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MI-WEEKLY INTELLIGENCER

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“THIS PRU. LABEKEY WHEN FREECBORN MEKCHAVING T SEaoaTe EST per oh oa ; ith : aoe oe : sant ae hs en MtN—HAY\ ING ee AUN ISK THE PUBLIC—MAY SPEAK FREE."—MiILtos’s HuRIPIDES. dual! tect __—ssi(w“s«s CHARLOTTETOWN, JANUARY 11, 1851. el..1s. ie. on ——~ —- ew ‘ ; - ates sone ———$——__~- —-— oe ee Taina aameihreeriasiaarnimnineninaetaeens catsatasitainass

The Blind Boy.

BY AN AMERICAN POET. lu waa et blessed summer day, The flowers blioomed—the air was mild, The littic birds poured torth their lay, And every thing ia nature smiled.

te pleasant thoughts | wandered on Beneath the deep wood’s ample shade, Tilt suddenty | came upon Two children who had thither strayed,

Sast at an aged birch tree's foot A little boy and girl reclined,

His hands in hers she kindly put, And then I saw the boy was blind,

The ehildren knew not! was near; A tree concealed me from their view, But all they said 1 we)! could hear, And I could see al! they might do.

“Dear Mary,” said the poor blind boy, ‘ That littie bird sings very long; y, do you see him in his joy, And is he pretty as his song 1’

‘Yes, Edward. yes,’ replied the maid, ‘1 eee the bird on yonder tree ;’

The poor boy sighed, and gently said, * Sister, t with thatl cowld see.’

©The flowers you siv, are very fair,

And bright green leaves are on the trees, Aad pretty Sicds are singing there—

How beautiful for one who sees.’

a € Yeal the fragrant Aowers can smell, And tf can fee! the green leaf’s shade, And i can heer the notes that swell From those dear birds that God has made.

‘So. sister, God to me is kind Thoughsight! He has not given; But te!! me are there any biied

Among the children up in Heaven 7’

“No, dearest Edward, TWERS ali seeo— But why ask mea thing so odd? «Oh. Marv, He’s so Goup To ME, ( ruovenr Up Like To Look aTGop’’

re longdisease his hand had trid On thatdeir boy so meek and mild;

His widow’d mother wept and pray’d That God would spare her sightless child.

He felt her warm tears on his face, And sxid — Oh, never weep for me,

I’m going to a bright—bright piace Where Mary says [Wop SHALL S5&E.

“And you'll be there, dear Mary. too 5 But, mother,when you getup there,

Tell Edward, mother, that, 149 you—— You know i neversaw you here”

He spoke ro more, but sweetiy smiled, Until the final blow wasgiven— When God teck up the poor blind child, And opeu’d first his eyes in Heavea.

et CN

The Uauated House in Charn- waed Forest. From Howiti's Country Year Book.

(Concluded.)

At this crisis, the terrified guest would wsually utier a fearful shriek, and often yo into a swoon, The whole farmt'y would be roused from their beds by the alarm ; but on no occasion bad any traces ef the tause of terror been found, though the louse, on stich occasions, had been diligently and thoroughly searched, ‘The annoying visit was described as being hy no means uniform. Sometimes it would not take place for a very long time, so that they would begin to hope twat there would be po more of it; but it would, when least expected, occur again. Few people of late years, however, had ventured to sigep in that room, and have apver since the forementioned clergyman was so terribly alarmed, about two years ayo, had it once been occupied,

“Then” said John Basford, “it 3s probable that the annoyance 13 done with tecever. Ifthe troublesome visitan: wes

stil! occasionally present, it would, no doubt, take care to manifest itself in some mode or place. Jt was necessary to test the matter to see whether this particular room was still subject to so strange a phenomenon,”

This seemed to have an effect on the farmer and his wife. The old manureed his suit all the more earnestly, and, after further show of extreme reluctance on the part of his entertainers, finally pre- vailed.

The consent once being given, the farmer’s wife retired to make the neces- sary arrangements. Our friend heard sundry goings to and fro; but at leneth it was announced to him that al) was ready, the farmer and his wife both re- peating that they would be much better pleased if Mr. Basford would be pleased to gleep insome other room. The old man, however, remained firm to his pur- pose; he was shown to his chamber, and the tnaid who led the way stood at some distance from the denoted deer, and pointing to it, bade him good night, and hurried away. ;

Mr. Basford found himself alone in the haunted room, be looked around and dis- covered nothing that should make it differ from any other good and comfort- able clamber, or that should give to seme invisible agent so singular a pro- pensity to disturb apy innocent morta! that nocturnated init, Whether he fer any nervous terrors, we know not; but as he was come to see all that wou!d or could occur there, he kept himself most vigilantiy awake. He Jay down in a very good feather bed, extinguished his ligit, and waited in patience. Time and tide, as they will wait for no man, went on. All sounds’ of life ceased in the house; nothing could be heard, but the rushing wind without, and the bark of the yard dog occasionally amid the laughing blast. Midnight came, and fouad John Basford wide awake and watchfully expectant. Nothing stirred. but he lay stilion the watch. Atlength —was it so! Did he not hear a rustling inovement, as it were near his coor, or was it his excited fancy ? He raised his head from bis pillow, and listened in- tensely. Hush! there is something!— no!—-it was his contagious mind ready to hear and see—what? There was an actual sound of the latch! He could hear it raised!—He could not be mistak- en. There was a sound as if the door was cautiously opened.—-List ! it was true. There was soft, stealthy footsteps on ihe carpet ; they came directly towards the bed; they paused at its foot; the curtains were agitated; there were steps on the bed ; something crept—did not the heart and the very flesh of the rash old ian now creep too 2—and upon him sank a palpable form, palpable from its pres- sure, for the night was dark as an oven. There was a heavy weight on his chest, and in the same instant something almost icy cold touched his tace.

With a sudden, convulsive action, the old man suddenly flung up his arms. clutched at the terrible object) which thus oppressed him, and shouted with a loud cry:

‘{ have got him! I have got him?

There was a sayud ofa deep growl, a vehement struggle, but John Bastord held fast his hold and felt that he had some- thing within it, huge, shaggy and power- ful. Once more he raised his voice loud enough to heve roused the whole house: but it seemed no voice of terror, but one of triumph and satisfaction. Inthe next instant, the farmer rushed into the room with a light in his hand, and revealed to Jobii Basford that he held in his arms the struggling form of ahuge Newfound- lind dog!

Be

‘Let him @o, sir, in God’s name! ex- claimed the farmer, on whose brow drops of real anguish stood, and ghlistened in the light ofthe candle.—* Down stairs Cresir! and the dog released from the hold of the Quaker, departed as if much ashamed.

In the Same instant, the fartter and his wife, who now also came in dressed, and evidently never having been in bed, were on their knees by the bedside.

‘You know it all, sir” said the farm- er; ‘you see through it. You are too deep and strong tmiuded to be imposed on. We were, therefore, afraid of this when you asked to sleep in this room, Promise us now, that while we live you will never reveal what you know ?

They then related to him, that this hottse and chamber had never been haunted by any other than this dog, which bad been trained to play the part. That, for generations, their fain)ly had lived on this farm; but some years ago, their Jandlord having suddenly raised their rept to an amount that they felt they conld net give, they were cormpel- led to think of quitting the farm. ‘This was to them an insuperable source of crief. Tt was the place that all their lives and memories were bound np with, They were extreniely cast down. Sad denly it occurred to them to give an): name to the house. They hit on this scheme, and, having practiced well, did not long want an opportunity of trying it, it had succeeded beyond ihetr expecta- tions. ‘The fears of their guests were found to be ofa force which completely blinded them to any discovery of the truth There had been occasions where they thought some clumsy accident must have stripped away the celusion ; but no! there seemed a thick veil of blindness, a fascination of terror cast over the strong- est winds, which nothing could pierce through. Case after esse occurred; and the house and farm acquired such a character, that no money or consideration of any kind would have induced a fresh ‘enant to live there. The old tenants continued at their old rent; and the com- fortable ghost stretched himself every nightin a capacious kennel, without any need of disturbing his slumbers by calls to disturb those of the guests of the haunted chamber.

Having made this revelation the far- mer and his wife again implored their guest to preserve their secret.

He hesitated.

“Nay,” said he, “T think it would not be right to do that. That would be to make myselfa party to a public deception. It would bea kind of fraud on the world and the landlord. It wonid serve to keep up those euperstitions terrors whic should be as speedily as possible dissi- pated.”

The farmer was in agony. He rose and strode to and fro in the room. His countenance grew red and wrathful, He cast dark glances at his guest, whom bis wife continued to implore, and who sat silent and as it were, lost in reflection.

“And do you think ita night thing, Sir,” said the farmer, “ thus to force your- self into a stranger’s house and family. and, in spite of the strongest wishes to the contrary, into his very chambers, and that only to do him a mischief? — Is that your religion Sir? [thought you had something better in you than that. Am I now to think your mildness and piety were only so much hypocrisy put on to ruin me?”

* Nay. friend, I don’t want to ruin thee,” said the Quaker.

“But rain me you will, though, if sou publish this discovery. Out 1 must turn. and be the laughing stock of the whole Now if that is what you

| country to boot.

mean, say so, and | will know what sort oi man youare. Let me know at once whether you are an honest man or a cockatrice 7”

** My friend.” said the Quaker, “ canst thou call thyselfan honest man, in prac- ‘ising this deception for all these years, and depriving thy landlord of the rent he would otherwise have got from another ? And dost then think it would be honest in me to assist In the continuance of this fraud ?”

“1 rob the landlord of nothing,” replied the farmer. “I pay a good fair rent; but i don’t want to quit theold spot. And if you had not thrust yourself into this af- fair, you would have had nothing to jay on your conscience concerning it. I must, let me tell you, look on it asa piece of unwarrantable impertinence to eome thus to my house, and be kindly treated only to turn Judas against me.”

The word Judas seemed to bit the Friend a great blow.

“A Judas!”

“* Yos—a Judas! claimed the wife. thought it.”

“ Nay, nay,” eaid the old wan, ‘Tam no Judas. [tis true I forced myself into it; and if you pay the landlord an honest rent, why, [ don’t know that it is any business of mine—at least while you live.”

“That is all we want,” replied the far- mer, his countenance changing, and again flinging himself by his wife oa his knees by the bed. * Promise ns never to reveal it while we live, and we shall be quite satistied. We haye no children, and when we go, those inty come to the old spot who will.”

“Promise me never fo practice this trick again,” said John Basford.

“We promise faithfully,” rejoined the farmer and wife.

* Then I promise too,” said the Friend, “that nota whisper of what has passed here shall pass my lips during your lite- tine.”

With -warmest expressions of thanks, the farmer and his wife withdrew; and John Basford, having cleared ie chatm- ber of its mystery, lay down and passed one of the sweetest nights he ever en- joyed, )

The farmer and his wife lived a good many years after this, but they both died before Mr. Basfurd, and after their death he related to his friends the facts which are here detailed. He, too, has passed, years ago, to his longer night in the grave, and to the clearing up of greater myste- ries than that of —the Llaunted House of Charnwood Forest.

nreal Judas!” ex- *Who could have

panna —— ha PHS VBAMINR

PAS SAWS a. Saturday, January il, 1S3i.

Sicrteonchsaonydnonaiantehugpinapeonce-aelpaneipemenea-aperteomeaxh aeeapiatiarsin=- aa apa meinen —sonemmner

To Cur Readers.

Tuere are intervals in the career of @ Public Journalist, when, relaxing from the conflicts of Party, and forgetung for atime all the other movements of the busy World without, courtesy and custoim sanction the indulgence of personal gow sip, when the editor is freely permitted te sean the relationship subsisting between himself and his readers, reviewing his conduct during the Past, and anticipating what it may or ought to be forthe Future. The present sheet being the Isst of the First Volume of our New Seties, we feel that we have attained to such an sat

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