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VOL. XAVIL

The Cxrminer BUSINESS CARDS.

1s Printed and Peblished every Mouday Perencon, BY

OFFICE:

A A ; Che Corner Queen and King Streets.

ts canal Ware el E. GC. NELSON, within the year; $2.00 if not paid withhin| IMPORTIOR & REPAIRER the year. oF

CLUB RATES:

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5 copies. ene address, - - - - - 3 6.00 Oct. 25, 1875.—ly 0 , “ ses _ - i ri rrr 180] MacKENZIE & STUMBLES,

Clubs may ! ule up atany time, but A t () 10g)

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FESS nmr eoewnerrs| ~ B=32e | SeoueeseSzss!< | Charlottetown, - - P. E. Island. é 2% a - ai te i a aia | ne October 18, 1875.—ly

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ALMANAC FOR MARCH, 1876,

MOON'S CHANGES. First Quarter, 3d day, 5h. 35m. a. m., N. below horizon. Full Moon, 10th day, 2h. Om., a. m., N., below horizon. Last Quarter, 17th day, 9h. 12m. p. m., W., below horizon.

New Moon, 25th day, 3h. 59m., p. m.,S. W., | yreasrs, J

p! SUN MOON | HIGH DAY’s

pay wees, §6=| si rises jwater len’th

{ , [rise | sets{ | 7 “au MIR MM M 7 2 1 Wean'sd’y 6 44/5 42) 8 33; 12310 58 9 Thursday | 42} 43; 9 7} 2 811 ‘2 3 Friday 40' 441 9 53| 3 QO * 4 Satorday 38} 46) 10 56 4 21 8 3)Sunday $6) 47/:A 11) 6 5& 11 6| Monday 34} 48 153) 7 42 14 7i Tuesday $2; 50: 2 57| 8 57 18 g'Wedn'sd’y' 30) 51) 417! 9 39 21 9'Thursday 29; 53! 5 35) 10 19 24 10\F riday 27; 54) 6 49) 10 55 27 11(Saturday 25; 56; 8 2; 11 30 31 lz Sunday 22) 57) 9 IZA ] 35 13) Blonday 21; 59} 10 23; 0 29 33 14) Tuesday 20:16 OF 11 83! 1 5 40 15;\Wedn'sd’y! 17) 1M i 42 44 16/Thursday 15) 2} 0 35) 2 26 47 17' Friday 14 44 143) 318 50 18 Saturday 1 &| 287; 420 54 ig Sunday 9 6 3 23) 5 30) 57 26 Monday 8 8 3588 6 55/12 0 21\Tuesday ¢ oo 426 8 1 3 22)Wedn'sd’y 4| 11) 448, 8 51) 7 23, Thursday 2) 191 & 8 937 10 #4 Friday 5 59} 13) 5 24) 10 10 i4 25'Saturday 58; 15; 5 40; 10 45 17 26 Sunday 56, 16 5 56 11 20 20 27 Monday 54) 17) 6 15? 11 54 23 28 Tuesday 52; 18 6 38M 26 a Wedn's'dy' 59 19 7 8 0380, 29 20 Thursday | 48 21) 749 1 11) 33 21Friday (5 46/6 22, 8 46 1 59112 36

— eee a a ee

PRICES CURRENT. Ch’town, March 7, 1876. BREADSTUFFS.

Buckwheat Flour, per 1b 0.03 to 0.34 Flour, per bb! 5.50 to 7.00 Flour, per 100 lbs 3.00 to 3.25 Oatmeal, per 100 lhs 2.79 to 3.00 FISH. Codfish per qtl 3.50 to 5.00 Herring per bbl 4.87 to 6.49 Mackerel per doz. 0.48 to 0.72 BOARDS. Hemlock, 100 feet. 0.81 to 0.94 Pine do 1.62 to 2.40 Spruce do 0.97 to 1.30 Shingles, per M. 2.11 to 2.48 POULTRY.

$0.50 to 0.70 0.24 to 0.35 0.25 to 0.40 0.25 to 0.30 0 80 to 1.75 6.50 to 0.75

Chickens, per pair Ducks, (each) Fowis, (each) Partridges, (each) Turkeys, (each) Geese (each) MEAT.

Beef, (small pieces) per Ib

+ per lb (by the quarter)

$0.08 to 0.14 0.06 to 0.10

+ per lb 0.10 to 0.12 b, per quarter 0.00 to 0.00 » per ib 0.06 to 0.09 Matton, per Ib 0.07 to 0.12

(small pieces) per ib 0.08 to 0.12 , per Ib (by the carcass) 0.96 to 0.074

Veal, per lb 0.04 to 0.08 MISCELLANEOUS.

Apples per bushel

u€y per bushel

r (fresh) per |b

ter per Ib by the tub

Calfskins, per ib (new iniik) per lb

0.80 to 1.00 0.00 to 0.75 0.20 to 0.25 0.16 to 9.19 0.06 to 0.12 0.14 to 0.16

» per Ib 0.05 to 0.08

ver seed, per lb 0.00 to 0.60

» per doz. 0.25 to 0.32 Teen Peas, 0.00 to 0.00 | ¥, per ton 7.00 to 10 00 |

ides, per lb. 0.04 to 0.44

Honey, per lb. 8.25 to 0.32 omespun, (men’s wear)per yd. 0.65 to 1.00 Homespun, (women’s do)per yd 0.35 to 0°48 Homespun Flanuel, per yard 0.31 to 9.46 rd, per Ib 0.12 to 0.16 ‘3, per bushe. 0.36 to 0.38 Potatoes, per bushel 0.25 to 0.32 Pearl Barley, per |b 0.03 to 0.04 *Ppskins 0.50 to 1.0 2aw. per top 4.50 to 2.50 fallow per ib 9.07 to 0.10 Grnips, per bush. 0.16 to 0.20 Wool, per Ib 0.17 to 0.25 —

The Greatest Medical Discovery

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After lengthened experiments,

Dr. Samuel La’Mert,

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Dr. La Mert's work on ares

aoe Phisiclogy of Marriage, domes te Of the causes that lead to Went of infelicity, and prevent the attam-

the legitimate objects of the

of Pate may be had, price 25 cents, |

z, 7 of ah. Druggist, Halifax,

Parr, Druggist, Yar- my £, 5: of Henry Eiliott. Pictou,N. 8., PRR L remner Brothers, Charlottetown,

- 488.8, 1875,

|

LED (CP Or.

THE EXAMI

CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1876.

POSTAGE PREPAID

I

NER-:

heyy '

NO. I

COOMBS & WORTH,

51 WATER STERE a°. | Charlottetown,

Jan.17°76 ly

G1 WATER STREET, Opposite Merchants Bank,

Charlottetown, - - - - PR E-L | J. E. Haszarp, | Horace Haszarp.

— :0:-——

REFERENCES: ' Messrs. Greenshields, Son & Co., Montreal, | Messrs. W. & R. Brodie, Quebec, . S. Farlow & Co., Boston, | Henry Lawson, Esq., Halifax, N. 5S. | Hon. Daniel Davies, Charlottetown, P. E.T, May 3, 1875.

REVERE HOUSE,

ADJOINING THE POST OFFICE,

ALBERTON, - - - - P. BL

in good style, and wishes to inform his friends, and the public gene- rally that he is prepared to accommodate

Trausiext and Permanent Boarders.

Charges moderate. Good Stabling on

the premises. RICHARD GLADNEY, Proprietor. Alberton, Sept. 13, 1875.

INSURANCE COMPANY

PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

BOARD OF DIRECTORS: Ropert LonGcwortnH, Esq.. President, Hon. Jas. DUNCAN,

Hon. L. C. OWEN,

lion. A. A. MCDONALD,

Hon. J. C- Pore,

Tuomas HaNDRAUAN, Esq.,

Gronce R. BEER, Esq.

Risks taken daily at their office, corner Great George and Lower Water Streets. F. W. HALES, Secrretay.

Ch’town, March 22, 1875—ly

§T. LAWRENCE Marine Insurance So.

PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

Authorized Capital, - ~- $300,000. Subscribed Capital, - - 143,950.

30ARD OF DIRECTORS:

ARCHIBALD Kennepy, President.

Joun F. ROBERTSON,

ARTEMAS LORD,

P. W. H¥NDMAN,

Raten B. PraKe,

THOMAS MORRIS,

GrorGE D. LONGWORTI. Risks taken daily at their office, Exchange

Building. FREDERICK W. HYNDMAN,

Ch’town, March 22, 1875.—ly Secretary.

en

IMPERIAL Fire [ugurance Company

OF LONDON.

subscribed & Invested Capital, £1.965.000 tg.

The above Office being of UNDOUBT- ED STANDING, guarantees perfect security and Prompt Payment of Losses.

DETACHED DWELLINGS insured for One, Two, or Three Years on SPE- CIALLY ADVANTAGEOUS

TERMS. FENTON T. NEWBERY, AGENT. Jan. 18, 1874. ly

THE LIVERPOOL & LONDON AND CLOBE

INSURANCE COMPAN)

FirE AND LIFE.

Invested Funds, 1st Jan’y., 1874, $21,628,356 Deposited with Receiver Gener-

al of Canada, ; sie 162,800 Other Investments in Domiaion of Canada, 367,091

ae

FAIR RATES.

| ‘Prompt & Liberal Setilements, | deneelisaales

surance against Fire effected upon Pri- vane Residences, Household Furniture and

Farm Properties, for Gue, Three or more years, At Reduced Kates, Otlice—Great George Street, Charlotte-

town, P. E. I. ow" R. FITZGERALD, Agent

Ch’town, July 27, 1874,.—6m

105 PRINTERS & BOCKBINDERS

William L, C‘otton,

P. E. Island. |

The subscriber has fitted up the above House |*

PORTRY.

| THE FISH AND THE GOLD RING,

ae i | land A ftisher’s skiff rocked lazily ofr rough Newfoundland’s coast; Uer her the clouds drooped hasily, Like banners of a host.

The fisher kept his weary watch, And plied his dripping lines,

And anxious eyed the scanty catch His tiny bark confines.

The day was done—dull evening came— For home the toiler left,

Where soon by his industrious dame Each fish was defuy cleft.

When lo! from out the offal slid

A ring ef finest gold ; Strange that such uncouth casket hid An heirloom quaint and old!

Weird things transpire beneath the skies, 4 More weird within the deep; Known only to those sapient eyes

That ward and vigil keep.

Of this occurrence naught but guess, For nome the secret knew,

Till on the pinions of the: press Across the wave it ficw.

A stranger to Newfoundland hied; When he the circlet saw,

‘* My long lost mother’s ring,’ he cried, And, wondering, stood in awe.

Oh God! in sunshine and in storm ‘Thy guiding hand we trace; W ho gave this frail memorial from Yon stormy steep Cape Race. Fall fifty pounds our fisher got; God 8 Ways are wonderous wise; To him a ne'er torget-me-not— A blessing in disguise. —Forest and Stream.

LITERATURE. MARCUS WARLAND ; THE LONG MOSS SPRING.

OR,

CHAPTER XV.

‘ But, Letty!’ cried Florence, while Marcus was receiving with due respect the ostens tatious but sincere amende honorable of her stately uncle, ‘I fear you have betrayed my trust. How could Pellam discover the secret of my disguise ?’

‘I knows that too, Miss Florence,’ re- plied the all-divining Letty, ‘and I'll tell you all’bout it. When we were in that strange place where Master Marcus lay sick; you 'member one night how you took off your fixings jist to let his father see how pretty you be. Well, that night arter you came back in your room, you sat down near the window, and I looked out t’other one. Says you, ‘I hate to put this ugly stuff on my face any more. but I must: That dear: good man, how he seemed to love me, and how I love him too! Here, Letty, muiaito~ fy me again.’ Then I fixed you up just as you was afore, and you went out, and you says, ‘I wonder if he will kaow me now,’ Then | noticed that the curtain was a leetle one side,and I looked out a sudden and sees a man looking right into the window, and the moment I sot eyes on him, I knew it was Master Pellam, Idid. I never let on a word ’bout it, ‘cause I know ’twould scare Miss Florence. Soon as he see me, he dart off like ole snake, nobody know where. I scared almost to death for fear he tell on Miss Florence. Put he go off, say nothing, do nothing. I thought he all time in Texas. I wish he where he ought to be, and all his kinfolk, that I do.”

‘Wherever he may be!’ exclaimed Mar, cus, ‘ retribution shall follow him.’

‘Amen!’ uttered Delaval.

‘Oh! he is not worthy of your resent~ ment,’ cried Florence. ‘Surely Marcus, surely, brother, you would not condescend to wreak your vengeance on one so far be- neath your contempt? The man who could inflict the dastard stroke from which you have so lately recovered, Marcus, should be left to the :

‘Hangman’s hands,’ interrupted Delaval. ‘ Sho is right; she always is—that is some- times.’

‘I saw a gentleman a few days since,’ remarked Mr. Alston, ‘who met young Pellam on the confines of Texas. From his account I should think my niece was correct when she observed that he was un- worthy the resentment of an honorable man. He was completely inebriated, and is habit- ualiy subject to fits of intoxication. I would advise every selfrespecting young gentle- man to leave him to the degradation he has brought upon himself.’

‘Yes,’ said Florence, ‘uncle is wise and just in his counsels, Let us leave him to his own evil heart and baffled passions. Let us forget his very name. But how shall we reward our second, or rather, third Daniel—our modern Portia, who has un- rayelled this web of deceit, and shown @& faith in the honour of our friend that shames our distrust and injustice? Letty what can {do for you? You saved my life when a child. You have restored mea far richer boon than life, Tell me how I can prove my gratitude ?'

‘By just saying nothing at all, Miss Flors ence,’ said the modern Portia. ‘J loves you a heap better than I does myself, and J couldn’t be happy, nohow, when I see you the object of secret melancholy, Every night when you think Letty fast asleep,she watch you all shining in the moonlight, like a suffocating angel as you was, and she feel a'most willing to die, if young mistress only smile as she used to long time ago,’ Florence laid her beautiful hands on Letty’s jetty fingers, tears trembled ia her in her eyes and her bosom heaved beneath its veiling lace.

¢ Your own heart will reward you, Letty,’ said she, ‘and mine will bless you,’

‘ Letty, you are a noble girl, cried Dee laval, with enthusiasm. ‘You deserve to ke canonized. I will have a statue erected to you, and you shall be worshipped as the presiding genius of distressed lovers through the coming time.’

‘You make fun of Letty, Master George but no matter. [t does me a power of good to seo you all yourself again, I don’t want nothing to do with cannons, though ; [’'ve no use for them.’

‘Yousre akind, excellent, and noble- hearted creature,’ said Marcus, grasping her hand with cordial gratitude, * As lam the most of all obliged,I ought the most abund- antly to reward.’

‘This nigger nothing but a fool, for all she try to make out herself to be so smart,’ cried Letty, with an immense smile; ‘ but I'll tell you what I do want, Master Marcus if you please; I want to see you and Miss

Florence make up; that what I want. — ‘ Bravo!’ i Delaval, laughing,

and clapping his hands. ‘Bravo! Letty.

| An incident of the loss of the steamship | ae? Saxon,” off Cape Race, Newfound. |

] 2 Ses | Verily thou shalt have the feffvity of sce- | beloved violin, but hid himself when the

Be ie ‘ing you make up with Warland, as Letty | hour of separation arrived. Delaval enx

‘means that is in, the good oldsfashioned | deavored to persuade him that Letty was

| kissnand-be- friends sort of way.’

| Florence, over whose face ten | blushing shadows were rolling, escaped from the room, Marcus, who knew by in- | tuition that she had gone to the library soon followed. There he indeed found her, in her favourite window seat, partly shaded by the well-remembered crimson curtain. She was weeping, but her tears were not the night-dew of sorrow; they were the drops of the morning, that turn to diamonds in the sun.

‘Oh, how much have I to make up to you,’ she cried, as she shed those blissful tears on the bosom she had thought forever estranged, ‘Why did I not believe from the first that it was a vile forgery? Ah! it was a self-condemning conscience that made me a coward anda dupe. 1 feel now Mar- cus that | deserved to fall in your estima» tion, for allowing my love to triumph over the suggestions of prudence and of counsels of resisting friends, Mrs. Lewis to whom I confined my plans, besought, with earnest tears, to turn me from my wild purpose; but in vain. My brother was absent. I heard you were dying. The omnipotence of love removed every obstacle. But oh! I have been very rash, and, I fear now, very unwomanly.’

‘And can you think me such a cold, self- ish ingrate?’ exclaimed Marcu-. ‘ Yes you have been rash; for what is self-for- getfulness, selfsimmolation, but rashness? You have been unwomanly, only to be an gelic. Florence, I have admired your beauty, grace and talents, more than words of mine have ever told; for my esteem has always checked my admiration. Oh! be ever the Rosa of my heart’s home. Come to me with her downy touch and snowflake Step, and ever the same twilight hue,if you will, and if the world condemn you for a love so far transcending the merits that in- spired it, let my lips breathe the verdict for your crime, and imprisonment in my arms be the only penalty which you are doomed to suffer.’

‘I see you have made up.’ said Delaval, when, some time after, he entered the library, for pen, ink and paper; his fine black eyes bright with all that wonted fire. ‘ But you have not allowed poor Letty the only boon she asked, Any message to Miss Katy Warland?’ added as he was leaving the room.

‘ Don’t go, brother,cried Florence ; ‘there is the table where you always write, and here are eyes that love to look upon you. George,we ought to be called hereafter the Children of the Mist ’

‘I feel very much like the son of the morning now,’ said Delaval, seating him- self before the writing materials, ‘That was an unhappy allusion, however. You know who was called the ‘son of the morn- ing,’ and how be feil, Wariand, my dear fellow, ray glorious fellow,’ he exclaimed, springing up and seizing his hands in both his, ‘if you only knew how happy 1 am, you would not look so intolerably wretched yourself. Seriously, I feel such a specific lightness of spirit, I fear [shall go up ina natural baloon.’

‘ One question,’ said Florence, turning to Marcus, ‘I have forgotten to ask. How did you learn the identity of the humble Rosa and the proud Florence ?’

A shadow came over the sunny brow of Marcus. The solemn scene of his father’s death~bed rose up before him,and chasten~ ed the rapture of reconciliation.

‘My father, Florence,’ he answered, ‘with his dying lips, revealed the secret, that I might be convinced of the depth and tenderness of the heart whose,truth and con. stancy I was forced to doubt. He justified you with his last, fading breath, which he told me of the boundless debts which my life’s devotion never can repay.’

That was a glorious evening at Wood Lawn

as Delaval said more than once. The gay laugh of Florence was heard in silvery music once more in her dwelling. Her magnifi- cent voice again accompanied the keys of her neglected instrument. The flowers that had seemed scentless and dim, blush-

ed into new bloom and sweetness. Every thing had the brightness and beauty ofa new creation, for paradise was regained in the heart. If Letty was a belle before, there was no limit to her belle-ship from this period. The gratitude of those whom her shrewd and active spirit had restored to happiness did not evaporate in a few words of promise. They vied with each other in the number and value of their gifts, till Letty said her trunk was ‘ nothing buta show-box, sure enough,’ Her fame went abroad,and negroes came from distant plantations, when their holidays allowed them, to see the wisdom of Letty, and they went away thinking as Queen Sheba did, of the splendidly endowed son of David, that the half was left untold.

And now the sky is all blue, and the current is smooth, and the gales propitious, we feel as if we ought to lay down our pen. Indeed, the sunshine is too bright—it is dazzling. Where is the artist who ever attempted to paint a noonday sun?

After the usual time consecrated to the memory of the dead, there was a splendid wedding at Hickory Hill, not destined to so disastrous a termination as the 1l-starred Cora’s. It is an astonishing fact that Aunt Milly survived the elation and excitement of the occasion. To see Miss Katy, the child of her hopes and prayers,the mistress of such an establishment, to say nothing of her princely spirited husband,was the crown of her earthly ambition. As the still lovely and charming Mrs, Bellamy looked on the sweet young bride, whom she loved with alla mother’s tenderness, and thought of the night when she first saw her,@ poor and insolate little child, she blessed God, who put it into her heart to love and cherish her into the bloom and the beauty of womans hood.

It was a moment to be rembered, when Aunt Milly bade adieu to Bellamy Place,and rolling in a carriage behind her young mis- tress, fellowed her to her new home. She sept nodding her head to the negroes, as long as she eould catch a glimpse of the hickory trees, smiles and tears contending onher honest countenance. The habit of exaggaration she had acquired at the ferry~ man’s cabin had long since died in the plentitude and luxury in which she had been living. But it was owing to the purifying influence of religion, which open» ed her eyes to the beauty of truth, and con- vinced her that even affection, pure as her’s, could not sanctify the white little lies she formerly thought it no sin to utter.

Hannibal could not bid Katy good-bye.

He gave her a parting serenade with his

worthy to supplant the lost Coras in his af-

thousand | fections ; but the Carthaginian General

never suffered his constancy to the memory of the beautiful mulatto to vary one hair’s breadth. He felt with O’Connor’s ‘ Child,’ ‘ Oh, what is any living love, To that which cannot quit the dead ?’

The same wedding party soon after gathered at Wood Lawn to grace the nup- ticals of its beautiful mistress. And they came also from the north and south, and the east and the west for the invitations were sent farjand wide. It was a joyous and magnificent festival, as well it might be, for such a bridegroom and such a bride seldom are found among every»day mortals. It was equivalent to a double wedding, for the young master and his fair cheeked bride divided with the splendid pair the hymenial honors,

Aunt Milly and Letty were peeping in at the window, in the midst of many a smiling black face,

‘I dosay,’ cried Letty who looked some- thing like a bride herseif, so handsome and tasteful in her attire, ‘that Miss Florence and Master Marcus are the gloriousest couple that ever was created, and the way they do love each other —oh! you get along you Letty, you can’t begin to speak about it! Just see her look up at him with them eyes of hers. Now who ever did see a pair of eyes that could hold a candle to ’em ?’

‘Miss Katy’s can,’ said Aunt Milly, her tamily pride and affection kindling as she spoke, ‘ee she’s a looking sorter down, so modest and tender, and then she’s so fair and white, you can hardly tell which is which, her cheeks or the veil. Bless her little heart, J can see it flutter about now. She could not speak a cross word to save her life. She’s like the blessed virgins that kept their hair trimmed and burning, waiting for the bridegroom to come along.’ ‘She m'ghty pretty,but Miss Florence beat her all hollow,’ persisted Letty.

They probably continued for a long time discu:s ng the beauties and merits of the two young brides, but the music of the bend that came rolling out of the dancing hall drowned their voices ina flood of sound. The floor of the room where the dancers repaired was covered with most exs quisite figures, designed in chalk, soon to be effaced by the light-winged feet that skimmed over them. The whole lawn was illuminated with lamps, the back yards blazing with pine torches,and green boughs were hanging in front of every negro cabin. Many an airy couple was seen waltz- ing on the smooth, green lawn, and the way the negroes leaped and danced about the back yard, was, as Letty said ‘a caution.’ There can be no such weddings as those celebrated on the noble plantations of the south, for nowhere else do we see the bright, jetty} setting, that surounds the fair pearls and diamonds, it se beautifully contrasts.

Mareus led Florence to the ! ong Moss Spring, and seated her on the snowy rock so often his throne, and he watched the shadow of the magnolia and the shining holly playing on her brow. They drank together of the waters, purer than Castilian dews, and looked upon each other’s faces in the blue mirror beneath, Then hand in hand, they knelt by the gave of Mr. War- land, and mingled their sighs with the winds that whispered mournfully with the rustling grass, they bent over the spot where the aged Simon slept, and plucked some of the roses that b!o:somed luxurisnt- ly there. Mr. Bellamy had ordered a marble tomb to the memory of his friends, but it was not yet completed. Marcus was glad that Florence could see the spot just as God had made it, with no influ» ence but that of Nature’s breathing into her soul.

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Florence, as he drew her reluctant steps from the fountain’s side, ‘let us build a cottage on this en- chanting spot, and come and dwell in this sweet and lonly paradise :

‘Would this be world encugh for thee ?’

- No, my gentle Rosa,’ answered Marcus, the lofty glance of ambition flashing from bis eyes, and mingling with the softer radi- ance of love, ‘dearly as I love you, and though I could be happy, blessed with you, were Providence to cast me on Crusoe’e desert isle, 1 should not be true to my destiny if I * voluntarily’ buried in soli- tude the talents God has given me to glorify him in a snore extended sphere, Neither would my bright and high-souled L’Eclair, She was formed to gladden and beautify the world, as well as to be the angel of my Eden home. But we will have a cottage here, where we can some- times come and bathe our spirits in the heavenly beauty of the scene. This! shal be a resting place to refresh us through the journey of life; and, oh! Florence, when that pilgrimage is over, may we sleep side by side with our buried father, near the margin of the Long Moss Spring.’

Florence turned aside her head, to hide the tears that gathered in her eyes. Her heart was too full of love and happiness not to be chilled by the cold thought of mortality. Marcus put his arm around her, and gently drew her to the river's shore where the old ferryboat lay, dark and lazy, like some old negro basking in the sun. The ferryman’s wife stood gazing at them from the door of the cabin. Marcus beck- oned to her pointing to the poles, and she came with a quick step and smiling coun- tenance.

‘ Will you help me once again ?’ he ask~ ed, unfastening the chain, and lifting Florence lightly into the boat. ‘I must ferry her across the river of many memo- ries.’

‘ Yes, that I will, and thank you too,’ answered the woman; and Florence found herself floating on the dark flowing Chats tuhoochee, while Marcus dashed the pole into the current with all the wild grace of poyhood,combined with manhood’s strength

The sun went behind a cloud, and the boy hung his hat on the lantern-post, so that the river breeze rustled freely through his magnificent locks. Florence gazed on his splendid figure, in the attitude of un-

adoration ; then,moved by a sudden impulse she stooped over the edge of the boat, and dipping the water in her hand, sprinkled it laughingly over his waving hair.

ed

secration,

conscious grace it had assumed, with eyes of

‘ Ah, fairy of the fountain !" he exclaim~ ‘that was a never-to-be forgotten baptism ; and this 1 receive as a new con- Beautiful life-giving element, 1 welcome thy purifying drops, Florence the

the sweetest dearest, associations of my | life, cluster around the welling spring. [hanks be to God for the fountain’s gush | and the river's flow.’

Sweet in after life was the remembrance of this scene. Marcus had not yet reach- | ed the znith ot his fame, but like the ascending sun, it shineth brighter and brighter unto the perfect day. lis voice willsoon be heard in our country’s @ipitol, with an eloquence powerful enough to waken its deepestechoes. [lis motto is Excelsior. His goal the highest summit of human ambition; that is, the glory of God, and the good of man,

And whether as the glowing lightning playing lambently in the horizon of his ex- istence,or as the waxing moon shining with increasing lustreon the rising tide of his affection, or as the gentle rose shedding sweetness and beauty on his heart, Florence is still the angel of hig Eden home, CONCLUDED.

;

CORRESPONDENCE.

SPEECH.

SOF ALN ALN ALR ANOLON LO

ACTION NOBLER THAN

Dear Epiror.—If a man’s cause is weak, especially if he is attached to itas a part- izan for motive-reasons best know only to himself,or even, possibly,not at all known to himself (the world has a few of such), the man all at once gets very talkative, as if to find among the mist of words that pass like vapor, from his widened mouth, sug- gestion for his good excuse. Even if he is one nobly attached to his cause, for reasons clearly understood and truly loved, for principles dearer to him than self, or praise, or life, even for the love of truth and duty, making him a hero at once—what the Ro- mans meant when they said vir (the world has a few of such); yet the temptation re mains, and though swine should seem to have trampled his cause in and under the mud and be then his only auditors, still he would have an impulse towards speech, and feel (dutiful soul) the need,the wisdom and blessing of the command, ‘ Cast not thy pearls before swine.’ Doubtless, this ims pulse is a good, natural impulse of wise divine appointment. Sois the war-horse good, and his fury very useful! But there is a broad and easy distinction between this impulse in the two cases, The one is noble and admirable even in its catastrophe; the other is of utter contempt. The one is like something bound; the other is like a prisoned traitor gnawing his bars in rage to slay the officers of right. Contrast the two breasts. See how diffierently they behave. The one, a poor wordsmonger, foaming foam ; the other, probably uttering no words, but, low in the presence of the adorable principles he strives for, utters himself only in the natural interjection of defeat, check- ed and softened to a whisper, by the faith and hope of truth. He has learned long ago that truth shall prosper and prevail, though all talkers were forever hushed; and his grief is rather that ho has not been allowed some servitorship to these selfs sufficient principles, than on their behoof! He knows they are eternal, and their triumph as sure as the word of God. His human heart loves to look upon results of courage; but why should he grow mad? Would it not be high insolence in him to murmur, much more to rage, because he is not permitted a popular recognition as champion of these eternities? How does he know but that his defeat has come that he may learn (and what wiser wonder?) that he is no fit advocate? He learns, at last, that he has been doing too much talk and not enough real work. All at once he remembers that he has for some time per~ suaded himself, tacitly, or that he has been betrayed into the tacit assumption, that truth needed his words and was being or might be established and garnished and re~ vealed to advantage by his words; and he rebukes himself only, and strives afresh to learn the precious old lesson that duty is al!. Up heart, he says, more work, les: prate. The result is that he either quits words al- together, as convinced that he is no eligible defender of truth, or disentangles himself from among those alien cooweb quibbles into which his voice had taken him, and, earnestly striving himself, ULeckons his brother men lovingly, reverently, not as if he thought right and wisdorm forever des pended on them, but faithfully as a brother, in name of duty, to ‘come over and help him.’ Look now at that poor olian, lit- erally ‘going all away into wind and tongue.’ I close this evening's letter with a quotation from Sir Thomas Browne : ‘Every man is not a proper champion of truth, nor fit to take up the gauntlet ia the cause of verity. Many, from ignorance of these maxims and an inconsiderate zeal unto truth, have too rashly charged upon the troops of error, and remain as trophies unto the enemies of truth, A man may be in as just possession of truth as of a city,and yet be foreed to surrender; it is therefore far better to enjoy her with peace than to haszard her on a battle.

Yours, in Faith,

Frep EverGreen.

March 4, 1876.

2 eo 2 es

PAT ON PHE WATER QUESTION.

ROTTEN PUMPS AND BAD WATER—THEIR REMEDY.

Mr. Epitor, Dear Sir,— Would you plaze inform me what has become of our pump- man. Is Misther Kagan in town, or is he lost, strayed or stolen from the ould ante- deluvian contbract of mendin’ pumps in in citty? This man and the Sthreet Com- mtttee has not been herd of up about our way since I cant say whin. I suspect that he has eloped wid his family and left us in the lurch wid our ould rotten pumps or ovr hands. There’s one ould thing handy our house that makes me almost sware (and that’s not a thing I do much at;) but whin I go out in the morning broight and airly for a bucket of fresh pure water out of the will, and finds the handle or layver of the pump lying spaachless on the sthreet, the ould pump so rotten that it wont hold the iron lugs for the bolt to pass through, and the wather all gone and nothing to quinch a fillow’s great thirst, it makes me feel like going to !ook afther the pump- man, and axin him to look aliver and git us some pure water. But it dose’nt hap. pen often, anyhow—not more nor once a week, But the thought sthruck me tother day whin | was vixed about gettin’ no wa,

(RC timper about it, and be a good boy now

| and be afther going down to the Mare, and

tell him about the wilis in Oirland.”’

j 6 Right, Biddy,’’ says1; ‘‘ begor I’ve got it

now. I see, I see; spring-pole and wing- lass--that's it’’ Weil, Mr. edithor, this is Biddy’s plan, in the face and furninst and oppasite to all their writins about Winter River and ther African weils:—Take out the ould pumps and sell them to the ins habitants for pig troughs; then get a forky stick and set it in the ground with the fork upwards; be shure to have the side of the stick to the will; bore a boal through the prongs; then get along pole and fasten it up to balance; now load the hind ind of the pole with a big stone; be aisy now— don’t make it too heavy; then fasten a rope on tother ind; to this rope.put a bucket; have the forky stick as high as the will is deep. Biddy’s other way is as follows :— Take out the ould pump, and get a wings lass over the top of the will, with a bucket, rope and sinker; over the winglass have a reflector to reflect to the bottom of the will, and cast the light down to the wather, that you may see from the top how many dead rats, mice, toads, écc,, is at the bot- tom nearly ready to float; now, have a scoop-ketile fastened to a pole, let down the scoop-kettle and, skim the wather. This neede’nt be done very often—well it might be done oftner than before—say once in twenty-five years, it would’nt cost much, and thin we would’nt have none of this thick wather like what we have now, but, 1 suppose itis stronger for that; this way would give us pure wather for ever, and we would not be having to be going to the city for funds to repair the pumps. They say now that the city is hard up, and they foind the little boys fov playing marbles, this may be roight enough, every little makes a help; but, Biddy says she would sooner have thim big Walker corner lofers looked aiter nor the little bise. She says these fellows must take her to be sum young woman down at the West End, She says she could