes they're the very-the very -devil-if I must say so."

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'She don't look very devilish, though," was the general opinion; for Annie Ashton, married or single, maiden, wife, or widow, was very comely to behold, and young, and seemingly well-educated and intellectual. And the result of the first grand discussion of her was that everybody resolved to keep an eye upon her, confident that, as Mr. Prounce said Mrs Prounce said, "everything would come out, bimeby."

On one occasion, when Mrs. Prounce was having a miscellaneous chat with the mystic

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Annie and the undoubtedly Miss Winnie, and smilingly intimated that everybody was dying to know who they were, the mystic Annie calmly observed, with unconquerable steadfastness in her dark, high-bred eye, that,

"It is a very curious world, indeed, and it has been said in defence of inquisitive people, that the spirit of inquiry is the foundation of all knowledge; but as far as my observation has extended, I have always noticed that the most inquisitive people are the most ignorant."

Mrs. Prounce rather winced while she smiled, and ventured that

"If they are ignorant, perhaps that's the reason they ask-for information."

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| didn't go to mine. It is very gloomy to be-to be gloomy," she added, lost in thoughts of the tomb.

"As laughing is catching," proceeded her solemn young companion.

"What does it catch?" suddenly interrupted Mrs. Prounce, looking up, anxiously, for she had been thinking of infectious diseases just then, and was for a moment dwelling upon small pox, which was expected in the neighborhood on a visit. "What did you say catches?"

"I said that as laughing is said to be catching, why should not gloom be? Anything gloomy has attractions for me."

"You have a good pious taste," replied Mrs.

"Which is seldom correct," ahemed the im- Prounce, regarding her with a shudder. "But perturbable Annie; mildly, though.

"It is perfectly right," said Mrs. Prounce, "to keep one's business to one's self. But sometimes we attract uncomfortable curiosity by being too reserved. When we are strange, we excite strange thoughts."

"I know I have strange tastes," replied Annie, "I have, for one, a very deep interest in funerals." "Funerals are very solemn," suggested Mrs. Prounce.

"Especially the funerals of our own sex," continued Annie, "and more especially, wives."

"It is a dreadful thing for a married woman to die," assented Mrs. Prounce, "and leave her husband; for she don't know what he is a going to do, any more than she knows where she is a going to."

"The death of a good wife is a great loss, and an impressive lesson to the world," said the solemn young lady. "She has filled the highest functions of her being; particularly if she has been a mother, and now leaves those behind her to mourn an irreparable loss. Children can never have but one mother-and a true woman's heart always melts, at the sight of a widower!" "He is a miserable object, to be sure!" said Mrs. Prounce. "Like a cart without a horse," she added, by way of illustration.

"The valuable duties of a wife, Mrs. Prounce," continued the commanding young woman, no longer be fulfilled unto him."

can

"No more they can," sighed Mrs. Prounce. "And so, whenever I hear of the death of a wife, I feel an overpowering inclination to attend the funeral, wherever I am and however engaged, and to give what aid and sympathy I can, to the house of mourning."

"Which it is very good of you," was the rejoinder; "though I must say it is a very odd taste, for I have such a horror of funerals and corpses, that I should forgive my husband if he

I wouldn't have it for the world. You will have a nice chance to indulge here, for the town is sickly, and we expect the small pox all over us pretty soon."

"I am glad to hear it," remarked Annie, "for I shall be able to perform my favorite services to the afflicted."

The gloomy taste, appearance and observations of her unknown boarder were so unaccountable to Mrs. Prounce, that when she left the room that day she vowed she would never again have a long talk with her.

"There is something ahint of her that I can't see," she told her husband; "and she makes me feel so bad, I can't tell whether she is seriously wicked or seriously pious. I feel as if I couldn't say my soul was my own when I am talking with her. I feel as if I could get into a pint pot. A young woman and fond of funerals! Glad to hear the place is sickly! What can you make out of her?"

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Money, as long as she stays," gruffly replied the landlord; "though I think, too, that there's something wrong about her. She's got such an eye and keeps so dark. Hang me if I don't believe she is a forerunner of the small pox! Half our boarders have gone away, for fear of it. Boggs's boy died this morning of it."

"She's a cunning person, anybody can see," said the wife, poising her thought before she drove it to a conclusion; "and p'haps, I say, p'hapsif she aint wicked, she may be a female doctor." 'Might be," mused Prounce, gloomy over the loss of his boarders. "If she is, I wish she'd scare the small pox away. She looks as if she could."

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Various other uncharitable opinions had been formed about the mysterious woman who had appeared just at the advent of the general terror. Apprehension breeds ill nature, and the baffled curiosity of some who were constantly talking

about her, excited a spiteful feeling against her. | of the guests; helped arrange it with her own

Some said she thought herself above common folks. Some that she liked to go to funerals that she might indulge an inhuman delight in the misery of others. Some said she was a bold thing who had committed some crime-perhaps poisoned a husband-and was concealing herself from justice. But the most general opinion, which finally obtained among those who had heard of her, was that she was travelling on the route of the small pox, to make professional observations and use them to advantage when she came to practise as a female physician-which it was supposed she was studying to be.

When the small pox did come in full force, this opinion was strengthened by several apothecaries, who testified that she made repeated inquiries of them as to who in their neighborhoods were sick and likely to die; and when funerals were to come off, and whose, and where. And her particular inquiries as to deceased or dying wives, seemed to establish the idea that she was, or was to be a practitioner for women only. This notion tended to mollify the asperity that existed against the mystic Annie, although that reserved young woman never assumed any knowledge of medicine, or intimated any desire to physic the sickly town.

It was soon observed, however, that she did have a propensity for attending funerals. Whenever "friends and relatives" were "invited to attend," she was sure to be present, evidently classing herself among the "friends;" and whenever the deceased person chanced to have been a wife, her show of timely sympathy was marked and appreciated; useful, and so gracefully made as to be considered unobtrusive, though from a stranger.

The occasions are not rare at funerals when the troubled mourners have been so worried and hurried in their preparations as to have left them imperfect; and when friends, unadvised of the fact beforehand, have felt too confused to aid them, in the proper manner, at the proper time. For such emergencies, the self-possessed and lady-like stranger proved herself peculiarly well adapted. Her solemn appearance was in itself a recommendation for the sad, extemporaneous task of officiating, when the chief mourner, sincere or insincere, too much absorbed in his grief or in deporting himself with becoming wretchedness, was unable to superintend the fit performance of necessary though minor details.

So while others mutely and awkwardly stood by, the comely young woman in black adroitly undertook to make quiet suggestions as to the disposal of the furniture for the best convenience

Lands, arrayed the funeral garland with a tasteful care; saw that the clergyman, and the chief mourners and other kindred were appropriately placed; that the Bible and the prayer-book were ready for the use of the pastor; and that the sexton and his assistants had the proper directions as to their duties, and while she obtained them from the bereaved man, she would gently give him such words of consolation as were most suitable for the occasion, and calculated to pour oil upon the wounds of his heart, if he had any.

If no one felt equal to the duty of calling out the list of mourners for the proper carriages, she would do it; and when the procession had arrived at the grave, none were so tenderly sympathetic, or so warmly eloquent, or so gracefully officious at the sorrowing husband's side, as the unaccountable, mysterious Annie Ashton. Nothing that could be done seemed to be forgotten or omitted by her, even to the collection of memorial flowers from the impressive spot. These kindly services over, she would quietly and modestly disappear.

Now there was nothing improper in all this, however unusual it might be from a stranger. Yet being unusual, and done so fitly, so opportunely, at the critical moment, it made her the object of increased interest and inquiry, and very naturally of thankful attachment from those assisted; and the sickliness of the town at that period multiplied the precise kind of opportunities which her funeral taste seemed to crave, and for which she seemed so signally adapted.

As the labors of compassionate kindliness do seldom go unrewarded, she often received little tokens of appreciation from the parties thus assisted, though she seldom complied with an invitation to their houses more than once, and even then maintained her singular reserve.

But finally, in an instance where she had made herself particularly serviceable, the chief mourner, a widower of middle age, ascertaining where she resided, called upon her at the Violet tavern, and solicited the favor of a prolonged acquaintance with her, in a voice and look which might be termed three parts admiration and one part inconsolable sorrow.

"If he thinks he can get anything out of her," said the Prounces, when he went up stairs, "he's mightily mistaken. We don't know any more of her now than we did when she first came here— barring the funerals. She's a regular angel at them, though, and no mistake."

The name of the grateful widower was Israel Pidgeon. Mr. Pidgeon, finding that the friendly, though still mystic young lady, received his

she kept her promise; and a week had not elapsed before two important revelations were made in consequence.

"You may think me unfeeling, Miss Ashton," said Mr. Pidgeon, one afternoon taking her hand suddenly and pressing it to his bill-no, his ad-lips-" but I am in love with you, and I entreat you to become my wife-to supply the place of my late partner. If not in love, in pity, be mine; for you must know what a dreadful thing it is to meet with so severe a loss."

solicitation with no unwillingness, ventured, in the course of an edifying conversation upon the uncertainity of human life, and the fact that all flesh is grass, and that still it was hard to part with it because it was doubtful if we could get a new crop as good-he ventured plumply upon the question whether he had the honor of dressing a maiden lady, a widow or a wife-and he glanced dubiously at the little girl, Winnie. Annie smiled, and answered evasively, "I am not now a married woman, Mr. Pidgeon;" so that he could not decide whether she meant that she had been married, but was without a husband now; or whether she intended to convey the idea that though she was not married now, she expected to be, soon. So he probed further.

"I do know what it is," replied she, to his astonishment; "for I have lost a husband, myself, and have long been desirous of supplying his place! I have sought for a substitute only among widowers, for I felt that we could the better sympathise with each other; and besides, we could marry upon equal terms. So, Israel, if you will

"Permit me to inquire the relationship of this sweet little girl to you." "She is my sister-in-law," promptly respond- have me, take me." ed Annie.

"Then that's all right, so far," thought he. "I don't think she ever has been married. I'll wait awhile and recover from the effects of her eye, and ask again."

Mr. Pidgeon now dilated upon the fact that he very lonesome."

was

"No doubt," replied she. "The death of a wife is not easily to be disregarded. A constant heart should in these cases prepare itself to follow the idol which it cannot restore. Feeling as you do, of course you will never seek or wish to supply her place."

Mr. Pidgeon didn't think so; but thought that she never could have been married, and that this was a proof that she was an inexperienced miss.

"Constancy is a great thing," observed he; "and you remember that I have three very young children to remind me of their mother. How did you like their looks?"

Annie declared that she had seldom seen children with such winning ways.

"I am charmed to hear that; and I am in hopes with the large fortune I possess, I shall be able to give them an education and position which will in part recompense them for the loss of a mother. I suppose you cannot understand what a parent's feelings are?"

Annie said that she could not.

"Then I suppose of course that you have never been married."

Annie allowed his supposition to pass as a statement, not a question, and made no reply; but her conversation grew so animated while they continued together, that he was encouraged to invite her to become a visitor to his house; and to his great satisfaction she promised,-and

The heart of Israel rejoiced, and he filled his arms and his cup of bliss at one and the same time, as he embraced her, and said that she was all the better for being a widow, for she would have more experience in domestic matters.

Thus it was that through death the mystic Annie obtained a second life-a second self-and three children,-all that any reasonable widow could expect; and as an ample fortune helped them to be happy, and both husband and wife did all they could to console each other for the loss of their former partners-which was very thoughtful of them-the mystic Annie never regreted her original project of being in at the death.

THE ROMAN SENTINEL.

many buried in the ruins of it who were afterWhen Pompeii was destroyed, there were very wards found in very different situations. There were some found who were in the streets as if they had been attempting to make their escape. There were some found in the lofty chambers; but where did they find the Roman sentinel? They found him standing at the city gate with his hand still grasping the war weapon, where he had been placed by his captain, and there while the heavens threatened him, there while the lava stream rolled, he had stood at his post, and there after a thousand years had passed away, was he found. So let Christians learn to stand to the post at which they will find their duty will support and sustain them.-Rev. S. Croley.

THE SPRINGS OF ACTION.
All thoughts that mould the age begin
Deep down within the primitive soul,
And from the many slowly upward win
To one who grasps the whole.

In his broad breast the feeling deep

That struggled on the many's tongue,
Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap
O'er the weak thrones of wrong.-LOWELL.

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