feel half as miserable as I should imagine it would, or, perhaps, as it ought." "Thank heaven," said Percy, fervently, "the load is removed that was bearing down my energies and crushing me to the dust. And now sing us one of your favorite airs, and we will leave, for I find that you not only need no comforter yourself, but that you are fully equal to the task of comforting others." It was apparent to her, that their mode of life must be thoroughly and immediately changed, and when they were about to withdraw, she was on the point of observing to her husband, that with his concurrence, she would dismiss the female servants that very afternoon, but upon second thought, as she felt almost sure that he would insist on her retaining a part, she thought it best to make no allusion to the subject. Fortunately, the last dividend received from the bank, remained untouched. Having requested their attendence in the parlor, she explained to them the necessity of the parting with them, paid their wages, and gave each a recommendation, which was well merited. As good servants are scarce, all in the course of the ensuing day, had provided themselves with places, except one. was a girl of fourteen, and when after tea, the others dispersed to their different situations, that they might be ready to enter upon their new duties in the morning, she sought her mistress. Margaret," said Grace, "why are you not away with the rest?" "I had rather remain, if you please," replied the girl. "Are you unable to find a place that pleases you?" "I have not tried to find one." This "That is wrong. As I told you yesterday, I have no longer the means of paying you." "I don't wish for any pay. All I ask, is to be permitted to remain with you, and I will do all that I can to assist you." This evidence of the girl's attachment touched one of those tender chords, which had refused to thrill beneath the stern touch of misfortune, and when she had withdrawn, a few tears, which had more of joy than grief in them, gushed from her eyes. Percy retired that night with feelings which were by no means enviable. Thoughts of all his mother had said to him, relative to the domestic education of a wife, obtruded themselves upon his mind. He could not even hope that Grace had any theoretical, much less practical knowledge of the household tasks, on which, in the morning, she would be obliged to attempt to enter. His only comfort was, that she, herself, did not appear to shrink from the prospect before her, but had from the first, maintained a uniform cheerfulness of spirit. It was long before he fell asleep, and when he did, the discomforts of an ill-arranged table, of muddy coffee, heavy, half-baked bread, with other articles to compare, formed the staple of his dreams. When he rose, instead of remaining in the house, as was his custom, to read the morning papers while breakfast was preparing, he hastened to his mother's to see if Harriet would come and assist his wife. "Why, she left town day before yesterday," replied his mother, in answer to his question. "She has gone to spend a few days with her friend; Lucy Wayland. Hepsy, too, has taken the opportunity of her absence, to visit her mother, so that I have no one except Kathleen, the Irish girl, who, as yet, knows nothing about cookery." Percy felt very miserable as he bent his steps homeward. Not that he cared, for once, to sit down to an ill-cooked meal, but he knew Grace was ambitious and sensitive, and dreaded to witness her mortification. "I have been just looking out, to see if you were coming," said she, with a smile. "It is seven o'clock, and breakfast is ready." "Why, who learnt you to make coffee?" said he with surprise, as he received a cup of the clear, fragrant beverage, from her hand. "Aunt Persis," she quietly replied. "And did she learn you to make biscuit too?" he inquired, breaking one open. "Why, this is not only as white, but as light as a handful of snow-flakes." "Yes, I am indebted to aunt Persis for the art of making coffee, bread, cooking a steak, together with several other important matters, appertaining to house-keeping. But the credit of preparing this breakfast does not all belong to me. I found Margaret an able and willing assistant." It was one of the proudest moments of Percy's life, when hearing footsteps, he looked round and beheld his mother. "Grace is worthy to be your daughter," said he, directing her attention to the breakfast-table, "and we shall be most happy to share with you the meal which, I doubt not, you came with the benevolent intention to help to prepare." Mrs. Percy made no reply, but before seating herself at the table, she took her daughter-in-law's hand with a look that was sufficiently expressive. In a little more than a week, Percy having disposed of his house in the city, hired a neat cottage a few miles distant. A plot of ground in front, which was enclosed by a simple paling, was clothed with a thick, soft verdure, amid which nestled violets and other wild flowers, that some former occupant, with a just taste, had transplanted from their native solitudes. A sweet briar, which reached quite to the eaves, shaded one of the parlor windows, and a veteran lilac-bush, which lent its support to a honeysuckle, formed a leafy curtain for another. As Grace and Harriet were arranging the simple furniture of a small apartment, which the former had named her boudoir, Percy entered, and placed upon the table a rose-wood box. "What a pretty box," said Grace. "I don't remember of ever seeing it before." "Lift the lid," said Percy. She obeyed, and beheld a little black slipper. "Why, this looks like the very one I once lost," said she. "It is undoubtedly the same," he replied, "and I found it some weeks before I found you." "Do tell me, Grace," said Harriet, "how you came to meet with so cdd an accident as to lose your shoe." "Why, there happened to be a sudden shower one day, when I was absent from home, and Aunt Persis sent the carriage and a pair of thick shoes. The slipper, which, with its mate, I rolled in a handkerchief, happened to slip out during its passage from my friend's house to the carriage." "And Charles, who was destined to be its finder," said Harriet, "was so taken with its beauty, slightly altering the old-fashioned game of 'hunt the slipper,' his chief amusement was to hunt the lady of the slipper till his efforts were successful." "I hope he will never have cause to regret his success," replied Grace, "for I am sure I shall not." "Do you not regret the exchange you have been obliged to make?" said Percy. "Not in the least. I already like our country cottage better than I did our city palace." "There is one thing I wish you could have retained," said Harriet. "And what is that?" "Your harp." The words had only escaped from her lips, when the voice of Aunt Persis was heard. "Wait a minute," she was heard to say, "and I will see where the mistress of the house will like to have it placed." Grace ran to welcome her. "I was determined on one thing," said her aunt, "and that was, that you should have your harp to cheer you in your solitude, so I privately employed Mr. Robinson to bid it off for me.' "How very generous and considerate," said Grace. "Now I have all I want. The music of the harp indeed will be delightful these still summer evenings." Percy soon recommenced business with a good prospect of success. His being obliged, on account of the distance, to dine in the city, makes the time spent at home doubly delightful. The evenings, particularly, which are usually passed in his wife's boudoir, often listening to one of her songs, and sometimes singing with her a favorite duett, with the moonbeams looking lovingly through the luxuriant foliage of a vine which drapes the window, are so full of quiet happiness, that neither of them would willingly exchange them for those they were formerly in the habit of spending amid the brilliant circles of fashionable life. Mr. Floyd, whose health and mind are still as vigorous as when he commenced life without a dollar, although his sister Persis thinks her annuity amply sufficient for the comfortable maintenance of both, has now a fair pretence for again engaging in business. He is, he says, altogether happier than when he had invested his money in bank stock, he had nothing to do, for, like Charles Lamb, he found no work worse than over work. ADDRESS. BY DR. R. II. WORTHINGTON.* Brethren of Washington Lodge, No. 3:- ABOUT to retire from the chair to which your kindness elected me, I rise to tender to the members of this lodge my grateful thanks for the indulgence and kindness I have received whilst endeavoring to discharge its duties. Called to preside over the deliberations of this lodge, while yet in its infancy-scarcely understanding its principles-without any knowledge or * Delivered before Washington Lodge, No. 3, in the town of Murfreesborough, North Carolina, at the close of her first quarter. Published by request of the lodge, experience to guide or direct in the manner of doing its business-I was not vain enough to suppose that under my administration, its operations would be conducted in that uniform and lucid manner which might have been expected under one better acquainted. It is, however, a consolation to know, that my errors have been those of the head rather than the heart; and that your deportment toward me, as Noble Grand, has been marked with much forbearance and kindness. Here, perhaps, I ought to stop; but the time and occasion prompt me to ask your indulgence a few moments longer. We have been, my brethren, the first pioneers in clearing the way for the erection of a moral edifice in this place, whose healing influences may be felt for ages yet to come, in ameliorating the condition of suffering humanity, if we foster and cherish those heaven-born principles it inculcates. Man, in all his might and power of conception and action, is but a creature of weakness, and it is impossible for him to attain a perfection in what he may accomplish. We see, therefore, in the mutations of time, human institutions springing into existence-flourishing in all the strength of popular distinction and favor, finally declining to their fall, and at last moulder away, and are perhaps forgotten. We do not pretend to claim an exemption from the general lot for our beloved institution, but we assert, and we challenge the denial, that its principles are coeval with man's earliest existence. Resting on the broad base of Benevolence and Truth,— "Truth crushed to earth will rise again, Resting, I say, as it does, on the broad platform of Benevolence and Truth, its members bound together by the triple cords of Friendship, Love and Truth, may we not cherish the thought, that its existence as an institution, will be perpetuated for ages and ages yet to come. Here in our temple of Love, men assemble together as brothers, the lodge constituting their family. Here are inculcated those principles and doctrines which enables the brother to discard all invidious distinctions, and feel that all mankind are the offspring of one common Parent. Here is inculcated that principle of fidelity and constancy, which ennobles our nature, and disposes us to do unto others, as we would they should do unto us. Like some fair tree whose widely extended branches shelter the weary traveller from the noon-day sun, and whose fruit cools and imparts fresh vigor to his enervated system, so Odd-Fellowship infuses new strength and joy into the bosom of the poor and friendless, and buoys up the fainting spirit of the disconsolate and heart-broken. Should we, however, lose sight of the principles we profess-should we fail to cultivate a spirit of harmony and love among ourselves, blighting indeed will be the influence and bitter-bitter as the Bohun Upas, the fruits which will be gathered to our labors. Is there no necessity for an institution such as ours? Are nations no more arrayed against nations, or kingdoms against kingdoms? Does man no longer arm himself against his brother, the creature of his Maker?Has the strong and powerful ceased to oppress the weak and feeble? Or is sin and death chained captive for a thousand years? Man is the creature of circumstances. However bright and cheering his anticipations seem to-day, they may be shrouded in darkness and gloom ere the morrow. "Death is inevitable. All that is born must die. The decree has gone forth-Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return." How many receive the summons far, far from home or kindred! where there is none to sympathize or minister to their comfort. Discord, strife and contention, with their attendant spirits, stalk with giant-strides throughout the world, and, like the deadly simoon, blast in their fell course the noble and the fair, uprooting and destroying those feelings which should unite and bind man to his brother. And are there not beauties-many beauties growing out of our labors of love? Though storms may rage without-though all around is turmoil and strife-the Odd-Fellow comes here, and the storm is hushed. Here he enjoys a calm and sunshine in the sweet converse and communion which he holds with his brother in Friendship, Love and Truth. From these communions go out heralds of glad tidings to many an aching heart. From these halls emanates an influence which sheds a halo of comfort and cheerfulness around scenes where before reigned want, despair and misery. From these halls is reflected a light which guides and cheers the lonely traveller through lands distant and strange. A light which though he be stretched upon the bed of suffering, and though relatives may have forsaken his pestiferous chamber, yet enables him to see the Odd-Fellow watching beside his silent couch, and ministering to his wants. I might go on describing its beauties, for the theme is inexhaustible-but I forbear lest I tax your patience too far. Recollect, we are but yet in our infancy-that the institution here is an experiment, which must result for weal or woe, and that dissentions, or a lack of that spirit which I trust we all feel, would give a blow to our glorious fraternity, from which it could not recover. Based as it is, Odd-Fellowship must stand or fall by the integrity of its members. Let me then warn you against suffering evil passions or unkind feelings to enter within these sacred walls. Let me exhort you in the spirit of affectionate entreaty to cultivate, to appreciate those principles and feelings which are here inculcated, and which are so congenial to happiness. If a brother should err or stray from what we might suppose the strict line of duty, let us invite his return by a remonstrance given in the spirit of kindness. Let each and all be ready to throw the mantle of charity over a brother's weakness— so shall we live in peace and quiet-harmonizing in all our actions, and our lodge triumph and sustain itself against every opposition. And may He who presides over the celestial lodge, protect and sustain the principles we profess from innovation or self-immolation-aid and bless our efforts to do good, and finally, grant us that prospect which will entitle us to membership in the eternal lodge above. From the Cleveland Gatherer. I. O. OF ODD-FELLOWS. THE VIEWS OF THE ASSOCIATION, ORIGIN, PRESENT VIEWS, &c. ANY thing that has for its object the advancement of human happiness or human intellect, any thing that tends to the amelioration of the condition of mankind, or to lessen the ills and miseries incident on human life; any thing that draws closer the ties of mutual sympathy, and strengthens |