First Quarter 4th day, 11h. Lim, evening. Ww. considered too good for you, and how at last your father died, years before I could shelter b dante Pull Moon Ith day; 3h. 50m. evening. N.E. after those terrible lawsuits, and you came here, and for two. tree. r Last Quarter 19th day, 2h. 30m. morning. S. E. years had been working so nobly to support your dear mother! “ Well, at last, my artist@sp New Moon 27th day, 4h, 32m. morning. EE. N. E. and the children. And [ told him how it almost killed me to obstacle. I abjured the mercantile darcé Seg, ax — see my darling, who had been such a carefully tended blossom, | destined me for, and which’ only stern necessity compe naps, ee ae ] Literature going out day after day to work for her family, and .” to seek, and, with the assistance of several friends, I went modified, but Martie ie MOA, Here the good woman broke down, She always did when | abroad, and remained in Rome three years. Ah, me! what) ence which was lavisl fore anne OP gs saat talking of our misfortunes, promises of constancy bave those red lips rained into MY jog bin to think himse . WINTER SCENES. | “Oh, nurse! how could you say all this to a stranger ?” | thirsty heart! what sweet tears from those May blue eyes | others might consider rig ~ i. secleitd dautis si’ le Glaioe'iies, | “ Why, dear child, don’t feel unhappy about it. He listen- | have dewed my forehead! Marmaduke married ata

o " :

A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LI

4 the 12th instant,

wit reatest dl, in Se dal ncar of ond, of St. Johua’s,

EDWARD WHELAN]

eo

Vou. VI. -&

Qe. xan EE

MOON’S PHASES. — DECEMBER, 1856.

Chis is true Liberty, when Free-~born Men, having to advise the JJublic, man

CHARL

up, among the very best of the land, and how nothing was

As cold as it ever can be ; The roar of the storm is heard like the chime Of the waves on an angry sea. The moon is full, but her silver light The storm dashes out with his wings to-night ; And over the sky from south to north, Not a star is seen as the winds come forth In the strength of a mighty glee.

All day the snow came down—all day— As it never came down before,

And over the earth at night there lay | Mason, and he left his card ; but I understand well enough | horses were weighed in the balance with the love of the; Ajj things bave anend, and so it was with the life of J Some two or three feet or more. who he’ll come to see, Miss Mary.” poor artist, and after a struggle—so I have since learned Marmaduke Mellen. Poor woman! her life had beea 4

The fence was lost, ana the wall of stone ; | That evening, at supper, Mr. Alcott Mills was the one topic from one who knew her intimately—the selfishness of from a happy one. Meekly and uncomplainingly she ha

ga rn . a sehen te om; of conversation. Mr. Mason gave us what little knowledge of | the lady triumphed over the heart. of the woman. One| walked through life, yielding in all things to the strong wil

And the woodpile looked like a monster-drift, As it lay at the farmer's door.

As the night set in, came hail and snow, )town until autumn. /constancy—TI would sooner have distrusted the love of the wedded life, which she had vutured to do without bis And the air grew sharp and chill, __ “ But I can’t imagine what on earth he wants to see me| mother that bore me, but I feared that sickness or some pormission. "

And the warning roar of a sullen blow | for,” added the master of the house, as he passed his cup to be other evil had overtaken my idol. ___ Mr. Mellen missed his wife. It would have heen strange Was heard on the distant il © two itpirtve il | replenished. I saw his pretty wife exchange a very significant) ‘“ Ove day I sat in my studio at Rome, when a package | jf he had not. He began to fee) that she had been far more

tise ds ales wasnt alae? [elanee with ber maker a sho reeied vrs Drought me.’ How cogely T uma itt “Bat U)ecesary to his comfort than he supose. He hel

He shouts along the plain, Ho! Ho! | * * * * * * * * * [searched in vain for the fair, delicate chirography, whose) },ousekeeper, but found that she was far from supplying the

Ie drives from his nostrils the blinding snow, And growls with a savage will!

Such « night as this to be found abroad In the snow and the stinging air, A shivering dog, in the field by the road, When the hail through his shaggy hair The wind drives hard, doth crouch and growl, And shut his eyes with a dismal how! ; Then to shield himself from the coming sleet, lis nose is pressed on his quivering feet, Pray, what does the dog do there?

His master came from the town to-night, And lost the travelled way ;

And for hours he trod with main and might A path for his horse and sleigh ;

But deeper still the snow-drifts grew,

And colder still the fierce wind blew ;

And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown,

At last o’era log had floundered down, That deep in a hugo drift lay.

Many a plunge, with a frenzied snort, She made in the heavy snow ; And her master strove till his breath grew short, With a word and a gentle blow ; 3ut the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight, His hands were nemb‘d and had lost their might ; So he struggled back to his sleigh again, And strove to shelter himself in vain, With his coat and his buffalo.

He has given the last faint jerk of the rein To rouse up his dying steed ;

And the poor dog howls to the blast in vain Por help in bis master’s need.

He strives for a while with a wistful cry

To catch but a glance from his heavy eye ;

And wags his tail if the rade wind flap

The skirts of his coat across his lap, And whines that he takes no heed.

The wind goes down, the storm is o’er, Tis the hour of midnight past ; The forest writhes and bends no more In the rush of the mighty blast. The moon looks out with a silver light On the high old bills, with the snow all white, And the giant shadow of the Camel’s Hump,

Where she lay when she floundered down !

—— >

NOT FOR MONEY.

“Tf thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.”

( Concluded.)

ed to every word with so much interest; and when I spoke ‘about Mr. Stowell, and how he wanted to marry you after your father’s death, he got right up and walked quickly across

OTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MON

‘many wealthy suitors, know

“ But we parted. The next year her father failed. Julia

/Was an on!y child and a spoiled one. Admiration,'social ex- | ,citement and elegant surroundings, were necessities to her. | the room, muttering to himself: ‘ She is a noble girl—one of |

“She bad not inner riches to meet outer poverty, and not

| Nature’s diamonds, above all price ;’ and when he came and | moral courage to brave the change in her circumstances.

sat down again, his eyes shone through a mist—J am certain |

it was tears,”

I buried my burning face in my hands, and the old woman ‘went on,

|__“ Mr, Mills said he should call in a few days to sce Mr.

his history he had incidentally obtained among his friends. | The young man wasa very promising artist. He had just 'returned from the Continent, and was expecting to remain in

}

Mr. Mason was engaged in a large book-binding establish- ‘meut, and it was ostensibly to consult him with regard to the _rejuventation of some old, but valuable books, that Mr. Mills 'called at his residence a few evenings later. | Mr. Mason and his wife had, however, goneto a concert, so | L was left to entertain the young man until their return. If 1 did not do this to bis satisfaction, [ at least was equally inter- /ested and refreshed by his conversation, Under any cireum- stances, I should have enjoyed it exceedingly, but almost entirely excluded frem congenial companionship as I had been for the last two years, it was not strange but those graceful thoughts, and that suggestive imagery, all bound together with noble sentiments, and high, earnest, yet practieal views of life, and occasionally outsparkling with wit and humour, should have beea to me an inspiration, almost an intoxication,

* You must fiud your work very arduous this warm weather. You are looking pale and weary, too, all but your eyes,” said my guest, pausing suddenly in his conversation, and sweeping my face with his deep, radiant eyes. “ You ought to ride out in the country, twice a week, at least. How L wish you would give me the pleasure of your company on an excursion.”

“Thank you. I fear it would not be possible for me to leave the shop long enough 7

‘Pardon my interruption, Miss Marshall. if I will procure you leave of absence ?”

Before I could reply, Mr. and Mrs. Mason entered the par- lour, but, on Mr. Mills rising to leave, he said to me in an undertone :

“ You did not answer my question ; will you do it now ?”

“Yes ; 1 will go if they can spare me. But I do not see how they can possibly do this.”

He smiled. It was one of those rare smiles that warm, and brighten, and enrich a whole face.

“They shall, though.”

Will you go

red brick walls, and brown, dusty streets of the city, for the green meadows, the cool shadows, and sweet bird songs of the country. scenes, for my city transportation bad been a forced one, and the flower longed still for the country dew and sunsbive

By which its bud was nursed.

I look back half a dozen years to that afternoon, and I can re-all very little of what we said for the first hour. I re-

These were Mr. and Mrs. Stowell, and as my eyes met the

shook her lips as she went by.

questioned, as we swept on.

And they did. The next Thursday afternoon we left the’

How my heart sprang out to its old childloves and |

“ There was little apology for her, though. A remnant of

| her father’s fortune, sufficient to secure his small family from | want, was secured to it.

But just before the failure, Mr. Stowell, the millionaire, had seen and greatly admired her.

| Now, he offered himself, and his elegant house and fine

‘month they were betrothed, the next they were married. |‘ For two montbs I had not heard of my betrothed, and , her silence perplexed and alarmed me, I did not doubt her

|very sight thrilled the palace of my being. It was not there, and in my disappointment I dropped the letters and papers to the floor. At last I half unconsciously lifted one of the letters, opened it, and the fiist lines my eyes rested on where those that arvounced the marriage of Mr. Stowell, the millionaire, with Julia Ellis. Ob, black, blasting hour! that lifted up a waste of desolation from all the others in my ife, your memory has not power to stir me now!

“OF course I suffered—any man of my nature must, to find his idol, clay. But it was brief. The mists passed away from my eyes; the woman went out from the bridal ‘chamber where [ had sanctified and consecrated her in my heart; andas she went, I looked for a moment on her true soul, How stark and shrivelled it was!

“*Go, go out of my heart!’ [ said at last, very calmly and without any bitterness of spirit, for L pitied her; pitied her, that she had barteved, for the husks of this life, the great jewel of my affect'on !”

Alcott Mills paused, I could not answer him for the tears that were dripping from my eyes. I think he saw them. At all sieuts Lis head leaned down to me as he said, low and solemnly, “She went out of my heart, and I shut its

within the last month,an angel hascome to me. She stands now on the threshold of my heart. I have seen the radiant crown she wears, and in it are set great jewels of love and sympathy, and self-sacrifice. Oh, how dark and miserable, and meagre scems Julia, the earth woman, the earth love, beside her !

“The angel stands on the threshold. I have opened the doer, Do you think she will walk in, Mary ?”

J looked up in bewildered surprise, but the first glance into those deep-set, shining eyes, revealed his meaning. In truth dawned and dazzled over my being. I loved, and I was be'oved ! ‘

It was no time for the display of maiden*art or’affecta- tion, not even for rightful maiden timidity. Solemnly as the question had been asked, my soul answered it: “I will go in, Alcott.”

A month later I went home. I had not apprised the family of my engagement; I had only written them to ex- pect me ona certain day, and a dear friend with me.

But the letter never reached them. It was late in the

’ Of ledge, and tree, and ghostly stump, member the river broke a glorious God painting before my | afternoon when Alcott and [ left the depot in a private | '° oe over her, but was quite prepared for such aa

. On the silent plain are cast. enraptured eyes. Qn one side lay its dark background of | carriage that conveyed us over the three miles which inter- nave °y aahewe hed all th ; : :

: : woods, the light wind heaving up the heavy foliage, and the | vened between us and home. As we drew near our cottage, 3 candies J edit See eee above mention-

* But there are they—by the hidden log— sunlight writing ‘ts epistles of love on the dark blue page of I observed several persons raking hay in the fields on our | te a ae a ae ie a her on the day appointed,

. Who came that ge pig Ary ae the waters, as it rolled up the green distance a dimple of right. The youngest of these suddenly lifted his head and § a ead y rr “i; is proposal, and fixed upon an Ail ooh we ees paca i a ¢ °6s beauty on the broad bosom of earth. looked at us. The rake dropped from his hands, he brushed , ©" Y Marriage Cay. his was not long in arriving. Four

’ He ai in his sleigh—his face is bland— Suddenly an elegant open carriage swept along. I glanced his straw hat from his forehead, and then with one bound | a Bocas 4 the date of aaa ar Sone Kent bade

e With Bs cap on his head, and the reins in his hand ; admiringly at the coal black horses, with their silver-mounted and a loud sbriek, “ Goodness alive! if that isn’t my sister ia tal M . Me a Meit er . er first husband,

' The dog with his head on his master’s fect, caparisoniags, at the-daintly gloved groom, and with a quick Mary !” he was over the bars, and T was out of the carriage, °° came Mrs. Marmaduke Meiien the second.

And the horse half seen through the crusted sleet, start at the occupants of the carriage. ‘and in his arms, sobbing only, “ Fred! oh, my brother !” For a brief period all went smoothly, Mr. Mellen though

| He needn’t have blushed, though. His coat was off, and

former he bowed with a little more than his usual stateliness, his handsome face was sunbrowned. I turned and pre- made known to his wife the plan of government which heg while the head of his young wife bent in graceful acknow- | sented him to the elegant stranger in the carriage, whose adopted for her benefit. ledgment of my companion’s recognition, but a quick quiver eyes were shining through a mist of tears, and. whose voice |

was hoarse as he clasped Fred’s hand and returned his

“ Mrs. Stowell isan old friend of yours, Mr. Mills?” 1) greeting.

In a few minutes we were at home; my arnis were about

door, and a'l was quiet there—quiet, but so empty. But, |

& moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the great solemn life-|

mild inoffensive sort of womaty” | thought of chopping her own heatgyy /command of her liege lord. Her sub ‘in Marmaduke the idea of man’s gs Accustomed to have his slightest wish reg. unconsciously acquired a certain degree | which, besides striking into the heart of his un had the effect of making him generally unpopular, him to be regarded, in surrounding households, as ,modern Blue Beard.

of her despotic husband, Ungrudging!y she had, devote | herself to his service. She now took the liberty to die—the ‘only thing, it may be said, during the whole course of her

place of his deceased wife. Besides, being a housekeeper, _he did not feel at liberty to order her about as authoritatively as if she were his wife.

Under these circumstances, it was not strange that Mr. Mellen should think of taking to himself a second partner. He pondered for a long time on che important question. On whom, of all the marriageable ladies of his acquaintance, shduld he bestow the honor of his hand ?

This was a weighty question, and he felt it to be so. He jondered long and anxiously. Hisanxiety, however, did not proceed from any apprehension of rejection, in whatever quar- ter he might pay his addresses, That idea never crossed his mind, It was rather that of one, who, having a variety of articles presented for his acceptance, is puzzled ‘to decide of which to make choice. ¥

At length, he decided upon addressing Mrs. Kent, a widow who had lately moved into the neighbourhood. Of Mrs. Kent, personally, he knew little, except that she had a moderate property left her by her husband.

Having once made up his mind he proceeded, with a prompt- ness worthy of Napoleon, to put his plan into execution, Pee. | With the air of one conferring a favour, he laid his proposal before the fortunate lady whom he had selected as the recipient of his addresses.

Mrs. Kent took the matter very coolly. She requested time for consideration.

Mr. Marmaduke Mellen was somewhat surprised that any lady should require time to consider such a brilliant proposal. However, as he felt quite easy about the ultimate answer, he merely bowed*acquiescence, informing the lady that he would wait upon her that day week.

Mrs. Kent was not ignorant of Marmaduke’s imperious \character. She could not help hearing of what was a topic of general remark. She well knew that the death of the first Mrs. Mellen was generally attributed toa long course of tyranny on the part of her husband.

Did not all this lead her to reject his suit summarily ?

It did not. Mrs. Kent was aware that, whatever might be Mr. Melien’s peculiarities of temper, he was a man of wealth and position. Of course, as his wife, she would share _in these advantages. As to the drawback hinted above, she was a woman of strong will, and did not feel particularly dismayed. She anticipated that Mr. Mellen would attempt

it best to wait until the close of the honeymoon before

One day, after the usual dinner hour, Mr. Mellen to find his mother-in-law seated quietly at the beside his wife. Now, to mothers-in-law-¥ special abhorrence. He would have been ve have had one cnter his home.

“Yes; I knew her once intimately.” After a pause, my wother’s neck, my sister's kisses were on my cheek. That Y As, however eo “ Shall I tell you, briefly, a passage in her past life ?” is a I can > = of that ee . - peanapcee aoald - faite ont ivi : r| “LT should greatly like to hear it ?” never returned to my toil in the city. y sister Annie | was disposed to have their visits like thos ao Ree nes nin eee ee “T met J lia Ellis (now Mrs, Stowell) eight years ago, took charge of the school which was to have been mine, and| he was far e ' onsidering si. lanced towards the table, and with a low shriek of when her life was coming into the bloom of its seventeenth , Fred obtained a situation in an academy He is at college | between. “Acco ingly, theydg, delight I reached it ana buried my face among dewy moss summer. For four years I was her father’s clerk ; for two I now, and winning laurels there. The next October, Alcott the hapless lady sustaining their ] roses and crimson verbenss among creamy tulips and purple | was her affianced husband. I do not wonder your blue eyes | and I were married. Six years I have been his wife—his a welcome one, italments have bee heliotrope , r ‘turn to ns with pn — — _ I re 7 ae two monosyllables embody all the happiness the l ae was ne all. Age as possible with “Oh. : - of understand now how I ever loved her, ever thoug make | earth holds for me. o order up dinner befor: : “ ioe oma ee bene pee see - oe on fe ) ak the woman crowned and consecrated of my life. And | We live in the country, reader, in a cottage, nestled down nearly an hour late, but, Wa. SWABEY, lar chitis wade anil ites cele beautiful blossoms, yet she was beautiful, she certainly is that now, and I made among the trees; and every May-time the rosé vines write duty to wait for him, em. aoe one wlth: uieet ein uisite taste, Where did you get the mistake that many a man older and wiser than I have | thetr crimson romances on the pillars of the portico. on, ee , , | Queen-street, ; them ?” ‘ : ‘done before me. I thought this outward loveliness was a type My husband is nota rich man—I doubt whether he ever; “ Eating dinner 2?” h pgether with - pe A a not mine, Miss Mary, darling, Mr. Mills | of the inner. willbe. I certainly do not care, for have I not the uufa-’asperity, 3 he enteredaises are at present le left. ther 7 uae ddan tiadlel ts.” Pry aio “ The earth beauty took captive my imagination, my intel- thomable, uospeakable riches of his love, and do you think [| « Yes, said Mrs, Jd subject to such le “ He did!” P o ‘leet, my affections; and when under the old poplar trees in would barter these for Mr. Stoweli’s palace avd diamonds, to day, and as mo known to need

“Qh, aurse! how deliciously fragrant. What does it

he ¥

| Ap ther’s suburban home, with the winds rocking the green’ and carriage ? hungry, we decided : = at . a RN ile abbie ny I said to her, ‘Will you go with me to) God has rewarded me in this life for these two years of | “ And I suppos aera ER: eI “ You oe was here nearly three hours, and I never sawa the end, Julia?” and she wound her white arms about my “ much suffering,” but he does not always do this here,/ ed to eat a cold Swi No. 49. Th ae

; ft peach blossom of her cheek to mine, reader. « Really, Mryp the fost ‘ __ This tracpal a in te oe The hereafier may hold the blessing and the benediction, | in some surpr Sitered- covered | ry «So Lam, a i gh “le

s er.

nicer, handsomer gentleman in my life. Then he’s so easy neck mine

i f ‘ i ‘and echoed in her lute like voice, ‘To the end, Alcott!’ it is | : :

wit The hatch hie eit here wiatse’ igh ued a ieee that I thought her the woman clect of my soul— but God keeps it, and He cannot forget. | i

too.” y , "the beautiful ae embodiment of my ideal. I know the life burdens may be very heavy, and the heart) for me.” - dl

: nac i i h fail beneath them, but, “as our day is,so| ‘ However

“ Did von 2” ome S y . “ How cou see, in my mad worship of my idol, that and the fles n em, but, “as y 18, fe

for i wocthane so ae ae enc oe =e no s'amine, no persistence, no stren.t in her shall our strength be.” The light in which I walk now Yes 3 y nurse's garruious propensity, ane y generous and warm hearted, there would not be so bright if the darkness had not gone before ; |

, imagi -. ane | 2. Impulsive! ) y ot ¢ “* de pce oe ned o_o — . a — | ae great caine of selfishness in her nature ; and , teenies pens would not look so fair, if I had not

hi 5 pe. ae of course, wT prio oon ¢ we thom b SAS Aa 8 mnie er ee fer ie er We cannot tell. what discipline would be best for us; h g im how many years | have lived in y ‘ ’s family, and does, cr : , 2 i Fact : “ ? ¢ Misia 1 thked four bias iges eébp in sho Sige thie 90 can- has rendered her incapable of woman's life re : es ern = — af hot remember, and loved you just as well us if you were my, “ As 1 said, I was a clerk in her father’s shop, and I was’ com , and, taking gently

| own child. I told him, too, how delicately you were brought poor. Julia was aware of all this, and she elected me above’ lead us at last to the morning.

“