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"Recovering herself presently, she looked around for her companions: up and down the street she looked vainly. She could not tell which way she had come ; her head was turned by the busy crowd around her. She ran fast, hoping to overtake them; but, by a natural enough error, she ran in the wrong direction. On and on she flew, growing nervously excited as she went, until her eye caught sight of a group of people down a side-street, whom she thought she recognized as her own. She ran swiftly toward them, only to be thoroughly frightened by her mistake. Her head was completely turned. She appealed loudly to the passers-by. She forgot that not one could comprehend her Alsatian dialect. Some smiled at her ; others, thinking her a beggar, offered her money; still others met her wild look with insulting gestures.

"From these she turned and ran madly away. The train her party was to take left at five ; the ship was to leave Havre the following day. Utterly fatigued and disheartened, the poor girl presently heard a clock strike five. She could sustain herself no longer, but fell with a groan upon the pavement. A crowd immediately gathered around. A lady who was passing (1 would give her name if I knew it) ordered her carriage to be stopped, and interested herself in inquiries about the poor stranger; no person could tell any thing of her.

"The lady, attracted by her appearance, or directed by the impulses of a naturally sympathetic nature, ordered her to be placed in her carriage, and drove with her to her own home. The best medical advice was obtained, and an interpreter was secured to make known the wishes of the poor girl. But it was too late now to follow her party, if she had chosen. A fever, moreover, had seized upon the poor child, and kept her fast in the wilds of a delirium for weeks. Then she raved in her Alsatian tongue about the wooded hills and the sweet brooks of her green Alsatia—lost to her forever! Or, with a change in her wild nights of fancy, she seemed to be following down the gay Paris streets her lost companions; they sweeping out of reach, and out of sight before, and she crying out despairingly for them to stop one little moment.

"But the fever passed; health came to the poor girl again . and she told her story intelligibly to the kind lady who had befriended her. The father and the mother were both dead; it was with kind kinspeople that she was going beyond the water to find a home. She might go now, and find them if she would; but the lady who had cared for her through that long and dreary illness, when visions of home floated dreamily over her bed, was now dearer to her than the kinspeople. She wished to stay and serve her: and the lady, not slackening her kindnesses, would make no servant of her; but employed for her the best teachers of Paris, and grafted on her graceful Alsatian songs the finish of the metropolitan schools.

"The fair-faced stranger, so bright, so rich in color, so coquette with her own native graces, drew the attention and the remark of all the evening promenadert in the Bois de Boulogne. Her name received such addition as made her pass for the young kinswoman of her kind benefactress, and she treated her always as a child. People knew that a large do wory would belong to the fair Alsatian stranger; and whether it was this or her own graces I can net tell (nobody ever can), she was wooed by a brave suitor, who succeeded in his suit, and in a week to-day (I write on Thursday) she is to be

come Countess of—no matter what. But the story is a pretty one; is it not?

"I wish with all my heart it were true.

"Well—what next r Arc you tired of gossip? While speaking of gossip, I feel a little curious to know if the American branch of the Bonapartes, by reason of their citizenship and quietude at home, are out of the reach of print-talk? How seems it to you? Oris yourcuriosily to know what the Prince Jerome has made of them so great as to overbear all your notions of delicacy 1 It is odd, by-the-by, how curiosity, or interest, or what not, will at times overrun and drown all common notions which we live by, and pin our faith to ordinarily. I was struck by it the other day, in taking up a late (to me) copy of that staid old journal, the Evening Post—immensely conservative and proper, as we all know. Well, what should I see in the Evening Post but a long programme of an approaching marriage (it did not say in high life, but I presume conveyed the idea by ellision), with as many names ofbridesmaids and groomsmen as ever appeared in a Saratoga letter of the Herald f I must confess that I rubbed my eyes. It seemed to me droll. That the elegant old conservator of proprieties—the highly respectable Evening Post, should chronicle such a matter, seemed to me most extraordinary. Just the journal (I had thought) to forbear mention of names in speaking even of the approaching marriage of the Emperor of France, or of the young Princess of England; just the one to squat upon its stateliness in the matter of kingdoms, and to soar always in an elegant cloudregion of high conservatism.

"I come back now to my moutont. The American Bonapartes are living, like any and all good American citizens, at a Paris hotel. You will agree with me that they show their good sense in this, and have done wisely (supposing them unwilling to fling off their other-side citizenship), to decline the Prince's invitation to take quarters at his palace.

"They have dined with him, to be sure, from day to day; and a crowd of idle ones in the palace-court have gathered in the evening to have a look at the citizens Bonaparte enjoying their cigars upon the palace terrace.

"It would seem, and does seem to many, that a lithe young scion of the Imperial house (albeit there may lie a cross in the grain from the old Imperial divorce) may yet be very available in view of the present circumstances; for the heir-apparent, the Prince Napoleon, is certainly a most heavy-headed man, and has nothing but his striking likeness to his uncle to make him in any way a man of mark. Would it not be a strange play of fate if the next Emperor of France were to be the son of an American lady, and educated at West Point!

"In that event, I suppose we might look forward to the growth of a Baltimore nobility; and I should not be greatly surprised to find every inhabitant of

Maryland (even to our old friend H , of the

East-shore) taking on a title!

"Have you noticed Thackeray's quiet hit at an Honorable Major General Poker, of Cincinnati, residing in Paris? It makes a body wince to confess it, but there is not only one, but a great many Major General Pokers in Paris, from the United States— not only of the army, but of the navy—not only of the navy, but of the militia—and not only of the militia, but of the New York target-corps!

"Upon my honor I confess to you, that I have been more awed in the presence of the dashing footmen attached to American carriages than even in that of the Emperor himself.

"I have nothing more to tell you for this month; so, adieu."

tEuitor's Drum

THE Dog-days are over, and our canine friends can now walk the streets unmuzzled, without fear of those amateur and professional dog-killers, whose eagerness is stimulated by the reward of half a dollar offered for their slaughter. The doglaw is doubtless necessary for human safety, and so should be enforced; but there are few who could avoid sympathizing with the hero of the following true story:

Not many years ago, while His Honor the Mayor of New York was enjoying his morning's newspaper over the matutinal coffee and roll, he was startled by a sharp and angry ring at the door-bell. Being summoned down-stairs, he found a black-bearded and mustached little Frenchman pacing the hall in a state of great excitement.

"Monsieur le Maire!" exclaimed the stranger, jumbling together his French and English in the oddest manner, "I am come to you vid un grand mecontentement. Dis morning, very soon, mon beau chien, my beau-tiful dog Nep-tune was my door before, and one of your people, un coquin noir, a black miscreant, come up vid un gros baton, what you say, one great club, and"—here the poor fellow burst into a flood of tears—" and strike him sur la t$te, upon dc head, and kill him so dead as can be. Mes pauvres enfants stand by the window and cry. The Madame she come up to see, and fall into une passion hysterique, and den she not know nothing more at all. I come, but de mis-creant is quite gone, or I would murder him. Je vous demande justice. Show me the coquin, and I will him murder vid dis!" drawing from his bosom a ferocious looking pistol.

His Honor tried to soothe the poor fellow, telling him to call at the Mayor's Office at ten o'clock, and justice should be done him. Monsieur, after another grand explosion of tears, went his way, promising to make his appearance at the appointed hour.

The Mayor had barely reached his Office, when the Gaul appeared, not at all pacified during the interval.

"Je vous demande justice encore," he exclaimed. "The Madame est insensible, et mes pauvres enfants are desolees. I would so soon he did kill mon enfant Jean as my beautiful dog Nep-tune. Show me his name, and he will die!" he added, grinning fiercely through his tears.

After a while, and by dint of much sympathizing, the Mayor, who knew that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," succeeded in calming the irate Gaul, and persuaded him to forego his meditated vengeance against the slayer of his canine friend. He took his departure more in sorrow than in anger, sobbing:

"Mon beau chien Nep-tune! Mon pauvre Neptune! Mes pauvres enfants!"

Next morning at breakfast His Honor was again summoned from his roll and coffee. On going downstairs he beheld an odd spectacle. There was the little Frenchman overflowing with joy; by his side was the Madame, his rosy wife, radiant with smiles, and in the rear were their four children in clean pinafores and broad-brimmed hats with blue ribbons.

They were grouped around a magnificent black Newfoundland dog, whose head was bound up with an embroidered cambric handkerchief.

No sooner did the little Frenchman catch a glimpse of the Mayor, than he sprang forward with true Gallic demonstrativeness, and made a desperate attempt to embrace him. But as he measured barely five feet one, while His Honor stood full six feet, with a proportionate breadth of beam, the attempt was rather a failure.

"Monsieur le Maire!" he exclaimed, as soon as his feelings would allow him vocal utterance, " you were so very kind, dat I must come and tell you the coquin noir have not murdered quite mon beau chien Nep-tune, and Monsieur le Medecine say he shall not at all die; and 1 am come vid the Madame et mes enfants pour vous remercier."

He then went on to explain, in mingled French and English, eked out by abundant gesticulations, that shortly after he had reached his home the previous day, the dog had made his appearance at the door, covered with mire and blood, and almost exhausted. It seems that he had been dumped out of the cart into the water, which had revived him; he had swum ashore, and crawled back to his master's house. Upon examination his wounds proved to be severe rather than dangerous; so that this morning, after having enjoyed a good night's rest, there was little, save a sort of languid convalescent expression in his fine eye, as he returned the caresses of the children, and his comical looking headdress, to denote the rough treatment he had undergone.

"Old Jacor Barker !"—how many associations his name calls up among our "older inhabitants !M Among the new generation of Wall Street he is comparatively unknown; but there was a time when Jacob made his mark upon the stock-brokers and money-changers of that monetary locality. He now lives and thrives in the "Crescent City." Jacob is as active and buoyant as most men at thirty-five; he can not be said, however, to enjoy a green old age, for there is nothing "green" about him, unless we discover it in the suppleness he displays, so peculiar to youth. An amusing story is related of him, where a gentleman called at his office and denounced, in the most unmeasured manner, certain persons who had swindled him (the gentleman, not Jacob) in some stock transactions. Barker listened to the whole matter with professional zest, and finding that every thing had been done "right," urged the indignant victim not to go on so, but to forget the thing entirely; "for, * said Jacob, consolingly, " if you thrade in stocks, you must call thealing threwdness, or you will constantly be out of themper!"

Dentistry is now a science ; but there are travJ eling operators "on the frontiers," who set the teeth on edge without any scientific knowledge whatever. A certain notable of this questionable kind, who was known among the "masses" as a "tooth carpenter," was fortunate in receiving an order from an old lady for the manufacture and placing of an " entire set." He went to work with commendable zeal, and in due time—much to the momentary satisfaction of his patient—lightened up her smile with the "counterfeit presentment" of pearly rows. In a few days, however, matters changed, for one tooth after another dropped from their golden encasements, and were eschewed from the mouth with almost the plentifulness of cherry

stones. The Dentist was seat for, and charged with unprofessional skill: he stoutly denied any want of merit in his work, and ascribed the mishap to some constitutional peculiarity of his patient. After much speculation, he asked his victim if she had not, in the course of her long life, taken a great deal of calomel? Upon being answered in the affirmative, he gravely told her that this calomel had so entirely entered into her system as to make it impossible even for false teeth to stay in her head; and, with an expression of injured innocence and real professional sagacity, he bowed himself put of the presence of his astonished patron.

"while there is life there is hope," is an old adage, and it is sometimes curiously illustrated. Persons given up to die are often saved by the superior energy of a nurse who has hope; but many keep off the king of terrors, for a time at least, by their superior determination. Old Major Dash, who won his brevet in the war of 1812, was suddenly taken down with the cholera. It was at the time of its first appearance on this continent, and our physicians had very little experience. The Major sank rapidly, and a consultation was called. Several doctors, after " putting their heads together," came to the conclusion that the patient was fatally sick, past recovery. No one, however, would make the announcement; when the Major, suspecting the cause, turned to a young doctor present, and said, "What is the report?" "That you can't live." "Not a chance?" asked the Major with severity. "Yes," continued young hopeful, "just one chance

in a hundred thousand." "Then, why the

don't you work away on that chance?" returned the Major, with a voice of thunder. The hint was taken, and the invincible soldier was saved. The white hairs and the glistening sword of this old soldier waved along the victorious lines of our troops in Mexico; but he at last had to yield to a foe, if not more courageous, yet more insatiable, and he now sleeps upon his native banks of the Hudson.

At a late hour of night, a while since, we were attracted by the appearance of a shrewish but healthy-looking Irish woman, sitting upon a curb stone near the City Hall, and pouring out her denunciations upon the world generally, and the Commissioners of Immigration particularly. In her arms was a fine healthy infant of a few months old, and it was eaough to call forth sympathy even from stonier hearts than ours, to behold the group compelled from want to find lodgings upon the "cold ground." Upon inquiring of " Bridget" what was the difficulty, she gave to us an incomprehensible statement about her home on Black well's Island, and the refusal of the Mayor, or some one else, to furnish her money to get back to that "popular resort," winding up as follows: "You sco, your honor, the State and the corporation have paid for my support, and the devil a bit of obligation am 1 under to any one for it." We have read a great deal about ill-advised and unappreciated charity ; but Bridget crowded a large number of heavy treatises into one paragraph; for all such recipients, individually, would say—if they were as honest as Bridget— "the devil a bit of obligation am I under to any one for it."

What is the reason that "Quackery." as it is termed, thrives and waxes fat, while the "scientific" and the " truthful" struggle on, and with dif

ficulty keep above the troubled tide of popular favor? The human system being " fearfully and wonderfully made," to keep it in repair has been the study of the wisest minds through all time; and yet the experiences of the sages have very little weight with the multitude of patients. Specific remedies for the complicated ills of humanity are the absurdest things in the world; yet men quickly make princely fortunes by the sale of medicines that are warranted to thread the mazes of our wonderful " temple," and find out and destroy pain, as a weasel after rats does the dark holes and out-ofthe-way places in a decaying building. The stranger who visits Philadelphia finds the most impressive "pile" in its fashionable thoroughfare devoted to the manufacture of plasters and tooth-powders. The most sumptuous palace of our "Fifth Avenue" was found in the sale of mock sarsaparilla; the finest store structure in our metropolitan city, the most massive granite pile that rears its dark front in B wad way, and frowns over the upheaving tide of our population, has been paid for out of the surplus wealth acquired by compounding aloes pills. The man who made the "infallible" corn plaster limped through life, because he was so occupied in serving his customers that he had no time to apply his remedy to his own pedestals? The gentleman, who had "the certain remedy for bronchial complaints," " pegged out" with the consumption. The manufacturer of the celebrated "Life Pills" died at the premature age of thirty. Yet these remedies are popular nevertheless; for so strange and incomprehensible is human nature, that it will pay a premium for being humbugged. The Galen who calls things by their right names, and tries to be honest with his patients, is generally whistled down the wind, having but little other reward for his labor than the approval of a good conscience ; the palaces and the " seven story stores" are the inheritance of the venders of specifics—the very people who, in spite of the proverb, advertise to do more impossible things than make silk purses out of sows' ears!

An eccentric lawyer, named Burgess, many years ago lived in a New England village, and became quite famous for his " skeptical notions." Attending a town meeting, after its adjournment he lingered among the groups of substantial farmer deacons who composed it, and listened to the prevailing conversation. The bad weather, the fly, the rot, the drought, and the wet were duly discussed, when some one turned to Burgess, and asked, " How comes on your garden?" "I never plant any thing," replied Burgess, with a solemn face ; " I am afraid even to put a potato in the ground." "It's no wonder," groaned one of the most eminently pious persons present, "it's no wonder, for a man who disbelieves in revealed rcfigion could not expect to have his labors blessed." "I fim not afraid of failing in a reward for my work," replied Burgess; "but I am afraid that agricultural labor would make me profane. If I planted a single potato, what would be the result? Why, I should get up in the morning, look about and growl—' It's going to rain, and it will ruin my potato;' then I should, in dry weather, say—' The drought will kill my potato f then I should be unhappy, because the ' rot' might destroy my potato: in fact, gentlemen," concluded Burgess, in a solemn manner, "I should be afraid to do any thing that would induce me constantly to distrust Providence." The reproof was keenly feh by many present; and for months afterward, the farmers—with a fear of Burgess before their eyes —talked of the blessings rather than the evils attending their daily labors.

The Temperance cause, of which so much is said at "the North," is quietly working its way among the people of our Southern States, and wc are gratified with the unexpected fact, that Mississippi is to-day the most thoroughly Temperance State in the Union; while Louisiana and Alabama are rapidly abolishing the retail traffic from all their interior towns. It would seem that the people of the South come to " their conclusions" on the subject in the most philosophical way, and that their celebrations arc gatherings where the utmost friendliness of feeling prevails. We have heard a very illustrative story which will bear relating. Some years ago, when the " Sons" first commenced their labors in Louisiana, the first anniversary celebration of a number of societies was held at Baton Rouge, the capital of the State. It so happened, that, at the last moment, there was a " lack of orators," and a committee was hastily organized to supply the deficiency. The gentleman selected was Thorpe—so widely known for his Sketches of Southern Life. It was in vain he urged, that, although a "temperate man," he was not officially enrolled among "the order." All objections were overruled, and the extemporaneous speaker commenced his address. Among the audience were a majority of the members of the Legislature, and the peculiarity of the occasion had called out many other " hard cases." After the usual preliminaries, the orator proceeded to plead the cause of temperance, and assumed a position that had a "tremendous effect" among some of the heretofore scoffers at the "reform movement." Thorpe contended, that if people would indulge in intoxicating liquors, they should never touch them except they were pure, and exactly what they were represented to be. (Great sensation among the hotel keepers.) He went on to say, that, in the days of the Revolution, the intemperate man was only known by his rubicund nose. That, as he continued to indulge his appetite, the nasal organ first assumed a suspicious redness that gradually grew brighter and brighter, until the carmine tints corrugated into spots, and assumed the glowing brilliancy of rubies; then Nature, in her profuseness, threaded these splendid settings with azure veins, and the nose, once so comely and pale, projected out in front as a beacon light, informing all men that its owner carried the sign of a consumer of good liquor; and finally, when said nose was gathered home to its fathers, it warmed up, as with a ray of sunshine, the surrounding pallor, and even to the last shed a genial glow over the use of the social glass. But alas! continued the speaker, the times have changed. In these degenerate days, the intemperate man—however much he may try to hide the habit from the world—is known by his sunken eye, his attenuated cheek, his shriveled up and contracted nose; that, by its very death-like look, shows too plainly of the ruin going on in the system. The reason was, not that human nature had changed, but that ardent spirits had; and what was once a thing that made "the heart glad," was now a slow but sure poison; what once made the face glow with health, now prepared it with the expression of the grave. The reformation produced by this argument reached many of the "most obdurate," and several supposed " irreclaimable cases" making a solemn oath at the moment that they would drink no more until

they could get pure liquor, have been temperate men ever since from necessity, and so would the world be, if its denizens should come to the same sensible conclusion.

Mr. Van Buren is attracting a great deal of attention abroad by his courtly manners and happy faculty of " fitting in" to all sorts of society. The same qualities that made him so happily escape from political committal ism in this country, carry him triumphantly through the mazes of European society. Mr. Clay was very fond, in his social moods, of talking of men and things of Washington. Of Mr. Van Buren he had many amusing reminiscences; the one following was perhaps his favorite. He said, that when Mr. Van Buren visited at Ashland (just before the publication of the fatal Texas letters), he was his guest for several days, and on one occasion he, with Mr. Van Buren, visited a race track in the neighborhood, to witness the display of choice-blooded stock. Mr. Van Buren was entirely unknown to the people present, and followed Mr. Clay about with a smile of approbation at every thing he witnessed. While sauntering around, Mr. Clay said to one of the jockeys, "What horse is that V' "Martin Van Buren" was the reply. Mr. Clay "nudged" Malty, and called his attention to the fine proportions of his namesake. While thus occupied, a plain old farmer came along, and learning the stallion's name—much to "old HalV amusement—remarked, "1 should not like to have a colt by that critter." "And why not ?" said Mr. Clay, with emphasis. "Why," said the farmer, in an oracular manner: "You see the colt would slip his halter; he never could be depended on." Mr. Van Buren was greatly edified, and Mr. Clay had his own amusement in repeating tho story.

The following incident, which has been sent ns by a correspondent in Albany, in this State, "for insertion" and preservation in "The Drawer," we are informed may be relied upon as "perfectly true." The incident, it may be added, occurred in the year 1834, twenty years ago, and was known to many of General Jackson's friends at the time:

"A widow lady, in rather straitened circumstances, had been keeping a boarding-house in Washington City; and during the general prostration of active business, growing out of the currency arrangements of that date, had become in arrears; and that she might be enabled to pay some of her most urgent debts, sent such of her furniture as she could possibly spare to auction.

"The purchaser was a clerk in one of the government offices; one of those public 'loafers,' of which there have always been too many at Washington ' and elsewhere,' who run in debt as far as they can obtain credit, and without ever intending to pay. The lady called on the auctioneer, the auctioneer called on the official, who proposed to pay as soon as his month's salary was due.

"The month rolled round, and June succeeded March, and September June, without payment being made, to the great distress of the widow and uneasiness of the auctioneer. After further application, the office-holder refused absolutely to do any thing, alleging that it was wholly out of his power to pay. Tho sum was too large for the auctioneer to pay out of his own pocket, or he would have paid it himself, so deeply did he feel for the poor creditor.

"In this perplexity he concluded to call upon the President, and state the case, hoping that he might suggest some mode of relief. He waited therefore upon General Jaceson with his narrative.

"When he had heard the story, the old man's eyes fairly flashed fire:

"' Have you got Mr. P 'a note V asked 'Old

Hickory.'

"' No,' was the reply.

"' Call on him at once, then, and without speaking of the purpose for which you want itt get his negotiable note, and bring it here.'

"The auctioneer accordingly asked P for his

note.

'What do you want with the note V asked the office-holding 'loafer;' 'I don't know of any body who would take it.' But sitting down and writing it, he added:

"' There it is—tuch as it is.'

"The auctioneer promptly returned to the President and handed him the note. He sat down, without saying a word, and wrote on the back of the paper:

"' Annrew Jaceson.'

"' Now, sir,' said the General, 'show Mr. P

the endorsement, and if he does not pay it, just let me know it.'

"The first man the auctioneer met as he entered Gadsby's Hotel was Mr. P .

-' ' Ah ! how d'ye do V said he; 'have you passed the note V

"' Not yet,' said the other; 'but I expect to, without much trouble, for 1 have got a responsible endorser upon it.'

"' Nonsense !'said P ;'whoisit?'

"The endorsement was shown him. He turned pale, then red ; then begged the auctioneer to 'wait a few moments;' then went out, and in a very short space of time returned with the money, which was at once paid over to the widow, to the gratification of all parties."

It would not have been very strange if this story should have transpired at once; nor would it have been very wrong if the Jeremy Diddler had been turned neck and heels out of office; but the following is the only sequel:

"p fcept quiet in relation to the subject for

years; but finally, on a remark being made in his presence that ' General Jackson never endorsed for any body whatever,' remarked that 'he himself knew better, for the General once endorsed for him,-' and he produced, as evidence, the very note, to the great surprise of all who were not acquainted with the circumstances of the case.

"As party bitterness has died away, 'and in view, lastly, of this subject,' let us take up the old slogan:

"' Hurrah For Jaceson''"

It is very seldom, reader, that you will come across any thing in your reading more beautifully described than the subjoined limning of a deserted country village-church—a "hospital of souls" long since gone to their account—a silent church, with its tottering tower ever pointing up to Heaven, and its congregation of dead slumbering by its side, preaching a sermon audibly to the soul:

"Many years ago, an assembly of Christians worshiped in our church, and all were very old. The officers were white with age. The pastor had reached his eighty-ninth year—a venerable old father in Isracl. The ground where he rests is watched always by guardian angels. Wc have not many like him in our congregation.

"Years passed, and each in its flight could boast

of having seen one or more of those good men gathered to his fathers. At length the great reaper bore away the shock of corn that stood ripest in Heaven's harvest-field. The good old preacher rested from his labors. The sexton soon followed, and was buried near the gate. He had long served faithfully, safely passing one after another of his aged brethren into the house of death; and with the burial of the pastor his work was accomplished, and he laid himself down to sleep at the door. And now the old church was silent. The last words of admonition had been given; the last song of praise had gone up to Heaven; and the last prayer had found acceptance at the mercy-seat. Silent, all silent!

"At the head of the grave-yard was buried the pastor, As if he still watched his flock. Directly in front was thechorister; and in a semi-circle around him were the officers. The remaining portion of the ground was occupied by graves corresponding with the form observed in the arrangement of the pews in the church. .'

"The grave-yard was adorned with a quiet beauty. Willows were bending around the place, and flowers blossomed on every grave. A clear stream, from an unfailing spring, ran near the graves, gently murmuring; and pinks and violets bloomed in rich profusion along the path that led from gate to gate. There was a holy worship there. Choirs of birds sung praise, and every bud and blossom-altar daily sent up its morning incense. It was the prayer of the flowers, breathed silently to Heaven, and the answer came in the sun-light and the dew.

"Well, there slept that congregation, year after year, year after year; and the tomb-stones began to lean forward like old men, and the inscriptions upon them grew dim, as eye-sight fails. The bier that stood near the gate had silently rotted down upon the ground, and rank grass had entwined a shroud for its covering. The sexton's spade was rusting beside his grave; the grave-yard had itself grown old; but still there sparkled the brook, emblem of the eternal stream. The flowers grew old and died in the fall, repeating the story of those who slept beneath them; and they came forth in new beauty in the spring, silently speaking, as they lifted their buds and blossoms toward Heaven, of a glorious resurrection.

"The grave-yard was still growing old, and so was the church. All within was left as when the last sermon was preached, for the good villagers feared to disturb the quiet of the old edifice. The bell was rusting in the tower; the pulpit leaned to one side, and 'tottered to its fall;' the pews were decaying, the cushions were rotting. Silently as the fall of autumn-leaves, the glory of the inner temple was departing. The Bible was upon the dusty pulpit-desk: that was undisturbed by Time. A record for Eternity, there was no decay among its precious leaves. It was the Soul of the old church; and like him who once taught from its sacred pages, it remained unimpaired amidst the ruin of the tabernacle.

"Think of the silence of half a century! Fifty years of dumb time! At morning—mid-day—evening; spring, summer, autumn, winter; silent—all silent!

"I recollect it one still moonlight night, about the middle of June, many years ago; very late, when every stir and sound of moving life was quieted. The still moon bathed the old church-tower and the grave-yard in a flood of dreamy light. Beautiful, very beautiful! A kind of solemn gladness

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