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Silas, shaken by the worst fear that could have befallen him, rushed out, calling “ Eppie !” and ran eagerly about the uninclosed space, exploring the dry cavities into which she might have fallen, and then gazing with questioning dread at the smooth red surface of the water. The cold drops stood on his brow. How long had she been out? — There was one hope — that she had crept through the stile and got into the fields where he habitually took her to stroll.
But the grass was high in the meadow, and there was no descrying her, if she were there, except by a search that would be a trespass on Mr. Osgood's crop. Still, that misdemeanor must be committed ; and poor Silas, after peering all round the hedgerows, traversed the grass, beginning with perturbed vision to see Eppie behind every group of red sorrel, and to see her moving always farther off as he approached.
The meadow was searched in vain; and he got over the stile into the next field, looking with dying hope towards a small pond which was now reduced to its summer shallowness, so as to leave a wide margin of good adhesive mud.
Here, however, sat Eppie, discoursing cheerfully to her own small boot, which she was using as a bucket to convey the water into a deep hoof-mark, while her little naked foot was planted comfortably on a cushion of olive-green mud. A red-headed calf was observing her with alarmed doubt through the opposite hedge.
Here was clearly a case of aberration in a christened child which demanded severe treatment; but Silas, overcome with convulsive joy at finding his treasure again, could do nothing but snatch her up and cover her with half-sobbing kisses. It was not till he had carried her home, and had begun to think. of the necessary washing, that he recollected the need that he should punish Eppie, “and make her remember.”
“ Naughty, naughty Eppie!” he suddenly began, holding her on his knee, and pointing to her muddy feet and clothes —“ naughty to cut with the scissors, and run away. Eppie must go in the coal-hole for being naughty. Daddy must put her in the coalhole.”
He half expected that this would be shock enough, and that Eppie would begin to cry. But instead of that, she began to shake herself on his knee, as if the proposition opened a pleasing novelty.
Seeing that he must proceed to extremities he put her into the coal-hole, and held the door closed, with a trembling sense that he was using a strong measure.
For a moment there was silence, but then came a little cry, “Opy, opy!” and Silas let her out again, saying, “ Now Eppie'll never be naughty again, else she must go in the coal-hole — a black naughty place.”
The weaving must stand still a long while this
morning, for now Eppie must be washed and have clean clothes on ; but it was to be hoped that this punishment would have a lasting effect, and save time in future — though perhaps it would have been better if Eppie had cried more.
In half an hour she was clean again ; and Silas, having turned his back to see what he could do with the linen band, threw it down again with the reflection that Eppie would be good without fastening her for the rest of the morning.
He turned round again, and was going to place her in her little chair near the loom, when she peeped out at him with black face and hands again, and said, “Eppie in de toal-hole!”
“ GEORGE ELIOT."
THE FREEMAN'S VOTE.
A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
As lightning does the will of God;
THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY.
EDWARD EVERETT was born in Dorchester, Massachusetts, April 11, 1794. At the age of seventeen he graduated at Harvard University. After a course of theological study he entered the ministry. In 1815 he became professor of Greek at Harvard University. In 1824 he was a member of Congress. He was four times governor of Massachusetts, four years minister to Great Britain, and three years president of Harvard. He was a great orator. His oration on George Washington did much to promote the building of the national monument at the capital of our country. He died Jan. 15, 1865.
Friends and Fellow-citizens: We live at an eventful period. Mighty changes in human affairs are of daily occurrence at home and abroad. In Europe the strongest governments are shaken ; the pillars of tradition, rooted in the depths of antiquity, are heaved from their basis ; and that fearful war of opinion, so long foretold, is raging, with various fortune, from Lisbon to Archangel.
Have you not noticed that in the midst of the perplexity and dismay, of the visions and the hopes of the crisis, the thoughts of men have been turne more and more to what had passed and what is passing in America ? They are looking anxiously to us for lessons of practical freedom, for the solution of that great mystery of state, that the strongest government is that which, with the least array of force, is deepest seated in the welfare and affection of the people.
The friends of republican government in France, taunted with the impossibility of making such a government efficient and respectable, point to our example as the sufficient answer. Austria, breaking down beneath the burden of her warring races, offers them too late a federal constitution modeled on our own; and even in England, from which the original elements of our free institutions were derived, scarce a debate arises in Parliament, on an important question, without reference to the experience of the United States.
The constitutional worship of mankind is reversed they turn their faces to the West. Happy for them, happy for us, should they behold naught in this country to disappoint the hopes of progress, to discourage the friends of freedom, to strengthen the arm of the oppressor; and may God grant that those who look to us for guidance and encouragement may be able to transplant the germs of constitutional liberty to the ancient gardens of the earth, that the clouds which now darken the horizon of Europe may clear away, and the long-deferred hopes of the friends of freedom be fulfilled!
But chiefly let us trust that the principles of our fathers may more and more prevail throughout our beloved country. . ... O that the contemplation of