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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IS PUBLISHED
EVERY FRIDAY MORNING,
in:
T. LOMAX & CO.
TENCENT LOMAX, Pwscipal Editor.
Office on Randolph sired.
Citemnj Department.
tjoMtoOCTED bt CABOUNE U.K IIENTZ.!
[WRITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
Son;: of the Vine, as it climbs the Lattice.
Sunbeams from the noonday streaming,
Silver arrows flashing, gleaming,
Fierce thee through the curtained glass—
Lo! I come, a vernal (airy,
Stealing on with footsteps wary,
Weaving net-work, as I pass.
Bolder now, I spring and clamber,
Higher still, to reach thy chamber,
Climbing by the crossing bars—
Through the checker-work I’m peeping,
Watching thee, while tranquil sleeping,
’Neath the sileut movli and stars.
Though my stem is frail and slender,
And my tendrils young and tender,
I can scale a lofty height—
Lightly catching, strongly climbing,
1, my trailing leaves are bringing,
Where the feathered weanlings light.
Verdant tapestry I am weaving,
Sportive, wanton laborer, leaving
Traces art in vain would mock —
Light and shadow softly blending,
To the frame a wild grace lending—
So the green moss decks the rock.
Soon a glorious shadow spreading,
Blossom leaves and fragrance shedding,
I, in leafy pomp, will shine—
While within my bower reclining,
With my garlands round thee twining,
Thou wilt bless the brave young vine.
C. L. 11.
Quincy, Fla., May 20th, 18.V2.
[ WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL.]
THE LITTLE BROOM BOY.
lIY MRS. CAROLINE LEE IIENTZ.
“His years but young, but his experience old,
His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe ;
And in a word, (lor lar behind his worth,
Come ail the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.”
[SHAKSFEABE.
“Innocence unmoved
At a false accusation, doth the more
Confirm itself; and guilt is best discovered
By its own fears.” [ Nabb.
“You seem a very smart litlle boy,” said
Mr. C ampbell, to a child of about seven years
tri* age, who stood ou the steps before him,
With a bundle of hearth-brooms, much larger
than himself, swung over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir, I am smart; I made these
brooms myself,” replied the boy, with such
downright simplicity and truth of expression,
that the gentleman found it difficult to retain
his gravity. He bent down, took one of the
hrooms from the bundle, and examined it
ivlth bene\ olent attention. It was made of
straw—simply bound together with twine—
but so neatly and compactly, it would not
have disgraced the craft of an older and more
experienced workman;
“I must have diiti of these,” said Mr.
Campbell, putting some bright pieces of sil
ver in the hand of the little boy.
“This is too much, replied the child,
lifting his clear, questioning eyes to the face
of Mr. Campbell. “They are only a dime
apiece.”
“Keep the whole,” cried the gentleman.
“I would not make one for twice what I have
given you.”
“Oh! it’s so easy,” cried the child, with
emotion. “You just put the straws so, and
make the twine go in and out, and in and out,
all the time.”
The child was very coarsely, but cleanly
dressed. His little blue jacket was patched
in the sleeves, and his short checked apron
made “maist as good a3 new,” by the addi
tion of sundry brighter colored morceaus to
the worn and faded original. His dress be
spoke extreme indigence, but it was respect
able indigence, unaccompanied by misery or
degradation. His hair was parted smoothly
on his ingenuous brow, and his oval-formed
face looked fresh and fair from a recent ab
lution. But what particularly attracted the
attention of Mr. Campbell, was the beaming
intelligence and remarkable candor of the
boy’s countenance. It was perfectly radiant
with good humor, and indicated a disposition
so affectionate and confiding, it was impossi
ble to look upon him, without wishing to pass
the hand caressingly over his shining dark
hair, or patting his clean, rosy, dimpled
cheek.
It was a serene, quiet, golden hour. The
Business of the day was over, and the spirit
participated in the sweet repose of the mel
low sunset. Had the child accosted Mr.
Campbell at a time when he was occupied i
with the duties of his profession, he might
Slave given him a very different reception;
but just then, he had nothing to do. He was
seated in the balcony, enjoying the coolness
of the twilight breeze, and gazing with
dreamy delight on the rosy’ clouds, fringed
with ermine, that seemed dipping in an ocean
of liquid gold, as they slowly descended
towards the horizon. The little apparition,
that suddenly presented itself in the midst of
such gracious, glorious influences, was greet
ed with a benignant welcome. Mr. Camp
bell was fond of children, and bis manners
were kind and courteous. The boy lingered,
as if unwilling to leave one whom he did not
hesitate to consider his friend, when a vision
appeared, which bound him to the spot, as
by the spell of fascination. A little girl,
some two or three years younger than him
self, came bounding over the threshold, and
running up to Mr. Campbell, jumped into his
lap, and entwined her arms round his neck.
“Oh, papa,” cried she, nestling her cherub
face in his bosom, “I am so glad you are
pome;”
VOL. 111.
It was the first time the boy had had ar.
opportunity of satisfying his love of the beau
tiful, in animated being. Ever since he was
conscious of perception, the beauties of na
ture had been silently but powerfully work
ing on his imagination; hut.here was the
beauty of life, of congenial childhood, so fair,
so bright, so pure, that he sighed with a
strange feeling of oppression and wonder.
He remembered a little sister of his own,
who had died about two years previous, but
like himself, she had always been clothed in
coarse and unbecoming garments, and being
sickly and emaciated, she lacked those child
ish graces, which sometimes, as in his own
case, triumph over the most adverse circum
stances. This little giil, in her white muslin
robe, fastened at the shoulder with knots of
azure ribbon, coral necklace and bracelets,
soft, lustrous, unshorn, curling hair, pearly
white complexion, tinged with the faintest rose
color, and sweet, hazel eyes, sparkling like
dew-drops in the star-beams, seemed the real
ization of all his dreams of God’s angels. It
was as if the young rose he had seen blush
ing silently on the stalk, had suddenly be
come instinct with soul, and breathed forth
its perfume, in a voice of exquisite music.
At length the beautiful eyes of the child
turned from her father’s face, and rested on
the boy, who was gazing on her with such
an intensity of admiration. After looking at
him steadily a few moments, through her
long, falling ringlets, she slid from her fa
ther’s lap, and went up close to the spot
where he stood.
“Little boy,” she said, leaning forward
and surveying him gravely and earnestly
from head to foot, “you are pretty, but your
coat is ugly. I'll ask papa to buy you a
new one.”
A bright blush burned on the cheek of the
boy, as she thus addressed him ; but he did
not hang his head, or look ashamed of the
ugly coat, her little ladyship so frankly con
demned.*
“I shall buy one myself,” he answered,
“when I’ve sold brooms enough.”
“That’s right, mv little fellow,” cried Mr.
Campbell, laughing. “I like your spirit.—
How would you like to come and live with
me, and let me make a gentleman of you ?”
“I should like it very much, indeed, sir,”
answered the boy, unhesitatingly, his eye
flashing up with surprising intelligence, “i'll
go home and ask mother if I may come.’’
“Well,” continued Mr. Campbell, laughing
still more heartily at this singular little speci
men of humanity. “You must not forget it.”
“No, sir,” said the child, raising his bun
dle of brooms again to his shoulder—and
warned by the gathering shadows, he turned
to depart. “No, sir; I shan’t forget it.”
With a low bow, and a flourish of his poor
little battered straw hat, (an accomplishment
his mother had carefully taught him,) he de
parted, casting many a lingering look towards
the little girl, whose eye followed him down
the steps and into the street, with an expres
sion of mingled admiration and pity.
The careless words of the gentleman, for
gotten almost as soon as uttered, thrilled
through the spirit of the hoy, producing on
its high-toned chords, a long and deep vibra
tion. They were received in joy, and hope,
and faith, and acted upon in simplicity, godly
confidence, and religious faith.
About a fortnight after this incident, which
had passed away from the mind of Mr. Camp
bell, just about the same hour, while lie was
seated as usual in the shaded balcony, the
figure of the little broom-boy was seen trudg
| mg along the side-walk, entering the gate,
and ascending the steps eagerly and panting
ly, as if bent on some important business.
He was dressed in anew suit of nlarine
blue, his old straw hat was replaced by one
fresh from the hands of the manufacturer,
and a little bundle, tied up in a neat checked
handkerchief, was suspended on his left arm.
Walking straight up to Mr. Campbell, taking
oft’ his hat, and making bis little scrape of a
bow, he looked at him with a smiling, tri
umphant countenance, saying:
“I’ve come, sir.”
“So I see, my little fellow,” cried Mr.
Campbell, receiving him with a kind smile.
“What articles have you for sale now, in
that nice bundle !’’
“These are my clothes, sir,” replied the
boy. “My mother has been making new
clothes for me, beides these I have on.”
“Why, how could she afford to fit you out
so smartly ? I thought y’ou had to make
brooms for a living.”
“So 1 do, sir. There’s my broom money’,
you know, that I’ve been saving. Then she
sold some hens and chickens—and little sis
ter’s crib, besides. She’s dead, and don’t
sleep in it any more.”
The boy passed the back of liis hand over
his eyes, and coughed, to clear away a rising
huskiness in his throat.
“But what makes you bring your clothes
with you ?” asked Mr. Campbell, excessively
amused and interested by his little compan
ion. “What are you going to do with them ?”
“Wear them, while you are making a gen
tleman of me. You told me to come and
99
live with you, sir, and I've come.
Mr. Campbell started. His light, unmean
ing words came back to his remembrance,
and filled hitn with strange embarrassment.
The confiding innocence of the child, affect
ed him. The trusting faith of the mother,
rebuked the levity which had prompted the
thoughtless remark. As the mother of Moses
had committed her boy, in a frail osier cradle,
to the waters of the Nile, trusting in the God
®)c 00iithem SuttmttcL
of Israel, so this humble, unsuspecting wo
man, had entrusted her child to a stranger’s
keeping, relying with scripture simplicity, on
his honor and truth. She had probably ex
pended all her scanty means to purchase bis
new apparel. He .could imagine with what
trembling hands she had tied up his little !
bundle—how she smoothed his hair, and sha- !
ded it back from bis fair, bold brow—how |
she kissed his blooming chegk, leaving a tear
, where every kiss was pressed—and with what
a quivering lip she had God blessed him, and
told him to he a good boy. He could not
bear to say to the earnest, honest, truthful
child, looking so eagerly and hopefully in his
face, to go back to his mother and tell her
it was all nonsense—he had only spoken in
jest. lie had no son of his own, and he had
often yearned for one. Ilis darling Gabri
ella was lonely, and wanted a playmate and
companion. There was nothing coarse or
vulgar about the boy. He would not dis
grace a gentleman’s household. But his
wife! Ah! there was the obstacle. What
would his elegant, fashionable, and aristo
cratic wife, say to the adoption of this plebe
ian child? And what could he do if she op
posed it? While she appeared soft, indolent,
and passive, she ruled him with Eastern des
potism. He was proud of her beauty, proud
i of her high position in the world of fashion,
and would have “coined his blood to
drachmas,” sooner than have refused her
most extravagant demands. Not knowing
what to say, he suddenly asked the boy his
name.
“Ellery Gray, sir; but every body calls
n.e the Little Broom Boy”
“Why, Ellery Gray is a very good name,
indeed,” said Mr. Campbell, glad that he did
! not belong to the tribe of Benjamin or Levi.
The voice of Gabriella, sweet as a singing
bird’s, now warbled on the ear. With her
graceful, bounding step—for she never walk
ed—site came in sight, all in white, adorned
with the blue of the sky, and the glowing
coral of the ocean. She stopped just before
she reached her father, and gazed with de- ;
lighted countenance on Ellery, whose new
suit of clothes wonderfully beautified his ap
pearance.
“Here, Gabriella,” said her father, “let me
introduce you to Master Ellery Gray. How
would you like to have him stay and live
with us, and he a brother of yours?”.
“Like! Oh, papa,” cried she, clapping
her hands, with a sweet, wild burst of laugh
ter; “You don’t know how much I would
like it.”
“Stay here, then, and entertain him, while
I go and talk with your mother.”
What passed during this interview, it is i
i unnecessary to relate, as we are only inter- j
| ested in the result. When Mr. Campbell re- :
turned, bis brow was somewhat clouded ; !
j but taking Ellery by one hand, while Ga
! briella held him protectingly by the other, he
led him into the drawing room, where a tall
and beautiful lady, very richly and fashiona
bly attired, half reclined in a languid, yet
graceful manner, on a luxurious velvet sofa.
* T
I Nothing could be more elegant or indolent
than her whole appearance, and had little
j Ellery ever heard or read of Sultanas or En
i chantresses, he would have imagined that he
was now gazing on one. Ilis unaccustomed
eyes were actually dazzled by the jewels that
gleamed amid the white cloud of lace around
her neck, and sparkled on her snowy white
hand. He looked as if suddenly brought
face to face with the noon-day sun. Never
were admiration and awe more vividly ex
pressed than in the honest, ingenuous eyes
fixed so unreceditigly upon her.
“What do you think of this lady, Ellery?”
asked Mr. Campbell, reading his admiring
countenance, and anticipating the reply he
would make.
“Think!” repeated Ellery, with a bright
\ blush, “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t
| know there was any lady in the world so
| pretty.”
This well timed and perfectly truthful ex
pression, sealed the destiny of Ellery Gray.
The vanity of the lady was not proof against
this simple homage. The superb arch of her
brows was instantaneously lowered, and a
smile wreathed her lip.
“Mamma,” said Gabriella, looking patroni
zingly at the y’oung protege ; “This is Elle
ry—Ellery Gray. Isn’t he pretty’, mamma ?
and doesn’t he look nice ? May he not stay
and live with us, and play with me when I’m
tired of being alone ?’’
Mrs. Campbell was vain and worldly, but
not haughty or overbearing. Constitutional
ly indolent, she seldom troubled herself about
the conduct of others, if it did not interfere
with her own. When her husband described
the dilemma in which he found himself, and
endeavored to argue away her aristocratic
prejudices against the child, she was as much
displeased as she thought it becoming to be,
for she expected to see a coarse, ill bred,
overgrown youug monster, whose vulgarity
would shock her refinement. The contrast
of the real with the ideal, pleased her; the
dazzling effects of her own charms gratified
, her vanity, and it was always less trouble to
| yield than to resist. To Mr. Campbell’s un
speakable joy—for his heart was drawn more
and more towards the Little Broom Boy—
she gave a languid consent, and Ellery-Gray
was admitted into the family of Mr. Camp
. bell.
Mrs. Gray, the mother of Ellery, was a
woman of strong, good sense, genuine piety,
| and child-like dependence on the especial
Providence of God. She believed it was tho
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JUNE 11, 1852.
will of the Almighty, that Ellery should be a
gentleman, and obedient to that will, she was |
ready to sacrifice every selfish consideration, !
to his future interest. She knew Mr. Camp
bell well by reputation—so it was not with
blind trust that she had yielded up her son. ;
With firm resolution, she resisted the plead- j
ings of affection, which urged her to seek
her little boy in his new and comparatively
magnificent home. He was permitted to j
visit her, but with rare judgment, she fore
bore to obtrude herself into the presence of!
the elegant Mrs. Campbell, whose pride was i
thus spared a shock, which would have been
fatal to the growing interests of Ellery.
Years passed on. The boy grew into ado
lescence. A hardy plant, transplanted from
the wilderness of life, to one of its green,
sunny bowers, he had a vitality, a moral
vigor, that resisted the enervating influences
around him. The early principles of piety
instilled into his heart by liis strong minded
mother, formed a basis of rock to his char
acter, which? the winds of temptation in vain
assailed. And temptation did beset him, on
every side, not less dangerous because lurk
ing in flowery ambush. His gratitude to his
benefactor was only equalled by his affection,
yet with all his gratitude and affection, he
could not feel that respect and veneration,
that confidence in the firmness of his princi
ples, which he longed to cherish. He saw
that he was kind, gentle and affectionate;
but there was a weakness and indecision
about him, that kept one trembling for his
integrity and honor. lie condemned the ex
travagance of his wife, yet yielded to it, with
out a struggle. He condemned the system
of vanity and indulgence in which she educa
ted the young Gabriella, yet he had not the
moral courage to place her under a purer,
healthier discipline. Young as Ellery was,
he felt a constant struggle with judgment
and imagination, principle and feeling. With
his exquisite perception of the beautiful, lie
could not but admire the taste and splendor
that floated like a golden drapery over the
household arrangements, and gave such an
air of enchantment to the elegant mistress
of the establishment. With his remarkable
simplicity and love of truth and virtue, he
could not but be pained at witnessing a life
of such meretricious display and selfish lux
ury. Gabriella—sweet, lovely, fascinating
child as she was—was made to form a part
of the glittering show-picture. Ellery loved
to gaze upon it, for it was beautiful and fair
to look upon, but vanity of vanities was
written upon the margin, and there were
moments when all its brightness vanished.
We are speaking of the inner thoughts—
those thoughts which lie fathoms deep in the
heart—seldom drawn up to the surface, but
keeping the fountain fresh and pure. In the
family, in society, Ellery appeared a bright,
ingenuous, intelligent boy—modest, without
being humble, self-reliant, without being pre
sumptuous, remembering the indigence from
which he had been raised, only to bless the
hand which had elevated him.
Mr. Campbell gave him every advantage of
education short of a college life. lie was
himself Cashier of a Bank iti the city in
which he dwelt—an office he had held for
many years—and when Ellery was old
enough, he gave him the situation of clerk in
the institution. This was not the position to
which his boyish ambition had aspired. He
had associated from his earliest remem
brance with his idea of a gentleman, some
thing great and glorious—influence, com
mand, eloquence, and the full expansion of
intellect. He did not like a business life.
His taste shrank from all dry details—all
mere matter of fact occupations. He felt
the flutter of his growing wings, and longed
to unfurl them in the sunlight that rested like
a glory-crown on the hill top which he pant
ed to ascend. But Mr. Campbell told hiti
that he needed his services; that he wished
to keep him near his person ; that he felt as
if he had a sheet anchor of integrity and
truth in him, on which he could lean, and he
submitted his neck to the yoke with graceful
submission. He had a conviction that his
benefactor did need him, and he kept down
his proud aspirations, and hushed all selfish
repinings, glad to make an acceptable offer
ing on the altar of gratitude.
Gabriella, who had been for several years
at a fashionable boarding school, that she
might receive all the graces of education,
now returned in the full, sweet, fresh bloom
iof girlhood. When a child, she had treated
Ellery T with the endearing familiarity of a
sister, and one word from liis truthful lips,
one glance from his rebuking eye, would ar
rest her on the verge of temptation and turn
her into the path of right, no matter how
j passion might misguide or folly betray’. But
four years of absence had wrought a won
derful change. The child was grown into
womanhood—the boy into manhood. The
young clerk was proud, and stood aloof
from the lovely, but now capricious and flat
tered beauty’. He sighed over the sweet re
membrances of boyhood, but he could now
no more approach with brotherly’ endear
ments the beautiful Gabriella, than if she were
surrounded by silver bars, to guard her from
intrusion. Though still of the same house
hold, lie seemed at an immeasurable distance
from her, and the atmosphere around her
seemed to him to partake of the dazzling
I splendor and chillness of a polar night. It
is true, he would sometimes catch a glance
from her dark, hazel eyes, full of gentle, child
ish memories, which would instantaneously
melt the icy incrustations of formality, and
his heart would leap in his bosom like a ver
nal fountain. But if, perchance, he again
sought that soft, subduing eye-beam, the
light of memory appeared quenched, and the
orbs it so beautifully illumined, shone with
a colder and more distant radiance.
One evening, he remained in the drawing
room, after the guests had departed, and the j
family retired, lie was seated in a recess
which looked into the garden, and whose ;
entrance was shaded by flowering shrubs. ;
He had found a book which he had last seen j
in the hand of Gabriella, and whose margin
bore the traces of her pencil. His attention i
became so riveted to its contents, that he was |
not aware he was left sole occupant of the ’
still brilliantly illuminated apartment. A j
very light footstep entered, but he did not
hear it. The slight shiver of the rose leaves,
whose shadow played upon his brow, did not
disturb his deep abstraction; but when a
sweet voice uttered the name of “Ellery,”
in tones resembling the well remembered
mu:.ic of childhood, he started so suddenly
that the book fell from his hand. lie looked
up. Gabriella stood just within the recess,
putting back with one hand the flowers,
which sent out a cloud of fragrance at her
gentle touch. She was dressed in white mus
lin, with blue sash and ribbons, and he
thought of the moment when she first beam
ed upon his childish vision, in the same ce
lestial-looking costume. He thought of him
self as the Hide broom boy , whose person she
had approved, while she had condemned his
ugh) coai. Then he recollected how they
had played together as children, and how
gently she had borne his mentorship, and
how often she had been influenced by his
counsels. The immeasurable space which
had appeared lately to separate them, seem
ed suddenly annihilated, and they stood to
gether on the green margin of youth, watch
ing the sunbeams, as they sparkled on the
stream of life.
“Gabriella!” he exclaimed, rising, with a
blush of delighted surprise, “dear Gabriella!”
It was the first time he had seen her alone
since her return ; the first time he had dared
to use the endearing epithet once so familiar to
his lips. She did not appear displeased with
the freedom, nor did she immediately with
draw the hand he had involuntarily taken.
Her eyes filled with tears, but a lovely, hap
py smile played upon her lips.
“I came for my book,” said “she, blushing
at the disingenuousness of her words; “but
you can keep it if you like. And yet I will
not say so. The book is rather an excuse
than a cause. 1 wished to speak with you,
Ellery, and have vainly sought the oppor
tunity.”
“With me!” he exclaimed. The glow of
pleasure that irradiated his countenance, was
like the bursting of the sunlight on the water.
“Yes,” said Gabriella, drawing back a few
paces, with an air of modest reserve; “but it
is not of myself or you, that I came to speak.
It is of m v father. Eller}', he is so changed.
You, that have been with him all the time,
may not see the transformation—but I do.
He must have some cause of care and sor
row unknown to the world. In you, he has
unbounded confidence. You are his chosen
companion—his familiar friend. He has no
secret from you—l know he has not. Tell
me what it is that is making furrows on a
brow, as yet unwrinkled by time?”
“Believe me, Gabriella—l am not in your
father's confidence,” he answered gravely,
almost sadly.
“You are not? If you assert it, it must be
so, for you were always truth itself. But
you must have marked the change. You do
not accuse me of vain apprehensions.”
“He may have cause of disquietude, but l
have never questioned him. My respect has
ever guarded my curiosity.”
“Curiosity!” repeated she, with impa
tience. “You cannot, must not, give so cold
a signification to a daughter’s trembling fears.
Oh ! if you knew half the love 1 bear him—
half the affection—the tenderness that fills
my heart—you would not wonder that I suf
fer at the possibility of misery impending
over him.”
“Would you indeed save him from misery,
at any sacrifice ?” cried Ellery, touched and
charmed by this unexpected burst of filial
enthusiasm.
“Would I?” repeated she, earnestly. “Oh!
that I could be put to the test!’’
’ “As I said before,” he resumed, “I am
not in your father's confidence; but I hare
seen with pain, an expression of growing
care upon his countenance, and a restlessness
of manner, indicative of disquietude within.
I have sometimes imagined that pecuniary
embarrassment might be the cause. I have
thought,’’ continued he, looking round him,
and coloring at his own boldness, “that the
fountain from which so much luxury was
flowing, was in danger of being drained.”
“Ah! is it indeed so?” cried she, giving a
rapid glance at the splendid furniture which
! her mother had recently purchased, to grat
ify a caprice of fashion—at the costly pearls
which adorned her own neck and arms—and
j recalling the thousand expenditures of the
household. “Is it indeed so? Yes, we are
too lavish and extravagant. My mother ”
j she checked herself suddenly—then added,
| “My lather is too liberal, too indulgent, for
his own good. He never repressed a gener
ous impulse, never banished a supplicant from
his door.”
Ellery could not but remember that he
was indebted to one of these generous im
* pulses, for his present situation in the world,
and though he knew he was now repaying
his benefactor, with the devotion of his whole I
life, a burning suffusion dyed his face, and
the remembrance of the obligation weighed
heavy on his heart. The words of Gabriella,
though not so intended, sounded as a re
proach.
“A our father is generous,” he cried, “too
generous and uncalculating for his own in
terest. I am glad that you are awakened
to such a watchfulness over his happiness.
Be henceforth the guardian angel of his heart
and home. All will then be well. Forgive
me, Gabriella, that I thought you were be
coming vain and heartless, spoiled by indul
gence, and intoxicated by adulation. I see
you have a heart—a true and noble one—too
true, too noble, to be sacrificed at the golden
shrine of wealth and fashion. How is it,
with such feelings, such genuine sensibility
and excellence of character, you can ever do
yourself so much injustice as to appear, even
for a moment, to be the artificial and worldly
being you really, though secretly, scorn ?”
“There spoke Ellery Gray,” said she,
with a laugh, that grated a little on his exci
ted nerves—“the boy-mentor of my child
hood. I cannot answer you, for Ido not
know myself. I believe,” she exclaimed, her
eye flashing with an expression difficult to
define, “that I am a two-fold being, the lover
of nature and the votary of art. When with
you or my father, I am a little child once
more, such as you first saw me, when I knew
no higher joy than to be cradled in his arms.
When in the world, as the gay circle which
surrounds me is called, vanity and pride lux
uriate, and throw into shade the blossomings
of my better nature. I wish I had never
been taught to shine.”
Gabriella sighed and looked down. Oh !
that sigh spoke volumes. It told of a world
weary spirit; weary, though its young plumes
had so lately been unfurled. It told of heart
yearnings that must seek repression ; of “im
mortal longings,” held down by a cold, mor
tal pressure. Without speaking again, she
turned and left the room—but she saw the
look with which Ellery followed her, and it
made her sigh again.
The next morning, she resolved to speak
to her father, before he left home for the bu
siness of the day, and learn from him, if they,
the luxuries she was enjoying, were purchas
ed at so dear a price as his tranquility. She
would far rather clothe herself in sackcloth
and ashes, and live on bread and water, than
fare sumptuously, and be arrayed in purple
and fine linen, at the expense of his honor
and peace. So she told him, with tearful eyes
and embracing arms.
“Foolish, foolish girl!” he cried, looking
more vexed and angry than she had ever seen
him before. “Who put such wild thoughts
into your head ? I was never more cheerful,
more happy. Never allude to the possibility
of such a state of things, to me or to any one.
Never, I say, on penalty of my displeasure.
No, no, Gabriella—it is not in the morning
of your womanhood, that I would abridge
you of one pleasure, or wish you to deny
yourself one luxury, that affection can sug
gest or wealth can purchase.”
To convince her of the truth of his
he brought her that evening anew set of
jewels, and if one did not call him cheerful,
it was because he was gay.
“You are mistaken, Ellery,” said Gabriel
la, as she glittered before him, a moment, in
her new ornaments. “My father’s coffers are
far from being drained. Never again allude
to such a thing, I pray you, if you would not
give him pain and displeasure. The cloud, if
my misgiving heart has not altogether created
it, must have another origin. Oh ! be watch
ful, Ellery—guard every avenue to evil. Be
to my father what I would have been, had
heaven made me a boy.”
It was very sweet to have Gabriella thus
address him by the familiar name of Ellery,
to confide to him her filial apprehensions, to
smile upon him so kindly, so gratefully, when
he promised all and more than she asked—
and he wondered that he could ever have
thought her cold and capricious ; but when
he again saw her the centre of a crowd
of flatterers, inhaling the incense of ad
ulation, or bestowing on others that en
chanting smile, which almost maddened him
to behold, he wondered equally at the illusion
he had not the power to dispel, and could on
ly explain the seeming inconsistencies of her
character, by believing her own words, that
she was a two-fold being, ■whose nature his
single-heartedness and simplicity could never
fathom. He never dreamed that she smiled
on others, lest the world should believe she
only cared to smile on him—that she appear
ed capricious, to conceal her constancy—
cold, to hide the central warmth of her heart.
The promise he had given to watch over
her father, he faithfully kept, but in Mr.
Campbell he found another enigma more pain
ful, and equally perplexing. The temper once
so mild and uniform, was becoming irritable
and uncertain. The affectionate confidence
he had always exhibited to Ellery, gradually
changed to distance and reserve; so imper
ceptible in its advances, that he felt the chill
ness before he perceived the twilight shadow
stealing over his heart.
“He fears the poor boy whom he has ele
vated to the position of a gentleman,’’ said
Ellery to himself, “may dare to raise his
I eyes to the daughter of his benefactor. His
coldness is intended as a rebuke to my pre
; sumption.”
These thoughts goaded the proud, ingenu
ous heart of the young man, and the con-
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sciotfcrtess of possessing feelings it was his
; duty to crush, darkened the sunshine of bis
conscience. He avoided, more and more, the
lovely, capricious being, whose fascinations
lie felt every day more irresistible, but ono
glance of her eye, one word of her lip, would
destroy the stern resolutions which he had
passed wakeful hours in forming.
lie was roused from this state of morbid
j sensibility, by a tlmndor-stroke, as sudden
J and terrible as the lightning’s bolt darting
! from the cloudless bosom of noonday.
When the Directors of the Bank made
j their annual examination, there was a defi
ciency of nearly ten thousand dollars, enter
ed on the’ books, of which the young clerk
could render no account. The character of
Mr. Campbell for integrity and honor, had
been so long established, it seemed impossi
ble that suspicion should rest upon him. El
lery Gray was young and had his reputation
yet to make. The story of his childhood, the
manner of his introduction to Air. Campbell,
the kindness, the munificence of that gentle
man towards him, were well known to the
public. At the time of his adoption the name
of the Jiiilc broom boy was on every body’s
lips, and many laughed at Air. Campbell so -
lds quixotic benevolence. That a youth rais
ed from indigence and obscurity, and exposed
to great temptations, in a situation so respon
sible as the one in which he was placed,
should fall, was the natural and fatal conse
quence of a false position.
“ ’Tis dangerous to take one from the dregs
of life,’’ said one. “Education may polish
the exterior, but the internal corruption will
still remain.”
“Gentle born as well as gentle bred, for
me,” said another. “No cliemic art can re
move a hereditary taint from the blood. I
never liked the boy’s lofty air and indepen
dent manners. Well; lie has a trade ready
for the Penitentiary. I suppose he has not
forgotten how to make brooms.’’
There were some who bore testimony to
the excellence and piety of bis mother’s char
acter, to the purity and nobleness of his
own—but to the astonishment of many, Mr.
Campbell did not attempt to vindicate bis
adopted son from the foul crime imputed to
him.
“I did love and trust him, as my own son/*
ho exclaimed, in grief, rather than surprise
and anger—“but I acknowledge that I havo
been eruelly, ungratefully deceived/ I havo
lately had some sad misgivings, hut I never
dreamed of the extent of the fraud. I should
<*
not hate exposed him to temptations. But
alas, whom can we trust ? I once believed
him the very embodiment of truth and honor.’’
Ellery heard this sentence as it fell from
the lips of his benefactor, and there were
those present who saw the look which an
swered it, who said they never should forget
it till their dying day.
That night, when Air. Campbell entered
the chamber of Ellery, he found him with
his face bowed upon his hands, and his hands
resting on the table, immovable as stone.
He went up to him and laid his hand on his
shoulder—
“Ellery,’’ said he, in a sorrowful voice,
“this is a grievous affair—l am sorry for you,
sorry for myself, sorry for your poor mother.”
Ellery gave a convulsive start, and shook
off, with a writhing gesture, the hand that
rested on his shoulder. Then raising his head,
he fixed his inflamed eyes on the face of Air.
Campbell. No word issued from bis wan
and quivering lips, but there was many a one
written in that burning, steadfast gaze. The
cheek of Mr. Campbell turned of ashy pale
ness, beneath its scorching beam.
“Are }’ou indeed sorry, sir?’’ at length
uttered the youth, his countenance kindling
with an expression of lofty disdain—“ You,
who, instead of being my champion, confirm
the ignominious charge! You, who, instead
of vindicating the innocence so foully wrong
ed, join the ranks of my accusers and strike
with your own hand the cruellest, deadliest
blow to my reputation P
“What mean you ?” exclaimed Mr. Camp
bell, recoiling and knitting his brows fiercely*.
“What would yon dare to insinuate?’’
“I insinuate nothing,” replied Ellery. “I
assert my innocence—l assert my conviction
that it is known to yourself and ought to be
proclaimed to the whole world—l assert that
1 am the victim of an unjust accusation—that
I am made the shield of an unsuspected
criminal.’’
“I understand you, young man,” cried Air.
Campbell, the purple hue of repressed passion
settling round his mouth. “I understand
your covert meaning. Is this the return for
all my favors, this the gratitude I receive for
i long years of paternal tenderness and care?
Yes! I see it all. You would roll the bur
then of your guilt on me, your benefactor
and friend. Aou would destroy the peace of
my family; the happiness of my wife. You
would break with ruthless hand, the heart of
my daughter.”
The dark fire that gleamed in the young
man’s eye was suddenly quenched. Again
he bowed his head upon his hands, and tho
table shook with the paroxysm of his agony.
Low, deep sobs, such as heave the breast of
childhood, but seldom rend the bosom of man,
burst forth, mingled with ejaculations to
heaven.
“God forgive me if I wrong another,” he
exclaimed. “I care not for myself; I would
willingly sacrifice myself for her peace ; but
my mother! It will crush; it will kill her,
; Well! it is better that she die; better to wear
[ the crown of glory, than bear the cross of
i shame. From the height of Paradise she
; can look down on the dungeon of her son.’’
[concluded next week.]