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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Times, 1888-08-24, Page 6si THE THREAD OF LIFE AR SUNSHINE AND SHADE. CHAPTER »VIII.—Coeireacearestis. Moto spent a full fortnight, or even more, i►t Lowestoft; and before sbe vacated her hospitable quarters in the Retie' rooms, it was quite understood between them all twat she. Was to follow out the simple plan of actioe. ao haatily sketched by Edie to: Warren. Elsie's one desire now waa to escape obsetva kion. Eyesseemed to peer at her from every -corner. She wanted to fly for ever from Hugh—from that Hugh who tied at last eo unoonacicusly revealee to her the inmost depths of hie own abject and self centred nature; and she wanted to be saved the hide- ous necessity for explaining to others what only the three Bette at present knew—the way she had come to leave Whiteetrand. Hungering for aympathy, es women will hunger in a great sorrow, she had opened to Edie, bit by bit, the floodgates of her grief, and told pieeetneat the whole ot her painful and pitiable story. 1'4 her own mind, Elsie was tree from the replete -ea el an attempt at. mit-murder ;'and Eiie and Mrs it,eif'Accept- ed in good faith the poor heart-brc :en been, amount of her adventure; but else could never hope that the outer world could be in- duced to beffeve in her asserted innooeuce- She dreaded the node am/ hints and suspi- cions and innuendoes of our bitter society ; she shrank from exposing herself total sneers or its sympathy, each almost Equally dis- tasteful to her delicate nature, She was threatened with the pillory of a newspaper. paragraph. Hugh Matatnger'a lie afforded her now an easy chance of escape. She accepted it willingly, with out afterthought. All she wanted in her trouble was to hide her poor head where trona would find it; and Edie Relf's plan enabled her to do this in the surest and nafeat possible manner. Besides, she didn't wish to make Winifred unhappy. Winifred loved her cousin Hugh. She sue that now "; she recognised , it dis- tinctly. She wondered she hadn't seen it plainly long before, la inifred had often been so full of Hugh; had asked so many questions bad seemed so deeply interested in all that concerned him. And Hugh had offered his heart to Winifred—be the same more or less, he had at least offered it. Why should she wish to wreck Winifred's life, as that;oruel, selfish, ambitious man had wreck- ed bor own ? She couldn't tell the whole truth now without exposing Hugh. And for Winifreo'8 sake at least she would not expose him, and blight Winifred's dream at the very moment of its first full oostaoy. For Winifred's sake? Nay, rather for his own. For in spite of everything, she still loved him. She could never forgive him. Or if she didn't lave the. Hugh that really was, she loved at least the memory of the Hugh that was not sand that never had been. For his dear sake she could never ex- pose that other baso creature that bore his name and wore his features. For her own love's sake, she could never betray him. For her womanly consiatenoy, for her sense of identity, she couldn't turn round and tell the truth about him. To acquiesce in a lie was wrong perhaps ; but to tell the truth w�e clettegensetawmore the p,hnman. Inn I wish," she °R in her agony to Edie, Nowt Chan dao or aAustrala ore somewhere like self for eyer 1„at—wherehe would never know I was ly living. e stroked her smooth black hair with e hand ; she bad views of her own al - had Edie. "It's a far cry to Loch Geneve F jartiing,"aheinurmured softly. "Better ich i with mother and me to San Ramo." `e3` an Remo ;" Elsie echoed. " Why San emo. ?" .A11,1 then Edie explained to her in brief utline that she and her mother went every inter to the Riviera, taking with them a w delicate English girls of coneumptive adeptly, partly to educate, but more. still escape the bitter English Christmas, ey hired a villa—the same every year-- a ear—a elope of the hills; and engaged a resi- t governess to accompany them. But as chance would have it, their last governess had;just gone off, in the nick of time, to get married to her faithful bank clerk at Brix- ton ; so here was an opporunity for mutual accommodation. As Eche rut the thing, Elsie might almost have supposed, were she so minded, she woeld be doing Mrs. Reif an exceptional favour by accepting the poet '' and accompanying them to Italy. And to lay the truth, a Girton graduate who had taken high honours at Cambridge was or - taint y a degree or two better than anything titrate girls of consumptive tendency reasonably have expected to obtain Remo. But none the less the offer generous one, kindly_ meant accepted it just as it was intended. it exchange of mutual .services. e 'we • n her own livelihood wherever ways the ' . • ble, however deep, has al - special con "al aggravation and that to -and in no ot , for penniless people; tory ci onial fromeirev1; ee could she ibly t a reference or�testi- t Lean raveled no such : .lovers. The Bells other down his parched oheek, Truly he walked in the gall of bitterneel and in the ond of iniquity, hie own souand iron woe entering h et he hugged lar toe gloom, of that barren 'stretch of ater-worn pebbles, the weird and widespread desola tion of the landscape, the fierce glare of the midday sun that t...,sred dawn mercilessly on his aching head all chimed... i 1 ever, the depth of her distress to dream of pressing even his. sympathy upon bar at so inopportune a moment. If ever the right time far him oame at all, it could dome, he knew, only in the remote future. At the end of the pier, Elsie halted the chair, and made the chairman wheel it as she directed, exactly opposite one of the open gaps in the barrier of woodwork that ran round it. Then she raised herself up with difficulty from her seat. She was holding something tight in her ,mall rigkt, hand ; she had drawn it that moment from the folds of her bosom. it was. a packet of papers, tied carefully h' a Root with eotne heavy object, Warren Reif, observing cau tiously from behind, felt sure in Ms own mind it was a heavy object by the curve it described as it wheeled through 'the air when Elsie threw it. For Elsie had risen now, pale and red by turns, and was fling. ing it out with feverish energy in a sweep ing arch far, far into the water. It struck the surface with a dull thud —the heavy thud d a stone or a metallic body. In a Second it had sunk like lead to the bottom, uua l ltie, bursting into a. silent flood of tears, had ordered the chairman to take her home again. .; Warren Reif, skulking, haatily down the steps behind that lead to the tidal platform under the pier, had no doubt at Int in his own mind what the object was that Blbio., had flung'' with such fiery force into the deep water; for that night on the Mud -Turtle as he tried to restore the in- sensible girl to a passing gleam cf life and consciousness, two distinct articles bad, fallen, one by one, in the hurry of the mo- ment, out of her loose and dripping bosom. He was not curious, but he couldn't help observing them. The first was a bundle of water-logged letters in a hand which it was impossible for him not to recognise. The second was a pretty little lady's watch, in gold and enamel, with a neat inscription enrraved on a shield on the back, "E. U. from H. M," in Lombardi° letters. It wasn't Warren_Relf's fault it he knew then who H. M. was; and it wasn't his fault if he knew now that Elsie Challoner had form. ally renounced Hugh Maasinger's love, by flinging his letters and presents bodily into the deep sea, where to one could ever pos- sibly recover them. They had burnt into her flesh, lying there in her bosom. She could parry them about next her bruised and wounded heart no longer. And now on this vary first day that she had ventured out, she buried her love and all. that belonged to it in that deep where Hugh Messinger himself had sent her. But even so, it cost her hard. They were Hugh's letters—those preoious much -loved letters. She went home that morning cry- ing bitterly, and she cried till night, like one who mourn her lost husband or her chi dren.' They were all she had left of Hugh and of her day -dream. Edie knew exactly what she had done, but avoided the vain effort to comfort or console her. f" Com- fort—comfort scorned cf devils 1" Edie VMS woman enough to know she could do nothing. She only held her new friend's hand tight clasped in hers, and Dried beside her in mute sisterly sympathy. It was about a week later that Hugh Messinger, goaded by remorse, and unable any longer to endure the suspense of hear- ing nothing further directly or indirectly, as to Elsie's fate, set out one morning in a dogcart from Whitestrand, and drove along the coast with his own thoughts, in a blazing sunlight, as far as Aldeburgh. There the read abruptly stops. No highway spans the ridge of beach beyond : the remainder of the distance to the Low Light at Orford- ness must be accomplished on foot, along a fiat bank that stretches for miles between sea and river, untrodden and trackless, one bare plank waste of sand and shingle. The ruthless sun was pouring down upon it in full force as Hugh Messinger began his soli- tary tramp along that uneven road at the Martello Tower, jest south of Aldeburgh. The more usual course is to sail by sea ; and Hugh Might indeed have hired a boat at Slaughden Quay if he dared. ; but he feared to be recognized as having come from Whitestrand to make inquiries about the unclaimed body ; for tc rouse suspicion would bo doubly unwise : he felt like a mur- derer, and he considered hic:aelf one by im- plication already. If other people grew to suspect that Elsie was drowned, it would go hard but they would think as ill of him as he thought of himself in his bitterest moments. For, horrible to relate, all this time, with that burden of agony and anguish and sus- pense weighing down his soul like a mass of lead, he had had to play as beat be might, every night and morning, at the ardour of young love with that 'girl Winifred. He had had to imitate with hate. ful skill the wantonness of youth and the ecstasy of the happily betrothed lover. He had to wear a mask of pleasure on his pinch- ed face while his heart within was fall of bitterness, as he cried to himself more than once in his reckless agony. After such un- natural restraint, reaction was inevitable. It became e, delight to him to get sway for once from that grim comedy, in which he acted his part with eo muoh apparent ease, and to face the genuine tragedy of his miser- able life, alone anti undisturbed with his own remorseful thoughts for a few short hours or so. He looked upon that fierce tramp in the ye of the nun, trudging ever on over those ing stones, and through that barren apit nd and shingle, to some extent in the f a self-imposed penance—a penance, splendid indulgence as well ; for was no one to watch or observe e could let the tears trickle unreproved, and no longer `.: ve himself heppy. Here Vinifred to tease him ad gold his own soul res of stagnant salt w at his ease over Id call himself &newels arrangement au . rd introduction. d - 'l'' lZJel'et pre ent shattered and oor econ then aElsie, rties ain „ (' was glad enough to accept h • of nerves; kind hospitality at Lowestoft friends' III sent, till she could fly with th ' e pre - earl in October, from this d last ' tI , esecra , ,: • lana and from the chance of runni'ing- .+, against Hugh Massinger. Her whole existence summed itself up no fit the one wish to escape Hugh, He thought her dyad. She hoped in her heart he might never again discover she was living. On the very first day when she dared to venture out in a Beth -chair muffled and veiled, and in a new blabk dress—•lest any one perchance should happen to reoognfzl her—She asked to be wheeled to the Lowen• toft pier, and Edie, who accompanied her out on that sad first ride, walked alowly by her side in sympathetic silence. War. ren Rolf followed her too, but at a safe dis- tance; he could not think of obtruding as he coet uld noon t Whollr ye deuy grief ' but still ' Feel' at the top of hisrobi he could preen y y himself either the and sigh and be as sad as nig. no man bin• modeat pleasure of watching her from afar daring him. It was an orgy o mors,, and Unseen and unarspeoted. Warren had hard. he gave way to it with wild of actio fere ly' so muoh as eattght a glimpse of +lsde Your. singe that night on the Mud. Artie ; but He plodded, plodded, plodded, ever on, , Rlele'e' gentleness and the profandity of her stumbling wearily over that endless whin l temp. had touched hien deeply. He began an thirstyand footsore, yet g mile after mile, yet indeed to suspect he was trait ly in love with glad to be relieved for a while from the her; And perhaps his anepioion was not en. strain of his long hypocrisy', and to let the theta+ baseless. He knew too well, how• tears flaw easily and naturally one after the lywith bis present brooding and meian s- ly humour, and gave strength to the poig• nanoy of his remorse and regret. He could torture himself to the bone in these small matters, for dear Elsie's sake; could do penance, but not restitution. He couldn't even so tell out the truth before the whole world, or right the two women he had cruelly wronged, by an open ooze fession. At last, after mile upon mile of weary staggering, he reached the Low Light, and sat down, exhausted, on the bare shingle just outside the lighthouse.keeper's guar tern. Strangers are rare at Ofordness; and a morose -looking man, sourced by solitude, soon presented himself at the door to atare at the newcomer. ' " Tramped it ?" he asked curtly with an inquiring glance along the shingle beach. •' Yee, tramped it," Hugh answered with a weary sigh, and relapsed into silence, too utterly tired to think of how he had best set about the proseoution of his delicate inquiry, now that he had got there. The man stood with his hand on his hip, and watched the stranger long and close, with frank mute curiosity, as ono watohes a wild beast in its page at a menagerie. At last he broke the solemn silence once more with the one inquisitive word, " Why ?" " Amusement," Hugh answered, catching the man's laconic manner to the echo, $or twenty minutes they talked on in this brief nsniointed Spartan fashion, with quote tion and ado., as to the life at Orfordneas tossed to and fro iu.e a quick .ball between them, till at last Hugh t. • .,bed as if by ace oident, but with supreme skeet, pen the abatract(question of provisioning lighten .,yes, " Trinity House steam•outter," the mee. replied to his short suggested query, whit- e sidelongjerk of his head. to southward. " Twice a month. Very fair grub. Biscuit an' pork an' tinned meats an' rich like." Queer employment, the outter'a men," Hugh interposed quietly, "Must see s deal of life in their way sometimes." Tho man nodded. " An' death, too," he assented with uncompromising brevity. " Wrecks ?" " An' corpses." Corpses ?" "Ah, corpses, I believe you. Drownded. Heaps of 'em." " Here ?" " Well, sometimes. On the north side, mostly. Drift with the tide. Cutter's man on,he sat down at last, wearier than ever, might be Saturday. Right over yonder, by fond one only a week or two ago, as it othe long pebble ridge, and gazed once the groyne, to windward." more with swimming eyes at that visible "Sailor ?" token of Elsie's doom. Hope was dead in. life but of him. He was rooted to the spot. Elsie held him spellbound, At length he roused himself, and with a terrible effort re• turned to the lighthouse, " Where dial you say this last body came up ?" he asked the man in as carelessa voice as he could wally master. The man eyed him sharp and hard. "You W$>ni,treoious anxious about that there young alongedei""ya her up, +%a_ over °gtvered coldly, She floated Tem yonder. Tide throwed ore rho mostly male ashore from Lewestei �.e,r ey mo tla Current sweeps em right slough v,, „oast till they reaoh the nen; then it throws up by the groyne as reg lar se one o'clock. There's a prose current there; it's that as makes the point and the sandbank." llught altered. He knew full well he was !ermine suspicion; yet he couldn't re- frain for all that from gratifying bis eager and burning desire to know all he could about poor martyred Elsie. He dared not ask what had become of the clothes; much as he longed to learn, but he wandered away slowly, step after step, to the side ot the groyne, Its further face was sheltered by heaped-up shingle from the lighthouse man's eye. Hugh sat down in the shade, close under the timber balks, and looked around him along the beach where Elsie had been washed ashore, a lifeless burd burden. Something yellow glittered on the sands hard by. ,As the sun caught it, it at- tracted for a second his casual attention by its golden shimmering. His heart come up with a bound into hie mouth. He knew it —he knew it—he knew it in a flash. It was Elsie's watch 1 Elsie's! Elsie's! The watch he himself had given—years and years ago —410 ; six weeks since only—as a birthday present—to poor dear dead Elsie. Then Elsie was dead 1 He was sure of it now. No need for farther dangerous ques- tioning. It was by Elsie's grave indeed he had just been standing. Elsie lay buried there beyond the shadow of a doubt, un- known and ,dishonoured. It was Elsie's grave and Elsie's watch. What, ,room for hope or for fear any longer •? was Elie's watch, but rolled by the cur • rent fro.,. oweetoft pier, as the lighthouse• -man had rigned,told him was usual, and oust ashore, as evorytbng else was always oast, by the side of the groyne where the stream in the sea turned sharply outward at the extreme eastern most point of Suffolk. He picked it up with tre.,_,tous fingers an kissed it tenderly ; then he slippe see, unob• served into his breast -pocket, close to este heart—Elsie's watch 1—and began his return journey with an aching bosom, over those hot bare stones, away baok to Aldeburgh. The beach seemed longer and drearier than before. The orgy of remorse had passed away now ,and the coolness of utter despair had come over him instead of it. Half -way Fletcher of Snitoma. The oelebrated Fletcher of Saltoun, who distinguished himself eo remarkably by his politloal,hostility to the tyranny of the last tworinces of the house of Stuart, by his zeal forcthe Revolution under King William, and by hie apposition to the legislative union between England and Sootland, by which tho separate importance of the latter was for ever lost, and its prosperity, notwith. 'standing, wonderfully promoted, was the ppriaeipal proprietor of a large dietriot in Raddingtonbhire, in which are situated` the villarten of Saltoun, East and Weet. When cit Fletcher saw the union fully established/ appears dun It ical directeder hisactiveoeee, t it loP the improve..,nt cf his country in the useful arts. A000rmu$,„ the Sootel, owe to him the femora and the mute E.,,. makin pot or hulled barley. Having resided a .,,, able time in Holland, along with other 11rz w>•. malcontents, before the Revolution, he hal. obtained there the two instruments already mentioned; and at a future period of his life he oontrived to import them to hie own nat.eaem itry- With this view, in 1710 he took James >3 -t,,y i' millwri ht in his neigh- , bourhood, to HolPtto�- g g Amsterdam, and Mr>weDleikle went to residence at the Hague. Theaok.e..y his ence between them is said to be still in e"it- ,istence ;and from thence it appears that the iron work of the barley -mill was purchased in Holland. As the Dutch were always ex. tremely jealous of the exportation or intro- duction to foreign countries of any of their manufactures or instruments, Mr Meikle is said to have been under the necessity of disguising him as a menial Berettnt of his employer'a lady, and in that character ob- tained permisslou to see the instruments which he wished to imitate by attending the lady on pretended visits of curiosity. Mr Meikle, onhie return to Saltaun,ereoted a barley -mill there, and made and sold the instrument called the fanners. , The barley - mill had constant employment, and Saltoun barley was written upon almost every petty shop in the Scottish villages. "Not this time—gal—young woman."' "Where did she come from?" Hugh asked eagerly, yet suppressing his eager- ness in his face and voice as well as he was able. "How should I know ?" the man answer- ed with something very like a shrug. "They don't carry their names an' addresses writ- ten on their foreheads, se if they were ves- sels. Lowestoft, Whitestrand, Southwold, Aldeburgh—might 'a been any on 'em." Hugh continued his inquiries with breath- less interest a few minutes longer ; then he asked again in a trembling voice : " Any jewelry on her ?" The man eyed him suspiciously askance. Detective in disguise, or what ? he wonder- ed. "Ask the cutter's men," he drawled out slowly, after a long pause. "'Taint likely, if there was any jewelry on a corpse, he'd leave it about her for the coroner to claim, till he'd brought her up here, is it?'' The answer oast an unexpected flood of light on the seafaring view of the treasure-trove of corpses, for which Hugh had hardly before been prepared in his own mind. That would account for her not being recognised. ' Did they hold an inquest ?' he ventured to eek nervously. The lighthouse -man nodded. 'But what's 1 the good?—no evidence,' he continued. 'Not identified. They mostly ain't, these here drownded bodies. Jury brought it in " Found drownded." Convenient vardiet— eaves a sight of trouble." " Where do you bury them ?" Hugh asked, hardly able to control his emotion. The man waved his hand with a careless dash towards a sandy patoh just beyond the High Light. " Over yonder," he answered, There's shiploads of 'em yonder. Easy digging—easier 'an the 'shingle. We plant- ed the crew of a Hamburg brigantine there in a lump last winter. Went ashore an the One Sands. All hands drownded— about a baker's dozen of 'am, Coroner comes over by boat from Orford an' site upon' em here on the spot, so you may term it. That' consecrated ground. Bishop ran down and said his prayers over it. A oorpse couldn't lie better or more confortabler, if it comes to that, in Kensal Green Siminet- erHe laughed low to himself at his own grim wit ; and Hugh, unable to conceal his disgust, walked off alone, as if idly strolling in a solitary mood, .towards the desolate graveyard. The lighthouse -man went back, rolling a quid in his bulged oheek, to his monotonous avocations. Hugh stumbled over the sand with blinded eyes and tot- tering feet till he reached the plot with its little group of rude mounds. There was mound far newer and fresher than all the rest, and a wooden label stood at its head with a number roughly scrawled on it in web paint—" 240." His heart failed and sank within him. So this was htr grave 1— E!sie's grave 1 Elsie, Elate, poor deso- late, abandoned, ,heart•brokon Eleie.—He took off his hat in reverent remorse aa he stood by its side. 0 heaven, how he longed to be dead there with her 1 Should he fling himself off the top of the lighthouse now ? Should he cut his throat beside her nameless grave? Should he drown himself with Elsie ort 'that hopeless stretohof wild coast ? Or should he live On still, a miser• able, a retch od, self •condemned coward, to pay the ptnalty of his oruoltyand his base. nese through years of agony ? Eleie'a grave 1 If only he could be sure it was really Elsie's 1 He wished he could. In time, then, he might venture to put up a Headstone with just her initiate—those sacred initiate. Bat no ; ho dared not, And per- haps after all, it might not be Elsie. Corpse's oame np here often and often. Had they not buried whole shiploads together, as the lighthouse -man assured trim, after a terrible tempest 7 He stoodthere long, bareheaded in the atm. His remorse was gnawing the very 1 and here t him, down his pretend to there was n with her love. for a few wretohe marsh : he could gloa his hateful bargain he his heart now. Horror and agony brooded over his soul. The world without was dull and dreary. ; the world within was a tem- pest of passion. He would freely have given all he:possessed that moment to be dead and buried in one grave with Elsie. At that same instant at the Low Light the cutter's man, come ,across in an open boat from Orford, was talking carelessly to the underling at the lighthouse. " How's things with you ?" he asked with a laugh. " Pretty much alike, and that stodgy," the other answered grimly. " How's yours?" " Well, we've tracked down that there body," the Trinity -House -man said casually; " the gal's, I mean, as I picked up on the near : an' after all my trouble, Tom, you wonlin't believe it, but, hang it all, there ain't never a penny on it." "No?" the lighthouse -man murmured Interrogatively. "No, not a farden," the fellow Bill res• ponded in a disconsolate voice. "Wy should there be, neither ? That's 'ow I pnt it. 'Tain't a nob's. Turns out she warn't nobody. after all, but one, o' these 'ere light -o' -loves down yonder at Lowestoft. Must 'a been a sailor's Poll, I take it, Throwed 'erself in off Lowestoft pier one dark night, might be three weeks gone or might be a fortnight, on account of a alter kation ahe'd 'a bin 'avin with a young man as she was keepin' company with. —Never seen amore promisin' nor a more disaypin- tin' corpse in my born days. Wen I picked 'er up, says I to Jim—" Jim," says I, as confident as a chnrchwarding, "you may take year davy on it she's a nob, this gal, by the mere look o' 'er, 'an there's money on the body."—Wy, 'er dress alone would 'a made anyone take 'er for a genu•wine lady. An' 'ow does it turn out ? A bad lot ! Just the parish pay for 'er, an' that in Suffolk. If it'adn't bin for a article or two in the way of rings as fell off 'er fin- gers, in the manner o' apeakin', an' dropped as I may Bay into a 'onest man's pocket as 'e was a a carryln''er in to take 'er to the mor• teary—wy,it do seem probable,it'e my belief as that there 'onest man might 'a bin out a shillin' or so iu'is private accounts through the interest he'd 'a took in that there worth- less an' unprincipled young woman.— Corpses may look out for theiraelvos in future as far as I'm concerned. I've ad too much of them ; they're more bother'n they're worth. That's about the long an' short of it." (ro BE CONTINUED.) A. Boating Song. Written at Lake. St. Viands, July 188S. Music: "jSailfity o'er the Sea." 11, t... A. iitRRISON, TJR0NT0. When the vernal elle are done And the sultry slimmer gun, Its languor over nettle brings,- Then same shady mol retreat, i'rv"i the City's glar, and heat. Hath hearth and healing in its wings. Chorus:— (A(Treble) We are sailing glad ana tree, lto) Wo are sailing glad and free. We are sailing glad and free. (Tenor) We are sailing, sailing, sailing, sailing, sail- ing clad and free, (Dass) We are keeping jubilee, we are keeping jubi- lee. Oh 'tie not the burden'd brain,— In its dull methodic strain— • Can flash the thoughts that breathe and burn ; Weary hands and feeble will Can with but imperfect skill Earth's wondrous gifts to profit turn. So, where Lake St. Francis Iles, —Overarched by jawed skies— In a nosy cottage on its betake, 'Neath the spreadine maple trees,— Fan'd by cool refreshing breeze— We join with tho linnets in our thanks. Here "St. Lawrence" limpid green Blends with " Fraser's" murky sheen, While away through "The Cedars" it descends,— Where escends;Where it joins " O-ta•wa'1" tide And Mont-ltcyale's Isles divide, Till "Vercheres" make themundividedtriende. Here—in fateful days of 01d— Dire Rebellion wrathful roll'd,— Loyal sons conserved the Nation's fate, And uproared "Glengarry's Cairn" —On the " White -winged Dove," return— To express their devotion to the state. So—refreshed—our nature sings, Till, with songs, the welkin rings, And the Lake—embowered in its green— Gives--fcr body, mind and heart— Added strength to do life's part, From the sweet enchantments of the scene, [Note :—Each line in the chorus is repeated four times, aid if a number of voices can join in, the beauty of the chorus can be heightened by e:eh part varyior the wording ] News from the Skeena river relates that the troubles there are not so bad as it was feared they would be. The constable who shot the Indian is to be tried for manslaugh- ter, and as a result the hostiles are said to be satisfied. While this information is brought down by a trader, the special con. stables are working their way np the river and " C" Battery is encamped at Fort Simpson awaiting orders to proceed. It is' to be hoped that the affair may prove nothing but a snare. When over, it will be well for the Government to relieve the Indians of any grievance they maybe labouring under. This is a great year for eclipses. .dour have already taken place, and another one —a partial eclipse of the sun invisible in America —is due on Wednesday next. Of those that are past, two were total eolipsee of the moon and two partial telltales of the sun. The former took place on January 28 and July 22 respectively, and wore both. Visible here ; the latter tock plaeo February 11 and duly 9 respectively, and were both invisible hero, Oa the 9th inst. the earth will plunge into a meteoric sone, and "fall- ing stars" ought to be more numerous than usual, The most brilliant putt of the display will. probably °deur on the evening of the lath. A Sweet Story. 1iE1011 STURGEON Once I thought her looks were haughty, And her love was growing cold, And her smiles were faint and weary ; And her faith was los,ng hold. Then I slighted her on purpose, And I treated her unkind ; And Inc rued all her sorrows, Till she faded, droop'd and pin'd. We would always snarl together, And then go with aching heart Sighing sore for ono another, To some solitude apart. Till a nobler love came o'er me, And I sought her Ions retreat ; Where our wild impassion'd story, Ended most divinely sweet. Boy -Like. nr GE3ROE COOPER. From early dawn he roamed about With glances inquisitorial, And In the house, likewise without, He kit some sad memorial. No One could telt, from those mild eyes. What his remote intention woe; He loved to waylay and surpri-e, And startling his invention was. A violin he broke. in fun; ; And afterward its brather flute , To see what made the tune in one, And also what made the other toot. The sawdust in the dolly packed For him a wild attraction had ; A wateh he could not leave intact. From this groat satisfaction had. He dug, to see how grasses grew, A bicycle he tosk apart Folks locked up alt their Tooke—they knew He Loved to take a book apart. A drum had wondrous charms for him To see just where the noise came tont; With him around, the Chance was slim That unbroko any toys came out. But as he prowled about One day, With hungry curiosity, And near the cradle chanced to stray, Hs shook it with velocity. Packed o1I to bed ere he could sup, Hie lips agentle sigh cam, from ; Because he stirred the baby up where the dry Came free 1 To flue out + " Sou tenet lead quite a pastoral life," said the woman to the tramp, "roaming over the country in this beautiful weather," " Rather more of a pastute•at life, madam, replied the tramp, sadly ; " I slept hi the open air with eight cows last night,"