pany. February 13, 1811. Memorandum.-Paid to John Stilwell, on behalf of his wife, £307, being the sum of £250 with interest thereon, owing by my father to the late Captain John Holloway. the interpretation I desired to her expression of sent with others, by an American mercantile comregard. But my heart's wishes deceived me. My friend had been long preferred before me, and excepting in outward wealth, he is before me in everything; person, manners, disposition. Still I might have expected that 'Liza-with her love of enjoyment, with her almost luxurious taste-that very character of mind which has so often pained and troubled me-would have given greater weight The account of this transaction must have been to mere outward wealth, but I have wronged her on one of the leaves torn out by myself twenty-one in that, and perhaps have often judged her harshly. years ago, from this old ledger. The debt has She has, at all events, justified her higher, nobler been discovered by the papers of the late Captain nature by her preference to my friend. I record | Holloway, which were left to the care of my this in her favour. But, as regards myself, I may mother, locked in a small chest when he went on well ask why was this mutual attachment kept one of his voyages, to be opened only on his death. from me so long? It was her wish. Well, so be The papers refer simply to money and other busiit; but I should have suffered less, had I known it ness transactions. This is a palpably undischarged earlier. debt of my father's, and I have acknowledged it by its payment with interest. For ten years, 'Liza's home has been with us. It was natural that her confiding, affectionate spirit should ask sympathy from my mother and myself, her only friends-the friends to whose care her uncle left her. For ten years, in the intervals of those governess situations for which her talents and her education so eminently fitted her, has the old "Salutation" been her home. How fondly have I endeavoured to fit it more and more as a home for her! I have raised its character, ever high as an inn, honoured by the commendation of the English king, to be a place of entertainment even for the King of kings himself, a well-regulated, religious house of rest and entertainment for angels, not unawares but intentionally. And I succeeded in degree. There is no house between London and Bristol like the old Salutation. Perhaps I made her, the earthly object of my affections, too much the motives for my endeavours; perhaps I was too proud of my outward success. But be that as it might, the sorrow and the humiliation came from the two objects for which I strove most. When she lost the offered situation at Lady le Norman's, because she came from an inn-no matter though it was the Salutation-I determined to put it out of any one's power to humiliate her again, and I offered her my hand. Then the truth came out, the long truth of years. John and she were engaged to each other. My friend, my brother, was this well done of thee! My mother was pleased, she too had known it and encouraged it; she had other views for me. She wished me to lay house to house and field to field, and my neighbour even offered me his daughter. But they were amongst those who build upon the sand without a foundation, and when the storm arises and the floods beat upon the house it falls. All their buildings fell; so did mine, for I too had not built more wisely than they! None knew what I suffered, and my mother made active and cheerful preparations for the marriage, for she regarded 'Liza as a daughter; the two, indeed, are greatly attached to each other. My mother has always been proud of her beauty, and of her refined and elegant tastes. It is now six years since we have heard from Captain Holloway, and there seems no doubt but that he has perished in the great trading expedition across the Rocky Mountains, on which he was April 17th. The purchase of the Green Bushes Farm has been completed to-day, to the great satisfaction of John and his wife. They will remove there at once; it is a pleasant place, and convenient to the town. Without the small sum which I paid them, it could not have been purchased. John sees in this affair the loving hand of the Great Provider. He retains all his old child-like faith, and I hope that he and I may take sweet counsel together as of old. I endeavour not to be censorious, remembering ever that we must not judge harshly, nor merely from appearances, if we would not be so judged ourselves. But it's a difficult thing to square the judgment by the rule of charity when we can clearly see the wrong step wilfully taken. Nevertheless, I will strive after a still larger charity and still clearer judgment. May 17th. The estrangement between my mother and myself still continues. I have endeavoured to examine myself, I have scrutinized my actions and my motives, but I cannot discover an adequate cause for this. "I fancy that I can perceive, too, a less cordial welcome extended to me at Green Bushes Farm. I have endeavoured not to see it, not to feel it, and I have absented myself that I might not have cause for suspicion. John and I see each other most days, as was our agreement when we becarne two households; and to me, outwardly, he is the same honest true friend as ever. But, whether it be my suspicion or not, I fancy that there is a concealed, unspoken trouble somewhere, in his heart. I will not, however, seek to drag it forth. It is his, not mine, whilst he keeps it from me. June 7th.-My mother removed, this day, to Green Bushes Farm. It was her own and 'Liza's wish. I was not consulted till they had arranged everything. My mother thinks that when she is gone, I shall marry; she has conducted the female | part of the business, which is necessarily large in our inn, extremely well and most ably, and she shall retire from it with a suitable and handsome provision; she will then take a good income with her into John's house, and his wife, whom I believe she loves as a daughter, will, no doubt, be indeed a daughter to her. August, 1813.-Went down to Green Bushes to inquire after John's wife. She is doing well, and the baby, though delicate, is thriving. Found my my doors for these three weeks. September 4th.-Attended this day the funeral of John's wife and child. Both are taken from him. The last few days have been the saddest I ever passed. Within one month my poor friend has been the richest, the happiest of men; he is now the poorest, the most stripped. In one short month! The very day month of the child's birth, mother and child were buried. Thank Heaven! such blows are not common. washed away every sin of the penitent in Thy pure blood, receive to Thy bosom Thy stricken and repentant servant, who thus atoned for and repented of her frailties on earth! August 2, 1816.-Attended my dear mother's funeral. The gentry of the neighbourhood, and some of the nobility also, sent their carriages to attend the procession to the grave. Thus it was a much larger and more pompous funeral than I had intended; for have very much adopted John's words with regard to the deceased body, and, therefore, a quiet, decent, and loving interment is all that is required. To my poor mother, however, this would have been a very gratifying mark of regard. 23d. John spent this day, which is the Sabbath, with me. We sat together to worship in Christchurch, as in the old times, and, altogether, the old times seemed strangely to have come back to us. 25th.-John spent the evening with me. He proposes to leave and let the Green Bushes, and to remove to the town. He is no farmer, wanting the necessary experience; and thus my mother's loss is greatly felt by him. I advised him to do this, as he has now an advantageous offer; and I have proposed that he should take up his abode with me. He will be very useful in keeping the books, whilst I shall have more leisure to attend to the multifarious duties of this large new hotel. My new system of John is calm; unnaturally calm almost, it seems to me, who know what he feels. He ordered the funeral; did everything, in short, for the dead, as if he were jealous of the last duties being performed even for the bodies of the departed by any hands but his own. John has always had peculiar notions regarding the dead: he believes the body to be no more than a husk to a kernel, a spath to a spring blossom; and that it is only when this is laid aside, like an unneeded garment, that the spirit begins truly to live; and he now, as it were, tests the value of his own faith. He has lovingly laid together, as it were, the outward covering, the flower-spath, the garment of the no-longer-management has been remarkably blessed. The needful flesh, and with tender care seen them committed to the earth, from whence they came; but his treasures, he says, are not there; they are only gone home before him, and his duty is now to rejoice for them, and to bear his own outward loneliness and desolation with patience and submission. John possesses in himself more of the Christ-like patience and submission than any other man I know. I believe that he has long had but one master desire in his heart, and that is to do the Great Master's will. 24th. My mother will remain with John at Green Bushes. She prefers it. No mother loved a daughter better than she John's wife. I spent the afternoon of this day, Sunday, with them. I commenced this day my new plan of keeping open my house only for the absolute entertainment of travellers. I shall henceforth sell no liquors nor wines for mere drinking on the Lord's day. I have always regarded the occupation of innkeeper as one especially honourable, and I will endeavour, with the Divine blessing, to make it in every way also a Christian calling. I The Sabbath henceforth will be a day of rest at the Salutation, and this the first day of my new rule, which I have respectfully announced in the county paper, I spent with John. I saw less of him, however, on this occasion than usual. think mother and he had arranged it, to give her the opportunity of speaking to me of poor 'Liza, and the message which she left for me on her death-bed. How affecting are these confessions of human temptation and weakness! Salutation is confessedly the best-conducted house of entertainment in England. I am proud of the distinction. The rigid rules of temperance, in the true, legitimate sense of the word, which I have laid down for my guests as well as my household, has brought increase of custom. My wines, &c., are all of the best, purest quality; but I never allow them to be drunk to excess. It appeared a strange rule at first, and Sir John le Norman, and one or two others, ordered post-horses and drove from my house, because I refused that he and they should get drunk; but it became my gain in the end. Other houses, I hear, think of following my example. John, therefore, will be of great use to me. He shall have my mother's chamber, which is light and cheerful. I have had a great pleasure this evening in seeing John absorbed over Waverley. It is a very wonderful book, full of life and scenery of which we know hardly more than of the South Sea Islanders. John, though fond of reading, which was a passion with him in his younger days, has scarcely opened a book, excepting the Bible, since his wife's death. No man can study that divine book too deeply, still he may innocently divert his mind, and I ordered the guard of the High Flyer Coach, whose brother is in a bookseller's shop in London, to send down Waverley for John, and any other books by the same author, which may henceforth be published. January 30, 1818.-The Stilwells continue to flourish in America. There is now a township called after them. The old man is dead, but the mother still living, the daughters are all married and O Thou dear and merciful Christ, who hast doing well, and of the two sons one is a Colonel, and the other is always addressed as 'Squire, and both are magistrates. They wish John to go over, but he does not now incline to leave England. Joe, the former "boots" of this inn, has brought us letters, and all this news of the Stilwells, together with a small sealed packet of papers belonging to the late Captain Holloway, and addressed to me. Amongst them I find a memorandum-book containing an entry of £250, lent by him to my father, below which he has written the following characteristic words : "The above sum was repaid me by David Chart, who is the most daintily honest man I ever had any dealings with." This has been a great satisfaction to me; but John shall never know, else he would insist on repaying it, and he has had a loss by a bankrupt tenant this year. Poor John, he never had the knack of making money. Therefore I will destroy this little memorandum, else John, who is, also, 'daintily honest," might find himself indebted to me. There is now nothing to reveal it. Of the paper, nothing now remains but a little heap of white ashes, mingling with the other ashes, under the grate. The former "boots," now Mr. Joseph Turton, has been staying here during the last week. I am glad to make him welcome, though my strict rule does not exactly suit him, who would make all the world drunk if he might, so much money has he in his pockets, and so right glad is he to see all his old friends. Joe will cause a great increase of emigration to the States, for he has nothing to talk of but success. He is intending to open an inn, himself, in New York, and has now come over, twenty-seven years after he left the country, a raw lad of nineteen, to marry one, two years younger than himself, whom, boy as he was, he promised to marry when he left, and whom now, after the death of a first wife, he has come to atone to for a great wrong, and finds her single for his sake and for the sake of her son whom she has brought up in sober, God-fearing ways, through much suffering and hardship. Of all this old sin and sorrow I knew nothing till honest Joe, with tears in his eyes, told me. So he is going to be married next Monday, and for this I will entertain him, free of cost, and have invited | him to bring his wife and son down here before they sail, and they shall have the best that the house can give them. February 16th.-Have had Mr. Joseph Turton and his wife and son here. I am as much pleased with the two latter as with the former. She is a comely, middle-aged woman, who seems astonished at her own happiness. The son has been brought up a baker, and has that white-faced, unhealthy look, which is peculiar to the trade. But he is well-mannered and sober, and having been, hitherto, steady, and a good son, deserves his present blessings, and will soon out-grow the unwholesomeness of his former life. I have a handsome, new sign-board ready for the Turtons to take out with them for the new inn, on what is called the Broadway in New York, "The American Salutation." Joe tells me that he is so much struck by the "perior management of my house, and the credit and comfort of my temperance regulations, that he means to introduce the same in his new inn. Drunkenness, he says, is a besetting sin in America. September 10, 1833. Saw the men commencing their first day's work for the proposed rail at Chescote. 15th.-John has to-day had an offer to purchase the Green Bushes Farm, on account of the new railway, which, according to the proposed plan, will run along one side of his land, and if a station be built, as is talked of, for Newberry, it will occupy the meadow where the house stands, and thus the land would become unusually valuable. In fact he might, even now, realize a considerable advance on the original cost. As there are many schemes and plans afloat, I advise him to fall in with this offer, lest a fresh scheme should turn the tide of advantage away from him. These new railways will revolutionize travelling, and may probably greatly depreciate my property. Indeed, it cannot be otherwise, if they succeed to any extent. However, that must be left : one man's gain is very often another man's loss. November. John sold the Green Bushes Farm at quite too low a price. It has three times changed hands since then, and with a large advantage to the last purchaser each time. Newberry has petitioned for a station, and, lying as it does in the direct line of traffic between important trading towns, it is expected to become a large town itself. There is to be a station, not only for ordinary purposes, but they talk of making it one of the general depôts for a whole network of railways which are talked of. It seems a perfect madness... August 11, 1838.-The railroad is open to-day. The first train ran the whole length of line. It was a fine sight, a marvellous sight. The whole town and country was up to witness it. I believe these railways, though they will inevitably put an end to posting, and cause many a good inn to be shut up, will be a great blessing to the nation. They will give an impetus to trade; they will annihilate, as it were, time and space. I can feel, even by the sight of this day, they will stir up the very mind itself, and call forth new, undreamed-of powers. New Year's, 1840.-This year begins gloomily. The S. Bank stopped payment yesterday. There was a rumour of the danger last week, and John, who had a considerable sum lying there-a thousand pounds, which he had called in from an unsatisfactory mortgage-went to demand payment, but received the most solemn assurances from the banker of all being more than safe. Nevertheless, he was firm; he would not be overpersuaded. He drew out his money, and is thus safe. The bank stopped yesterday, after a frightful run upon it for three days. The whole town is in consternation and mourning, for the ruin of many families must follow. People are terrified, and almost ferocious; for they have lost confidence in each other, and every one wishes to secure himself, come what may to his neighbour. January 7th.-Rumours of other banks failing has paralysed or maddened the public mind. Something must be done, if possible, to tranquil. lize it, and restore confidence, or the ruin will be far more wide-spread. 8th. There is now a rumour of the Chescote banks stopping. Should that happen, I shall be a fearful loser, for I have a far larger sum than I ever had in any bank before in their hands. I cannot help being anxious. 9th.-Passed a sleepless night. I am almost ashamed of the anxiety and agitation of mind caused by my prospect of loss. Am I a worshipper of mammon, which is outward wealth? I ask myself this question. My inner being replies, It is not thine either to lose or to keep; it is the Lord's leave it all to Him." I said that I would leave it; nevertheless, I went to church, and saw the two partners in the bank. They have the character of upright men, and the reputation of very wealthy men. We have always been on the best of terms. I see plainly that, if confidence cannot be restored, the most wide-spread and general ruin must be the consequence. They compliment me by saying that I can do more than any other man in the neighbourhood towards restoring the public confidence. I saw and spoke with various influential and deeply-interested parties on their behalf, and am surprised to find how momentous is my example in this case. I have promised not to withdraw my money. 16th.-Received a visit early this morning from one of the banker's wives and her mother, the old Lady le Norman. She is a magnificent woman, and I knew what was the object of her visit before she spoke. It was to persuade me not only to stand by the bank, and to use my influence to sustain its credit, but to return with them, give my presence at the bank itself, and thus prevent the great crisis of ruin which must inevitably, if at this moment some extraordinary means were not used, crush thousands of families. I had already made up my mind to do no more in this business; but I could not resist this handsome woman: her tears almost unmanned me, and I promised to everything she asked. Without telling John what I was about to do, I drove with this syren to my lawyer's, took with me the deeds of the Salutation Inn and the farm, and, like one under the power of a strange fascination-whether good or evil, I know not-handed them into the banker, before the faces of twenty or thirty clamorous people, and the effect was marvellous. As They have not exaggerated in saying that my influence is great, that the example of my confidence will save the neighbourhood from ruin. soon as it was known that I have place dmy deeds in bank, to raise money upon it if need be, the stress was immediately relaxed. The very men who had withdrawn their money, as if ashamed of what they had done, brought it back, begging that it might be again received. I dined at the banker's, and his handsome wife was most flattering in her attentions. Feb. 27th.-The Chescote Bank has stopped after all! I have been made a fool of for the most base purposes! I know not whether to be more indignant with the bankers or myself. Fool that I have been, to be thus deluded! It is indeed well that a man's life consisteth not in the abundance that he possesseth! : June 21st.-The miserable affairs of the bank are wound up. All is ruin-shameful, heartless, bare-faced ruin! The very time that was gained by my interference was used, not to secure the trusting public, but to make provision for the banker's handsome wife ! Of the £10,000 which I risked in their hands, all is gone, excepting the Salutation Inn: that remains. And as if I was to be instructed in the instability of wealth and outward possession, this alone, of all I possessed, is the least available to me now. I have long felt that the days of posting-inns were at end. Railway travelling has left the Salutation a deserted place. July 27th.-There must be a change. I am no longer what I have been. This illness from which I am recovering makes me look on many things differently to what I ever did before. My poor hopes of being a great man, a public benefactor to the town, are ended. Still there is One above who overrules all things for good. January 1839.-The old Salutation is shut up. It shall be an inn no longer. New ideas are beginning, like early spring flowers, to bud in my heart. I may yet do something for the benefit of others. John's little property is saved. How can I write worthily enough of my friend? His friendship is like that of the early Christians, "which made them communicate of all that they had; which called nothing their own which others wanted." He said, "Time is advancing with us, yet we will share together our daily bread. We will labour to do our duty to each other and to our neighbour. And let us leave all the rest to Almighty God." March 12th. We are agreed. We have each a clerk's place in the town, and on our salaries and the interest of John's little property, we have more than enough for our simple needs. Our joint home is quiet, and very pleasant. January 1st, 1840.-Mem.-John and I placed in the hands of the corporation the Old Salutation Inn, as a gift, for a free hospital for the poor of S., an institution much needed there. It is airy and sunshiny in situation, and commodious and well-arranged internally. The town and corporation have received the gift too flatteringly. So ends, gentle reader, the memoranda of David Chart. A few more words, and we have done. After Should you pass a day in the flourishing town of S., you will doubtless be shown the old, redbrick free hospital, with its handsome modern wings, and be told of the noble, large-hearted townsman whose gift to the town it was. this you cannot fail to go a few steps farther, nor to enter the venerable edifice, Christchurch, almost a cathedral in dignity of structure. In a little corner near the chancel, you may probably be shown the pew occupied by the good townsman and his friend, but in any case you will be shown the noble painted window, in two compartments, the gorgeous colouring of which blends harmoniously and floods the chancel as with prismatic sunshine. It represents in one, two hum ble disciples journeying on to Emmaus, with a loving Saviour between them; and the second, the more joyous and better close of the day, when He sits at meat with them, and broke bread and gave to them, and their eyes were opened, and they knew Him. Then pause, and read underneath the inscription: "Erected by the Town and Corporation of S., In grateful memory of two Friends, David Chart and John Stilwell, Who died, the first, on March 12th, 1840, from scarlet fever, caught whilst ministering to the suffering patients of the Free Hospital; And the second, Who died, three weeks afterwards, from the same disease, caught whilst in Two faithful friends who, for fifty years worshipped in this church. "Greater love hath no man than this, than THE TRUE ADORNING. "Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning .. of putting on of apparel." A FEW days ago, as I was listlessly turning over the contents of a long-unopened drawer, among other old-fashioned garments of bygone years, my eye lighted on one which brought back to my remembrance a slight and long-forgotten incident of my young days. It was an old and faded shawl. There was no beauty now in its dim, colourless pattern; no genial warmth in its thread-bare texture. I think, as I look at it, that there never could have been much about it to please the eye; and yet the little relic has a strange interest for me, because I know that by means of it, my early conception of what was tasteful and fitting in dress was altogether changed. Through it I learned what, in that, as in all other things, constitutes the truest, highest beauty. As I held it tenderly in my hand, dreamily gazing on its faded hues, there came floating dimly over my memory the recollection of a certain bright spring, very long ago, when my sister and I decided, after careful thought and much counting of costs, each to make purchase of a shawl. In those days, it was not the custom for young ladies to possess a variety of articles of out-door costume, such as they have now. No. In the quiet, simple, old-fashioned times when I was a girl we had only one such article of dress at a time, generally expensive, often procured with considerable difficulty, and always causing some anxiety and forethought before a final decision on the subject was arrived at. Now, every one knows how rapidly a trifling subject of thought, if much dwelt on, develops itself, by some unseen process, into an affair of great apparent magnitude; how very readily we come to have the idea, that some little plan of ours is one of paramount importance to society at large. I don't say we believe this. Let us call ourselves up in the midst of our deliberation, and reflect how we are employing, or wasting our mental powers, and we readily admit that we have become foolish, that we did not think how much attention we had been giving to this trifle; and for a time we cease to think of it at all. Alas! this rational view of things does not last. Before we are ourselves aware of it, our minds have fallen back into the little detail, which to every one about us seems unworthy of a moment's thought. Now, let any one, whose eye happens to fall on this page, pause for one moment, and look back over the last year or two of his or her life. Does not some instance come to your recollection of a day, or a week, or a month, when you allowed some such little mote as I have been describing to obscure your vision of the whole sunshine of life, when you have felt as if some little trifling detail of your life were the one object, upon the success of which all your happiness depended? If you cannot recall any such, then I must leave you; for, with all respect for such superiority to human weakness, I cannot sympathize with it. If such an instance does occur to your memory, you will understand me when I say, that childish and foolish as it may appear, such an obscuring beam in my mental vision did this shawl become to me, for days before I actually possessed it. Certainly the possession of a new article of dress seems a thought too insignificant to occupy, so much as it then did mine, even the most trifling mind; but it must be considered in extenuation, first, that I was very young-not sixteen: secondly, that I had a natural love of dress and desire of admiration; and thirdly, that, as I have said, the purchase of anything so expensive as a shawl was at that time, in consequence of its rarity, an event whose importance cannot be understood or estimated by the young ladies of the present generation. At all events, whether excusable or not, the fact remains true, that my attention was, for a time, almost wholly occupied with the consideration of what ought to be the colour and pattern of my new shawl. My choice was at last fixed by a passing glance I caught one day, of a very graceful and elegant lady wearing what appeared to me a more than ordinarily beautiful shawl. Now, I was neither graceful nor elegant myself; on the contrary, it happens that I was always small and insignificant in appearance, but I suppose that some dim, and almost unconscious, hope must have passed through my mind, that a shawl, the same as this one, would impart something of a similar grace to my small figure. "There," I thought, "is exactly what I have been seeking for; what I have been imagining as beautiful; I will have this and nothing else." The longer I thought of this shawl, the more faultless it appeared. It was soft, light, and delicate; uncommon too. In short, it seemed unequalled among shawls. It had in my view a beauty more than met the eye; it could bear the closest inspection, for, even as a work of art, it was beautiful, a very beau-idéal of what a shawl should be. I could not fail to look well with it; no one could! I never thought of it as belonging to the every-day race of shawls. Oh, no! it was idealized into a place entirely by itself, until, at length, I succeeded in convincing myself that, when I wore it, I must certainly stand out as a |