117 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
fwtinil. 
({■’or the Rural New-Yorker.] 
TO OUR ABSENT BROTHER. 
Brother, Ions we’ve watched thy coining 
Yes ! thy sisters wait thee now, 
Oft the shades of'Cvening find us, 
(Srizingon thy pictured brow. 
Oft we whisper low-voiced breathings 
Of our (icep, unchanging love, 
To our absent brother’s image, 
But that car they cannot move. 
Then, oh! wonder not thy coming 
Should our very souls entrance. 
And our hearts should leap so wildly 
Forth to meet thy loving^lance. 
If thou art, as when we parted. 
Still a brother, kind and true, 
Then we need not in our gladness, 
For a brother’s pardon sue. 
Though on all things change is written, 
Still we never e’en have dreamed, 
Dreatno I that thou aught could’st In- ever 
Than the brother thou hast seemed. 
Then oh! come with a trank ness written 
On thy noble, manly brow, 
And thy sisters’ love wiK greet thee. 
For they wait their brother new. 
Jenny. 
Clje Jlitnil ilutrlj ftook. 
[From the Olive Branch.] 
THE TWIN COTTAGES. 
BY PAUL CREYTON. 
V.— Pleasant Neighbors. 
Ill luck now appeared to attend all the 
undertakings of the two brother’s who had 
formerly been noted for their good fortune. 
Richard, unaccustomed to take the lead in 
business, missed Lionel’s cool head and 
practised judgment; and the latter began to 
see the inconvenience of having none to 
second his efforts. When they worked to¬ 
gether, success had always appeared easy 
and natural; and many a time both, had 
reason to recall the old fable of the bundle 
of sticks. 
It was not in the farming business alone, 
that the brothers were not so prosperous as 
formerly. From the day they moved into 
the twin cottages, every thing went wrong, 
The children took cold from the dampness of 
the freshly-plastered rooms, and there was 
sickness in both families. Owing to the di¬ 
vision of the household furniture, both found 
themselves crippled for want of useful arti¬ 
cles, which it was difficult to procure. A 
horse which nobody but Lionel could ever 
manage, hut which had fallen to Richard's 
.portion, kicked Jackson in the side, and laid 
him up all summer with broken ribs. Then 
Edward foil into the well Lionel was digging, 
and broke his arm, and Lionel himself got 
his fingers smashed beneath a beam, at the 
raising of his barn. Richard, overcome by 
anxiety of mind, had a fever, which loft him 
a mere wreck, and from which he was long 
recovering. Both Martha and Maria, worn 
out by hard work in the new house, were 
obliged to employ girls to help them; and 
girls are always a great trial to people who 
have been accustomed to do their own work. 
The expenses of building were so much 
greater than Richard had antiepated, and 
ho had to employ so much extra help on the 
farm during the summer,that long before fall, 
ho bitterly regretted not having remained 
in the old houso fivo or six years longer.— 
But having commenced, ho would not be 
outdone by his brother; so ho borrowed 
money to build exactly such a barn as Lionel 
was building, and to make every thing also 
correspond. 
Richard had boon in his now cottago a 
year, before the last of the carpenter’s work 
was done; and even then, in consequence 
of the haste in which the frame had been put 
together and covered, it was necessary to 
cdHI in a joiner, to make somelittlo repairs. 
AH this time, Lionel’s house was in nearly 
the same condition; but at length both cot¬ 
tages wore, as you may say, completed;and 
there they stood, side by side, on the north 
road, looking so exactly alike in outward 
form and arrangements, that they attracted 
general attention, and obtained the appella¬ 
tion of “ The Twin Cottages.” 
Now all the satisfaction the rival families 
had gained by building separately, was in 
the possession of two large square bed-rooms, 
instead of one; although, singular to relate, 
Richard did notoccupy his, within two years 
after his removal into the new house,—and 
it is currently reported that Lionel’s was 
never done off for a sleeping apartment, but 
loft as a sort of play-room for the children 
and a convenient place to shell corn in, or 
crack butternuts in rainy days. Thus, the 
square bed-room, which was the origin of all 
the unfortunate difficulties between the two 
families, became an object of very small im¬ 
portance in their oyes, long before they hat 
experienced half the inconvenience of the 
separation. 
The cousins were brought up to hate each 
other, and to do each other all possible mis¬ 
chief. They formed their school-fellows 
into distinct clans, that waged perpetual 
war, and gave their teachers, as well as 
themselves, a great deal of trouble and un¬ 
happiness; until all respectable and well 
meaning boys got to shun the Feltons, as if 
their influence had been contaminating. 
Not many months had elapsed, before 
both families saw the convenience of living 
so near together, the proximity of their 
houses affording every inducement and facili¬ 
ty to quarrel. The cousins threw stones at 
each other over the board-fence which had 
been built on the dividing line of the two 
estates; they got each other’s balls, when 
knocked over by accident, and refused to 
give them up; and once, when an uncon 
scions chicken of Lionel’s stole tamely thro 
the fence, to pick a grain of corn out of 
Richard’s yard, Wolcott set the dog upon it 
and afterwards threw its dead carcase insult¬ 
ingly into his uncle’s garden. By way of 
retaliation, Edward, who at that time had 
no dog, loaded his father’s gun, and pepper¬ 
ed the first of Richard’s geese that put its 
unlucky head through the fence. After this, 
as if impelled by some fatality, turkeys, 
geese, ducks and hens showed an extraordi¬ 
nary tendency to rush blindly upon the de¬ 
struction which awaited them at the mouth 
of the dog and muzzle of the gun ; so that 
numbers of the inoffensive poultry fell 
miserable victims to the animosity existing 
between the two families. 
Things progressed in this happy manner, 
until a fat calt' belonging to Lionel had the 
misfortune to take a fancy to some nice grass 
hich grew on tho wrong side of the fence. 
For many days tho fated animal might have 
been seen casting anxious glances at the ap¬ 
petising herb, which perhaps looked ten times 
more delectable, in perspective, than the 
most epicurian calf would have proved it to 
he in reality; so that when the fence was 
broken by a gale of wind, the devoted animal 
leaped gaily through tho nearest break, and 
commenced cropping the grass with great 
voracity, without allowing the pure pleasure 
of tho stolen repast with a single thought of 
Richard’s merciless big dog. In five min¬ 
utes, however, ho was aroused from his de¬ 
licious revery, by a terrible growl; and in 
an instant the fangs of Nero were fastened 
upon his throat. Jackson and WolcotJ set 
Nero on, while Martha, from the door of 
her own house, watched the sport with a 
heart boiling over with rage. Edward ran 
to the rescue; but two hoys and a dog being 
too much for him and a calf—or for two 
calves, as Jackson facetiously remarked—he 
was forced to retreat. Tho calf was hor¬ 
ribly mangled, so that it died the day after, 
to the grief of Richard, and the infinite wrath 
of Lionel. 
Edward, more incensed than even his pa¬ 
rents. felt bound to retaliate. Accordingly, 
when Richard’s best horse jumped into his 
father’s corn-field a few weeks after, the de¬ 
termined youth deliberately loaded his gun, 
and walking up close to old Bay, shot him 
in the right knee. The animal was ruined, 
and Richard enraged. A lawsuit followed, 
which proved to be of endless duration, ow¬ 
ing to the obstinacy of tho contending par¬ 
ties, and which involved both brothers in 
lebt, giving the lawyers of Pennfield more 
lucrative employment than three genera¬ 
tions of Feltons had ever done before. 
In connection with the cold-blooded 
maiming of old Bay, an incident occurred, 
which, as an instance of the manner in which 
the brothers now annoyed each other, will 
well hear relating. It becoming necessary 
for Richard to purchase another horse, he 
attended an auction for tho purposo, and 
bid high upon a fine chestnut mare, which 
" e thought just suited for his business. His 
bid was eighty dollars; somebody else bid 
eighty-five. “Ninety,” said Richard. “Two 
and a half,” came from another part of the 
room. “Five,”pursued Richard. “Eight,” 
was bid by tho same unknown individual. 
“ It’s your brother bidding against you,” 
whispered a friend in Richard’s ear. 
True enough, Lionel was bidding for the 
horse. Resenting this interference—for he 
knew his brother hail no use for another 
horse at that time—Richard was determined 
to outbid him. But when tho horse had 
gone up to one hundred and twenty-five, the 
thought struck him that he did not want 
him at that prico, and that Lionel wanted 
him still less. So he let. Lionel have him; 
and Lionel sold him a week afterwards for 
eighty-soven. 
In tho following spring there was a freshet, 
and the brook, which, in its southwesterly 
course, watered first Richard’s farm, and a 1- 
terwards Lionel’s, became swollen to an un¬ 
usual degree. Oue afternoon, Jackson and 
Wolcott having been down the stream to 
repair some fences, discovered a spot, where, 
with a little assistance, the water would over¬ 
flow its banks, and turning into a deep ra¬ 
vine, find its way to tho river, without flow¬ 
ing through Lionel’s land. No sooner was 
tliis discovery made, than the disadvantages 
of a brook were considered ; and, concluding 
that a diversion of the course of the stream 
would be of lasting injury to their uncle, the 
boys began to work with their shovels in 
right good earnest. In a short lime a nar¬ 
row, turbid channel crept sluggishly across 
the softened earth of tho bank; then it came 
with greater force, carrying the mud and 
gravel with it; and finally it went rush ins 
down into tho ravine, a perfect torrent, to 
the great delight of tho boys, who ran away, 
that their share in tho work might not be 
discovered. 
On the following morning, Lionel went 
over his farm, to see if the west meadow still 
lay under water, in consequence of the over¬ 
flowing of tho stream, and was astonished 
at the sudden and mysterious manner in 
which the waters had subsided. The mead 
ow was dry, and the stream had shrunk into 
a mere thread of water. He followed it up. 
until he discovered the cause. In his wrath 
he sent ’Squire Stone to Richard, charging 
him with diverting the course of the stream 
and threatening a lawsuit, if tho bank was 
not repaired. Richard knew nothing of the 
change in the course of tho brook, and he 
sent back a scornful defiance to Lionel. A 
lawsuit followed, even more difficult and ex¬ 
pensive than the other; it being alleged by 
the defendant that the stream had now found 
its original course, from which it had been 
diverted by his father, forty years before, in 
order to water the south part of the farm 
and by the plaintiff, that the defendant had 
turned the water into the ravine, to do him 
an injury. Tims, aside from their othe 
misfortunes, the brothers had two endless 
lawsuits to plunge them into debt. 
VI.—The Conflagration. 
Tiie quarrels of Lionel and Richard 
proved injurious to not only themselves, their 
families, and their immediate friends, but 
in a certain measure, to both church and 
State. They belonged to tho same political 
party: but when Lionel received tho nomi¬ 
nation for high sheriff, Richard’s friends re¬ 
fused to vote for him, and for tho first time 
in ten years, the opposite party carried the 
day. Afterwards, Richard was nominated 
for State representative, and by way of re¬ 
taliation, Lionel’s clique went against him 
unanimously, throwing their influence in 
favor of another candidate. Owing to this 
split in tho party, their political opponents 
triumphed again, and sent to tho Legisla¬ 
ture a fellow who proved a traitor to the 
best interests of his district. The quarrel 
of the brothers created a division in the 
church, too; the devil taking that opportu¬ 
nity to sow dissensions and hatred in the 
hearts of two-thirds of the members. 
Meanwhile, Martha and Maria cherished 
bitter animosity against each other, as 
their husbands did. They never visited the 
same neighbors, nor met each other at the 
ame sewing circles, if they could help it.— 
If Maria received an invitation to visit a 
friend, sho was sure to ascertain if Martha 
was to be there, before accepting it; and 
Martha was no less scrupulous in avoiding 
her sister-in-law. On one occasion, when 
Maria arrived at a tea-party, and found Mar¬ 
tha there, sho turned abruptly about, and 
went home in high dudgeon ; in return for 
which demonstration, Martha, a few weeks 
afterwards, suddenly took her departure 
from a quilting-bee, when Maria, uncon¬ 
scious of her presence, made her appear¬ 
ance. These quarrels and petty spites crea¬ 
ted a great deal of scandal and ill will in the 
neighborhood, until the good ladies of Penn¬ 
field, tired of strife and dissensions, resolved, 
with one accord, to drop the acquaintance 
of the Feltons altogether. So Martha and 
Maria received no more invitations to any 
place; and you may judge how miserable 
they were, living by themselves. 
On tho last occasion of a tea-party at 
Maria’s house, an incident happened, which 
particularly had something to do with the 
subsequent coldness of the Pennfield ladies 
towards tho two sisters-in-law. Of course 
Martha was horribly jealous to see so many 
famous tea-drinkers visiting her rival; and 
she fretted and scolded about it all the af¬ 
ternoon. Edward took the hint, to invent 
some method of annoying Maria, and please 
his mother. 
In the field in the rear of Lionel’s house 
was a large brush-heap, the result of trim¬ 
ming the orchard the previous season. 
“ The brush is dry, and tho wind in tho 
southwest,” said Edward. 
And the smoke?” 
Will hide Dick’s house in a beautiful 
manner.” 
Burn the heap, then!” cried Martha, 
with a malicious laugh. 
Accordingly the heap was fired, and Rich¬ 
ard’s house smoked. It was a warm day, 
but Maria was obliged to close all the doors 
and windows, to keep out tho suffocating 
cloud, which rolled down upon them before 
the south-west wind. In spite of all her ef¬ 
forts however, tho smoke got into the house, 
and into the eyes, and into the tempers of 
both her and her guests. Even tho tea 
failed to soothe them; and the party sepa¬ 
rated in tho worst humor in the world,— 
Martha watched the discomfitted ladies, as 
they went away all enveloped in smoke, and 
laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. 
Edward laughed too, until the wind changed, 
and blow the fire into tho fence, which he 
was obliged to sit up all night to watch, with 
a couple of buckets of water for his compan¬ 
ions. After this, Richard’s boys burned a 
brush-heap, when the wind was in the north¬ 
west, and smoked a juvenile party, which 
their cousin Martha gave, to the great dis¬ 
tress of the poor children, who went home 
with tears in their eyes. 
But tho rival families were destined to 
have enough of fire and smoke, as we shall 
proceed to show. 
After watching many months for an op¬ 
portunity to shoot Richard’s dog—which 
manifested a great deal of canine sagacity 
in avoiding Lionel’s premises, and in scru¬ 
pulously keeping on the right side of the 
board fence—Edward determined to have a 
dog too, as large as his uncle’s. He accord¬ 
ingly purchased a pup. of a breed famous 
for size and fierceness, and kept him chained 
to his kennel until lie had attained to for¬ 
midable proportions. In the pride and 
ambition of his youth, Caesar took early ad¬ 
vantage of his freedom from the chain, to 
invade the territory beyond the board-fence, 
and declare hostilities against the unknown 
dog, whose hated bark he had heard so of¬ 
ten. Nero, feeling, as a matter of course, 
a bitter enmity towards everything that 
made its appearance from the Other side of 
the fence, marched up to Caesar in true Ro¬ 
man fashion, and with a growl challenged 
him to a personal combat. The ambitious 
Caesar desired nothing better; but Nero’s 
maturity and knowledge of tho world were 
altogether too much for his youth and in¬ 
experience. Caesar was discomfited, and 
returned to his rightful dominions, in a 
frightfully mutilated condition. 
Caesar for a long time did not cross the 
board fence again, but contented himself 
with growling on his own territory, at his 
formidable enemy, who regarded him with 
lofty disdain. One evening, however, four 
years after tho removal of the brothers into 
their new cottages. Caesar had the audacity 
to chase one of Richard’s cats over the line. 
Richard, who happened to be in the yard at 
the time, whistled for Nero, whose rage was 
unbounded, on seeing his rival within his 
domains. A skirmish ensued, and Caesar 
retreated over the board fence; but Nero, 
too much excited to use his ordinary discre¬ 
tion. followed him. and fought him upon his 
own territory, reckless of consequences. 
Lionel heard the affray, and, it being late 
in the evening, and quite dark, ho came out 
with a lantern, to see what was tho matter. 
Perceiving that Nero had Caesar by the 
throat, and was shaking the life out of him 
with considerable despatch, ho placed his 
lantern upon the ground, and ran for a 
pitchfork. 
Observing that his brother was about to 
make uso of that formidable weapon, to 
terminate the quarrel in favor of Caesar, Rich¬ 
ard ran hastily to the fence, and was on the 
point of shouting a fierco remonstrance, 
when a striking accident attracted his at¬ 
tention. Nero had thrown Caesar against 
the lantern, and upset it; the candle had 
fallen out, and now the flames were creep¬ 
ing languidly into the straw, scattered before 
Lionel’s barn. The pressure of a foot would, 
have extinguished tho fire, and Richard s 
first impulse was to warn Lionel of tho dan¬ 
ger; but when he saw his brother set upon 
Nero with the fork, he thought, in his anger, 
“ the wind is north, my barn will not be in 
danger,” and held his peace, shrinking 
away into the darkness, to witness the result. 
Pierced with the sharp tines, Nero fled 
howling over the fence, pursued by Lionel, 
until beyond his reach. Then Lionel turned 
back, and, to his consternation, saw tho yard 
all in a blaze. 
“ Fire! fire! fire!” lie shouted, trampling 
upon the flames, “ Fire! fire! fire!” 
His shouts filled the night with echoes.— 
A moment before, Richard had been laugh¬ 
ing in malicious triumph: but the wild, start¬ 
ling cries of fire smote heavily upon his con¬ 
science. Much as ho felt that Lionel had 
wronged him, the sight of the flames, which 
he might have extinguished, oppressed him 
with a sense of remorse. 
“1 am no better than an incendiary!” he 
muttered, in bis wild excitement. “But it 
may not yet be too late!” 
Lionel trampled upon the flames with 
furious energy. But the straw was dry, and 
he saw tho fire gaining upon him, and dart¬ 
ing its forked tongue towards the barn, 
threatening destruction. In despair, he cast 
his eyes toward tho house, and shouted 
again for help. Nobody appeared. The 
fire was within three yards of a large pile of 
’straw, heaped before tho barn door. Sud¬ 
denly Lionel was conscious that there was 
somebody working by his side. He did not 
pause to see who it was, until tbo pile of 
straw burst forth one sheet of flames. He 
turned, and in the glare of light, saw his 
brother Richard! 
Tho latter was laboring with desperate 
energy to smother the flames beneath his 
coat; and as his brother gazed upon him, he 
felt all his resentment give way to gratitude 
for that one act of generosity. 
“Brother,” said lie, in a trembling voice, 
“I thank you; but it is too late. The barn 
must go.” 
Richard raised his eyes to his brother’s 
face, and slowly withdrawing from the heat 
of the flames, murmured— 
“I am sorry! I am sorry!” 
“God bless you, brother! I did not ex¬ 
pect this kindness!” exclaimed the agitated 
Lionel. 
“ This is no time to talk,” said Richard, 
“ tho wind is getting into tho west. I am 
afraid your house will go too, brother!” 
As he spoke, tho dry straw and hay with¬ 
in the barn having taken fire, the flames 
burst forth through the cracks and crevices, 
and through the thin roof, throwing a wild 
glare of light around. 
VII-The last of the Twin Cottages. 
The brothers rushed to the stables adjoin¬ 
ing tho barn, and made haste to save the 
horses, tho carriage, and all articles of val¬ 
ue, which could be got away with dispatch. 
Meanwhile, Edward, who had gone to bed, 
was aroused by the alarm, and rushed half- 
dressed to the scene of destruction. Jack- 
son and Wolcott came next, and taking ex¬ 
ample from their father, exerted themselves 
to save their uncle’s property ; then several 
of the neighbors, aroused by the shouts of 
fire, and alarmed by tho fearful glare of 
light, came hurrying to the spot. 
The barn burnt like kindling wood. The 
stables were on fire in an astonishingly brief 
space of time, and the flames wont surging 
on towards the house. 
“ Leave everything !” shouted Richard, 
“ and remove this wood! it is the only way 
to save the house.” 
The wood was corded in long rows be¬ 
tween the stables and the cottage ; and fol¬ 
lowing Richard’s example, all hands went to 
work, tearing it away.' But as the fire in¬ 
creased, the heat became insufferable. Tho 
smoke and flames rolled across the wood 
piles, blinding and suffocating, and conspir¬ 
ing with the heat to drive tho fire-fighters 
backward. Tho most they could do, was to 
remove a few cords of the wood nearest the 
house ; then, while some began to carry the 
furniture out of the cottage, others brought 
water from the well and cistern, and with 
the aid of ladders, drenched the clapboards 
and roof. 
All eft’orts were vain, however. 
“ The house must go !” said Lionel. 
The wind had increased, and the advanc¬ 
ing flames had driven tho inexperienced fire¬ 
fighters from their position on the roof. 
“ I will mount the ladder!” cried Rich¬ 
ard. 
Ho went up, and received the buckets from 
Lionel’s hands, working with tho energy and 
courage of desperation,until both cistern and 
well failed. 
“ It is useless to work longer,” said Lionel. 
“ There is no more water.” 
“ Then the house must surely burn!” said 
Richard. 
“And my family!” murmured Lionel, as 
he saw his wife and child carrying goods 
out of the house, or standing in the fierce 
light, looking up with terror and dismay at 
the increasing flames. “ They will be house¬ 
less !” 
“ Not so,” replied Richard. “ Tho old 
house is at your disposal. I was going to 
tear it down last fall, but I am glad I did not. 
It is yours, brother.” 
Lionel was too much affected to utter his 
thanks. 
At that moment a wild shout rang upon 
their ears. Richard’s barn was on fire ! 
“ I am ruined by my own folly and guilt!” 
ho muttered, as he descended to the ground. 
The brothers rushed together to the new 
scene of excitement. It was too late. The 
fire, left to itself, had crept from barn to 
barn, through the straw, and now Richard’s 
stables were in a blaze. The wind had in¬ 
creased, and was blowing strongly from tbo 
west. Lionel neglected his own property to 
save that of his brother, and while the cot¬ 
tage of the former was left to inevitable de¬ 
struction, everybody ran to the rescue of 
Richard's. But his cistern was dry, His well 
shallow, and between his house arid barn 
tliore was a haystack in a most dangerous 
position. This was sure to burn ; for tbo 
sparks from the barn were already falling 
upon it; and nothing, it was thought could 
then save the cottage. 
Maria had experienced a sort of fearful 
joy when told that Lionel’s buildings were on 
fire; but when she saw Richard at work to 
save them, she also began to feel an anxiety 
to see tho flames extinguished. This kind¬ 
ness towards her neighbors, was followed 
by many unpleasani reflections touching the 
past, and the sight of Martha in distress, 
made her conscious that she had wronged 
her sister-in-law more than she had ever 
acknowledged to herself before. So wh< n 
she saw Martha retire to the fatal fence, and 
weep bitterly over her misfortunes, she went 
to her, and asked her to come into her own 
house. Martha felt this kindness and thank¬ 
ed her; but she could not go in. She must 
see her own cottage burn. 
Then when the alarm was spread on Rich¬ 
ard’s side of the fence, all Maria’s pity and 
anxiety for others, was changed to fear for 
the safety of her own homo. Martha saw 
the danger ; and although, a moment before 
she might have “felt a vindictive joy at be¬ 
holding Maria as unfortunate as herself, it 
it was not so now; for even Richard’s exer¬ 
tions in her behalf had not touched her 
heart like Maria’s single word of kindness. 
Women are more impulsive than men, and 
nothing knits together hearts at enmity, like 
mutual distress ; Martha and Maria fell into 
each other’s arms, and embraced, mingling 
their teai s together ! 
Richard’s fears for his cottage were but 
too well founded. The flames blow upon it 
from tho stack, the shingles caught, and all 
exertions to save it were vain. Soon its 
light was added to the general conflagration, 
and billows of fire surged upward from the 
roaring roof, illuminating the country for 
miles around. 
Richard had been even more successful 
than his brother in saving his portable prop¬ 
erty, which was all conveyed to a safe dis¬ 
tance from the fire. 
When everything was done, tho brothers 
stood together in the glare of the fierce 
light which shone from Richard’s house, and 
their families gathered around them. 
“You see,” said Richard, “Ishall have to 
go with you, into the old house.” 
“Pardon me,” replied Lionel, “I am 
afraid you will want it alone with your own 
family.” 
“ There is room for all of us,” said Rich¬ 
ard. “ There was once—there is now.” 
“ Will you give me your hand brother ?” 
asked Lionel. 
Richard made no reply, but extended his 
hand, while the dazzling light from the 
house betrayed the emotion visible on his 
features. 
“ We have not thriven since our separa¬ 
tion,” pursued Lionel. “ Ours has been an 
ungodly quarrel, brother. Shall it end 
here ?” 
“ There can be no better time,” replied 
Richard. “ After the awful chastisement 
with which Heaven has punished our folly, 
we should be reconciled. I acknowledge 
myself to blame, brother. I ask your for¬ 
giveness.” 
“With all my heart, I forgive you, Rich¬ 
ard,” exclaimed Lionel, through his quiver¬ 
ing lips. “And you will forgive me, al¬ 
though I have been more to blame than you. 
As I was the oldest, I should have come to 
you first to offer you my hand, when wo 
quarrelled.” 
“ Say no more !” murmured Richard. “ I 
forgive everything. Here is my hand again, 
brother ! And our wives—” 
Martha and Maria were weeping again in 
each other’s arms. 
“ This is well,” said Lionel. “ Let this 
end all difference, lawsuits and strife, which 
have proved so ruinous. Wo will tear up 
the papers, brother, which divide our lands. ’ * 
“ And the old house,” added Richard smi¬ 
ling through his tears, “ will be large enough, 
and good enough, for our families, for ten 
years to come.”- 
“ Wo will never leave it till it falls down,” 
cried Lionel. “ We were happy in it before 
the new house was thought of; and wo can 
bo happy in it still. And oh ! brother—sis¬ 
ter—wife—children ! let these four terrible 
years of unhappiness and strife, be a warn¬ 
ing to us in future !” 
They stopped not for the congratulation 
of friends, but by tho light of tho burning 
cottages took their way together across tho 
fields towards the old house, which was 
henceforth to bo tho happy home of tho re¬ 
united families. 
WALKING IS GOOD. 
Walking is good, not stepping from shop 
to shop, or from neighbor to neighbor; but 
stretching out into the country to the fresh¬ 
est fields, and highest ridges, and quietest 
lanes. However sullen tho imagination 
may havo been among its griefs at home, 
here it cheers up and smiles. However list¬ 
less the limbs may have been when sustain¬ 
ing a too heavy heart, here they are braced, 
and the lagging gait becomes buoyant again. 
However perverse the memory may have 
been in presenting all that was agonizing, 
and insistirg only on what cannot be retriev¬ 
ed, hero it is at first disregarded and then it 
sleeps ; and the sloop of tho memory is the 
day in Paradise to the unhappy. The mere 
breathing of the cool wind on the face in 
the commonest highway is restand comfort, 
which must be felt at such times to bo be¬ 
lieved. 
