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{ wood, i. In the section, the floors are shown as A Dwelling for a small Family.

laid over a bed of stone, and a gravelled terrace Accommodation. This hermitage-looking dwell. surrounds the whole building on a level six inches ing contains a porch, a; a work-room or parlor, b; } lower than the floors of the rooms. In the bed of a bedroom communicating with it, c; a kitchen, d;} stones may be a flue connected with an oven placed an outer kitchen or wash-house, with an oven, e, in the angle of the back-kitchen, e, as before decommunicating with a pantry, f. The wash-house scribed. has a back door, near which, in the lean-to, is a General Estimate.-Cubic contents, 11,700 feet: water-closet, g; a cow-house, h; and a place for at 10 cents, $1,170; at 5 cents, $585.

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} quent, that of her mother, pass in solemn review

before her. Insensibly, the same outstretched arın It was the hour of twilight; cold, wintry clouds which was then her support, seems now underneath were skulking about the lower part of the horizon, her. The Father of the fatherless, whose promise rapidly shutting out the light of day, leaving the she had so oft pleaded in .prayer, will not forsake air chilly and cold. Though early in the autumn, { her. She remembers the comfort which filled her yet there had been frequent gusts of wind, making soul, as she cast all her burden upon Him, and refree with the foliage which remained upon the trees, solves to trust him still. He, who bad been her while heavy clouds had hung about the sky with an refuge through many fierce storms of adversity, will occasional gleam of sunshine, rendering the suc not turn a deaf ear to the cries of her poor widowed ceeding gloom only the more drear.

heart. And now one could hardly distinguish the leafless True, the friend whom she mourned was more trees, surrounding the low building which is the suited in age for her grandparent than her husband; scene of my sketch ; yet the pale mourner, sitting true, that his querulousness and childishness had by the window, stirred not. Under ordinary cir- often been more than she conld well bear; but all cumstances, she would have drawn the curtain and this she forgets, or only remembers with joy, that joined the circle in an adjoining apartment, who her strength has been equal to her day, and that were sitting around a cheerful fire; but now the she has been graciously assisted to bear patients darkness and gloom which reigned without had and uncomplainingly the trials visited upon hor. sunk into her heart. She was alone in the world; She recalls with pleasure his early acts of charity, she felt that she was alone; while silent tears, all when thrown upon him for protection, and the many unheeded by her, followed each other in quick suc kindly deeds which had won the gratitude, if not cession down her cheek. On the following day, she the love of her young heart; and she mourns truly was to consign the mortal remains of her husband that she shall see his face no more. to the silent tomb. He had gone from her for A few weeks later, we find Mary comfortably ever.

situated in the family of a Friend; and never was For a while, she sat dead to every feeling, save a appellation more deservedly bestowed upon a Qua crushing sense of desolation. She had, it is true, a } ker; for the name of Amy Low sent a warm gush brother and sister ; but they were entirely engrossed} of feeling through many a heart. Her frequent and in the cares which the support of their rising fami unobtrusive acts of kindness to the afflicted and lies were bringing upon them. Months of sickness sorrowful gave a lustre to her eye and a glow to had more than exhausted all her resources, and had her cheek, such as naught else could give, and made left her feeblo and languid, dependent upon the { her the well beloved even among her own sect, charity of friends. Dependent! Oh, how tightly where all hearts are kept warm by a constant exershe clasped her hands as she repeated that word ! cise of love and charity. She could think no more ; but, leaning her head Mary had received a cordial invitation to make upon her arm, she wept bitterly. Tears, eren bitter { her home with Amy for the winter, which was cartears, will bring relief. Gradually, the sobs grew { nestly seconded by John and all the family; and less heavy and frequent, the tears ceased to flow, Mary Eames was comparatively happy. She felt and memory was carrying her back far into the the influence of the frank, sincere happiness around past, even to the time when she, with her brother her, and, as she sat busily plying her needle--for and sister, used to play before the old cottage door, she was never idle--she looked back upon the fiery when the orchard resounded with their shouts of} billows over which she had passed, and said to her. delight, and their merry peals of laughter. How } self, truly “blessed is he who maketh the Lord his distinct in her ear was the voice of her good mo trust." ther calling them to supper, and the happiness she She had already begun to make her plans for the fult at the praise of her father when she had com- { future. It was her intention to take a small room, pleted her allotted task!

and support herself with her needle. This gave her Now she advances to hor girlhood; the sickness an object, and her kind friends assisted her in oband death of her father, and, a few years subse- taining work, that she might lay by something for

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that purpose. Amy often came into her room with though not without a sigh at his own lonely condia cheering word.

tion. “ Thee has had a hard time, Mary; but bright Patience, good man! thy turn may come sooner days are before thee. Thee art young, and deserve than thou listeth. a young husband next time."

Then, snufting the candle, he proceeded to the At which Mary would shake her head, and say, deaths. in a low, sad voice, at the remembrance of the past

“Oct. 2d, died at his residence, in Crawford, Mr. “I shall never marry again.”

Lewis Howarth, aged 53. Mrs. Eames's dutiful conduct to her parents, her { "In Melville, on the 5th inst., Mr. Samuel Eames, devoted care of an aged husband, much more than { a Revolutionary veteran, at the advanced age of 90 twice her ago, and her simple, unostentatious piety, years." had gained her many friends. She was invited to Here a sudden exclamation of “What!" and a join a benevolent circle, and soon had the satisfac quick repetition of the last announcement, proved tion of feeling that she still could do something in that his mind was not so intent upon the matter as the way of charity. This sewing circle, unlike many his serious manner seemed to indicate. This time others, met for a specific object; and the only strife his reading, however, showed his whole soul to be among them was, which should do the most to pro absorbed in the fact that, on the 5th inst., Mr. mote the cause in which they were engaged. They Samuel Eames, aged 90, had departed this life. had, with one consent, banished from among them But why this emotion? Why is the paper, just all scandal and unkind words, and were, of course, now 80 earnestly desired, hastily thrown aside ? warmly attached to each other.

Was he thy kingman? Art thou expecting aught After her admission to the circle, few were more of his worldly estate ? No, neither. These would constant at the meetings, or moro diligent when hardly cause the emotion which agitated him for present, than Mary Eames, who thus won the con- the next hour, as he sat leaning on the arm of his fidence and affection of all those with whom she chair, looking steadily into the fire. At length, he was associated.

breathed more freely, and, with tho exclamation, The sun of prosperity began now to shine upon “ Then she is free, and may be mine, to bless my her path, and to open the buds of hope around her. solitary heart!" arose and began to walk steadily Her days were passing quietly away, cheered by across the room. the sympathy and benevolence of her friends, in While he is walking thus, we will go back a little whose kind care we will leave her for a season. in his history, and endeavor to assign some reason

for the intensity of feeling here excited.

Levi Harrington was born and brought up in the

small village of Edgeworth. When about twentyCHAPTER II.

eight years of age, he married the daughter of a

neighboring farmer, with whom he lived happily for ABOUT forty miles distant from the opening scene many years, when she died, and left him three chilof our story lay the village of Edgeworth. Nearly dren, the youngest ten years of age. Upon the a week after the events there narrated, Mr. Har marriage of his daughter, he was solicited by his rington, a middle-aged man, returned from the friends to seek another wife; but, among all his post-office, which was more than a mile from his { acquaintance in the village, he knew of none whom house, and, after attending to the comfort of his he wished to recognize in that relation. Ile had domestic animals, and seen that all was safe for the never been twenty miles from home in his life; and night, drew the curtains, set out the light stand, he determined not to be in haste, but to wait until and drawing up his arm-chair before the fire, began Providence should diroct his course. to put the embers together and make a blaze, pre- A lady, who had been a particular friend of his paratory to reading his weekly paper.

wife, called one afternoon to see him, and, after exHe commenced, as was his custom, with the first pressing her strong interest in him as the husband article, and read each succeeding one in order, omit- } of her best friend, remarked that she knew of one ting nothing. The evening was quite advanced person who, if not married, would just suit him. when he came, in due course, to Marriages" and He inquired, with a smileDeaths."

“Is there, then, no prospect of my success ?” “ Married, October 10th, by the Rev. T. H. “Why, yes," said she, returning his smile, “if Symmes, Mr. Rufus Howe to Miss Caroline Tainter, you choose to wait. She is about the age of Sarah" both of Bosworth.

--Daming his deceased wife—“ but is married to a “On the 12th inst., by Rev. J. A. Spencer, Mr. { man old enough to be her grandfather. I heard, a John Morrill to Mrs. Susan Averill, relict of the short time since, that he was very low. He was so late Colonel Averill, of Freetown, Mass.," &c. &c. old that his friends thought he could not hold out

There he read through with scrupulous exactness, much longer, and he may have died before now.”

“What is the name of this lady who would just would do to make her forget the long, long years suit me ?"

of trial through which she had passed, that he felt “ Mary Eameg."

sure she would consent to be bis. “Mary Eames! What, she that was a Conan ?" He never realized that all this time poor Mary “Yes."

was ignorant that there was such a person as him “Well, I 're' heard a right good name of her," } self in existence; that she was growing prematurely continued Mr. Harrington, now becoming quite in- } old by means of her daily and hourly toils. The terested in the conversation. “And you say they } thought entered not his mind that, worn out by her think he won't live long ?"

unceasing watch and care, she might be called away “Why, yes; neighbor Woodly saw him a week from the trials of earth. No, all his thoughts and or two since, and he said the old man's mind and feelings centred in this—he would make her happy. memory were almost gone ; and he thought, most And how did he feel all this time towards the of the time, Mary was his daughter that died. He aged veteran, who stood between him and his hopes ? has outlived his usefulness, and I rather think poor } Strange as it may seem, he had no desire to deMary has a trying time of it.”

prive the helpless old man of one moment of his “Well, how does she get along with him ?” allotted life, who had long ago passed his three

“Why, Mr. Woodly says she is the patientest score years and ten, and who, he thought, in all husoul that he ever saw, and that it made his heart man probability, could not live much longer. He ache to hear him talk to her, and find so much fault was willing to wait; he would wait patiently, as with what she did. Yet he would let no one else do Jacob waited for Rachel, provided he was not conanything for him. If she was out of his sight a mo strained to take some Leah. ment, he'd call ‘Betsy'—his deceased daughter's { He now seldom left home, except to visit his chilname-how dare you stay there, when I want you {dren, and the kind friend, Mrs. Williams, to whom this minute !'”

alone he confided his intentions and his hopes. After his visitor's departure, the sad tale of Mary She entered warmly into his feelings; encouraged Eames's trials constantly recurred to him; and, at him under the circumstances to live alone, and thus the end of the following week, when on the way to avoid the occasion for idle talk; and did, what it see the lady who had first mentioned her, he was has often been said woman cannot do, keep his astonished at himself for the interest he took in a secret. Never, by look or tone, intimating that he person whom he had never seen. He went pur- was more interested than common humanity would posely to ask if anything had been heard from the dictate, in the trials of Mary Eames, when she and old gentleman ; but did not propose the question } her afilictions were the subject of conversation. until he was about to depart. Mrs. Williams had Mr. Harrington often heard, apparently unmoved, heard nothing more, but would inquire.

} high encomiums passed upon her patience and sub“Oh,” he stammered, “it is of no-no-conse- } mission under the dispensations of Providence. This quence; only your account of them quite interested } he treasured up as a subject of thought during his me."

many hours of loneliness and grief. After this, Mrs. Williams, with true womanly tact, At length came the unwelcome intelligence that, kept him informed of the condition of Mr. Eames, exhausted by her ceaseless watching and care, Mary without waiting for him to ask, seldom mentioning lay upon a bed of sickness, and was so much rethe name of Mary, except to answer the inquiries duced that her friends feared sho never would reoccasionally ventured by Mr. Harrington.

cover. This was what he had not anticipated, and About two years subsequent to the marriage of { it almost overwhelmed him. For a while, the poor his daughter, his eldest son followed her example, { man was bewildered, and could think of nothing. and left home, leaving him with his young son to For years, he had so connected her in his thoughts take care of the farm and small dairy.

with everything he did, and everything ho intended I will not attempt to describe his feelings of lone- } to do, that now he seemed thrown into the midst of liness and sorrow, mingled with hope deferred, as į a wild sea, without anchor or compass. Yes, this year after year passed away; nor the several stages { was true ; and all his sorrow on account of one whom through which his mind passed, until he had fully { he had never seen. Surely, no one will doubt tho resolved to “bide his time," and "wait for Mary's romance of real life. love." He resisted tho oft-urgod entréaties of his Mrs. Williams often called to see him, and to children, that he would provide a guitable person to sympathize with him; and, though for months sho keep his house and attend to the concerns of his could bear no favorable intelligence, she softened family. He was determined to guard against every { the tidings as much as lay in her power. thing which might possibly influence the object of At last, she informed him that a decided imhis choice, and prevent her from becoming his wife. provement had taken place, and that strong hopes Indeed, he had so often made and settled his course were entertained of Mary's recovery. From this whenever she should be free, had spent so many time the accounts were very cheering. The old hours in thinking of her, and planning what he gentleman, who now recognized no one, had been

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removed to a hospital, and his wife, free from the even she had never heard, had requested him to gea care which had preyed upon her mind, was fast re her in regard to her feelings connected with a secovering.

cond marriage; or whether she would be willing to We now come to the time when we first intro enter again into that rolation. duced Mr. IIarrington to the reader, and are pre After a brief pause, she told him she was so taken pared to explain the sudden outburst of feeling by surprise she knew not what to say. Whenever caused by those few lines in his weekly journal. she had thought of the subject at all, she had During the time we have occupied in this sketch of thought she should never marry again. Sho was bis life, he has made and overturned twenty plans. now pleasantly situated, and certainly could give no He finds it harder to act, now that the opportunity encouragement to one whom she had never seon. is presented, than he had anticipated. He now She, however, listened to all that he said in behalf realizes, and wonders he did not before, that all of his friend. His kindness to his wife, his upright these would be new to her, and that she could not be conduct, his many excellencies of character, and, espected to enter into them at once at that point to above all, his strong attachment to her, formed by which his mind had arrived. This is a sad trial to what he had for years heard of her through reciprohis patience. How long must he wait before he cal friends, were duly commented upon; and I can, with propriety, propose to her once more to should fail to tell the wholo truth, did I not say change her condition ? Alas, his confident hope of that, before the commissioner departed, she found success has vanished!

to her own astonishment that there might be cirAfter building many castles, and upsetting them } cumstances which would render it her duty to change -for even men of sixty build airy castles-he re her resolution. Mr. Holt stated also that his friend solved to see Mrs. Williams and take her advice. was in very easy circumstances as regarded his

This he did on the following morning, and, with pecuniary matters, and was both able and desirous a sigh, acquiesoed in her opinion, that he could not

of making her comfortable and happy. with propriety bring the subject before Mrs. Eames She replied that money would make no difference for several months.

to her in the choice of a companion, provided she “Courage, courage, my friend,” she said to him, should ever change her condition, compared with at parting; “ you have waited patiently seven years; } having a man of principle, and one who would bo cannot you now wait half that number of months?" kind to her. This would be all-important in her


IIe then told her Mr. Harrington would probably

visit her during the ensuing week. CHAPTER III.

Though the subject, so unexpectedly brought be.

fore her, was seldom absent from her thoughts by It was a clear, cold day in December; Mary day or her dreams by night, yet sho mentioned it Eames was to pass the afternoon with a friend

to no one. She was not aware that Mr. Holt had “ Hiram shall go for thee, Mary," said Amy. “It { imparted his errand to Amy, who, delighted with is not best for thee to come alone."

the favorable prospect before her friend, had recomWith many thanks for her friendly care, Mary mended her in the highest terms. She was so mostarted, expecting to be absent through the even- dost in her opinion of herself that she could hardly ing; but the clock had just struck three, when { realize that she had excited such interest in a Hiram came with a summons for Mary to return. { stranger.

"A friend has called upon thee,” said he, in an When two or three weeks passed, and she heard swer to her anxious inquiry; for she feared some nothing more from Edgeworth, she determined to accident had happened at home.

dismiss the matter at once from her thoughts. Telling him he need not wait, she returned to the But this was not so easy as she imagined. Mr. parlor, took leave of her friends, and directed her} Harrington, sympathizing in her trials, interested gteps homeward. She supposed it must be a rela in her on account of them, would have a place, and tion or friend from a distance, otherwise she should a prominent place, in her mind. She became resthardly have been interrupted in her visit.

less and unsettled, and at last really sick. Upon her arrival, she was introduced to Mr. Holt, Amy recommended a little change of air, and from Edgeworth, an entire stranger, who soon told } that she should visit her brother and sister for a her he had come some forty miles to see her, and, few days. as he must go a part of the way home that night, { " It is fine sleighing," she said ; " and Hiram requested an interview with her at once.

will take thee there in an hour, where I can easily Amy, to whom his errand was already known, send for thee, in case anything happens," she added, immediately arose, and, having assisted Mary in with rather a significant look. taking off her cloak, left the room.

With a reluctance to which she determined not to Judge, then, of the surprise of the widow, when yield, she prepared to go; and, the next day being told that Mr. Harrington, a person whose name { pleasant, she accepted Hiram's offer, and went with

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