236 
lEW-YOSKEIt. 
21. 
THE AWAKENING. 
BT J. 6. CLARK. 
See them go forth, like the floods to the oeean, 
Gathering might front each'mountain end glen. 
Wider and deejier the tide of devotion 
Roll* np to God from the hoaoniB of men; 
Hear the great multitude, mingling in eborue, 
Groan as they gore from their ciimes to the sky, 
11 Father, the midnight of death gathers o er ns, 
When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh:” 
Look on us, wanderers, sinful, and lowly. 
Struggling with grief and temptation below; 
Thiae is the goodness, O'er every thing holy, 
Thine is the mercy to pity onr woe; 
Thine is the power to cleanse and restore u* 
Spotleas and pure a* the angels on high; 
“ Father, the midnight of death gathers o'er as, 
When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh?” 
Gray hairs and golden youth, matron and maiden, 
Lovers of mammon, and followers of fame, 
All with the same solemn burden are laden, 
Lifting their sonla to that one mighty name, 
« Wild is the pathway that surges before ns, 
On the broad waters the black shadows lie, 
Father, the midnight of death gather* o'er us, 
When will the dawn of redemption draw nigh?” 
L*o!'Jkt oast depth* of fntwrity't'ocean 
Heart with Jthorah'i mytterioat bretgh; 
Mortal*, prtf* on, while the deep it is motion, 
Jetus Is walking the waterr oj death. 
Angels are mingling with men in the chorus, 
Rising like ineense from earth to the sky. 
Father, tke billow* grow brighter before we, 
Heaven, with mansion s eternal, draw* nigh." 
Home Jonrnal. 
[Written for Moore’s Rnral Now-YorkerJ 
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS. 
A STORY OF EVERY-DAY LIFE. 
* BY KATE CAMERON. 
[Continued from page 228, last number ] 
To Mr. Grant, who, tbrongbout a long and 
prosperous business career, had ever sustained 
the reputation of strict integrity and promptness 
in fulfilling bis engagements, this could not be a 
light misfortune. No wonder that the news that 
Hknky Grant had “failed,” astonished the com¬ 
munity, and increased the panic already at a high 
point in the commercial world. ¥o wonder that 
the old man sank, terrified by the threatening 
cloudB that encompassed him on every side, and 
which, with all his sagacity, he could not pene 
trate. And he yielded to despondency, while the 
mental excitement was making rapid inroads 
upon his physical constitution, already impaired 
by age. 
Mr. and Mrs, Lacy, meanwhile, were anxiously 
watching the progress of affairs, and ye* 
it unwise to offer their aid or sympathy, lest their 
kindly advances should be repulsed by Mr. Grant. 
But one morning Horace learned that the old 
man's health was rapidly failing, and he deter¬ 
mined to hesitate no longer, and without waiting 
to consult with Florence, whose views on the 
subject he well knew fully coincided with his 
own, be proceeded immediately to the home of 
the ruined merchant, and entered, unannounced, 
the room where he was told by the servant he 
would find the object of his search. 
Not giving Mr. Grant time to recover from his 
astonishment at the intrusion of so unexpected 
a gueBt, he grasped his hand and said warmly, 
“ Father, I hear that you are in trouble, and I have 
come to see if I cannot be of some assistance to 
you.” 
The old man 6hook his head. “’Tis of no use, 
no use,” he muttered; “everything is gone— 
everything. All the hard earnings of years, 
swept away at one stroke." 
“But I must insist upon your sharing onr 
home,” 6aid Mr. Lacy. “Florence will be only 
too happy to minister to your wants. She would 
have come here with me ere this, had I not per¬ 
suaded her to wait a little longer. Come, sir, let 
ns go at once.” 
Mr. Grant could no longer restrain his emo¬ 
tion, and he wept like a child. “Lacy,” said 
he, “I have not merited this great kindness from 
you. I cannot accept the hospitality of those I 
have so deeply wronged.” 
“Say no more of that, father,” interrupted his 
son-in-law. “This is Florence's birth-day, and 
I promised her a present; what more acceptable 
one could I take her than her own dear father? 
I will order a hack at once, and will call for you 
in a few moments.” 
The old man uttered no remonstrance,—his 
heart was yearning for the love and sympathy 
which was now so freely offered him. Deserted 
by the fair-weather friends who always flee at the 
approach of adversity, to whom could he turn 
but to bis children; and the fact that he had 
wronged them, rendered it all the harder for his 
prond spirit to seek conciliation. But now he 
had been humbled, and those whom he had in¬ 
jured made the first advances toward a re-union. 
Why should he not accept their proffered gener¬ 
osity? Thus did that iron nature, softened by 
adversity, yield to the voice of kindness. 
In a few moments the two men, so long 
estranged, and so suddenly reconciled, were 
riding side by Bide toward the quiet, country like 
abode of Horace and Florence. The latter 
was not yet expecting her husband’s return, and 
wub amusing her little girl in their cozy parlor. 
The sound of approaching wheels did not startle 
her, and it was not until the door opened that 
she looked up to behold her own father, leaning 
upon Horace's arm, and looking so old and 
careworn that at first she scarcely recognized 
him. Then throwing her arms around his neck, 
parent and child mingled their tears,—on the 
one side, of repentance, on the other, of forgive¬ 
ness. And when Florence had heard the whole 
story, the delight of once more seeing her dear 
father was fully equaled by her joy at htr hus¬ 
band's noble conduct. 
It all seemed li a dream to Mr. Grant; and 
sitting in that cool, shady room, with little Alice 
upon his knee, he almost doubted his own iden¬ 
tity; while Florence, striving in every way to 
add to his comfort, seemed well content with bei 
birth-day gift, the restoration of that paternal 
affection which Lad been for years denied her. 
That evening, Dr. and Mrs. Weston called, and 
could hardly credit the evidence of their own 
senses, when they saw Mr. Grant domesticated 
in his daughter’s home. He was not a little 
affected by the interview, and when they rose to 
go, he shook hands cordially with both, saying, 
“I once cursed you as accessory to my losing 
Florence; I now bless you for befriending her 
at a time when, in my blindness, I was so nearly 
the destroyer of the peace and happiness of my 
child.” 
Thus was another lesson taught them of that 
Guiding Hand that shapes our earthly career, as 
well as our eternal destiny, and from seeming 
evil educes good. 
But Mr. Lacy was not yet satisfied. He obtain¬ 
ed a "etay of proceedings,” and busied himself 
in tracing the forgery to its source. The Giand 
Jury of the county of-were about to sit, and 
Horace Lacy determined to lose no time. He 
therefore commenced a thorough investigation 
of the transactions of the firm of * Grant & 
Cari-eton;” not that it was necessary in his 
own mind to prove to him the origin of these 
notes, but to show the Improbability that they 
could have been used for the business of the 
bouse. After much labor and expense, he suc¬ 
ceeded in obtaining sufficient proof to allow him 
to take the matter before the Grand Jury, who 
found a true bill against Stephen Caklkton for 
torgery. A warrant for his arrest was immedi¬ 
ately issued. Ills trial came on without delay, 
and ending In a verdict of “Guilty,” consigned 
him to a long term in the State Prison. 
Mr. Grant, thus happily freed from embarrass¬ 
ment, was at once re instated in bis former high 
position, and received the warm congratulations 
of those who had been the very first to stand 
aloof in his time of trouble and perplexity. But 
he had no desire again to encounter the fluctua¬ 
tions of trade, and determined to retire from 
active business. He insisted upon taking Horace 
and Florence homo to his lonely dwelling, 
which hencetorth was cheered by their thoughtful 
affections; and wilh bis grandchildien sporting 
aronnd him, he found in his old age that peace 
and contentment which he had never before 
known. Thus did the Bight eventually triumph 
in the changing fortunes of this now happy family. 
And while Mr. Lacy continued to rise in bis' 
profession, he was no less distinguished for hia 
private virtues. Well might his lovely wife be 
proud of him; and well might her father exclaim, 
“Never before did Gob give to man two such 
children as Horace and Florence!” 
T,r»4 »io rv<■••»*' i»*»co ovftr a loii^ lUttrV&l, DDIZlttfKCfi 
by any important event at Hope Cottage, and 
open the record of the quiet lives of its inmates 
attbe date of Grktkudk’ 6 eighteenth birth-day. 
She was a lovely girl, and conceded by all to be 
more beautiful than her sister Helen. Her face 
was oval, her features classic, her hair of the 
golden hue so dear to poets, and her eyes large, 
and of a deep blue; while Helen's hair was dark 
and curliug, and her black eyes sparkled with 
merriment, which, notwithstanding the irregular¬ 
ity of her features, gave to her countenance a 
brilliancy of expression which her more gentle 
and thoughtful sister did not possess. One might 
have sat for a portrait of the Madonna; the other 
would have made a laughing Hebe, the imperson¬ 
ation of joy and health. 
Alice often smiled when strangers remarked 
how much more her eldest daughter resembled 
her, than did her youngest. And well might she 
gaze with maternal pride upon her dear foster- 
child. Her influence over Helen, Charley, and 
Horace, was ever most salutary; they all looked 
up to Gertrude as the saint of the household,— 
one above the petty cares and vexations which 
sometimes rnflled even the calm tenor of their 
mother's life, or cast a shadow upon their father's 
brow. And so ready was she to listen, with un¬ 
tiring patience, to the recital of their joys and 
disappointments, and to enter into all their plans 
for amusement or usefulness, that “Sister Gbh- 
tri-de " had long been the oracle of the family, 
and the confidential friend anil adviser of all the 
children. 
And into all the concerns of daily life, she 
ever carried that calm serenity, that heaven-born 
peace, which had long before led good Mr. Nel¬ 
son to pronounce her the most piomising of the 
lambs of his fold. Had she known her early 
history, and how Infinite were her obligations to 
those who had rescued her from a life of deura- 
datiot. perhaps of gnilt, she could not better 
have discharged the debt of gratitude she owed 
them. 
On this occasion they were all anxious to cele¬ 
brate the natal day of one so deservedly dear to 
them: and accordingly a little fete hud been 
planned, to which all their intimate friends were 
invited. The cottage hud undergone mony re¬ 
pairs and improvements since Dr. Weston pur¬ 
chased it,—us fie was aide to do at the expiration 
of the first lease. It was now commodious and 
tasteful in every arrangement, and the grounds 
were rendered quite extensive by the addiiinn of 
an Bdjacentlot, which had been converted into a 
garden and orchard of choice fruit.. The tables 
were now spread under the trees, while the y oung 
people were roaming among the flowers and 
shrnbs in llie garden, or sharing in the sports of 
the children upon the smooth lawn in front of the 
piazza, where some of the more sedate of the 
company were seated. 
Herbert and Alice were hovering here and 
there, playing the part of agreeable host and 
hostess. 
Frederick and Julia had lost none of the 
thoughtful tenderness which had characterized 
their intercourse since the death of little A pa, 
whose sainted memory had always possessed a 
magic spell over tiieir hearts and lives. Clar¬ 
ence, their only child, was a young man of whom 
any parent might have been proud. He was a 
frequent visitor at the cottage, and although the 
Westons never encouraged making love or mat¬ 
rimony a theme for jesting in their household, 
they often remarked to each other on Clarence’s 
apparent devotion to Helen. 
Mr. and Mrs. Fact were also present, surrounded 
by a group of blooming children, Alice, Flor¬ 
ence, ar.d Henry, the munesake and pet of hiB 
grandfather. 
Other guests joined in the Innocent amnsenu nts 
of the day; and the afternoon hours sped gaily 
by, laden "with the smiles of beauty, the perforce 
of flowers, the sweet and ringing laughter of 
childhood, and the pure enjoyment of young and 
happy hearts. 
At an early hour the visitors departed. Ger¬ 
trude and Helen lingered in one of the arbors, 
Conversing upon the pleasures of the party, when 
Charley, ever ready for a frolic, began looking 
for them, and called loudly, “Gertrude,—Helen, 
— where are you?” The Bbters, responding to 
their mimes, left their retreat and joined their 
brother on one of the graveled walks. Merrily 
chatting together, they had reached the arched 
gateway, when their attention was attracted bv 
the approach of a stranger, a gentleman somewhat 
advanced in life. He bowed politely, and apolo¬ 
gized for his intrusion, remarking, in extenuation 
thereof, that he was In search of a lost friend, and 
hearing the same name uttered, he had taken the 
liberty to call, and now wished to Inquire the 
name of the resident of the cottage. 
“Dr, Herbert WKSTON,"wasC harley’s prompt 
reply. 
“And are those your sisters?” was the next 
question. 
“Yes, Bir, aud their names are Gertrude and 
Helen.” 
“Gertrude?” repeated the stranger, abstract¬ 
edly, “and is she your own sister?” 
“ To be sure she is," was the answer, in a tone 
that Bhnw-d be considered hiB questioner rather 
too inquisitive. 
Again the gentleman looked earnestly at Grr- 
thuoe, and, apparently quite overcome by some 
emotion, be begged to know if he could see Dr. 
Weston fur a few moments. Charley at once 
conducted the unknown guest to his father’s 
library, and the girls walked slowly toward the 
bouse, at. first wondering what the new comer 
wanted, hut soon n turning to their reminiscences 
of the afternoon. 
Herbert was at no less a loss than his children 
had been, to interpret the singular manner of his 
visitor, who evidently found it difficult to intro¬ 
duce the object of bis call. At length he said, 
abruptly, “• have just, seen a young lady whom 
you i son told me was his sister Gektrodk. Allow 
me to inquire if she Is your own child?” 
Dr. Weston started, but answered calmly, that 
snob a singular inquiry demanded some explana¬ 
tion before be felt called upon to answer it. 
The stranger, then, with some hesitation, gave 
the following recital: 
"Bir. 1 will gratify you, for it i«, indeed, no 
more than jnst that. 1 should explain the reason 
of my intrusion. My name Is William Mason. 
I am a native of this city, where the early portion 
of my life was “pent. Twenty years ago, 1 married 
a young and beautiful girl—her name was Ger¬ 
trude Wilmot; and, sir, hud you seen her then, 
yon would now be struck as forcibly as 1 have 
been by the resemblance this young lady bears to 
her. 
“One short year of wedded bliss it was our 
privilege to enjoy; and by degrees I yielded to 
the fascinations of the wine cup, and for scenes ot 
conviviality I forsook my homr and my wife. 
For a few months 1 remained In this city, but my 
course was ever downward—and then 1 deserted 
my Gertrude at a time when, above all others, 
she needed my love aud care. Once only did I 
hear of her, and then through a boon companion, 
who had followed me to >i- v York. He toi l me 
that my wife had a dno §t, and that, her own 
bealih was falling. How r.t learned this 1 never 
ascertained, but the fiend of jealousy whispered 
to me tnat my wife was unfaithful, and I vowed 
never to return to her. 
“I plunged deeper and deeper into the vortex 
of dissipation; and when my funds were exhausted, 
I went out as a common sailoi in a ship bound for 
the West Indies, Noon iifier my arrival I was 
taken dangerouEiy ill, and lung before I recovered, 
the ship in which l had sailed had returned, and 
I was left behind. It was a long while me I 
regained my health and strenuth. and then, 
strange to say, my appetite lor intoxicating bev¬ 
erages was gone, and since that time 1 have 
never tasted a drop of the vccuised thing, 
“ I soon obtained occupation, an 1 , recommended 
by my steady and industrious habits, I was ad¬ 
vanced from one pO*l to another until I became a 
wealthy man. Yet all this while 1 was haunted 
by t he memory of my injured and innocent wife, 
as I well knew her to be. And many a time did ] 
determ I me to go to her and seek her forgiveness, 
and devote the remainder of my life to the repa 
ration of the great wrong I had done her. But 
year after year I toiled on. adding to the gold 
which filled my coffers. At last my yearning for 
home could no longer be stifled.’ I closed my 
business, and one year ago I left my island abode, 
and ever since have been seeking some trace of 
my lost wife. 
"True, 1 had but litllehope of finding her alive; 
for knowing her sensitive nature and delicate 
frame, I could scarcely hope that she would be able 
tosustain the accumulated sorrows of her lou But 
my efforts have hitherto been unavailing until 
now, when I am certain that I have found her 
child— our child. Is it not so, Dr. Weston?” 
Herbert’s surprise at this narration, the truth 
of which be had no reason to doubt, may be 
imagined. But ere he answered iho eager inquiry 
of Mr. M aSon, he hogged leave to call his wile. 
She was much agitated on learning the object of 
the interview, lint soon said, decidedly, 
“We cannot deny that Gertrude is our adopted 
daughter.—she Dears her mother's Dame, Ger¬ 
trude Mason,— but wo do foel that we have a 
greater claim upon her than yon can have.” 
Her huslnnd interposed, “That we roust leave 
for Gertrude herself to decide. Meantim-', Mr. 
Mason, we will extend to you the hospitalities of 
our house; aud on the morrow yon shall have an 
interview with Gertrude. It would not be best 
to h»rra«s her mind to-night, its this intormation 
would be sure to do; for she has never had cause 
for the least suspicion that we are not her protec¬ 
tors by nature, as we have been by adoption.” 
Mr. Mason acquiesced—and after making some 
inquiries regaining the last sickness of hit- wile, 
and the place of her interment, he retired to the 
room assigned him. and for hours they heard him 
pacing tlie door with troubled step?. 
There was but little test, for Herbert and 
Alice that night They could not doubt that 
Gkiitrude's inclinations would lead her to remain 
with them, but they well knew that duty rather 
than pleasure was always her guide. And she 
might think she ought to devote her life to her 
father who, at this lute day, had returned to claim 
the love slighted fur so many years. They felt 
that there would necessarily be a struggle in (,'ek- 
tkudk*8 mind, bnt what course she would persoe 
they could not tell. Their only lesort was to lay 
their anxieties before the Lord, and leave the 
result with Him. 
The stranger did not appear at breakfast, and 
Alick sent his repast to his room, supposing 
that he must dread mingling with the family un¬ 
til the important matter under consideration was 
decided, Their morning meal concluded, Dr. 
Weston reqneated Gertrude to accompany him 
to the library, whereupon Charley insisted that 
she was ahout to receive au offer from the mys¬ 
terious stranger, who had been so deeply' smitten 
at first sight; but seeing the serious expression 
of his father’s face, he forbore jesting more on 
the subject 
Gertrude found Mis. Weston awaiting them, 
and in a moment Mr. Mason entered, looking 
anxious and haggard. Briefly he repeated the 
story which he had told the night before, and 
then Herbert and Alice narrated their inter¬ 
view-, with Mrs. Mason, and their adoption other 
helpless infant 
Gektuiidk's emotion was painful to witness. 
Her face first became crimson, and then pale ns 
death; and when her new-found father approach¬ 
ed ns if to embrace her, she threw herself into 
Alice's arms, and Bobb ng violently, hid her face 
upon the shoulder of the only mother she had 
ever known. When her agitation had in a meas¬ 
ure subsided, Herbert said, “Gertrude, you 
must choose between the two." 
Again Mr. Mason drew near, but she shrank 
from him, and extending one hand to Herbert 
while the other was still thrown around Alice’s 
neck, she exclaimed vehemently,—“ I have choseD. 
That m«n, by his own account, has proved himself 
unworthy of my respect and affections. If he 
abandoned the mother, be surely hsB no claimB 
upon the child, who might have perished but for 
you, my best of friends.” 
She could say no more, and was laid fainting 
upon the sofa. Mr. Mason bent down and im¬ 
printed one kiss npon that snowy brow, then 
shaking hands with Dr. and Mrs. Weston, he 
spoke in a tremulous voice:— "God will reward 
yon for all your kindness. I feel that my sentence 
is just, and I will not again intrude upon the do¬ 
mestic happiness of your home.” Turning, be 
left the room with a sad, lingering step, and that 
was the lost lime the inhabitants of Hope Cottage 
beheld William Mason. 
When Gertrude was restored to conscious¬ 
ness, she glanced wildly around the apartment, 
tint only beholding Herbert and Alice, she 
closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory of 
the exciting scene. When she sufficiently recov¬ 
ered to converse, she blessed her faithful friends 
for all their love and care; but expressed a wish 
that they should tell the other children the whole 
truth.— she would rather they Rhould know it 
than to remain in ignorance of the fact that she 
had no real claim on their affection. To the outer 
world it was not necessary to impart more than 
was already known by a few intimate friends in 
regard to her parentage. 
So Dr. Weston gathered his children around 
him. and told them, in a few words, the history of 
Gertkudr's parents, so fur ns be whh acquainted 
with it, and of the time when he and their mother 
had taken her in her helpless and homeless hi* 
f«ncy, to be as their own child. And now, when 
her father had returned to seek her and make her 
the sharer in hia prosperity, she had utterly re¬ 
fused to leave those whom she had always regard¬ 
ed as her own kindred. 
Of course, this was startling intelligence to the 
three; but nothing conld estrange their hearts 
from the one they all loved so dearly; and they 
all went to her, and embracing her fondly, called 
her affectionately their “Sister Gertrude.” 
Nu further allusion was made to the circnm 
stances which they all wished to forget, and in a 
few weeks the visit of Mr. Mason, and his start¬ 
ling revelations, bad passed into seeming obliviOD. 
But sometimes the watchful eye of tho mother 
detected an expression of earnest thoughtfulness 
upon Gkktiu ok'o face, which it had Dot worn 
before. She begged to have her mother's grave 
pointed out to her; and often would carry fresh 
flowers to lay upon the nameless mound. It was 
soon evident that another remembered the hal¬ 
lowed spot, for a plain msrble slab was erected to 
the memory of Gertrude Wilmot, wife of Wm. 
Mason, with the date of her death, and her age,— 
twenty-two. 
The Westons did not donbt that it was placed 
thereby her husband, but whether he remained 
in the city or not, they bad neither the means nor 
the deslro for ascertaining. It was enough for 
(bom to Know tUnt »Wir <Lulicg OrnTiirMi, now 
dearer than ever before, was still left them, and 
that in accordance with her own free choice. 
In all these long years of her wedded life, Alice 
had never revisited the home of her youth, and 
although no close ties of kindred bound her to 
the place, yet she often desired to gaze upon those 
familiar scenes, and st/md once more beside the 
graves of her parents. Accordingly, a few 
months after the occurrence of the above named 
events, Herbeht propped that he and his wife 
should take a journey Eastward. Gertrude and 
Helen could easily aupeiintend household affairs; 
and all professional business could* be left with 
Dr. May. 
It was with varied emotions that Mrs. Weston 
entered the quiet town of Ashland, which they 
reached after a comparatively brief ride, quite 
unlike tlu-ir rough jaunt of twenty jears before. 
V’ciy few of their old friends were remaining, 
i h - Reaper, Death, had gathered a rich harvest, 
h nd many that still survived had passed away 
f,om tlu-ir early homes. The young people were 
grown old,—the children filled the places of their 
fathers. The old minister who luid married Her¬ 
bert and Alice, and the physician with whom 
Herbert had studied, had botti ex- hanged their 
active duties for the repose of the silent city, 
where Alice read so many familiar names. 
Among the few who gave her a cordial greet¬ 
ing, was one of the universal " Aunts” so neces- 
sar, to a conntry neighhorhood,—a clnss of indi¬ 
viduals whom we have all known, aud have been 
more or less indebted to, for the kind deeds 
they are accustomed to perform. “Aunt Bally 
Green " was now far advanced in years, yet pos¬ 
sessed of a remarkable memory for names and 
dates. She knew the exact age of every child 
that had been born in Ashland during the last 
fifty years.—a trait which did not recommend her 
to those who chose to forget, and wished others 
to be ignorant of the figures carried upon the 
mile-stones that marked their earthly pilgrimage. 
A out Sally's life had been devoted to the care 
of the sick, and Alice well rt-ini-mbcreii ihatshe 
had watched heside her mother's dying bed. Her 
days of usefulness wre now over, and like many 
other woru-oui articles of furniture, she was con¬ 
signed to the dust and gloom of au attic. A few 
pcisoDB there were, who, in consideration of her 
former deeds of kindness to them and theirs, 
ministered to her wants, and gave her a seat at 
their fireside. But mostof the time sro temaiued 
in her little room in the upper e'ory of a house, 
where she paid her board by knnting socks and 
mittens. 
The family with whom she made it her home 
were former acquaintances of Mrs. Weston, and 
she and her husband, in one of their calling expe¬ 
ditions, stopped there for a few moments. Aunt 
Sally, bearing strange voices below, came 
down, knitting-work in band, and after a mo¬ 
ment’s close scrutiny of the visitors, exclaimed, 
“Weill if this don’t beat all! You are Alice 
Lee, sb sure as 1 live, and this is your hnsband, 
Dr. Weston, old Dr. Norton’s student;” and 
shaking hands heartily with them both, she add¬ 
ed:—“ Well, yon dolook remarkable young seeing 
that you was forty-one last June! Just the age of 
Betty Simpson, and Patty Brown, and one of 
’em hain't got a tooth in her head, and t’other 
wears fulse curls.” Then followed sundry remi¬ 
niscences of old times, and various inquiries in 
regard to the family and experience of the 
Westons. 
At length a new idea struck Aunt Bally, and 
she whispered to Alice to go with her into the 
back kitchen, as she wanted to tell her something. 
She then gave her the story of her hardships; of 
the neglect which she Could not hut feel; for it is 
a mistaken notion that age always blunts the sen¬ 
sibilities; oftentimes little slights, and careless¬ 
ness about trifling attentions, are more keenly felt 
then than at any other period of lire. Aunt 
Sally begged Mrs. Weston to take her home 
with her,—she ielt sure she could do enough knit¬ 
ting to pay her way,— at any rate it wasn’t likely 
she Bhould be a burden to aiiy body very long. 
Alice really pitied the homeless and friendless 
old woman; and her heart, ever ready to sympa¬ 
thize with suffering in every form, at once pleaded 
in her favor. Bat she told Aunt Sally she could 
not teke such a step without consulting her hus¬ 
band, which she would d" that night and let her 
know their decision the following morning. 
As might be expected. Herbert readily assent¬ 
ed to the plan; for he and his wife were always 
willing to aid those who were in want, and in 
their opinion, old ace has especial claims upon 
the kind consideration of those still in the enjoy¬ 
ment of strength and activity. They had no sym¬ 
pathy for that heartless sentiment, so prevalent 
at the present day, which countenances disre¬ 
spect and unkindnesa toward the aged. [Con¬ 
clusion next week.) 
7Z 7Z f3f 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ETHNOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 49 letters. 
My 37,10, 38,11,19, 2, 48, 3, 8 is the Dame of an ancient 
tribe of Britons, 
My 3. 8, 40,10, 20. 41, 29 was a nation of Germany. 
My 12, 45, 9, 43, 11, 34, (5, 37, 25 were the ancient inhabi¬ 
tants of th« Carpathian Mountains. 
My 9, 11, 34, 37, 19, 8, 21, 29 was a warlike nation of 
Arabia. 
My 32, 17, 28, 7, 45,13, 33, 15, 28 are the natives of that 
portion of Hiodostan which lies on the lower part of 
the river Ganges, 
My 27, 33, 13, 48, 29 were the ancient inhabitants of the 
greater part uf Gaul, 
My 11,1, 7.13, 28 18 wan a nation of Germany, from whom 
the name of England wan derived. 
My 10. 44, 38, 9 were a fierce people of Parmatia, who in- 
vuded the Roman Empire and established HaDgary. 
My 18, 47, 48, 40, 34, 8, 15 anciently inhabited part of 
England and Wales. 
My 7, 30,10.86,18 was an ancient and distinguished nation 
which inhabited Scandinavia. 
My 4, 2ft, 13, 46. 17, 32, 8,16 is the name of the ancient in¬ 
habitant* of Greece. 
My 39, 4ft, 34, 23, 9, 14, 5 is the name of an ancient tribe 
of Gauta. 
My 29, 23,42, 10, 0 were the ancient inhabitants of Cale¬ 
donia. 
My 22, 47, 4], 21,18 inhabit a part of Europe. 
My 24, 31. 34. 47,11, 38, 9 inhabited a portion of Greece, 
near Parnassus. 
My 18, 49, 34,14, 37, 38, 18 live in a portion of Asiatic 
Turkey. 
My whole ia a self-evident truth. 
Mt Vernon, Mich , 1860. J. Milton Johnstex. 
nr Answer In two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MISCELLANEOUS ENIGMA. 
1 am composed of 14 letters. 
My 1,14. 9, 12, 6,14,11 means belonging to former times. 
My 10,14, 5 is a conjunction. 
My 7, 8. 14. 9, A U a blockhead. 
Mv 2, 4,1,11 is an animal. 
My o, 13, 3, 11 i» a water foul. 
My 2,14, 10, 11 is a small insect 
My 9, 12,11. 6 is to quote 
My whole k whal every person should possess. 
Cohocton, Steuben Co., N. Y. Sophia Morehouse. 
Answer in two weeks. 
CHARADE. 
A gentleman on travel met 
A modest servant maid; 
Her artless beauty so him emit 
He wrote to her and said:— 
In lawful wedlock's holy bands 
He wish'd with her to join, 
And hoped to have from her fair hands 
A satisfying line. 
The girl had never learned to write, 
Nor would another trust, 
That in her loss might take delight— 
So few are true and just. 
But from her kitchen stores she sent 
A something, safe inclosed, 
That satisfied his wish aud want; 
Say what, when you are posed. 
Answer in two weeks. 
For Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MECHANICAL PROBLEM. 
This engineer of the engine “ Silas Wright’ 1 wishes to 
know how much further a point on the circumference of 
the driving wheel will go than the true center point of 
the same wheel, in ruouiDg from Gouverneur to Water- 
town, supposing the distance to be 30 mile*, the diame¬ 
ter of the driving wheel being six feet. 
Gouverneur, N. Y., I860. Saturn. 
Answer in two weeks. 
ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS, &c„ IN NO. 647. 
Answer to Geographical F.nigma: 
Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! 
My peace with these, my love with those. 
Answer to Miscellaneous Enigma:—William Words¬ 
worth. 
Answer to Bone for Mathematicians:—Length of ropes 
12,621, 18.905, and 23.975. The horses would have in 
common 7 929 square rods. 
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