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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- TERMS OF PUBLICATION. One Copy, per annum, it paid in advance,.. §2 OO’ “ “ “ “ “ “ in sx mrntfcs, 250 “ “ “ ** “ “ at end of year, 3 IX> RATES OF ADVERTISING. One square, first insertion, SIOO “ “ each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal deduction made in favor of those who advertise largely. m. 2t. 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.]