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THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL
IS PUBLISHED
EVERY* FRIDAY* MORNINC,
BY
T. LOMAX &, CO.
TENXENT LOMAX, pmjtciml edituk.
Qfi** on Randolph street.
Cilcvon) D ftrim cut.
Conduct f.d r,v... CAROLINE LEE HENTZ.
I WRITTEN FOR THE SENTINEL.]
THE SUN-STRICKEN FLOWER.
It withers in secret —a sun-stricken flower—
The beams were too bright that illumined my bower;
I opened my fond heart, nor knew that the ray
Which wanned its deep foldings would vanish away.
It withers in secret. The shadows of night
Now fall o'er the boston once mantled with light;
lake the dew of the grotto, that weeps into stone,
Is the tear that I shed—sad, silent and lone. .
It withers in secret. The sun-beam? no more
Can the languishing blossom to brightness restore —
And the heart that has faded ’neath love’s burning ray,
That ray once withdrawn, ma-.t in silence decay.
It withers in secret. The tree of the grave,
In willowy gloom, o’er inv ashes may wave—
And strangers may how ’neath its branches, nor know,
A heart that is withered, lies sleeping below.
C. L H.
[WRITTEN FOR TIIE SENTINEL.]
Elegiac Poem.
ON 11. AUGUSTA HOWE.
BY B. J lIOWF..
‘'Ye winds ofllcaven! breathe softly o’er this tomb!
Here ri.-e and shed your sweet perfume, ye roses!
Ye flowers ot spring, here ope your curliest bloom,
For here it is bright innocence reposes.”
[d. s. rice.
She sleeps!
injife’s bright spring-time, all her cares are o’er—
'J o her ’tis given—then why the 1033 deplore ?
The sacred tears which mourning fondness weeps
Can ne’er again the slumbering dead restore ;
Yet all the scenes which faithful memory keeps
Rise, as the saddened feeling o'er us creeps,
That wo shall meet her in this life no more!
The one,
Whose heart was happiest in her childi h glee,
Whose joyous laugh rang out so wild and free,
How soon, alas! h gone! Her course is run ;
The place is vacant where she used to lie !
Ere yet her days of youth were well begun.
Her life was closed —her errand here was done,
And her existence lost in Time’s wide sea.
And yet,
At times, mothinks if I again should stray
To that loved home, in di-tance far away,
I still should meet her there us erst I went,
In the sweet sunshine of each former day.
That form—that voice—will memory ne'er forget: ■
But oft will sigh with deep and fond regret,
That one so bright, should have so brief a day.
The sweet
And tender recollections that endear
The early lost, and make them seem more near,
Come thronging o’er our minds. Oh ! how replete
With joy and happiness those hours appear!
When bright the (lowers were springing ’round her
feet,
As she ran forth, our coming steps to greet,
And shed a light upon our pathway here.
How bright,
And oh! how beautiful it is to go,
In early youth, from this deep vale of wo;
Before the soul shall feel the deadening blight,
It often meets in this dark world below !
When freed from earth, the spirit takes its flight,
To dwell henceforth in bles-edne sand light,
Where grief and sorrow it no more shall know.
’Tin icell!
Fond mother! weep no more for her! No care
Shall e’er invade that gentle bosom there !
Sweet sister.’ seek your sorrow to dispel!
Dear father—brothers! all, your grief forbear!
When ice may go, no mortal tongue can tell,
Yet brief the time we here together dwell,
And all at length her destiny must share.
Since all,
Yes, all that breathe, alike at la-t must die,
What matters it how soon—or where we lie ?
Some on the deep, and some on land may fall;
Some ’mid their friends may close their drooping eye,
And some alone may meet the final call—
There are no terrors ’neath the gloomy pall,
If we but meet to part no more on high.
Dover, Vei, Aug. 30fA, 1849.
[written for the sentinel.]
MAGNOLIA LEAVES.
We will j>liiek some fresh and blooming
leaves. We will lay an offering on the altar
of hope, instead of memory. W e will look
on the sunny side of life, instead of its
shadows.
The letters of a young and happy wife
must contain passages of interest. We will
loosen the packet, perfumed with geranium
and verbena, which, though faded and dry,
give a fragrance to the papers congenial to
the sweetness of their contents. The writer
is one of those bright, gentle, lovely beings,
that win the love and admiration of all.
‘i'llere is something in her soft, smiling eyes
that seems to say, “Do you love me ? Will
you love me? I can love you most dearly in
return.” Her voice is low and sweet, her
motions graceful and womanly. Before her
marriage, she was the idol of her father’s fam
ily—“the youngest, most beloved of all.”
Her brothers, two of whom were candidates
for collegiate honors, treated her with a kind
of chivalrous courtesy, seldom exhibited to a
sister, however beautiful and affectionate.
When she played and sung, they would stand
by her side, in silent attention, turning the
leaves of her music-book, and rewarding her
with approving smiles. Natural affection, thus
fed by daily, hourly gifts, became purer and
stronger with every passing day. “I never
shall marry,” she would often say, “for I
never can love any one as well as my own
dear brothers. 1 feel as if I would be per
fectly happy to remain as I am, all my life,
provided they should form no dearer ties. I
fear their love has made me selfish and
exacting, for the thought of ever being sup
planted in their affections gives me exquisite
pain.”
One of these beloved brothers died in Col
lege, of an inflammation of the brain, brought
on by excessive application to his studies. He
was a delicate, slender, sweet-voiced youth ;
too sensitive and refined to come in collision
with common, every day mortals. The dew
of piety gemmed the flower of his youth.
* He sparkled, was exhaled, and went to Heaven.”
Death was a blessing to him, for life would
have been filled with suffering. He had tasted
only its vernal sweets, and passed away before
VOL. 111.
the mildew and the frost had fallen. We
saw her when in mourning for this idol of her
sisterly heart, and never beheld a more inter
esting object. Her sable dress formed a
striking relief for the pearly whiteness
of her complexion, and a misty veil seemed
resling on her smiling, hazel eyes. We
felt, in a moment, she had been looking
on death since last we met. She spoke of
him as an angel in Heaven, as one who was
beckoning her to follow.
“He was too good, too pure for earth,” she
said, “and God took him to himself. But if
ever departed spit its are permitted to minister
to those they loved on earth, l know his
guardian wings will hover round my head.”
Several years passed awav, when a letter
came, announcing her marriage with a young
lawyer of rising reputation. Site had gone far
from the home of her youth, the scenes of her
childhood, to be a stranger in a strange land.
That gentle, yielding creature, who had
breathed only an atmosphere of love—who
had never learned one lesson of self-depen
dence or self-denial. The energies of her
character had never been called forth—they
had remained in a state of quiescence, gather
ing strength from repose. Here is an ex
tract from one of her first letters, written in
the warm glow of bridal happiness, under
the excitement of novelty, and the awaken
ing influences of new connections:
“Rejoice with me, my own dear friend, for
lam happy beyond my sex’s charter. I once
thought my capacities of happiness were all
filled, but 1 was mistaken. I find the more 1
enjoy, the more 1 am capable of enjoying—
the more I love, the more I am capable of
loving. There was a deep chamber in my
heart that had nver known an inmate—now
it has a royal guest, to whom I am proud to
pay kingly homage. Ah! I find there is a
love dearer than that of brother, tenderer
than that of friend. I look back upon the
visions of felicity, which formerly passed be
fore me, and smile at the retrospect. I used to
think that to accompany my beloved Ed- j
nuttul (this was the brother who died in col 1 - 1
lege) to India’s sultry clime, as a missionary j
to the benighted heathen, would be the crown :
of mv hopes and rejoicing. 1 thought while !
he was preaching 1 would teach, and prepare
the darkened minds of those poor children
for the celestial seed his hand would plant.
Then, again, I would dream of quiet domes
tic enjoyment in my sweet sister’s family, as
the good Aunt Alice of her darling children.
To sit down at twilight in her snug, pleasant
parlor, and gather round me the little golden
pated cherubs, while l increased the circum
ference of their large blue eyes by telling them
wondrous tales of the Genii, or drew forth the
crystallite drops by relating the pathetic his
tory of the Babes of the Woods, or the
mournful death of Cock-Robin. By and by,
1 would become venerable, and they would
call me .Mistress Alice, and I would mount
spectacles on my nose and (ill my pockets
with sugar-plums and chestnuts for my great
nieces and nephews! Ah! my Chateaux ait
Espagne are all demolished or blown down
by the breath of love. I have built me a bow
er of roses, where singing birds make their
nests and the wild vines hang in beautiful
festoons. Will you not come and share it
with me?
“Let me describe the magnificent scenery
on which, by merely lilting my eyes from
the paper, I can gaze till it is daguerreotyped
on my mind. In front is a green, green lawn,
shaded by locust trees, which are now
in full bloom, and actually burden the air
with their fragrance ; a grove of mulberries
is on the right, the Morus Multicaulis—plant
ed, probably, when the silk-worm fever was
at its height and every one expected to walk
in silken attire. On the left is an ample garden,
adorned with every variety of flower and
flowering shrubs. You, who so worship
flowers, shall ltnve a bouquet every morning,
before the sunbeams have kissed oil the
dew. Do you see a green hillock, not very
far off, rising on the north-east ? It is an In
dian mound, and is remarkable for the sym
metry of its form, and the luxuriant shrubbe
ry at its base. Look still farther at the blue
outline of the distant hills, and listen to the
musical murmurs that come with such a cool,
dreamy, lulling sound to the ear, telling of
many things which every one does not un
derstand. ’Tis the voice of the deep-rolling
Tennessee that winds majestically on the
left, through one of the loveliest valleys in
the world.
“ ‘You write too long letters,’ cries my hus
band, who is looking over my shoulder at this
moment. (Very rude, is it not?) ‘I shall be
jealous of your absent friends. Come and
let us walk to the Indian mound and gather
some of the beautiful wild flowers that em
broider it. You know you promised to make
an herbarium for our excellent friend, Doc
tor . Flower of my life, so lovely
and so lone, come and wander awhile among
your floral sisters.’
“I cannot resist that charming, poetic ap
peal. I know not which I love best, praise
or poetry; but there is one tiling I love bet
ter than both, and that is the husband who
can so gracefully quote the one and so affec
tionately administer the other. Lord and
master of my heart, I o!>ey thy summons. I
throw’ down the pen—l spring to follow’ thee.
Adieu, dear friend ; when I return I will re
sume my letter, and I doubt not, my ideas
will be vivified by the western breeze and the
glorious prospect of the setting sun.”
When the pen is again resumed, we can
see by the greater emphatjs of the letters; the
®.l|c Bmfifitn Sentinel*
freer, more dashing strokes, that her spirits
have gained elasticity and her mind force,
from her evening walk to the red man’s
green-swarded mound.
“Oh!” she continues, “I have had such a
charming walk! You would envy me if you
knew how charming. How I wish you knew
my husband; I think, I know you would ap
preciate the beauty and excellence of his
character. Ido not think I can feel perfect
ly happy till you come and see me, and give
me an opportunity of introducing to each
other two friends s > precious to my soul
Let me describe him. He is not very hand
some, perhaps, but lie has a most expressive
and engaging countenance. He is very dark,
has very dark and glossy hair, and eyes so
black, so bright, yet soft, you wonder that
such brightness and softness should not neu
tralize each other. Then he lias such a sweet
toned voice, so sweet, yet manly, that it lends
a charm to every thing he utters. I wish
you could hear him recite poetry. I always
was passionately fond of poetry. Aou know
I have sometimes tried to rhyme myself, but
[ never knew its full and perfect melody tiil
I heaid it from his lips. I should not omit
in this description the uncommon beauty of
his mouth and teetli—ivory gates, from which
nothing ever issues but pure, and gentle, and
endearing words.
“Oh ! my friend, what am 1, that I should
le so l.lest above women ? that l should have
won the undivided, the first affection of so ex
alted, so amiable a being? It is with deep
and unaffected humility that I give expres
sion to these feelings. I do not depreciate
myself that others may praise, bat true love,
I believe, is always humble; I humble my
self’ that he may ex.doeu.
‘Conceit, more ricvli in matter than in word-’,
Briers of hi- sub.-t.iuce, not of ornament,
They are but beggars, that can count their worth ;
But iny true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot tu;o up halt my sum of wealth.’
“You know 1 have been an indulged and
petted child, cradled in the lap of affluence
and ease; that I have known but two trials;
one, the loss of my angel brother, the other,
separation from my kindred and friends; the
last, no infliction of the Almighty, but im
posed by my own free will and choice. Since
the awakening of my heart, 1 feel as if it had
powers of endurance of which previously I
had never dreamed. I almost wish that want
were our portion, that I might show my hus
band how willingly, how bravely I could toil
and share the heat and burden of his day of
care; how freely these hands, which have
never yet been hardened by labor, should
minister to his necessities and increase his
comforts.
“You may say, it is very easy to sit se
curely in the harbor and tell how you would
brave tiie tempest and battle with the thun
der; but 1 do think, were I exposed to the
storms and billows of life, my spirit would
rise with the rising surges, possessed of too
much vitality to sink below’ them. Do not
laugh ;it me, for of all tilings l dread the
shaft of ridicule, especially when wrought up
to the enthusi ism of the present moment.
No; Ido not fear your laughter. Aon may
smile, for the smiles of a friend are the sun
shine of the soul. Farewell.”
M v next leaf shall bear on its surface an
other letter from my charming friend. One
glance into the inner chamber of a pure and
loving heart is worth a panoramic view of the
mere surface of society. We all love to
know what is passing in the hearts of others,
and letters are the transcript of the heart; if
not, shame to the spirit that dictates, and the
hand that writes.
C L. H.
EGYPTIAN RAIL-ROAD.
They are building a railroad in Egypt;
and late accounts from Alexandria tell us
that nine or ten thousand workmen are ac
tively engaged upon it. Think of that!
Crossing the desert after a locomotive!
Good-bye to camels and dromedaries! Fare
well to tents beneath the spacious blue firm
ament over head ! A “long farewell” to Arab
guides and Arab extortions! Railroads and
steamboats will yet thread through Palestine,
and paddle the sluggish waters of the Dead
Sea! Now’ look for trade in “pots and
pearls,” made from the “ash-apples” on “the
Dead Sea’s sh >re.” Sing the following, on
the twenty-sixth page, “irregular metre.”
Air: Go Ahead!
Over the billows and over the brine,
Over the water to Palestine !
Am I awake, or do 1 dream?
Over the ocean to Syria by steam!
My say is sooth, by this right hand :
A steamer brave,
Is on tiie wave,
Bound positively for the Holy Land!
Godfrey, of Boulogne, and thou,
Richard, Lion hearted King,
Candidly inform us now,
Did you ever?
No. you never
Could have fancied such a thing.
Never such vociferations
Entered 3’our imaginations,
As the eusuing :
“Ease her! stop her!”
“Any gentleman for Joppa ?”
“’iMascus,’Mascus ?” “Ticket, please, sir;”
“Tyre or Sidon ? ’ “Stop her! ease her!”
“Jerusalem,’lem ’lent ! “Shur! Shur.”
“Do go on to Egypt, sir ?”
“Captain, is this the land of Pharaoh ?”
“Now look alive there! Who’s for Cairo?”
“Back her! stand clear, I sav, old tile !”
“What gent or lady’s for the Nile ?
Or Pyramids ?” “Thebes, Thebes, sir, steady!”
“Now, where’s that party forEngeddi?”
Pilgrims, holy Red Cross knights,
Had you e'er the least idea,
Even in your wildest flights,
Os a steam trip to Judea ?
AVhat next marvel Time will show,
It is difficult to Lay :
“Omnibus to Jericho,
Only sixpence all the way ?”
Cabs in Jerusalem may play ;
’Tis not an unlikely tale ;
A lid from Dan the tourist bio
Uuta Geersheba by rail
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JULY 23, 1852,
[WRITTEN EXPRESSLY for the southern sentinel.]
THE FATE OF
THOMAS GILES & CO.,
Wholesale and Retail Grocers.
Exhausted by the trying scenes through
which site had passed, deep sleep came to her
that night with healing on its wings. When
she awoke, it was far in the morning, and al
most past the hour fixed upon for Iter pres
ence at the physician’s office. A"et, with a
lingering hope she might still find him there,
she hurried through breakfast ; and proceed
ed, with fluttering heart, to take from the lit
tle nook they had so long occupied in her
trunk, the dearly valued keepsakes of her
brother, the chain and the breast-pin. But,
with all her haste, she was unable to reach
her destination until long after the appointed
time. There her cup of disappointment was
filled to overflowing. The room was locked,
lie had been compelled to give up waiting
for her.
Having depended on his assistance, now
unexpectedly prevented; thrown, in conse
quence, entirely upon her individual resour
ces—she sought to fortify herself against the
approaching ordeal of her leelings. Not
that she halted, irresolutely, to reconsider the
immediate prosecution’of any purpose ; but
that, failing through reliance upon another,
to prepare for further personal exertion, her
relaxed and weakened nerves demanded ten
sion preparatory to renewed effort.
On her way to the pawnbroker’s, a conspic
uous row of watches, in a neighboring win
dow, attracted her wandering attention. —
Here the idea of procuring a valuation of
her keepsakes, before attempting to pawn
them, suddenly entered her mind. As no place
appeared more suitable than the one at hand
for executing such a design, s’.ie accordingly
pushed open the door, and advanced to a
small counter, behind which a man was en
gaged in repairing some article of jewelry.
“Will you be kind enough to inform me,”
she asked, handing him the chain, “what
that is worth ?”
Glancing sharply, as he received it, from
her cheap and worn attire, into her lace,
half from suspicion, half from curiosity ; but
disarmed of all distrustfulness by the mild
blue eye gazing calmly into his—he proceed
ed at once to answer her question.
“Nobody wears such patterns as this now
a-days, ma’am. T hey went out ot fashion
soon after I learned my trade, man y years
ago. It won’t do for anything now but old
gold. You might sell it easy enough for that
anywheres they buy such things. I can tell
you what it’s worth for that, if you will wait
a minute-” Then weighing it in a pair of
scales at his elbow, he continued, “It’ll
bring a little tiie rise of twenty dollars —it’s
so uncommonly heavy for such an article. ’
Cordially thanking him for his trouble, she
again hurried on her way, and presently
reached the pawnbroker’s. The counter was
partitioned off, on the outside, answering to
the physician’s description, into a succession
of stalls, one of which she entered. The
clerks seeming to be busily occupied with
customers, ample opportunity was afforded
to look about her.
The shelves were crammed with the stran
gest medley of articles she had ever witness
ed. Things the most widely remote in cost
liness and in uses, were huddled into imme
diate contact. The proprietor of this Babel
was of a character to match his business.—
From long custom, the inexorable look upon
his hard features had grown habitual ; it
would have daunted the most. importunate
petitioner that ever sought to extract a coin
by the moving eloquence of a breaking heart.
A r ou could read the interest table where time
had written it upon his wrinkled brow. His
cold, glassy eyes shone with avarice and sel
fishness, reflected from the soul within. An
incarnate Moloch, he stood amidst his pos
sessions, glutted with sacrifices extorted from
the wretchedness and the want of countless
victims.
After awhile, he came forward to where
she was. With a kind of instinctive appre
ciation that she had never before darkened
his doors, he intentionally turned upon
her an intimidating, inquiring stare. She
well understood, though unable to restrain
the warm blood from suffusing her face, that
to suffer his impertinent stratagem to betray
her into any weakness of conduct, would
only offer additional temptation to his arro
gance. Tiie rising indignation was accor
dingly forced back, and the gold chain mute
ly extended in answer. The watch-maker’s
estimate of its value had decided her to jeop
ardize no other article; that one seeming all
sufficient for the purpose in hand.
“How much do you want on this old
thing?” he asked, in a tone that indicated she
had better name a small sum; twirling it at
the same time contemptuously with his fin
gers, as if it were almost beneath his notice.
“Twelve dollars,” she replied, with forced
calmness, practicing the injunction of the
physician, to be wary in her words and ac
tions ; though it cost her no inconsiderable
effort to hear, apparently with composure,
an object so valued and cherished, mention
ed in such disparaging terms.
“Twelve dollars !” he echoed, throwing in
to his countenance an expression of unqual
ified amazement; and gazing at her with
an air of intense incredulity, as if he were hes
itating to believe the evidence of his senses
“ Twelve dollars!” and startled, as it were, by
the utter absurdity of the demand, he made a
show of returning the chain into her posses
sion ; but finding her hands ready to receive it,
a procedure wholly unanticipated, he smother
ed the movement midway towards its com
pletion, and fell into an eager, sudden exam
ination of the material and the workmanship.
Having satisfied himself that it was undenia
bly gold, he offered four dollars upon it.
“You surely can’t be in earnest, sir !”
she said energetically ; for, with her re
cently’ acquired knowledge of the article’s
true value, it was now her turn to be aston
ished. “Just look at the chain. There are
fifty-two massive links in it. If it were melt
ed and coined, 1 have no doubt it would make
at least four gold pieces, nearly double the
sum I ask. Aou surely can’t be in earnest,
sir !”
“Can’t I ? Well, I am. Why, at our last
yearly sale, didn’t we have far handsomer
ones than this, that we lost on at four dollars
and a half? I won’t give no more, 1 tell
you.”
“I think you must be mistaken about the
worth of this one, sir,” she urged persevering
ly, yet not without a strong effort at compo
sure. “A jeweller assured me it would bring
as much as twenty dollars for old gold even,
without reckoning the work upon it. But il
is unusually prized by me, as the gift of an
absent friend. I therefore do not wislt to sell
it. Had that been my intention, I would not
have conte to you. The pressing urgency of
my situation could alone induce me to part
with it, even temporarily. If you cannot af
ford the sum I need, I must try my success
elsewhere. ’’
Daunted by her decisive language, and
foiled in his attempted imposition, vet reallv
desiring to secure so profitable an investment,
the pawnbroker affected to satisfy his doubts
ot the chain s value, by calling in a neigh
boring watch-maker. This examination par
tially corroborating her statement, he submit
ted, with well feigned reluctance, as if the
bargain was, after all, extremely hazardous,
to advance what was demanded.
“1 will not take any paper money,” she
said in a resolute tone, as he began to count
out to her a number of small bills.
“Why not? You can bring them back
again, i! anything’s the matter, can’t you ?”
was his gruff response ; and he went on
counting, regardless ot her opposition.
“But J don’t know anything about the
batiks,"’ she persisted. “It may all he good
money, hut I would rather have silver. No
body hesitates to take that, but every one
hates those little bills.”
‘ J have larger denominations, then, if that
will suit you. Thomas, bring me two fives
and a two, out of that draw by you.”
“No, I want silver. Il you can’t pay me
in that, 1 will not pledge the chain at all.”
frustrated in his design to impose upon
her some depreciated currency, which she
would have found immeasurable trouble in
forcing him to exchange for better, he turn
ed, with a gesture of impatience, and ordered
a clerk to bring twelve dollars in silver, which
lie thrust sullenly into her hands.
‘ion may as well specify in your dupli
cate, the number of links in the chain,” she
suggested, the moment he took up his pen to
write; for his manner had so impressed her
with suspicion, that she felt it best to secure
herself by every possible precaution.
As she uttered this, he darted upon her a
sudden, sharp, inquiring glance; but having
now abandoned all further idea of imposi
tion, he proceeded, without a word of reply,
to execute her bidding.
Again in the street, she breathed more
freely. A chilling weight seemed to be lifted
from her heart. Now that she could look
back dispassionately at what had occurred,
she was amazed at her self-command and her
success. But, while she could not help re
gretting the necessity of the step just taken,
she thrilled with exultation at the thought of
her power to avert a calamity, the prospect
of which had overwhelmed her with a thous
and apprehensions.
As she plodded her weary walk, the sight
of an omnibus passing towards her home,
suggested the idea of shortening her journey,
and refreshing her jaded frame by a short
ride; for, by this time, she had begun to feel
quite faint and weak, the natural reaction of
her previous exertion and excitement. She
accordingly hailed the vehicle and took her
seat, selecting the necessary sum, that it
might be in readiness, the moment she reach
ed her stopping-place. Immediately in front
ot her sat a mother, with her young child,
in all the dignity ol babyhood and long gar
ments, and supposed, bv a fiction which ob
tains in sanguine families, to be a youthful
prodigy. Its right hand was brandishing an
enormous hunk of nibbled ginger-bread, with
which, in the capacity of a paint-brush, an
attempt was making, to its evident delight, to
portray, upon the back of a gentleman close
by, sundry original designs—indisputable ev
idences of the tendency of its exalted genius.
-Mrs. Win.sbv was in the very condition to be
attracted and won into laughter by such an
occurrence. Likelier fellow-passengers,she
did not attempt to restrain her mirthfulness,
especially on the ludicrous discovery, by the
victimized homo, of the uses to which his coat
had been subjected, in exhibiting the earnest,
upward impulse of a child’s ambition for the
picturesque.
Soon reaching her stopping-place, she
handed up her sixpence, left the omnibus, and
hurried home. But here an unexpected dis
aster awaited her. She searched her pocket
out, but not a penny was visible. She now
felt convinced of having been robbed during
her ride. It must have been induced by
carelessness in exhibiting her money when
selecting the fare, and have been perpetrated
while she was absorbed by the frolieksome
conduct of the child. Unable to recollect
any circumstances that could fix suspicion
on a particular individual, and the stolen
amount being in silver, and consequently
without marks that could serve the purpose
of detection, she knew all efforts at recover
ing her loss must be unavailing. She was
; stunned, at first, by the magnitude of the
| shock; but, as this wore off, realizing her
i forlorn and destitute condition, she burst into
tears.
While she sat by the window, faint with
grief and exhaustion, regardless of the entrea
ties of her alarmed husband to know what
was the matter, a rapid step on the stairs,
followed by a loud knock at her apartment,
startled her from her chair. Neglecting, in
i her sudden perplexity, to obey the summons,
! the door slowly turned on its hinges, and re-
I vealed the person of Giles. At sight of him,
her heart sank within her. Trembling and
giddy, she leaned against the wall for sup
port. A thousand apprehensions of immedi
ate evil flashed across her mind. But what
was her astonishment to hear the language
of forbearance and benevolence, issue from
his lips; and to learn that, instead of being
j thrust remorselessly into the street, she was
to be allowed her own time for payment of
rent. She could scarcely credit her senses.
: Her head swam round with an idea, which
her intellect seemed unable to grasp. Her
heart fluttered, her breath came gaspingly,
and she looked him in the face with incredu
lous amazement. Still, his words rang in her
s ears like startling and triumphant music, and
wakened exultation in her overburdened
breast. As the sudden revulsion of feeling
in some measure subsided, her eyes began to
moisten ; the tide of emotion rose and color
ed her cheek, while the depth of her sensa
tions overpowered her utterance.
The moment lie had gone, she flung her
self upon hor knees, and with a soul gushing
with emotions of glowing gratitude to the
beneficent Giver of all good, she poured out
a flood of ejaculations, in* thanksgivings for
His numberless blessings and mercies, suc
ceeded by a fervent, urgent appeal that He
would pardon her manifold forgetfulness and
want of faith.
CHAPTER 111.
I Several years had glided away since the
i events of the preceding chapters. Time, in
his resistless course, had wrought multitudi
nous changes. Obstacles and afflictions had
ceased to beset the pathway of Mrs. Winsby.
j Contentment and prosperity had taken their
i place. The gold chain once more occupied
! its appropriate nook in her trunk, beside the
j other keepsakes. Her husband, long ago re
covered trom his illness, and now ruddy with
’ the glow of health, daily added to their in
creasing plenty by the workmanship of his
hands. Meanwhile, the generous-hearted
sailor-brother had returned from his long
voyage. But before ho sought again the
ocean waves he loved, he placed his accumu
lated wages on interest, in the hands of his
sister’s husband. With this unexpected ac
cession to their funds, the wife had opened
a small variety shop, from which already
flowed a constant stream of income.
With Giles, time had dealt roughly. Al
though he had been up early and late, ready,
at all moments, to seize tho slightest oppor
tunity of profiting by the turn of a fraction;
although tho clock could not have been more
regular, or more untiring, than he in his bu
siness, nor the lynx have watched more nar
rowly than he, the fluctuating movements of
trade; v ? et success, in an ill-starred season,
had crumbled from his side, and fallen with a
crash which had shattered his fortunes. Du
ring a period of exceeding promise, when
prosperity was smiling upon him—when
money was pouring faster than ever into his
coffers—he was tempted and lured into a spec
ulation, by which, in conjunction with others,
he sustained an overwhelming loss. Some
business friends, who, like himself, had
fought their way from poverty to wealth, and
who also, like himself, unsatisfied with the pres
ent, dreamed great things of the future, hav
ing congregated on a certain occasion, con
certed and resolved the purchase of a large
ship, offered at a great bargain, by a firm un
der the weather. Giles was the more easily
induced to this, inasmuch as it was an appa
rent realization of the incipient stage of his
grand, imaginary, wholesale importing ware
house. But even had he harbored doubts re
specting the safety and desirableness of his
contemplated investment, they would have
been instantly dissipated by the confident
tone of his coadjutors, in whose experienced
and cautious judgments he placed almost en
tire reliance.
The vessel was accordingly bought, refitted,
and appurtenanced for her intended voyage.
Full of anticipated success, her new owners
heaped together their accumulated gains, and
taxing their credit to an unusual extent, dis
patched her to Rio for a load of coffee. But
alas for the vanity of human expectations!
She encountered a terrible storm off the Ber
mudas, and drove ashore, a total wreck, upon
an adjacent sand bank, where she went to
pieces, two only of tho crow escaping to tell
the sad story-. Finally, to crown this ruinous
disaster, the underwriters refused to pay iu-
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enforce payment. The caie dragged its lin
gering way through several courts, being de
cided at fast, by one of those unaccountable
freaks of the law, against the plaintiffs. This
verdict swept from Giles the mass of his pos
sessions, leaving nothing but tho building oc
cupied as a store, and the ground upon which
it stood. These, however, guarantied suffi
cient credit for an able prosecution of bis
business, which, with his eyes still fixed
towards the future, he now devoted 1113 un
diminished ardor and his undivided attention.
Late at night, more than a year after these
calamitous events, he again sat alone in las
chamber, pondering in his chair before tho
glowing fire. Ilis face had begun to wear a
deeper shade of anxiety than formerly. Tho
wrinkles on his forehead were more furrowed,
and the gray hairs that used to be sparsely in
terspi inkled with the brown, had wofully in
creased their number. Excepting himself,
every body could see old age stealing over
his frame; and that he had, during recent
years, taken some heavy strides towards the
grave. Yet, as if death could have no dart
for him, he was looking far ahead to the
time when the goldon dreams of his ambition
should be realized. It bad grown into a hab
it with him, of late, to sit out the long winter
evenings beside the ruddy grate, scheming,
and calculating, and building castles in tho
air. 110 was now deeply meditating a plan
to recover that property, of which tiie alley
where he had pillowed his head on the night
of his first destitution, formed a part. Ho
had clung to the possession of that spot until
importunate creditors had wrested it away.
Though it was no longer his, he yet stole of
ten there to gaze upon it, and to tremblo
with apprehension lest the onward march of
improvement might ruthlessly destroy It from
his sight.
It was quite late. Lights gleamed no
moro in shop windows. His own store had
long since been closed. Footsteps had ceas
ed to echo in the silent streets. The world
lay wrapped in repose and forgetfulness.
But, absorbed with his plan, ho sat there
still. From this reverie, however, ho was
presently startled by the cry of Fire! Fre
quent repetitions of it, in the immediate
neighborhood, aroused his apprehensions. He
flung open the adjacent window, and looked
out. A ruddy glare stretched along tho
street, and threw a strong light upon the con
tiguous buildings. Greatly agitated, he has
tened out of doors. There his worst suspi
cions were confirmed. As lie turned the
corner, he could see the flames bursting from
a roof not more than a hundred yards dis
tant. Although the alarm had been so re
cently sounded, an eager crowd had already
congregated; some of them idle spectators,
while others were running to and fro, bewil
deringly, engaged in fruitless efforts to extin
guish the fire. Soon followed an irruption
of several engines. Tho throng and the
commotion were now ten-fold augmented ;
but with it all, something like order and effi
ciency began to prevail. The raging element
was assailed from every available point. It
had, however, made far too ruinous headway
to be easily subdued. Against the most en
ergetic exertions, the flames poured reckless
ly on, crackling and roaring; now darting ,
with sudden fierceness high into the heavens,
now wreathing and coiling jn and out of win
dows; now swooping, on tho wings of tho
wind, almost into the faces of the gazing mul
titude, and tossing, whirling, and struggling
for ascendency, as if they were lashed and
exasperated into agonizing effort, by the ve
ry demon of destruction.
By this time, the fire had reached the store |
of Giles. Yet, while its rapid progress would
naturally have heightened in another mind,
the probability of such an occurrence, he had
been deluding himself with the forlorn hope
that his own property would escape uninju
red. With aching intensity, therefore, he had
watched every movement of the animated
contest with the devouring element; but
when a sudden gust temporarily withdrew
the dense volume of smoke which covered his
roof, and revealed the blaze bursting through,
he was overwhelmed with consternation—the
more so, because he had failed to secure him
self by insurance. He darted about like one
bereft of his senses. He wrung his hands;
he stopped confusedly to glare into the fire;
ho glanced wildly and aimlessly around, and
piteously besought the bystanders to run for
water and to quench the flames. When ono
of his doors was battered down to admit some
apparatus from an engine, he rushed bevvil
deringly in, and with loud ejaculations for
help, began to tear down his goods from their
shelves, and to thrust them almost objectless
ly upon the sidewalk. Meanwhile, the throng
without, heated and drunken with excite
ment, was constantly on the increase. The j
neighboring streets were choked with their i
numbers, summoned together by the refrac* j
tory conflagration—for such it had now be* i
come—which, still resisting all efforts at extin
guishment, sped rapidly on its errand of des
olation.
The late daybreak of winter, found two |
squares, and part of a third, in ashes. Ex
cepting some fiery tongues that darted from
the blackened and smouldering ruins, the
fierce element was now subdued. Mournful
faces of people made houseless, and of own
ers desponding, peered from among the sur
rounding spectators, upon the smoking heaps,
where last night stood their homes or their
property. The fire-companies, exhausted by
their long-continued exertions, begriinmed