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NEWS & PLANTERS’ GAZETTE.
D. CJ. COTTING, Editor.
No. 24.— NEW SERIES.]
I Netcs-and Planters’ Gazette.
terms:
Published weekly at Two Dollars ami Fifty
Cents per annum, if paid at the time ol Subscri
bing; or Three Dollars if not paid till the expi
ration of three months.
No paper to be discontinued,unless a: the
option of the Editor, without the settleniem of
all arrearages.
O* Litters, on business, must be. post {aid, to
insure attention. No communication shall he
published, unless we are made acquainted with
the name of the author.
TO ADVERTISERS.
Advertisements, not exceeding oik- square, first
insertion, Seventy-Jive Cents; and for each sub
sequent insertion, Fifty Cents. A reduction will
be made of twenty-five per cent, to those who
✓'Hvertise by the year. Advertisements not
I 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 to the day of sale.
The sales of Personal Property must be adver
tised in like manner, forty days.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate
must be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the
Court of Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or No. !
groes, must be published for four Month:
notice that application will be made for Letters j
of Administration, must, be published thirty days;
and Letters of Dismission, six months.
Mail Arrangements.
POST OFFICE, i
Washington, Ga., Sept. 1, 1843. \
EASTERN MAIL.
By this route, Mails are made up for Raytown,
Double-Wells, Crawfordville, Camack, Warren
ton, Thompson, Dearing, and Barzclia.
ARRIVES.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 9, A. M.
CLOSES.
Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, at. 21, P M
WESTERN MAIL.
By this route, Mails are made up for all Offi
ces in South-Western Georgia, Alabama, Mis
sissippi, Louisiana, Florida, also Athens, Ga. and
the North-Western part of the State.
arrives —Wednesday and Friday, by G A. M.
If closes —Tuesday and Thursday, at 12 M.
ABBEVILLE, S.C. MAIL,
ftv this route, Mails are made up for Danburg,
Creek, and Petersburg.
ARRIVES.
Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, by 1 P. M.
CLOSES.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at 6 A. M.
LEXINGTON MAIL.
By this route, Mails are made up for Centre
ville, State Rights, Scull-shoals, and Salem.
arrives—Monday and Friday, at 9 A. M.
closes —Tuesday and Saturday, at 9A. M. i
APPLING MAIL.
By this route, Mails are made up for Wrights- j
boro’, White Oak, Walker’s Quaker Springs. |
arrives—Tuesday and Saturday, by 9A. M. ;
closes —Monday and Friday, at 9 A. M.
ELBERTON MAIL.
By tliis route, Mails are made up for Mallo
rysville, Goosepond, Whites, Mill-Stone, Ilarri
sonviile, and Ruckersville.
Arrives Thursday 8 P. M., and Closes same time.
LINCOLNTON MAIL.
By this route, Mails are made up for Rehoboth,
Stoney Point, Goshen, Double Branches, and
Darby’s.
Arrives Friday, 12 M. | Closes same time.
BjT The Letter Box is the proper place to de
posite all matter designed to be transported by
Mail, and such as may be found there at the
times above specified, will be despatched by first
post.
palmer &. McMillan,
TAILORS,
HAVE removed to N0.4, Bolton's Range,
on the West side of the Public Square,
where they will be happy to see all their friends
and customers.
December 21,1843. 17
j For Sale •
CORN, FODDER, BACON and LARD.
Apply to
A. S. IIAYES.
February 1, 1844. 23
Oats.
SEED OATS for sale. Apply to the Sub
scriber. JOHN R. SEMMES.
February 1, 1844. *2t 23
Notice to Debtors and Creditors.
ALL persons indebted to the Estate of Joseph
G. Dnpriest, late of Wilkes county, deceas
ed, are requested to make immediate payment,
and those having demands against the “estate
will present the same in terms of the law.
B. A. ARNETT, Adm’r.
January 11, 1844. 6t 20
COTTING Sc BUTLER,
ATTORNIES,
HAVE taken an OFFICE on the North
side of the Public Square, next door to
the Branch Bank of the State of Georgia.
October, 1843. 28
EVERY VARIETY
OF
EXECUTED AT THIS
© !F W Q © I a
Ji&tfiifcHiwcetis.
DOMESTIC TRIALS ;
OR, A HAPPY NEW.YEAR.
IN’ THREE I’AATS—BY J. 11. H.
“Domestic happiness! thou airy dream !”
Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Flanders Floren
tine had been married just one year. They
were united on New-Year’s day, 1843.
It was a unison of hands ; not hearts, inter
ests, minds, or tustes. Never were two
persons more dissimilar in habit or disposi- i
tion : he being zealous, exacting, careless, :
doubtful, and, at times, ill-tempered ; she,
confiding, industrious, careful, and tidy,
but matching, if not surpassing him in
quickness and obstinacy of temper. That j
they quarrelled sometimes, is no very great
wonder.
As I have said before, it is the first of j
January—New-Year’s day; the day, of i
all others in the year, which is associated |
with delightful reminiscences of the past,
enjoyment of the present, and anticipations
of the future.
Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Flanders Fioren
tate were seated at the breakfast table, (de
lightful meal for teles a tele,) face to face,
eacli with a bright smile lo welcome in the
j year.
“ My dear,” said he, swimming his spoon |
lon'tlm fop of his coffee, “1 have been
j thinking”
“Well, mv dear, what have vnu been
thinking of ?” said she, looking at the
cream-cup, which stood before her on the j
tea-tray, as if it was a thing of life,
j “ Why my dear, that, as this is New
: Year’s day, and :be first anniversary of our
marriage, that we—lhut is, if you are so
inclined, bury all past grievances in the
grave of the old year, and commence the
new one with mutual confidence and for
bearance : will you, dear V’
“Certainly, my dear, if you will not give ;
wav to those foolish jealousies, be a little
more industrious, tidy, and steady, 1 really
think we should he happier. You will :
confess, dear— note won't you! —that dur
ing the last year, you have been ve ty jeal
ous, cross, careless, and a /itl./c indolent ?”
“ Yes, dear, and you are obstinate, ill
tempered, and constantly picking at trifles,
and”
“ YVhy, Mr. F lorentate, how can you say |
so ? You know I have been kind, affable,
affectionate, economical, and—and But i
you try to cover your faults to attach blame ;
tome. ’Tis just like you.”
“ I say’tis not like me, Mrs. Florentate. j
1 have my faults ; you have vours—and if!
the truth were known”
“ Well, what if the truth were known?” j
“ Why, why nothing,” replied ho,
(fearing he had gone a little too far, and a- :
larmcd lest he could not he able to accom
plish his designs,) “only 1 think we'had
hotter let last year alone. Come, dear, let j
us to-day make an engagement never to (
quarrel again.”
“ With tnv whole heart, dear. Let us
sign, seal, and ratify it with a kiss. 1
promise never to he cross again.”
“ And I—never.”
“ Never
Both together, “ Never.”
The kiss was given, and they removed
their seats to the fire. A long pause now
ensued, when all at once, Mrs. F. looked
lovingly up to her husband, and said—
“ Dear, I have been endeavoring to count
how many little differences we have had,
but I really cannot. Can you ?”
“ Yes, dear.”
“ How many ?”
“ Three hundred and si.\ty-five and a
quarter !”
“ Three hundred and sixty-five dear !”
“Yes, dear, one for every twenty-four
hours.”
“ You are witty, or trying to be so. How
do you make out the quarter ?”
“ To-day. Just now, lam sure we came
very nigh quarrelling. If I had not res
trained my temper in time, 1 am suie we
should.”
“No, you mean, if I had not” “1
mean what I said. lam sure 1 had suffi
cient cause to be angry. Did you not tell ;
me 1 was 1 was indolent, cross, and
slovenly.?”
“ And didn’t you tell mo I was ill tern- j
pered, obstinate, and picking at trifles; and j
isn’t that enough to vex a saint ?”
“ Yes, and so are you.”
“ I am not, you brute you.”
“ Do not call me a brute, Mrs. F.”
“ I will, I’ll call you anything, you
you provoking witch.”
“ Mr. F. be careful ; if you persist in
using these abusive names, 1 tell you once ;
for all, I’ll leave you forever.”
“ Do, do if you dare, you mean, paltry
wretch—you, you apology of a man, you.”
“Hold, before you drive me too far.”
“Oh, go, go, the sooner the better, you,
you—l lived before I saw you, and I can
again.”
“You wish me to go, do you?”
“Yes I do.”
Mr. F. now in a complete phrensy,
rushed to the door. In doing so, he upset
the table, broke the crockery, scalded
his feet and made his exit.
Mrs. F. ran to the window, raised the
sash, put head in the street and hollowed
after him, “Happy New-Year!”
How to Curtail. —While a clergyman was
preaching at camp-meeting in a most fervent
manner, for the power of the devil to be curtail
ed, a zealous old negro loudly exclaimed : “A
men ! yes, yes, press God ! cut kirn's tail smack
smot e off.”
WASHINGTON, (WILKES COUNTY, GA.,) FEBRUARY S, 1844.
From the N. O. Picayune.
PRAIRIE AND MOUNTAIN LIFE.
The Old Man of the Mountains. —The
: world should be made acquainted with
I some of the strange characters who have
; buried themselves away from civilization
: among the rocks of the West.
There is one whimsical old genius who
iis noted particularly among the trapper
tribe as the prince ofqueer ones. Ho calls
j himself William S. Williams M. TANARUS., and
lie is most absolutely determined upon hav-
I ing the title initials (M TANARUS.) always affixed
to his name. lie is the oldest man in the
j mountains having fully resolved to live and
die there, and more droll anecdotes are
told about him than would fill a pair of vol
! umes of modern size. M. T. is meant to
j signify Master Trapper, and the old man
j has just seized upon the whim of insisting
that this distinguished mark shall on all oc
’ casions and under all circumstances be at
; (ached to bis name. He chanced at one
! time to fall into a mortal quarrel with a
j Black foot Indian, and upon achieving ad
vantage, lie at once seized upon the red
fellow’s fcculp lock.
“Bill Williams!” shouted the Indian i
whose whole knowledge in English con
sisted in pronouncing this singular white ■
man’s name. “ William S. Williams, M.
j T. if yon please,” said the old man of the
! mountains, as he coolv darted the point of j
bis knife around tiie sculp lock and tore it
! off! This extraordinary individual is now j
about fifty five or sixty years of age, and
j be has lived more than half bis life in the
j mountains. He declares that he never was
j any where else, but it is remembered that
he was once a methodist preacher in the
t State s, and it is known that be is an educa
ted) man, with a critical knowledge of
Greek and Latin. By his own words he ,
was “rolled out of a thunderstorm in the
! mountains, for he found himself there and j
don't remember any thing else. He is
j quite certain, and lias a strong persuasion j
that lie was “translated from the Great i
Bear, or some other luminous celestial an !
itnal, for some other particular and especial
purpose that is meant to be made known to
him hereafter.
He was never known to wear a hat, but
’ once in the winter, finding bis bead cold,
! he shot a wolf, scalped the animal, and
i drew the warm skin on to his own head!
! For all such eccentric things this old man
j is remarkable; but, perhaps, the singular
j ity of his character may he better shown by
| relating an odd meeting that lie once had
with a young fellow fresh from the States.
; Williams was camping alone when the
; young mail accidentally encountered him.
‘Hum!” said the old man in soliloquy,
1 “here comes another enormous fool of a
I young rascal to crowd us here in the moun
! tains ! we shan’t have an inch of elbow
room left!—Cook, old cake! cook!” said be
| addressing a lump of dough that lie was
turning over on the coals of bis solitary
fire with his naked toes, that protruded |
through his venerable mocasins. ‘Cook,
old cake! here comes a white fool, and he’s
j hungry of course. Now, you miserable
young blockhead do you know me!’ said
j the old man to the stranger.
‘1 guess I do, said the boy, for he was a
wandering sprig ofa Yankee land.
“You guess,” replied the old eccentric,
you’re a pretty sample of a scalp-block
to come here guessing! Had you nobody
to keep you at home that you must come
strolling out bore among bears and Black
Feet?—How do you know me?”
“I reckon 1 guess.”
“O you’re a big figure at mathematics!
You had better get rid of your guessing and
your reckoning, if you want to live among
the rocks. Take up that chunk of burnt
dough there., and stuff it down your raven
ous maw!”
“Thank you—l’m not hungry.”
“Don’t come here to tell lies, sir; we are
honest men in the mountains, and you
musn’t cume here to contaminate us with !
your civilization.—You are hungry, and j
you know it, and you must eat that cake;
“I’ve got another. Do you take me for an j
Antidiluvian, not to share my dinner with j
you?”
“Ain’t you the man they call Bill Wil- ;
liarns?” said the hungry lad as he greedily j
devoured the cake.
“What do they call me roared Bill, with
the growl of a wounded bear.
“William Williams I think!” answered j
the young aspirant in tiie trapping trade, j
with a half frightened tone of subdued re
spect.
“William S. Williams, M. T. young
buzzard’s meat!” replied the master trap
per, drawing himself up with the airofJuli
us Caesar.—“ Look here, boy. do you see
that Butlel —There’s a hole in it, and
there’s where I put my bones.”
“Bones,” said the boy greatly bewilder
ed at the words of the old man.
“Yes— wah\” continued Bill lifting his
rifle and imitating a shot, “There’s where I
bury my dead; that’s my bone house!”
“Why you don’t—”
“Don’t tel! me l don’t” interrupted the
old man, or I’ll don’t you, knock me dead if
I don’t! How would you like to sleep there
to night? “Eat away and don’t be gaping
at a natural Christian, like a born fool! I
always stow away my white bones decent
ly. Eat away, you stupid young block
head and stop staring. I dare say you call
yourself a gentleman!”
“Ye-es,” stammered the youngster.
“Happy ofyou acquaintance. If you
have done eating just remember you have
dined with William S. Williams, M. T.’
The odd encounter happened almost
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING
j word for word us here set down, and it may
! give the reader a fair idea of one of the
j drollest beings that ever breathed. Surly,
abrupt and eccentric, the odd fellow is yet
j noted for benevolence and stern honesty,
j He once took olFhis coat of deer skin, when
I it w as almost the lust remnant of apparel in
j his possession, and threw it over the
shoulders of a poor shivering squaw. He
I sleeps curled up by the camp fire with
! itis head in the ashes, embracing an old ri
lle, that lias been mended and mended a
; gain with “buffiilo tug,” until scarcely a
j particle of the original stock is left. He
j works ban], makes money, and gives every
I thing away to others who may happen to
jbe in distress. He once threatened toslioot
I an old friend who sent him a letter with an
j offer of assistance!—Old William S. Will
j Harris, M. T. will accept of charity from no
man breathing. Such a character is now
pillowing his grey hairs among the snows
of the West, and there he will live and
die, while this rough sketch, no doubt pre
sents all the world will ever know of The
Old Man df the Mountains!
From the Cincinnati Mercury.
A TEXIAN HERO.
Many of our readers no doubt recollect
the facetious comedian Jim Willis, who
played in this city some years ago. lie
was a queer compound of human nature—a
man who could with ease make others
laugh, but seldom ever laugh himself-—a
melancholy man through life, caused him
to shuffle “offthis mortal coil,” ere half his
race was run.
About the time the Texas excitement ran
sohigh in the United States, Jim Willis was
in Pittsburg, in that situation so common to
play actors, viz : “fiat broke.” Standing
one day on the vviiarf, with his serious vis
age expanded, planning how he should get i
down the river without money, when he i
heard a drum and fife. On looking around j
he saw a company of reckless looking half :
uniformed soldiers, about embarking for
New Orleans, bearing a Texan banner.— j
A thought struck him. Next day ho sent i
his trunks on board the first boat to start, I
and just as the captain was tapping the j
bell for the last time, Willis stepped on
board, dragged his trunks into an unoccu
pied state room, and took from his theatri
cal wardrobe a soldier coat, with a buff
breast and three rows of buttons, a chapeau,
with an immense plume, a red sash, a pair
of military trowsers, a grizzly black wig,
and a pair of false whiskers. By the time
the boat bad got fairly underway, Jim was
fully equipped, with his stage sword grace
fully hanging by his side. Drawing his
white gloves, he hesitated a moment, but j
relying on his peculiar powers, he opened j
the door gave the usual military stoop, and j
walked into the cabin, which was filled
with passengers. In a moment all eyes
were directed toward him, but be walked
up to the bar and drank a glass of brandy
and water. In tho mean time all was bus
tie and confusion to find out who the officer
was. A general rush was made for the |
register, but he had not yet put down bis j
name—the captain was consulted but be
knew nothing. At length, however, feel
ing a little curiosity himself, he walked j
up to Jim, and bowing politely to him said,
“Sir.”
“Sir to you,” said Willis, touching his;
chapeau ala mi/itare.”
“Will you do me the favor to register j
your name, so that 1 can provide a state j
room for you ?”
“Oh, with pleasure,” said Jim, and walk
ing up to the register he flourished in round !
text,
“ C. I’. EDWARDS, Major, Texas Ar
my,”
The crowd pressed around the table— :
they read the name—universal enthusiasm
prevailed, and three tremendous cheers ;
were given for Texas and Liberty !
Jim took oil"his chapeau, acknowledged
the compliment with a graceful bow, and
a few patriotic remarks.
It is almost needless to say, that from!
that moment, the sot disant Major was a j
lion. Every one sought to make his ac
quaintance—the ladies opened the cabin
door to get a peep at him—he was placed
at the head of the table—and at night he
was made as drunk as Bacchus on chani
paigne.
Next day he was promenading the hur
ricane deck, linked arm in arm with the
Captain, and a warm hearted Southerner,
whoresided in Vicksburgh.
“Major,” said the southerner, “I knew
very well that you have been on a mission
to collect arms, amunition and recruits, —
but on that subject you must of course be
mum, in consequence of the treaty between
Mexico and the United States. For my
parti could see every and and copper col
ored rascal hung, like a dog on trees!”
“Whatever my business may have been,
I find that I have exhausted all my means
in the cause : in fact, I fear I shall not be
able to pay my passage until I get to New
Orleans.”
“Don’t mention it,” said the Captain, “I
could not thing of taking any thing ofyou.”
“I have it,” said the southerner, “come
with me.”
The trio adjourned to the clerk’s office,
where a stirring appeal for aid of Texas
was written.—The Southern gentleman
carried it among the passengers, and col
lected 150 dollars, which was handed over
to Willis. At night a grand supper was
given at which speeches were made and
toasts were drank. The cabin was deco
rated with the star spangled banner, en
twined with the flag of the lone star, man
ufactured by the ladies out of some of their
! red and white “oh no we never mention
: ’e.ms,” lbr the occasion.
About 12 o’clock the company cotnmen-
I ced singing songs, and at length the Major
was called upon to favor the company with
a song. He complied l>y “favoring the
j company” with his famous song of “Billv
j Barlow.”
“Bravo!” said one.
“Excellent !” said another.
“Capital !” said a third.
“1 could do it ad and sight better,”
! said Jim, who was fast verging into the
j fourth stage of intoxication, “if I had the
i proper togs on.”
After giving three faint huzzas for Texas,
the party broke up.
Next morning the clerk w ent into Willis’
| state room to call him to breakfast. Ima
j gine his surprise when lie discovered the
| Major had actually turned in all standing ;
i with boots, chapeau and sword on, the feet
| snugly laid on the pillow. He was a Tex
i as Major, and of course no fault was lound.
Thus things ran on, and Willis reached
j New Orleans in triumph. There ho doffed
j his uniform and returned to Vicksburg,
; where he got an engagement in the theatre,
i He became a great favorite—and when lie
j was at tiie zenith of his glory, the old gen- .
I tleman whom he met on the boat, went to j
j the theatre. Between the pieces Willis j
j sang Billy Barlow—the old fellow was he- !
! wildered—the after piece came on, and
| Willis appeared in the identical suit in j
i which lie had enacted the Texas Major.
After the theatre let out, the old fellow ;
sought ari interview wilh Jim. j
“4 ou and and rascal, 1 ought to shoot you,
but the trick was so clever, that I forgive I
you, so let us say no more about it.”
Jim looked at him a moment with seri- ;
ous expression, then replied, “Man in his.
time plays many parts.”
From the New Mirror.
THE REVENGE OF A LADY.
It was a bright, glad day in the spring, 1
and Broadway was alive with gaity and
bustle. A stranger who had been crossing
that thoroughfare at noon, somewhere about
the corner of Murray street, would have
wondered what object it could be on the
other side of the way that was disturbing
the whole street; aud, without exactly
drawing a crowd, was attracting everybo
dy’s attention, and making gentlemen seek j
any excuse for stopping and looking back, j
and almost envy the humble wayfarers who j
were privileged to be ungenteel. A deni
zen ol New York, however, who had only
heard of the commotion would atonce have 1
known that it must be Miss Kaye, stepping
from her carriage into the store of her jew- i
eller’s. Her dove-coloured carriage, ob
structed by the crowd of equipages which I
stood in the front of Tunny’s had drawn up j
some doors oil’, and, in order to reach the i
place, she, whose pearly shoe not often
touched the pavement, for once was- com
pelled to “witch the world v. ith noble”
walking, ‘iinstant ~m biue and-whito j
iiveries were seen opening ihu door and rat- i
ding the steps down, a simultaneous irn- I
pression seemed to bo produced upon the
crowd that was loitering along the side- j
walk ; they drew back on all sides, a kind :
of avenue was formed, and she stepped for- j
ward, alone, with a magnificent, elastic j
tread, as if the earth yielded beneath her j
feet. 1 stood and saw her pass. Fortu
nately, at that very spot a bore held me by i
the button. (Amiable bore ! I patted him
when we parted ; and, for the first time in
my life, recognized why a benignant Pro- j
vidence had created bores that hold people ;
by the button.) 1 gazed with a delight al- j
most awed into homage. A more exalted :
vision 1 had not beheld. Majesty, softened
into delicious beauty ; grandeur of attitude j
and feature, made lovely by a pervading!
spirit of sweetness and sympathy ; produced j
in her an union that charmed you ere you
could admire. I dare say it will seem an.
odd thing to say, but there is nothing that ,
has since reminded me so much of the im- ;
pression she then produced upon the eye j
us the bright fountain in the Park ; there i
was in her the same easy, I may say re- ;
luctant, magnificence ; the splendid purity
and soft sparkle ; combined with such an I
entire unrestraint and abandonment of ef
fort, that you feel as if in that form and mo
tion the very essence of grace were made
palpable before your eyes ; and as if that
variety of movement was the wantonness of
a nature that strove to, but could not, es
cape from its perpetual doom, elegance.—
Startled back, in spite of myself, into the
age of poetry and goddesses I thought
straightway of the apparrition of Venus to
the Trojan by the wooded margins of the
Tyrian city and was beginning to full into
my old tunes and my Latin ; but I felt soon
that in truth, 1 was below the mark, and
that there stood before me something of a
truer dignity and impression than all their
goddesses together. I mean a delicate,
pure,high-souled woman. I confess, while
she was at a distance from ir.e, and I had
but a glimpse, of her, I felt a certain flutter
about my heart; bur, as she came near me,
that faded away, and yielded to a profound
and distant reverence. I cast down my
eyes, and lifted them only as she was van
ishing the door of the shop.
Miss Kaye’s parents were both dead, and
she was the sole mistress of one of the lar
gest fortunes in New York. Her first win
ter in company had been concluded by the
announcement of her engagement to Mr.
! Hanbury ; a man of high fashion, possessing
I undoubtedly superior powers, great culti
vation. and immense resources of manner.
ML. jr. RAPPEL, Printer.
i Men who knew Mr. Hanbury, were stir
-1 prised at her choice ; arid those of them
i who knew and valued her regretted it not
’ a little, for they deemed him a thorough
worldling, whose principles and sentiments
were sued) as a life of libertinage on the
i continent was likely to produce, and whose
, purposes were utterly selfish and buse.—
; Such, indeed, or worse, he really was ; but
i the truth is, the most intelligent woman is
j nojudge ofa man who pays her attention,
j Miss Kaye did not know the nature of that
j man, so perfect was his art and dissimula
tion. Site admired and esteemed him, and,
i in the prospect that was before her, was as
happy as the brightest hopes and kindest in
; tendons on her part could make her. It
Was in reference to some arrangements re
luting to that expected event that she had
gone into Tunny's, with her beaming face
full of pleasantness and life, w hen her at
tention was caught by the voice of Mr.
Hanbury, who, in company with another
person was standing with his back towards
her, leaning against the frame of the glass
cases ; in earnest conversation. Neither
perceived Miss Kaye, although she ap
proached within hearing distance of them.
“I marry her only for her money,’ said
he almost in a whisper hut loud enough for
her to overbear bis words distinctly, and
within a month afterwards 1 shall go to
Paris alone. ”
Miss Iv. loft the store unperccived by
them both. It was fortunate for her I hat,
in the interval of her absence, her carriage
; had drawn up immediately in front of the
j shop-door, or she must have fallen on the
! pavement. As it was, with a bewildered
head she tottered forward, anti the servant
j who stood there caught her in bis hand,
j She rallied, with a powerful effort, and
, saying to the footman, in a Faint voice,
: “Home!” got into the vehicle. One who
had then seen those pale, shrunken tremb
ling features—the fixed glaring eye, tiie
withered lip, the distortion and deadly ago
ny of the whole face, could not have rceog
. nized the glorious countenance from which
a moment before, power and hope had
: looked so majestically forth. The foot
man, seeing that his mistress was ill, order
ed the coachman to drive with the utmost
rapidity, and in a few minutes, Miss Kaye
was at her house. He opened the carriage
door immediately, and seeing his mistress
throwing herself out before the steps were
down, the honest fellow caught her in his
’ arms, and carried her all the way into the
drawing room. He placed a chair and
: handed her a tumbler of water.
In a few minutes the physical weakness
| was conquered. Miss Kaye rose, and
walked into her chamber and summoning
ail the determination and energies of her
nature sat down to consider of her course.
It was an intense and awful struggle
which wrung her spirit. The quick stern
| working of her lip, the flush ofher cheek,
i the flashing ofher eve, told with whet
j strength her purpose was developing.
“lie lull/l 1 his baseness!” she mutter.
; On the ibllowing morning she <at alone
e o
| in the drawing room, when Mr. Hanbury
came in. Orders had been given to admit
j no other person.
j “I)o you think,” said she as soon as ho
j was seated, fixing upon him that dark eye,
; which burned with the keenest and loftiest
fires of mortal hid! nation and intellectual
I contempt, that there are men in the world
j wholly destitute of soul?”
Her manner was much controlled and
her voice calm: yet in despite of effort, her
; tones vibrated with a searching sharpness
! of sarcasm which astonished Mr. Hanbury,
• and agitated him not a little. ‘Flic consci
! ousness of what his deserving was in re-
I sped to her came upon him with a blind,
! formless fear, that shook bis spirit to the
| foundation.
He answered, not knowing what she
j could be meaning:
“There are nelsons I think, w ho, if they
! ever had souls, have succeeded in wearing
I all trace of them out of themselves.
“Ah! think you so?” said she with pierc
i ing scorn. You shall feel that this cannot
j bo!”
She rose and stood before the centre table
! on the opposite side of which bo sat.
“I have been insulted, sir! outraged
through every feeling of my nature. lam
a solitary and undefended woman; pro
tected only by those sentiments of honor
that dwell m the breast of every gentle
man, those feelings of common humanity
which are acknowledged by every man.
I have found but one person utterly insen
sible to those impressions—yourself. I
am aware of the motives which led you to
solicit my band. I was a listener to the
conversation in which your nature display
ed itself without a mask. I marry her only
for her money. Within a month after
wards Igo to Paris, and alone.’ The only
revenge 1 have to take is to make you feel
the utter paltriness of your character, by
showing you the immeasurable difference
between your views and mine. You shall
learn the true dignity of such sentiments as
yours, by seeing the unutterable difference
in which I hold those things which you
esteem above all. This day we part for
ever. On this table are deeds conveying to
you one half of my entire estate, from which
you may extract that money for which you
would have been willing to encumber your
self—though only for a month, it seems—
with a wife. In accordance with the form
which has been pointed out to me, I hero
deliver them to your exclusive use. En
joy that money; and remember, while doing
’ so. that you owe that enjoyment to Ute
[VOLUME XXIX.