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About News & planters' gazette. (Washington, Wilkes County [sic], Ga.) 1840-1844 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 22, 1842)
NEWS Sc PLANTERS’ GAZETTE. jD. . (DOTTIUCr, Editor. No. 4.—NEW SERIES.] NEWS & PLANTERS; GAZETTE terms: Published weekly at Three Dollars per annum if paid at the time of subscribing; or Three Dollars and Fifty Cents, if not paid till the expi ration of six months. No paper to be discontinued, unless at the option of the Editor, without the settlement of all arrearages. IIj” Letters, on business, must he post paid, to nsure attention. No communication shall be published, unless We are made acquainted with the name of the author. TO ADVERTISERS. Advertisements, not exceeding one square,lirst j insertion, Seventy-fire Cents; and for each sub sequent insertion, Fifty Cents. A reduction will i be made of twenty-five per cent, to those who 1 advertise by the year. Advertisements not limited when handed in, will be inserted till for bid, and charged accordingly. Sales of Land and Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators, and Guardians, are required by law, to be advertised, in a public Gazette, sixty days previous f.o the day of sale. The sales of I’orsonal Property must be adver tised in like manner, forty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must bepublishcd/orfy days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be published weekly for four months; notice that application will he made for Letiers of , Administration, must be published thirty days; and Letters of Dismission, six months. Mail Arrangements. POST OFFICE, > Washington, Ga., January, 1842. \ AUGUSTA MAIL. ARRIVES. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 5, A. M. . CLOSES. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, at 21, P. M. ’ MILLEDGEVILLE MAIL. ARRIVES. Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 8, A. M. CLOSES. 0 Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 11, A. AL CAROLINA MAIL. ARRIVES. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 11, A. M. CLOSES. Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 8, A. M. ATHENS MAIL’ ARRIVES. Saturday and Wednesday, at 9, A. AI. CLOSES. Saturday and Wednesday, at 9, A. AI. ELBERTON MAIL. ARRIVES. CLOSES. Thursday, at 8, P. AI. j Thursday, at 8, IV AI. LINCOLNTON AIAIL. ARRIVES. CLOSES. Friday, at 12, AI. J Friday, at 12, M. a r E-iioij AND COMMISSION BUSINESS, BROAD-STREET, AUGUSTA, GA. WM. A. BEALL & Cos., INFORAI their friends and the public gener ally, that they continue the above business at their FIRE-PROOF WARE-HOUSE, on Broad street, (formerly occupied by Roes & Beall,) and will receive and forward Goods of every descrip tion, collect Drafts, Notes, Bills or Acceptances; and hope, by strict attention to business, to merit a continuance and extension of patronage. JOHN ROBSON &Go., Grocery Merchants, will act as our agents at Madison. September 1, 1842. 18t 1 . VVff’ Goods ! JYetc Goods ! ! A T H. S. BEfiCIIER’S CHEAP CASH STOhE 1 JUST received at the above named place, a supply of Fall and Winter , Staple and Fancy Dry Goods, Spc. fyc. lj-c. which are offered for sale Cheap for Cash. Bar gains ! are to be found there and no mistake.— All those persons who have so long sought to find such “ Will-o’-the-wisps,” cait now have an opportunity of laying hands upon them. The following arc a few only of the numerous arti cles on hand, viz.: Cloths, Cassimers, Pilot and Flushing, for O ‘ Vcr-coats ; Satinets ; Kent’y .Jeans; Einseys dj- Kerseys; Flannels; BLANKETS; brown and bleached Shirtings and Sheetings, from tt\ to 23 cents per yard ; Bombazines, Merinos, Circas sians, Alipacca and Orleans Cloth; French, English and American Prints, from to 37, in great variety and latest styles; Scotch and A inerican Gingham; a beautiful lot of plain and figured SILKS; the latest and most fashionable style of Bonnets and Ribbons ; HOSIERY in endless variety, from 12 to 50; Ladies’ SHOES, Walking, Ties, Gaiters, Fr. Buskins, &c. &c.; Children's Morocco and Leather Shoes; (Gent’s. Boots and Shoes, shortly expected;) Laces, Bobinets, Trimmings and Insertings; Lac ies’ Silk Work Bags ; Scarfs, Ties, Pelerines, Vel vet Points, Fr. Worked Collars ; Shawls; Cam brics ; Cambric Dimity; Swiss, Book, Mull & Jaconet Muslins ; Bishop Lawn; L. Cambric JJdkfs; Clark’s super. Thread; Needles, Pins, Tapes, &c. &c. &c. ALSO, Shortly expected an assortment of Hardware and Cutlery, Boots, Shoes, Hats, Crockery and Glassware, Drugs, Medicines and Dye Stuff's, fyc. Spc. ELF.Just call at BELCHER’S for Bargains these “ hard times.” j~ tl September 15,1842. 2t 3 STOVALL, SIMMONS &o Cos. iliiil FACTORS AND COMMISSION - MERCHANTS, AUGUSTA, GA.. RESPECTFULLY renew the tender of their services in the above business. Intending to avoid speculation in Cotton, as heretofore, their undivided personal attention will be given to the STORAGE AND SALE OF COTTON, and such other business as may be entrusted to their 1 care. They are fully prepared to make liberal ad vances on Cotton, and from their long experience in the Commission Business, hope for a fair share of patronage. Cotton consigned to them at Madison,'and the other depots on the Georgia Rail Road, may be simply directed to S. S. & Cos., in a note to the Agents of the Road, who will return a receipt by the Wagoner. Goods, in like manner, will be forwarded to the interior, as directed, with des patch. All the Banks in Augusta are paying specie, and its currency is equal to any in the Union.— Planters may, therefore, confidently expect sound money for Cotton sold in this city. The stocks of Groceries, Bagging, and other Staple articles, are ample and daily increasing, 1 and are sold at very reduced prices. ID We shall duly appoint, an Agent at Aladi son, with whom money will be deposited to ad vance on Cotton, which Agent may be known on application to Mr. G. 11. Thompson, the Rad Road Agent at. the place. S.B. &, Cos. - September 8, 1842. Gt 2 Notice to Debtors and Creditors. A LL persons indebted to the Estate of Allen ■“®- Halliday, late of Wilkes county, deceased, are requested to make payment immediately, and those having demands against the same are hereby notified to present the s,.me in term. • the law,to NANCY HALL!’ \Y, Ex’* September 8,1842. (it 2 Notice to Debtors and Creditors. ALL persons indebted to the Estate of Abner Wellborn, late ot Wilkes county, deceased, are requested to make immediate payment, and those having demands will present them for pay ment, in terms of the law, to N. WYLIE, Ex’r. September 8, 1842. Gt 2 ia THE Copartnership heretofore existing at Petersburg, Georgia, under the copartner ship name and style of Si’KED, HESTER, & Cos., was dissolved on the 31st December last.— Saul Ccmnrtjinr.slijp being composed ot Wade Speed, James M. Hester, and Uriah O. Tate. U. O. TATE. May 3, 1842. 30 lannis for Sale • A.-. 1 The Subscriber offers for sale his ’ ”-"'.'lit Pmrftnt'On, on Savannah Itiver, forty BgllaP miles above Augusta, containing JsgSsSs (1,033) one thousand and fifty-three Acres, adjoining lands of Alessrs. Cantelow and Anthony ; about six hundred Acres in the woods, ; with a good framed Dwelling-llouse, a first-rate ; Gin-llouse and Packing Screw, a barn Crib, and j other out-buildings necessary for a farm. Also, one other Tract containing (140) one hundred : and forty Acres, adjoining tiie above tract, the j Land is of the first quality for Corn, Cotton, or | email grain, well watered with . everal good j Springs of as pure water as any in the up-coun try. Also, his House and Lot in the village of Lincolnton, attached to which is (100) one hun dred Acres of Land, of which sixty is in the woods. If not sold privately, will be offered to the highest bidder on the fourth Monday in Oc tober next. Any person washing to purchase such Lands will be induced to trade after exam ining the above premises no doubt. The terms will bo easy. N. FOX. Lincolnton, August 20,1842. 1 ‘To the Planters of Georgia. A PENNY SAVED IS TWO PENCE EARNED. rpHE Subscriber is now offering to the Far- JL mers of Georgia, “ MIMS’-WROUGHT IUON PLOUGH STOCK,” invented by the Alessrs. Seaborn J. &. Marshall Mi.iis, of Oc lebbahan county, Mississippi, and patented by them. This PLOUGH in every respect is the most desirable PLOUGH STOCK ever offered to a planting community. It combines durabili ty with convenience—it will last a great many years without repair or expense, and will admit of every variety of Plough Hoes, (three tooth j barrow e*cepted,) with perfect convenience and facility—it is not heavier than the ordinary wood- , en stock, yet far stronger, and being so very sim ple in its construction, that any blacksmith in ; the country can make them. Sample Ploughs may be seen and tried at Air. Dense’s Shop in Alilledgeville; at Mr. Alartin’s Shop in Sparta, and at Air. F. B. Billiugslea’s in Washington, Wilkes county. Let the Farmer examine the Plough, and he will purchase the right to use them. The Subscriber proposes to sell county rights on the most accommodating terms. Jj ‘ All communications on this subject, post paid, addressed to me at Alilledgeville, or Wash ington, Wlikes county, will meet with immedi ate attention. B. L. BARNES. Agent for S. J. & AI. Alims. January 27,1841. 22 months, after date application will be made to the Honorable the Inferior Court of Wilkes county, while sitting as a Court of Ordi nary, tor leave to sell a Negro Girl by the name of Polly, belonging to the Estate of Thomas Jones, late of sad county deceased. MARTHA P. JONES, Ex’x. July 7,1842. mlm 45 GEORGIA, Elbert county. Tj'OUR months after date application will be * made to the Honorable the Inferior Court of Elbert county, while sitting as a Court of Or dinary, for leave to sell all .the Lands belonging to the Estate of Robert Middleton, deceased, this 22d July, 1842. THOMAS J. HEARD, Adin’r. de bonis non. July 28, 1642. m4m 48 WASHINGTON, (WILKES COUNTY, GA.,) SEPTEMBER 22, 1842. CLAY SONG. Air—“ Araby’s Daughter.” In tears and deep sorrow, our country is mourn ing Phe loss of her chosen, her lather, and friend ; Wlu when in shackles, the people were groan ing, | Had left, for their succor, his seat at North Bend, j But the hero has gone, and a hypocrite lucky lias stepped to the charge without words or ado, And ’tis left to the “ Statesman,” the man of Kentucky, To gain such a vict’ry as did “Tippecanoe.” j I When the spoilers had spent all the wealth of ! the nation, The treasury empty, and the people in debt, I The “ Hero of Thames” sent from high delega tion, Took his seat in bright hopes of recovering the j Btate. But the Hero has gone, and a hypocrite lucky, Has stepped to the charge without words or ado, And ’tis left to (he “ Statesman,” the man of i Kentucky, To gain such a vict’ry as did “ Tippecanoe.” In Harrison’s death, his successor departed, Forgetting the doctrines lie long had proclaimed, And offered the “Loco’s” to become their a d opted, And turned with all vengeance ‘gainst those he had gained. Now, Harrison’s gone, & this hypocrite lucky, ‘ Has stepped to the charge without words or ado, And ’tis left to the “ Statesman,” the man of Kentucky, To gain such a vict’ry as did “ Tippecanoe.” Now, who is tiie man to o’ercome the deceiver, And restore to us confidence, peace & success 1 j To whom do all look, as their future reliever From the evils they suffer, and t’ give them re dress 1 But, Harrison’s gone, and a hypocrite lucky, lias stepped to the charge without words or . . ado, And we look to the “ Statesman,” the man of ; Kentucky, To gain such a vict’ry as did “Tippecanoe.” OCTAVIUS. iWgcetUweoiig. From the Philadelphia Sat. Courier. THE DRUNKARD’S DAUGHTER. BY MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. Kate l-’i tuiki-in sat at the window, watch- j ing the lightning, that streamed through 1 the sky, till her eyes were almost blinded by tin glare. She was naturally timid and had an unusual dread of a thunder storm, yet though the lightning ran down in rills of fire, and the thunder rolled till the earth ’ shook with its reverberations, she kept her post of danger, repeating as she gazed a- ; broad, “Oh ! that I were a boy, that.l might j venture abroad, in search of my father. It | is almost midnight, yet he is not returned, j IHe will perisli in a storm like this. Oh ! that I were a boy,” she again passionately ! exclaimed—while the rain began to drive | against the casement, and the wind swept i the branches of tiie trees roughly by the panes. She held a young baby in her arms, which she had just lulled to sleep, and her mother lay sleeping in a bed, in the same apartment. All slumbered but Kate, who for hours had watched from the window, ! for her father’s return. At length her res- I olution was taken : she laid the babe by her mother’s side, drew down the curtain to exclude the lightning’s glare, and throwing ; a shawl around her, softly opened the door, and soon found herself in the street, in the midst of the thunder, the lightning, and the rain. How strong must have been the im pulse, how intense the anxiety, which could have induced a timid, young girl to come out at that lone, silent hour, night, without a protector or a guide ! She flew along at first, but the rain and the wind beat in her face, and the lightning be wildered her with its lurid eorruscations. Then pausing for breath, she shaded her eyes, and looked fearfully round, gazed on | every object, till her imagination clothed it i with its own wild imagery, i At length her eye fell on a dark body ex | tended beneath a tree by the wayside. She ] approached it trembling,and kneeling down, I bent over it, till she felt a hot breath pass burningly over her cheek, and just then a sheet of flame, rolling round it, she recog nized but too plainly her father’s features. She took his hand, but it fell impassive from her hold. She called upon his name, she put her arms round his neck and tried to raise him from the earth, but his head fell hack like lead, and a hoarse, breathing sound alone, indicated his existence, j “Father, dear father, wake, and come home,” she cried, in a louder tone, but the thunder’s roar did not rouse him; how much less her soft, though earnest voice ! Again she called, hut she heard only the echoes of night repeating her own mournful adju ration—“ Father, dear father, come home!” llow long she thus remained, she knew not, but the wind and the rain subsided, the lightning flashed with a “paler radiance, and at intervals the wan moon might he seen wading through the grey, watery clouds. She felt her strength exhausted, and clasping her hands together, lifted her eyes, streaming with tears, almost wishing a holt would fall and strike them both sim ultaneously. “My father is lost!” said she, “and why should I wish him to live? Why should I wish to survive him?” PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING. j The sound of horses feet approaching startled her. The horseman cheeked his speed as he came opposite the tree, where Kate still knelt over her father, and as the < lightning played over her white garments, which being wet by the rain, clung closely j round her, she might well he mistaken for an apparition. Her shawl hud fallen on the ground, her hair streamed in dripping masses over her face, and her uplifted arms wore defined on the dark background of an ; angry sky. . The horse reared and plung- j | ed, and the rider dismounting, came as near i to the spot as the impetuous animal would allow.” “Oil! Harry Blake, is it you?” exclaim ed Kale. “Then my father will not he left here to die !” “Die !” repeated Harry ; what can have j j happened ? Why are you both abroad such ! a night as this ?” “Alas!” spid Kate, “I could not leave Imy father to perish. I sought him through the storm, and I find him thus.” While she was speaking, Harry had fas | teued the bridle of his horse to the free, and j stooped down on the other side of Mr. Franklin. Kate’s first feeling on his ap proach was a transport of gratitude, now , : she wtis overwhelmed with shame, for she j ! knew as Harry inhaled the burning exhala tion of his breath, his disgraceful secret ! would be revealed, that secret which her j ; mother and herself had so long in anguish : I concealed. “Poor Kate,” involuntarily burst from j his lips, as he gazed on the prostrate and ! | immovable form of the man he had so much ’ loVed and respected. Ilad he seen him ! blastejl by the lightning’s stroke, he could ! not have felt more shocked or grieved.— He comprehended in a moment the full ex : tent of his degradation, and it seemed as if j an awful chasm, yawning beneath his feet, now separated him, and would forever sep arate him from his instructor and friend. “Kate,” said he, and his voice quivered | from emotion; “this is no place for you.— j You are chilled by the rain—you will be chilled to death, if you remain in your wet j garments. Let me see you safe at home, ; and I will return to your father, nor leave him till he is in a place of security.” “No, no,” cried Kate, “I think not of my self. Only assist me to raise him and lead j him home, and I care not what happens to ; me. 1 knew it would come to this at last. : Oh! mv poor father.” Harry felt that there was no consolation for such grief, and he attempted not to offer 1 any. He put a strong arm round the un- ; happy mat), an i raised him from the ground, | still supporting his reeling body and call-‘ | ing his name in a loud, commanding tone. Mr. Franklin opened his eyes with a stupid j stare, and uttered some indistinct, idiotic ! sounds, then letting his head fall on his ho- j som, he suffered himself to be led home j ward, reeling, tottering, and stumbling at j every step. And this man, so helpless and J degraded, so embruted and disgusting, that t his very daughter, who had just perilled J her life in the nightstorm, to secure him | from danger, and turned away from him, even while she supported him, with uncon querable loathing, was a Member of Con gross, a distinguished lawyer—eloquent at the bar, and sagacious in council—a citi zen respected and beloved; a friend gener ous and sincere—a husband once idolized —a father once adored. The young man who had walked by his side had been for j more than a year, a student in his office, and ! sat under his instructions, as Paul sat at the j feet of Gamaliel. Now, in the expressive language of Scripture, he could have-ex claimed, “Oh, Lucifer, thou son of the morning, how low art thou fallen !”—but he moved on in silence, interrupted occa sionally by the ill-repressed sobs of Kate. He had been that day, to an adjoining town l to transact some business of Mr. Franklin, and being detained to an unusually late hour, was overtaken by the storm, when the agonized voice of Kate met his ear. Harry lingered a moment at Mr. Frank lin’s door, before he departed. He wanted to say something expressive ofcomfort and j sympathy to Kate, but he knew not what to say. “You will never mention the circum- ! stances of this night, Harry,” said Kate, in j a low, hesitating tones. “I cannot ask you to respect my father, as you have done, hut save him, if it may be, from the contempt of I the world.” “If he were my own father, Kate,” cried Qarry, “I would not guard his reputation with more jealous care. Look upon me henceforth as a brother, and call upon me as such, when you want counsel, sympathy or aid. God bless you, Kate.” “Alas! there is no blessing for a drun kard’s daughter,” sighed Kate, as she turn ed from the door and listened to her father’s deep, sonorous breathing, from the sofa on which he had staggered, and where he lay stretched at full length, till long after the dawning of’ morn, notwithstanding .her ef forts to induce him to change his drenched garments. Mrs. Franklin was an invalid, and conse quently a late riser. Kate usually presi ded at the breakfast table, and attended to her fattier’s wants. This morning he took his accustomed seat, bur his coffee and toast remained untasted. He sat with his head leaning upon his hand, his eyes fixed va cantly on the wall, and his hair matted and hanging in neglected masses over his temples. Kate looked upon his face, and remembered when she thought her father one of the handsomest men she had ever seen — when dignity was enthroned upon j ! his brow, and the purity as well as the ma- ! jesty of genius beamed from his eye. He I lifted his head and encountered her fixed ga/.o—probably followed the current of her j thoughts, for ids countenance darkened, ’ and pushing his cup far from him, he asked i her in a surloy lone why shestared so rude | ly upon him ? Kate tried to answer, hut there ivm suf focation in her throat, and she could not j speak. Mr. Franklin looked upon her for a mo ment with a stern, vet wavering glance, I then rising and thrusting back his chair a [ gainst the wall, he left the house, muttering as he went “curses not loud, hut deep.” Kate had become gradually accustomed to the lowering cloud of sullenness, which the lethargy of inebriation leaves behind it. j She had heard, by almost imperceptible : degrees, the voice of manly tenderness as sume the accents of querulousncss and dis content ; hut she had never met such a glance of defiance, or witnessed such an ebulition of passion before. Her heart : rose in rebellion against him, and she trem- I bled at the thought that learn to Irate him, as lie thus went on, plunging deeper and deeper in the gulf of sensuality. “No, no, no!” repeated she to herself,! i “let me never he such a monster. Let me ! ; pity, pray for him, love him if I can—but ! j let me never forget that lie is my father i i still.” Foung as Kate was, she had learned that j endurance, not happiness, was her allotted portion. Naturally high-spirited and im petuous, with impassioned feelings and headlong impulses, in prosperity she might have become haughty and ungovernable ; hut subjected in early youth to a discipline, of all others the most gal ling to her pride, herspirit became subdued, and her passions restrained by the same process by which j her principles were strengthened, and the \ powers of her mind precociously developed. Her brothers and sisters had all died in in fancy', except one, now an infant in the era- ! die, a feeble, delicate child, for whom eve- ; ry one prophesied an early grave was ap- j pointed. Mrs. Franklin herself was constitutional- ! ly feeble, and yielding to the depression of spirits caused by her domestic misfortunes, i indulged in constant and ineffectual com | plainings, which added to the gloom of the j household, without producing amendment i or reformation in its degraded master. She ’ was a very proud, and had been a very I beautiful woman, who had felt for her bus- j hand an attachment romantically strong, j for it was fed by the two strongest passions j of her heart—pride, which exulted in tiie j homage paid to his talents and his graces, | and vanity, which delighted in the influ- 1 ence her beauty exercised over his eom -1 manding mind. Now, his talents and gra- I ces were obscured by the murky cloud of i intemperance, and her-languishing beauty : no longer received its accustomed incense; ! the corrosions of mortification and peevish discontent became deeper and deeper, and life one scene of gloom and disquietude. Kate grew up amidst these opposing in fluences like a beautiful plant in a barren, ungenial soil. To her father she was the delicate hut hardy saxifraga, blooming through the clefts of the cold, dry rock; to her mother, the sweet anomone, shedding j its blossoms over the roots of the tree from J which it sprung—fragrant, though unnur tured, neglected and alone. It would be too painful to follow, step by | step, Mr. Franklin’s downward course.— ; Since the night of his public exposure he I had gone down, down, with a fearfully ac- ! eelerated motion, like the mountain stream, j when it leaps over its rocky barrier. Pub lic confidence was gradually withdrawn, j clients and friends forsook him, and ruin trod rapidly on the steps of shame. Harry Blake clung to him, till he saw his once powerful mind partaking so far of the degradation of his body, as to he incapa ble of imparting light to iiis. lie now felt it due to himself to dissolve the connexion subsisting between them—and he called, though reluctantly, to bid him farewell.— Mr. Franklin seemed much agitated when | Harry informed him of his intended depai : ture. He knew the cause, and it seemed | i as if the last link was about to be severed i that bound him to the good and honorable j Harry had been to him a delightful com panion ; and, in the day’s of his unsuliii and reputation, it had been one of his most inter -1 esting tasks to direct a mind so buoyant and ; aspiring, and which owned, with so much deference, the overmastering influence of his own. “Do not go yet, Harry,” said he ; “I have much, much to say to you, and I may never have another opportunity. I have anticipated this moment. It is painful, but justice to yourself demanded it.” Harry seated himself, pale from suppress ed emotion, while Mr. Franklin continued speaking, walking up and down the room, every feature expressive of violent agita tion. “I have never yet to - a human being in troduced the subject of which 1 am about to speak-—not even to mv wife and daughter. I have never rolled hack the current of time, and revealed the spot where, standing on the quicksands of youth, the first wave ■of temptation washed over me. I could not bear to allude to the history of my’ degra dation. But you, Harry, are going among strangers, amid untried scenes—and I would warn you now, with the solemnity of a mail who knows he has sealed his own everlasting ruin, to beware of the first down ward step. You do not know me, sir—no one knows me; they know not my’ parentage [or the accursed stream that runs in these ! veins.” My father was called the King of the w. J. RAPPEL, Printer. drunkards. He drank till ho was trans formed, breath, hone and sinew, into flame, and then, lie died—l he most horrible of all deaths—of spontaneous combustion. Yes, ihe was the King of the drunkards ! 1 ro i member when a little boy, I saw him walk ing at the head of a long procession, with a banner flying, ns if in triumph, and a ; barrel of whiskey rolling before, on which the drummer made music ns they walked. And shouts went up in the Mr, and people I applauded from the windows and the doors —and 1 thought the drunkard's was a too.” rv life But when I grew older, and saw mv mother’s check grow paler and paler, ! and knew that my father’s curses and threats, and brutal treatment were the j cause—when I saw her at length die of a I broken heart, and heard the neighbors say j that mv father had killed her, and that he j would have to answer for her death at the i great bar of Heaven ! —I began to feel an i indescribable dread and horror, and 1 look ! ed upon my father with loathing and abhor rence! And when lie died—when his body j was consumed by flames, which seemed to j me emblematical of the windingsheet in ; which his soul was wrapped—l fled from , my native town, my native State; I hogged mv bread from door to door. At length, a [childless stranger took me in. He pitied ; my forlorn condition—clothed, fid and ed ucated me. Nature had given me talents, and now opportunity unfolded them. 1 be came proud and ambitious, and i w anted to convince my benefactor that i was no iitl gar hoy. Conscious of the dregs from which I had been extracted, I was rrsolved to make myself a name and fame—and I have done it. You know it, Harry—l have taken my station in the high places of the ; land; and the time has been, when hut to announce yourself as my student, would have beet) y’our passport to distinction.— Well, do you want to know w hat made me what I am ?—what, when such a burning j beacon was forever blazing before my merri- I ory, hurried me on to throw my own blast ied frame into a drunkard’s dishonored grave? I will tell you, young man—it i was the wine cup ! the glass offered by the j hand of beauty with smiles and adulation ! j I had made a vow over my mother’s ashes that 1 would never drink. I prayed God | to destroy mo, body and soul, if I ever bo | came a drunkard. But trine, they -said, : was one of God’s best gifts, and it gladden | ed without inebriating—il was ingratitude |to turn from its generous influence. 1 be ! lieved them, for it was alcohol thatconsum jed my father. And 1 drank wine at the i banquet and the hoard—and I drank porter j and ale, and the rich-scented cordial—anti | I believed myself to be a temperate man. j 1 thought I grew more intellectual ; 1 could ! plead more eloquently, and my tongue j made more music at the convivial feast.— ; But when the excitement of the scene was | over, I felt languid and depressed. My j head ached, and my nerves seemed unshea | thed. A thirst was enkindled within me, ! that w ine could no longer quench. A her editary fire was burning in my veins. I j had lighted up the smouldering spark, and iit now blazed, and blazed. 1 knew I was ! destroying myself, but the power of resis ! tance was gone. When 1 first tasted, 1 was , undone! Beware, Harry, bew are! To save you from temptation, 1 have lifted the [ \ eil, and laid hare before you the hell of a j drunkard’s bdsom. But no ! that cannot j bo. The Invisible alone can witness the i agonies of remorse, the corroding memo j ries, the anticipated woes, the unutterable ; horrors that I endure and dread—and ex pect to endure as long as the Great God i himself exists.” He paused, and sunk down exhausted j into a chair. Large drops of sweat rolled i down his livid brow—his knees knocked to. | gather, his lips writhed convulsively, evc j ry muscle seemed twisted, and every vein j swollen and blackened. Harry was terri ! fied at this paroxysm. He sprang toward | him, and untying the handkerchief from | his neck, handed him a glass of water with ! trembling hand?. Mr. Franklyn looked I up, and meeting Harry’s glance of deep | commiseration, his features relaxed, and I large tears, slowly gathering rolled down hiselioeks. lie bent forward, and extend in'.:’ his arms across the table, laid his head on :hem; and deep, suffocating sobs hurst forth, shaking his frame, as it with strong spasms. Harry was unutterably affected. He had never seen man weep thus before. He knew there were tears wrung by ago ny, the agony of remorse; and while ho wept in sympathy, he gathered the -hope of his regeneration from the intensity of his sufferings. “ I pity you, Mr. Franklin,” said he, “ from my soul 1 pity you—hut you must not give yourself up as lost ; God never yet tempted a man beyond his strength. You may, you can, you must resist. For your own sake, for your wife’s—your daughter’s sake, 1 conjure you” “ My daughter’s!” interrupted Mr. Fiank lin, lifting up his head. “Ah ! that name touches the chord that still vibrates. Poor Kate! poor Kate ! The hand that should have blessed, has blighted her young hopes. My wife reproaches me and gives me gall and vinegar, even when I would meet her with smiles. But Kate never gave me one reproach hut her tears. I once thought you loved her, and that I should see the two ob | jects I most loved happy in each other’s ass : sections, and scattering roses over the pil- I low of niy declining years. But that can ! never he now ; your proud father will nev ! er permit you to marry a drunkard’s daugh j ter.” He spoke this in a bitter tone, and j a smile of derision for a moment curled his lips. [YOU ME AA V IIJ.
