{"newspaper_name": "The Arkansas banner.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
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MARM1oN.

 AGE was now setting his sgnet unon me and, although thoroughly severed from all

 earthly friendships, so strong ill my hear

 Were the associations of the past, that re- solved to return to my native country again

 were It for no other purpose but laying my bones there.

 stood upon a hill top, that looks down.

 ward on the far of ocean, and, between me and

 the sea beheld the woods that circled aroune

 the mansion of my fathers It was beauti.

 iul Sabbath morning, towards the decline o

 summer Some sivery clouds slept on the

 bosom ol the sky; the sheep were scattered

 In repose over the rich, green, hilly pastures

 the birds were singing amid the thckets and

 borne from aiar, to the pausing car, came the

 tranquilly solemn sound of the church bell

 ''most musical, most melancholy.n

 stood and listened. IL was too much

 my heart could not bear 1t. leant over

 moss-grown rail, and, holding my handker,

 chief to my eyes, wept like child. My

 mother, my sister, the faithful domestics, sthe

 old familiar iaces," departed scenes, van

 ished friends, all the delights of the past, arose

 and utterly unnamed me

 Escaping from those "reminiscences of carly

 childhood, l wandered down to my old haunts

 Tn the neighbourhood of Austen Park; and by curious coincidence, for the thing was un- l premeditated, arrived there alSu on a Sunday morning, and the thought suddenly struck me, that l would go into some obscure part of the village church end hear service. did so.

 What a reyerential well-known air had the building; every stone in it had place in my

 early recollection. The deep niches-the l low-arched windows, admitting "a dim re- ] ligious light''-the venerable, dusky pews, edged with the antique carving of acorn and 1 fleur-de-liS-the hollow roof, whose crevices i still aed "the martins old hereditary nestn i l gazed on them all devoured them all with my eyes; but the pulpit had another oc- cupant, and the silver hairs oi the pastor, from whose lips had first heard the words of truth and life from thai holy place, with a so- lemnltv of awe bordering on adoralion, where was Dow that venerable saint2 turned to the old pew of my household; 1t Was filled, but knew not face there. looked up to the gallery, whose front was gilded with the arms of the Curtis family, and sighed to think of one 'who was not" Next to Il was the pew of the Austens My heart sank when l thought of the time when the peerless Anna Austen sate there, and 1t was check to my habtual despondency to survey that delight faI family group.

 Very few faces in the body of the church could recognise; and these how altered by the lapse of wears, and the corroding touches of care! The boy now stood, in the centre of his cwn family, tlrougnlul nan-a bu siness-w5rn citizen-an attentive, snbdHed, sober minded father. The old had passed away :. ike the clouds of yesterday" and the youthful had, like myself, far overstepped their meridian, and were declining unto the hour '.when daylight doth go down." None recognised me; no one glanced towards me look of welcome; l was a stranger among strangers.

 After service strayed into the churchyard. have never thought of death, but its image was associated with the tranquility of that spot There is pastoral quiet around it. IL is in the heart of rural scenery, situated on a rising ground, and open to the sun and sky.

 The people being all passed away, sann- tered towards the last narrow habllaton of the .4ustens, that might gaze on the turf where reposed the ashes of the warniheafted old squire and oI his daughter, the peerless Anna. stood for long time gazing upon it. My heart was at my throat; and some burning tears sallevlated the pressure oi my afllctons as they fell to the ground. The pressure of twenty-seven years had levelled il by their passage, and the und ulaion in the turf was scarcely perceptible. The holly.and cypress frees planted around were now grown large, dark and luxuriant; ill them the winds of heaven might whistle, and the birds oi summer build their nests. The marble slab Tn the wall, which tells her name and age, IS en- circled with lichens and moss, wearing an as- pect of long-past years. The hollybush, at present growing beneath the window al winch am writing, is a slip taken fl om one oi those trees. delight, in ny muslng hours to gaze upon it, and think how 1t derived Its original kourshmenl from the ground where in the clay of Anna Austen was lad.

 sTwas afternoon when closed the church. yard gate behind me, and looked back to the forests, determining to repass the spot al which poor Curtis met with his death. sauntered slowly onwards Every tree by the waysde seemed to claim old acqualn- tanceshp, and to say, " ou will not surely pass me unnoticed;" every winding of the path on which l trod awakened "thoughts that lay too deep for tears"

 At length came to the cottage, at the turn of the road, which l had bought, and given away as a marriage gift to my old faithful servant, Thomas. A respectable, looking el- derly man was sitting on stone, quietly smoking his, pipe, with curley- headed urchin on his knees. His little terrier dog, which was lying asleep at his feet, started up with snarl, and came forward to bark as approached. The man looked hard at me, and returned his scrutiny as narrowly. Ills examination seemed to have proved aoor- tive; for, turning his head the other way, he took his pipe from his cheek, preparatory to another whif. Not so mine; knew hlm -I recognised my old house-mat whom It affords a pleasure to my mind, saw married to his sweetheart, Sally, before l went abroad. and trust that, in so doing, acted for the best, in making two faithful hearts enjoy as much felicity as this poor earth can supply ,.

 passed on with decp-drawn sigh; but,