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THE ROBBER OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY.

possessed by the banditti, their circumspection and enterprize, not surpassed by the savages among whom they wandered, baffled every attempt concerted for their capture. One of these incidents, as detailed by a contemporary, possesses some interest; and some of the individuals composing the party, it is believed, still survive, who will attest the general truth of the narrative, tho' unimportant errors may be observed. They will at all events recollect the jokes and good sayings, occasioned by the result of the expedition.

A robbery and murder, of more than usual atrocity had been perpetrated, and a number of citizens of the then Mississippi territory, united in a determination to pursue the robbers, to bring them to justice or put them to death. Under the command (it is believed) of the late Col. B., the party well mounted and armed commenced their march. Soon after entering the borders of the wilderness, they came upon the trail of Mason, and ascertained that he was but a day or two in advance, making toward Pearl river: they pushed on, day and night, and did not halt until they came to the river-here they found new evidence of a party having preceded them; and they did not doubt, but that it was he, of whom they were in pursuit-but men and horses were all in need of rest and sustenance, they, therefore resolved to strip their horses, repose for a few hours, and again renew the chase. Those preliminaries being disposed of, two of the party strolled to the bank of the river, and tempted by the coolness and beauty of the stream went into bathe. In the course of their gambol they crossed to the opposite shore, where they encountered an individual, whose society under present circumstances, afforded them very little satisfaction.

Mason, aware that he was pursued, and having as certained the superior force of his pursuers, determined to effect by stratagem, what he could not hope to do by open contest. The path into the forest was here narrow, and much beset with undergrowth; and he placed his men in ambush, so that by a sudden onset, the party of Col. B. on entering the woods would be thrown into confusion, and thus be easily despatched or routed. Chance, however, produced a success more complete than any he could have anticipated. No sooner had the two naked and unarmed men reached the eastern shore of the Pearl, than Mason rushed upon them, before they could collect their thoughts, or comprehend their danger. He was a hale, athletic figure, and roughly clad in the leather shirt and leggings, common to the Indians and hunters of the frontier.

"I am glad to see you gentlemen," said he sarcastically; "and though our meeting did not promise to be quite so friendly, I am just as well satisfied; my arms and ammunition will cost less than I expected."

Any violence to my messenger, or the least hesitation to perform my orders, will prove certain and sudden death to your companions. Your compliance will ensure their release, and I pledge my honor as a man to take no other advantage of my victory."

There was no alternative. The arms and ammunition were disposed as Mason directed. Two of the band were dispatched for them, while a rifle was held to the head of each prisoner. No resistance was attempted, however, by Col. B. or his party, and the arms were brought across. The banditti were soon in readiness for a march; the prisoners were dismissed with a good humored farewell; and the dreaded Mason, true to his word, was soon lost in the depths of the wilderness. It is hardly necessary to say, that the pursuers, disarmed, discomfited, and a little chapfallen made the. best of their way back to "the settlements."

Subsequent to the occurrences just detailed, the violence and depredations of Mason became more frequent and sanguinary. One day found him marauding on the banks of the Pearl; the next proved fatal to the life and fortune of the trader, in the midst of the wilderness; and before pursuit was organized, the hunter, arrested by the descending sweep of the solitary vulture, learned the story of robbery and blood, on the re mote shores of the Mississippi.

Treachery, however, at last effected what stratagem, enterprize, and courage, had in vain attempted. Mr. W., a citizen of great respectability, now deceased, passing with his sons through the wilderness, was plundered by the banditti. There lives were, however, spared, and they returned. Public feeling was now excited, and the government of the Territory found it necessary to act. Gov. Claiborne accordingly offered a large and liberal reward for the robber Mason, "dead or alive." The proclamation was widely distributed, and a copy of it reached Mason himself, who indulged in much merriment upon the occasion. Two of his band, however, tempted by the large reward, concerted a plan by which they might obtain it. An opportunity soon occurred, and while Mason, in company only with the two conspirators, was counting out and adjusting some ill-gotten plunder, a tomahawk was buried in his brain. His head was severed from his body, and borne in triumph to Washington, then the seat of Government of the Mississippi Territory.

The head of Mason was well known, and recognized by many, and identified by all who had read the proclamation, from the head so entirely corresponding with the description given of it, and the existence of certain scars and peculiar marks. Some delay, however, occurred in paying over the reward, owing to the slender state of the treasury. In the mean time a great assemblage from all the adjacent country, had taken place, to view the grim and ghastly head of the robber chief. They were not less inspired with curiosity to see and converse with the individuals

His prisoners were thunderstruck, and totally incapable of reply. Having placed a guard over them, Mason walked deliberately down to the shore, and hailed the party on the opposite bank, who had witnessed the scene that has been detailed, in amazement and appre-whose prowess had delivered the country from so great hension. As he approached, they instinctively seized their arms.

"If you approach one step, or raise a rifle," cried the robber, "you may bid your friends farewell: there is no hope for them but in your obedience: I want nothing but security against danger to myself and party, and this I mean to have.

"Stack your arms, and deposite your ammunition on the beach near the water. I will send for them.

a scourge. Among these spectators were the sons of Mr. W., who, unfortunately for these traitors, immediately recognized them as companions of Mason, in the robbery of their father.

It is unnecessary to say, that treachery met its just reward, and that justice was also satisfied. The reward was not only withheld, but the robbers were imprisoned, and on the evidence of the W-'s, condemned and executed at Greenville, Jefferson County.

THE CONSEQUENCE OF WEARING A WHITE CRAVAT.

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The band of Mason being thus deprived of their scarcely any other color than white is worn on the leader, and two of his most efficient men, dispersed neck. Having occasion to visit Boston, I repaired to and fled the country. That vast wilderness, though the railroad depot to take passage in the cars-down much contracted by acquisition from the Indians, still they came, the bells ringing, and the screamer screampresents ample haunts to the bandit; but the genius of ing, all seeming to evince very much the same terror Fulton has pointed out a mode of transportation so and affright that we might suppose Lucifer would in safe, efficient, and expeditious, that no inducment is passing so near the very head quarters of Orthodoxy. held out to him; and the silent forest is now as safe Each saloon was crowded with people who were refor the traveler, as the paved streets and crowded walks turning from a Millerite camp meeting; however, I of the city. squeezed into a place beside a very fat old lady-yes she was tremendously fat! I actually felt wicked, and wished with all my heart that people had to pay for their passage according to the number of inches which they required for a seat. However, there I was, wedged in for an hour to come! Delightful anticipation! The old lady was snoring—yes, snoring; but she could n't make more noise than the cars did, although she tried it. Just before me sat a little primped up middle aged lady, riding backward; and beside her was a coarse fanatical looking man, who ought to have been the lady's husband if he was not. (The gentleman will forgive me, I trust, if I wished him too much happiness.) But there sat the lady primped from the very toe of her shoe to the top of the green bow on her bonnet. I knew that she was a Millerite for who could ever mistake one? The fanatical gentleman looked at me queer; and after contemplating my person for some minutes, he leant his head against the lady's bonnet and whispered something out of the side of his mouth into her ear; which made the prim little lady open her eyes very wide, cease twiddling her thumbs, and bend her precious orbs of vision on me with an expression that spoke just as plain as though she had said, "Do tell! I want to know! why so he is!" Now, what this all meant, I could not for the life of me divine. The lady whispered something to the gentleman, and then drew back and looked imploringly; the gentleman crossed his legs, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaning toward me, exclaimed, "Rather sleepy business this ere ridin." I nodded my head and directed my attention across the saloon. The stranger sunk back in his seat despairingly. The little lady punched him in the side with her elbow, and he attacked me again. "What's the name o' that 'ere town back there?"

AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN AN ARTIST

AND A MILLERITE.

A Few weeks ago we published a brief notice of T. B. Read, a young artist of much promise, who originated in Pennsylvania, was cast on his own resources when a mere child, wandered away to Cincinnati when a raw uneducated boy, and "took to painting;" then came to New York and stopped a year or two, and for the last year and a half has resided in Boston, where he is making rapid and successful strides to a high rank in his profession. Some of his more leisure moments he seems to be fond of devoting to literature; yes, to literature, although he has scarcely had the advantages of a common school education. Another proof to be added to thousands before, that genius overleaps all barriers.

We have already published two articles from his pen, which prove that he possesses a poetic vein of no mean value, and we have another on hand which is eminently beautiful. Before publishing that, however, we give place to the following graphic and humorous prose sketch from the same hand.

By the way, the writer in his private letter modestly asks us to give him our advice about his "scribbling." To which we, with less modesty perhaps, reply here publicly by repeating the advice once given by Scott; "make literature your staff, but not your crutch." Take it in your hand as a pleasant companion and sometimes a comfortable aid in an idle afternoon or an evening walk; but in the long and tugging journey of life, lean only on your profession. Depend upon that for support, for fame, wealth, and honor; all of which, if life and health are spared you, are within your reach. In the mean time, when the brain grows restless, and throws down the pencil for the pen, and will manufacture literary wares, you will of course ship them for a market on board of that tight and fast sailing little craft, the Rover.

THE CONSEQUENCE OF WEARING A
WHITE CRAVAT.

BY T. B. READ.

ONE year ago I sported a white cravat, which on a person so youthful, presented certainly, a very unique appearance. My exact reasons for wearing the ministerial badge, were never known, and perhaps never will be. Some of my friends asserted that it was in harmony with my general bearing; others thought that it added a seriousness to my character which was usually too gay. So much for my friends. But my enemies, ("Heaven forgive them, for I can't!") not only looked upon, but spoke of the 'kerchief as a mark of affectation. Though my reasons for appearing so singular may never be known, why I ceased to appear so, shall. I spent the summer of eighteen hundred and forty at Andover, Mass., where, as may readily be imagined,

"Andover," said I.

"Oh!" replied he "quite a nice place that; a good many students there arn't they?"

"Yes," was the laconic reply.

"Perhaps you're stoppin' there this term," continued

he.

Again I answered in the affirmative.

"P'raps you know Professor Stuart ?"
"Yes sir, very well."

"Well now, he's a nice smart man I guess."
"Generally considered so," I replied.

"P'raps you've studied him considerable."

I replied that I had studied a very interesting part of the professor.

"What part?"

"His countenance," said I.

"I never saw the work," replied he, looking very obliviously at the floor; "when was it published?"

"Oh, it must have been when he was quite young." "Indeed!" continued he; "what does it prove?" "It proves a great deal," answered I. "It proves that he is a man of extraordinary ability, a man in fact, that you don't meet with every day."

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"No!" said the stranger. "Yes!" answered I.

"Well, now see here," continued he, "do you know that I would like to talk to that there professor for about one half hour straight?"

"I was not aware of the fact," was the reply.

"Yes sir, just one half hour, and I'd convince that ere man of his error!"

"Indeed!" I exclaimed with astonishment; "what error ?"

""

'Oh, all about them ere 'Hints,' of his on the prophecy; they prove nothing. Phew! and they're gone." "You don't mean so!" said I.

"Oh, but I do though; and if you like, I'll explain the whole to you right here."

I begged the gentleman not to fatigue himself.

"Never fear," said he. Still I insisted that he would not attempt it.

"Well," continued he, "on one condition, I'll not insist upon convincing you on the spot."

"Go on," said I.

"That is, that you'll promise to never promulgate from the pulpit any of Professor Stuart's notions about the second coming of Christ."

"But, brother, ain't there room for two more?" cried the fanatical gentleman.

"Drive on, cabman !"

"Aye, aye, sir"-and the two hopeful travelers were soon left to follow the bent of their own inclinations. I have never worn a white cravat since. Boston, Sept. 1843.

I promised him; and the fanatical gentleman sunk back in his seat, winked at the prim little lady, and assumed an air of great triumph. Again the bell rung, the screamer screamed, the fat lady yawned, and we were in Boston.

"Want a cab? Want a cab ?"

"No!" cried I.

BY H. H. WELD.

ONLY in joke! We can have no patience with such fellows. If they lived in countries where the bowstring is fashionable, or where a head may be sliced off, or a woman bagged off for the asking, they would have your brother strangled, or your wife launched into the Bosphorus, done up in a bag, like a kitten for transportation, and when you complained, the ready answer would be, that it was "only in joke! Or they might do some similar good turn for yorrself, and tell your executors the same story. They think that a joke will answer as an apology for any thing, even to the smashing of furniture, breaking of glass and fracturing of bones, and are particularly hard and rough, upon any who happen to be cursed with their friendship. There is no getting angry with them, until you are actually ruined, past a joke in body, purse, or chattels. To complain of any such small matter, as the dislocation of a limb, is only to make the joke richer; for the more you lament the riper is the fun. Say nothing, and bear these injuries without remonstrance or

"What?" said the fanatical gentleman, still close by resistance, and half their amusement is lost. True me, "Do you walk up town?"

"Yes!" answered I.

friendship this-enjoyment of your neighbor's misery, and appreciable only by the "real good natured fel

"Well I declare! how tired I am." Said the prim lows," the practical jokers-jolly companions—confuittle lady, looking very languishingly at me.

sion to them and their like!

"Where do you stop at ?" enquired the man. "At a private house," was the reply.

Edith Blanchard was just one of the most gentle, equable, inoffensive lasses, that Heaven ever put upon

"Well now brother look here," said he. I did look earth as the incarnation of kindness and good humor. there with considerable astonishment.

Jack Robinson was good humored too-but he was one of those same blustering, noisy, troublesome mortals, who seem to live only to torment all who are compelled to live in their association. What the gentle Edith found in such a chesnut burr to love, the blind god only knows. Certainly it was for nothing in his manners, for the pair was the antipodes of each other in every possible respect. There was no single point in which they resembled each other. If poor Edith's heart fluttered with that pleasure which poets and lovers speak of, when she saw his approach, it fluttered with genuine fear when he was present. He could not take her hand without squeezing her fingers in his vice of a paw, till the blood was ready to gush from those finger ends and the tears did start from her eyes. If he tried to steal a kiss, (pass this sentence, maiden ladies) she struggled to escape in real earnestfor she knew that he was not thus affectionate, except when he had been cheating the barber of his revenue, and his shoe-brush of a beard was rubbed so roughly on her "damask cheek," as to make scarlet of it.

ONLY IN JOKE.

"You see, brother, I'm on a benevolent kind o' jaunt. There's a man up our way as has a son way off at Buffalo in the state o' New York, who is sick with the fever and agee; and I'm goin' on arter him. You see, the old man started on, a spell ago, himself, and went as far as Albany, but got scared about the fever and agee, so he wheeled about and cum hum agin. I kind o' pitied the old man, and told him if he'd jist give me the money, I'd go on after his son, and not charge him much o' nothin. He did so, and you see I'm goin; and mean to see Niag'ra falls in the bargain. But as I was saying, brother, I'm on a kind o' benevolent jaunt, and if you've got spare lodgings, you know it'll be so much saved for the old man."

"I have no doubt," was the reply; "but I am sorry to say " "Now don't say you can't accomodate a brother, because, you see, we ministers of the Gospel-" "Stop!" cried I, "why do yo take me for a minister ?"

If he invited her to ride, she was sure to find herself seated behind some harum scarum animal of a horse, which was never harnessed except for some such Van

"Why!" reiterated he, "ain't it as plain as the nose on your face? Ain't you studyin' at Andover? and don't you wear a white neckcloth ? and-" "Holloa! cab!" cried I, "open the door, be in a Amburgh in horseflesh as her tender suitor. Once with hurry!" his victim seated by his side, he would regale her ear with a history of his broken vehicles, overturns and

"Where to sir?" asked the driver.

CC

Any where up town; it wont do to name the place hair-breadth 'scapes with the same quadruped, and take here." all the time particular care so to drive, and over such

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ONLY IN A JOKE.
of his roguery

uneven ground, as to inflict upon Edith the horrors of an overturn, in every thing but the actual occurrence of it, at every step. If, in walking with Edith, he saw her step outside to avoid an ant-hill he would take particular pains to go back and grind it level with his ugly heel. He would counterfeit drunkenness so naturally as to bring the fond foolish child into tears; and indeed, there was no conceivable enormity, short of knocking her down with malice prepense, that he did not practice. All this he assured was "in joke;" and when he wound up his obstreporous feats with a fit of laughter as boisterous as his jokes, Edith would faintly laugh too, while a tear stood in his eyes.

Poor Edith! She wondered if all men were like Jack Robinson-but she dared not ask. Others treated her with deferential civility; and so she remembered did Jack once, but that was before he was an accepted and declared lover; and she more than half wished that she had always kept him on terms as distant. But just as she had reasoned herself into half hating him, he would always regain his standing by some real proof of affection, unstudied and perhaps unrefined on his part, and unexpected on hers. What could she do with such an awkward cub of a lover? Hate and dismiss him she could not; for his very gaucheries had become tolerable and even pleasant to her. The match was something like the affection of a bride of a bandit for her lord-Jack was a bandit in manners, and be hanged to him; with not half the refinement ment that a real genteel romance or stage freebooter throws into his love passages. The idea of being yoked for life to such an unreformed griffin would seem terrible to her, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary. It certainly did to her friends; but when they began to tell her so, Edith showed all the woman; declared that Jack was a great deal better than those who maligned him! that unpolished worth and sense was better than varnished villainy, and that she would marry him, were he twenty times Jack Robinson. To this there was no answer, and the dear friends of Edith only sighed and shrugged their shoulders, while she strutted out of the room like a stage bouncer. Gentle women can show fire sometimes-and when they do! Let those who know speak.

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To do Robinson justice, he intended to respect her timidity, and to forbear, for once, to make it the butt

On the very point of embarkation, the temptation to break over his good resolution almost mastered him. His man Friday, who was in waiting, on board, regarded them as they stepped into the boat, with such a confident anticipation of "fun," that Jack regretted his good resolution. As the sail was spread to the breeze, and the little barque careened under it, his determination to spare Edith became weaker and weaker, as she begged him to return, or "sail slower." She clung to the windward side with the agony of a drowning woman, and Jack, who would have laid down his life for her at that moment, had such a sacrifice been necessary, made no scruple to laugh at her misery: for what is more miserable, more tormenting than fear?

Step by step they advanced, Jack and his man Friday, in the audacity of what they called "d-d good fun." They rocked the little shallop till Edith screamed, and at last almost fainted with terror; or they steered so as to cause a dash of spray from the bow to the stern, and frighten the poor girl with the idea that the boat was going under. For two or three long hours, "all in joke," did they thus torment her, until the joke became a matter of serious earnest. A sudden flaw, unnoticd in its approach by the two practical jokers, capsized their boat, and the three were at a blow spilled into the water.

Robinson's first and only thought was for Edith. Fleeter than the winged lightning, is the activity of thought in a moment of extremity. As he madly plunged, unaware what course to pursue, or whither to look, the whole life, the whole love of the gentle Edith passed through his mind. He felt that he was a murderer, and as he vainly buffetted the wave, the deep damnation of eternity seemed his lot in the few short moments that were spent by him in frantic struggles. He strove to call aloud, and the salt water mocked all his attempts at utterance. Despair became despondence; fatigue paralyzed his limbs, and mocked his skill as a swimmer; cramps seized him, and the light of heaven was shut out from his eyes, as he thought, forever.

When he recovered, it was as though heaven's whole artillery were pointed at his brain. Thunder rung in his ears, and the first gasps for breath were infinitely more painful than when that breath departed. With returning consciousness his memory did not immediately return, and he looked about him with vacant surprize, at the crew of the ballast droger, who had been his deliverers from a watery grave. Incident by incident, events came to him. He remembered the most distant first; till, thought by thought the excursion and its circumstances came to him. For a moment still, all was indistinct, till the last sad event of his life fell on his heart, with an echo, like the damp sod on a coffin. In a moment more he started wildly up-" Edith! Edith! where are you? My God! My God! IT WAS ONLY A JOKE!"

Jack was a great lover of aquatic amusements. Beside his membership of a boat club, he boasted the possession of various description of small water craft, his pride in which was second only to his fondness for his horses, if even to that. Just at a moment when Edith had been resenting the interference of her friends in Jack's disfavor, that worthy made his appearance, and invited her to take a water excursion with him. This, which was a standing invitation in the boat season, she had always resolutely declined. She looked up, as Robinson put the question and saw the malicious smiles of her friends, which plainly intimated that they knew she dare not accept. To stop to think-to gratify them by a moment's hesitation, her pride. would not permit; and to Jack's surprize and pleasure, she accepted the invitation at once. She only intimated to him, as they passed to the water side, that she acceded to the jaunt to show her friends that she was not afraid to trust herself to his guidance, un-restore him to animation, their vessel sluggishly ploughder any circumstances. The rascal! Not to heed this ed its way to the city. Slow as was its progress, was delicate and maidenly appeal to his generosity to spare the return of Robinson to consciousness. Upon his arrival at the city he was at once carried home; and when his messenger could bring him no intelligence of Edith, again he relapsed into a state of insensibility.

her fears.

No Edith answered-nobody answered. The sailors knew nothing of Edith-they knew only that they had saved a drowning man. They could suggest nothing could say nothing. Robinson sunk to the deck insensible, and while the humane mariners strove to

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Better tidings awaited him upon his recovery of his senses, the third time. Edith, too, had been saved, by another vessel; and though Robinson's deliverers knew that some one had been picked up, the circumstance of a woman's being in such a boat had never once occurred to them; and the ravings of Robinson seemed but incoherence. Her safety was better than any physician's prescription could be; and a very few days carried him to her house, to tender his subdued congratulations that she had not been drowned "all in joke."

Edith did not reproach him. It was not in her nature to dissemble; it was not in her heart to offer reproof to one with whom she could only mingle congratulations. After the first meeting, the affair of the boat was never alluded to. One day-it is strange how a narrow escape enjoyed together, or a community of misfortune, or of good fortune, will endear two people to each other-one day Jack bluntly asked Edith to fix a time for the nuptials.

"One year from this date."

"Surely you joke!"

Harry was but a youth of eighteen when he fell in love, and his warm and glowing heart felt all the exstacy of the first passion; but he was an unfortunate lover, and the object of his admiration was a wild, romping, laughing, rosy-cheeked girl of fifteen; but she did not care a pin for him, farther than to treat him well; and whenever he spoke to her of love, her gay laugh touched unpleasantly the heart of Harry, and caused him many a bitter pang and sleepless night; but like a bird charmed by a serpent's eye, he could not flee from the certainty of ruin. She had been dazzled by the supposed wealth of a gay fellow, and, incented

"I never joke—and it is to give you a chance to prove your reformation that I set a day more distant, than-by the stupid ambition of an ignorant mother, she to tell the truth-my own heart prompts."

The time of probation has just expired; the pair are just married; and there after the fashion of all storytellers, we shall leave them to enjoy their honeymoon.

mily. He had grown nearly to manhood, and scarcely had ever a wish of his been thwarted, although his parents were at that time poor, and depended upon their own industry for the comforts of life. It is a pity that Fortune, instead of bestowing her liberal gifts upon the Ransoms after many grevious trials had mocked them, had not been less blind to them ere misfortune had broken the heart of their only son. Poor Harry !. he might have been happy, then. But the decrees of Providence none can foresee; and Fortune is the most fickle of women.

In my schoolboy days I had a most striking story told to me about "dying for love." I then scarcely knew what the term meant, unless it was something like the cholera morbus or the sick-headache. I used often to hear my maiden aunts tell of "poor Harry Ransom !" and for the life of me I could not understand what the word poor meant; for I knew that the Ransoms were immensely rich, and that they lived in a large three-story white house with green blinds to the windows; that they kept a carriage, and that "Old Ransom," as he was familiarly called by the country people, was president of a bank. It confused all my ideas about being poor for some time, and I began to think that Walker's dictionary was not right, and felt somewhat fearful that I should never live to be a poor man "in my life."

But I used to hear my aunts talk about poor Harry Ransom, and about something that he did one dark, stormy night, in the pond just above the old saw-mill. When I came to grow older, I learned his story.

ran thus:

It seemed that he had been the pet of his father's fa

thought that the purse of the one was far superior to the heart of the other. Such an infatuation is by no means an uncommon thing at the present day; but sorrow and repentance are as sure to follow as darkness follows daylight.

DYING FOR LOVE.
BY LAWRENCE LABREE.

It is a sad thing to die for love, and withal a very foolish thing; and there are few, now-a-days, in this prosy and money-making age, who would ever be guilty of such an antiquated notion. In sooth, men are now too sensible, either to mildew or commit suicide for a woman's bright eye; and if they are so unfortu-him withering away-their darling boy. Not even his nate as to be jilted by one of these same tormentors, beautiful sisters could succeed in attracting any notice it is but the simplest task in the world to find a thou- from him. There was but one with whom he would sand happy faces and free hearts for the one they have be at all intimate or communicative-one who had lost. Alas! it is a woful thing that ever the world grown up with him as a playmate and schoolfellow; contained such causes for broken hearts as disappoint- into his ears would he pour all his sorrows, and to him ed love and false vows; but if people will retain too alone did Harry look for sympathy. much soft material in them, they must expect to be most awfully duped sometimes.

After much patience, tears and perseverance, Harry found that his hopes were like moonlight shadows, and from that time he grew demented, and would wander alone through broad fields and gloomy forests, and return home at night to sorrowful dreams and restless slumber. His fond parents could do nothing toward alleviating his misery, and all their arguments and advice were unheard or unheeded by him. They beheld

It was late on an evening succeeding a day when Harry had been away from home since morning, and there were still no signs of his return. The family grew impatient. Hour after hour passed away, and the pet of the household came not. Inquiries were set on foot, and search was made for him, but nothing could be heard of him to quiet the distracted fears of the mother, dispel the apprehensions of the father, or dry the fast flowing tears of the sisters. The neighbors became alarmed, and a general turn out and search were made; but the morning sun arose upon the mourning house of the Ransoms. Even the idol of his fruitless passion, felt, for a time, deep interest in the fate of Poor Harry; and some even went so far as to say that they saw a few tears of remorse stray down her cheeks, and heard one or two half suppressed sighs escape from her, which certainly did not argue a mind perfectly at peace with itself-at any rate, her features and appearance belied her most wofully, else she was very unhappy.

Toward noon he was found drowned in a mill-pond It-found by the very friend who had been his confidant and sympathizer. It was a mournful sight to witness father, mother and sisters gather around, weeping over

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