The Dorset County Express and Agricultural Gazette.
Dorchester, Dorset, England, 1868-12-08 00:00:00

Shall slowly dame' take the houiewareway."

forget
Al (1

We have next a pieture of a very different character, by
F. C. Kinn&lrd, Req., for the third prise, entitled "The
Confidante—two beautiful young girls at a rustic gate,
in the bet of reading a letter, evidently from one of
their admirers, the attention and earnestness displayed
in the countenanoes of both is remarkable. The paintiog
la of that vigorous boldness, yet with the exquisite finish
that at onoe indi,ates a masterly touch, and genius of no
secondary chsracter. It should be particularly noticed
that each ticket has on equal chance for park of the
raises. and when the triding outlay of a shilling may be
the means of securing a valuable painting or other prize
to the purchaser, we feel convinced it needs no argument
to induce our melon to avail themselves of the oppor•
tinily than offered.

MAYEBURY RINGS.
"To thy own room wench l" cried Richard Brookes
In surer. " not hear another word, lock thee
up on bread and watcr for a month. A pretty thing.
indeed. children wanting to marry whom they please."
"I don't want to marry any one, father," said Mary
Brookes. "but least of all Mr. Charming."
"That's a falaehood, girl I Thou has a mind to marry
that acipegrace Bauer. Hallett—a scamp without
penny. But look to it, for if I catch the rascal Iscra again
on my preudaes, I'll break his broses with my cudgel."
" Two can play at that," muttered Mazy Brookes.
sullenly.
"Go to bed. Child." cried Mn'. Brookes, interposing
In the quarrel, eagerly; " why linger here to anger thy
father ?'' The girl obeyed, but them was a dangerous
lire in her black eyes, and curl on her lip, which might
have told Richard Bin Ices that Ids daughter had as

Scree s temper as himself.
"She won't thick much more of Meurioe tt,"
seid Mrs. Brookes as the door closed. "I heard down
town to-die, that he goes to Bristol in a week. Once
gene, she'll forget him."
" Forgot him r returned Mr. Brookea, with greet
acorn. "What does it matter, whether the jade
forgets him or not' The fellow !isn't a penny, and
he's wild besides. Does be dare to think 11110 bin?

have a daughter of miner
"Of course not, my ',jou," said lire Brookes, "the
thing is out of the question, cap cirdly when a man so
well-to-do as Mr. Channing.wants our Mary. That's a
good match for her ; Chinning is worth money, and his
burdnees in.. good as any in the town."
"Better," answered Mr. Brooke. ; " there isn't a
grocer's shop in High-street ao well filled on market.
days as William Channinee. He is • thriving man.
hall leave money when he dies ; while Maui ice Hallett
is • scamp, that will never have • guinea while he is
alive, or leave behind him when he deed."
Thus talked this money.loving couple, while Miry
Brookes, putting on a dark hood, slipped out at • side-
door, and ran down the street and through the avenue
of trees, where still lingered some fragments of the old
ramparts once girding the ancient town of Dorchester.
Harrying past these, the girl reached the remains of the
Roman Amphitheatre, now called Monehury Rug';
and climbing the out. r ridge, still nearly thirty feet high,
she ran down the elope toward the narrow opening in
the north, whi re the gate nsed to be in Roman time.,
and here she crouched breathless on the grass. She had '
• weary time to wait ; but at last a careless step and a
careless whistle drew nearer and nearer, making her
heart beat fast, and in a moment a young man—rather
short. but with handsome reckless face—sprang into
the Ringo, and called her name softly.
"Maurice!" she cried, rushing towards him, "I am
Costly mad with waiting."
"Am I beyond my timer be said, carelessly, "I
could not help sweetheart. I have been having •
glass at the 'Antelope' with some friends, and they
would not let me come away."
"And you knew I waited," answered Mary Brookes,
`ring her band upon his shoulder.
:he young man stooped and kissed her.
" A plague take the fellows, Mary they make me
orget that I"
"0 Maurice !" said the girl, "I never forget you ono
hour

Ar in the day."
"There, there," he answered, kissing her again.
"I'm sorry: say no more, love. Now tell me, what do
Daddy and Mammy Brookes say ?"
"They say I must marry William Chant:Ong •, and
when I say I will not. they heat me, they pinch me,
they look me op, they starve me."
A shade of anger and bitterness passed over the young
man's oarelles face, and clenching his hand, he swore a
lou I oath. "It is all for money, Mary dear—nothing
but that. If I only had money, and Gould outbid the
grocer, I should be thought as good a husband for thee
as he is."
" What can I do" asked Mary, clinging to him.
"Marry the rich wan, Mary. and foreet me."
"If I martied hint. I should remember you all the
lame, *muse ; and I iihntild hate him no much that I
think I ghoul I kill him," all• we red the girl, pait•innately.
" And then you and I would wed, sweetheart, and
spend his money gloriously," returned her lover, resum•
inc his careless manner,
" How can you jest so cruelly ?" said the girl, In a
bitter tone.
"It is better to laugh than to cry, Mary." he
answered. " What would you have me do? If we
marry, will the old folks take me for • non and give us
ennuAh to live 0.1
Mary Brookes shook her bead sadly.
"No," she said, "father would see us die in the
streets, and not throw us a bit of bread. I know him.
Where money is concerned, his heart is harder than

these stones."'
" And his money would seem harder than a stone to
me, Mary, if I took it front his charity. Faith, I'd
ratin.r begot • dint than of him."
"But why beg of him ;" cried the girl—" why talk
of taking anything from his charity ? Is there nothing
you *an do for yourself?"
"Yes, I min go on the highway, sweethtart, and
atop trarellerr. I think I should nii:ke a gallant high-
wayman."
ars came into the young girl's eyes as she listened
to hi. real es words. . . .

—.--
" II you answer me only with wicked jests, Maurice,
I hsd bete,r go," sh.. said, rising.
But her lover aught her by the bend, end made her
sit down by his side again. .

" Mary," he said, "-to a man in my position it is no
sat to .peak seriously, that I have tried to spare thee
the pain. Since my father died, thing. have gone worse
and worse with us at home, and not to take the bread
from the little ones' mouths, I have resolved to go away
and seek my fortune."
"Go away I" echoed Mary, faintly.
" Yes, love ; I con find no work to do in Dorchester.
Perhaps I am too well known lere," he said, in • reck•
1... tone. "And so, Mary, Igo to Bridal to-morrow
a big place, where a man can get on if lie tries."
" And will you try—try earnestly, Maurice r. asked
the girl, in an anzious voices.
For a moment the young man seemed touched.
•• For thy make I will, Mary," he answered. " But I
fear lam a sad fellow, with little good in me. Thy
father and mother are half right when they bid thee
forget Maurice Hallett."
" I shall never forgot you," returned Mary Brookes,
as she put her hand in his. "I will wait for years, in
the hope of being your wife at last."
"Vu are • brave girl," said the young man, as be
threw his arm around her; "but weigh the chances
well, Miry. before you refuse this rich husband. Re-
member, 'I have nothing but tap own bands, and a
character not too good in these parts—that's all I have
to trade on, and it may bo many yearn before I can say:
'Mary, will you be my wife.'"
"Never mind ; I will wait for that day, however long
it ig," murmured Mary Brookes. "And you will write
torn., Maurice"
A few more promises, uttered in the raiihness of youth,
a few whispered words of love, • few tears and kisses,
and the lovers parts). Mary ran home, weeping as she
went, but Maurice returned to the 'Antelope." end
drowned his sorrow in noisy talk and laughter with his
boon-companions.
. _

"Ha.. you heard the tieirs r asks(' the gossips of
Dorchester, one of the other. "That ne'er-ilo•well,
blsurioe Hallett, is off to Bristol."

"He'll do no good there," said another.
"I don't know that," remarked the landlord of the
"Antelope." "I always found the young fellow good.
hearted and merry. Remember, be has never bad a
father since he WAS six years old, and his mother baa'
let him scamper the streets instead of putting him to a
trade."
" It takes mon;y to learn a trade," observed William
Charming, the crosier, "and the Widow Hallett is as
poor.. • charch-inouse."
"That's true, Mr. Channing," returned the landlord;
"but the poor woman man. the boy go to the grammar.
Bakal SI long as she could. Ile is • good scholar."
." But book-learning don't earn bread," said the
grocer. Anti tieing, he paid for bin single glass, and
went out,
" He's gone to neighbour Brookes, I suppose," was :
the remark. "He'll have it all his own way thsre,
now Maurice Hallett is gone."
But William Charming had not got it all bin own
way; Mary Brookes was stubborn, and sullen, sod
fierce, by turn., and he—a heavy stupid man, full of
patient obstinacy—could scarcely understand these
mood.. Ho never rightly comprehended that tho girl
hated him. Ills immovenble and the con-
stant assurances he received from Mr. and Mrs. Brooke.,
that it was only " Mary's way," blinded him to this
truth. So he persisted in his suit, aceepting with equal
obtmeness the trembling civility--which the girl gave
him in her parents' presence in feu—and the dutbursta
of anger and morn, which she bestowed on hint on those
rare mansions when they were alone.
The severity of parents in those days appears to us
' unnatural and barbarous; yet it was In keeping with
the spirit of the times, which permitted such cruelties
In kw and custom as the soul now sickens at. It was
nothing strange, then, that Mary Brookes was im-
prisoned in her room, on a diet of bread and water—
nothing strange that she was beaten and cuffed, debarred
from all society and all pleasure, and that even stronger
and more cruel measures were cad to enforce obedience,
Er three months the girl's fierce spirit, and the hope of
hearing from her lover, kept her up; then she began to
droop. Except once, just alter his arrival at Bristol,
she had received no lett.r from Mauktri. She could net
think his letters had fallen into her parent? hands, for
the landlady of the " Antelnpe," to whom they were
sddressed, still stood her friend. Thus she could only
believe herself neglected and forgotten, and hence arose
sickness of the hart, bitterness, and despair.
Wearily wearily the days of winter crept on, dying
each night for her in sullen loneliness, and waking her
in the morning to tears or blows. Through this long
ill-uaags she grew crafty, cowardly, false ; she learned
to lie conninely, and to simulate an obedience she never
felt. Longing, with a burning agony of impatience,
for letters that never came, she often purchased, by
some civility to the Kinser, the indulgent* of a walk.
Then she ran feverishly to the "Antelope." over to hear
the Wane story—no letter, no tidings. Still she hoped
on, through dreary days and weeks, unwilling to believe
that her careless lover hat forgotten her. There were
times, when to be locked solitary in her room, thinking
all the while there was a letter awaiting her at the
"Antelope," made her mad. It was then she would
say, dolefully and humbly, that she would try to like
the grown ; and when her father's stern voice called her
down to receive his visit, abs would greet him with a
false smile, and even let him salute her cheek. Thus
she bought the little liberty which loft her free to seek
another chill disappointment, to garner another bitter.
now. It was no wonder them blanks' these anomalies
quenching. of hope, broke her spirit at last. So in ths
and, it was not so much her parents' coercion, as her
lover's forgetfulness, wliab made her say,—
"I will be William Channing's wife."
But it was no true and good woman, that foolish Inall
took to his boson; it was • Woman whom very blood
we, bitter, and whose whole heart was turmoil to gall
within her.
She hated her fate, she hated herself, she hated him.

'My mother and fathsr h•ve married me to William
Chanoing for his money," said Mat 7 Brookes, to herself,
co at least, I'll enjoy that."
This was her sole idea now. fibs bad no happiness,
but she weald buy pleasure. Bo she demanded of the
bewildered grocer money—more money—always money,
till his stupid foes grew anxious, and the mirgiviop set
his mind began to fret him into thinness.
Mr. and liirs. Brookes •xportulalwti with thoir
tor is vain.

"Leave me alooe," she m mean tOid, bitterly. stayed
enjoy myself. I should Mope to death if I
home with that man."
her carter in sorrow. o to the
Mary Chinning was free enough to g
"Antelope" now, but it was many • long month
with
tni hoen feooy,lish.d h parents.their m i wuhioyi liftpad ytwok. ed
as
thibeierydwilL—iitteedr
her wistful thoughts had drawn her thither in searc
wpm;
letter, that never Came, heron she started with _
surprise, when the landlady celled to bar °De wpm;
surprise,
"gallanher oi;vitainbyofiamgailaytia.atiire,
" Hi-t ! Ifietrera Changing, will you step aside here
minute?' said the landlady.
ire,' and
Mary (loaning dripped the arm of her wool .
obeyed with a Reties,' air. Then, from the boe, ef.
her dress, the lindlady withdrew a letter, and held
toward, her. leaning on the arm 0,/ •
" I suppom I ought not to give you this now, you are
married r she said, "hut there'll be worse .nisehief if
I keep it, for in husband would Garry it to )fr. Chasm-
, hog. as sure as I am alive."
"Give me the letter !" cried Mary,
imatehing at it
How like • dream her dreadful marriage seemed to
her am she broke the seal, and with passionate eyes read
the few words written by Maurice Hallett.
"I am coming to I)on:heater at lest, dear Mary," he
wrote, "Meet me on Saturday night, at ten, at the
old plum. I will tell you all then, and explain my long
silence."
Why, this very day was Saturday, this very night she
was to me him. In her feverish unwonted 30f, all
thought that she was • wife vanished from her memory.
Her' face flashed brightly, her lip's quivered, and there
fluttered about her heart • sense of lightness and
happiness to which he had long been • stranger.
" What news r asked the landlady.
"He is aiming ; be will be here to-night," answered
the mixerable wile.
"Take care what you do, Mistress Chinning." said
the landlady. "It is no Mishit.. of mine, but if! were
you, I would keep indoors till Maurice Hallett was come
and gone."
Her wuris (ell upon unheeding ears, and Mary
("looming turned her steps towards her husband's house
with a heart tent uprm her own destruction.
Now it so happened, that of all nights in the you,
William Channing (Moen this one for a marital expos-
tulation sail remonstrance.
"You are ruining use," he said, as his wife set quiver-
ing with impatience ; "you are making me a town-talk.
I'm a fool to hear it. Your ettraragance will bring me
to the workhouse."
"I don't sire," she cried, putting her hands on both
her ears. "I don't hear whet you say."
"I my I'm going to taro over • new lee/. I Bay I
won't have it any more, You shall behave like a good
housewife, or I'll make you."
"Go on," saiff Isis wife. "You may Nay what you
pleas* : it woe% alter me."
"We shall see," retuned the angry husband. "At
all events, you'll get no more mosey out of me."
The wionan kept her eyes filed upon the clock, and
saw it wanted but a quarter to ten.
"We can finish this quarrel when I come back," she
said, rising hurriedly. "I'm going to mother's now,
and I shan't be back till battiest ten."
"You are not going oat of this house to-night."
answered her husband, resolutely. "It is too ate:l
11l have no more of these gadding. about after dark."
He went to the house-door as he spoke, locked it, and
put the key in his pocket. His wire watching this,
burst into • fit of feveriab laughter. Then, 64 he slowly
smoked, and slowly sipped his grog, she flied her eyes
upon the dial, awl counted the minutroatrolies as they
went by, till the clock struck ten.
"Let i.e go this once, William," she said, elasping
her hand, with prosionate energy; "I'll never ask you
again, 64 big as I live."
You can vie your mother in the morning," replied
the man. "it la time to go to bed."
" Have another glom first," said his wife, changing
her voice to • c doing tone.
To this request the grocer yielded, and the glean was
mixed w,ch such strength that the wretched women,
whom his money had bought from her parents, soon had
sati4aetion of seeing his ryes closed in sleep. Then
she took the house-key from his po.ket, and stealing
forth in guilt and fear, she ran through the quiet,
deserted streets, not staying her steps till she load
reached Mamebury
"So you are married, Mary, I hear," said Maurice
Hallett, adv,uicing from the gloom, and holding out his
hand coldly.
"Yes, I am married. I was forced into It, and
miserable eimoW, I am. I was treated worse than &dog,
yet I would not Lave minded that, if you Lad only but
written."
"Of what use to write," returned Maurice Hallett,
I " when I had nothing but had news to tell? I thought
at last it was fairs,t to leave you alone. You have done
right, Mary, t marry. Your husband is well off, while

. .
1 SO2 • beggar.'
The ore love in her miserable life overcome her as she
heard his bitter word.., and clasping his neck, with •
sudden cry, she'subbei on his shoulder, in utter week'
nee. MO despair.
" Don't cry," he said seothingly ; "1 don't blame
son 11.r7, for marrying. I hut no home to offer you,
and I could not esk you to shore my misery."
"What I suffer now is udietry," said the wretched
girl, as her tear, fell fast.
"I am to blame for awning here," ailed Maurice,
clenchiug his hoed passionately. "Go home, Mary,
and try to be heppy."
He unclasped her arms gently from his shoulder se he
spoke, and strove to raise her drooping heal, but she
WV, past comfort.
" Don't tolk to me of happiness," she said bitterly ;
" I sin sold into slavery, mol my only hope is that I may
grow too reekbas and herd to mind rt."
Such words as these d I not inerease Maurice Hallett's
respect for hi, old love, end being himself bet a o.releee
dissipated fellow, ho soon began to talk in a different
tone.
"Well, Mary. at all events it le • happiness to meat
again," he said, "avid I suppose there is no great harm
in it. You'd come down toithe Rings again to-morrow
night, won't you?"
She made the promise toe easily, and they parted as
they had done in old times, with being weeds and • kiss.
But when Mary Charming crept back into her own
house, her heart shook and trembled, and the voice of
her conscience spoke to her in acueruts that would be
beard.
"I won't go to the Rings again," she said, as she
imuoed her sleeping husband. " William, it is nearly
Sunday morning; we wool quarrel any more to-night."

For one evening Mary Charming kept her wavering
resolution, the next found her at the old trysting-place,
but Maurice Hallett was not here. She waited till half.
past ten, pacing Mamebury Rings with a hurried map
and • fevered heart, then 'he ran to her mother's house,
and heat at the door impatiently.
"What is the instr-rr tined Mistress Brookes
anxiously, as her daughter's white haggard face met
her view.
"Mother, where in Maurice ?"
"You ought to be &domed to ask—you, a married
woman, corning to your mothei's door with such a ques.
tion," returned Mrs. Brookes indireantl.
" Don't talk to me like that, mother!" exclaimed the
daughter, wringing her hands together. "Where is
he? I will know.
"Heis in gaol, Mary—that's where he is. And the
right place. too, for such
,a ,fellow."
"%', ho put him there . asked Mary, in • cold slow
voice —" father or Williom Charming r
Well," slid Mrs. Brookes, in • faltering way,
" neither of them; but I don't mean to say they have
had nothing to do with it. TR tell you no story,
Mary."
The girl stamped her foot on the ground, and her eye
flashed with a dangerous fire.
"Take care YOU don't make in. desperate," she said,
no telling what I shall do in my misery.
Who is the man that has put Matinee in gaol, and what I
laths d, ?"
" Well, it is the landlord of the 'Antelope' that has
tione it : it is for an old score of thirty shillings, that he
ran oolong ago."
As her mother finished 'peaking, Mary fled up the
street so swiftly, that Mrs. Brookes stood amazed, the
Bickering candle in her hand shining on her frightened
hoe and her night-gear—for she had come from her bed
to open the door to her daughter.
" Ah ! it isn't when children are little, that they are
a trouble," she said, gloomily. "It is when they are
wilful men and women, that they wring their parents'
hearts."
That night Mary Charming took forty shillinp from
the till, and the next day Maurice Hallett was free.
ReAless as he was, he was both tonohed and friattened
by her deed.
" I'll lease the place," he said to himself. "She
shall do this again for me."
But when he walked down to his inn,lde found another
creditor had seised his horse—a borrowed one—and the
Ides of leaving without the animal was to disagreeable
to he endured. Ho he lingered on, till Mary Channing
again escaped her husband's jecialous guardianship, and
met him at the old place.
"I am only some to say good-bye," she cried, hastily.
"You most go away Mauriee. lint determined newer
to meet you agile."
" You are right," returned the young man ; "but if
I go beck to Bristol I shall be treated like a thief. Your
husband has had the hone seised which I borrowed
from a friend.
"Then I must pay that too," said Mary Chanting.
" 'low mush is it"
it is more than you have to lend me, hazy; it is six
pounds."
"I'll get it she answered. in • determined voice. "It
is better for me and for William Chinning too, that I
took a little of his money, than that you should linger
here putting strife and bitterness between us."
"1 don't want to do that, Mary; I'd rather never see
your fan again, but I can't take your money."
"You can pay me back," she said, laying her hand
on his arm. Don't be too proud to save me from
misery. Take the money and ride away from Dorchester,
and never never return while I am sive."
She broke down with • sob, and the man took her in
hie arms and kissed her.
"This is • hard trial, Mary," he said; "but for you
sake I'll do as you bid me—l'll go."
They clung to each other in a mcment's silence, them
the treacherous wife roused herself.
"How shall I bring you the money'? bow shall I
manage to get itr she mid in • bewildered war.
"Chroming keeps the keys now, and he is so watchful
and jealous, I may not be able to ern', out again for
a week to come. And I want you to go at ones,
Maurice."
"Look here." said Maurice Hallett, after a moment's
thought, "I can give you something to put him into a
sound sleep, if coo like."
"It won't harm him?" she asked anxiously.
"It doesn't harm me," said her lover, with a tackler
laugh. "I take lota of it when lam miserable, and
that is pretty often. It makes me sleep and dream
pleasant dreams, that's at.-
' Give it to me," she returned, " what is It sailed?"
"Itis a drug ;it is called opium. You need not be
afraid to put a little in his glass, It won't hurt him.
But if you can manage to get out without using it.
Mary, of course you will. And promise in. you will
burn the Test directly I am gone. I obi:labial like you
to take it."
He placed in her hand a mall pasket, which he took
from the satchel bagging by his side, and after agreeing
upon the hour of their sad meeting, they parted.

Tbe following day gamed feverishly for Mary
Cheeping. The thought that sitar this night she should
eee e e bee Maurice Hallett again often filled ber era,
with tears, and there were moments when she ma:" j
desperately to accompany him. Then better feelings
prevailed, and there came over her mind • een-e
relief, es she reflected that in a few hours, this great
temptation would be pat away from her life for ever,
and the painful fever now fretting in bar veins would
be stilled.
"11l try to make him • better wee," she mid, as she
looked at the heavy figure of the grocer. "And this is
the last money I'll ever touch, I'll learn to be saving
after this."
As the evening drew OD, she grew more excited, more
restless, but at length the grog was made. and the mast
portion of the drug mixed with it, which Maurice had
directed should be used. Aed won her husband
slumbered heavily in his chair.
Theo the guilty woman unlocking the cash-box, took
sin guineas from it, and leaving tho front door slightly
ajar, she fled forth with frightened aspect sod burrhd
stet,.
Down in the old avenue, Pear Mametrury Rings, she
saw dimly a horse tied to • tree, but she sped en,
scarcely glom:dug at it with mom •ntary wonder. HOW,
in the rui Idle of the Rings, looking pale in the DIO
ilf hi stood Maurice Hallett, and she hurried towamba
him breathlessly.
" Here is the money !" she said, in • gasping voice-
" 0 Maurice, I have eerice made myself a thief for your
sake, but this last time I do it for any husband's sake
also. Take the guineas, and may heaven forgive us
both."
But the young man thrust the money heck into her
hand. "Put it were you took it from Mary," he said,
"I will not touch it. My poor old mother has well-nigh
broken my heart to-day; the went neon her knees to
me, to pray roe not to break your peace, and then she
put three guineas in my hand—money she had saved
for her own funeral, that the parish might not bury her
—end else besioueht me with tears, to take this, sod leave
another inan's wife alone. Mary. I felt so ashamed, so
miserable, that I covered my face with my hands and

cried.
Mary Channing was weeping now. Elbe sat upon the
EMS, with her bead bent upon her knees, and she rallied
hereelf to and fro wohnut speaking.
"I went and paid the man the three guineas," con-
tinued Mauricv, "and he let me have the bores, for of
all men in the world, Mary, your father came up
and passed his word for the rest of the money. So lam
going, my dear, and m• shadow shall 110•0 r fali again
between your husband and you."
' "Going I" exclaimed the trekked wife,—" Are you
going noer—tbis instant r
"There's my bowie, bed to tb• tree Yonder. Karl.
I have said good-bye to mother—to everyone. And
I would not have come here to pain yea with a
single word of leave-taking, If I bad not promised
and feared paths's. you would wait for me till mid-
night."
He had taken her by the hand, and she role mechani-
cally, clin.ring to his arm, speechless.
"Mary, you must promise we to burn the peeket
that I gave you, direetly you rt borne. I don't like to
think of its bring in your keeping. And put hack the
money, my dear, and try to—to forget all this."
"I'll try," she said, in a choked Yoke.
" Mind, I have your promise r'

-
Then he strained her to his side, Wiped her, and left
her there lying on the dewy grass. For many many •
long year afterwards, Maurice Hallett sew her In
dreams, as be beheld her now, balf•lving, half•kneeling
in the midst of Ifanieltury Rings, with her worn white
face watching him as he strode away.
She tirred till the loot echo of hie hone'm hoofs
upon the London road had died into stillness, thee she
rose, and witi.t home heavily. Bittereess, and hate, and
despair were in her heart, and as her hand toucher' her
own door, she longed to die. Going through the kitchen
she paused, and raked the embers of the fire together,
she diopped into it the little packet that Maurice
Heilett bad given her the night before.
"There's one promise kept," she said, as she leant
her burning forehead against the carved musteilpieos.
' "I wish the other was u rev to do." With uuwilling
step she erect on into the little parlour, where she had
left her huarand sleeping. He had fallen from bin chair
I. the floor. Hurrying forward, frightened, she lifted
his head with both bands, and saw that he was dead,

At a lonely inn in the New Forest three minima
drinking, while • fourth lay on • pallet-b.l in • corner
of the loom, where he !maned and tossed, little regarded
by his companions.
" Gentlemen of the road," said one of the drinkers,
as he tilled his glaas, " I propwe • toast—"
"No offence, gentlemen, 1 !!ope," said the landlord,
opening the door timidly, "hit here's • poor paokman
craving shelter. It, • bitter night, and he, half dead
with cold. Such weather al this in the forest is bard
! to bear."
This speech raised some cismour, and • few oaths,
but in the end the pedlar vies admitted. He took his
seat by the fire in • scared way, and ate his scanty supper
"Are you dumb ?'' asked one of the highwaymen
roughly. " Have you no news to tell us! Where are
yen from 7"
" From the West, gentlemen. I bays walked with
my pack on my back from Hurter, through Honitoo and
Chard, Ilridport and Dorchester ! "
" Dorcheater !" said the sick man, raising himself on
his elbow. "And what', the news at Dorcherner 7"

" There'll be a strAnge sight to be seen there to.
mono., gentlemen. A woman is to be burnt alive in
amebury Binge for peisontng her husband."
"Burnt alive :" cried the men. " Who is the
woman ?"

" She is a grocer's wife; her name is Mary Charming,'
said the pedlar.
The sick man started op in bis bed with • loud cry.
"It east be true I—it is • lie ! Ton are mad ;" he
exclaimed. hoarsely.
It is true enough, master," returned the pedlar.
" I was in Court. and heard the trial; she poisoned hir
butbaud to get the key of his assirbox. It was found
in ht r pocket. with sit guineas of which she bad robbed
hiss—marked guineas. for he had missed money of late.
She confessed she had had poison is her pagandom, but
she would not tell how she got it'.
'Then hang her, and burs her,' said one of the high.
',apnea. "for she right well &staves it. There isn't a
man in the irsuntry would be safe from a wicked wife,
if such a woui•n wasn't made • bonfire of.'
"Give me that satoliel kangiag in yonder corner,"
groaned the miserable Maria Hallett.
It was handed to him, end with trembling fingers, he
untied the fastenings and upset the contents upon the
bed. Among these was a wall packet, labelled" Opium."
Upon geeing this Instruct his forehead with his clenched
hand,
"I gave her the +row packet," be /Foamed within
himself. "No wonder 05e man is dead.'
He sprang to the flair, and began hurriedly t, seek
for his clothes, "A,, you mad, Hallett !" said his
companions laughing St him. "What are you going
to do?"
"I am going to ride to Dorchester," be answered
quietly.
"Ride to Dorclienarl—And on such a night 1111 this?
A man with the re on him, why, you are madder
than a March hare.
14e made them,e reply, but hurried on his clothes in
wild haste.
"Saddle my hope, landlord, for pity's sake, with all
speed," be cried istploringle•
Vainly they trial to hinder him; in ten minutes from
the time he had heard the news, Maurice Hallett was
galloping frantically on the road to Dorehester.
A thousand fires were in ha brain, and a vulture
. . .

see-m- 4-01- awliag-iXt his heart He rode as 'never man rode
before, bat be was too late. Covered with sweat and
foam, be reartbed n bill at noon next day, overlooking
the quaint oldtown, and bare, for • single instant, he
reined in his florae to gatbrr fresh strength for the last
wallop. Halpin that very instant • bright flame leapt up
Iron Hamster). Rings, and • column of think smoke
rolled towsrds Aim on the wind.

At this dreadful sight courage, strength, energy, all
gave may, and slipping from the sadils,be fell inaens.ble
by the road-side.
No Volition Wiens what beams of Maurice Hallett,
but in the chronicles of Dorchester It in thus written :
_ _ _ . _ . _

Miry, daughter of Rtehard Brookes, of Dorchester,
Wee flurried to Mr. W. Charming, by oompulmon of her
parenh, but keeping eompany with some former gallant,
she flat ruined, and then potioned her husband. She
was lurnt in the old Romno Amphitheatre, relied
llanistury Rtnp in the year 1795. She persisted it
her iniooenoe to the last. A crowd el 10,000 flwold•
said to have been gathered to witness her elocution."
—From Baton's Cltristman Annual

Spgo GolWlNlllo.—klyaoiatJas, Tuitips, Crocuses.,
eincoaMt7:Wsnry,:eltYWha:H.rdaearotrtinßeh":::;:lEasitunnan.::::.l2mBalPS'ir"i"'Halgl'aa:KlogOogilaYfyabd.M.3relijdnkipp.HCblicsiuil.neSinaatoleilr:treee7:
Alvin TO Maritsa& Are yes bream of year real
by a tick child, suffering with the pain of cuttin; teeth f
Go st once to • chemist, and get a bottle of Hrs.
Soothiog Syrup. It will relieve the poor
sufferar immediately ; it is perfectly ha:glees ; It
produces natural quiet sleep, by relieving the obild from
D.* ape the little cherub .
in
"as bight as a
6utton." It has been long In use n Amelia, and le
highly redommended by medical men • it is very pleasant
to take it soothes the child; it ;often, the gums,
.11. y. el. pain, roiliest wind, regulates tht bowels, and
owu
aiwsnildiebteasherlib""fto for nip
r remedy
(ruin
ti
eii il
oh gv Winslow'. Soothing m Awl
pody r %ig; a,
jar:
nß.dhsaiel
that "Curtis and Perkins, New York pod Louden," is
on the outside wrapper. No mother skonld be without
it, boll by Hi medicine dealers at in led. per bottle,
London Depot, 205, liish Holborn.

Brup.avarr : A Sucomerur, EIPRIUKINT. —The Cirri
Serrice Gazette has the following :--" there are very few
ample articles of food which can bout on many valuable
died important dietary properties IN NOM. While seeing
on the nerves sic gentle stunulant, it provides the body
• with mine of the purest elenientsof nutrition, end as
the same time ODITOOLI and invigoretes the action of the
digestive organs. These beneficial effects depend in •
greet measure upon the manner of it. preparstioe,
but of late peers such elms attention has bees given to
the growth and treatment of coma that there he so
difficulty in securing it with every useful quality fully
developed. The singular monies which Mr. dpps
attained by his homoeopathic preparation of cocoa has
never been surpassed by any experimentalist. !Kr and
wide dm reputation of Eppe's come has spread by the
simple force of the own extraordinary merits. Medical
men of allshedes of opinion beim agreed in recommending
Is re the West end most beneficial article of diet for
persons of week constitutions. This superiority of •
particular 'node of preparation over all others Is a
remarkable proof of tbe great results to be obtsieed
from little causes. By • thorough knowledge of the
natural laws which govern the operations of digestives
said nutrition, and by • careful applisetiou of the fin*
properties of well-selected cocoa, Mi. Epps has provided
our breakfast tables with a &gam tely devoured
beverage which uay save us many heavy doctors bills.
It is by tbe judbious me of sueb ertieles of diet that
• •Dostittltios may be gradual bat hp until strong
I to merit every tendons! to dices... Hundreds
enough
L of subtle mold* are licattult Ismind m ready So
Minsk wherever thee* te • wig& Pant We may
wane away a laid
.keeping enrol wee
, well fortified with • Pan Wed end• PrePoir
• aoarielked Inas