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of me.

HANNAH FANTHORN'S SWEETHEART.

net myself, and to go where there was music in

the church.” VIFTY years ago, and yet I've but to shut Ellis hadn't a Quaker bone in her body por my eyes and there comes Willy over the

a Methodist drop in her blood. I always rose hill, as I used to see him coming when I sat dered Will didn't come a-wooing her instead waiting for him at the farm-house window. Sometimes on horseback, but oftener afoot, for

I was a bit of a thing with blue eyes and a the Hall was not very far away. Nowadays skin like wax-not a drop of color in it, and you see the boys and men all alike in black, or

didn't there come an artist who painted miniawith (maybe) a bit of gray or brown. It wasn't

tures, to our place one summer and tell me my so then. Will wore a blue coat with gilt face was a classical,” and nearer the “ antique buttons, and knee-breeches, and silk stockings, than any thing he ever saw.

I was pleased with and buckles in his shoes, and a buff vest; and

the first, but the last worried me, for do what I on gala days claret eolor and white silk. Hand- could, though it sounded like a compliment. I some in any one's eyes and wonderfully so in could make no meaning of “antique” but old, mine; for I was half Quakeress, half Methodist,

80 I asked Willie, and said he, and never had worn any thing gay myself.

“ Come to my house and I'll show you." Tall ? Surely he was tall. Never a Haslet

So mother let me, and I went. There, in the under six feet, and broader in the shoulders drawing-room, was a stand, and on it a woman than any of his age. Straight-featured and in marble—that is, the face and neck of a rosy and just twenty-five.

woman and down to the waist. A “bust," he Will's father was rich squire Haslet, and they called it. Says Willie, “ That's antique. It is lived at the Hall, a grand house, we thought it,

Psyche, and more like you than any pieture for we were plain people. Father a Quaker,

could be." mother a Methodist, and he kept to the plain

Never like me," said I; and then I blushed dress and language all his life. In those days and turned away, for not a tucker nor scarf had there never

was a Methodist who wore gay she-and I felt ashamed. colors or new fashions, and mother took to the

It was a splendid house; too grand it seemed poke bonnets and grave dresses naturally.

to me to live in ; and he took me all over it So we were quiet enough, not a picture nor even to the hot-house, where summer flowers an ornament in the house. Not a fiddle, though grew in the winter time, and he put some in brother Barzillia begged to have one. And at dusk Saturday night work put away, and the White,” said he ; " you look best in white." house clean and not so much as a mouthful

One night I heard father and mother talking cooked the Sabbath through. Every thing cold; by the kitchen-fire. and mother put the key in her pocket and took

Says mother, “ It's wrong to stand in the us girls one way to Methodist meeting, and fa- girl's way, though he's Episcopal. And think ther took the boys to Quaker meeting—for that of her being mistress of the Hall, and riding in was the compact, and they never let religion her coach.” come between them.

“ Thee thinks too much of the world, EuIt was all so different at the Squire's. The nice,” says father. curtains and carpets and Mrs. Haslet's caps

all “ But remember, Elias," says mother, “it's a aglow with color. And Sunday a feast-day, chance that comes to few. And she'd be good with more work for the servants than any other; to Ellis if we died; and the fear would be oft and guests down from the city, and the piano- of our minds for the children. It's hard to be such a wonder to all—and the harp a-playing. poor—to pinch and save—and know a bad year They went to church if they chose, and sat in for crops or a spell of sickness would swallow all. the Squire's high-backed pew with curtains. He loves her, and he'll be good to her; and she Mother used to say—she was a bit prejudiced

can go to our meeting and he to his.” that what with the organ and altar cloths and Thee'll have thy way at last,” says father. fonts and carvings and painted windows and But I'd rather see her marry some young friend gay bonnets, the Episcopal church was for all with but one cow and two or three acres. I the world like a play-house. Sister Ellis used misdoubt the ways of world's folk.” to say to me, “ For all that I'd like a pink bon- But his voice was mild, and I knew he had

my hair.

yielded. As for the Squire himself—a hand- the while he told me that it was fashion and some, burly, red-faced gentleman with a loud courtesy, and kept me quiet while he was by. voice-he rode over one morning to see father. He wonld have had me at the Hall often also, Mother went into the sitting-room, and I was to but Sabrina sent no message.

She was the misstay in the dairy; but how could I, when I knew tress of the house, and I would not go there my father was in the balance ? I crept into the without her invitation. So I pined and grew entry and listened, stopping my mouth with my thin, and mother thought me ill. So I was, but white apron lest I should cry out. I heard the of heart, not of body. And when she talked of Squire first.

my wedding-day my blood would boil, and I'd “ My boy has set his heart on your girl," he say, between my clenched teeth, said. “He might find a richer mate, but he “No - I'll not marry one who weds me becouldn't find a prettier or a better. If you'll cause he's bound to me, and not from love ?” say 'yes,' neighbor Fanthorn, I will and his

One night I stood by the garden-palings and mother. Sabrina's to be married soon, and we

looked at the stars, and as I stood there a shall want a daughter at the Hall.”

woman in a hood came over the fields and stood Father said not a word for a while. He fold- beside me. It was Miss Sabrina Haslet. I ed his hands and sat looking at the floor. At started as if I had been shot; and she took off last he said, “ Have thy own way, Eunice; she's her hood, for it was warm, and looked hard a girl.”

at me. Oh, but it's sweet to have the first love

“What kind of a girl are you ?” said she. crowned by a parent's blessing. Well, well, “What kind of one are you?” said I.

“ Not with joy comes sorrow.

A month after that

a civil one, to speak that way.” day Willie's mother died. She dropped from Said she: “What I want to know is this her chair at the dinner-table, and when the ser

Are you the person to hold my brother to a vant had sped across the country and back foolish bond, or to let him free when he begins with the doctor she was dead. I wept as I stood to struggle. You caught him cleverly; and near the grave and saw Willie so sad, dressed though his heart has slipped through your finfor the first time in his mourning, and I had

gers you may be mistress of the Hall yet, I supmore reason to weep than I knew; for Sabrina

pose.

Will you ?” Haslet was mistress at the Hall, and all along in

“ With his heart gone from me!” I cried. secret she had set her heart against her brother's

“ Has he told you match with me.

“He'd die first,” said Miss Sabrina. As soon as she could she began to fill the honor would not let him break troth with you. house with company-young ladies nearly all : But to see how he loves Miss Dorcas Oakley, handsome, fashionable, dressed in finery and

and she is a match for him in rank and wealth jewels; and Will must play the part of host

and beauty. People are talking of it and pityand make them welcome. He told me

Though I'd rather be with my Quaker beauty by the river-side,” he said. " But Sabrina wants

They shall pity him no more,” I said.

“ What is the Hall to me? It was my Willie's company to keep her spirits up.”

I had a guess that she hoped to wean him love I cared for. Tell him he is free.” from me, but I never told him so. True love “ You must tell him yourself,” she said. “If needs no chain, I thought, and for a while he you care to see him happy open his cage;" and was my own Willie all the same. But at last she tied on her hood and sped away. there came to the Hall the handsomest lady of

That night there went a note to Willie :all-Miss Dorcas Oakley. She staid a long, “ MASTER WILLIAM HASLET, — I've thought

it is gone

?"

“ His

SO.

ing him.”

66

1:1

alon long while that the bond between us un

out.

gether.”

though he came to the farm I would not see I went back to get a shawl and hood, and tell him; and all was over between us.

my mother where I was going, and then came I waited only to hear that he was betrothed The night was bleak, and snow was fallto Miss Dorcas Oakley. Instead of that, I ing and lay deep upon the ground, and there heard, a week after, that he had left the coun- stood a sleigh with buffalo robes in it ready for try. Where he had gone and why, no one me. I stepped in, and was whirled away to knew. When I felt sure that Miss Dorcas Oak- ward the Hall. It was like a dream. I could ley conld be nothing to him, or that at least scarcely believe myself awake. It was still a they were not to be married, my heart smote dream when we stopped at the Hall, and I only me a little, and I wondered whether I should realized that all was true when I stood in Miss not have put my pride down a bit, and have Sabrina's room, and saw her lying wan and pale heard him speak for himself.

upon the pillow. Oh, what a change had come Miss Sabrina Haslet did not marry. The

over her! wedding was put off first by her mother's death,

“ You've come, Hannah Fanthorn,” she said; and then by her father's, six months after; and

“thank you for that. I thought you'd refuse, then folk said there was a quarrel. But be it perhaps. It's a long while since we spoke to as it may, he who was to have been her husband married instead that same Miss Dorcas Oakley. “ A long while," I replied.

Other suitors came, no doubt, for Miss Sabri- “ Yet you haven't changed much," said she. na was handsome and rich; but she liked none “You look as you did when you stood by the of them, and lived on in the Hall quite alone hedge in the moonlight, and said, “What is the but for the servants. By-and-by she saw no Hall to me? 'Twas Willie's love I cared for.' company, and shut up half the house, and seemed | I remember the words, Hannah Fanthorn. more lonely and wretched than many a poor They've stung my soul often since. Do you

All her beauty left her too, and she know I lied then ?” grew to be a sharp, sour spinster, always dressed “ Lied!" in black - she who had been both belle and Yes, lied. Willie's heart never belonged to beauty.

any one but you. He was true as Heaven. It I lived on at home. Ellis married, and so did was I who wanted him to wed Dorcas Oakley. Barzillai. The years did not seem to give a I thought a poor girl like you beneath him. I gray hair to my mother, nor a wrinkle to my told him you loved that cousin who came to your father. They were too placid to grow old fast. home so often; and when your letter came he No one wondered I did not marry. They seemed | believed it. I thought he would marry Dorcas to think that having been so nearly mistress of then. I never meant to drive him from home the Hall, it was not likely I should be willing to and kin; but he went, and the last words he wed for less.

said were, “Sabrina, my heart is broken.' And The Hall! Bah! It was Willie I loved, and all these years he has wandered over the world not his house or lands.

a lonely, sorrowing man; and I, his sister, the One winter night, Christmas time was nearly cause. And she - Dorcas - oh, you know my come, and I sat by the fire dressing dolls and lover jilted me for her; all the place knows tying up sugar-plums in paper horns with bits that.” of ribbon for my nieces' and nephews' stockings I looked at the noor dying woman. I was

woman.

morrow.

I looked up.

ing a packet from under her pillow, “ in this I now, in the winter twilight-for at five the day have written the truth. It shall be sent to- was nearly done, and the clouds lowered heavy

It is directed plainly. If I die in the with coming snows-now, how dark and cold it night it can go all the same.

Will and you may

was! And yonder in the grave-yard lay, in meet again, and be happy when I am under their grim vault, master and mistress, and she the turt.”

who had been the pride of their hearts, the toast Then she began to wail—" Don't leave me; and beauty of the region --Sabrina Haslet. don't leave me to die alone!"

And Willie—where was he? I sat down by her.

The gloom, the scene I had just witnessed, “Do not fear,” I said, “and try to think of the memories, were all too much for me. I other things. Forget earth--look to heaven." bowed my head upon the cold stone of the

I never left her. Sitting by her side on the gateway and wept. Gone, gone, gone !” I third night I saw a change come over her face, cried, and the sobbing wind among the branches and bent over her.

overhead seemed to repeat these words, “ Gone, “ Hannah Fanthorn,” she whispered, “ have gone, gone !” you forgiven me ? ”

I had heard no step on the soft snow; I had " As I pray God to forgive me,” I answered. seen no shadow. I never guessed any one was Then fainter still she spoke:

near me until a hand came down upon my shoul“ Be kind to Will. He loved you. Oh, to der—a hand large and strong, but trembling think that I should have lost my soul that you like an aspen leaf. might not be my sister--you who seem so like

Beside me stood the tall, dark one now !”

man I had seen in the grave-yard. When I And with those words there came a look into turned he removed his hat, and I saw the face

I never shall forget; and in the Christ- of Willie Haslet. A face altered and aged, mas dawn she lay on my arm dead.

bronzed and sad, but his, with love in it. On Sunday they buried her. The grave-yard “ Hannah,” he said, “ Hannab ! ” was füll. Every one came to see Squire Has- And I, as though I spoke in a dream, murlet's daughter laid in the great vault. I stood mured, “ He has come back again ! He has near it; but though the solemn words of the

come back again!” preacher rang in my ear, and the coffin was be

Yes, Hannah, back again," said the low, fore my eyes, and I should have thought of sweet voice that had been in my memory so nothing else, my mind would wander away to

many years. “ Her letter brought me back. the past—and I saw Will as I used to see him,

She was my sister and is dead. Hannah, you and myself, as in a mirror, young and blithe know all ? " leaning on his arm. Then I found myself pray- “ All,” I said. ing for the dead woman, and murmuring, “ God He looked at me, I felt that though I dared forgive her, for she knew not what she did!” not look at him. We were silent for a moment.

I came back to the present with a start and a Then he spoke, thrill. They were closing the vault. And be- " I have not crossed that threshold. It rests side the clergyman, speaking to him in a wbis with you whether I ever shall. I will not be per, stood a tall man, with a foreign look about master of the Hall unless you will be my wife him and a heavy hat slouched over his eyes: a

and its mistress." man all in black, with hair as dark as night, but “ The Hall, the Hall!” I cried, “ Did the

her eyes

PRAYER

O Father, I am sore of strife,

My heart, my soul is sadly sore.

Pray tell me what thou hast in store,
To crown the relics of mp life.

" There is no change in you," he said. “Oh, Hannah, must I go ?

He opened his arms. I took one step forward, and my head was against his breast as it had been ten years before, and I was his again.

Thirty years ago, but I remember. How the bells rang when we were wed, and how the people crowded to the church to see! And who so proud as mother ? for her girl was the Squire's lady and mistress of the Hall, where they sat by the fire many a long day, and died in peace and hope almost together at last.

So may we die— Will and I; for we love each other still, though both our heads are white as snow to-day. But amidst the changes that have come in all these years we have never changed to each other.

Much have I said, thy love to pain,

Much thought, thy goodness to offend,

Much done, if to an earthly friend,
Had severed all our ties in twain !
An earthly friend! and what art thou ?

A friend, whom time nor space contine,

Thee have I wronged, my Lord divine,
But 0 I am repentant now.

Pour on me thy righteous wrath,

I nor deserve, nor beg decrease;

Through sufforing lead me out to peace,
That peace the tried believer hath.

Thou hast not made my life for nought,

But called me in creation's plan,

To do some good to creature man,
By love, by labor, or by thought.

ADVICE ON DRESS.

If you are a young lady, and employ a cer- 0, can it be, some heart shall prove,

More faithful for that I believed ? tain number of sempstresses for a given time,

Then, Father, hath my life received in making a given number of simple and ser- A sweet memorial of thy love. viceable dresses-suppose seven, of which you

And shall I, too, be made aware can wear one yourself for half the winter, and

Of hearts by whom my life has grown, give away six to poor girls who have none-you Of friends, a rapture to have known, are spending your money unselfishly. But if

Thine agents who have answered prayer ? you employ the same number of sempstresses Why is it sorrow's cloud should fling for the same number of days in making four, or

Across the heart its sable shade?

My faith is queen-thou art my aidfive, or six beautiful flounces for your own ball

I'm growing happy while I sing ! dress—flounces which will clothe no one but

For I have much yet left to me,yourself, and which you yourself will be unable

Though of my earthly friend bereft, to wear at more than one ball-you are em

0, I have much to gladden left, ploying your money selfishly. ... I say further, 0, I have much for I have thee! that as long as there are cold and nakedness in Then take me, Father, mould my mind, the land around you, so long can there be no And shape its thoughts as seemeth good,

Thine imprint will be understood, question at all but that splendor of dress is a

As it shall benefit mankind. crime. In due time, when we have nothing better to set people to work at, it may be right

Take me, make me what Thou wilt

A kindly friend, a Christian man, to let them make lace and cut jewels; but, as

Or use my blood as His that ran, long as there are any who have no blankets for To wash away a brother's guilt. their beds, and no rags for their bodies, so long

To serve Thee, be my chiefest care, it is blanket-making and tailoring we must set To love Thee, my supreme delight,

Unswerving faith, by day and night, people to work at—not lace.-Ruskin.

Outshining in perpetual prayer.

Words fail to speak-eyes can not seeThe expenses of the funeral of Mr. Lincoln,

I grope my feeble, childish way, at Washington, were $23,436 27. Notwith

I only lift my heart and praystanding the high price of everything, this sum I leave the future all to Thee.

E. A. V. is ten thousand dollars less than that expended Mt. Pleasant, Iowa, July 81, 1865. on the funeral of General Taylor, and eight thousand less than in the case of President

IF a lady in a red cloak was to cross a field Harrison.

in which was a goat, what wonderful transfor

mation would take place ? The goat would The Temple of salvation was not made in turn to butter, and the lady into a scarlet a day.

runner.

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