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Original Stout
7
WRITTEN FOR THE LUMPKIN PALLADIUM.
PRIDE;
O R
LIFE'S VICISSITUDES.
CHAPTER I.
It was late iit the afternoon of a cold
day in December, 1836, that a gentle
man might have been seen ascending
the steps of a mansion situated in an
aristocratic portion of the city of Balti
more. The exterior appearance of the
house gave evidence of the wealth of
its proprietor. It was a large three,
story building of the modern style of
architecture, with a capacious doorway.'
The gentleman appeared to be about
forty-five years of age, and was of me
dium statue. He was well protected
from the inclemency of the weather by
a fine, heavy black overcoat, which he
unbuttoned as he shook the snow from ■
his overshoes, and entered the hall of
his residence..
Charles Tyler, the gentleman we have I
introduced, was the chief partner of
one of the wealthiest commercial houses •
in the city, doing business under the
name of Tyler & Co.
The Co. comprised a young man
named Williams, who had formerly
been employed by his senior partner as
clerk; and having gained in this capa
city the confidence and esteem of Mr.
Tyler he was allowed an interest in
the business. Another reason which
influenced Mr. Tyler in doing this was,
that Williams had a family to support,
and he wished to afford him an oppor
tunity of doing something for himself
and family.
Charles Tyler was not always wealthy
—he had commenced business in a
small way, and by energy and strict
honesty soon won patronage. So by
degrees he became rich, but his wealth
made no change in his opinions, tastes
and habits, for he was a man of sound
common sense, and benevolent in every
sense of the term.
Yet though his views were unaltered
by the sunshine of prosperity, his wife
and daughter could not withstand the
trial, and as he entered his mansion at
the time above referred to, he said:
“How bitterly cold it is!”
“Yes,” replied his wife, “and Clarissa
and I have been anxiously awaiting
your coming. We have a project in
view, and wish you to acquiesce in it.”
“Well, my dear, what is it?”
“We wish to give an entertainment
to our fashionable friends, and we have
been talking about an assembly.”
“Yes, pa,” chimed in his daughter
Clarissa, “the Howards have given one,
so have the Keys, and we must do so
too.”
“So my wife and daughter wish to
add the Tylers to the list of foolish
spendthrifts?”
“How can you use such language,
Mr. Tyler? Is it foolish to provide an
entertainment for our friends where we
can enjoy ourselves? On the contrary,
it produces a state of congeniality that
does good.”
“My dear wife, allow me to speak
plainly. You do not wish to give an
entertainment to our friends. The
fashionable, the heartless throng which
you would invite are not our friends
Let us but once stand in need of their
friendship, and you can then test their
friendly feelings; and instead of doing
good, as you say, my opinion is, that
these assemblies do a great deal
of harm.”
“How so?”
“Why, in the first place, it is a waste
of money; it is absolutely throwing
away money on people who do not
stand in need of it, and in away too
that can be productive of no gqpd.—
The same amount would provide a sub
stantial dinner lor a large number of
poor men, or it would preserve the lives
of many who are freezing to death here
in our midst. This is a very severe
, winter, and many are in want. Again,
■ my dear wife, we are setting a*bad ex-
I ample, for there .are those of our neigh
| bors who would follow in our wake,
J and could not afford it. True, they live
!in the same style we do; their wives
! and daughters dress as well as you and
Clarissa; but 1 know the men in a busi
ness capacity; I know the difficulty
they have in meeting payments and re
turning money. Their families, 1 sup
pose, do not dream of the misery that
their luxurious style of living causes.”
“Well,” replied Mrs. Tyler, “for my
part, I think if people arc such fools,
they ought to suffer. • They should not
assume a position in society which they
do not deserve. Society should be rid
of such pests; but as it is, it is impos
sible to know who you are associating
with.”
“But people are foolish enough to be
proud, and society never will be rid of
them. It is this society which forms
their tastes and dispositions, and the
very spirit of this society is pride.”
There was a great deal of further
argument pro and con, but at last Mr.
Tyler yielded. He was not convinced
by anything advanced by his wife and
daughter, that the position he had ta
ken was a false one; but then he dearly
loved them, and seeing a stern refusal
would cause them much unhappiness,
he, against his better judgment, gave
his consent.
chapter n.
How true, dear reader, were the re
marks made by Mr. Tyler. How true ;
it is, alas! that, some people are so fool-'
ish as to be proud. Well has the Holy
Book given us a true proverb, “Pride
goeth before destruction.” Pride is too
frail a bark to last long upon the ocean
of life. She appears very pretty and
trim when she is “decked in gorgeous
array” and launched forth for her voy
age; but when the tempest roars, and
the sea rolls roughly, every timber in
her shakes.
Every one in Mr. Tyler’s residence
soon began to make the necessary ar
rangements for the anticipated fete.
Mrs. Tyler and Clarissa too had their
share of the business, for they found it
necessary, in order to have all things
done properly, to give the whole their
supervision. The tickets of invitation
were backed by Clarissa in beautiful
style, and she was assorting them for
delivery, when her father coming in and
glancing over them, said:
“Why, my dear child, you have not
invited Henry Morton!”
“Pa, we don’t want him hero.”
“We don't; but I do, my daughter.”
“Ma would never listen to such a
thing. And 0, pa, what a figure he
would cut! Why, even if we were to
invite him his own good sense would
induce him not to accept.”
“Why so, Clarissa?”
“He is not accustomed to mingle in
the society that will be represented
here. He would be at a loss how to
act; in fact, he would be “a fish out of
water.”
“My opinion is, that he is perfectly
competent to Itehave as a gentleman,
and therefore I wish him invited.”
“Ma,” exclaimed Clarissa as her mot]],
er at that moment entered the room—
“pa wants me to invite that Henry Mor
ton!”
“Why, Mr. Tyler, you don’t think of
doing such a thing, do yon?” said the
wife.
“I do,” was the calm reply, "and I
do not see why you should object.”
“Why, it would be an insult to our
fashionable friends. He is not known
in society.”
“Well, then, we will introduce him.
We could not honor a worthier person;
and if any should feel themselves in
sulted by his presence, they need never
come to my house again.”
“Well, pa,said Clarissa, “if you in
sist upon it, he shall receive an invi
tation, but it will throw a damper on
our enjoyment if he should come.”
“I do not think so, and when once
you know him, you will alter your
' opinions.”
“This ended the conversation, and
Henry Morton’s name was added to the
list of invited guests.
Who was Henry Morton?
He was a young man who had known
poverty from his infancy, and by indus
trious habits and upright conduct had
gained a host of friends among those
LUMPKIN, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 15, 1860.’
whose friendship was worth something.
His parents, before dying and leaving
him an orphan, impressed his mind
and heart with holy things, and gave
him the right direction in the pursuit
of true happiness. He had commenced
the study of the law, but for want of
the necessary means, was compelled to
labor a good part of the time, and that
at trifling wages. Some of his friends
introduced him to the notice of Mr Ty
ler, who was in the habit of having a
large amount of writing done. This
Henry could do as well as any lawyer.
It was not long before he won the es
teem,’. Confidence and friendship of Mr.
i Tyler, and he soon became a frequent
i visitor at his residence. Not to the
magnificently furnished parlor, from
whence he often heard the merry laugh
of Clarissa as he entered the hall; but
to a cozy little room in the second sto
ry, which Mr. Tyler had fitted up as a
library, and where he spent the most of
his evenings with his books and papers.
It was here where he was always plea
sed to sec Henry Morton, and where an
intimacy sprang up between them.
Henry was about making arrange
ments to graduate in his profession at
the opening of our story.
' chapter hi.
The evening’ fixed upon for the party
at length arrived. It was a clear, cold,
bracing night, in every respect favor
able to the attendance of a large por
tion of the invited guests, and they
were there dressed in splendor and
magnificence. How dazzling was the
scene. Two large chandeliers lit up
the gorgeously furnished parlors; two
splendid mirrors reflected the fashion
ably attired forms that were buzzing to
and fro. Clarissa and her mother spar
kled with jewels. The company was
nearly all assembled, when the name of
Henry Morton was announced. At his
entrance, every eye was turned towards
him. That name was an unfamiliar one
to the society there assembled. Who
could it be? was the inquiring thought
of all.
“Ah, Mr. Morton, happy to see you,”
said Mr. Tyler, as he shook him cordi
ally by the hand.
It was, however, some time before
Henry felt at case. In fact, he did not
until Mr. Tyler succeeded in getting
him and several elderly gentlemen in a
corner of the room engaged in conver
sation. In the meantime the beautiful
and witty Clarissa was surrounded by
a crowd of vain, empty coxcombs, who
were destined to shine in no other place
than where they were.
“ Who is that awkward genius talk
ing to that bld gentleman in the cor
ner?” asked one of them.
“ 0, that’s a young man by the name
of Morton. I don’t know anything
more about him. lie’s an acquaintace
of Pa’s.”
“ Rather verdant, hey, Miss Clar
issa ?”
“ Decidedly so ”
“Does he reside in the country, or is
he a city acquaintance ?”
“He resides in the city, but I know
nothing of him.”
This of course put an end.to all fur
ther inquiry upon the subject. Little
did Morton think that he was an object
of so much curiosity, and as the com
pany present had no pleasures for him,
he retired quite early.
There was one among the many who
would gladly have entered the lists as
suitors for Clarissa’s hand and fortune,
and upon whom she looked with some
1 degree of favor. He was the son of a
| wealthy family, and had always been
| accustomed to handle plenty of money.
I He was now a law student, but it was
i uncertain whether he would ever finish
I his studies. Early in life, soon after
"quitting college, he went into hii? fath
er’s establishment, intending to become
acquainted with the business and take
j charge of it. The life of a business
I man soon became distasteful to him,
i and he resolved to try a profession.
I He then studied medicine but soon left
; it. He next took to law, and as his in
clination to study was not very strong,
his progress was not rapid in knowl
edge.
This was the individual, who was,
1 apparently to his own delight, evident
-Ily the favorite of Clarissa. Why, it
j would.be difficult to say, unless it was
because he cut a handsome figure.
This young gentleman was, of course,
in the height of his enjoyment at the
party.
It was quite late when the company
! disbanded. At length all were gone.
' Mrs. Tyler had Dot enjoyed herself as
' much as she anticipated, and when she
gazed upon the disorder of her rooms,
and thou’ght over tlie many little inci
dents which had occurred to mar her
enjoyment, she vowed within herself,
that this should be the last.
A few months after, Henry Morton
graduated in his profession, and re
moved to a western city, where there
was a greater probability of obtaining
a good practice. <
CHAPTER IV. •
Williams, the partner of Tyler, unfor
tunately formed the acquaintance, and
became the companion of wicked asso
ciates. He neglected the society of his
family during the evenings, and was
the constant visitor of a fashionable sa
loon. Gambling, too, took possession
of him. Mr. Tyler was ignorant of the
habits his partner was forming, and
never dreamed of the ruin that was im
pending over him.
One evening, Williams, while under
the influence of liquor, was tempted to
take part in a game where the stakes
were very high. The result was soon
decided —he lost. He was disappoin
ted, chagrined, and excited, and deter
mined to play another game that he
might recover what he bad lost. Again
he was the victim; and it was a hard
matter for him to withstand the .jeers
of his companions in evil.
“ Try once more, Williams,” said one,
“fortune favors the brave.”
“Another time, it is late now,” he
replied.
“ Well, then, to-morrow night.”
Williams had already lost every
thing—more than he could possibly af
ford, although he retained his interest
in the business. But feeling that his
lucky star was not in the ascendant, he
thought it prudent not again to tempt
fate that night. The next evening,
however, found him at his post. He
had nothing to stake but a promissory
note belonging to the firm. He came
out winner, but not to the full extent
of Ins loss. I ecu. ■/- encouraged, and
knowing that there vas a necessity of
getting more back, he tried again, and
lost. The small hours of the morning
were beginning to advance, yet still
he played, though he had lost every
thing, the promissory note included.
He now determined to make a bold
stroke. He drew a check for a large
amount, with the signature of the firm
attached to it, and staked it—and lost.
With a haggard countenance and de
jected air, he left the place, forming
plans to keep the matter from coming
to the knowledge of Mr. Tyler, until he
should win a sufficient amount to pay
the check. He succeeded; but at last
he ventured so far that a discovery was
inevitable.
The next morning 1 , Mr. Tyler won
dered why Williams was not at busi
ness at his regular hour. Thinking
that he might be detained by illness,
he sent a clerk to make inquiries, but
was told, on the return of his messen
ger, that Williams had not been home
since the previous day, and that his
wife, not knowing how to account for
his absence, was quite uneasy.
At an early hour Mr. Tyler com
menced to attend to his banking busi
ness for the day, and sent a check for
a sum of money to bank. Judge of his
surprise when he was informed that no
money was in the bank to the credit of
the firm/ Hastily proceeding there, he
was shown several checks to a large
amount which had been paid. He was
■ thunderstruck. Vague suspicions form
ed themselves in his mind, but as he
lujdmpt the slightest knowledge of what
Williams had been doing, the real truth
did riot appear to him. Upon asking
who presented the checks for payment,
he was given the name of anoted gam
bler, who had also left for collection a
large note signed in the same hand
writing as the checks.
“ Let me see it,” said Mr. Tyler.
It was handed to him, and as he
glanced over it, he threw it down on
the counter, exclaiming :
“I am a ruined man.”
It was, alas, too true. Everything
he possessed was swept away from
him. lie subsequently discovered that
even promissory notes drawn to his or
der, and which he supposed Williams
had deposited for discount, were among
the missing. lie determined, however,
to bear his misfortunes bravely. He
was conscious of doing no wrong him
self, and with the firm intention of mak
ing the best of the matter, he consulted
an old and esteemed friend, governed
by whose advice, he immediately made
an assignment of all his affairs, for the
benefit of his creditors.
He returned home late that day, and
entered his fine residence with a heavy
heart He knew that he must soon
leave it. It had been built according
to his own taste, and fitted up with
many conveniences for his own comfort.
What he dreaded most, however, was
the breaking of the sad news to his
wife and daughter. Mrs. Tyler on
hearing it went into convulsions. Not
that she once thought of the anguish of
her husband’s mind, or of his future dif
ficulties—but the idea of changing her
princely residence for an humble one—
of discharging her servants—of parting
with her carriage—of never being able
to hold up her head when she met with
any who composed the society of which
she had been a member—these were the
horrors that caused her distress. Clar
issa, however, did not appear to take
it so hard. She had a little of the stam
ina of her father in her nature. She
slied a few tears, but when in reply to
the question,
“And now, dear father, what will you
do?” he comforted her with the assur
ance he could g'et along well enough if
they would do all they could to re
trench expenses, she appeared perfect
ly reconciled to the change that was
soon to take place in their circumstan
ces.
Ah, thus is life ! The fickle goddess,
Fortune, may in a moment cease her
gracious smiling, and disappoint the
recipients of her favors.
chapter v.
In a town of some importance in tnc
west, there was, during the session of
one of their courts, a crowd of persons
assembled around the court house.
The student of human nature would
here have had a variety of interesting
subjects, representing so many different
characters. Interest was depicted up
on the countenance of all. while here
and there a number were gathered to
gether, engaged in conversation upon
evidently an exciting topic.
What was the cause of this assem
blage ? Two men in the neighborhood
had been intimately connected in busi
ness. When one was short of a suf
ficiency of funds, the other was always
ready to extend a helping hand. One
of these men was a scoundrel, and when
his rascality could no longer remain
undetected, he suddenly fled to parts
unknown, leaving his friend minus sev
eral thousands. But more than this,
he had by false representations, suc
ceeded in getting his friend’s najne to
several pieces of paper which bore the
evidences of fraud. This to him was
quite serious. The community at large 1
believed him to be innocent of any
guilty purpose, but some who were de
frauded by this act of villain} 7 pretended
to believe that he was a party to the
affair, with a criminal intention, so they
determined to make an effort to hold
him responsible. His trial was now to
take place; and the crowd was im
mense. A few moments previous to
the appointed hour, a dignified person
age arrived in a carriage, and, as the
crowd fell back to allow him to pass,
he leisurely entered tlic hall of justice.
The appearance of the Judge was the
signal for all to prepare for trial. It
was rather a difficult matter to obtain
a jury to decide the case, but at length
it was accomplished. The indictment
was read, and the evidence was offered.
The documents brought forward by the
prosecution were certainly strong.
The evidence for the defence consis
ted merely of the affidavits of certain
respectable persons to the integrity of
the accused. When all had been given
the prosecuting attorney arose and ad
dressed the jury. He quoted numerous
authorities, and in an able manner ac
quitted himself. As he proceeded, his
poor, innocent victim felt hopeless of
his case, and as the testimony was
summed up his friends too partook of
his dismay.
After he had closed his long and
masterly effort, the counsel for the de
fence arose to reply. lie was a fine
looking man ; nobleness was stamped
upon every lineament of his counte
nance. lie had achieved a reputation
for his legal knowledge and his oratory
that was certainly enviable, but none
dared hope that he would be able to
clear his client now. But as lie grew
.warm, as he exposed the wholesale vil
lainy of the affair, the hopes of the pris
oner and his friends brightened, and
when he took his seat-, every mind was
impressed with the innocence of his
client.
The jury found a verdict of “ not
guilty” without leaving the box. As
the joyous crowd departed, loud were
l they in their praises of Henry Morton,
I the attorney for the defence.
“ I say, that Morton is a trump,” said
i one.
“ That’s 8o,” chimed in others.
“ By the by,” said another, “we will
have to select a new congressman short
ly, and he’s the very man.”
“ Agreed,” was the general cry.
Many similar rettiarks were made as
Henry passed to his hotel. On his way
he met an old friend from his native
city. A long conversation was the con
sequence, in which he received the in
telligence of Mr. Tyler’s reverse of for
tune.
He was greatly surprised, and at
once resolved to go to him and see if
he could assist him. A few weeks af
terwards he found himself once more
amid familiar scenes. He found his
friend, Mr. Tyler, doing a small busi
ness on borrowed capital. His family
resided in a small, but genteel looking
house, in a respectable neighborhood.
Upon inquiring strictly into the causes
which led to the misfortunes of his
•friend, Morton discovered a chance of
regaining a good portion of the money
from the gamblers who had made Wil
liams their victim. In this he was
eventually successful, and again was
Mr. Tyler able to move in fashionable
society.
To the credit of Mrs. Tyler, be it said,
that in her humble position she under
went a radical change. So much so,
that to her last days, society was an ob
noxious word to her, and she learned
the soundness of her husband’s senti
ments upon Pride and Wealth.
Clarissa had also changed for the
better. She was naturally a kind and
sensible girl, but false opinions and
! prejudices had been inculcated by the
■ mother. Os course, the change in the
mother had its due influence on the
I daughter. She no longer scorned Hcn
' ry Morton, nor would she had he been
i the poor youth Jiat he wag when she
■ first knew him. In fact, he was now
looked upon as their benefactor, and
! became intimate with the whole family.
But more than this, the wealthy legal
student, who was a student yet, and
who had been the worshipper of Claris
sa, ceased his attentions as soon as her
father’s failure was known. Henry
Morton, However, learned her to love
; him, and soon they were married, and
I as year after year rolled on she blessed
j the day that gave her such a kind and
loving husband.
Footsteps of Day.
I saw the maiden morn go forth, and her steps
were soft and still,
To load her golden pitcher at the sun fount on the
hill;
And as she bowed her meekly down, the bride
groom of the day
Stole by, and with his fiery breath kissed Night's
dew tears away.
I saw the maiden yet again, but her looks were
proud and high,
And scarce earth’s bossy shield could bear the fire
darts of the sky ;
And the bridegroom lay beside her, his giant limbs
out-spread;
Far in the noontide slumber, on his azure ban
nered bed.
I saw the maiden yet again, but her feet were hur
rying on,
As ’twere some hooded pilgrim, ere yet Iris journey
done;.
Quenched was the sunlight of her eye, and the
dews hung on her breast,
While evening flung her jjurple scarf athwart the
shadowed West.
I saw the maiden once again, and as she passed
in flight,
The moon with many a sister star came dancing
into sight!
And sadly soft on spirit wings, as the victim rolled
away,
Fell down the night's dark curtain on the cham
bers of the day.
The Burdock and the Violet.
It came up in a garden, that burdock,
just behind the violets and close up to
the rose bushes. It was in the corner
close up to the fence, and we said we
would let it stay, and it should have
i all the kind care and the gentle atten-
■ tion that the roses and the violets had.
Roadside burdocks we knew were
. coarse vile things, with their dusty
I leaves and their sharp burs ever ad
hering to the passers-by and we would
like to see what a garden burdock
would be like; whether it would, be
bright and fresh and delicate lor grow
ing in such sweet company, and so we
were merciful and let it stay.
And it grew among the roses and the
violets, and gentle hands watered it
often, and the earth was softened a
bout the roots just as for its fairer
: neighbors; but it waited not for them
in its progress uptfard. It shot up,
rank and tall, and vtide leaves spread
all abroad and threatened to cover up
and obscure its less assuming neigh
bors, And at last the blossoms came.-
They were large and strong and armed
with keen thorns, and the flowers chan
ged into burs, and they reached out
their thorny fingers and grasped the
passer. - >y, and the White diist lay thick
on the rough woolly leaves, and the
seeds flew out on the wind to seek lodg
ing places, where another year a new
crop should find foothold and suste
nance
A little violet crept through the fence
ami looked up brightly beside the hard
and dusty street, and we said we would
let it grow there; and so it grew.—•
Water it had none, except from celes
tial fountains ; care it had none, ex
cept front sunshine and sweet dewsand
the kindly glances of the pasger's-by;
yet there it lived and bloomed sweetly,
“wasting its sweetness on the desert
air.” Its green leaves were as green
as its cherished kindred of the flower
bed, and its blue eye reflected as hope
fully as the blue of the summer sky.
So we said to ourselves, outward cir
cumstances and mere surroundings are
but little after all, and if change to
Nature comes, it must be a work deep
inwrought by other than earthly hands.
Men talk about being tired of
Greek and Latin, and of wanting some
other models of taste to be set before
their children. What models, except
those of the very highest intrinsic mer
it, -would have borne all the wearing
and hackneying, all the rise and abuse,
which the classics have bad to bear,
without being absolutely disgustful?
Y\t they have still retained their sway
and their honor; the secret of their iin
destructible freshness is their unaffec
ted grace and their simplicity.
The Georgia girls are appearing
in homespun. At the recent State Fair,
not the least attractive feature of the
day was the appearance on the grounds
of thirty-seven ladies, teachers and pu
pils of “Spring Hill School,” attired in
a substantial check homespun dress,
made fashionably filll and flowing.—
Thirty-seven blooming, bright-eyed
fiputhern lassies, in cloth of Southern
manufacture, of which the staple was
peculiar to their homes, was, says a lo
cal paper, a sight worth seeing on a
Southern fair ground.— Baltimore Amer
cant
Love is like heaven, because it
wraps the soul in bliss; like salt, be
cause it relisheth; like pepper, because
it very often sets one oil fire; like su
gar, because it is sweet; like a rope,
because it is often the death of a man;
like a prison, because it often makes
him miserable; like wine, becarise it
makes us happy; like a man, because
it is here to-day and gone to-morrow;
like a woman, because there is no get
ting rid of it; like a will o’wisp, be
cause it often leads one irito the bog;
like money, because it often makes a
man a fool.
Empty, consequential people
have, generally, a strong aversion to
men who think, for many other reasons,
and because it is extremely probable
that such persons arc not thinking
about them.
If a learned man converses learn
edly, men are disposed to Condemn him
as a pedant; if he makes no display,
• they give him but little credit for that
reserve which custon, or, perhaps, even
delicacy toward them, imposes.
The enjoyments of childhood are
as nothing compared with those of our
riper years, and are pleasanter to look
back upon than in the reality. They
are those of health, innocence, and
senses, -while manhood’s are these, with
those of the more ecstatic sort added
to them.
Os very much of our present
church music it is not perhaps too much
to say, that it is simply execrable. —
If music is ever of service in exci
ting devotional feeling, it is surely
worth while to have it of the best.
Business is but a means. To forget
this, and to live for it and in it, as an
end, is a cardinal and pernicious mis
take to which most of the want of
elevation ascribed to the mercantile
character is to be ascribed.
Many persons, it is said, are en--
emies because they do not know each
other. They are oftener such because
they do.
NO. 3.