Summerside Journal -- 1866-10-25 -- Page 1

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AND WESTERN PIONEER.

DE VOTED TO LITERATURE, § S

CIENCE

= =

, COMMERCE, AGRICULTURE, AND NEWS.

Vol. 2.—Whole Number BB.

Summerside, Prince Edward Island, Thursday, October 95, 1866,

No. 3,

THE

Summerside Journal

48 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED KVERY
THURSDAY EVENING,

by
BERTRAM & BARNARD,
AY THEIR OFFICE, RAL STREET,

TERMS:
1 Copy for one year, in adyance, 6s. 3d.
mm half advance 7s. 6s,
Persons getting up Clubs of Ten
Subscribers will be entitled to
the Jewnal tor one year,

RATES OF ADVERTISING:

One square for 12 months, £2 10 0
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do first insertion, gy)
do each subsequentin, 0 1 3

All communications should be addressed
to perrkaMm © pannanp, andthe Postage,
i es, prepaid,

The following gentlemen have consent-
ed to act as Agents, and they ave authori-
sed to receive monies, und give receipts,
on our account :

Charlottetown—W. EF. Dawson, Esq.
Henry Harvie, Hsq.

Centreville—Major Wright, Esq

Upper Bedeque—Wum. G. Strong, Esq

Tryon—George Muttart, Esq

St. Kleanor's—W. 'T. Hunt & Co

Cascumpec—Benjamin Rogers, Esq

Margate—Reuben Tuplin, Esq

New Londoa—Vidgeon & Stewart.

Malpeque—1) & P McNutt.

Southport—WWenry Beer, Esq

Vernon River—Mr. George Vickerson

Georgetown—Andrew LeBrocque, Esq

Port Hill—David Ramsay, Esq.

Tignuish—Benjanin Haywood, Esq.

Miscouche—Joseph b. Perry.

Crapaud—Charles Collit.

JOB PRINTING
of every description, performed with neatness
and despatch, and at moderate rates,
at the Journan Office.

— ake
"Summerside Markets,

SuMMERsSIpE, Oct.
Oats per bush -
Barley per bush -
Potatoes per bush - - -
‘Yurnips per bush - - -

5, 1806.
2sa Ys 3d
---+- Ss ads Gd
---+ Isldals 3d
Is 2d a ts 6d

Butter per lb by ‘Tub ------- Is lads 2d
Tard por ib + «+ ----+----== fda 10d
"allow per Ib, = - - ---- ha 10d
KEyys per doz --------<--+ $d aw 10d
Beef perlb dda dd
Mutton per lb - - - -- --- Ba dd
Pork per lb by earcas --- dda dd
Geese cach ++ +---- - 1s Gd wis Od
Flour per bbl - - -- - - -- 50s a 608

lds a lds
-- 50s a 60s
- Is Gd, 28
-- 10s
---4dsais

Oatmeal per owt, -
Hay per ‘Ton - - ++ - -
Straw per ewl.
1 Boards. - - - - - -
Spruce Bourds

Business

B. ANK OF PRINCE E DIWARD ISLAND.
Corner of Queen § Water Sts., Charlottetown

Qards.

Tuomas UU. Havirann.
Ee eatatties Cun 4 Esquire.

Discount Da Mondays & ‘Thursdays.
Hours of Business—Iom 10 a.m. to L p.m.
from 2 p.m, to 4 pan,

President—Uon.

U NION BANK.

Grafton St., Queen's Square,
President—Cuanies Parmer
Cashier—J AMES

Dise ount Day s—Momilays Fy “Wedne sdays,
and Saturdays.

Hours of Business—From 10am to Lp m
trom 2Ypmto 4pm

‘ UMME RSIDI BANK.
Central Street, Summerside, PE. bland,
President—Ifon. Joun R. Ganpriver,
Cashier—E. L. Lyoranp, Esquire
Discount Days—Tnesdays and Bridiys,
Notes for Discount aust be in befure 11
o'clock on Discount days.

Hours of Business—10 a. m., to 1 p.m.
from 2 p.m., to 4 pom

Charlottetown
squire,

JAS. WILLIAMSON,

Commission Merchant,
MONTREAL,
is }repared to receive all orders for
Flour, Cornmeal, Leather Tobacco, &
on Lreasonable dLerms.

NEF ERENCE
D. Rogers, Esy., - - - Sihcenlls, P.ET.
John P, Thurgar, Esq., - - St. John, N. 1B.
Messrs. B. Douglas & Co., Ainherst, N.S.,
July 26, 1866. tf.

James Greenough,

“hue o
Commission Merchant.

No 47 Commercial Street
Cornér of Clinton Street BOSTON

a Fa luee OD,

DEALERS IN

Potatoes, Apples, Onions,

Moreign & Domestic Mruits,

Cranberries, Beans, Green & Dried Apples,

Stalls 107 and 109.
and Cellar No. 19, Faneuil Hall Market

SOUTH SIDE BOSTON,

OAT
WILLIAM BEAIRSTO,

Commission Merchant,

Auctioneer & General Agent,
WATER STREVT,

Summerside,

Summerside, Oct. 12, 1865,

DAVID BERTRAM,
Saddle and Harness Maker

» KB. Island

Water Street... .. Summorsfte;

October 12, 1865. ly

Business i Gard 8,
THOMAS KELLY,
Barrister - at -

AND
NOTARY PUBLIC, &c,

SUMMERSIDE, - - = FB.
aug. 9, 1866 lr

Tin
aw

ISLAND

GEORGE ALLEY,
BARRISTER AND
Attorne y-at-Law,
NOTARY PUBLIC, &C.
Telegraph Buildings, Water Strect,
Charlottetown, P. EB, Island,

WILLIAM DODD,
Commission Merchant,
And Auctioneer,

QUEEN SQUAKE,
CHARLOTTETOWN P,

ISLAND

H. J. RICHAR.SON,
COMMISSION MERCHANT

© Auctioneer.
Dealer in Flour, Groceries, and

Dry Gooda.
Water Strect...... Summerside.

CARVELL BROTHERS,
AUCTIONEERS,

Commission Merchants,
And General Agents,

BANK BUILDING, QUEEN STREET,
Charlottetown, - = - P. EL. Island.

‘THOMAS HANFORD,
AUCTIONEER

AND

Commission Merchant,

ST. JOIN, N. B.
_ Noy A 1865 ly

“DRS. PRICE & BLACK,
Physicians & Surgeons,

Ovrice—At the SumMersipe Drea Stross
next door to Bank, Central Stree
SUMMERSIDE, P, Bk. ISLAND
oO Multis Wo) wo

ay,

J. IL. GIBSON,
Plain & Ornamental
WOUSE& SIGN

Summerside, .... DP. B. Island.
_ Oetober 12, 1865,

Archibald McKay.
MONCTON, N. B.,

Contractor and Agent for the purchase and
siule of—
Ship Timber, Masts, Plank, House
Frames, and Lumber of all kinds.
49" Orders tor shipment will receive promp
attention.

Thomas ALLEY,
Charlottetown,
Sinas Barnann, E an

May 17, 1866, Isl.
DOS |
CABINET- MAKER,

AND

Undertalzer.

FURNITURE OF ALL KINDS MADE
TO ORDER,

Kent Street, Charlottetown,

Sept, 1866.
A CARD.
FUMIE subscriber having purchased — the
STOCK IN TRADES of Janes L. HLona an
at St. Eleanor's, the business in future will he
conducted by him, Asat is his intention to
keep constantly on hind Ww variety of goods
adapted for the spun trade, he respec sufully
solicits a share of public patronage,
ALBERT L. AND
St. Bleanor's, April LO, 1866.

JOUN ANDREW MACDONALD,
Importer of Dry Goods,
Hardware, Crockerywaré, Groceries,

stoves, Furniture, &e. &e.

Summerside, -<----- °- 2. ds Island
A, W. ANDRES
Marble Works,

Point Du Chene, Shediac,

6m.

ERSON,

Monuments, mbs, Grave-
stones, &c.

American & Italian Marble con-
stantly on hand,

Sold af a less price than at any other estab-
Ijshment in the Provinces,
_ Point Du chene, N, B., oct. 18, 1868,

Garriage Factory!
At Long River, New London

TEMA subscriber begs, leave fo acquaint the
public that he has‘every facility for turn-
ing out a FIRST CLASS C2 {RRIAGE and
SLEIGH, Vie bostaf mounting guaranteed
and in the first style. All who want d goody %
serviceable Waggan oF Sleigh will do wellto
call at the Long Ri¥er Carriage Factory.
Argo—All kinda of Blacksmith work, such
as Csrriage and Sleigh Mounting, Plough
Mounting, Horse Shoeing, Ship work, &e.,
done on the promises with neatness & despatch | \
DONALD BEATC
Long River, New London, aug. 16, 1866,

Bin

nee

PORTRY.

ONLY WAITING.

A very aged man in an alms-house was
asked what he was doing now. He replied,
“Only waiting.”

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown;
Till the night of earth is faded
From the heart once full of day ;
Till the stars of 1 en are breaking
‘Through the twi-light soft and gray .

Only waiting till the reapers

Ilave the Jast sheaf gathered home,
For the Summer-time is faded,

And the Autumn winds have come;
Quickly, reapers ! gather quickly

The last ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of life is withered,

And I hasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate,

At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor and desolate ;

Even now LI hear their footsteps,
And their yoices ta

If they call me, Tam w
Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day’s last beam is flown;
Then from out the gathering darkness
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
‘Tread its pathway to the skies,

Select Aiterature,

THE NOBLE LIFE,

BY T.

ARTHUR,
learn in the school of
sd without its lesson ;
y is the lesson taken to
We go forth in the morning fresh
employme nt—for its work or
yleasur e—counting on a harvest of
tion when w ther in our sheaves
atevening, But, exeept in
how few are the golden grains among th
sheaves ! re toiled almost in vain.
It had long been so with my friend Heart-
ley.

Ilow slowly w
lite! No day
and yet,
heart!
for the di
its

One of your earnest workers—a man
of strong motive power, who must ever be
up and “doing, *T shall leave my mark
upon the worl 1,’ he was wont to say.

© What kind of «mark 2” L once queried.

Ile looked at me fora moment with a
thoughtful air, dropped his ey
mained silent. After a pause, he

«A mark not soon to be obliter
trust.’

*No man acts without a motive,’ I re-
turned,

‘None but afool. Ile flung the sen-
tence out with a tone of contempt,

* And you are not a fool!

“1 trow not, my friend,’

“Why do youwish to make a mark?
But perhaps Tam intrusive.’

Heartley fixed his eye on m:
ing my countenance,

Oy uve hidden things,’ he answer-
ed. ay not always sure of them.
At least, hot.’

‘And yet our motives. give quality to
mal our actions, making them, as they wul-
feet our internal lives, ‘good or evil,’

+ Tin not so sure of that,’ he returned
quickly.

‘And yet [hold that declaration to be a
solemm truth, lying at the foundation of all
happiness here and hereatter, T replied.

in, read-

He looked thoughtful, and a little dis-
turbed, but said no more, and I did not

press the subject, A truth, simply uttered,
like a seed cast upon the ground, is often
in a more favorable state for germination,
tian if yourakedit by illustration too deep-
ly below the surfice,

Men like Heartley are always endanger-
ing their peace of mind. When they put
their hands to the plow, they r rely look
back until they have cut their furrow. to
the end.

I met him, one day, in a very unhappy
siate. [Le wis never wholly at ease—never
quite satisfied with any thing as it came,
‘Pin sick of the world!) he said passion-
‘ Every thing gets to cross pur-
pos Nothing comes out right.’

‘What has gone wrong with your I
asked,

‘Every thing goes wrong!

“What speci: ally wrong?

*T can count specials by the dozen.
I just said, every thing goes wrong
Whatever I touch is disturbed or b ig
ed,?

‘1am sorry for your wife and children.’
Tintended the reiark as a spur or probe.

Ile gave a slight start, and turned upon
me quic reading my face to see if he
understood all Thad meant.

‘Why do you say that?’ he asked, with
less sharpness in his tone.

‘Because, if you disturb and blight every
thing with your presence, your home must
be anything but a happy dwelling place ;
and therefore Lam sorry for your wile
and children,’

‘Pm afraid that it is anything but a
happy dwelling place.’ There was a shade
of sadness in his yoic » mingled with re-
et and despondency. ‘If, he added,
rallying himself, ‘I could only leave busi-
hess cares and wordly ambition outside of
my home, what again it would be! But
they cling to me like destiny.’

“Worldly ambition?” I said the words
slowly,

‘Is there anything wrong in that?’ he
asked,

‘Its pursuit, so far, does not seom to
have brought you much happiness, —Dis-
satisfied di tye and gloomy evenings are
judging from what you have said, its only
fruits. Dead Sea apples | should call them.’

* Bitterness and ashes! It is even so.
But why should this be? Is ambition
wrong? There are high places in the
world; and shall not the brave and bold
climb upto them? Nay, is it not eve ry

nt-

man’s right to aseend, if he will?

eae ere eerie einen

; All do sponds on ‘the prompting motive,’
I sy Vincente

*Ah! yes; [ have heard that before, and
it CR me to reflect, I tried not to be-
lieve it; butthere may be something in it,
alter all, You think there is,’

‘Lam sur sof it, Ambition is not wrong,
if the motiv ight. It is the wreng end
that produces disappoiutment, and leaves
the soul restless and unhappy.’

*What do you mean by a right motive ?
Heartly ask

* An unselfish one,’ was my answer,

Ie shook his head. We ave all selfish,
It is net to serve another that T work; but
to serve myself. I toil early and late,
eating the bread of ; not for you, or
my neighbor Arnold, but for own flésh and
blood, — It is thus with all men.’

‘And sll men ave unhappy.

‘Not so,’ he answered quickly. I can
point you' to aman whose serene face is
but the reflection of his tranquil spirit.’

‘Do I know him?

‘I speak of my neighbor Alcorn,’

‘Is he ambitious?

‘Tle has risen to many places of trust
and honor,’

‘Is he very selfish?’

‘The most unselfish person I ever knew.’
Ileartly answered with fervor. His tone
expressed admiration for the man,

‘And this is why he is in tranquility of
soul, There is no eager, restless self-
secking thatis forever falling short of its
ain ; but noble effort to serve others in
his day and genervion, All men speak
wellof My, Alcorn, Ife is honored and
beloved, And why? Beeause his ends
awe not narrow and selfish, bat broad and
phitanthropic, Purpose, thought, and ef}
fort are not all wasted on one Jittle human
atom, but are expanded and ene

a love of thecommon good, This is God-
like, and brings its sure rew rd, God

does not love hit but beings he has
made, and whose happiness he is perpetu-
ally seeking, And only in a degree that
we walk by the samo rule and tind the
same things are wein the true order of
of our being, df not in the true order of
our being, can we be happy?

“All of which means,’ said I[eartley,
‘that a man can notebe happy unless he
is religious,’ Ie spoke with a slight tone
of contempt, asifhe had a low estimate
of religious people,

“You believed in God?’ I said,

at)

‘And in the Bible as his inspired word?
Gaga

‘And in a life according to the preeepts
of his word as the only means of gaining
heaven?

* Yes.

All this Twas taught in child-

are instiineg ' 2
Frosun Oe and all this, asa man, [ truly be-

lieve.”

*In the 2_practice of this faith is the sum
of allvelifion, Tsaid, ‘Justin the degree
that youn ivy the © pre reo} aitanthiut t ig,
actealcordin gs to them in wll your business
and soci: ucont: tet with men, and in all
your hom® relations, will you have peace
of mind; gnd just in the degree that you
act contrary to them, will you have distur-
bance of mind.’

‘Then, according to this theory, when-
ever any one is miserable, it is because he
it AS heonedging something wrong?’ he re-
marked,

‘Or desiring something wrong—mustbe,
in some way, out of the divine order, or
no jav or smarting friction could occur,’
“We must all be very fir out of the di-
vine order,’ he said, with a shade of bitter:
ness in his voiee. Oh! this perpetual |
—this smarting friction to which you refer;
who is free from it ??

‘Neither you nor T. And yet, in this
very pain we suffer, is cause of gratitude
to God. Like physical pain, itis the pain,
it is the warning of disease, that, if unar-
rested, will cause death—spiritual and
eternal death.’

Alter parting with me on this occasion,

Mr. Heartley as T learned from him atter-
ward, began to look more closely into his

mental processes, and to question himsell
more rigidly in regard to the motives that
riled him, — One thing was very plain to
him. dle did not grow happier with the
lupse of yer Ilis business prospered ;
he gradually acquired the social st: anding
for which he was ambitious; men deferred
to him in publie places, and & gave him posi-
tions of honor, Still he suffered from
unrest, and a feeling of perpetual disap-
pointnnent, Nothing came ont just as lie
desired. The measure of his wishes was
never full, Even his home rrowing
less and less attractive, Ile was conscious
that he brought into itsunshine no longer,
asofold, ‘There was no hurrying of teet
and no glad voices, when his steps sound-
ed along the hall, such as used to. greet
hiscoming. Antagonisms were beginning
to creep in, His wile, onee so ge nile and
yielding—so cheerful and ready. to serve
im—had grown tious and fretfal—
quick, electric smile, which in former
years made his heart thrill when evening
brought him home, was now a stranger to
her face. Te vas beginning to bhime her
forall this. It had not once occurred to
him, that he might be responsible tor the
sad change which had creptoverher But
my rem that 1 was sorry for his wif
aid children, had Curned his thoughts inte
a new channel; gradually light broke in;
and-he was able to see that in his too eager
pursuit of riches and honors, he was hurt-
ing almost every oue who cane into close
contact witht hin—that if light had faded
out‘ot his dwelling, it was because he had
shut the doors and darkened the windows.
One evening Leartley came home tn that
fretted state of mind which is apt to be an-
noyed by the most trifling occurrences.
Ie had been disappointed ins many ways
‘To use his favorite expression, * Eye
thing had gone wrong.’ ‘The ground of
all this disappointment lay in the fret that
he had expected too mu a very com-
mon error with men who are over eagel
to compiss their desires. Such men are
rarely satislied with what the day brings
torth, Heartley never wis, Always some
failure in anticipated results marred the
satisfaction which should haye been his
guest when the hours of business closed.
‘All the way home he had been brooding
over a prominent’ source of annoyanee,
and fretting himself thereat, His counten-
anee was actually repulsive—closely knit,
trowning brows; hard, tightly shut mouth ;
cold, almost cruel eyes. And this was the
aspeet he brought into his home—the
aspect of Mt. Heartley, whom all men
regarded as one among the most favored

Ay

initia eae

aud successful; as one whom, to use a

Pd

common n phrs Ase, the ‘world was using re-
markubly well! No wonder that his little
three years old Ada, who was playing in
the hall when he entered, gl: Aneel at him
in a hall-scared we und then went hur-
ryiny off up sta No wonder that his
oldest daughter, Helen, « maiden in her
seventee nth year, shrunk back into the
room as he passed her door, instead of
springing out to meet him. She had
caught a glimpse of that countenance.
And no wonder that his wife dropped her
eye quickly on lookipg up as he entered
the apartment where she t—sighed
heavily, but offered no word of we Icome
home, A g@rowl was in the throat of Mr,
Heartley, but he stifled it with an effort.
Ife felt like an animal smarting under the
lash. Fretful, angry words key t forming
on his tongue, and ‘it required 2 strong
will to suppress them. Without speaking
to his wife, he left the room and went into
his library. He saw that in his present
disturbed mood, it was better for him to
be alone.

The growl that was in his throat came
forth ina groan, as he seated himself at
the libyary- table and let his head sink
down upon his arms. In a moment there

came a picture before his mental vision ; a
picture of three human faces, all looking
at him with sad and frightened eyes ; they
were the faces as he saw them alittle while
before, of his wife and children, — Ile could
not endure the sight, it so pained aud re-
buked him; and so lifted his head and un-
closed his eyes, Ashe did so, his gaze

rested upon a womun’s portrait looking
down tenderly upon him from the wall it
was the picture of a young and lovely face ;
full of hope and happiness.

‘Dear heart!) he murmured audibly,
with a quiver in his voice. And then he
shut his eyes and bent his head again, re-
maining: ‘quite still, for many Iiuntes.
When he raised himself at Te ngth, his
countenance was yery sober and thought-
ful, and its expression wholly ch: mged,
He opened a dryer in the Hasle, and took
out to or three miniatures ; unloosed the
clasps, and contemplated long the picured
faces of his children. ILow lovingly did
their eyes look into his! Ie heard ‘the old
sweet music of their voices;
arms clinging about his neck.
that had jlmost been a in his heart,
quickened into life, Great throds of teel-
ing agitated him, ‘Then the real faces he
had seen alittle while before, obliterated
these beautiful representations, and he al-
most groaned aloud at the contrast.

‘And is this all my work ? he mused with
himself. ‘Had my triend really looked
into my home, when ho said, *1 pity your
poor wife and children’? My work! Can
it be possible! Tseem to be ina nightmare,
or justavoused from one. Why did I come
home in such a wretched mooi to-ni

And then he searched back through
day for a revolution of the cxuse.

“Not adequate,’ Was the elear decision to
whieh he come, * ‘How weak ind tinmanin-
ly Ihave grown!

A seed, cust into his mind long before,
now showed signs of vitality, Ihe ponder-
ed the truth thi , according to 2 man’s
end and purposes in his life, will be the
quiuity of all his actions and the resultant
state of mind. § A good purpose,’ he s
to himself, ‘if this law of se and ele
be true, never could hy o blighted my
home, We are all positively wretched,
But what is a good piirpose 2?

Ile thought intently. ‘Phe
this question involved ev
eume; but as if spoken in his ears by
another—* An unsellish purpose.’ At first,
he did not see anything of its length and
breadth, its height and depth of meaning,
Ife almost rejected it as an ethical some-
thing, v od to adormm a sermon, but
impractical. The conve of this proposi-
tion, ‘A sellish purpose is evil,’ he could
mor dily accept,

‘What have been my chief ends in lif
Ife put to himself, at length this di
question, feeling, as he did’so, that on its
true imswer hung the most vital considera-
lions,

The good of my wife and children?) A
il shiver crept into his heart, for he
ud not respond affirmatively, They
were very near and dear to him—oh ! yes;
but, in the plans and purposes that filled
his thoughts and spurred him to action,
how small a space dil they fill! It was
honor tor himselt; position for himself;
wealth, and its commanding influence for
himself, ‘They were not ignored, of
course; but their pleasure and “their good
were subordinated to his own, A hurting
sense of humiliation passed down upon
his soul under this accusing conyiction,
Sell! self—only self? he murmured,

«The good of my neighbor? Any public
good?’ He went on questioning. * What
great or noble end have [set before m
1 grow richer every day; [gain in steadily
in social influence, ) opinions have
weight, Iam, soto speak, a power in
the community. And yet, now that [look
closely into myself, T can tind no desire to
be of use to my neighbor in any thing;
but, instead, the pose to make every
one the minister of my will, Tam the
centre about whieh everything else re-
volves. I gather from all sides, but with
no thought of distributing them: gin. Is
thatlike God, in whom we live suid move
and have our being? No wouder Lam un-
happy.

As he sat thus in painful self-examina-
tion, the shades of evening fell gloomily
around him, making his heart sadder and
heavier. Neither wile nor children had
come near him; for no sweet influences
drow them as in past times; no- sunshine
wooed them to his presence, Now aud
then, muflled and sounding through closed
doors, as if frem afar, broke out a child's
voice, Except for this, a melancholy still-
ness reigned through the house.

*Am | under the influence of a spell—
am I the slave of some malignant power?”
ITeartley exclaimed in the bitter agony of
these new convictions. A revelation of
himself had been made, and he was shock-
ed at his own image, * A séllish monster;
not a true, generous, God-like mau!’ he
said gyith a shudder,

‘Me tea-bell rang. Ile started to his
fect. ‘Mow can Iineet them ? Ile sighed,
A wave of tender feeling, long held ‘back,
swept over his heart, nd Ww ith it came the
answer, ‘As you have not met them tor
along time, with loving interest,’

A few moments passed. He stood
the gloom of his library. He heard his
children go by the door; none of them
ventured to open it, or to eall for him.

Affection,

answer to
thing, It

Theo he heard another step. How well

he felt their),

lhe knew its sound: —ind he kiew that it,
likewise, would go by without a pause,
All the family were now at the tea-table,
waiting for him; but stiil he lingered.

‘How can I meet then? I am in too
great pain tosmie, and I have long enough
cast my shadow upon their hearts.’

Mr. Heartley was still undecided, when
the door opened just a little, and a stream
of light lowed in; with it came a low,
timid voice, uttering the single word,
‘Papa!

*O Ada! fell from Mr Heartley’s lips as
he drew the door wide open and lifted the
child to his arms, Ie had to repress the
strong emotions that seemed as if they
would overpower him.

‘Tea is ready,’ said the wondering but
instantly happy child, as she laid her head
down upon his shoulder,

And so the father and child entered the
tea-room together. ‘I am in too great
pain to smile,’ Mr. Heartley had said, And
so he wis a little while before; but now
something so like a smile lit up his face,
that it created sunbeams in the hearts of
his wife and childven, He placed Ada in
pa ol ir, and then took his seat at the
table.

‘Iluve I kept you waiting?’ he asked
kindly, and in a slight tone of apology.

‘Oh! no,’ answered Mrs, Ieartley, the
old gentle smile coming to her mouth,
Ada leaned ber arms on the table, and fix-
ed her eyes in curious, half} “doubting won-
der on her father’s countenance, He look-
ed at her and smiled, ‘Then her little face
beamed all over with new-born delight,
and she leaned toward him, and put up
her rosy mouth for a kiss, which was given
right Warmly. It would be hard to say
which enjoyed it most—father or child.

It was like magic, the change that came
over vl their feclings, A sudden rift in
the cloud whieh had so long hung over
them let in the sunshine; and drooping
flowers lilted their faces to the light, and
breathed forth pleasant odors,

Not much conversation passed at the
table, but that little was spoken in cheers
ral tones, and in utterance of kind feelings.

Ag the, sy lett the tea-room, Helen, Mr.
s oldest daughter, found herself
father’s side. ‘The old loving im-
pulses were so strong, that she drew her
arm around him. Tiny 5} », she receiy-
ed the kiss her hungry heart desired.

At the lihrary-door Ma. Ileartly stopped
and said; ‘TL be with you alter a while.’
It was nothing unusu: ul for him to be alone
in his library , ‘but it was something unusual
for him to join the evening family cirele,

unless it were to sit there in moody silence.

Ile did not retire now in a spirit of selt-in-
verted, moody isolation; but in order to
get a truer adjustment of himself, He
wanted opportunity for reflection, ‘There
had come upon hin wv new but half com-

pe Teva seereesel Tn sisnke os
it ¢ —he must discover, if pos:
all it meant and all it involy: ed, Ilis first
query when alone, was: * What was my
desive, when I made that little eflort to
putiuvay somber states ? To getsome good
tor myself, or for those I have rendered, I
fear, too long unh: uppy ?
0, if Was not for my * he answer-
edvuter reflection, “Igy as for their good,
Aud so smalla thing! he went on, ‘to
produce so powe riul an effect. Yes, won-
derful! There is power in the heart's sun-
shine well as in the sunshine of nature,
ay the clouds. Oh! I would
not have them spread over us again! ‘They
must notshivlow us again! A few moments
of true regiurd for my wife and children
have brought me more real pleasure than
months and years in the eager pursuits of
ends centering allin myself. Ihave gain-
ed abund: uitly of this world’s goods, and I
have wor honors from me ne “but neither
riches nor honors have given a tithe of the
pure delights 1 have ‘felt this evening.
Shall 1 go inthe old way, or taken diverg-
ing pi uth now? Shall Mei ofthis world
and the deceitfulness of riches cloke the
word which has been so EASE, spoken in
my ears, that it become unfruittul; or shall
it fall into the good ground?’ Suddenly,
aun oppressive sense of weakness fell upon
Mr. Heartley’s soul, and darkness gather-
ed yound him. The evil and selfish spirits
which had so long ruled him saw that he
was turning away from their miserable
counsels, and they strove hard to reassert
their power over him. But, in. the very
darkness » of weakness they pro-
dueed w . He felt powe
as to himself, and so, in monetary despair,
he lilted his heart and prayed, * Lord, help
me to walk in anew way!
Ile was deeply in earnest. The ery
ene from the very depths of his soul; and
the ever-present, ever-loving One heard
and answered, as he hears “and answers
the cry of every soul struggling with evil
and praying to bedelivered, A light camo
into his spirit; he telt strength of purpose ;
ae e fell upon him like dew upon flowers,
Ile had taken the first step in the right
way, and now, all heaven was on his side.
n of spiritual lite, in that moment of
earnest effort through divine aid to put
avay the natural, se Glfish lite by which he
was governed, had been born. It was
vory feeble, but its birth was witnessed by
angels, who were commissioned to feed
and guard it with loving care, ‘The old,
vigorous, selfish life was not dead, Alas
no! [t would reassert its power, and, aid-
ed by all malignant influences, seek to
destroy this tender principle of eaten

lite. But, heaven is stronger than he:
and all-potent to guard its own, Myr,
Ileartley was really in earnest. In con-

scious, desp human weakness, he
had prayed for divine strength— rayedl
with intense desire—prayed re
for it was for power to love truly his wite
and children, and to work for their good,
that he prs ayed, And so, he had actually
put himself so under heavenly inflaences,
that they could become potential throngh
anewly-forming will,

When Mr, Hieartley joined his family
after halt an hour's sell-communion, it was
with a quiet but cheerful manner. His
wile regarded him with such 2 questioning,
yearning expre ssion, that he turned its
eyes away; butin doing so, he made a
kind remark, When he looked at her face
again, he saw in it an expression, that
sent an almost tearful emotion to his heart,
I was not a feeling of . No! far from
it, Ie opened a book that lay upon the
center-table, and read aloud 10r half an
hour, Mr, Ileartley Was a sow
and onee enjoyed books; but
things had for a long time eve
much of his thoughts that he