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BY JAMES W. JONES.
The Southern Whig,
ftftILISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
TERMS.
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Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by
Administrators, Executors, or Guardians,
must be published sixty day's previous to the
day of sale.
The sale of personal Property, in like manner,
must be published forty days previous to
the day of sale.
Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that Application will be made to the Court j
nf Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne
groes, must be published four months.
Notice that Application will be made for Letters
of administration, must be published thirty
days and Letters of Dismission, six months.
For Advertising—Letters of Citation. S 2/5
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 32a
Four Months Notices, 4 00
,Sales of Personal Property by Executors,
Administrators, or Guardians, 3 2a
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published once a month, it will be charged each
time as a new advertisement. For a single
insertion, 81 00 per square.
BOOK BINDERY,
THE subscriber would respectfully inform
the Citizens of Athens and the public gen
erallv, that he has established himself in the
third" Story of Mr. Teney’s Book Store, imme
diately over the Southern Whig Office, where
work will be executed lit the shortest notice in
all the various branches of his business. Blank
Books made of all Sizes and Ruled to any given
f' 1 ""- J. C. F. CLARK.
Athens, Sept. 23, —21—ts
NEW DRY GOODS
AND
GROCERY STORE.
THE undersigned having removed to the up
per tenement of the New brick range, next
below the Ware-House of Stovall, Simmons,
& Co., are now receiving a fresh, and general
assortment of
mnr© 0010 s,
SAre*, and Groceries, recently purchased at the
North, chiefly for Cash, at reduced prices;—all
of which they offer low, and respectfully invite
* call from those who may be in market, believ
ing that such inducements will be offered, as to
secure a liberal share of the patronage of the
public.
STOVALL & IIAMLEN.
Augusta, September 9,1837.
(XJrTheir Wholesale Dry Good Establismcnt
is in the second story—over the Grocery.
Sept. 16,—20 —2m
businessT
AUGUSTA, GA.
£<TOVALL, SIMMONS, & Co., in rxpress
fsing their gratitude to their patrons, for their
continued confidence, and generous support,
would renew the oiler of their services in the
Factorage and Commission business, at their Fire
Proof Ware-House, South side Broad street.
Liberal advances will be made on Cotton, &c
-Ace, as heretofore.
Sept. 16,—20—2m
JW. JONES, is now receiving and open
. ing at his Store, his supplies of
fall <sl winter goods,
which combine! with his former Stock, render
his assortment very complete.
English Straw Bonnots.
A case ofhandsoinc English Straw and Florence
Bonnets, just received and for sale, bv
J. W. JONES.
Oet. 14,-24—tf
&SGRO SHOESS,
300 pairs Superior Negro Shoes for sale by
J. W. JONES.
Oct. 14,—24—t f
Bargains! Bargains !!
THE Subscriber offers the following proper
ty at private Sale, in the Town of Athens,
consisting of 3 Houses and Lots, suitable for
large oi>small families, nine head of Horses, one
four-wheel close Carriage, one large Barouche,
one Tilberry, one single horse Buggy, and one
Dearborn wagon, also two Road-Wagons. The
above property will be sold very low for Cash,
orona short credit. Those wishing to pur
chase any, or all, of the above named property,
will do well to call and examine for themselves,
as I am determined to sell.
JAMES WITTER.
Oct. 14,—23—4t
N. B. I will also hire ont horses during the
vacation on reasonable terms, Carriages and
horses to hire as usual until sold. J. W.
Southern Chig.
IWmnaneous.
From the Knickerbocker.
OCfOBJFiK. .
Solemn, yet beautiful to view
Month of my heart! thou dawnest hero,
With sad and faded leaves to strew
The summer's melancholy bier.
The moaning of thy winds I hear,
As the red sunset dies afar.
And bars of purple clouds appear.
Obscuring every western star-
Th°u solemn month ! I hear thy voice—
It tells my soul of other days,
When but to live was to rejoice—
When earth was lovely to my gaze !
Oh, visions bright—oh, blessed hours.
Where are their living raptures now t
I ask my spirit’s wearied powers—
I ack my pale and fevered brow I
I look to Na'.urf't find behold
My life's dim emblems, rustlinii round,
In hues of crimson and of gold—
The year's dead honours on the ground;
And sighing with the winds I feel,
While their low pinions murmur by,
How much their sweeping tones reveal
Oflife and human destiny.
When Spring’s uelights-anie moments shone _
They came in zephyrs from the West, —
They bore the wood-lark's melting tone,
They stirred the blue lake’s glassy breast;
Through Summer, fainting in the heat,
They lingered in the forest shade;
But ehanged and strengthened now, they beat
In storm, o'er mountain glen and glade.
Now like those transports of the breast
When life is fresh and joy is new —
Soft as the halcyon’s downy nest,
And transient all as they are true !
They stir the leaves in that bright Wreathe,
Which hope about her forehead twines,
Till Griefs hot sighs around it breathe —
Then Pleasure’s lip its smile resigns.
Alas, for Time, and Death, and care.—
What gloom about our way they fling ?
Like clouds in Autumn's gusty air.
The burial pageant of the Spring.
The dreams that each successive year
Seem bathed in hues of brighter pride,
At last like withered leaves appear,
And sleep in darkness, side by side.
Philadelfkia. W. G. C.
From Blackwood’s Magazine for September,
Nffy Auejl’v Tale.
[concluded.]
“M y dear mamma !” I observed one morn
ing, taking up a card which lay on the table,
‘■where have you picked up such an aristo.
cratic acquaintance ? Phoebus, what a name !
1 Mr. Jocob II tggins, “Street, Cam-
berwell I’ Where in lite name of horror, is
Camberwell ?”
•• The acquaintance annoys me more than
1 can tell,” replied my mother, “ but peculiar
circumstances render it necessary. Mr. Hug
>ins is a titan who has made an immensity of
money in the iron, or the linen trade—l forget
which ; and is some connexion (extremely dis
tant) of ours. Fortunately for us, the man has
i large share of the vulgar admiration for rank
and title, and, I have every reason to believe,
will make us his heirs, if it’ were only for the
posthumous satisfaction of being described in
the newspapers as having left the bulk of his
splendid fortune to his cousin, Sir Francis
Hargood, Bart., &c. &c.,and we are not in a
condition to surrender such a prospect for the
sake of a mere prejudice of fashion. I shall,
therefore, be obliged to show them some civil
ities—perhaps to submit to some in return—
but 1 shall take very good care not to bring
them tn the way of our own coterie. I have
just sent them an invitation to dine here, en
famille, on Thursday next? but, if you desire
it, you need not show yourself, and 1 can
make an excuse for your non-appearance.”
“ On Thursday next ?—what a bore ! Young
Fred, de Tracy asked leave to call, and I had
intended to let hint stay dinner, as he had just
returned from the Continent, and may be amus
ing in the character of Travelled Monkey !
but here is your messenger returned. Let us
sec what Mr, Huggins means to do.”
The foolman here entered, bearing a note
' folded exactly square, and evidently, from the
| jagged edges which had been wetted to facil
tate the separation, written on half a sheet of
foolscap, reduced, by no means mathematically,
to the proper dimensions. The address was
thus worded:—
“ To Lady F, Hargood, Earless,
“ Grosccnor Square, London."
and the contents rati thus :
“ My dear Lady,
“Your note to ask self and husband to dine
with you on Thursday, the 15,h mrtance, was
received sate, and much obliged. An invita
tion from our friend, Mr. John Lewis, Broad
Street, City, also for same day, came in just at
! the very identical moment with your Ladyship,
I and by chance was first opened by husband,
who always opens the notes whoever they are.
He thinks it most honorable and justest to ac
cept the one first come to hand, and goes to
City accordingly, bidding me write and hope
not to offend. It is regular customary on him
to give preference to first comer—as your
Ladyship knows—first come first served ; and,
;in course, Mr. Lewis is the tnan. Husband
snys, if not going anywhere else, or to Opera,
he shall be much pleased nt seeing you and
Miss Mary to dine,on Saturday next, nt half
past four in the family, way, winch also hopes,
“My Lady, your loving cousin,
•• Sali.y-H uggins.”
“How vexatious!” observed my mother,
putting on one of her looks of co .centrated
misery.
I “Os course you go,” said I, “it will be high
ly amusing I”
| “I see no escaping it, without offending
i them,” she replied, “and that I do tint wish
to do. So you may write to accept in m\
name, Mary.”
The nppoined day arrived,and we had reach
ed a dirty green gate, with a plate thereon, in
scribed “Jeremiah Huggins, Esq." before 1
had well made up my mind what to expect ii.
the persons of my “lining cousins.” A sur
vey of the surrounding domestic arrangements,
on alighting from the carriage, was any thing
but prepossessing. The little green gale,
which had a most oyster-'ike aversion tube
ing opened, led us into a Court of about four
yards square, traversed on one side by an ir
regularly-paved footway leading to the house
i . -Z.Z.i-ZJV--- —•—-- —
“WlitlßE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHT 1 Ut. REMEDY.
loor, and on 4 hc other by a narrow line of mud,
from whence some miserable hollyhocks peer
ed up, in dirty dandyism, from amid a hum
bier canaille oi bachelor’s-buttons, poppies, and
sweet-william. In the centre was a raised
bed of soil, which I at first took for a dirt-pie,
some sportive Jett d'esprit of my young cousins,
but which was afterwards pointed out to me
as the abode of future rose-trees, a secret
which, for any outward and visible sign thereof,
must have been solely in the keeping oi Heav
en and Mrs. Sally Huggins.
The door was opened to us by a staid mat
ron in a red and yellow chintz gown and a
black silk apron, 'whom I at first suppjsed to
be, from her scorched faca and tucked-up
sleeves, the priitta donnd c? the kitchen : but.
the courtsey, dropped in honor of the “ Bartess,
was succeeded by an embrace to the ‘cousin,
which there was no mistaking, and a truly
fiery kiss bestowed on myself dispelled at once
my lingering doubt on the subject. By this fair
Hebe we were ushered into the drawingroom,
which presented a coup d'ceil such as I had
never before witnessed. A very small fire,
defended by a fender at least three feet high,
was wholly surrounded by some men in rusty
black coats and various colored trowsers,
whose voices were raised in a confused dm,
which seemed to set eVefy principle of eti
quette at defiance. The ladies were crowded
up in a corner —the old ones lost in some weigh
ty gossip, the young looking at the gentlemen
and tittering, while a few, still more juvenile,
were seated bolt upright with their hands be
fore them, much in the attitude of the Egyp
tian statues in the British Museum. Above
the mantle-piece was hung an immensa sam
pler, with a centre-piece of Adam and Eve
eating the forbidden fruit:—Adam was a small,
duck-legged man, done in bright pink, with
yellow eyes; Eve a douce, comfortable look-'
in<r body, also in bright pink, whose looks ex
pressed infitite satisfaction with the flavor of
an apple which she held to her lips- His Sa
tanic Majesty had also his due honors, being
h ippily hit-off as a large green snake gravely
seated on his tail, with a sentimental inclina
( lion of the head so irresistibly insinuating, as
1 almost to induce one to forgive the frailty of
| our great ancestress, in considering the im
mensity of the temptation. Beneath were the
following lines, which were pointed out to me
as the original composition of the matron
I Huggins in her twelfth year :
I “ This is Adam’aad Eve, who took into their hand
( The forbidden apple, against God’s command,
i And ate the apple ; which if they had not done,
They would still have been alive every one.
But Satan tempted ’.he woman, and she took unto the
man,
And he did cat. —Deny it if you can I
Sarah Horner, — her making."
On each side of this interesting memorial
was a drawing, with the same name attached
to it: —the one representing a bridge, which
would have afforded great interest to Sir John
Rennie, being decidedly a skew one—the other ,
a smafl animal with long ears, described as a
pet lamb—but excepting a very sheepish look,
bearing little resemblance to that emb>- m oi
innocence. One side of the room was oCcu.
pied by an ancient sideboard, whereon Were
displayed various and strange specimens of
white atid blue china, disposed around in an
immense j ipan tea-tray with a yellow pagoda
painted on it; the other rejoiced tn a dilapi
dated harpsichord, the cast-off victim of some
third-rate boarding-school, on which lay a fiddle
with one string, vi hose cracked sounding-board
would have forbidden its use, even if Paganini
’ himself had been there to prove it.
; Whi'e still engaged in my scrutiny, a cou
j pie of feidi g-doors were flung open at one
I end of the room, throwing down two ladies in
I yellow turbans i:i their sweep, and propelling
[ a y Midi, whom 1 ha i not before observed, with
‘ some violence Inwards nr-, so as almost to .
t endauger the safety of my chair, which was
j not, by any means, as steady as I could have
wished. Imagining him to be some “nice.
I youii" man,” the attorney’s or the surgeon’s
I assistant, I should scarcely have looked up in
i acknowledging the bow with which he apolo
! gized for the accident, had not a superior re
! finemerit of dress from that of the barbariatfs
[ around me. caught my eye and induced me to
' favor him with a full glance. He blushed ;
i when he met my gaze—again bowed, and re
, treated towards a group of ladies to offer his
i arm to a plain-lookitt. l girl in black, who seem-
I cd, somehow, as if she had expected the atten
i tion—and they moved away towards the dining.
! room which the folding-doors had discovered
to the faVenous gaZe of the guests. I thought
I had never seen a more expressive counte
nance I the features were not exactly regu-
' lar, for the forehead was far too high in pro
! portion to the rest of the face ; but, being all
j fine, there was that harmony among them—
; the harmony which exists between all things
noble —which is far more striking than mere
mathematical regularity. The eyes were
deep set, and of a liquid black, the nose high
and aquiline, and the mouth small, yet not too
small—and with an expression ofgrave thought,
almost melancholy, lingering around it. The
! complexion was ol alight, transparent olive,
! save the lofty which was of dazzling
! whiteness, and thrown into relief by the ni s
isesofdark chesnut hair which curled boldly
! around it. I thought I had never seen so
expressive a face!—to different from the one
idea’d countenances which crowded around
me at L-.dy B.’s and Mrs. S.’s, and the Duke
ofL.s’! —so different Irom Lord Arthur Tre.
vclvan and his shadowy host of Imitators! I
i was hulfaegry w ith myselffor feeling so much
i interested. My thoughts, hewever, were in
j ternip'ed bv the approach of the sedate matron
1 of the house, accompanied by a young man in
a blue coat with gilt buttons, adorned with an
imme se nosegay of dahlias, which might have
formed a centre-piece at a Lord Ma yot’s feast
—a crimson velvet waistcoat with an immen
sity of gold chain, and a pair of very light
i pantaloons, perfectly new, and shining like
(court-plaster:—the wretch also wore large
[topaz studs, carried tn opera-hat under his
i arm, and a gold-tipped riding whip in his hand,
with which he ever and anon tapped the heel
of his boot.
“ Let me introduce the Hon. Mr. Fitzmaer,
to you, Miss! said my loving cousin, taking
my hand : ‘ he is a very genteel young man.
dearj’she whispered, ‘ and knows all the grand
1 quality—a sun of John Viscount Dillon ot’Dil.
lon Hall—you must have heard ot him.’
I had heard the name as that of a htattyu.’s
sujet. of the worst description—a man without
an atom of ch sracter, and who went nowhere
except to such places ns a certain Lady Tich.
b< rite’s, and there all the foxes had lost their
tails. But there was no escaping, and I re.
taint'd his fumdinr nod and impertinent stare
with hs stiff a bo’v us possible, and took his
arm to the di< i; grcom without replying to his
refined observation 1 W’e slinll hve a
ATHEXS, GEORGIA, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1837
ous spread, Miss Hargooi*—see if we don’t! —
old Huggins don’t spare the shiners.’
Such a dinner table ! at the top an enor
mous tureen of pea-soup—at the bottom a
whole cod—the centre a huge bowl of oyster
sauce, flanked with dishes innumerable of po
tatoes, turnips, carrots, &c.—all Convent Gar
den seemed to have transferred itself to Mr.
Huggin’s table! Then came the clatter of
spoons, the jingle of glasses, the bustling of the
hostess, and the take-it-easy nonchalance of the
two women-servants, the pressing of the gen
tlemen, and the coquetting of the ladies, the
spluttering of the scalded and the tittering of
the unscalded ; altogether it was a scene “ to
dream of, not to tell” —and that dream might,
well be classed among the genius night-mare
—Fitzmaer the leading character.
The tact displayed by our stately hostess
edified me much. A poor girl, in a constant,
blush, seated near her, evidently little accus
tomed to the delicacy of pea-soup, had just with
unabated ardor raised the first spoonful of her
third help to her expectant lips, when Mr.
Huggins, addressing * bis loving wife’ from
the lop of the table, exclaimed ‘my dear! let
me send you some more soup?’ ‘Li! Mr.
IL’ answered his fair spouse, with great iadig
nation, “ d’you think I’d be so voolgar as to
take two elps of soup?’—the first spoonful of
the third help remained suspended in mid air
—the deep blush became * deeper and deeper
still,’ the half-opened lips were closed with a
heart-rending sigh, and the third help was
surrendered, untouched, to the eager grasp of
the delighted servant —her lawful perquisite.
“ Etiquette !’’ I mentally observed, ‘ behold
not the least faithful of your votaries!’
It being the first time I had ever tasted pea.
soup, and not finding it particularly adapted to
my palate, I amused myself with taking a sur
vey of the beings seated around me. At the
right hand of my hest. and occupying his chief
attention, sat a lady whom I could not at all
make out. She was what might be called a
handsome—very handsome —woman, but of a
very large size, and rouged a Toutrance. She
was dressed in the very extreme of fashion,
and in the richest manner possible, but without
displaying one particle.of taste in costume. —
Her robe of green velvet was spoilt by immense
wreaths of crimson roses twined around it,
and the splendid ernorald which flashed in her
zone w*s rendered frightful by the sickly glare
efthe yellow topazes which were plentifully
disposed around it. A blue satin turban, also
adorned with a topaz aigrette, and looking as
if it had been arranged rather by a jockey
than a lady’s maid, completed the dress and
my amazement: —she seemed as if she had
undertaken to prove how much bad taste may
be displayed in a given space—certainly she
had ‘ ample room and verge enough’ whereon
to solve the problem. Next to her was a little
shrivelled woman in yellow, with a pinched-up
mouth and nose to match. The rest of that
side of the table being occupied by some ju
venile nonentities, some with large eyes, some
small—some with pink cheeks, Some white—
but ail agreeing in red elbows. I was soon
obliged—lrom lack of any thing else—to recur
again to the faCe which before had so much
interested me, and again to conjecture who
and what its owner could be. Just as I had
erntne to the determination to manoeuvre an
introduction, in order to satisfy my curiosity,
the male by my side, who had all this while
been silently doing justice to “Old Hoggin’s
spread,’’raised up his eyes from a very delapi
dated leg of a turkey which lay before him,
and turning to me, with something very like a
wink, exclaimed—‘Miss Hargood ! —glass of
wine T
Compassionating the man, who had evident,
ly never been in lady’s society before, I did not
refuse, and went through the ceremony ac
cordingly.
‘Of course you know Ladj’ Tichbourne!’
continued the Honorable.
“I have not that—pleasure,” I replied, with
some emphasis.
“Not know Lady T-! —well I vow, I thought
every body knowed Lady T., nobs and snobs,
as we used to say at school : A charming
woman, Lady T.. so full of fun—-ilp to snuff!
ha !ha! ha ! Gad ! when she’s got the catn
pagne in her she’ll jump about like a two.year
old filly, and no mistake ! none of your mincing
mewling, puling girls, what can’t walk to
t’other end of the room without fainting by the
way, and *hll that gamtno ! And then the
dresses! my eye—-I do call that something
like ! —did you ever see a woman better dress
ed, Miss Hargood?”
“1 never have seen Lady Tichbourne.”
“Never seen her! Lord love you! what
have those pretty eyes been about? don’t you
see that splendid woman sitting next old Hug
gins at top yonder?— she's Lady T. and no
mistake!”
The blue turban !—there could be no mistake
there. I wondered I had net gassed her by
intuition.
“And who is that lady next her?” asked I,
determined to make my companion usc.ul, if
he could not be agreeable,
“Oh that! —that’s ol 1 mother Jenkins, the
ironmonger’s widow. She’s got lots of tin,
but is so cursed close ! I’d b;;t sixpence new,
that yellow gown has been altered to meet
fifty new fashions before to-night! Now,
that’s what I call d d shabby, don’t you,
Miss? Money was made to be spent, and them
ns don’t spend it, don’t merit it—that’s my
maxim I”
“Very true!” replied I,‘and who’s that
girl in black, sitting at the bottom of the table?’
1 had reasons for asking this question—it was
the girl the dark-eyed youth had taken »n his
arm.
“ What, she with the napkin to Iter peepers?”
“ That girl in black, with the white hand
kerchief in her hand at this moment,” I said,
not understanding his dialect.
“Uncommonly ugly! ain’t she?”
“Rather plain!” said I, with some impa
tience, “who is she, pray ?”
“ She was got by Surgeon Price out of Sukey
Jenkins, the old yellow lady’s voung ’tin, Mrs.
Surgeon Price that is. She’s goi ! gto be splic
ed,” added the wretch, sticking his tongue in
his cheek, and giving me tiwit.k.
“ That young lady is about to bo married?”
I said, somewhat hastily, feeling a strange sen
sation come oVef me.
“Ay!—that’s the ticket! spliced to parson
Allan’s son—him in the black toggery —you
can’t see him, he’s on our side. Some of the
women call him interesting and all that—but
I say he’s a chicken, one of your softies who
shirks a spree, a flat; a regular fl it ! —not a
man for my money; eh! Miss Hargood!—
I like a fellow who can knock about iiis lives
now and ‘.hen—kick lip a tow arid kick down
a break-up to suutf, ch, Miss Hargood !”
Having now acquired all the information I
wished from my refined companioti, I did not
choose to answer this interesting appeal, and
betook myself, accordingly, to the society of
my own thoughts. Strange! that I should
feel so interested in one to whom I had nevei
yet spoken ; who had expressed no interest in
me! I, wli.i had received witit indifference
the homage of the richest, the handsomest, the
noblest! 1, who had smiled an incredulous
smile as I listened to their vows of lov., and
protestations of affection ! 1, who had closed
with a yawn the second volume of the “ Bride
of Lamtnermoor,” which all the world had
•sat up all night, to read through !’ I, in short,
whs had declared only two days ago, that love
was meant for servant maids and boarding
school misses! who had quizzed my cousin
Emily for sighing when her fiance lelt the
room ; who had dismissed my favorite waiting
maid because I dougbted the possibility of a
person making herself useful and kicsing the
footman at the same time ; who had assigned
Cupid his throne within the folds of a valen
tine, and limited the range of his arrows to the
far corner of a com ty ball room ! ‘ Oh, and
I, forsooth, in love!’ But was lin love ?
I looked at the girl in black, and thought that
I hud never seen so odiously plain and vulgar
a creature ! And was it possible he could have
made such a choice? No, no! It was a
forced match ! This surgeon, Price—what a
name! —had made a fortune by poisoning some
rich dowager’s lap dog!—but no!—how stu
pid I was! it was all quite plain! He had
married Miss Jenkins, the rich ironmonger’s
only child—l hid -Mr. Fitzmaer’s authority
f>r it—and she was to inherit all the ironmon
ger’s riches ; and the plain girl—the odious
ly plain girl, in black, was her only child, and
would inherit from her: What could be more
clear ? Aid then the clergyman, Allan—a trie
old name! —was very poor, with a very ma
uceuvremg wife, and she had forced her son
into a match with the rich ironmonger’s grand
child, who was to inherit the rich iromnoa- i
ger’s riches ; and he, poor fellow ! had resist
ed as long as he could, but his poor sick father
■looked ir.to his face till his heart was like to
break,’ and he. turned away, and wept, and
consented. Yes! I understood it all in a mo
ment ! I had the whole scene before me.
What a beautiful tableau vicant!— th 2 venera
ble, grey-headed old man, with his look of
half-resigned, half-reproachful calmness at the
scanty comforts uround: and the beautiful,
noble bov, —his fine eyes filled with gushing
tears as he gazed on the aged wreck before
him, and thought how a word ot his might give
all the luxuries and comforts winch sotten the
rude touch of time—and there the sharp, cun
ning features of the gaunt, tawdrily-dressed
mother, as she urged on him the wants of ano
ther, while she thought but of her own. Oh !
papa must positively give Hamilton an orcter,
and I’ll hang it up in my dressing room—it
will make a sweet picture ! But, in the mean
time, was he to be thus sacrificed ? No! that
he should not he. Sooner than that I’d marry
hitn myself, poor as we both are. An intro
duction I shall Contrive immediately, and it
wii! be hai'd if I cannot manage to win his
heart before our carriage comes—l wishes
mamma had ofdered it at eleven instead of ten.
Here my reveries were interrupted by loud
shuffling of feet, ai d cries of “ silence ! si
fence !” Our host had got up to make a speech.
Mr. /fuggins was a very little man, with a ve
ry red face, and on this occasion it was doub
ij so; a circumstance which called forth this
exquisite bit of wit from the Honorable Mr
Fitzmaer, who gave me a poke with his elbow,
and said—
‘l say, Miss Hargood, you’ve read Shaks
psare ?—look ye ! —a speech is a thing to
‘make the green tin red,’ eh, Miss Hargood!
good, ain’t it? ha! ha! ha! Now go it,
Huggins! hear, hear, as we say in the House.”
‘ Gentlemen and ladies !’ began Mr. Hug
gins, in great trepidation, ‘ I rise on this—l rise
gentlemen and ladies ! [immense applause]
gentlemen and ladies, [hear bear] I rise or;
this hintefesting occasion to congratulate my
self, gentlemen and ladies! [great sensation]
to congratulate myself and you on the hobjects
around me ! (loud cheers) Gentlemen and la
dies, I am now three-score summers and ten,
and my beloved—my fair—my aged—['no,
no,’ from the gentlemen,] I ask your pardon,
my fair, my beloved partner is one year older
than me, (great agitation amongyt the ladies)
she has shared with me all my inflictions, la
dies—whether good, bad, oi* hindifierent—
( cheers) —like a being —an hanimal of neither
earth nor eaven. [lmmense applause.] Her
voice has soothed me like the music of the
spears. [Hear, hear, and cries of (beautiful!’
from some ladies at the bottom of the table.]
Like the music of the spears, genflemen! and
ladies. [Loud cheers.] What, then, gentle
men, must be my feelings on this overpower
ing occasion? what must bo my sympathies,
my adhibitions, my contemplations, in short,
what d’ye think I’m driving at, ladies and gen
tlemen? [Sensation.] Gentlemen, in that love
ly, that accomplished woman. [-Oh la, Mr. H.!’
from Mrs. Huggins, and loud cheers from the
gentlemen.] In that woman, gentlemen, I be- i
hold the model and personify of Iler delectable
sex, [thunders of applause] and therefore,
gentlemen and ladies —[hear, hear] —no, not
the ladies, that won’t do by tho way—[JouJ
cheers] —I say therefore, gentlemen, let each
man fill his glass to the brim to the Fair Sex
[immense applause]—those comforters under
inflictions’ as the old song snys, gentlemen,
'Woman, lovely woman.’ [Unbounded cheer
ing, accompanied by a loud bray from the
Hon. Mr. Fitzmaer—l suppose also an im
portation from the House.]
Ere the excitement caused by this most elo
quent speech had subsided, a little dapper man
in a blue silk neckcloth, yellow waistcoat, and
nankeen inexpressibles; fuse with a consequen
tial hem, and was received with vociferated
cheers. I soon perceived that this was the
orator of the assembly, by the “ready present” j
attitude assumed by the guests in order to be
in full time with the necessary cheers. The I
little man, after settling the blue silk neckcloth, [
and casting a bland look around him, thus com- I
ttienccd:
“Ladies and gentlemen, [loud ch-crs] unac- i
customed as I am to public speaking, I cannot !
deny myself the felicity of rising to congratu
late you on your good fortune in having just
listened th so able a speech as that delivered
by my estimable friend, and our generous host,
Jacob Huggins. ‘ [Great applause.] Ladies !
and gentlemen, these are dark and awful times!
[sensation] ladies nn<l gentlemen, I am but an j
humble individual, [hear; hear,] I sav every
Englishman, ladies and "entleme:’, is entitled .
to think tor himself! [Loud cries of‘liettr i
hear.’] Is not this a free country? [immense 1
applause] let them ans wer mo that! Is not '
this the land of liberty? [Loud cheers.] Am i
I a slave? are tre all slaves? [‘No! no!’ and >
immense cheering, all the company rising.] 1
Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for that I
xyord. No? wo arc not slaves! we are freer'
; tnorl —we are Englishmen ! [Thunders of np
j pluuse.] Ladies and gentlemen, lam an hum
ble individual! [hear, hear,] but humble as I
am, when I see our liberties trampled on, our
privileges as Christians, our privileges as Eng
lishmen, [immense cheering] despised and con
troverted, then, ns a man, as a Christian, as tin
Englishman, I lift up my voice in thunder
against the sacrilegious traitors! [great sensa
tion.] I curse them! I despise them! I turn
from them! I loathe them! [immense cheering.]
! Gentlemen, I have done, [hear, hear,] my
feeling' l overpower me! but I am deeply con
scious that I cannot find a more adequate ex
pression for my own feelings and yours, than
in proposing the health and prosperity of our
generous host— amo sum nilo uman, eh me! aley
numb puto — [loud cheers,] a man, ladies and
gentlemen, who cannot be better described
than in the language of our great poet; —
• Take hitn all together,
We never can look upon any body like him again;’
and I can only reg r et that tliGpoffice has de
volved on so humble an individual, and so
wretched a speaker.” [Loud cries of‘no! no!’
and unbounded applause.]
A great many more speeches followed, but
the two I have given Were decidedly the gems
of the evening. 1 thought we never should
get away, but at length some very broad hints
from the young Honorable beside me, fairly
drove the ladies out of the room, and with a
wretched headach I immediately set about
bringing my love scheme (I must call it so) to
maturity.
With this view I determined to introduce
myself to Miss Price, the girl in black, to at
tach myself to her for the whole of the even
ing, and thus obtain an opportunity of entering
info conversation with young Allan, who would,
of course, give all his attention to his fiancee.
No sooner planned than executed! 1 found
j her a simple, quiet, unpretending girl, without
any apparent tnarkedtiess of character, or, in
deed, any attraction beyond an amiable and
unaffected manner. And what was this at
traction but a negative one?—l considered Al.
lan as already mine. His affection for such
a girl could have nothing deep, nothing pas
sionate in it! No! his was a mind made fora
far higher mate. There was ambition in the
glance of his eye, and the curl of his lip, and
the lines of deep thought on his noble brow
spoke him a dreamer and a refiner, The ties
which bound him to that humble girl were
bound while his spirit slept, I would aWaken
him to the knowledge of himself, and he would
spurn them like cobwebs as he rose in his new
found vigor.
As such thoughts as these chased each oth
er rapidly acro>s my mind, I looked at the
gentle creature who was seated so calmly and
unsuspectingly beside me, and for a moment a
pang shot through my breast. Could she
really love him? Was that quiet nature capa
ble of feeling tho might, the whirlwind might,
of passion? If so. what misery, what anguish
iasl preparing sos Irer ! perhaps the gnawing
pangs of blighted affection, the dark apathy of 1
despair, the ravings ot madness—a broken
heart! I shuddered at the thought? But it
was hut for a moment! Allan had advanced
io her side, and I watched the still lips, and the
nlacid eye, and saw no smile play round the
one, no beam of joy light up the other, and my
purpose became fixed and indissoluble.
My manoeuvres succeeded as I had antici
pated, My acq aintance with his fiances
opened the way for entering into Conversation
with young Allan. I found him sliy and re
served in manner, but remarkably graceful
and refined; and there was at times a flashing
forth ofenthusiasin when the subject interested
him, which convinced me I had not been mis
taken in my application of the principles of
La vater.
Wo were speaking of the life of a country
clergvmin, o:i which I indulged in a great
many common-places, not without an object
•‘lt is a life,” I observed, addressing myself
to him, “which appears to me one ot the most
enviable! so removed from the stir and bustle
of this noisy world! so limited in its troubles,
vet so unbounded in its influence! raised above
this earth in the sphere of its duties, yet within
it in the exercise of them! it is an enviable
life!”
••It is,” he replied, observing I looked at
him; but I saw that the affirmative was yield
ed more from modesty of his own opinions
than in accordance With mine..
“I canrrnt imagine one more so!” I Contin
ued, determined to draw him out. “What is
/die brilliant career of the warrior, or the con.
qtieror, Compared to the quiet, unostentatious,
but useful, life of the country clergyman? the
one is the dash, and the foam, and the roar, of
tho cataract —fine and mighty child of the
tempest and the flood, rendered more fierce
and mighty by the rocks which oppose its
course, scattering destruction, and terror, and
awe, tn its wild sport, and flinging up i s spraj
as ifit would dash it against the very face ot
Heaven; the other is the gentle, unobserved
streamlet, watering and filling with verdure,
a thousand valleys, and giving food and health,
and comfort to a thousand human beings!—ls
not my simile a just one?”
“It may be so!” he replied, his eye kindling
as he spoke, “but let me be the cataract with
its foam and its roar! let me fee! myself alone
in the might of my grandeur: short though my
career may be, let it bo the shortness of the .
comet’s, which is gone ere man’s wonder has •
time to cool. You smile, Miss Hargood! per- '
haps it is ridiculous for the son of a poor
clergyman to speak thus,” he said, with some
bitterness, “btit my feelings were too strong
forme, and however little they may be under
stood,” — and here he glanced at his fiancee, —
• I cannot, ut times, restrain the expression of
them.”
He misunderstood my stnile—it was of tri
umph !
••There is nothing ridiculous,” I said, “in
the outpourings of an aspiring mind—however
cribb’d and babin’d for a while by Untoward
circumstances, be assured such a mind will
burst its shackles, like straw, when it feels its
own strength; and lise from each new difficul
ty, with new vigor—“like a giant refreshed!”
—I spoke with energy and enthusiasm, for I
felt as a prophetess, foretelling the high desti
ny of the noble being before trie;
“I am sure, Edward,” observed Miss Price,
quietly, “a little reflection will convince you
your ideas are wrong.”
Edward ! —what a bcautifl.il name ! —I long
ed to call him Edward.
In the course of Conversation I discovered
that his father had been curate of a village not
far from Asblou Park; and immediately remem
bered that he had heard me my catechism pre
vious to my being Confirmed. This was quite
suilicienl to preface an invitation to Grosvenor
Square, which was immediately given arid ac-1
ccpted; and I left the arms of ri£yJ.‘WVing Cott's,
sin,” fully persuaded that I had never spent so ,
delightful an evening in the course of my life*
Vol. V—No. 29.
“My pbof child !” s-id riiy mottief; US I en
tered ths Carriage, “what must your sufferings
have beeh!” ♦
My riibtlier was too Confident of tn« nfrii
. root Which she imagiued the principles she Dud
instilled in me had taken to feel any uneasi
ness frorti the visits of the son of a poof VlElfj
and even if she had done so; tile birtumstance
of his hand being already plighted wouln havri
dispelled it. But she did not—the idea never
| for a moment oc rred to her, she Would as
soon have occupied her attention with Jack
the Giant-killer, or the Arabian Tales ! —disin»
terested afleCtion Was to her as much a fictiort
as any ot those amusing fables, and the thought
■ of such a thing in a child of hers was too mon-
■ strous to find place for a moment. HoW Well
I remembered when these were my own ideas!
and how [ despised them now ! Itt not ex
actly despised ; I did not dare yet to go so far
even in thought—blit I had often caught my
self disputing their accuracy, and calling into
question their tendency to promote happiness.
Already had 1 read the Bride of Larntttefltttxrf
twice over, and I looked upon Lucy A'shtort
as a verv Weak girl!—— * t Would not have act
ed thus!’ I thought, as 1 closed the mournful tale,
and sank into reverie; and as I thought, the
image of Edward would recur to me, and hoW
like he was to the proud and noble Ravens
wood ! And then how like, hoW fearfully like
—my mother was to he haughty Lady Ashton!
And was I like Lucy? the weak Lucy? Oil
no, ‘ I would not have acted thus,’ I again re<
peated, aloud and with energy, ns it the firm
ness of my voice was to give strength to my
resolution.
In the meamwhile rriy charms had thclf (istfo
al success. How nav heart bounded with fnp'
tare, as I observed the timid glances <>t love,
the increasing reserve, the softening voice, and
the reverential manner of rriy young ndtfliref.
‘ Yes,’ I often thought, -this ig indeed a trea
sure worth the winning. What were th«
mines of Istakar in comparison with such ts
heart, so nob!#, so spotless, so devoted.’ Alas !
it struck me not how soon that bright dream
might be dispelled. I took no note of the sterri
barrisr stretched between me and him, I
dreamt not of the anguish I was heaping up
to fall on the heads of both. I knew not that
I was twining tendrils around my own heart,
but to be torn bleeding from its Cnre—that I
was weaving the tissue of my Own Woes !— 1
that I w as barbing the shaft of my own dcstnie,
tion ! and he too ! i could have borne with tha
sorrows which touched but mvself— but that
he, whom I loved so fondly, bear Witness,
Heaven ! for thou alone knowest how fondly !
—that he, should be condemned to such pangs,
condemned too by me ! by me; who would
have died—joyfully died—to save hitn the an
guish of a moment! it was too mach I lot
I live, I still live !
There Was another, a humbler heart, tots,
which was involved in the ruin I had prepar«
ed. As I was driving up Bugent ?tfetel in art
open carriage, Edward (1 called hitn Edward
now) seated by my side, aud engaged in a very
animated conversation with me, 1 observed
him suddenly become pale and then red, as he
bowed, with a very embarrassed air, Co sflffio
one on the causeway : Not without a twinge
ofjealousy, I instantly endeavored to discover,
amid a crowd of pedestrians, who it Was who
had excited such emotion in my Edward. I
had not long to lose myself in conjecture. Ne
ver shall I forget the look of anguish Which
distorted the plain features of Susan Price (I
recognised her immediately) as she glanced
for a moment at our gay equipage ad it darted
along the smooth street; it was but a ttloment,
for she caught my eye, and turned away With
a proud gesture which stung me to the quick.
But it was not then that that look brought an
guish to my breasts No! I turned lightly
away, and even smiled as I hutnmed the old
air— ‘ Why let the stricken deer go Weep!’
for prosperity had hardened my heart. But
when that breast was the dWeliing-place of re
morse ; the bitter home of wo—tie expression
of that face, writhing in the intensity of itd
anguish would r cur again and again to my
startled imaginatio >, and I shuddered ns I
thought that my own misery was a jnst, yet a
feeble, retribution for the pangs I had Sri Wan
toi Iv inflicted on a heart, us true and far more
deserving than my own !
Need 1 tell yon, my oW.i Fanny! hoW those
godlike visions were destroyed ? Do not ask
me to repeat to you that dfettdful scene, When it
mother.—forgetting all the ties of nature-, of
kindred, ofaft'ectimi; raised her voice to curso
her child, her first born child ! how my spir.
its shrank, appalled, from those awful wonk,
and I lav, for days, senseless aud rriolih .less,
under the fierce struggle between death and
life! And ask me tioi for him. Would t<i
Heaven lie had died ! Gilt Heaven willed it
not. Fur him Was reserved a darker doom j
for me a deeper despair ! I saw him biit oiiCj
again; he knew me not! That noble tumtl
hud fled from its beauteous tenement, and [
heard but the iiicoliere.it ravings of a mans,
cled idiot! And how I longed; you, even
prayed ! tn join him in that fearful cell • —to
sear off from my brain the memory of the past,
even if the scorching iron were left to seelhn
for ever in tho furrows 4 h id ploughed up !
But it njjght not be ! I fulfilled a jnster doom.
I have seen the vanities; which were theVefV
food of my former existence, leave m-; an ob.
ject of scorn aud derision t I have see i friend
ship and affec’ion wither itnd die rut nd n't}*
path! 1 have watched ffie bright compnniot.s
of my youthful years sink, < ne by noo. into
the grave lamented n:id forgotten; lik ■ lights
which have gone ot t and left da k less but fur
a moment, till their place Was the place of an
other! I have s en the eyes Which have smil
ed on mo glazed With the dark h ind of death ;
ifie lips that have spoken words of love, cold
and sons less to my kiss; —the hands that have
blessed me, mot io ..less and unyielding to mv
warm pressure ; and what have I to do with
life? For trie it has no joys—even affliction
has lost its sting ’ a id I gaze listl<.*ssiy arotuxl
me, shunned by all, an l avoiding all, like a be
ing whose pan is finished an this restlcs-t
stage—who is felt to be an i ,tn» ier—a gue.-t
who his overstayed his welcome time!
—Nay ; do not weep—my fir child !
You have not deserted the wretched old hag
in her wretchedness:’ —1 h ;ve one blessing sti.l
reserved in that bright smile an I geufe voic<;
and heaven will r. ward \ on, my chid! fr
your kind.>ess to the “Weary and heavy I iden,”
Heaven will bless you, as Hetfvbn al ine ctt.t
bless and reward. And when this tired soul
Iras found the fest Which it foftgs to win, yoit
will not scoff at the rnmttofy at the withered
“Old Maid” —you will remember th sad his
tory yon have this night he tr<l—and you wid
think of her us cue whose faults were father
of tho head than-<?f the heart—as one- who Was
the victim of a nxsguidcd youth and perverted
I mind—as one whose, failings were the failings
1 of a woman-—"ho lured—“not wiswly» but
I too well 1”