Edited Text
Summerside Baucnal.
Vol. 3. :
Summerside, Prince Edward Island; Thursday, August 20, 1868.
No. 46.
THE
Summerside Journal,
18 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED EVERY
THURSDAY EVENING,
BY
JOSEPHBERTRAM,
AT HIS OFFICE, CENTRAL STREET,
TERMS:
by copy for one year, in advance, 6s. 8d.
$ 1 halfadvance, 7s. 6d.
i Ny atthe end of year 9s.
Persons getting up cLuns of ren Subscribers
will be entitled to the Journat for one year.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
inserted at moderate rates andin good style.
Sruciau Acrerments may be made on
reasonable terms for a whole, a half, or quar-
ter column, or by the year.
Job Printing
sof every description, performed with neatness
and despatch, and at moderate rates,
at the Jounnat Office.
Almanac for August, 1868.
MOON'S PHASES.
Full Moon, ¢d day, 7h 39m, morn. b. the han.
Last Qtr., 11th day, 8h. 15m., morn,bearing E.
New Moon, 18th day, 12h. 69m,, morn. b, han
First Qtr.24th day, 8h. 34m., eve. bearing W.
v|. | SUN | Sun sun’sjmoon|days
$s | slow. dee.
alee |risesisets. clock’north| sets | len.
| jh m|h mj m s |] {hmjhm
1jSat )4 47)7 25] 6 2Q)17 54; 3 1714 36
2Sun | 48] 24) 5 57)/17 38} rises) 35
8)Mo 49] 23) 6 63:17 23) 7 26, 84
4lTue | 60] 22) 6 47/17 | 7 bY 32
BiWed| 51) 21! 6 41/16 40) 8 26 30
6} Tha| 52! 19] 5 8d|/16 34) 8 56) 27
Fri |4 53/7 17, 6 27/16 17] 9 21 24
8 Sat 54) 16] 5 20,16 0) 9 49] 21
9 Sun 55! 14) & 11/15 43/10 17/14 19
10) Mo 56} 13) 6 3/16 2510 50) 17
11) Tue 67} 11) 4 6815 TLL 23 l4
12|\Wed} 59) 10| 443114 49! morn} 11
qalThu ls oO} gi 4 aslid si/0 6! 9
14 Eri 1] 74921141211 0| 6
ysiSat | 217 6] 4 10|13 54] 2 0 t
16)Snn | 8]. 4] 3 58/18 OG a
17|Mo 4 2) q 46/43 sets. /13 58
18)Tue 5} 0) 3 33,13 46) 7 26, 55
19] Wed 616 58} 3 19)12 36' 8 2 52
20) Thu 7} 57) 3 bz 8 36! 60
oilkri 15 8] 46, 2 51/11 47/9 6} 48
22)Sat | 9 bal 2 gojil 9 43] 46
23)Sun 10; 52) 2 20j/11 16)10 16 42
24|Mo 12} 60] 2) 4/10 10-53 38
25|Tue 13; 49) 1 48/10 35)11 36 36
26) Wed] 14)6 47) 1 31]10 14/morn)13 33
e7) Chi 14} 45! 1 14, 9 53) O 24 BY
gsiFri 15 17| 43) 0 a7 9 32/1 6| 26
29/Sat 18} 41) 0 391 9 1u12 2 23
Solsun | 19] 39] 0 21] 8 49) 2 54) 20
81!Mo 20! 87] 0 2] 8 27] 8 48] 16
August 18.
Oats per bush ------ ee neeee 8s Gd
Potatoes (new) per bush ds
Turnips per bush ------ Is 3
Butter per lb by Tub -- Is a 13d
Lard per lb --- 10d a 11d
Tallow Fe -- 9da it
Eggs per doz -----
Reet perib 4d a 5c
Mutton: per tb sce s <2 eer ss° 8d a 4d
Pork per lb by carcass - ->---~- 34d a Sd
Flour per bbl -- 453 a 50s
Oatmeal per cwt. -- 183 0 20s
Hay per Ton -- -- 60s a 608
Pine Boards - - see 10s
wee 4s abs
Spruce Boards -
Business Qards
BANK OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLANI
Corner of Queen § Water Sis., Charlottetown
President—Hon. Danive Brenan.
Cashier—Witiiam Cunpatr, Esquire.
Discount Days—Mondays & Thursdays.
Hours of Business—lom 10 a.m. to L p.m,
from 2 p.m to 4 p.m.
UNION BANK.
Grofton St., Queen's Square, Charlottetown
President—Cnantes Parser, Esquire,
Cashier—James Anperson, Esquire.
Niscount Days—Wednesdays & Saturdays.
Hours of Business—From 10 a.m to Lp m.,
from 2 p.m to 4pm.
SUMMERSIDE BANK.
Central Street, Summerside, DP. E. Island
w#resident—Hon. Joun R. Ganviner.
Cashier—E. L. Lroiarp, Esquire
Discount Days—Tuesdays and Fridays.
Notes for Discount must be in before 11
o'clock on Discount days.
afours of Business—10 a. m., to 1 p,m.
from 2 p. m., to 4 p.m.
Business GQards,
HANFORD \3ROTHERS,
Successors to omag* Hanford,
Commission \Merchants,
And Genoral Agents.
li NORTH WHARF,
ST. JOHN, N, B.,
Chas. U. Hanford ... teberele Fred.S.Hapford.
C. BRE Ds,
sale Dealer in
Groceries.
Importer and Whi
British & Sorei
1, Head
ST. JOHN, -
Dec. 6, 1867. ly
J. H. ALLEN,
Commission / Merchant,
And Dealer in Brovisions, &c,
MARKET STREET,
Sti ‘John, N. B.
}<@™ Gives personal attention to the Sale
and Purchase of every description of Goods,
May 9, 1868.
WILLIAM DODD,
Commission Merchant,
And Auctioneer,
QuEEN 4Q RE,
CWARLOTTETOWN- ol ISLAND
JABEZ HUDSON,
Authorized tioneer,
GENERAL AGENT, &e.,
TRYON, «8 see Vee Pe eed;
June 27, 1867.
WILLIAM BEAIRSTO,
Commission Merchant,
Aluctioneer & General Agent,
WATER STREET,
Summerside, ------ epee 2, Leland,
Jun, 21, 1868.
James Greenough,
FL
OUR
Gamieny erchant.
No 47 Commercial Street
Corner of Clinton Street -- - - - BOSTON
R&S WwW. 2. BOND,
Gowmission MWlerchants,
GENERAL AGENTS AND
AUCTIONEERS.
SALESROOM/ AND OFFICE
Head of Queen's Wharf.
(opposite the Store of Wm. T. Lunt & Co.)
Summerside, P. E. Island.
April 2 1868 ly
CARVELL BROTHERS,
AUCTIONEERS,
Commission | Merchants,
And General Agents,
BANK BUILDING, QUEEN STREET,
Charlottetown, - - + - - P.E, Island
ROCKLIN HOUSE,
{Kent Street, Charlottetown,
SIMON D. FRASER, BROPRIETOR.
Permanent and Trahsignt Boarders will
find the above wa A) give satisfaction.
Ch’town, June 13, 1868.
“North British and Mercantile
INSURANCE COMPANY.
FIRE AND LIFE.
Established 1809.
CAPITAL: TWO MILLIONS, Sterling.
HEAD OFFICES:
EDINBURGH & LONDON.
“G. W.DeBLOIS,
Agent at Charlottetown.
Charlottetown, June 20, 1868.—ly
THOMAS KELLY,
Barrister - at - Law
and?"
NOTARY PUBLIC, &o.
SUMMERSIDE, - - -:- Pp. KE. ISLAND.
aug 9, 1866
NEW BRUNSWICK.
DR. JARVIS a
Has Removed His Residence to the House
Mr McKinlay)
mextto Tho , Esq., St Eleanor'’s.
He may be cénsulted’every forenoon at the
Drog Store of W. T. HUNT & Co., Summer
side.
It. Eleanor’s, May 18, 1868.
KiTSON CASEY, MD,,
Physician, Surgeon & Accoucheur
formerly Assistanh/ Surgeon in the U. 8.
Navy, offers his essional services to the
people of Summ and vicinity. He can
be consulted at fis offige, over the Store of
Mesers Green& Schurman, in Sunmerside.
June 13, 1867. tf
Dh. J. PRICE,
Physician & Surgeon,
Orrick—At the Sc\ymepstpe Drue Store,
next door ank, Central Street
SUMMERSIDE, fr P. B. ISLAND.
October 12, 1865, \
Co-Partnérship Notice.
rf bee Subscribers have this day entered into
CO-PARTNERSHIP as BARRISTERS
and ATTORNIES-ATSLAW, under the
name, style and firm of
ALLEY & D.
OFFICE,—O'HALLOR
A. W. ANDRES,
Marble Worker,
MONUMENTS, TOMBS, GRAVE-
STONES, &c., &e.
AMERICAN AND IraLiaN~ManbLe con-
stantly on hand, ~~
Can furnish Gravestones and Monuments ata
Joss price than any other gstablishment in
the Provinces, and pay & duty besides,
Oxpwrs can be left at Bextram’s Book
Store and at D, Exatan’s, Esq., Summerside,
or sent to
A. W. ANDRES.
Point Du Chene, June 11th, 1868.
Barber Shop!
MPVUE subscriber respectfully announces to
the ; eople of Summerside, and the public
in general, that he has op
BARRER SHOP !
on Water Street, in the roo Adjoining the
Post Offive, where he is pre| ed to do all
work appertaining to hisprofession. Beat
assortment of fN
Hair Oils, Hair Restofers, Footh
Powders, Dyes; &c., \,
4 on hand on the most reasonableterms
po CRYSTAL BLUE also for sae
2
ta’ Razors carefully pus in order 261
CHAS. OTTO WINKLER.
Point Du Chene, Shediac N. B. |
rN
PO tr sr:
sl bag subgeriber would beg to call the at-
tention of the travelling public to this
well-known and favorite Hotel, situated at
the Head of the Railway Wharf, at Point Da
Chene, N. B.
Its advantages as a residence for parties in
quest of health cannot be surpassed. ‘The
airis pure, bracing and, invigorating, while
there is every facility fot Ogee sea bathing.
The trains for St. John leave the door
twice every day. The chipges will be found
moderate; the table good y and the proprietor
hopes by strict attentionto the requirements
of his customers, to ensure general satisfac-
tion. 3 ,
d@™ Passengers landing frdm the steamer
in the morning can gét breakfast before leay-
ing in the 7 o'clock train. \
PETER SCHURMAN, Proprietor.
P. §.—Being himself a P. E. Islander, the
Proprietor would hereby respectfully request
a share of the Island patronage.
Pt, Du Chene, june 18, ’63.
£3 Ts, 6d.
The Celebrated Common
sense amily Sewing
Machine.
Improved and Perfected.
3m
EVERY MACHINE WARRANTED FOR
FIVE YEARS,
For elegance of Finish it has no Rival,
High Price or Low.
Simple, Durable, Compact, and Cheap,
Tho Celebrated Common Sense Family Sewing
Machine i d to the public, with all
i wel! be combined in a
bor and pains buve been
hine into the very high.
It is
vil to bring this M
in the scale of
cknowledyed by the best judges to stand entirely
above aud beyond any cheap Machine ever pro-
ewing Machines.
thing that can be sewed on any
ing inthe tind, just as nicely aud
It wall sew/from Swiss Musiin up
r Cloth, at the rue of twelve hundred
stitches per minute, i
This machine has a nee of feeding appar:
atus, Which makes the MaghinieSelt-cuiding. The
cloth, without the aid /of eithersband, will run
48 true as when guided by Barnain’s self
This is an ndviyfta e not possessed by any
machine in the/world, high price or low.
‘This is one reason why this Wachine is so eusily
managed by childven.” A girl with one band ean
tse it more successfully than she could ordinary
muchines with two bands,
This Machine will stitch, Hem, Fell, tuck, Quilt,
Cord, Bind, Braid, and embroider in a most super:
jor manuer,
Printed Instructions, German or English, Screw
Driver, Hammer, Oil Can, Four Needles, and Table
Chuup, accompany each Muchiue without extra
cost.
These Machines can be seen at [arvie’s Book
Store.
HENRY A. HARVIE,
Agent for P, E. Island,
June, 25 1863.—3m
P. i. aS:
Steam Navigation Co's,
“PRINCESS OF WALES” AND
“ HEATHER BELLE.”
The Steamer “Princess of Wales”
ILL leave CHARLOTTETOWN for
PICTOU every TUESDAY and
THURSDAY morning at 5 a.nx, in time for
ARLOTTETOWN
evening,
1 IL00D every
noon, immediately
after arrival of Train from Halifax, returning
to Pictou the following morving.
Leaves CILARLOTTE TOWN every
TUNSDAY and FRIDAY night for SUM-
MERSIDE and SHEDIAC, at 74 p.m. Will
connect with Wednesday and Saturday morn-
ing’s ‘Train's .
Leaves SHEDIAC for SUMMERSIDE
and CHARLOTTETOWN every WEDNES-
DAY and SATURDAY afternoons, imme-
diately after arrival of ‘Train from St, John,
The Steamer “Heather Belle”
Leaves CHARLOTTETOWN at 8 a.m.,
every Saturday morning tor PICTOU,
Leaves PICTOU at 9 a. m., same day, for
MURRAY HARBOR, GEORGETOWN and
SOURIS, remaining at either Souris or
Georgetown over Sunday,
Leaves PICTOU every MONDAY for
CHARLOTTETOWN, ater arrival of ‘Traiv
from Halifax.
FARES:
Charlottetown to Pictou, or back, £0 12 0
Pictou to Georgetown, ‘* 0 og
le Port Hood, “ 012 0
Ch'town to Summerside, ‘ 09%9 0
a Shediac, AM 018 0
a St. John, “ $4.50 0r1 8 14
. Eastport, er G00 Lit ©
id Portland, * 8.00 210 0
‘“s Boston, * 900 216 8
a Halifax, 2 40 2 6 6
“ Port Hood, “ 1. € 06
st Georgetown, ‘ 090
ahs Souris, Why 012 0
F. W. HALES, Sec’y.
May 21, 1868.
Wool! Wool!
MWE STANFIELD WOOLEN MILLS at
TRYON, having been thoroughly recon-
structed and enlarged by additional machin-
ery and Steam Power, will continue to manu-
facture Cloth from custom w as hereto-
fore, and at the usual rates. Hing doubled
their facilities forsnanyfacturing, and procu-
red skillful opergtive: r every department,
the Company fgel q fent of giving their
customers gregter tion generally, by
manufacturing a bettr quality of Cloth, and
making quicker returns for wool left with
them. In addition to the various kinds of
CLOTH previously made, they are mahufac-
turing SEVERAL NEW STYLES FOR
MEN'S WEAR, and full width Blanketing.
pa" Wool, which must be clean washed,
free of mute and coarse locks, and of good
quality, may be left at Hon, H.J. Callbeck’s,
Cherlottetown, or at the niill.
STANFIELD) WOOLEN CO.
Summerside, Jan 30, 1868.
Tryon, May 14, 1868. [mal
PORRTY.
DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS.
Mariner, what of the deep?
This of the deep:
Twilight is there, and solemn, chanyeless calm.
Beuuty is there, and tender heuling balu—
Balm with no root in earth, or sea, or air:
Poised by the finger of God it tloateth free,
And, as it treadeth the waves, the sound doth rise,
Hither shall come no further sacrifice :
Never ayain the anguished clutch at life,
Never aguin great Love and death in strife ;
He who huth suffered all need feur no more,
Quiet his portion now forevermore.
Mariner, what of the deep?
‘This of the deep:
Solitude dwells not there, thongh silence reign ;
Mighty the brotherhood of loss and pain ;
There 1s comintinion past the need of speech,
There is a loye uo words of love can reach ;
Heavy the waves thut superincumbent press,
But as we labor here with coustunt stress,
Hand doth bold out to hand, not help alone.
But the deep bliss of being fully known.
There are no kindred like the kin of sorrow ;
There is no hope like those fear who no morrow,
Mariner, whut of the deep?
This of the deep:
Though we haye travelled past the line of day,
Glory of night doth light us on our way,
Radiance that comes we know not how or whence,
Rainbows without the rain, past duller sense,
Music of hidden reefs and waves long past,
‘Thanderous orgun tones from far-olf blast,
Hurmouy, victrix, throned in stute sublime,
Couched on the wrecks be-yemmed with pearls of
Time;
Never a wreck but brings some beauty here;
Down where the waves are stilled, the sea shines
clear,
Deeper than life the plan of life doth lie,
He who knows all fears nougbt. Great death
shull die,
Select Miterature.
MY FIRST AND LAST GAME
[conciupeEp. |
Av length, when morning had fairly
dawned, 1 stole back to my hotel, jaded
and worn, und crept to my restless bed
Alter a feverish and uneasy slumber 1
awoke, and again prepared to renew my
search, 1 visited the most wretched parts
ol the town, Where want and vice stood
forth in every shape, Faces pinched by
fumine tlitted betore me, but not hers—not
the wasted but gentle features of that
young, sleeping gul, who like a pitying
angel hud barred the door which led to
my destruction, Where was she? Per-
haps wee, lug by the side of sonie miser-
alle pallet, her tears tailing on the haggard
cheeks of her dying mother—that mother
for whom she had wandered forth on a
bleak wintry night to solicit the charity of
strangers, Pursued by these spectral tan-
cies, 1 continued my scareh till past mid-
night, and then,fairly overcome by fatigue,
L returned to my hotel.
A week elapsed, and every day my
search had been renewed but all my efforts
to discover the slightest trace of the young
girl were unavaling, A teeling of hupeless
despair took possession of my mind, and 1
began to fear my sin was destined to walk
like a remorseless shadow forever beside
me, In my extremity I applied to the po-
lated so closely to tue usual appearance of
mendicants, that their aid was valueless.
A month passed by, and the end of De-
cember wis approaching. ‘Lhe winter
had set in with unusual severity, and the
earth was covered with snow, As 1 was
walking through a remote street in the
suburbs of the towa, I paused to look over
the low wall of a Protestant -burying-
ground. With a feeling of listless cariosi-
ty Lwas reading the inscriptions on the
various headstones, when suddenly the
chapel bell began to toll out its mourning
peal. TI opened the little gate, and passing
through a small avenue of leafless trees,
walked among: t the graves, ‘Lhe rays of
the wintry sun glittered on the snowy
mounds, sprinkling them with a gem-like
brightness, Whe vurial ground was large
and densely strewn with its human har-
vest. At length I came upon anew made
grave, dug in a solitary corner, where the
earth lay tlat around, with the exception
ot one lonely hillock. ‘here was a sha-
dowy gloom about the spot, even the snow
that lay there, seemed to have lost its
whiteness, and in some places had dritted
away, leaving dark, yendureless patches.
The chapel bell was tolling its last sum-
mons a8 Lreached the graye and looked
into its narrow abyss. An irresistible de-
sire to see the collined form lowered into
its lust resting-place, took possession of
me. Why, 1 wondered, had that secluded
spot been chosen, away even from the
companionship of death? Was this a hu-
man weed, unworthy to perish beside those
other human flowers? A thousand ques-
tioning thoughts crept into my brain, when
1 was abruptly started from ny reverie by
the solemn voice of the clergyman reading
the tuneral service. Looking round my
eyes tell on a plain coflin, borne alung the
winding pathway leading to the chapel.
One young girl, miserably clad, was the
sole weeping Mourner, At a slow men
sured pace the little procession reached
the grave, and the rude, undecorated shell
was lowered into the vault, As I watched
the small, slender form, quivering under
its ccushing weight of anguish, it recurred
to my mind that that form was familiar to
me.
At length the ceremony was over, and
the clergymen and bearers retired from
the scene, leaving the wretched mourner
still standing by the grave. Alter a pause
she knelt down, and then the hood that
had partially concealed her face tell back.
As L caught a glimpse of its wan outline,
fringed with a few scant tresses of golden
hair, I no longer doubted that it was the
face of the poor girl for whom I had been
so anxiously seeking. Was that the moth-
er, I mused, of whom she had murmured
in her dream on that fatal night, and who
now lay cold and still in that narrow gap
of earth? Ifso, how much had the rath-
less act that robbed her of that piece of
gold to answer tor! ‘Chat little coin might
have spared the mother’s life to the lonely
ozphan, or at least have shed’ a transient
lice, but my description of the girl assimi- | P
gleam of comfort into their wretched home.
With difficu!ty I conquered the impulse
to steal beside her with some whispered
word of solace, but her grief seemed so
sacred, so pure, that I dared not intrude
upon it, lest I should profane it. When
her prayer was ended she rose; and then,
as she cast a wild, farewell look into the
grave, alow, smothered sob broke from
her lips, and thrilled through the wintry
air. Slowly turning away, instead of tak-
ing the path leading from the burial
ground, she bent-her footsteps to the one
lonely mound a few paces dist. nt from the
open grave, Again her grief was hushed
in silent prayer, again the pale, pinched
face was raised towards heaven, Did
those two graves then contain the dear
ones whose smiles had once given joy to
her childhood, robbed poverty ot its sting,
and given an envious splendor of affection
to the chilling abode ot want? At length
she rose again, and with a heavy, reluctant
step, glided away. 1 was about to follow
her, when some inexplicable fancy im-
peiled me to look once more into the open
grave. ‘The sexton was already preparing
to fill it up as I neared its brink. Looking
down into its narrow vortex, a shuddering
sense of horror darted through my frame
as L read the inscription on the coflin-lid:
“Janu STorNaway,”
Died December 19, 185—.
AGED 21,”
The earth soemed for a moment to slide
from under me, and surrounding objects
grew suddenly dark, Collecting every
energy, I quickly recovered myself, and
hurrying rapidly in the direction taken by
the solitary mourner, 1 soon caught a
vlimpse of her through the avenue ot leat-
less trees. Keeping ut a guarded distance
I followed on her track, with the sternest,
hardest conflict warring at my heart that
{ had ever felt, Jane Stornaway dead! 1
mechanically repeated the words with an
utter insensibility of their meaning. — 1
seemed like one walking in a dream, and
gvew unconscious of the passing reulities
of lile,
Alter traversing a network of by-streets
and lunes, the young girl entered a small
court, and ascended a spiral staircase,
leading to the upper story of an humble
lodging- house; before she could reach the
door my hand was on her shoulder, and as
I drew the hood back from her head, my
glance tell on the pau, worn, yet still
beautiful face of Eda,
«Have you forgotten me?” T asked, in
answer to her questioning gaze.
**T do ngt know you, sir,” she sighed,
with a wistful shake of the head,
**Not know me, Eda?” I cried, ‘not
know Hugh Stanebright ?”
A sudden cry escaped her, and the next
moment her slender form lay rigid and in
animate in my arms.
How much, how very much the sweet
face had changed! ‘he roundness” and
bloom had shrunk and taded, the joy was
gone, and a stony whiteness had deadened
Its radiance,
She lay several minutes senseless in my
arms; at length, when she recovered, she
nestled her golden head upon my_ breast,
ani clung to me, as it she teared I should
abandon or reproach her,
* Hda,” I whispered, and I felt my words
choking me, and my mouth tremulous and
quivering, * L know where Jane is?”
“In Heaven, Hugh!” was her meek res-
ponse, ‘' Death has kindly ta..en her trom
this miserable world.”
‘‘And your mother?” I asked, after a
awuse,
Without answering my inquiry, she
opened the door and drew me alter her.
We passed along w dark, close passage,
and entered a mean, low-pitehed room.
The few scanty erticles of turniture had
the dejected appearance of poverty in its
most wretched form, A glimmoring beam
of the wintry sun shot through a small
casement, aslant and pale, on a narrow
truckle bed,
‘There is my mother, Hugh,” she whis-
pered, while she pointed to the white,hag-
gard face upon the pillows.
LT approached the bed, and bent over the
shrunken figure,
* Hugh Stanebright,” said my aunt fee-
bly, and recognizing me at the first glance,
“what fatal chance has guided you here ?”
** No chance,” I replied; ‘the will of
Providence alone, Tum here to saye you,”
** Too late, too late!” she murmured,
** Eda may be saved; but I am dying.”
1 lost no time in sending for the most
skillful physician that could be found, by
whose advice she was at once removed trom
the stifling atmosphere of that wretched
abode to a pleasant lodging, which 1 pro-
eured in the suburbs. Every delicacy or
comfort that even the doctor or lersell fan-
cied might be of service was instantly pro-
cured, and before many days had passed
her health began to return,
One night a profound and heavy slum-
ber into which my aunt had fallen,relensed
Eda for a short time from her ever: watch-
(ul duty, and she had stolen soitly into the
sitting-room where 1 was seated. ‘The
blinds were closed, and the tastefully fur-
hished apartment was cheertully lighted,
She was beginning to look like the Eda
of former days, ouly more reserved, more
shy. with a pensive gentleness in her yoice
and manner, Her dress, too, of deepest
mourning, lent a sadder aspect to her
tigure, and her features were assuming a
tuller roundness,
«Ieda,” I said, after a pause, as she sat
looking thoughtfully into the pleasant fire,
“T want you Lo answer mea few questions,”
** Any questions, cousin, you choose to
ask,” she replied, as she turned her grate-
tul eyes to me,
“How long has your father been dead ?*
* Six months, Hugh,” she replied,
* Had thése terrible privations overcome
you previous to that event?” I continued.
«Oh, yes,” she replied, Belore we
left England my father disposed of his
pension for a certain sum, ldo not know
the exact amount and alter a short resi-
dence in Paris he brought us to Baden-Ba-
den. He became an habitual frequenter
of the gaming-houses, and returned home
one night penniless. From that time our
miserable struggles commenced, Day by
day we sank lower and lower into. the
broidery and needJe work, and but for her
exertions we must have starved, It may
be wrong, Hugh, for a ebild to speak re-
proachfully of a father, but that detestable
vice had become a part of his very nature,
and every coin that could be wrung fiom
my sister’s hard earnings was taken to
gratify it. You never knew my _ father,
cousin ?” she inquired, somewhat abruptly.
** Never,” I replied,
Ah,” she sighed, ‘*I can remember
him strong, and almost as youthful-looking
as youarenow. And,” she added bitterly,
‘** 1 can too vividly remember him a de-
graded, abject wreck; his manhood lost,
his name a by-word, and his presence a
contempt.’ Oh, Hugh,” she cried, ‘never,
neyer let that fatal vice sully your soul.
It is covered with a moral leprosy which
nothing can cleanse.”
** Ile died repentant, I hope,” I said, ir
a comforting tone.
She shuddered, and pressed her ~hands
convulsively over her cheeks, as if to shut
from her view some appalling spectre,
** He died by his own hand, Hugh!”
The words came ina low,) laintive strain
of bitterest anguish. 1 sprang to her, and
drew her sobbing tace to my besom, try-
ing to soothe and calm her,
** I never saw dear Jane sinile after,”
she resumed; ‘* all her hope, all her bra-
very of spirit went suddenly out from her,
Day by dity her fave paled, and her strength
drooped.”
‘+ Did she ever speak of me, Eda?” I in-
quired,
“Daily, hourly, almost, until that terris
ble event, but never alter—never even to
the last,” replied Eda, **‘Lhe memory of
that shame seemed to blacken her whole
life, overshadowing every speck of bright-
hess, Whether belonging to the past, or
tinting the future with its rays, Her
strength wasted away, and she could no
longer sit at her drudging toil; then we
felt want in its most ghastly form, One
bleak night in November we had been .
without food, without fire, for nearly two
days. My mother and Jane were both
very ill, I watched them fall into a short
slumber, and then stole forth into the
streets to beg.”
Eda,” I interrupted. ‘‘I saw you on
that night.”
‘Saw me ?” she exclaimed,
** But did not recognize you,” I contin-
ued, ‘You were sent forth by a kind
Providence to be my guardian angel.”
I then recounted to her all that had oc-
curred to me on that fatal night, and told
her how the coin I bad abstracted trom her
hand had retrieved my fortune and saved
me trom rain,
My aunt’s recovery was slow and waver
ing. Spring was beantitying the earth with
whew garment before she was able to
ieave her room, Ai length, however, the
physician’s skill and careful nursing pre-
vailed, and she was pronounced conyales~
cent.
Jt was some time in June that prepara«
tions were made for our return to Hallur-
ton. I had trequently written to my mo-
ther, informing her of my aunts illness,
and all the afflictions which had befallen
the family, with the exception of their
poverty, and that | kept a secret.
The day preceding our departure from
Baden-Baden, I called at an earlier hour
than usual, and found Eda attired for
walking.
**Tam glad you are come, Hugh,” she
said; ‘* 1 um now wating for you to fullill
jour long deterred promise.”
It wasto visit Jane’s and her father’s
graves; l had given orders to have them
seperately enciosed within an iron railing,
and oyer June's grave was raised a chases
ly carved monument in marble, and the
little bankee-up hillock was fringed by
rows of Summer flours, A plain head-~
stone, bearing his name and the date of
his death, indicated the resting-place of
her father. Eda’s eyes were brimming
with grateful tears as she gazed in won-
dering silence on the changed aspect of
the place. ‘* Hugh,” she said, ‘* 1 cannot
conceive a nobler act thanthis. Youhave
indeed a generous heart, How Jane would
have loyed you!”
‘The next day we were on our way to
Hallurton. and before the end of the week
we were all seated once more in the old
dining-room at the lms.
Memory still lingers over thoso bright
Summer evenings; ny mother with some
quaiat embroidery upon her lap, her sister
with a world of meek patience in her gen-
tle face, and Eda, halt sitting, halt reclin-
ing by her side, with still a glittering rem-
nant ot her old joyous playtuiness beaming
in her voice and Jaugh and features, ‘Then
it was that a new love began to shape it-
sellin my, heart, picturing a cloudless fu-
ture, illumined by those twin blessings,
peace and happiness,
The autumn leaves were strewing the
garden pathways, and the. evening sun-
shine was playing among the flowers, as
Kida and | stole trom the house and bent
our lootsteps towards the old fountain,
‘Lhe bloom and freshness of maidhood’s
ripene-! spring glittered in her sweet face,
the harsh lines which the evil days ot old
had indented there, had vanished, and she
now stood forth a gracelul type of woman’s
rdrest beauty.
“Eda,” I began, pausing beside the
fountain, ‘I cannot offer you the first
bright love of my heart; that was given
years ago to Jane; but if you can accept
the peaceful affection which time can never
change, it is yours now and forever.”
She lifted her eyes from the ground,and
threw their fearless, loving light straight
into mine as she gaye me her outstretched
hand,
**A few months longer, Ilugh, for the
bruises to heal,” said isda, ** and then—”
* You will be mine?” I said, filling up
the trembling pause.
* Wholly yours,” she whispered,
Years have flown away since then; but
our wedded happiness has never known a
shade, and the bright faces of merry chil-
dren make unclouded summer in our home
at the Elms. ‘To these dear children the
story of the sleeping mendicant and the
stolen coin has olten been repeated, to
teach them to shun the baneful vice of
gambling.
abyss of poverty ; Jane—dear, noble-heart-
ed Jane—put aside all her pride, and tried
to obtain afew pupils for instruction in
would employ her,
Tur Fenxtans,—The * Supreme Council
of the Lrish Republic,” in the proclamation
they have posted up all over Ireland and
music, but my father’s evil repuiation as a| England, announge as the objects for which
gambler was noised abroad, and nobody | they have been elected, three things, the
She then tried em+| mort sensiblo that have yet been broached
Vol. 3. :
Summerside, Prince Edward Island; Thursday, August 20, 1868.
No. 46.
THE
Summerside Journal,
18 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED EVERY
THURSDAY EVENING,
BY
JOSEPHBERTRAM,
AT HIS OFFICE, CENTRAL STREET,
TERMS:
by copy for one year, in advance, 6s. 8d.
$ 1 halfadvance, 7s. 6d.
i Ny atthe end of year 9s.
Persons getting up cLuns of ren Subscribers
will be entitled to the Journat for one year.
ADVERTISEMENTS.
inserted at moderate rates andin good style.
Sruciau Acrerments may be made on
reasonable terms for a whole, a half, or quar-
ter column, or by the year.
Job Printing
sof every description, performed with neatness
and despatch, and at moderate rates,
at the Jounnat Office.
Almanac for August, 1868.
MOON'S PHASES.
Full Moon, ¢d day, 7h 39m, morn. b. the han.
Last Qtr., 11th day, 8h. 15m., morn,bearing E.
New Moon, 18th day, 12h. 69m,, morn. b, han
First Qtr.24th day, 8h. 34m., eve. bearing W.
v|. | SUN | Sun sun’sjmoon|days
$s | slow. dee.
alee |risesisets. clock’north| sets | len.
| jh m|h mj m s |] {hmjhm
1jSat )4 47)7 25] 6 2Q)17 54; 3 1714 36
2Sun | 48] 24) 5 57)/17 38} rises) 35
8)Mo 49] 23) 6 63:17 23) 7 26, 84
4lTue | 60] 22) 6 47/17 | 7 bY 32
BiWed| 51) 21! 6 41/16 40) 8 26 30
6} Tha| 52! 19] 5 8d|/16 34) 8 56) 27
Fri |4 53/7 17, 6 27/16 17] 9 21 24
8 Sat 54) 16] 5 20,16 0) 9 49] 21
9 Sun 55! 14) & 11/15 43/10 17/14 19
10) Mo 56} 13) 6 3/16 2510 50) 17
11) Tue 67} 11) 4 6815 TLL 23 l4
12|\Wed} 59) 10| 443114 49! morn} 11
qalThu ls oO} gi 4 aslid si/0 6! 9
14 Eri 1] 74921141211 0| 6
ysiSat | 217 6] 4 10|13 54] 2 0 t
16)Snn | 8]. 4] 3 58/18 OG a
17|Mo 4 2) q 46/43 sets. /13 58
18)Tue 5} 0) 3 33,13 46) 7 26, 55
19] Wed 616 58} 3 19)12 36' 8 2 52
20) Thu 7} 57) 3 bz 8 36! 60
oilkri 15 8] 46, 2 51/11 47/9 6} 48
22)Sat | 9 bal 2 gojil 9 43] 46
23)Sun 10; 52) 2 20j/11 16)10 16 42
24|Mo 12} 60] 2) 4/10 10-53 38
25|Tue 13; 49) 1 48/10 35)11 36 36
26) Wed] 14)6 47) 1 31]10 14/morn)13 33
e7) Chi 14} 45! 1 14, 9 53) O 24 BY
gsiFri 15 17| 43) 0 a7 9 32/1 6| 26
29/Sat 18} 41) 0 391 9 1u12 2 23
Solsun | 19] 39] 0 21] 8 49) 2 54) 20
81!Mo 20! 87] 0 2] 8 27] 8 48] 16
August 18.
Oats per bush ------ ee neeee 8s Gd
Potatoes (new) per bush ds
Turnips per bush ------ Is 3
Butter per lb by Tub -- Is a 13d
Lard per lb --- 10d a 11d
Tallow Fe -- 9da it
Eggs per doz -----
Reet perib 4d a 5c
Mutton: per tb sce s <2 eer ss° 8d a 4d
Pork per lb by carcass - ->---~- 34d a Sd
Flour per bbl -- 453 a 50s
Oatmeal per cwt. -- 183 0 20s
Hay per Ton -- -- 60s a 608
Pine Boards - - see 10s
wee 4s abs
Spruce Boards -
Business Qards
BANK OF PRINCE EDWARD ISLANI
Corner of Queen § Water Sis., Charlottetown
President—Hon. Danive Brenan.
Cashier—Witiiam Cunpatr, Esquire.
Discount Days—Mondays & Thursdays.
Hours of Business—lom 10 a.m. to L p.m,
from 2 p.m to 4 p.m.
UNION BANK.
Grofton St., Queen's Square, Charlottetown
President—Cnantes Parser, Esquire,
Cashier—James Anperson, Esquire.
Niscount Days—Wednesdays & Saturdays.
Hours of Business—From 10 a.m to Lp m.,
from 2 p.m to 4pm.
SUMMERSIDE BANK.
Central Street, Summerside, DP. E. Island
w#resident—Hon. Joun R. Ganviner.
Cashier—E. L. Lroiarp, Esquire
Discount Days—Tuesdays and Fridays.
Notes for Discount must be in before 11
o'clock on Discount days.
afours of Business—10 a. m., to 1 p,m.
from 2 p. m., to 4 p.m.
Business GQards,
HANFORD \3ROTHERS,
Successors to omag* Hanford,
Commission \Merchants,
And Genoral Agents.
li NORTH WHARF,
ST. JOHN, N, B.,
Chas. U. Hanford ... teberele Fred.S.Hapford.
C. BRE Ds,
sale Dealer in
Groceries.
Importer and Whi
British & Sorei
1, Head
ST. JOHN, -
Dec. 6, 1867. ly
J. H. ALLEN,
Commission / Merchant,
And Dealer in Brovisions, &c,
MARKET STREET,
Sti ‘John, N. B.
}<@™ Gives personal attention to the Sale
and Purchase of every description of Goods,
May 9, 1868.
WILLIAM DODD,
Commission Merchant,
And Auctioneer,
QuEEN 4Q RE,
CWARLOTTETOWN- ol ISLAND
JABEZ HUDSON,
Authorized tioneer,
GENERAL AGENT, &e.,
TRYON, «8 see Vee Pe eed;
June 27, 1867.
WILLIAM BEAIRSTO,
Commission Merchant,
Aluctioneer & General Agent,
WATER STREET,
Summerside, ------ epee 2, Leland,
Jun, 21, 1868.
James Greenough,
FL
OUR
Gamieny erchant.
No 47 Commercial Street
Corner of Clinton Street -- - - - BOSTON
R&S WwW. 2. BOND,
Gowmission MWlerchants,
GENERAL AGENTS AND
AUCTIONEERS.
SALESROOM/ AND OFFICE
Head of Queen's Wharf.
(opposite the Store of Wm. T. Lunt & Co.)
Summerside, P. E. Island.
April 2 1868 ly
CARVELL BROTHERS,
AUCTIONEERS,
Commission | Merchants,
And General Agents,
BANK BUILDING, QUEEN STREET,
Charlottetown, - - + - - P.E, Island
ROCKLIN HOUSE,
{Kent Street, Charlottetown,
SIMON D. FRASER, BROPRIETOR.
Permanent and Trahsignt Boarders will
find the above wa A) give satisfaction.
Ch’town, June 13, 1868.
“North British and Mercantile
INSURANCE COMPANY.
FIRE AND LIFE.
Established 1809.
CAPITAL: TWO MILLIONS, Sterling.
HEAD OFFICES:
EDINBURGH & LONDON.
“G. W.DeBLOIS,
Agent at Charlottetown.
Charlottetown, June 20, 1868.—ly
THOMAS KELLY,
Barrister - at - Law
and?"
NOTARY PUBLIC, &o.
SUMMERSIDE, - - -:- Pp. KE. ISLAND.
aug 9, 1866
NEW BRUNSWICK.
DR. JARVIS a
Has Removed His Residence to the House
Mr McKinlay)
mextto Tho , Esq., St Eleanor'’s.
He may be cénsulted’every forenoon at the
Drog Store of W. T. HUNT & Co., Summer
side.
It. Eleanor’s, May 18, 1868.
KiTSON CASEY, MD,,
Physician, Surgeon & Accoucheur
formerly Assistanh/ Surgeon in the U. 8.
Navy, offers his essional services to the
people of Summ and vicinity. He can
be consulted at fis offige, over the Store of
Mesers Green& Schurman, in Sunmerside.
June 13, 1867. tf
Dh. J. PRICE,
Physician & Surgeon,
Orrick—At the Sc\ymepstpe Drue Store,
next door ank, Central Street
SUMMERSIDE, fr P. B. ISLAND.
October 12, 1865, \
Co-Partnérship Notice.
rf bee Subscribers have this day entered into
CO-PARTNERSHIP as BARRISTERS
and ATTORNIES-ATSLAW, under the
name, style and firm of
ALLEY & D.
OFFICE,—O'HALLOR
A. W. ANDRES,
Marble Worker,
MONUMENTS, TOMBS, GRAVE-
STONES, &c., &e.
AMERICAN AND IraLiaN~ManbLe con-
stantly on hand, ~~
Can furnish Gravestones and Monuments ata
Joss price than any other gstablishment in
the Provinces, and pay & duty besides,
Oxpwrs can be left at Bextram’s Book
Store and at D, Exatan’s, Esq., Summerside,
or sent to
A. W. ANDRES.
Point Du Chene, June 11th, 1868.
Barber Shop!
MPVUE subscriber respectfully announces to
the ; eople of Summerside, and the public
in general, that he has op
BARRER SHOP !
on Water Street, in the roo Adjoining the
Post Offive, where he is pre| ed to do all
work appertaining to hisprofession. Beat
assortment of fN
Hair Oils, Hair Restofers, Footh
Powders, Dyes; &c., \,
4 on hand on the most reasonableterms
po CRYSTAL BLUE also for sae
2
ta’ Razors carefully pus in order 261
CHAS. OTTO WINKLER.
Point Du Chene, Shediac N. B. |
rN
PO tr sr:
sl bag subgeriber would beg to call the at-
tention of the travelling public to this
well-known and favorite Hotel, situated at
the Head of the Railway Wharf, at Point Da
Chene, N. B.
Its advantages as a residence for parties in
quest of health cannot be surpassed. ‘The
airis pure, bracing and, invigorating, while
there is every facility fot Ogee sea bathing.
The trains for St. John leave the door
twice every day. The chipges will be found
moderate; the table good y and the proprietor
hopes by strict attentionto the requirements
of his customers, to ensure general satisfac-
tion. 3 ,
d@™ Passengers landing frdm the steamer
in the morning can gét breakfast before leay-
ing in the 7 o'clock train. \
PETER SCHURMAN, Proprietor.
P. §.—Being himself a P. E. Islander, the
Proprietor would hereby respectfully request
a share of the Island patronage.
Pt, Du Chene, june 18, ’63.
£3 Ts, 6d.
The Celebrated Common
sense amily Sewing
Machine.
Improved and Perfected.
3m
EVERY MACHINE WARRANTED FOR
FIVE YEARS,
For elegance of Finish it has no Rival,
High Price or Low.
Simple, Durable, Compact, and Cheap,
Tho Celebrated Common Sense Family Sewing
Machine i d to the public, with all
i wel! be combined in a
bor and pains buve been
hine into the very high.
It is
vil to bring this M
in the scale of
cknowledyed by the best judges to stand entirely
above aud beyond any cheap Machine ever pro-
ewing Machines.
thing that can be sewed on any
ing inthe tind, just as nicely aud
It wall sew/from Swiss Musiin up
r Cloth, at the rue of twelve hundred
stitches per minute, i
This machine has a nee of feeding appar:
atus, Which makes the MaghinieSelt-cuiding. The
cloth, without the aid /of eithersband, will run
48 true as when guided by Barnain’s self
This is an ndviyfta e not possessed by any
machine in the/world, high price or low.
‘This is one reason why this Wachine is so eusily
managed by childven.” A girl with one band ean
tse it more successfully than she could ordinary
muchines with two bands,
This Machine will stitch, Hem, Fell, tuck, Quilt,
Cord, Bind, Braid, and embroider in a most super:
jor manuer,
Printed Instructions, German or English, Screw
Driver, Hammer, Oil Can, Four Needles, and Table
Chuup, accompany each Muchiue without extra
cost.
These Machines can be seen at [arvie’s Book
Store.
HENRY A. HARVIE,
Agent for P, E. Island,
June, 25 1863.—3m
P. i. aS:
Steam Navigation Co's,
“PRINCESS OF WALES” AND
“ HEATHER BELLE.”
The Steamer “Princess of Wales”
ILL leave CHARLOTTETOWN for
PICTOU every TUESDAY and
THURSDAY morning at 5 a.nx, in time for
ARLOTTETOWN
evening,
1 IL00D every
noon, immediately
after arrival of Train from Halifax, returning
to Pictou the following morving.
Leaves CILARLOTTE TOWN every
TUNSDAY and FRIDAY night for SUM-
MERSIDE and SHEDIAC, at 74 p.m. Will
connect with Wednesday and Saturday morn-
ing’s ‘Train's .
Leaves SHEDIAC for SUMMERSIDE
and CHARLOTTETOWN every WEDNES-
DAY and SATURDAY afternoons, imme-
diately after arrival of ‘Train from St, John,
The Steamer “Heather Belle”
Leaves CHARLOTTETOWN at 8 a.m.,
every Saturday morning tor PICTOU,
Leaves PICTOU at 9 a. m., same day, for
MURRAY HARBOR, GEORGETOWN and
SOURIS, remaining at either Souris or
Georgetown over Sunday,
Leaves PICTOU every MONDAY for
CHARLOTTETOWN, ater arrival of ‘Traiv
from Halifax.
FARES:
Charlottetown to Pictou, or back, £0 12 0
Pictou to Georgetown, ‘* 0 og
le Port Hood, “ 012 0
Ch'town to Summerside, ‘ 09%9 0
a Shediac, AM 018 0
a St. John, “ $4.50 0r1 8 14
. Eastport, er G00 Lit ©
id Portland, * 8.00 210 0
‘“s Boston, * 900 216 8
a Halifax, 2 40 2 6 6
“ Port Hood, “ 1. € 06
st Georgetown, ‘ 090
ahs Souris, Why 012 0
F. W. HALES, Sec’y.
May 21, 1868.
Wool! Wool!
MWE STANFIELD WOOLEN MILLS at
TRYON, having been thoroughly recon-
structed and enlarged by additional machin-
ery and Steam Power, will continue to manu-
facture Cloth from custom w as hereto-
fore, and at the usual rates. Hing doubled
their facilities forsnanyfacturing, and procu-
red skillful opergtive: r every department,
the Company fgel q fent of giving their
customers gregter tion generally, by
manufacturing a bettr quality of Cloth, and
making quicker returns for wool left with
them. In addition to the various kinds of
CLOTH previously made, they are mahufac-
turing SEVERAL NEW STYLES FOR
MEN'S WEAR, and full width Blanketing.
pa" Wool, which must be clean washed,
free of mute and coarse locks, and of good
quality, may be left at Hon, H.J. Callbeck’s,
Cherlottetown, or at the niill.
STANFIELD) WOOLEN CO.
Summerside, Jan 30, 1868.
Tryon, May 14, 1868. [mal
PORRTY.
DEEP-SEA SOUNDINGS.
Mariner, what of the deep?
This of the deep:
Twilight is there, and solemn, chanyeless calm.
Beuuty is there, and tender heuling balu—
Balm with no root in earth, or sea, or air:
Poised by the finger of God it tloateth free,
And, as it treadeth the waves, the sound doth rise,
Hither shall come no further sacrifice :
Never ayain the anguished clutch at life,
Never aguin great Love and death in strife ;
He who huth suffered all need feur no more,
Quiet his portion now forevermore.
Mariner, what of the deep?
‘This of the deep:
Solitude dwells not there, thongh silence reign ;
Mighty the brotherhood of loss and pain ;
There 1s comintinion past the need of speech,
There is a loye uo words of love can reach ;
Heavy the waves thut superincumbent press,
But as we labor here with coustunt stress,
Hand doth bold out to hand, not help alone.
But the deep bliss of being fully known.
There are no kindred like the kin of sorrow ;
There is no hope like those fear who no morrow,
Mariner, whut of the deep?
This of the deep:
Though we haye travelled past the line of day,
Glory of night doth light us on our way,
Radiance that comes we know not how or whence,
Rainbows without the rain, past duller sense,
Music of hidden reefs and waves long past,
‘Thanderous orgun tones from far-olf blast,
Hurmouy, victrix, throned in stute sublime,
Couched on the wrecks be-yemmed with pearls of
Time;
Never a wreck but brings some beauty here;
Down where the waves are stilled, the sea shines
clear,
Deeper than life the plan of life doth lie,
He who knows all fears nougbt. Great death
shull die,
Select Miterature.
MY FIRST AND LAST GAME
[conciupeEp. |
Av length, when morning had fairly
dawned, 1 stole back to my hotel, jaded
and worn, und crept to my restless bed
Alter a feverish and uneasy slumber 1
awoke, and again prepared to renew my
search, 1 visited the most wretched parts
ol the town, Where want and vice stood
forth in every shape, Faces pinched by
fumine tlitted betore me, but not hers—not
the wasted but gentle features of that
young, sleeping gul, who like a pitying
angel hud barred the door which led to
my destruction, Where was she? Per-
haps wee, lug by the side of sonie miser-
alle pallet, her tears tailing on the haggard
cheeks of her dying mother—that mother
for whom she had wandered forth on a
bleak wintry night to solicit the charity of
strangers, Pursued by these spectral tan-
cies, 1 continued my scareh till past mid-
night, and then,fairly overcome by fatigue,
L returned to my hotel.
A week elapsed, and every day my
search had been renewed but all my efforts
to discover the slightest trace of the young
girl were unavaling, A teeling of hupeless
despair took possession of my mind, and 1
began to fear my sin was destined to walk
like a remorseless shadow forever beside
me, In my extremity I applied to the po-
lated so closely to tue usual appearance of
mendicants, that their aid was valueless.
A month passed by, and the end of De-
cember wis approaching. ‘Lhe winter
had set in with unusual severity, and the
earth was covered with snow, As 1 was
walking through a remote street in the
suburbs of the towa, I paused to look over
the low wall of a Protestant -burying-
ground. With a feeling of listless cariosi-
ty Lwas reading the inscriptions on the
various headstones, when suddenly the
chapel bell began to toll out its mourning
peal. TI opened the little gate, and passing
through a small avenue of leafless trees,
walked among: t the graves, ‘Lhe rays of
the wintry sun glittered on the snowy
mounds, sprinkling them with a gem-like
brightness, Whe vurial ground was large
and densely strewn with its human har-
vest. At length I came upon anew made
grave, dug in a solitary corner, where the
earth lay tlat around, with the exception
ot one lonely hillock. ‘here was a sha-
dowy gloom about the spot, even the snow
that lay there, seemed to have lost its
whiteness, and in some places had dritted
away, leaving dark, yendureless patches.
The chapel bell was tolling its last sum-
mons a8 Lreached the graye and looked
into its narrow abyss. An irresistible de-
sire to see the collined form lowered into
its lust resting-place, took possession of
me. Why, 1 wondered, had that secluded
spot been chosen, away even from the
companionship of death? Was this a hu-
man weed, unworthy to perish beside those
other human flowers? A thousand ques-
tioning thoughts crept into my brain, when
1 was abruptly started from ny reverie by
the solemn voice of the clergyman reading
the tuneral service. Looking round my
eyes tell on a plain coflin, borne alung the
winding pathway leading to the chapel.
One young girl, miserably clad, was the
sole weeping Mourner, At a slow men
sured pace the little procession reached
the grave, and the rude, undecorated shell
was lowered into the vault, As I watched
the small, slender form, quivering under
its ccushing weight of anguish, it recurred
to my mind that that form was familiar to
me.
At length the ceremony was over, and
the clergymen and bearers retired from
the scene, leaving the wretched mourner
still standing by the grave. Alter a pause
she knelt down, and then the hood that
had partially concealed her face tell back.
As L caught a glimpse of its wan outline,
fringed with a few scant tresses of golden
hair, I no longer doubted that it was the
face of the poor girl for whom I had been
so anxiously seeking. Was that the moth-
er, I mused, of whom she had murmured
in her dream on that fatal night, and who
now lay cold and still in that narrow gap
of earth? Ifso, how much had the rath-
less act that robbed her of that piece of
gold to answer tor! ‘Chat little coin might
have spared the mother’s life to the lonely
ozphan, or at least have shed’ a transient
lice, but my description of the girl assimi- | P
gleam of comfort into their wretched home.
With difficu!ty I conquered the impulse
to steal beside her with some whispered
word of solace, but her grief seemed so
sacred, so pure, that I dared not intrude
upon it, lest I should profane it. When
her prayer was ended she rose; and then,
as she cast a wild, farewell look into the
grave, alow, smothered sob broke from
her lips, and thrilled through the wintry
air. Slowly turning away, instead of tak-
ing the path leading from the burial
ground, she bent-her footsteps to the one
lonely mound a few paces dist. nt from the
open grave, Again her grief was hushed
in silent prayer, again the pale, pinched
face was raised towards heaven, Did
those two graves then contain the dear
ones whose smiles had once given joy to
her childhood, robbed poverty ot its sting,
and given an envious splendor of affection
to the chilling abode ot want? At length
she rose again, and with a heavy, reluctant
step, glided away. 1 was about to follow
her, when some inexplicable fancy im-
peiled me to look once more into the open
grave. ‘The sexton was already preparing
to fill it up as I neared its brink. Looking
down into its narrow vortex, a shuddering
sense of horror darted through my frame
as L read the inscription on the coflin-lid:
“Janu STorNaway,”
Died December 19, 185—.
AGED 21,”
The earth soemed for a moment to slide
from under me, and surrounding objects
grew suddenly dark, Collecting every
energy, I quickly recovered myself, and
hurrying rapidly in the direction taken by
the solitary mourner, 1 soon caught a
vlimpse of her through the avenue ot leat-
less trees. Keeping ut a guarded distance
I followed on her track, with the sternest,
hardest conflict warring at my heart that
{ had ever felt, Jane Stornaway dead! 1
mechanically repeated the words with an
utter insensibility of their meaning. — 1
seemed like one walking in a dream, and
gvew unconscious of the passing reulities
of lile,
Alter traversing a network of by-streets
and lunes, the young girl entered a small
court, and ascended a spiral staircase,
leading to the upper story of an humble
lodging- house; before she could reach the
door my hand was on her shoulder, and as
I drew the hood back from her head, my
glance tell on the pau, worn, yet still
beautiful face of Eda,
«Have you forgotten me?” T asked, in
answer to her questioning gaze.
**T do ngt know you, sir,” she sighed,
with a wistful shake of the head,
**Not know me, Eda?” I cried, ‘not
know Hugh Stanebright ?”
A sudden cry escaped her, and the next
moment her slender form lay rigid and in
animate in my arms.
How much, how very much the sweet
face had changed! ‘he roundness” and
bloom had shrunk and taded, the joy was
gone, and a stony whiteness had deadened
Its radiance,
She lay several minutes senseless in my
arms; at length, when she recovered, she
nestled her golden head upon my_ breast,
ani clung to me, as it she teared I should
abandon or reproach her,
* Hda,” I whispered, and I felt my words
choking me, and my mouth tremulous and
quivering, * L know where Jane is?”
“In Heaven, Hugh!” was her meek res-
ponse, ‘' Death has kindly ta..en her trom
this miserable world.”
‘‘And your mother?” I asked, after a
awuse,
Without answering my inquiry, she
opened the door and drew me alter her.
We passed along w dark, close passage,
and entered a mean, low-pitehed room.
The few scanty erticles of turniture had
the dejected appearance of poverty in its
most wretched form, A glimmoring beam
of the wintry sun shot through a small
casement, aslant and pale, on a narrow
truckle bed,
‘There is my mother, Hugh,” she whis-
pered, while she pointed to the white,hag-
gard face upon the pillows.
LT approached the bed, and bent over the
shrunken figure,
* Hugh Stanebright,” said my aunt fee-
bly, and recognizing me at the first glance,
“what fatal chance has guided you here ?”
** No chance,” I replied; ‘the will of
Providence alone, Tum here to saye you,”
** Too late, too late!” she murmured,
** Eda may be saved; but I am dying.”
1 lost no time in sending for the most
skillful physician that could be found, by
whose advice she was at once removed trom
the stifling atmosphere of that wretched
abode to a pleasant lodging, which 1 pro-
eured in the suburbs. Every delicacy or
comfort that even the doctor or lersell fan-
cied might be of service was instantly pro-
cured, and before many days had passed
her health began to return,
One night a profound and heavy slum-
ber into which my aunt had fallen,relensed
Eda for a short time from her ever: watch-
(ul duty, and she had stolen soitly into the
sitting-room where 1 was seated. ‘The
blinds were closed, and the tastefully fur-
hished apartment was cheertully lighted,
She was beginning to look like the Eda
of former days, ouly more reserved, more
shy. with a pensive gentleness in her yoice
and manner, Her dress, too, of deepest
mourning, lent a sadder aspect to her
tigure, and her features were assuming a
tuller roundness,
«Ieda,” I said, after a pause, as she sat
looking thoughtfully into the pleasant fire,
“T want you Lo answer mea few questions,”
** Any questions, cousin, you choose to
ask,” she replied, as she turned her grate-
tul eyes to me,
“How long has your father been dead ?*
* Six months, Hugh,” she replied,
* Had thése terrible privations overcome
you previous to that event?” I continued.
«Oh, yes,” she replied, Belore we
left England my father disposed of his
pension for a certain sum, ldo not know
the exact amount and alter a short resi-
dence in Paris he brought us to Baden-Ba-
den. He became an habitual frequenter
of the gaming-houses, and returned home
one night penniless. From that time our
miserable struggles commenced, Day by
day we sank lower and lower into. the
broidery and needJe work, and but for her
exertions we must have starved, It may
be wrong, Hugh, for a ebild to speak re-
proachfully of a father, but that detestable
vice had become a part of his very nature,
and every coin that could be wrung fiom
my sister’s hard earnings was taken to
gratify it. You never knew my _ father,
cousin ?” she inquired, somewhat abruptly.
** Never,” I replied,
Ah,” she sighed, ‘*I can remember
him strong, and almost as youthful-looking
as youarenow. And,” she added bitterly,
‘** 1 can too vividly remember him a de-
graded, abject wreck; his manhood lost,
his name a by-word, and his presence a
contempt.’ Oh, Hugh,” she cried, ‘never,
neyer let that fatal vice sully your soul.
It is covered with a moral leprosy which
nothing can cleanse.”
** Ile died repentant, I hope,” I said, ir
a comforting tone.
She shuddered, and pressed her ~hands
convulsively over her cheeks, as if to shut
from her view some appalling spectre,
** He died by his own hand, Hugh!”
The words came ina low,) laintive strain
of bitterest anguish. 1 sprang to her, and
drew her sobbing tace to my besom, try-
ing to soothe and calm her,
** I never saw dear Jane sinile after,”
she resumed; ‘* all her hope, all her bra-
very of spirit went suddenly out from her,
Day by dity her fave paled, and her strength
drooped.”
‘+ Did she ever speak of me, Eda?” I in-
quired,
“Daily, hourly, almost, until that terris
ble event, but never alter—never even to
the last,” replied Eda, **‘Lhe memory of
that shame seemed to blacken her whole
life, overshadowing every speck of bright-
hess, Whether belonging to the past, or
tinting the future with its rays, Her
strength wasted away, and she could no
longer sit at her drudging toil; then we
felt want in its most ghastly form, One
bleak night in November we had been .
without food, without fire, for nearly two
days. My mother and Jane were both
very ill, I watched them fall into a short
slumber, and then stole forth into the
streets to beg.”
Eda,” I interrupted. ‘‘I saw you on
that night.”
‘Saw me ?” she exclaimed,
** But did not recognize you,” I contin-
ued, ‘You were sent forth by a kind
Providence to be my guardian angel.”
I then recounted to her all that had oc-
curred to me on that fatal night, and told
her how the coin I bad abstracted trom her
hand had retrieved my fortune and saved
me trom rain,
My aunt’s recovery was slow and waver
ing. Spring was beantitying the earth with
whew garment before she was able to
ieave her room, Ai length, however, the
physician’s skill and careful nursing pre-
vailed, and she was pronounced conyales~
cent.
Jt was some time in June that prepara«
tions were made for our return to Hallur-
ton. I had trequently written to my mo-
ther, informing her of my aunts illness,
and all the afflictions which had befallen
the family, with the exception of their
poverty, and that | kept a secret.
The day preceding our departure from
Baden-Baden, I called at an earlier hour
than usual, and found Eda attired for
walking.
**Tam glad you are come, Hugh,” she
said; ‘* 1 um now wating for you to fullill
jour long deterred promise.”
It wasto visit Jane’s and her father’s
graves; l had given orders to have them
seperately enciosed within an iron railing,
and oyer June's grave was raised a chases
ly carved monument in marble, and the
little bankee-up hillock was fringed by
rows of Summer flours, A plain head-~
stone, bearing his name and the date of
his death, indicated the resting-place of
her father. Eda’s eyes were brimming
with grateful tears as she gazed in won-
dering silence on the changed aspect of
the place. ‘* Hugh,” she said, ‘* 1 cannot
conceive a nobler act thanthis. Youhave
indeed a generous heart, How Jane would
have loyed you!”
‘The next day we were on our way to
Hallurton. and before the end of the week
we were all seated once more in the old
dining-room at the lms.
Memory still lingers over thoso bright
Summer evenings; ny mother with some
quaiat embroidery upon her lap, her sister
with a world of meek patience in her gen-
tle face, and Eda, halt sitting, halt reclin-
ing by her side, with still a glittering rem-
nant ot her old joyous playtuiness beaming
in her voice and Jaugh and features, ‘Then
it was that a new love began to shape it-
sellin my, heart, picturing a cloudless fu-
ture, illumined by those twin blessings,
peace and happiness,
The autumn leaves were strewing the
garden pathways, and the. evening sun-
shine was playing among the flowers, as
Kida and | stole trom the house and bent
our lootsteps towards the old fountain,
‘Lhe bloom and freshness of maidhood’s
ripene-! spring glittered in her sweet face,
the harsh lines which the evil days ot old
had indented there, had vanished, and she
now stood forth a gracelul type of woman’s
rdrest beauty.
“Eda,” I began, pausing beside the
fountain, ‘I cannot offer you the first
bright love of my heart; that was given
years ago to Jane; but if you can accept
the peaceful affection which time can never
change, it is yours now and forever.”
She lifted her eyes from the ground,and
threw their fearless, loving light straight
into mine as she gaye me her outstretched
hand,
**A few months longer, Ilugh, for the
bruises to heal,” said isda, ** and then—”
* You will be mine?” I said, filling up
the trembling pause.
* Wholly yours,” she whispered,
Years have flown away since then; but
our wedded happiness has never known a
shade, and the bright faces of merry chil-
dren make unclouded summer in our home
at the Elms. ‘To these dear children the
story of the sleeping mendicant and the
stolen coin has olten been repeated, to
teach them to shun the baneful vice of
gambling.
abyss of poverty ; Jane—dear, noble-heart-
ed Jane—put aside all her pride, and tried
to obtain afew pupils for instruction in
would employ her,
Tur Fenxtans,—The * Supreme Council
of the Lrish Republic,” in the proclamation
they have posted up all over Ireland and
music, but my father’s evil repuiation as a| England, announge as the objects for which
gambler was noised abroad, and nobody | they have been elected, three things, the
She then tried em+| mort sensiblo that have yet been broached