WAND SEMI-WEEKLY ADVERTlSER.

.._‘?__"“Y0'_l‘t?13, soasoa“ra1onicoastertasters;

'OL.I". 50.5- " moon’s PHASES-

SEPTEMBER.

§§witi§§u§ let day, 5h. 20m morn

'mi Quarter, 9th day, th. 9m morn.

fall “can, l5th d:iy,5h. 59m after. Lnsthﬂt‘ten23d day, 8h. ltm morn

NAILS.

no Malls by the Southern route to Be. v, t'ape Traverse. 'l‘ryon River. are ‘gupeveryMnndny morning at Wo’cloek. u. Mann, Courier.

The Eastern hlni's to Bay Fortune, Fair- .i..\leuat Pleasant, Lot 47, St. Margaret‘s ‘ elers. Semis—every Wednesday morn- .lO o'clock—PAT. Feature, Courier.

The Western Mails to Bedeque, Cascum- .Ctvendish, Egmont liay, Lot 16. New usgow. New London. Park Corner, Port 3. Prince Town. St. Eleanors, ’l‘ignish'. water’s Rest —every'l‘hursday morning at roach—Riemann Bar. Menu. Courier. In Southern Mails to tieorge'l'own- 'iiesday and Saturday mornings at 8 o'- i. To lielfast, Murray Harbour. Vernon or. White Sands-every Saturday at 9 Ink. i. sv.—-S.urum. LAKE. Courier.

POPULAR TA LES.

’E DJUIJ 11 ’1‘ER SJ (JR/["1 CED ; on, THE YOUNG MINISTER. ....—. CONCLUDW.

"Ethel Horitlvy and l were play- ‘2?! humour mrizest rhil-ihoodmnd manorvtimr long before either 32;; inﬁe‘t‘Lalt‘it‘Ni what the Word .:.-‘.. She. was a motherlem and herdlcss girl; and her stern father .'.~ ugh he occasionally admitted her 0 lis presume, never sought to rage lnr all i-tions, or fathom the gas oi ilt'f‘dl‘titlltl. feelings. “’heu icisionally spoke to her more se- ‘Ly than usual, she would listen 1.1 z-pt attention, and showed an 119:: desire to deserve my re- ..t. But we were both young,aud :e discourses were of rare or cur- .ie; we ha ‘ other and pli-asanter

o "Mllur t‘ut-t‘t’t‘ration, and l was that to love ilt'l’ as she it'us,giiile- it 'zrsuSpci-ting of evil, and at- i tell to good. You may remem- t;.-.it it was thought expedient by friends that l sh'ould go abroad lltlla‘ to entering upon my minis- ‘ul duties, in order that I might . enlarged notions ofmen and man- i .and have the benefit of study- tbe various styles of the best Ignpirachers. Having ﬁrst ex- tiged vows of eternal ﬁdelity with weeping Ethel,l obeyed their date. I was absent nearly a r:atid found on my return that llilli that very day married a man IllOllgii to be her father. teciillcct Lord Agincourt?’ t‘e general started, and his brow - Stern.

This is even worsethsn I feared,’ id, rehomently.

llear me out,’ said St. John,witli Ce hoarse with emotion. ‘ It is “er sake that I humble myselfto « The circumstances that led to unfortunate union were not lon

M r. Huntley had

tied love of gold; and Ethel, by at: of artful manoeuvres, taught

: faith.

CHARLOTI‘ETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, SEPTEMBER [7, 1845.

to believe that I had broken my faith to her, became their victim without a murmur. Lord Agincourt, even before his marriage, knew that heart was in the possession of ano- ther. had aided in the strategems which severed us, and with unmanly cruelty disclosed the knowledge he possessed to his young bride even on their wedding day. With ﬁendish and exulting pride he dwelt upon the success of his plans; informing her at the same time that I had returned to England, unchanged in heart and

on, heard him without a reply or re- proach, and he quitted her.— That night. as I sat in my solitary chamber, brooding over my wrongs, and the disappointment of all my long cherished schemes of happiness, a visitor was announced; and Ethel, pale and breathless, rushed wildly to- ward me, and sank at my feet, im- ploring me to save her from worse than death. I will not attempt to repeat what passed in that interview, or with what feelings I listened to the the dark recital of our mutual inju- ries; to her pleadings that we might not again be separated—that I would not send her from me, and expose her to the anger of her father and the insults of Lord Agincourt—to the cold scorn ofau unpitying world!— Gencral Morley, you are a man— you have been young, and per-chance loved—what would .you, what could you have done?’

. The old man turned away his head in silence, but his burning tears fell upon the uplifted brow of the en-

uirer.

‘ You would have acted as I did,’ Continued St. John, more calmly, ‘ you would have pressrvcd her from her pcrsccutors, because you loved her—and from herself, because you respected her, and had compassion on her confiding innocence and devm- ed affection. I did both;-—that nightl conveyed her here, where she has since resided. And God is my witness, that during the years that have elapsed since then, she. has never been more to me than a dear sister! that she is as poor and vicious as in those happy days when we were children taltcn in. her native home. Morley, you will do me the justice tobelieve that] speak nothing but the holy truth.’

‘ i do! I do!” said the old man,lay- ing his trembling hand upon the bow- ed head ofhis friend. ‘ Forgive me,

Noel. for having wronged you by my ‘

doubts--for having contributed by a word to tho sorrows ofthat unhappy girl. But,’ added the general, after a long psuse, ‘ although you are both innocent now, still your position is a dangerous one, as regards yourselves and society. St. John, you know enough ofthe world to feel that the story you have just related would never be credited, should it become known.’ .

‘ Ichave thought ofall this,’ replied his friend, “but where is my poor Ethel to go?’—what will become of her ifl desert her? She has no re- lation in the World to whom she could apply; and mine are far too good and pure to be able to stretch forth a helping hand to save a fellow creature from shame and mirery.’

Ethel, pale and horror-striclt-

| The young man spoke with bitter- nest,and paced the room with a rapid ii and agitated step. ; ' Then you feel that by her long a residence under your roof, the is‘ un. ﬁtted to take the station in society l which she deservos, among the virtu- lous and the good? 'l‘hat,pure as she lie, they would scorn to associate with ,one whom the foul breath ofa calum-

ny—not wholly unfounded—had sul-

lied t‘orever.’

‘ t deeply feel it!’ replied St.John,

spassionately. ‘ And Would you licstitnte to sacri- .fice your own happiness—nay even Ihers, for a time, to restore her to her :former eatiou in the world; to render her worthy of your love when you shall dare to offer it without sin?’

‘ Do with us as you will!’ replied the young man. ‘ l have deserved to suffer—but not my poor Ethel.’

‘ Will you trust us together for a

‘ She will hear reason from me,which. uttered by your lips. her very affec- tion would render her deafto. You shallbcar from me in the morning,and trust me all will go well.’

‘ ishall see her again?’ said St. John. content to rem'ain a passive instru- ment in your hands, and to conﬁde everything to your long-tried friend- ship. But I cannot persuade myself to leave her at Once, and forever.’

General Morley spoke ﬁrmly, but

kindly to him! and succeeded at length in prevailing on him to return to town in his carriage, promising to be with him, at an early hour the fol- lowing morning, and inform him ofall his plans. It may be easily imagined that the interval was a dreary ohe to the young minister. So powerfully indeed did agitation and want of sleep work up- on his outward frame, tbat the gene- ral actually started back on beholding him.

4 This must-not be,’ sQid the old man, shaking his head sadly. ' As a minister of Norman, a teacher of pa- tience and submission, it behaves you to submit less unwillingly to its de- crces.’

well and happy—that she is as happy as she can be, while we are separat- ed, and I will strive to be satisﬁed with my lot, although I should never see her again.’

‘ You never will!’ replied the go- neral. ‘At least, not until every impediment to your. meeting is re- moved by God himself; when he shall deem that sufﬁcient atonement has been made for your errors.’

SLJolin groaned deeply, but with- out speaking. And the general con— tinned:—

‘l have placed Ethel under the protection of my sister. to whom she will be as a daughter, and where the breath of calumny can nevar reach her. From all that! have been a- ble to learn, it has never been sus- pected by her father or husband that she ﬂed to you ‘for safety on that fa- tal night. when she was driven from her home and natural guardians by their insulting cruelty. And. the circumstances must ever remain a secret. Lord Agincourt is old and infirm,'and cannot. in the ordinary course of nature, be expected to live

time, St. John?’ asked the general. ,

' Promise me that, and I am~

‘ Only tell me of Ethel, that she is ‘

cautious REL'GlQN-

PRICE, ONE PENNY

l much longer, it may perchance be wicked to build our happiness on the l probable decease of a fellow-being. ,but when that event shall come to l) pass, she may be honourably wooml 3 and won before the whole World, and without fear of its scorn.’ ‘ You are right!’ said St.John,graspo 3. ing his hand convulsively; ‘ you have saved us both; but Ethel—my poor, unsuspecting Ethel! How does she bear this.” l ‘ With nncomplaining mcekness l and submission. She traced a few ! hurried lines this morning, while the i carriage was preparing to convey her . away, which she implored me to give Ifyou; and which lhave too much i confidence in you. both to withhold.’ _ The young minister took the paper l with a trembling hand; it was blister— : ed, and rendered almost illegible by l the burning tears that had fallen on i it, and ran thus:— 4 ‘Can you ever forgive me, Noc', i for the sacriﬁce I heave demanded of , your love? For the risks to which ' my blind and selfish affection has sub» ljected your fame and future prospects . in the world? I have been a stumb- l ling- lock in your way to honour and ' renown—a blight upon your pure spi- rit and spotless life. I have drawi down upon you shame, remorse, and bitterness ot'Soul. I have endanger» ed the immortal happiness of us both; and yet you navcrupbralded me,i.cver refused a kind word, R‘til a fond «mile to her whose great crime was he.» love! lshudder while i write ’l’ii'. and. Weeping, kneel in thankluh-c-~ to God who has preserved as both u. Your friend,General Morlcyﬁhas ties-:1 talkingto me offuture hop; incss_ b: t I dare not loiik forward. 1 dare not hope that you will preserve the prc~ cious giftofyo'ur love for me uan then—that you will d.) man than pity your unhappy “Ernst.” St. John placed the note in t9! bosom without speaking, and becu'r" from that hour an altered man. The remorseful feelings whirl: had or.- pressed and weighed down his spi: it. were remored,tiie cloud passed away from his open brow, and lie onto-cl into the duties ofhis profession with renewed zest and ardtf‘m‘.

l'e’s passed away, and a shade t 5‘ silver mingled with the raver: curt-z that clustered round his pale and iii- tellectnal countenance. Although mothers had ceased to rminreuvrcmud smiling girls had rated the clergyman a confirmed old bachelor,he retained his place intheir esteem and regard.

At length it began to be whisper- ed about that Mr. St. John had fallen in love with a rich and beautiful your; widow: a protege of his friend (lone- ral Morley, and many an anxious and 'curious glance was darted under the close bonnet of the bride elect, as she walked up the chaich to her pew, leaning on the arm of her guardian. The pale meek face they beheld, (lis- armed all resentment, and as the story oflter olopcment had been carefully hushed up by her proud father, none recognized her. During the weary year-sot‘her trial, the old man had become greatly attached to tboyoiittn fut mourner, and at its expiration, St. John received his bride from His hands with mingled feelings of grati-

tude and joy. .