I 
you know I would not rumple that temper 
of yours for auythiug. I think I fully un¬ 
derstand what I am talking about; and if 
you please, sir, 1 will wager a fine new hat 
that you are married before you are thirty 
years old.” 
“I will accept the wager just to please 
you,” I said, and we struck our hands to¬ 
gether to make it good. “If 1 am a single 
man on my thirtieth birthday you are to 
give me a fine new hat; if previous to that 
time 1 find myself in the meshes of matri¬ 
mony— vice versa." 
“ Correct,” returned Fred, with a touch 
of enthusiasm. 
And I turned again to the window with a 
suppressed sigh, thinking it quite evident 
that Fred had no suspicion of the real cause 
of my resolve never to link my life to that 
of any woman. He did not suppose that 
there was a time when I was as ardent as he 
in my admiration of female loveliness. And 
with these thoughts came vivid recollections 
of that time long ago, when I lost my young 
heart and had been made wretched. 
I remembered Lhc proud steamer Victory, 
and the pleasant hours 1 spent upon her 
deck as she plowed the waters of the broad 
Atlantic. 1 remembered, too, the lit tle gold¬ 
en-haired creature 1 first saw there,and how 
I was affected by her beauty,her innocence, 
her charming naivete, and her sweetness of 
disposition. I was only seventeen then, and 
she fifteen; but for all that we took a fancy 
to eacli Ollier, became strongly attached, and 
in a very short time were hopelessly in love. 
It is said that young love is a delusion, 
and soon ovor. Such may generally be the 
case, but I, old goose, am to this day as 
much under the influence of that intoxica¬ 
ting passion as when I first fell ils delightful 
sensation, in the seventeenth year of my age. 
And now, as 1 sat with my chum beside 
mein the train, I receded to memory the 
sunny days of my oetrothed’s love, and 
wished that they could return. I could not 
prevent a secret wish, too, that my Spirit 
had flown when Lilian’s did, that I might 
sleep peacefully beside her, far away in her 
watery grave; and I dropped a tear then, 
and wondered if I could ever he so fond of 
another as I bad been of Lilian. No! I 
would wait until death would unite me to 
my golden-haired fair one. 
A cold tremor crept through my frame as 
the memory of that never-to-be-forgotten 
night—when the ill-fated steamer succumbed 
to the withering breath of the fire-king— 
rushed over my mind. It wa# an awful 
sight; children screaming, women wringing 
their hands in mental agony, while passen¬ 
gers, sailors and everybody on board were 
crying aloud to heaven for mercy; and yot 
the fiery element rushed on and wrapped 
the doomed vessel in a sheet of flame. Poor 
little Lilian, unable to find her father, came 
to me for protection. In endeavoring to 
calm her fears 1 almost forgot my own ; and 
I call never forget that beautiful face, as 
she lifted it so trustfully to mine! lighted by 
the raging lire in the background. It was 
then and there I told her I loved her; and 
nestling her curly head upon my breast, she 
burst into tears, and told me that which 
caused me to clasp her in my arms and kiss 
her rosebud lips. 
And even while death was staring us in 
the face, I felt, a momentary thrill of joy. 
We stood closely together, awaiting the 
crisis, saying we would die together; and 
yet when we sprang overboard in each oth¬ 
er’s arms, we somehow became separated, 
and she was gone 1 Never afterwards was I 
permitted to look upon the dear creature 
who placed so much confidence in me at 
that trying hour, and who gave her heart 
into my keeping ere cruel death forever 
stopped ils beating. IIow 1 was saved I can 
hardly tell. I remember nothing after jump¬ 
ing overboard till I found myself in a boat, 
with the captain and a portion of his crew, 
who were rowing rapidly away from the 
scene of the disaster. 
All this was called to memory by the sub¬ 
ject on which Fred and Iliad been speaking, 
and, as I continued to think, I felt sure he 
would lose the wager, and at last be satisfied 
that I meant, just wlnit 1 said, and jusL what 
.1 was talking about. 
“Pine-dale!” shouted the railway porter 
as the traiu stopped at our destination, just 
as night was beginning to envelop the earth 
iu her subtle mantle. 
“ Come, Phil,” said Fred, “ we must move 
our pegs nimbly, for we have yet to dress for 
the party, and I am expected to be there and 
ready iu time to receive the guests.” Audwc 
jumped out. 
The fine residence of Squire Lacy was 
very brilliantly illuminated; and when Fred 
and I, arm in arm, entered the fine, spa¬ 
cious drawing-rooms, they were all aglow 
with wax candles, fine dresses, smiling faces, 
and bright eyes. The gay throng assembled 
there were soon iu silence by our entrance, 
and murmurs of admiration and welcome— 
for Fred, of course—dwelt on every lip, 
whilst many of his old acquaintances came 
forward to greet him. . 
'Phil, this is rnv father — Mr. Morton, 
father," said my companion; and the next I 
instant a jovial-looking old gentleman, with 
gray hair and smiling countenance, was 
shaking me warmly by the hand. 
There seemed to he something familiar in 
that benevolent face that attracted my at¬ 
tention, and I could not help scrutinizing it 
studiously for a moment. But I concluded 
that it was a freak of my imagination, inas¬ 
much as it. was hardly probable that 1 had 
ever before met Squire Lacy. 
After making me acquainted with a few 
of Lhc chief persons, Fred whispered in my 
ear: 
“ There, Phil, rush in among ’em and se¬ 
cure a partner. I can tell you, from their 
looks, those ladies are waiting anxiously for 
you to make a selection from among them. 
Quick, the quadrilles are forming.” 
“No,” I returned, shaking my head, “I 
wish to be alone for awhile. 1 will dance 
the next set;” and turning away from him 
I repaired to one corner of the room, there 
to gaze at the different parties the room con¬ 
tained. 
From my seat I watched the handsome 
form of Fred as he moved among his happy 
guests, and wondered which of the many 
fair beings he would select for a partner in 
the dance. I was not long kept in doubt. 
He led forward a young lady—led her 
within a few feet of me—to fill the set at the 
lower extremity of the room; and as my 
eyes vested upon her I fairly started and 
could hardly suppress an exclamation of 
astonishment. 
Hhe was a beautiful woman, not tall and 
queenly, yet with a form that was faultless 
in symmetry and mot ion. A wealth of silky 
hair, golden in line, amid the folds of which 
were twined a single white lily, as an adorn¬ 
ment to the shapely head it. covered, while 
the great yearning eyes, of a soft, ethereal 
blue, reflected in their liquid depths the soul 
of their fair owner. The lips, full and pout¬ 
ing, and rivaling in line the ripe apricot, 
seemed to invite kisses; and her delicate 
checks were an index to the slate of her 
mind, as the rich carnation surged back and 
forth beneath the transparent skin. Her or¬ 
naments were few and simple, and her dress 
was of spotless while, sweeping hack in 
rustling folds from her pretty neck to the 
gaudy carpet. 
But il was not her beauty that caused me 
to start and almost exclaim with amaze¬ 
ment; it was not that, dear reader, for there 
were others present, perhaps, who were no 
less prepossessing than the blonde beauty 
who claimed my attention. 
This it was that caused my surprise. 
There was that in the fair face before me 
that, like Squire Lacy's, struck me as not 
entirely strange to me. More, my mental 
decision at first sight of her was that this 
was Lilian, with whom I had, just five years 
ago, jumped from the burning steamer Vic¬ 
tory. 
But my second thought was that it could 
not be, and then I laughed at the idea as 
perfectly ridiculous. IIow could it he Lilian, 
she with whom I parted, five years ago, 
never to meet again in this world ; she with 
whom I leaped into the fathomless sea, and 
whose golden hair I had seen floating on 
the dark waters for a single instant, and then 
disappear beneath the rolling billows? No, 
it could scarcely be the lost love of my boy¬ 
hood, unless the Almighty had seen fit to 
work a miracle in this modern time. 
And yet il must be she ! was my next con¬ 
clusion, us I looked up and saw her again. 
The music was playing now, and she, with 
flushed and smiling face, was gliding hither 
and thither to its liquid notes, murmuring 
some jesting word, sis it appeared every time 
she came opposite Fred, Surely it. must, be 
she, and yet bow could it be? IIow pretty 
she was, how sylph-like ami bewitching; 
now—L began to grow restless, and my 
cheeks and forehead began to burn with a 
kind of dry, feverish heat, as 1 continued to 
gaze enchanted and bewildered, at the dan¬ 
cing fairy. 
Ha 1 that laugh, that sweet, rippling laugh ! 
It was hers exactly, and if this is not Lilian 
of the ill-fated steamer, it must he a near 
relation. Unable to bear longer the tortur¬ 
ing suspense, I turned to a couple of gentle¬ 
men who sat near me, and asked them if 
either knew the name of young Lacy’s part¬ 
ner. 
“ I should judge that it is Miss Belle Gor¬ 
don, since they seem very familiar,” said one. 
“ Ah, Belle Gordon I ” I mused. “ She is 
Fred’s betrothed. She is the adored lady of 
whom he has so often spoken to me as his 
future wife, and iu praise of whom he al¬ 
ways waxed eloquent. How like she is to 
the one who sleeps beneath the ocean wave! 
Mayhap ’tis her sister. I never learned her 
surname, and consequently cannot tell 
whether it was Gordon or not.” 
Forgetful of ray position, and forgetful of 
the brilliant throng around me, I leaned my 
head wearily upon my hand and allowed my 
thoughts to drift over my past life. I was 
living over again those happy days spent 
with her upon the open sea; 1 was living 
over again those few brief moments when 
we stood together upon the forecastle while 
tne quarter-deck TV as wrapped iu flames, 
%wmm 
when in the midst of my fright she sent a 
thrill of joy to my heart, and I folded her to 
my arms, and pressed a passionate kiss upon 
her quivering lips—all this was I living over 
again, when the cheery voice of Fred Lacy 
aroused me from the profound reverie into 
which I had fallen. 
“Miss Gordon, allow me to present my 
old friend aud schoolmate, Mr. Morton, who 
is to be our chief groomsman on New Year’s 
day.” 
J arose half mechanically and confronted 
my chum aud his betrothed. A small gloved 
hand was extended to me in acknowledg¬ 
ment of the introduction ; and I looked up 
with the expectation of encountering a pair 
of soft. eyes. Wlnit was my surprise on see¬ 
ing a tall, queenly brunette standing before 
me, with great lustrous black eyes, luxuri¬ 
ant black hair, a rich, rosy, olive-tinted 
complexion. 
Tliis was Miss Belle Gordon, Fred’s affi¬ 
anced, and was not the charming little fairy 
whom lie had just been whirling through 
the mazes of the dance. 
“And this is the lady of whom you have 
so often spoken in such highly complimen¬ 
tary terms?” I inquired. 
“ The same,” he replied. “ Havel praised 
her too highly?” 
“ No, indeed; yon have not even done her 
justice. But iny object in asking was mere- 
13 ' this: 1 mistook your recent partner in the 
dance for Miss Gordon.” 
“ Wh)', that was my sister, Phil.” 
“ You jest.” 
“ True as gospel. Didn't I introduce you ? 
Wait here and I will bring her forward." 
“ One moment—please tell me her name?” 
1 asked, eagerly laying my hand on his arm. 
“ Her name is Lilian.” 
I sank back upon the chair, unable to ar¬ 
ticulate another worth My brain begun to 
whirl, the room swam before inv eyes, and 1 
pressed my hand to my feverish brow with a 
mighty effort to compose myself. Again I 
was aroused l>y the voice of my friend. 
“ Here she is, Phil,” he said. “ Sister, al¬ 
low me to make you acquainted with my old 
college chum, Phil Morton. But what in the 
deuce is the matter?” 
For she had started back at the sight, of 
me, with a low, smothered cry, leaning heavi¬ 
ly on her brother’s arm for support. 
“What is the mailer, my dear sister?” 
again cried Fled, with 11 puzzled look. 
She made no repty* Pale and trembling 
she turned away, and left the spot with un¬ 
steady steps. When she had gone Fred 
cast u piercing look at me. 
“PIT? MiMoftf^hc said, In a low, ie- 
proa <iful voice, “have you ever met her 
before ?” 
“ I have," 1 replied, quite calmly. 
“ When and where?” 
“ Five years ago, on the vessel Victory,” I 
answered. 
“ What 1” lie ejaculated, almost speech¬ 
less with amazement. “ You will not tell 
me Unit you are the youth she aud mother 
have so frequently' mentioned?” 
“I suppose I am the same youth,” 1 re¬ 
joined. 
He could say no more, but could only 
stand and gaze at me in utter astonishment. 
1 began then, and related to him the whole 
circumstance, lima informing him why I had 
no intention of ever marrying, and was so 
willing to accept his wager. 
When 1 had told him all 1 left him and went 
to seek his sister Lilian. I found her in the 
conservatory, among the flowers, herself the 
fairest of all. She was sitting on a bench, 
with her head inclined and her handkerchief 
pressed to her eyes, weeping. 
I went and sat beside her and drew her 
into conversation. I told her how I thought 
she was dead during all the long years that 
had passed since we parted on ihe rolling 
deep; and she in turn told me that she and 
her father had been cast ashore and subse¬ 
quently rescued. We talked a long time 
about these bygone days, and then I took 
one of her little hands in mine, aud said in 
an earnest, pleading tone : 
“ And now, Lilian, you remember how we 
stood together on the burning ship, while 
the scene around us was rendered awfully 
sublime by the raging fire; you remember 
how, as we stood wailing for the doom that 
seemed inevitable, I told von my heart was 
yours, and how you nestled your head upon 
my bosom and wept, and told me that such 
an assurance made you happy. We were 
young then, Lilian; but though thinking 
you dead, I have remained true to j t ou, and 
cannot refrain from telling you a second 
time that I love you. Tell me, darling, does 
the assurance make you lmppy this time?” 
She blushed, sighed, and leaned more 
fondly on my trembling arm. 
“Are you the same noble Phil of old?” 
she wmspered. 
“I am unchanged, darling, save that, 
through love (briny lost one, I have shunned 
female society.” 
“ Then take me; I’m forever thine,” she 
murmured ; and once more I held the little 
beauty on my breast. I need not prolong 
this story, reader mine. I like dwelling on 
the subject, but my feeble pen cannot do it 
justice. May it suffice to say that Squire 
Lacy and Fred were by no means displeased 
when they heard what had transpired in the 
conservatory, and (hat when New Year’s 
clay came around there were two grand wed¬ 
dings instead of one. 
And stay! I almost forgot to add, soon 
after I became the happy husband of Lilian 
Lacy I presented a fine hat to Fred, and was 
only too glad to acknowledge that he had 
won the wager. 
-- 
TWICE UNITED. 
An Illinois paper, Lhc Knoxville Republi¬ 
can, tells the story of a romantic marriage 
which took place in that town a short time 
since. The bride was Mrs. Amelia William¬ 
son of Knoxville; the groom, Philander 
Williamson of Stockton, California—and the 
parties had been married before. The mys- 
tery is cleared up in the following narrative 
from the local journal:—The bride and bride¬ 
groom were united in marriage in early life 
in Warren, Herkimer county, N. Y., at the 
house of the bride’s parents, Richard and 
Mary Gardner, then residents of that place. 
By the same ceremony a sister, now Mrs. 
Timothy Mosher of Galesburg, was married 
to Mr. Abel Gardner, who, though of the 
same name, was in no way a blood relation. 
Mr. and Mrs. Williamson soon after removed 
from New York to Michigan, locating near 
what is now the city of Albion. Michigan 
was then new, it being over thirty years ago, 
and they experienced all the hardships of 
frontier life amid the half-civilized whiles 
and savages. Mrs. Williamson being very 
young, only about twenty years of age, 
brought up iu abundance, soon grew discon¬ 
solate at her late, aud sighed for her old as¬ 
sociates. 80 oppressed and overwhelmed 
was she, that while fond of her husband and 
her married life, she became anxious to see 
her mother. It happened that after being iu 
Michigan two years, her parents removed 
from Herkimer Go., N. Y.. to Knoxville, III. 
On their way the)' visited their daughter, 
then in the wilds of what is now the State 
of Michigan. No meeting of parents and 
child could ever have been more affecting 
and joyous. The separation, however, was 
at hand, aud hi the conflict between parental 
love and that of her husband, the former 
prevailed, and taking her only child, a daugh¬ 
ter, Mrs. W. accompanied her parents to 
Knoxville, with whom she resided until their 
decease. II< r child, Mercelia, was reared 
and educated here, and died in the blush of 
womanhood. 
The separation, though mutual, always 
exercised the mind of Mrs. W., and for thir¬ 
ty years, though no good reason existed im¬ 
parting husband and wife, they walked 
widely divergent paths. Subsequent to their 
separation, Mr. W. married an estimable 
lady, moved to California, became a citizen 
of Stockton t wenty years ago, where he now 
owns property of considerable value. By 
his second wife he had three or four chil¬ 
dren. The second wife having died some 
years since, and Mr. W. being situated so as 
to greatly need a wile, visited his old friends 
in New York and Michigan, and made his 
way here to he reunited, from choice and 
convictions of duty, with her whom lie had 
chosen in his youth. 
The meeting was peculiar and romantic. 
Mrs, Williamson, on the day lie called on 
her, did not know her early spouse, so great 
had been the work of Lime. Suffice it to say 
the past was revived with ils pleasant and 
painful memories, the re-marriage agreed 
upon, and the happy pair came Lo the old 
homestead, were reunited in wedlock, stand¬ 
ing in the parlor where Mrs. Mushier, the 
bride’s young sister, married her present 
husband, who was in the beginning married 
by the same ceremony with her sister. Last 
evening they passed through this city on 
their way to their home in California. 
- +++ - 
TRUTH IN BRIER 
Anybody can soil the reputation of any 
individual, however pure and chaste, by ut¬ 
tering a suspicion that bis enemies will be¬ 
lieve and his friends never hear of, A put! 
of the idle wind can take a million of the 
seeds of a thistle and do the work of mis¬ 
chief which the husbandman must labor 
long to uudo, the floating particles being too 
fine to be seen and loo light to be stopped. 
Such are the seeds of slander, so easily 
sown, so difficult to lie gathered up, and yet 
so pernicious in their fruits. The slanderer 
knows that many a mind will catch up the 
plague and become poisoned by bis insinua¬ 
tion, without ever seeking the antidote. No 
reputation can refute a sneer, nor any human 
skill prevent mischief. 
- +++ - 
Lost wealth may be restored by industry; 
the wreck of health regained by temper¬ 
ance; forgotten knowledge restored by 
study; alienated friendship smoothed into 
forgetfulness; even forfeited reputation re¬ 
covered by penitence; but who ever again 
looked upon bis vanished hours—recalled 
his slighted years, stamped them with wis¬ 
dom, or effaced from heaven’s record the 
(fearful blot of wasted time? 
abbatb cubing. 
NEARER HOME. 
A HYMN BY THE LATE PH(EBE CARY. 
One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes to me o'er und o'er; 
I’m nearer my home to-day 
Thun I ever have been before; 
Nearer my Father's house. 
Where the many mansions be; 
Nearer the great white throne. 
Nearer the crystal sea; 
Nearer the bound of life; 
Where we lay our burdens down; 
Nearer tearing the cross. 
Nearer gaining the crown. 
But the waves of that silent sea 
Roll dnrlt before my sight, 
That brightly The other side 
Break on a shore of light. 
O, if my mortal feet 
Have almost gained the brink, 
If it he I am Bearer home 
Even to-day than I think, 
Father, perfect my trust, 
Let my spirit fed In death 
That her feet are fiTmly set 
On tho'Roek of u living faith. 
INFLUENCE OF A HYMN. . 
In noticing tbe death of Miss Pikebe 
Cary, (which occurred at Newport, R. 1,011 
the 31st ult.,) the N. Y. Tribune publishes 
the Hymn entitled “Nearer Home," which 
we give above, and relates the following af¬ 
fecting incident:—A gentleman in China, 
intrusted with packages for a young man 
from his friends in the United Stales, learned 
that ho would probably he found iu a certain 
gambling bouse. He went thither, but not 
seeing the young man, sal down und wailed 
in the hope that he might come in. The 
place was a bedlam of noises, men getting 
angry over their cards, and frequently com¬ 
ing to blows. Near him sat two men—one 
young, the other forty years of age. They 
were betting and drinking in a terrible way, 
the older one giving utterance continually to 
the foulest profanity. Two games had been 
finished, the young man losing each time. 
The third game, with fresh hoi lies of brandy, 
had just begun, and the young man sat lazily 
back ill his chair while the oldest shuffled 
his cards. 
The man was along time dealing the cards, 
and the young man, looking carelessly about 
the room, began to bum a tune, lie went 
on, till at length lie begun to sing the hymn 
of Pikebe Cary above quoted. The words, 
says the writer of the story, repeated in such 
a vile place, at first made me shudder. A 
Sabbath school hymn in a gambling den! 
But while the young man sung, the elder 
stopped dealing the cards, stared at the 
singer a moment, and, throwing lhc cards 
on the floor, exclaimed:—“ Harry, where 
did you learn that tune?” “What tunc?’’ 
“Why, Unit one you’ve been singing.” The 
young man said he did not know wlnit lte 
had been singing, when the elder repeated 
the words, with tears in his eyes, and the 
young man said he hail learned them iu a 
Sunday school in America. “ Come," said 
the elder, getting up; “come, Hahuy; 
here’s what I won from you ; go and use it 
for some good purpose. As for me, as God 
sees me, 1 have played my last game, and 
drank my last bottle. 1 have misled you, 
Harry, aud I am sorry. Give me your 
hand, my boy, and say that, for old Ameri¬ 
ca’s sake, if for no other, you will quit this 
infernal business.” 
The gentleman who tells the story (origi¬ 
nally published in the Boston Daily News) 
saw these two men leave the gambling house 
together, aud walk away arm iu arm ; and 
he remarks;—“ It must be a sonree of great 
joy to Miss Cary to know that her lines, 
which have comforted so many Christian 
hearts, have been Ihe means of awakening 
in the breast of two tempted and erring 
men on the other side of the globe, a reso¬ 
lution lo lend a better life.” It was a source 
of great joy to Miss Cary, as we happen to 
know. Before us lies a private letter from 
her to au aged friend iu this cily, with the 
printed story inclosed, and containing this 
comment:—“ I inclose the hymn, and the 
story for you, not because I am vain of the 
notice, but because I thought you would 
feel a peculiar interest in them when you 
know the hymn was written eighteen years 
ago (1842) iu your house. I composed it in 
the little back third story bedroom, one 
Sunday morning, after comiug from church ; 
and it makes me very happy to think that 
any word I could say has done a little good 
iu the world.” 
-----— 1 -—‘ 
Profanity. — Profanity never did any 
man the least good. No mutt is the richei 
or happier or wiser for it. It comment s n 
one to any society. It is disgusting to li¬ 
the refined; abominable to the good ; msu 
ing to those with whom we associate ; t t 
grading to the mind ; unprofitable, uca e s, 
and injurious in society. 
--- 
Good qualities are incomprehensible 0 
those who have them not. 
