saw him coming, she let down the bars a few steps from her cabin, and motioned him to enter and pass directly through her house; and then to take himself to the swamp, and secure himself as well as he could. It was all the work of a moment. The bars were instantly put up, and she entered the house and closed the doors. She had hardly accomplished this when the pursuing Tories rode up and called out to her in a most boisterous manner. Muffling up her head and face, she opened the door and inquired why they disturbed a sick, lone woman. They inquired if a man had passed on horseback. She replied no; but she had seen a man on a sorrel horse turn out of the path into the woods, some two or three hundred yards back. "That must be the fellow," said the Tories; and they were instantly off in the pursuit. "Well fooled," she continued, "the went in an opposite direction to that of my Whig boy; when if they had not been so lofty-minded, but had looked on the ground inside the bars, they would have seen his horse-tracks up to that door, [pointing to the front door of the cabin,] as plain as you can now see the horse's tracks on this very floor, and out of the other door down the path to the swamp."

As might be supposed, the Tories were much incensed at the narration; and might have pro| ceeded at once to acts of violence; but they determined that she should first provide for them a meal. They therefore ordered her to get them some dinner. Undaunted in spirit she replied, "I never feed kingsmen if I can help it; and the villains have put it out of my power to feed even my own family and friends, by stealing and killing all my poultry and pigs, except that one old gobbler you see in the yard." "We'll take the gobbler," said one of the party; and raising his gun shot it dead. Nancy raved and swore for a time; but they gave her to understand that the same fate to herself was the only alternative. Upon this she apparently cooled down her passion, and dressed and cooked the slaughtered gobbler, accompanying it with some hasty hoecake and fresh honeycomb. While their meal was in course of preparation, the marauders regaled themselves with hearty draughts from their whisky-bottle; and became somewhat jovial. When their dinner was ready they simultaneously stacked their guns at the door, and sat down to eat. The back door had been previously closed, so that escape was cut off in that direction. The "war-woman's" skill in strategy and in action now appeared. Passing to the door as in the course of service, she suddenly turned, and the first thing the alarmed Tories

courage

saw was one of their own guns pointed into their midst. With a tremendous oath, she declared she would blow out the brains of the first one that moved. This did not prevent a sort of spasmodic movement, when crack went the rifle, and one of their companions was weltering in his gore. Quicker than thought another was pointed in the same direction; and another of the robbers falls wounded to the floor. Her little daughter was now by her side holding a third rifle ready for use. The three remaining men each shrank back in the full belief that the cross-eyes of the fierce Amazonian were fixed upon himself. The decisive point was gained.

"Go," said she to her little son, "and tell your father and the men that I have taken five robbing Tories, and want them to come." In a short time the men were seen coming in from the field. More restless grew the imperiled Tories; but neither one of them dared to move, so certain was each that the glaring eyes of their captor was fixed upon himself. They proposed to surrender, and to shake hands as ratifying their surrender; but the wily woman was not to be so foiled. The deadly rifle was steady in its aim. Her husband and his companions soon arrived, and prepared to shoot down the prisoners. Would that some gleam of noble instinctive humanity had now shot forth to crown the daring act of the heroic woman! But such was not the temper of the times. The warlike sspirit was up to burning heat. She declared that the prisoners had surrendered to her, and that shooting was too good for them. This was enough. The four living men were seized, bound, and dragged out by the way-side, where they were hung upon the branch of a tree.

As lately as 1838 the place of this tragedy was pointed out to the traveler. The cabin occupied by the Harts had been removed, but the tree on which the four Tories were hung was still standing.

After the war of the Revolution had ceased, and the independence of the country was gained, population began to flow into that region; game and bees were decreasing; and the country "getting old" so fast that Nancy Hart could stand it no longer. Accordingly, in spite of the remonstrances of her husband, she sold out their possessions, "pulled up their stakes," and departed for "the wilds of the west," where there was "more room."

Where, or when she ended her days is not known. If we mistake not, a county in the state bears the name of Hart, and the county seat that of Nancyville, in honor of this heroine of the Revolution.

CAN WE PRESERVE OUR YOUTH?

SHO

BY CHARLES NORDHoff.

the best part of this happiness on the road which we have already passed? I think not.

The miser, the drunkard-he whose soul has become steeped in vice, of whatever kind, or who has fallen a prey to his evil passions, may in his better moments be tortured by agonizing recollections of those innocent delights which he has

ful girl.

cast despairing glances back to that period of his

Is it so? I asked myself. Is it ordained by the all-wise One, that, our few fleeting days of youth gone by, we shall pass down the long vale of years, every step imbittered by recollections of a happiness which we scarcely knew before we lost? No. It is a false philosophy which teaches this. It is a mistaken view of life which holds that he who lives aright shall at any time have cause to wish himself that which he once was. Are we not pilgrims here? Do we not journey toward a better land? There may be days, when, worn with the toil and heat of travel, wearied with the expanse of desert still before us, we shall be tempted to prefer the remembered flesh-pots of Egypt to the yet untried glories of our promised Canaan. But progress is nature's great law; and woe to him who, obeying the impulse of a fainting heart, turneth him back upon the journey.

Mr. Addison, in one of his finest speculations upon the immortality of the soul, founds a most cogent argument in favor of that belief, upon the fact that the human soul is gifted with almost inexhaustible capacities and talents, and that it is in a constant state of progress toward perfection without the possibility of ever arriving at such a state in this life. He says, "A man can never have taken in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfection of his nature before he is hurried off the stage. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted-capacities that are never to be gratified?"

Believing that youth stands to mature age in nearly the same relation as does our entire sublunary existence to the state of immortality, I think the above train of reasoning will apply well to the question under consideration. If, as is indubitably true, we are privileged in life to proceed onward, growing in perfection as in yearsperfection being in this instance synonymous with happiness can we suppose that we must leave

holy.

And so he who has lived a long life, useless and aimless so far as regards aught except himself-from whose spirit all generous and ennobling purpose or desire has come gradually to die outthe center of all whose wishes, hopes, fears, or aims, is self. When to such a one there comes back, as there will sometimes, recollections of the days when he had thoughts too for others; when that now empty soul swelled with aims and purposes high and noble; when his now withered heart beat proudly at the thought of accomplishing somewhat to benefit his fellow-man; when he had yet within him the capacity to admire deeds of noble daring or generous self-sacrifice, and harbored in his heart that childlike confidence in the integrity of human nature which I take to be one of our happiest feelings in such hours of retrospection what bitter, nameless regrets must be his !

:

If he has lost all that made his young days bright, has he not with it given up every thing that could bring the light of contentment to his mature years? Why is youth happy? Is it because we are at that time of life mere passive creatures-all our God-given energies and talents yet unfolded and unfelt-living but to eat, and drink, and sleep-careless of the future-unknowing, unsuspecting those passions, hopes, and fears which stir the breast of mature man, and animate him on to action?

Is it not rather that this is the time when our souls are yet uncontaminated by contact with the selfish, worldly spirit which too often finds an entrance to them in after life?

Youth is the seed-time, the spring, glowing with all the warm and kindly feelings of a generous nature. Youth is strong in conscious rectitudeunsuspicious of evil-steadfast in its devotion to the right; generous, frank, and unsophisticated; it scorns meanness and hates wrong; it has an arm strong to support the weak, and ready to avenge the oppressed. And it is to the possession of these qualities that its chief and best, because lasting, happiness is owing. As we are ourselves, so does the world seem to us. When all is

FRANK HARLEY.

BY REV. B. ST. JAMES FRY.

"There are not many such to be found,” I an

I rose to open the door, but the knocker, not waiting for an invitation to come in, advanced to meet me. He was a robust, swarthy man, rough spoken; but withal of a kind disposition, and highly esteemed among his acquaintances. I had often seen him in the congregation, but had never before spoken to him.

"I have come," said he, "to see if you will go and see Frank Harley; he is very low, and can not live till morning. Can you go, sir ?"

I determined at once to go, and announced myself in readiness as soon as my horse could be procured.

The evening was very beautiful. Not a cloud appeared in the sky, and the moon's rays, on account of the pureness of the atmosphere, made it light as a summer's evening. There was a strange stillness, which we often fancy is peculiar to Saturday evening, as if even inanimate nature, obedient to the command of the Creator, anticipates the rest of the Sabbath.

The road was a pleasant one, partly through cleared land, and at times through the forest. My horse seemed at once to know the design of | my riding out at this strange hour, and hurried on his way. For a few moments I rode alone, but speaking a word to my companion he came to my side; answering me, however, with evident embarrassment.

"How long," said I, "has Frank been growing worse? When I left him on yesterday, I did not suppose that his death was so near at hand."

"You could have gone but a little distance when he was taken much worse, and the doctor was sent for; but none of us supposed that he would sink so fast."

done a great work for him. From what I have heard, I have no doubt that he has always possessed a gentle spirit; but you must have noticed it is not kindness and morality that give such a luster to his character, but spirituality and holiness."

The answer was returned with hesitancy, yet with evident seriousness.

"I don't know, sir, that I fully understand you, for I have no book-knowledge, and don't know much about religion; but there's something in that boy's case that I never saw before. I had no religious education, sir, for my mother died before I could talk. It's a great loss, sir, to have a mother taken away-and my father was a wicked man-not that he was worse than other men; but they were all wicked where I was brought up. I got to think that there was no religion, nor hell, and that those who pretended to be so pious were no better than any body else. But I don't think so now, sir. That boy's sweet talk, and the way he prays for me, and puts his arms around my neck, and asks me if I won't go to heaven with him, has done more for me than all the preaching I ever heard.”

There was a pause, for the tears were chasing each other down his care-worn face, and his breast heaved with the effort to suppress the emotion. I thought it best to let a few moments pass in silence, for it was plain that God's Spirit was doing an effective work in his heart. The silence was of no great length, for, wiping his eyes with his coat-sleeve, he began again.

"You're a preacher, sir, and you seem to be a good man, or you would not come to see Frank as often as you have done, and Frank told me the other day that he'd been a bad boy yet except for you; and he told me when I asked him some

"I am sorry that we had to disturb you tonight. But when the doctor told him that he could not live till morning, he begged to see you. We tried at first to change his thoughts to other things, hoping it was a mere fancy; but he would immediately return to it. So, at last, I told him I would go and tell you. He has been a kind, good boy, sir, and so patient that I could not refuse him."

gentle ascent. Frank, however, had been a good teacher. He promised me to pray much, and have his little daughter read the Bible to himhe could not read himself-and to attend faithfully on the services of the Church.

But we had reached the low log-cabin in which was the patient sufferer, who was about to be ushered into the glorious temple made without hands. As we passed in the gate the door opened, and the kind woman who had taken care of the orphan boy, notified us that he was asleep, and it was considered best to let him remain quiet for a short time.

We entered, however, treading carefully, and sat down in silence on a little bench opposite the bed. He was very pale, much more emaciated than when last I had seen him, and the breathing was difficult. As he slept an undefinable charm seemed to pervade his countenance. The face was not a beautiful one, but full of thought it had ever been, and now there was a glow of purity such as those alone have who talk with God. His sleep, as might be supposed, was not calm and deep, but restless, and his lips moved almost incessantly, although we were unable to detect any thing of coherency.

two old people, husband and wife, but childless. They were in easy circumstances, intelligent and deeply pious. When Mr. Wiston offered Frank a home in his house, he did it with sincerity, but not with any expectation that he would accept; for places had been offered seemingly more congenial to a young person. Yet, when he was questioned as to the selection of Mr. Wiston's house for his home, and replied that they were good old people, that were lonely, and needed a boy to do chores for them, every body, with an approving smile, said, "It is just like him ;" and not a few prayed for him, wishing that their own boys were like Frank Harley.

The people with whom he had lived before were members of the Church, and made a consistent profession of religion. They had given him religious instruction, both by precept and example; but the atmosphere of Mr. Wiston's house was much more inspiring. Their religion sat like a crown and royal robe upon the inmates, and a sunlight luster pervaded the whole house. To them the possession of faith in Christ had been an ever-increasing joy; and now, as they were fading under the toils and labors of life, the calm, dreamy beauty of an Indian summer day

Many years before, on a wild, gusty night in November, the inmates of a country house near by were startled by a knock at the door, the sound of a heavy substance falling on the ground, and the cry of a child. When the door was open they saw a woman of about twenty years of age prostrate on the ground, partly clasping in her arms a child not more than three years old. They were brought in the house, and cared for. The woman was sick, raving with the fever, and in three days died. From her expressions while the delirium was upon her, they gathered that her name was Harley, that she had been deserted by her husband, and that the infant was her only child, named Frank.

The good people of the farm-house cared for the little boy, and he grew to be a general favorite-first with the family, afterward with the neighbors. He gained the reputation of being the smartest scholar in the little log school-house, and the most kind, obliging boy in the neighborhood. So when the cholera, in the short space of forty-eight hours, took away those whom he called his parents, every door for miles around was opened to receive him in; indeed, there seemed to be a generous rivalry in making him feel that they loved him as their own child.

Not far from the home of his childhood lived

that they were not long for this world; but what matter was it a sad thing to go to heaven from earth? They said, with childlike simplicity and confiding faith, in the words of Paul, "It is better to depart and be with Christ."

Frank received their especial attention. His broad forehead seemed to expand under their intelligent teaching, and his bright eyes grew still brighter. His ways, ever gentle, became more so, till he became the admiration and example of all. In the quiet of the shadows Mr. Wiston talked with him of heaven, and the glorified company-how they acted on earth, and how they rested after their labors. Every one knew, they said, that he would soon be a member of the Church; when, on a sacramental occasion, he kneeled at the altar and received the communion, every one said it was right. Not long after he united with the Church.

All this passed before he was fifteen years old. When he had arrived at this age Mr. Wiston died. Frank spent many hours with him during the last few weeks of his pilgrimage, and it had a marked effect on his life. Many persons urged Mrs. Wiston to break up housekeeping, and spend her last days in quietness with them; but she answered thankfully, that as long as Frank remained with her she would not be lonely, and she would prefer his company to any others,