"Do I consent? with my whole heart! God bless you for the noble deed!"

"I wonder at myself," said Mrs. Howard, and her tears fell thick upon baby's curly hair. "I wonder at myself, that my poor heart should find room in it for another child; I thought my own engrossed the whole."

"It did once, my dear madam, but sorrow has enlarged your heart."

"I believe it has; my treasure is in heaven, and so looking up for that I have found a heavenly Father, and since I have loved him and tried to be reconciled to his will, all the world has seemed nearer to me, as though all men and women were my brothers and sisters.'

44

And so you will adopt my baby and give him your husband's honorable

name?"

I will; indeed, I can hardly help it, for ever since he has been here, something has heen saying in my heart, (and I think it is my darling whispering to her mother,) 'give the little one a home and a name.' A manly voice took up the thread of "And something, I know not what, has often put the same thought in my head; and as this prompting is to good, let us obey." It was Mr. Howard, who had entered the room unperceived, until he stood by them.

converse.

Mrs. Howard looked up, smiling through her tears. Edwin, then bless our little boy and give him his name."

He put his hand on baby's head, and in a tremulous voice, said, "God bless thee, Edwin Howard!'

The emotion of Mrs. Simmons could be restrained no longer. She snatched the child to her bosom, and weeping over it glad tears, cried, "Thank God, for my dear little one is a nameless babe no longer."

The moment a man says, "I will not believe so and so, for I must go with the majority," then he would be not a Presbyterian or a Roman Catholic, but a Buddhist; for I believe they have a majority among the religious believers in the world; and in the track of the majority he will go to any extreme, and believe in any

error.

THE FATHER'S CHARGE.

BY DELIA F. MARSH.

Go forth, my son, in freedom's name,
And battle for the right;
Without a hope of earthly fame,
Go gird thee for the fight.

And bear a pitying heart, my son,
When every throb shall be
Rejoicing o'er a conquest won,
And flushed with victory.

And breathe low words of kindness, Above the fallen foe,

He may have erred in blindness,

For aught that thou canst know.

But, if close pressed and bleeding,
Oh, turn not thou in flight,
It is thy country's needing,
Be strong to turn the fight.

And fold thy colors round thy breast,
When borne upon the plain,
'Tis thus a warrior should rest,
When numbered with the slain.

With banners proudly waving, And gleaming swords in rest, Thy followers are waiting

To move at thy behest.

Go then, and God be with thee,

And shield thee in the strife, And may the blessings of the free, Attend thy future life.

THE MOUNTAINEERS OF TENNESSEE.

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER.
Continued from last number.

In a deep and narrow ravine almost inaccessible to the sunshine, and in one of the wildest solitudes of the Cumberland moun tains stands a curious, dilapidated old mill. It is built half of logs and half of stone, and was once probably of some strength, but now crumbling and apparently unused. It occupies a table of strong granite projecting from the face of the perpendicular cliff, and is closely wedged at one end into the mountain itself. Over its half fallen roof waves and rustles the massive foliage of huge and ancient trees, whose gnarled and twisted roots, creeping like serpents over the out-cropping cedars, strike deep into the intervening soil, defying the might of storm and time, and sending up a never-failing fountain of suste nance to their giant tops.

He who had seen this old ruin for the

first time, would have marvelled much who had built it or why it had been placed where it could neither be reached nor needed. That it was a mill was plain, for there hurg the ponderous, now motionless wheel, half its paddles rotted away, and the remainder fringed with long, green, slimy moss, the rank product of decaying wood and the ever-rising spray of the noisy stream which, issuing from some unseen gorge behind it, plunged down the steep ravine, a foamy sheet that was broken into a thousand snowy fragments ere it reached the bottom.

He who has never beheld the wonders of our grand primeval forests, can hardly form a conception of the tangled, confused and shapeless character of the surface of the soil which upbears them. Trees fallen in all directions and in every stage of decay, and covered with moss and accumulated soil, and the rank growth of weeds and shrubs, and young trees which feed their parasitic life on the mouldering and prostrate giants it is a strange and most suggestive spectacle. Along the edges of the ravine I am trying to give you some idea of, the moulding deb of ages thus lay massed. Three or four fallen trees lay directly across the ravine, their tops securely resting upon one end of the ledge on which stood the mill, and at a few rods distance, while their roots still maintained a strong position in the soil on the other side. They were close together, and a casual observer might have deemed this accidental, but a closer inspection would have revealed the fact that man's ingenuity, availing itself of the accident of nature, had added security and strength to the narrow and dizzy bridge thus formed by many a wedge and interwoven branch and cross piece of timber, but all so ingeniously merged as to seem but results of a fortuitous chance.

It was late in the night. The morning star still shone brightly down the wild ravine, but a dim gray streak in the East indicated the approach of dawn. The occasional fall of a dead branch, the steady and monotonous roar of falling water which came up from below, and the sighing of the night-wind through the pines, were all that broke the solemn stillness of

the hour. Mountains rising above mountains, crowned with eternal forests of pines and oaks and stately cedars, stretched dimly away into illimitable distances, but no sign of life appeared, to indicate that the scene was not as wild and untrodden as when the earth was made.

By-and-by a new sound became faintly audible. The distant tapping of hoofs upon naked rocks came up with the sound of water from below, and soon along a pathway on the side of the ravine, so narrow as scarcely to seem sufficient for a goat, the dark forms of two men loomed up in the uncertain twilight. Emerging from the ravine they stepped upon the comparatively level and safe foreground, holding by the bridle a little mule, which they carefully led over the narrow bridge spanning the gulf, and at once came upon the platform on which stood the ruined mill.

A clear whistle shrilly rose above the noise of the stream, and after a short pause, a second. A little shutter suddenly opened in the side of the mill and a head was thrust out.

Is that you, Sol?" inquired a pleas ant-toned, youthful female voice.

66

Yes; anbolt the door," answered a dry, harsh, disagreeable voice, stamping the speaker a rude and rough man. Aggie asleep?"

Is

"O, yes: she is asleep at last, but she has been climbing about the cliffs almost all night. I thought she never would come in. She is always jis so oneasy these bright, moonlight nights.

Poor thing well, we have got something to comfort her;" and the rude, harsh voice took a kindly tone, indicative of some feeling.

"Did you succeed? inquired the young woman, in a tone in which anxiety and pain were plainly visible.

64

Yes, we've got our booty ;" answered the man harshly. "Lun has him on the mule."

Thank heaven that you have returned safe-I have felt so dreadful oneasy about you - and the head vanished from the window.

The next moment the sliding of a bolt was heard, a little door opened in the

wall, and the two men and the mule disappeared behind it.

For some time the sound of voices and footsteps, and opening and shutting doors, might have been heard; but gradually they ceased, and the old, death-like stillness prevailed. Mystery and night once more covered all things.

Morning at last came. The heavy shutters of the mill were opened. A woman appeared at one of the windows, fresh, and pretty, and entirely out of keeping with the wild scene around her; for as the light increased nothing could seem more desolate, lonely and inhospitable. The granite foundation of the mill loosen ed from their places, slid away in shapeless disorder; between the logs of the superstructure, gaped unequal chasms; and completely shaded from the sun, mould and moss covered the whole unwholesome place. Only one corner of the building could by any possible means have been made habitable, and the whole had evidently been long deserted, and was occupied now only as a necessity.

The principal door suddenly opened. Two boys of about four years stepped out upon the rocky platform; one of them fresh and vigorous in his appearance, the other pale and worn with weeping and terThe first ran lightly along the terrace, disappearing behind the trees at the right of the mill, but immediately emerging on to a projecting table-rock somewhat like the one on which. the mill stood, but a score or more feet higher up.

ror.

"Come Louis," he called down to the other lad who stood trembling and afraid

He will soon get over that, I will swear to you," replied the man, with a malicious leer, his spiteful eyes gleaming almost ferociously. "He will soon forget his grand home, or I'll-" and he made a threatening gesture as if he would strike him.

"No! you shall not abuse him, Sol Hurd."

"Abuse him?" he sneered-" he will fare just like the other one. Neither of them shall be babied and petted. They shall learn to be fearless and bold, that they may be more and more alike."

"They certainly do look alike," mus ingly answered the young woman, after a pause, "only little Louis is pale, and has a scar under one eye."

He will soon get over the paleness, and as for the scar, it will be easy to make one for Charley, or rather for Louis, for I am going to change their names at once, that they may get used to them. I shall call Louis Charley, and Charley Louis, and I shall make a scar under his eye like the other boy's.'

The woman looked in his face with a frightened, anxious expression. "Make a scar!" said she, "what do you mean by that, Sol? you surely will not

"Hold your tongue, Kate! Do you think the boy will die of a pin's prick? I tell you I must make a scar like the other's."

"Poor boy!" expostulated she, with a trembling voice. 66 'Just think if his mother should see him bleeding, what would-"

64

His mother!" ah, his mother!" growled he, grinding his teeth. "Hasn't she bled in a thousand times worse way?" He paused awhile, a fierce expression crossing his face, but at length continued in a quieter tone" I will spare her, but without the scar my plans would be good for nothing. So say no more, Kate! You know me, and need not waste words. But I promise you Aggie shall not know it. Besides, poor luny!" she is worse than blind or dead; but by the living Maker, she shall be revenged, and so will

I."

Kate sighed. Sol cast a scornful and angry glance at her, but she took no notice. A strange wailing sound came down from above, rousing the two speakers from a momentary abstraction.

"There she is, poor thing!" exclaimed Sol, with a soft and tender tone, altogether unlike the harsh manner in which he had carried on the conversation; and stepping out near the edge of the platform, he looked up over the mill. On the rocky terrace above him, projecting far out over the noisy stream, where the children had stood a few minutes before, sat a girl apparently not more than twenty years old, resting her head upon her hand, her drooping figure enveloped in a long, white robe, and with a magnificent head of jet black hair, whose wavy lengths fell down her shoulders and covered her like a veil. Her face which was pale and very sorrowful, was beautiful and fair, and had it not been for her large dark eyes, which, soft as a gazelle's, were gazing straight before her into the distance, she might have passed for a breathless statue.

"I am so afraid she will fall," said Kate, anxiously.

"No danger of that, now. She has got used to climbing these break-neck rocks. No, that danger is past. Look at her! poor thing!" But the soft expression left his face, and by the Holy!" he continued, raising his clenched fist, and with the look of a demon" if I don't get revenge on that cursed. But it is begun and he laughed a laugh that made the blood curdle in the young wife's veins.

Meanwhile the little Louis, at first so terrified, had made his way up the path and through the wood with his companion, and his fear and sorrow forgotten, they were now playing with a large, old goat and her little kid under the trees.

The two soon became inseparable. The similarity between them increased every day, until they seemed like twin brothers, only that Charley who was now called Louis, was a few months older and much stronger. But Charley, now accustomed to his new name, every day improved. His cheeks grew dark and blooming, and he could clamber up the steepest paths like Louis or the goats who were their

constant companions. Kate watched them faithfully as a mother, never suffering them to go farther from the mill than her eyes and her voice could follow them. They were fond of each other, but like most boys, had occasional quarrels which, however, always ended amicably. Kate and the unfortunate Aggie who, in her gradually increasing lucid intervals, seemed puzzled that one boy had become two, were, with the exception of Luu, a negro, now almost the sole inhabitants of the mill. Sol often remained away for days and nights, sometimes returning with two companions for a few hours, but rarely remaining longer.

Louis' mother, poor Aggie, meanwhile, at times, seemed fond of both boys, when she would smooth their soft light ringlets, so perfectly alike, with her white hands, and coo over them like a dove; but gene rally she took little notice of them, sitting sometimes all day as we first saw her, upon the rock above the mill, and gazing across the ravine into the blue distance.

In this manner several months went by. Louis, now knowing himself only by his new name. Charley had grown bold and strong, the early delicacy of his appearance having entirely disappeared, while Charley, who answered to no name but Louis, became every day more like his little companion.

"Come Louis," said Sol, one morning, taking him by the hand, "you shall. go and take a walk with me."

said the kind Kate, "we will have something good to-day. I will make some cakes, so that Louis can have one when he gets back."

"Is he coming back to-day?"

"

O, yes; I hope so," and the woman's face fell. "I think so."

Many a time during the day both Charley and Kate looked anxiously up the wood-path to see if the absent ones were coming, each time re-entering the house with a more anxious face. At length just at evening they appeared. A handkerchief stained with blood was bound about the head of Louis, and he seemed tired and feeble, and altogether unlike his usual self.

"What is the matter, dear?" said Kate, putting her arms about the child. Louis, dear, tell me what is it?"

Gracious heaven! a snake? let me see the place?"

Stop! " said Sol; "let the cloth be." And looking her steadily and significantly in the face, "you mustn't be alarmed. The snake wasn't poison. The bite will only leave a little scar behind, and that is all. Hush! you understand me! The deed is done of which you have been so much afraid."

Kate drew a deep breath, and looking at the child with a gentle and loving look, stroked his hair, and kissed his uncovered cheek.

"Poor Louis! come; Charley and I have got some cakes for you. Come in and eat them, and let me see if I can't find some figs. You and Charley shall eat them with your supper and then go to bed. You are very tired."

The poor boy had but little appetite, but looked wan and frightened. But he was very happy to be at home again with Charley and Kate, and after eating a cake and a few figs, the two boys went to bed.

As Sol had asserted, the wounded cheek soon healed, and in two weeks the handkerchief was removed, and only a deep purple spot remained, which gradually faded, leaving a scar in precisely the same place, and wonderfully resembling

that of Charley. The boy seemed to have entirely forgotten the circumstance of the wound, and whether he ever really knew how it was inflicted, it is impossible to tell, and so the matter faded out from the mind of all.

Winter approached, and after frequent consultations with his wife, Sol Hurd decided to try and make the old mill comfortable as might be, and spend it there.

"It will be better that they should remain together six months longer," said he. "They'll grow more alike in every way in that time. Next spring we must go on with our work."

"Will Rhoda undertake it, do you think? and she is a good woman?"

The man frowned. "Yes; my sister is a good woman, she will take good care of him."

"But will she do as you have planned?"

"She will do that and more still," he replied with a malicious smile. "Rhoda has not forgotten Aggie's wrongs, nor her own, if you have.

The tears came into Kate's eyes. "Forget it all. It will be a thousand times better. We are not safe here, and let us take the children and all go North, and who will ever guess that we are not white folks? See the two children! One is just as white and fair-haired as the other." "I won't go North. I will stay here." "But we could do well and live like oth er people there, and make We money. have both of us some education. You have a good trade, and are a good pedler."

"Revenge first and the North and money afterwards."

“Ŏ, Sol! take care what you do! God will see it all, and something dreadful will happen if you—'

66

you

to

It's no use, I tell for you, talk, so you may just as well stop now as before I get in a rage with you.' Kate said no more.

The winter went by without suffering among the little family in the mill. Snow lay heavy and deep among the mountains, for three or four months, but Sol was a good hunter and there was no lack of venison in the larder. The little mule