"4.’L"_1‘_“ ' "‘—“‘-*~-- -~—-— ———v- M...” ._.__
t_._.._-_.
_
‘um
PUBLISHED EVIERY TUESDAY MORNING, BY
A. HOMER BYINGTON,
AT TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM--IN ADVANCE.
Q01..-» _ LL.
_ ..... .__,_ __
NU‘
4
3 jmily §¢h;5m,,,L.-@2totch to fiscal, fifths ant guitarists, Gfiensral gllntelligcnce, Xitrtuture,
I In I NORWALK, CONN. TUESDAY; SEPTEMBER 26, 1854.
\
olitin, ggtitulinrt. Mctlgztuits, the 3:12, (flotation, (tr. ttt.---llfistsblislgell in 1500.
C ’ VOIiUME XXXVII.---NUMBER 39..
i;n“éc7i's3;i}vz;\i.t.:ii carrzsvvs.
A. BYENGTOH, Editor k Proprietor
“If1i't’ ll-"est Sula the Bridge in Scllccka’
B'U,iz’(Z-izig, over store of F. St. John.
~ SUBSCRIPTION RATES 2
Vkufld‘-1‘ lfflbi-'.cril.n'-1'21. by C.'|rxier, per year, - . . .2 00
do ll hen not paid in wlmuzcc do - - . . 2 .50
.l1,u_l} uunl l'cst .l~li.lor.-. ao_ same us above - .
i lose living out nl any Cur-rior’s District, nnd culling
ill. the Office: for their Papers, if paid in 54145,“-¢, 1 50
ALI >',!1‘.!.:l‘(‘.X'l[ii.lUllii.i.Ul‘ frzoct-i01r:Ll purts ula. ymu-,3: 2 00
\“r£l- angle copies 5 Cents, in wrapper for mailing. 6
= ADVERTISING RATES.
one Sqiiusc, one insertion $1 00
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B"—‘**
._..._.._..__..
I snsnsss Iuuscronv.
s/\ x.'\ .,
_x
\/ \'\.‘\/\4’\r\J\’\;'
v on 1'. rooms, V
Attorney and counselor at Law,
UFFICE OVER ./l[.dLLORY’S STORE
Norvvalk, Conn.
0. S. Perry,
:lI._torucy and Counselor at Law
N orwalk Conn.
JOHN AU’ S'l'BN"8
0AGllER|AN ROOMS
Over D. 8. N. Depot.
NOR\VALK,
1. i k e n e s s e I
l’.VwI_'ran.'erl to please all Good Judges-
C. at. E. K. LOGKWOOD,
NORWALK, CONN.,
)lA).‘L'FAC’l‘URB!.8 or
win, sssur mom & comm
. W A R E S ,
» _ A.\'D DEALERS IX
Stoves, Ranges, Furnaces, Cutlery,
‘Brita:-an-éa, Porcelain and Wooden
l'Vm-e", mul Kz'zche7z Furniture
(in general, Pumps, Skeet
Lead ¢§- Lead Pipe,
Crockery, Glass
and China
Ware.
.._,, WM 'n-:x.n.xax:I'.l',
‘H76’.-5‘! Sjidc the Bridge, JV'orwalk, Calm.
, _ f\l.‘..\'Ul“.‘\C'l‘LlRI'IR DEALER IN
Stoves, Tin, Sheet Iron, and
‘ COPPER WARES,
Ranges, F/wmaces, Britamla 4- Crack-
ery I’!/"wrcs, C/Lain Pumps, Lead
, mull Lead Pipe, Groceries,
‘ , .0/Lina and Glass Wares,
.§-c., 4-0.
F. H. NASH,
‘vVll¢)_l.l~;.\ZA‘l.E xxn Ri:'r.uL l)EALEIl D7
8 T 0 V E S .
I }[.\.\'Ul".\C'l'ULll}R 01’ V
Tm, ssssr IRON & corpus
W a r e s ,
Ifas ’co5'2sm72z_Zy on hand alarge assort-
' mcswzz of general House-keeping
Fa.7'm'2zu'e, at So. Norwalk, .
Coma.
Norwalk Post Oflice.
‘Jail C'l0scs——lVESI‘, 7.1- 0 A. 31., 1.30 P. I.
“ ‘~ Exsr, 8.30 A. 31., 5.30 1-. x.
Due-—Wi;s'r, 9.30 A. 31., 6.30 P. I.
“ EAST, 8.30 A. 1., 3 P. X.
W. 13. 318831-1-
V OULD invite the attention of this and
p the neighboring community to his vast
stock of goods, (to which additions are weekly
being‘ made,) comprising a full and general as-
sortment of
FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC DRUGS,
selected with the greatest care, and from the
best which the New York market will afoul-
lle has also a choice selection of
Perfumery, .
including Lubin’s extracts of all kinds, cologu
water: in 2». Variety of styles, etc. His stock of
l-’A'1‘ENT MEDICINES,
Comprises nu immcnsc variety, principally of
articles which have guincd 9. reputation among
the people, uud are valuable medicinal prepare-.
tlmua.
llc would invite the attention of the ladiesto
FANCY GOODS,
: irqzz
ll is
which are too numerous to purticulurize, and
which for ta.-tx: and elegance are beyond all ri-
vulry in this vicinity. _
Very particular attention is paid to preparing
Pl} YSICIAN’ S PRESCRIPTION8,
and supplying families with pure and unadultr
ru.ted medicines. llis prices will compare fa-
vor-.ibly with those ofuny other ostublismont.
Pure Wines, Liquors, Scotch Ale and Porter,
elected exp:-essly for medicinal use.
. 5"
P1 EGES of every style and pat-
2’99 torn from 7cts. to 3:. a. pleocjust
n-.;.i,ved, uud now offered for sale by
‘ C. J. GRUMAPL
At the Old Bridge Store.
O1d.l’ictures Copied &. Restored
. ' , .=".US’l‘EN, has recently introduced In-
J. stiziiiueiits, by which he can restore or copy
Jill Pictures, Dagucrrcotypes,.kc., iving them
u iuncli liner finish, than in the orig nul.
Aug_1xst"f)tli.
,'vvoos'1.'I:n..nousn. ,
Paper Hangin
' cciiimigil OF MAINAND xvnivcjsruspgs
..N.ear the Rail Road Depct".~.~
F ‘ Hyz] ,t‘,n_'bSCL‘lb(3l' having leased the above unmr ,
:_ 4,5,1 1;{’otcl:i_. is prepared to receive bcaudeuu ‘
The Housein abundant‘; !
uud transient visiters.
' ly gupplicd with spring water, and has all the *
com,-enimiccs llCCcSSfll‘y to makcguestscomforh
=_|.bl»3, .-.-‘.m the undersigned feels confident from
Um L"-,_\~pci-ieiicc that he has hud in the business
of hotel lceeping, t,l\-.14: he can givc satisfaction
t-.-, those who favor him with their utrouage.
' JOHN R. FORR TER.
N. B.—-Warm and Cold Water Baths ready
at ull hours. (Dnnbury, Sept. 5, I853. if-‘Hi
]3lllD Cuges for sale at LOCKWOOD’s'
‘(')if)l) EN Wurc, Brooms. P3515: T“b3_aT“¥-3
lion-ls. Ludles, Measures. etc. II
LOCKllO0DS’-
i
Scalsonablo
DRY GOODS.
HE Subscriber would return his thanks for
T the very liberal patronage with which his
Store has been favored the your past, and hopes
by a constant
trading public and by u system of fair and hon-
orable deuling, to retain his share of trade for
the year ensuing. His Stock comprises at all
times a choice and varied selection of fashiona-
ble and seusouablc Dry Goods, of every quality
and price. He is confident that purchasers
will find over article purchased at his store,
equal in qusl ty, and as cheap in price, as can
be obtulncd elsewhere. Particular attention
devoted to the selection of Cloths, Vestiugs,
&o., &c., for Geutlemeus wour, which will be
sold at the lowest market prices.
Jan. 16. L. H. RANDLE.
PA|NT|Nll,il|.AZ|Nll
aud Paper Hanging Establiahment.
HE'subscrlbcr has taken the Store recently
occupied by Messrs. Randle 85 Platt, and
has opened an extensive and general Oil, Paint,
Painting and Glusicry Depot. House, Si 11,
Plain and Ornamental Painting, Gliding, ar-
bllug, Graiuiug, £10., done with neutuels, cheap-
ucss and desputch. Also. Banners, window
shades, designs, &'c., skilfully painted to order.
He will also keqpcou hand a general assortment
of Points, Oils, ., which will be sold whole-
sale or by the pot, with the loan of brushes.-
Special attention paid to Paper Hanging, kc.
By s punctual fulfillment of all engagements,
and reasonable charges, he hopes to. receive 3
share of public patronage.
GEORGE MARVIN.
Norwalk, Aug. 9th, 1853. tfl5
NORWALK, HAT. I
H cap and Fur Emporium.
THE subscriber having removed to No,
2 Sklddy’s Block, would say, that having
just made very lurge additions to his former
stock, of new and fashionable goods in his
line, would now call the attention ofthe ublic
euei-ally, to the great advantages wh ch he
s enabled to ole! over his competitors in
Norwulk. Coufiulug our whole attention to
this one branch of business, we feel that we
can make purchases and secure a much better
quality of goods, than those comparatively
unacquainted with the business. We have
now on hand a fine assortment of Hus, just
suited to the season and the wants of the com-
munity.—For further particulars, just drop in
and examine for yourselves, at No.2 Skiddy’s
Block. Main street. H. C. RANDLE.
uttontion to the wants of the ~
?fll3TR'l:..__MW_W
vv...-...-Ivy‘ V.-V.-.~~v-A -. .\~..;-.-.~..\
From the .Merchant.9 Ledger.
who is :1 Friend.
Who is the friend that true remains,
Though storms of sorrow lower?
With heart as kind when Sl1(lllCS8 reigns
As in a happy hour.
Who will not fly when fortune flies ;
Could cell at Wuut’s abode ;
Who would not mum ’neuth summer skies,
Or i-'u1~:i~:zn with winter’s cold.
Who is the friend that bears the name
All life’s short journey through?
Who faithful ever! e’cr the same-
Affectionate and true! ,
Who could rejoice when I was glad,
And give a hearty cheer;
01' who would shed, if I was sad,
A symputhising tear?
The friend that's true is hard to find,
Much harder to retain ;
So earnest are zfll human kind
In treusuring soimm GAIN.
For now exists much pride of birth,
And frleuds are bought and sold ;
Not valuing real honest wonru,
Without a purse of gold.
If fortune favors, or if fame
Proud waves her luurels high,
Ah, ‘runs’ you’vc friends enough to claim
Your favors till you die.
But let stern want and sorrow come,
And then our friends we test!
We have one Friend in Heaven, our home,
But where are all the rest?
A GEM.
One of the gems of poesy, is the following,
from the pen of Francis Ann Butler:
“ Better trust all and be deceived,
And weep that trust and that deceiving,
Than doubt one heart that if‘ believed
Had blessed one’s heart with true believing.
" Oh! in this mocking world too fast
The doubting-fiend o’crtukes our youth!
Better be cheated to the lust,
Than lose the blessed hope of truth.”
IHVOBWAI-R EMPOBIUMI
vi-$8 new
PROVISIONS. FRUITS,
Vegetables. of , Fisk all kinds.
Clans, Oysters, &c.
As good as the market sffords, constantly to be
found at the well known establishment of
ALLEN, MEI-IKER & 00.
@‘ Goods of the above description received
daily, and for sale at wholesale and retail on
the most favorable terms.
A HOUSE AND LOT,
of about One Acre,
FOR SALE.
HE subscriber offers for sale, upon reasona-
ble terms, a House and Lot, situated in
Silver Mine, so-called, in the town of New Oa-
naan, and 2; miles from Norwalk Bridge. The
House is newly built, contains 5 large rooms,
and 3 bed-rooms, attached to which is an out-
house, containing 4 rooms, cellar, ¢kc.,_&c.
The ubove property will be sold ver low up-
on appllcatlou to A. GLENDEHING, '
or STEPHFN HYATT.
New-Canaan, Silver Mine, scpt.21, 1853.-tf 39
Line.
100 Bbls. of Lime for sale by '1‘. L. PECK.
Timber and Latina
AT SOUTH NORWALK.
350,000 Plastering Luths.
. 50,000 Feet Pine and Spruce Timber.
10,000 Pine Picketsjust reo’d and for sale
by 1, THOS. L. PEGK.
V South Norwalk,Aug. 2. 1853.
Protection Insurance Company
HARTFORD, CT.
Capital $:100,000—w2'tla privilege to m
crease to Half a Million.
‘VILLIAM C. STREET, Agent of the above
named Company is now prepared to In-
sure Houses, Stores, Mills, Factories, Barns, and
the contents of each, together with every other
species of property, xauxsv Loss on DAIIAGB BY
pin. The rates of premium offered, are as low
as those of any other similar institution, and
every man has now an opportunity, for atrifiiug
sum, to protect himself aguinst this destructive
element, which often in 3 single hour sweeps
swuy the earnings of so many years.
Norwslk, Sept. 5th, 1853.
Cheaper than Ever
At the South JV'orwaIIc
GROCERY STORE.
HE subscriber has on hand by far the
large: and best selection, of Family Gro-
ceries and Provisions, to be found in South
Norwalk, which he offers to his customers and
the public, at greatly reduced prices. His fa-
cilities are such that he will be constantly re-
ceiving new and fresh supplies of goods, as the
wants of his Customers may require. which will
always be of the best quality and sold at the
very lowest possible price, and he would re-
spectfull solicit an examination and trial of the
88m¢- GEO. W. SMITH.
South Norwalk, May 15th, 1854.
Hardware and Cutlery,
Mes/umws T_ools. Farming Uzemizs,
Gm“, 1’!-V101-\‘. Iron and Steel,
W’”d°w G10“. Paint:
and Oils.
T HE subscriber has new in store and is con-
stantly receiving direct from the manu-
facturers, a. large supply of foreign “,1 dome,,_
tic goods, under the above deuominutiong
which makes his assortment of articles suited
to this market, 0 us] to any in the state end
which will be sold either wholesale or than
on unfavorable terms as can be ,.m1,.,..,,1 1,;
New York. For list of articles sud prices
purchasers are requested to call and examine;
for themselves. WM. 0. STREET.
Norwulk, April 17th. .
1 Land For Sale.
ABOUT eight acres of good land, near
Bluln-st., one mile north of the Bridge,ls offered
for sale upon very reasonable terms. It is ad-
mirably adapted for building lots, or for gal-_d.
cning purposes, having 9. quick and rich soil,
and a large bed of vegetable mould, or compost
manure thereon, or it is well calculated for a
first rutcmeadow. Itis wcllfeuced= and in a,
very éligible--location. .- -For further partioulurg
énq'uire'_' ‘at.this'- oflice. " - ’ " tf3
‘Wt Makers
W D
A. MORISON .2 HOY'1'uvcnow giving
. out Shirts, Bosoms, 0ollars,&c., to expe-
rienced sewers. '
Constant employment given and CASH,paid
on delivery of the work.
Norwalk, July 10th, 1853. 3m'20
Marble Works.
J M. SMITH having associated himself with
_ o Tuoous Mono»: in the Marble business.
will continue to keep on hand, at the old stand
near the Bridge in Main Street, Monuments
and Grove Stones of every vuriety of patterns,
and of the most skillful workmanship. ‘
SMITH 1' IORGAN.
April 24, 1854.
‘or hisses, yet the hushed attention, the
Hlddbl./l’.flN‘lf’.W
'V'v\Ao\’sIsI\'\r.r.rv\A4»-¢\4\/v~.\\r\r.A.-\2v\1\\1\~\«.rv\n .-~
-vvv .-ya.»-avvvvv u J
-4
From the Parlor Magazine.
The First Dream of Life.
BY HRS. M. E. DOUBLEDAY.
The commencement of eighteen hun-
dred and was held on one of
those beautiful days which visit us at
the close of summer. VVe have always
at this season a few such days, and
every lover of nature will note them.-
The heat of the season is past, and the
works» of nature have reached their ma-
turityand perfection, and all seems hush-
ed into perfect peace and quietness, as
if she had completed her task and stop-
ped to survey and enjoy for a brief mo-
ment before she sunk into the decay of
autumn. Every leaf is in its richest
green, and the summer flowers are in
full bloom, and the green vines trail over
the fences of the meadows by the river,
or hang on the dry tree and wave in the
soft summer breeze, and the breath of
the sweet briar steals through the case-
ment, and the boy still finds the wild
rose where the cows have wandered for
shade : yet there is a change, though
slight yet perc8ptible——y0u cannot des-
cribe it. for the air is as warm, and the
grass as green, and the sky as blue, and
ullhs fresh and fair as if this world
were to remain an Eden unvisited by
blight, desolation and death. But a
shadow falls upon your spirit, and surely
there is a little dimming of the bright-
ness of midsummer. The chirrup of
the grasshopper is louder, and there is al
soft sighing in the sunset wind. A mel-
ancholy, soothes, not oppresses you, and
dreams of a former state seem to return
to you. You sit on the shaded door
step, or upon the new made hay, and
muse the past and foreshadow the future
You wonder if there were such days
before sin and death entered the world;
if the perfection of beauty brought the“
deeper sense of decay ; and as you think
of the glory and brightness of heaven,
you seem to feel that the‘ heart would
long for clouds and shadows there.-
Such are the days to wander in the old
burial places, among the tall mullens and
the Mlchalmas daisies, and try to spell
out moss-covered names on the grave-
stones. The very air seems in its hush
and stillness to breathe oblivivion, and
you fool almost willing to be forgotten.
But it was a gay and bustling day at
New Haven, and her streets were
througed with citizens and the alumni
of the college, much of the law, more of
the divinity of the state, societies, civil
and military officers, processions of
black coats and a procession of flutter-
ing ribbons and floating capes. At the
hour appointed the large meeting-house
wus crowded, and coloquies, and ora-
lions, and disputatious in learned lan-
guages, were listened to by cars learned
and unlearued. The youth and fine per-
sonal appearance of the student gave
added charm to the valedictory, always
acceptable, both as the conclusion of the
exercises and as being in a language
understood by the audience. The young
valedictoriau looked like one who would
not quail should he be met. with frowns
approving glance, and the breathless si-
3",“ ellea the smile on his siste.r’s lip. He
glanced further, and he saw a. form half-
leuce were testimonials of his power not
unheeded, and as at the conclusion of
the address he cast his eyes around the
crowded pews, and raised them to the
sea of faces in the galleries, :1 deep flush
0‘ Pride and pleasure tinged his cheek.
But that last glance revealed to him
more than the mere crowd. He
m..°‘. his father’s look of mingled love
find lmdel he saw the tear in his moth-
hiddeu by a pillar, a face downcast and
half averted, but he caught a glance
fr9{n 21 deep blue eye, that sent a deeper
thrill than the applause of the mulmude
Yet at that moment he forgot, not ma;
other eyes were upon him——the youucr
girl saw in all that crowd him a1one_ °
t or are as 4. . , .
Annie Clark had lingered near the
window which commanded 9. view of
the college, until the last ray of sunse;
had faded away and the deeper twilight
hadbecn followed by the shades of eve-
ning. Then she had trimmed her lamp
and through the shutter watched the
evening star, until she had seen a glori-
ous galaxy follow her and ascend far
above her. Groups of young girls, with
their friends and lovers, passed and re-
passed. The young men held their large
straw hats in their hands to cool the fe-
vered brow after the beat and excite-
ment of the day ; and the loose, light
scarfs of the girls fell back from their
fair necks. Gentle tones or merry voi-
ces reached her ears, but still she was
alone. .As the nine o'clock bell struck,
she took a lamp to retire. A footstep
arrested her, and in a moment the young
graduate was by her side.
" It is very late, I know it, but I could
not get away before, and even now I
can stay but one moment. for my mother
and sister are waiting for me. But I
must come, Annie, though but for one
moment, and only to say good bye—for
we leave to-marrow in the 80» o'clock
boat.” '
"To-morrow morning?” echoed An-
nie, aud her cheek lost. the glow his ap-
pearauce had given it; " mt to-mob
row ."’ ‘
"Yes, dearest. My father has made
all his arrangements, and I must submit
to them. I must go,” said he. hastily
pacing the room. ~
"Yes,” said Annie, breathing more
freely, but sighing deeply, "certainly, if
your parents wish it."
" It is very sudden ,” said the young
man, more gaily, “ but I don't think I
should be more willing to leave you if
I had a week longer to think of it. Yet
1 had many things to say; but I can
write them Annie, and you can write to
me, I will arrange it all. Now, man
petite, here is something to remind you
of me,” and he placed a miniature case
in her hands ; “ and don’t let the black
coats steal you. You would make such
a nice minister’s wife that I cannot help
feeling dreadfully jealous. Annie, I
shall study hard to be worthy of you,
and in a few years I hope to claim you.
You will not forget me 3"
She raised her deep blue eyes and
they met his. There was truth, purity,
and love in the glance, and there needed
no lip to repeat the vow.’ A few more
words; Oh, how sad! for their hearts
were too full for the fountains to be un-
sealed in that brief interview, and si-
lence is the beat interpreter of thoughts
that rise at such an hour ; and be pres-
sed his lips to that fair brow, pressed
her one moment to his heart and with-
drew. She watched in the moonlight
until she could see him no longer, and
then sinking on her knees she wept long
and bitterly.
Gideon Clarke owned and occupied
the house in which his father had dwelt
before him, and to which had originally
been attached a farm, now divided into
city lots, the most of which had been
sold for the benefit and behoof of the
Clarkes of preceding generations. He
was a plain man of good common sense,
strict in all his religious duties, frugal in
his habits, and careful of his expendi-
tures, living within his means, with
much comfort and no show. His wife
was a quiet, feeble little woman, who
seldom got out, except to meeting, or to
take a ride in the old gig on a fine day.
Two years before, young Blakesly,
tired, as he said, of college walls, ap-
plied to Gideon Clarke for a room to
lodge and study ; and Mr. Clarke, who,
with his wife and one child, occupied a
house in which his grandfather had
raised more than half a. score of children
willingly rented him one, and for a year
the young student pursued his studies
under the roof which sheltered the quiet
family of the owner. Annie Clark was
then fifteen. Slight, fair and delicate,
she escaped the general awkwardness of
young girls at that age.
The passion of the N ew Euglauder is
the education of his children, and the
only child of plain Gideon Clarke was a
pupil of the best schools, and nothing
was spared which could facilitate her
improvement, and give her a finished
and polished education.
She was a gentle, sweet, and thought-
ful child ; loving her studies and teach-
ers, with whom she was always a favo-
rite ; loving her books and her flowers,
loving her plain and stern-looking father
who was always gentle to her, who al-
ways indulged though he never pettcd
her, and whose somewhat rugged ao-
pect seemed to soften as the '_looked
upon his child in her brightness and
beauty, and who patiently toiled and
saved, that he might ensure more than a
competence for her. And while Annie
well repaid this tenderness and care,
and grew up gentle. lively, she was yet"
self-willed, for her mother, feeble, often
suffering, and always passive, seldom i_u-
terfered with her pursuits; and Annie,-
though she loved too much not to honor,
was seldom called upon to obey; and
she had been allowed so early to think,
act, and decide for herself on all petty
occasions of childhood, that she had
hardly -learned that there were events of
life in which the first duty is to consult
the parent. r
Music was too common an accom-
plishment for Annie Clarke to neglect it.
and her father was too much of 3 busi.
neas man to buy a cheap or poor instru-
ment, and the new and splendid piano
contrasted -somewhat. with the home-
spun carpet, and the plain, chairs, and
old-fashioned book-case in the best par-
lor. Blakeslv, too, loved music, and as
he passed the parlor door, and put his
foot on the white uucarpeted stair, that
led to his room, he paused to listen to
the rich tones of the_p__iano, and to the
sweetvoice that accompuniedit; then
he’ learned to enter, \’x,l.‘llItl_l the ‘shy and
timid girl became accustomed? ’ to his
presence, played and ‘sung withvhim and
for him, and learned the music‘ he loved,
and the songs he brought her.‘ Blakes-
ly never counted the hours he spent in
that low parlor, but he learned that the
nine o'clock bell was the signal for reti-
ring in Gideon Clarke's quiet family,
and he found it necessary to study in his
own room after that hour; and his stud-
ies so engrossed him that he had little
leisure to devote to his former associates
It became a matter of course that he
should attend Annie to and g from the
evening lectures, tb rough that winter,
and as the spring opened, there were
long walks with her: and her young com-
panions, in which they, botanized .7 and
geologized, uutil—-the tale is still the
same-——the afternoon walk was prolong-
ed until the moonlight hour, and those
who so late were strangers, and then
who spoke of being strangers, and then
who spoke of being friends, then called
themselves brother and sister, no longer
troubled themselves to define their posi-
tion, for they were too young to marry.
So Blakesly returned, for the last year
to college, and Annie was to finish her
education, and wait until he had comple-
ted his college course, and finished his
professional studies; a very simple, and
in the eyes of the lovers, :1 very judi-
cious arrangement. -
And what said Gideon Clarke and his
wife to these arrangements? Nothing.
What should they ‘!-—they had not been
consulted. They certainly were not so
idull as not to know whereumo such an
intimacy might lead between :1 young
man just out of his teens, and a fair girl
of fifteen, but Annie was in their eyes
but a child. and though they certainly
supposed it probable that at some future
day she might. love and they be called
upon to sanction her choice, such an
event was to them in the far distant fu-
ture. Many happy days and years did
they fancy before them, in which
they were to enjoy the society of‘
their child, and see her gladdcu their
home, and feel her repay them for all
their care, before they should be called
upon to bestow her upon another. And
Gideon Clarke thanked God and his own
industry and prudence, that Annie need
not marry for a home, or for fear of want
should he be taken away. It ceijtainly
had occurred to the thought of the par-
ents that Blakesly might seek to marry
their child, and if he should, why indue
time he would “ask consent,” as Gideon
himself had done in his younger days.
The exceeding simplicity of New Eng-
land manners allowed a freedom of asso-
ciation unknown in the corrupt monar-
chies of Europe, and it is much to r the‘
honor of out national purity that it has
been so seldom abused. But while the
worst evils to, be apprehended have
been comparatively seldom, a train of
sorrows whiehgijeater parental care and
a less coufidiug temper might have pre-
vented, have often ensued. Few may
have been_ the victims of guilt, but many
women have had their hearts crushed
and their affections blighted, by attach-
ments "too early formed, engagements
rashly and injudiciously made, for while
a true woman never seeks the pledge,.__a
promise which man still loves to exact,»
feeling in her inmost heart how much
worsethun useless it would be should
there be a wish toretract, she is the last
to break the promise which,.with tears
and blushes she has spoken. _ -
Annie CIarh..did not refer Blakesly ‘to
her parents when he told her his plans
and prospects for the future, and asked
her to promise to become his wife, that
beautiful spring evening when they sat
on the step in the low porch, and heard,
and did not listen to the whipporwill,
and felt, rather than inhaled, the fra-
granceof the olive, which shaded and
hid them from the passers by, and of the
sweet honey-suckle which was twining
around them; she hardly knew that it
was her duty, and she was too timid;
and perhaps even in that hour Blakesly
d1d.not forget how much more easily
such engagements might be dissolved,
while they were thus unsanctioued,
should his heart change. But. he felt
that he loved her now, and what leisure
he allowed himself while pressing for-
ward in his studies, was allotted to her. -
He aimed an honor, as he said to Annie,
and as perhaps he thought himself, to
be more worthy of her; but he never
forgot either there were other friends to
-gratify, and rivals to mcrtify, and more
than all, the world to applaud and dis-
tinction and honor to be attained; while
in the romance of youth he thought
how pleasant it would be, to be honored
and courted abroad, to turn to his own
home, and find there a depth of love
and devotédness far outweighing all the
world could give.
But in his plans and purposes he nev-
er forgot himself, and while he felt that
he should still love Annie, he knew that
she must live for him, and find all her
happiness in ministering to his.
Annie thought not of herself, She
sometimes feared that his image came
between her soul and heaven; but she
hoped that they would so dwellon earth
as to spend their eternity together there.
Yet was the present influence of that
young girl a blessing to the student.-—
Her purity, sweetness and piety, seem
to fall like the moonlight on his tender
feelings and deep passions, and invest
them with the radiance and holiness of
her own nature. That quiet delicacy
which was her own great charm, which
so instinctively shrunk from all approach
of evil, taught him refinement, and that
deep tenderness, so fmobtrusive, and yet
so unconsciously displayed, softened and
elevated him; and he grew more gen-
tie, and yet more manly and courteous.
The deep feelings of the heart were
awakened, and he lost the bluntuess and
rudeness of boyhood, and learned the
depths of the human soul, and how to
strike the chords to which vibrate the
deepest sounds. And he learned too,
for her sake, to shrink from the vicious
and impure. This thought became a
guardian angel to him, and restrained
him from every haunt of evil, and while
symparhizing. with -him, Annie became
more intellectual, and she acquired more
mental discipline, and learned to love se-
vere: studies, that she might participate
in his pursuits. She was a child when
they met. Under the influence of love
her character_. had developed rapidly,
matured prematurely the deep feelings
of her heart, and gave dignity and stea-
diness to her manners, and the emotions
of the soul added expression to her,
beauty. ’
Concentrating all the affections of
heart upon her lover and parents, Annie
lost all the love of display and the vani-
ty of her sex, and perhaps too much the
gaiety and thoughtfulness of her age.-
She.ha‘d no girlhood. She passed from
childhood to the deep affections, the
joys, the sorrows of womanhood, and
as each season of life has its appointed
purpose in developing and forming the
character, so did Annie lose the streng-
thening, exhilarating influence of that
period,and when the trials of life fell
upon her, they crusl1e'daud_-‘destroyed it.
. Three years had passed, but many 3
left" ‘°‘°'°h‘"39d. and some short visits
from Blakesly his Alma Mater, and kept
alive the affections and the hopes of the
lovers; and commencement was now at
band again.
The city was througed as usual, and
the drooping elms waved and sighed over
the assembled students as they had done
on many a. preceding commencement
over those whose hopes had been swept
away like their leaves, and left no memo-
rial. And Annie Clarke was in the
home where we left her three years since
But there was change there. The old
house, well repaired, gave exterior no-
tics of comfort, while within, it had
been neatly fitted and well furnished, and
the rich carpets and luxurious sofas were
in keeping with the fine piano, while
around and within the dwelling was dif-
fused an air of wealth and refinement ;—
choice plants were on the piazza, rich
flowers bloomed in the small flower-gab
den in the court, while the old elms
which overhung the low house spoke of
and rise of property had added much to
the value of Gideon Clarke’s estate, and
his neighbors spoke of him as a rich man
and mothers listened to their sons when
they spoke_of Annie's beauty, and remin-
ded them that she would inherit a for-
tune.
Annie had, herself changed. The
sylphlike form was passing into the full-
ness and roundness of womanhood, and
her eyes and hair were darker, and her
complexion fairer, and the glow on her
cheek deeper. She was dressed for an
evening party, and her simple, though
elegant attire wellgbecame her. A brace-
let of deep black hair contrasted with
her white round arm and a rich ohuiu
passed over her fair neck though tho oz-
nument expended to it was hidden. Yet
a sad and somewhat anxious expression
shadowed her beautiful face, and a. half
sigh sometimes escaped her. She had
heavy thoughts, and had it not been that
a young friend from a distance was with
her she would have remained at home
that evening. But the evening boat was
in, and her young friend was getting im-
patient.
Her company was soon separated from
her by schoolmates and former play
fellows ; and Annie whose heart
was little in unison with the gaioty
around her, had retired apart from the
crowd, and was recurring to thoughts
which now seldom left her, when an ex-
clamation drew her attention. “Blakes-
ly and Kate Wetherby ! I declare! I
knew they were engaged, I heard it at‘
Sarutoga ;” and as Annic’s searcliing
glance passed around the large parlors,
she saw through the folding doors Miss
.Wetherby leaning on the arm of--was
it? her faithless lover?
She uttered no exclamation, and no
one noted first the flush of surprise, and
then the look of agony which passed over
her face. She would not faint, and the
power of the will is great and even, as
darkness and dimuess came over her sight
she was enabled to pass through the low
window into the piazza, and to lean in
the shadow. The cool air revives her,
and her heart begun to beat—oh, how
heavily! But she could not return to
that gay circle. She could not meet
Blakesly when Kate VVetherly’s eye
would be upon her, with her then upon
his arm, and his image against. her heart.
She stole, as though she were the guilty
one, to the dressing room, where. leav-
ing her apologies, a kind-hearted servant
girl, touched by her evident illness, was
found to see her safely to her father's
door. And what a night was that for
her! The appearance of Blakesly and
Miss Wetberby had sanctioned her worst
fears, and confirmed every rumor, and
viewed in the most. favorable light An-
nie felt indignant, and wounded, and out-
raged.
Seldom for the last six weeks had
Blakesly written to her, and his brief,
cold letters were unlike all that had pre-
ceded them, and Annie knew that she
had cause to fear that he wished to for-
get her. Yet. still she hoped, she could
not help but hope. How could he so
lightly cast aside the truth of years ?—
There must be some explanation. And
even after the midnight hour, often did
she raise her heavy head in the idle hope
that he might have in some way heard
of her illness and come to see her. She
less hope from the interview, but confi-
dently expected to see him the next mor-
ning ; but the morning and the evening
passed, and the next day, and he sought
her not. The gay session over, Annie
Clarke. left not her home; she scarcely
left. her darkened room ; but many cal-
led, and from all, she heard that young
Blakesly was in the city, the avowed
and accepted suitor of Miss Wetherby ;
and Annie stilled her lips to silence, if
not her heart to peace.
Truly had Blakesly loved Annie Clarke
and for many years had her image been
enshrined in his heart. But. he was void
as well as ambitious, and when he an-
tered the charmed circle of fashionable
life he, found its selfish and callous world-
liness steal upon him, and perhaps he
loved himself too well to loveunother
deeply. The fetters of conventional life
bind the highest minds; it is only the
enlargement of the heart which emanci-
pates from them, and within a few of
the past months Blukesly had sometimes
felt that a daughter of the plain Gideon
Clarke was hardly an eligible match.
Yet it had been more from mere vani-
ty, from a design or desire to cast off the
claims of Annie to show that the belle of
the"sea'.sou at Saratoga, of the preceding
winter,in New York, the brilliant Miss
Wetherby, was proud of his homage and
proud, of his attention, that led him on
until he was-compromised in the eyes of
‘the world, of the young lady’s friends,
and in the estimation of the lady heiself.
There was a struggle, short and ‘fiat se-
vere, between houcr and duty, and per-
haps inclination, and vanity and pride;
but the thought came,should he nowwith-
draw his attentions, the w rld would
view him as a rejected suitor of Miss
Wetherby. and Annie was relinquished.
not forgotten. He tried to write I0 All-
nie to explain his conduct, but he found
it so difficult that he deferred it to a per-
sonal interview, which seemed. iI1¢Vii3-
ble as he must recéluim his letters. He
was to be at Yale tble ensuing commence-
ment when he woudd see Annie for the
last time, and he had little four that An-
settled habits and established fortuue,4
nie and Miss Wetherby would meet, for
though schoolmates they had never been
associates, and Annie shrunk frdm the
dashing belle, while Miss Wethérby af-
fected to despise the daughter of plain
GideonClarke. Unwillingly hadBlakes-
ly attended Miss Wetherby to a large
party on the evening of his arrival, for he
intended to see Annie immediately but
but a note awaited him, and he found
himself chained like a captive to the car
of his conqueror. Annie disappeared be-
fore lie saw her, and his heart told him
why she did not appear on the preceding
days. Yet while he dreaded to meet
her, every object recalled her ; her image
‘was associated with each familiar scene
and every thought brought remembrance
of her purity, her tenderness, her gentle.
ness and modest worth. He could not
but contrast her long-tried and self-sacri.
ficing affection, with the public homage
and display which Miss Wetherby excl.
ted, and with sickened heart and uwa.
kened conscience, he still delayed the in.
terview which was to sever the ties
which had bound them.
It was not until the evening previous
to his departure that he found his way to
the spot where he had spent so many
peaceful hours, and sending in his card
requested a. short interview.
He waited a few minutes in the par-
lor, but these moments recalled the re-
membrance of years, and when Annie en-
tered so pale, so sad, he was scarcely less
agitated. She could not speak, but mo-
tioning to a seat she sunk on the sofa.-
Yet. she was first able to compose herself
and noticing his agitation she said with
a faint, sad smile, “I hardly expected to
see you again.”
Blakesly tried to command himself,
and he muttered something of necessity,
of circumstances not to be controlled, of
change of views, and Annie grew more
calm and self-collected. When he paus-
ed and seemed to expect a reply to his
unintelligible address, she became deadly
pale, and for a moment he thought she
would faint, but as he arose to open a
window she prevented him.
“It will pass off," said she, as the
blood slowly returned to her white and
quivering lips. “It had been more kind
in you to have earlier informed me of
your change of sentiments, but let it
pass; retrospection is useless; I trust
you have never thought so ill of me as
to believe me capable of asking you to
remember what. you now wishto forget.
There are letters-—-you wish to reclaim
yours.” She opened a smallcabinet and
placed a packet before him. ,
"Will you not retain the books, Miss
Clarke, as a testimony of respect-—of es-
teem most sincere?” '
She shook her head. __
' “There are associations,” she said with
a choking voice,” "and this;” said she,
hands, “could it speak to you, it would
tell you of prayers for your happiness, of
wishes for your prosperity, and these
will still follow you; may you be happy!
and now farewell. I would not that my
parents should find you here and see me
thus. I have greatly erred in during to
form such engagements Without their ap-
probation, or even knowledge; but I
would now spare them the knowledge of
the unhappiness of their child. To you
to the rest of the \vorld—I am nothing;
but I am much to them, and if I can pro-
mote their happiness I shall not. live in
vain.”
“Oh, Annie, forgive me 3" exclaimed
Blakesly, touched with self-reproach.
“I did not mean to upbraid you,” said
Annie‘ “I do forgive you all the sorrow
you have brought upon me; and,” said
she, clasping her hands in a. passionate
burst of feeling, “may you never know
the anguish of this hour, or what I have
felt, or what is yet before me; but go,
why do you stay? I must be alone."
For a moment Blakesly stood stupe-
fied at witnessing a wildness and excite-
ment so unusual to Annie Clarke; but
though he feared to leave her, be dated
not remain, and he hastily departed. It
seemed like a dream to him as he stag-
gered to his lodgings, where he struggled
long to attain composure and self-posses-
sion, before he met the gay circle who
were expecting him. A dark frown was
on the brow of the haughty mother, and
an angry spot on the check of his betroth-
ed, at his apparent delinquency, when at
a late hour he appeared, but his haggard
looks gave credence to his plea of illness
and sympathy succeeded resentment-—
Yet though he lingered until the last
guest had retired, to bid Miss Wetherby
adieu, instead of returning to his lodgings
he went around by Gideon Clarke's and
stood to watch Annie's window. It was
past midnight, but a light gleamed
through the shutters, and he thought he
could discern shadows passing. It rain-
ed heavily, but he stood long watching
that glimmering light, and after a sleep-
less night leftthe city as the dafidawned.
May, like a capricious beauty, flatte-
red and courted with days of gladness
and budding fiowersfand sweet smiles,
yet capricious and wilful, with sudden
frosts and frequent blights, had faded in-
to the sweet and quiet June, like 3 ca-
ressed, petted, and somewhat spoiled
bride transformed into the gentle and lo-
ving wife. And June was Blakesly’s
bridal month. He did not leave his state
room until the boat had landed, and the
sound of retreat/ing footsteps became un-
frequent. While dressing, be marked
the heavy steps as of those who beat a
burden, passing near his door in the long
saloon. They seemed to deposit it. and
then all was silent; and soon a low groan
or sob fell upon his car. As he opened
the state-room door. “ com“ 5‘°°d “P011
the table before him. T119 m3h°83-"Y
lid was aside from the face, and through
the glass the features were distinctly seen
That shrouded form looked indeed like
chiselled marble, but that face was Annie
Clarkc’s. The progress of disease had in
its last stages restored the appearance of
health. She was always fair, like ala-
baster,’ and he had seen her almost as
pale, when sitting quiet and unmoved.
The rich, dark-brown hair lay in heavy
folds and deathly stillness upon that beau-
tiful brow, and a sweet pensive expres-
sion lingered around that small mouth
and on those pale lips. The eyes were
not quite closed, and the deep-blue could
be seen through the long lashes which
rested on the marble below, and they
seemed to Blakesly to seek him, and
speak a sorrowful reproach.
as she placed his own miniature in his"
The small hands were clasped on he!
breast—-9. small ring glittered on one fin-
ger, Well did Blakesly remember the
hour he placed it there, and the promise
that it should never be taken off.
Leaning over his child, with his back"
toward Blakesley, stood the father. Ho
had groaued and sobbed, when the fact‘
of his child, in death. was first revealel
to him; but now he stood still and tho
convulsive movement of his head and
shoulders alone betokened his deep din
tress.
Blakesly made no sound, though he
shook like an aspen; and, after a long,
horror-struck gaze, withdrew to his statq
room, until all that remained of §AnniQ
Clarke was removed to the hearse await-.
mg.
When Annie left. Blakesly, the evcn- _
ing of their last interview shs had strength
to reach her own room. A heavy fall
drew her family to her. She ha‘.<1 faint-
ed, but the shock had roused her; but
either from the concussion of violent emci:
tion, she was raising blood. After tbs
first attack had passed,her physicians hell
out the hope of continued years, though
not of long life, but they pronounced a
warmer climate necessary for that win-
tcr—aud, in the charge of kind friends.»
Annie was sent. to sunnier skies. There
at a distance from her home, and among .
comparative strangers did she pass the _
last months of her short life. Always "'
retiring and unobtrusive, Annie sought
and made no confidante, and they know
little of her inner life. But they noted
and remembered what they could for her
parents. They said she never expressed
a desire to live, and when some one in
the last stage of her disease thought it u
dutyto ask if she was willing to die, she
rep1ied,'while her lips quivered. "Ex-
cept for my parents-—their age will be
so lonely.’’ They said she was kind,
and gentle, and uneomplaiuing, though
somewhat sad, passing much of time
alone, they thought in devotion, for her
Bible was always near her, and the nurse
who attended her in her last days had
once or twice surprised her weeping bit-
terly. Doubtless the thought of her
home lay heavily on her heart, though
anxious were all around her to contrib-
ute to the comfort of one so lovely, so
sweet, so young, dgiug far from friend!
and native land. be hell written to
her parents as long as her strength per-
mitted, and begged them to forget all tho_
pain which the forwurduess and disobe-
dience of childhood had brought them '
and here her paper was evidently blotted
by thick tears, and here Gideon Claxko
had groaned and sobbed, exclaimed,
“Never had parents a more dutiful chill
and oh, my daughter! that than might-
love and tenderness to thee‘ we might"
prove our gratitude for the rich blessing
which we received in thee!” In
the last letter Annie wrote home, she told
her father she hoped to see his face again
but if she never met father or mother
again, they must not mourn for her.-
She could not tell him how short life, and
even time, seemed to her; how soon it
seemed they should all meet, and than
she said what a sweet hope she had that
all her sins were forgiven, and that she
felt. that whether she lived or died all
would be well; and again she blessed
and thanked them for their love and kind-
ness. She had a stormy passage back,
and died in New York the night after
she landed. Her mind wandered a little
but she prayed for HIM. "Bnnss mu
savs mu 3” The nurse said, “Her fath-
er, of course.” _
Once they thought her gone, when 8
sweet smile passed over face; she open-
ed her eyes and joy seemed to illuminate
her features, and then she closed then
and was dead.
And this was all they could tell-all -
they knew. She had passed like 3 fros-
ted flower—-a breath of fragrance, a dream
of beauty was all that remained.
One indeed there was, who could huvo
thrown more light upon the mystery of
that brief life, the struggles of that young
heart, but the name of Annie Clarke wal
never heard to pass his lips.
The sods on her grave were fresh, and <
the funeral bell had scarce dons tolling,
when his marriage festival was celebra-
ted; and a. few of Annie's age, who had
suspected that at one period he . had 1'0
garded her with tender interest, wonder-
ed that he could so soon forget her.-
Others who knew that he had been much
at Gideon Clarke's in his visits to New
Haven, blamed him that he did not call in
this afilictive season and show sympathy
and kindness to the bereaved parents.
Future years often brought him 80
Annie’s native place, and always before
he left, in solitary hours, alone as one do-
siring to pass unnoticed would his feet
turn to the house where she had dwelt,‘
but which he never again entered. The
flowers Annie had planted were choked
and uprooted by grass and weeds. The
rusty hinges of the from gate were set-
dom turued, and the paved walks were
overgrown. The same lilacs, tho syran.
es, the snowballs, the accacius, the to-
ses still budded and blossomed, but thell
fragrance was wasted on the closed door
and those blinded windows, and their
blossoms fell on the long uutroddeu grass
During the summer and in the autumn’
and winter, the wind sighing through
their leaves, and their long branchcl
creaking against the old house, seemed
to breath u requiem for the young girl
"whose form had long mingled with ill
native dust. The loneliness without
spoke'of the desolationyrithin of the room
kept as Annie had left, but seldom entelb
ed, of the piano whose chords were nevet
struck, of books zunopeued, and picture!
covered in their frames ;|for the childlefi
and smitten parents withdrew from the
rooms she had occupied to hide their ago
and misery in a corner of the old homa
And those who met Blakesly as he still
haunted a spot which breathed dcsolu}
repassed that old house with his forehe
resting on his breast, and hat drawn 0
as to conceal his face, might trace, in ch‘
lines which marked his brow, u remord
and self-reproach which had embittered’
life counted happy and honored all
prosperous.
[F-.»"An exchange speaks of some or‘
"having an eye for music." One whd
can "C sharp” probably. ‘ d,_
B?‘ When a man looks wail, can 111
[see any better ? . ,
est be spared to return to us, that by ou&- _
I
tion, or watched him as he passed and '
Norwalk Chronicler