Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. |
BY 0. R, HANLEITER.
P.@ jg IT K ¥ a
“ Much yet remains unsung.”
From the Montgomery Journal.
. DEPART FD DAYS.
Departed days! how oft ye fling
Your twilight o'er the passing hour.
And with your presence gently bring
To the rest heart your soothing power.
When present pleasures do not pull
Upon the heart, and tire the brain,
And like dead fruit begin to fall
And moulder back to dust again.
How kindly came those gushing* still
That swell up from yon murmuring rill.
When o'er the fond and fevered mind
The curtain drops upon its jov,
And all we loved, hoped, dreamed to find,
Lures to deceive, and then destroy,
. When every bright soul-moving scene
Aleltain darkness and decay,
Aud all of past delight hath been
As visions of a better day.
How more than welcome nre those gleams
Os light, from your undying beams.
Sweet, earlier days! I’ve of.en felt
My spirit bend beneath your sway
And my stern feelings sometimes melt
To think that ye have flown away.
And often when your holy light
Hath loomed"across the waste of y ears.
The rapture of your noiseless flight
Hath melted this cold heart to tears ;
And in my sadness, then, O 1 then,
I fain would be a child again.
There is a rapture in the pas',
Too brief for youth, too bright fir age ;
Its peneillings, though dim'd, will last
Upon the heart’s tear-spotted page.
When proud world hath o’er us thrown
Its crushing weight, with icy hand,
And those we loved are, one by one.
Torn from us by its stern command,
Fond memory tarns to younger hours.
Distilling fragrance from their flowers.
So iet it turn. I would not lose
The memory of one well spent day.
For all those mild but transient dewa
That drop upon onr future way.
The past—the past hath garnered up
At! that enn wake my spirit’s fire.
And it I left that Grimm? cup,
To quaffits contents and expire,
What matters it, or how, or when t
’Tis hut the realm of dkeams again.
B(EL[E©T[E[S) TALI§
THE VALENTINE.
[Selected and tratmcril'cd from an old Annuo], for the
“Southern Miscellany.’']
” You have been a long time reading that
letter.” said Mrs. Brooks, to her niece, “ 1
hope it is an interesting one.”
It is not a letter, dear aunt, it is a val
entine, and I have been trying to guess who
sent it.”
“ Why, who should it be but Fleming ?
he did nothing but talk of valentines all last
week.”
“ And that makes me think it did not
come from him ; who else can it he
A ring at the door sent the valentine into
the writing-desk ; the door ‘opened, and in
came two bright, laughing girls.
“Oh, Sophia,” exclaimed Ellen Douglas,
a young girl, just entering life—or evening
parties—” look here, see what a sweet val
entine, ami cousin Anna has three, only
think of that. Did you get one ? Ah, I can
tell by your blush that there is a valentine in
that desk.”
•• Let me see yours first, and then [ will
tell you,” said Sophia, : “ three have you,
Anna 1 where are they ? here are only two
—give me that one first, it is so prettily cut.”
Sophia opened it eagerly, and could not
help smiling, for it was one that she had
written herself for Ralph Fleming. She
opened the other it was hers likewise, and
lo! Ellen’s valentine was from the same
pen.
They arc all beautifully cut and beau
tifully pa’inted,” said she,; “the verses are
like all these kind of verses, full of love and
all that, but we do not care for the rhyme,
nor for the design ; you know, it is the plea
sant feeling that these little bits of paper
give one. We think of the gentleman—the
one gentleman —hey, Ellen 1 who would so
naturally gend a valentme. Anna, dear, why
(did you not bring the other valentine l l
pave rpore curiosity about that one than ei
fber of these.
Tell her, Anna, tell her all about if,
said Ellen, looking concerned, for pool An
na had a cloud over her face.
“There is nothing to tell, Sophia, except
ing that uncle came in the room with the
valentines himself, and, after allowing us to
read them, he begged that he might look at
the handwriting. Like a simpleton, I hand
ed him these two very eagerly, and kept
back the third, buthe insisted on seeing that
too, and so, although I had scarcely read it,
I was forced to give it up. Only think of
his seeing such a valentine as that— ■
Mrs. Brooks, who had left the room when
the girls entered, now came in to ask So
phia’s bunch of keys, as she had mislaid her
own
•• Let her open tbo desk first.” said Ellen
Douglas. “ we want to see her valentine.
But Mrs. Brook#was in baste; she pro
mised. however, to send the keys back im
mediately, and the girls were compe led to
wait. T#n minutes—fifteen elapsed, and
they chatted on, but no keys came ; Sophia
went after them, and came back with the in*
*
® iTamfla Jlrtosiwjjfv : Brfcotcfc to mtrrature, &jjrteuUitre, duration, jForetan amr ©omrstic JEnteUiflence, src.
telligence that her aunt had gone out, and it
was presumed had taken the keys with her,
for they were not to be found. After won
dering and wondering over and over again
who could have sent the valentines, they de
parted, vexed that they could not gets peep
at the one so provokingly locked up in the
desk.
Sophia breathed freely as her two friends
left the room ; not for worlds would she have
shown the precious valentine, for the hand
writing was well known to both the girls.
How she blessed her aunt for getting her off
so handsomely about the keys ; although she
thought it must have been accidental, for
how could it be imagined that there would
be any unwillingness on her part to let the
paper be seen.
The gentleman suspected of having sent
the valentine, was the last person that any
gay, fashionable young lady would care to
receive one from. He was Mrs. Brooks’
“ men of business,” for so she termed him,
although he transacted ali her offices gratui
tously. He was a Mr. Samuel Day, no
name certainly for a romance; and what
was worse, he had no romance in his nature.
How so refined, accomplished and beautiful
a girl as Sophia Lee could admire, nav love
a man with such an unprepossessing name,
and so little brilliancy of character, it is im
possible to conjecture. If he had won her
affections by flattery, or by any of the nu
merous arts in the powerof a designing man,
it would not have been surprising; but Mr.
Day ptacliced none of these; he had not
the most remote thought of loving Sophia
Le e—loveable asshe was ; nor did be dream
that site ever could think of him as a lover.
He walked into the parlor with Mrs.
Brooks, just as the young ladies left it. So
phia blushed deeply as her eye met his, and
lie cast a second glance—a glance of sut
prise at the, emotion. Mrs. Brooks apolo
gised for not returning the keys iti lime to
let the ladies see the valentine, but she re
marked that another day won id do as we’ll,
“ and at any rate,” said she, “ Sophia, you
can let Mr. Day see it. he came in on pur
pose ; I met him in the street, and asked
him to coine in and see it.
“I suspect—l imagine—” stammered
Sophia, “that Mr. Day has no desite—no
“ If you are averse to my seeing it,” said
Mr. Day, “ I certainly can have no wish to
do so. But who is the happy valentine this
year, my dear Sophia ?”
“ That is more than she can tell,” said
Mrs. Brooks, “for I heard her wondering
who it could he.”
Mr. Day smiled, and then looked queer,
for he saw that Sophia was unusually agita
ted.
“ I presume that these valentines have
some charm in them—something very plea
sant,” said he, “for 1 have heard of them
even in my counting-house. Ralph Flem
ing, this morning,” and he turned his eye
from Sooltia as he mentioned the young
man’s name, “told me that he had sent at
least half a dozen to different ladies.”
Sophia smiled, for well she knew who
wrote them all. As to the one she had re
ceivetriterself, theie was no mistaking the
author, there was no doubting that the hand
writing was Mr. Day’s; and yet he looked
so easy, so unconscious—he was so little
given to mysteries that she could not under
stand it.
Mr. Day was more at ease when he found
that the sending valentines to several other
ladies had not produced any unpleasant feel
ing. If she did not think it was sent by
Ralph Fleming, who else, thought he, and and
she suppose would send her a valentine. A
Colonel Gardiner came across his mind, and
it was now his turn to blush and look em
barrassed.
“ That Colonel Gardiner is a sorry fel
low,” said he, turning to Mrs. Brooks, “his
servant has just sued him for a year’s wages.
I met a gentleman yesterday who was en
gaged to dine with him, but on hearing of
this suit, he sent an apology.”
“ I honor the man who has courage to do
a thing like that,” said Sophia, and Mr. Day
turned quickly towards Iter. “It is not
Colonel Gardiner, then,” thought he. There
were but three other gentlemen intimate in
the house, Mr. Jones, brother to Anna Jones,
the lady who had just left them, Mr. West
ern, and a Mr. Marshall. It was Mr. West
ern who had sent an apology to Colonel
Gardiner, and the suspicion would have rest
ed on him, only that he was thought to tie
an admirer of Anna Jones—he was divided
between Mr. Marshall and Mr. Jones.
“ What ails you both this morning ?” said
Mrs. Brooks, “you are stammering, and hes
itating, and looking a6 if you had been do
ing something wrong; perhaps, after all,
Mr. Day, you sent the valentine yourself.”
“ I send a valentine ! I do a silly thing
like that! No madam,” said he, raising his
voice so as to make Sophia start, “never.
But I beg your pardon for speaking so earn
estly—l never expected that a foolish val
entine could have the power of making me
behave like a boy. If Sophia would hut let
me see it, 1 might relieve her curiosity; per
haps the handwriting is known tome —sure-
ly, my dear girl, unless it contains an offer
of marriage, there can be no impropriety in
showing it to a man almost old enough to be
your father.’*
Sophia had shown so much embarrass
ment, and so much had been aaid about the
foolish paper that she felt extremely awk
ward, and could not bring herself to open
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GIORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 3, 1843.
the desk. “ No, no,” said she, after making
one or two attempts, “ not now—l will just
wait till I have seen Ralph Fleming—per
haps he can throw some light on it.”
“ Well, if he is further in your confidence
than I am—but he is younger, and—”
“ Oh, no, no ! do not say that. You are
entitled to all my confidence—hut the per
son I first suspected of having sent the pa
per is certainly not the one, and Mr. Flem
ing—perhaps lie imitated the handwriting
—at any rate I will examine it again.”
“ Well, see him then, dear young lady—
I am content now that it does not come from
Colonel Gardiner or Mr. Fleming. I saw
by your countenance that you suspected nei
ther of them.”
“ You saw by my
not turn vour facefrom mine tvln you men
tioned their names ? so how could you see?
Be assured that I should not have felt the
embarrassment that I now feel, if either of
these persons had sent me a hundred valen
tines.”
“ In the name of goodness, who, then,
did you suspect?” said Mr. Day, looking
more surprised then he had ever done in
his life.
Before Sophia could answer Mr. Fieming
came in, and Mr. Day walked übruptly
away.
Sophia unlocked the desk, took out the
valentine, and laying it on the table, said,
“Mr. Fleming, you sent this to me. You
have imitated Mr. Day’s handwriting.”
The young man opened it. “ I assure
you, Miss Lee.” said lie, “ that I never wrote
that valentine.”
“ Upon your word ?” .
“ Upon my word—but I know who did
write it; and surely if you showed it to Mr.
Day he must have owned it.”
” It is a mistake, indeed it is a mistake.
Mr. Day says he never wrote a valentine in
his life.”
“ Well, if that is not too good a joke—
why, I saw him write it—l saw him write
this very paper, I tell you. Nay, you nerd
not shake vour head, Mrs. Brooks; 1 tell
you, ns an honest man. that Mr. Day wrote
it TJns lie seen it V’
“ No—l could not bring myself to show
it to him ; indeed, Mr. Fleming, there is
some mystery about this—pray, when did
he write it ? it must have been lately, for
here is 1837, and yet —stay —I declate there
has been an erasure, for I see the top part
of a 6 or 5 above the 7, and look here, too,
Gift is in a paler ink : a word has been
scratched out there. It never struck me
before, hut the paper is not as white as the
envelope. What can all this mean ? lam
more perplexed than ever. Mr. Fleming,
you could tell me all about this if you had
a mind.”
“ I cart say nothing more than what I have
said—Mr. Day wrote those verses, and I
saw him write them.”
“Did lie compose them too? Come, if
you certify to his hand writing, you can say
who made the thymes.”
*• Indeed, Miss Lee, that does not follow.
But instead of talking pleasantly about these
little papers, you are looking cross, and ve
ry like wishing for a quarrel with me, so to
prevent it 1 will just go over and see how
the sweet Douglas looksafler her valentine.”
The young man went off gaily, without
throwing any further light on the subject.
The letters of the writing were very small,
and she had seen nothing like it from any
other pert. There was a particular turn to
certain letters, which always distinguished
Mr. Day’s front all others; but lie had said
so positively, so emphatically, that he had
never written a valentine, and Mr. Fleming
had so positively asserted that he did write
it, that she was very much perplexed. Her
aunt could not relieve her difficulties; for
when Sophia repeated all that Fleming had
said, Mrs. Brooks was of opinion that Mr.
Day wrote the verses; hut when she was
reminded that Mr. Day had denied it, then
she was quite as sure that he did not write
them.
Again and again Sophia examined the
handwriting, attd her aunt brought her lit -
tie account-book to compare it with the valen
tine. Mr. Day kept all Iter accounts v\ it It scru
pulous exactness, transferring them from his
large hooks to her little miniature one, that
she might, at any moment, at a glance, see
how her affairs stood. There was not the
slightest difference that either of them could
perceive; indeed, the result of this close
inspection was, that Mr. Day, and lie alone,
had written the valentine.
The evening brought neither a solution
nor Mr. Day; and his absence was painful
ly felt by Sophin, for she seated that he was
offended. He generally spent his evenings
with them ; or, if he was engaged elsewhere,
he always called in fora few minutes, either
before he went or after he returned. To
morrow was her birth-day, and hitherto he
had always called, especially the night be
fore, to find out what little trinket er knick
kn okt ry she most wanted, that he might
bring it to her the next day; for ha was one
of those simple-minded men who liked to
do that which would give the most pleasure.
He thought, very justly, that if he consult
ed his own taste or judgment, he might not
choose that which would he agreeable to
others ; hut he did not make his appearance,
and Sophia went to her chamber with very
miserable feelings. She wished there had
never been such things as valentines.
“ 1 cannot think what kept our * man of
business’ from us last evening,” said Mrs.
Brooks, “ he surely will he here to-day ; he
has never missed coming to dine with us on
your birth-day, Sophia.”
“ It appeared to me, aunt, that he was a
’ittle hurt, because I did not show him the
valentine, and I could not do it, vo know,
aftcr'his saying so positively that he did not
writs it or send it.”
“ Well, show it to him to day, for I will
answer for it, that he w ill he here present
ly ; i: is one o’clock, and he generally con
trive! to he here early. By the-way. Mr.
Maishall left his raid here yesterday while
Vou iere out; here it is. P. P. C. Ah !
lie is going to England. What h fine look
ing rjnn he is, Sophia ; do you know I think
lie wjtuld fall in love with you if lie dated?”
“ I'am glad then that lie does not date,
for 1 fissure you, my dear aunt, that I should
not full in love with hirn.”
” Well, well, time enough, dear, time
enough. 1 hope to keep you with me aev
etal years yet. How to part with you &t
last. 1 cannot tell.”
“Oh, as to that, how often, dearest aunt,
hove I told you that I never would be sepa
rated from you ? Whoever marries me must
marry you. and old Mis. Tate, and Caty,
and Peter, ami little Jemmy, and all.”
Mrs. Brooks laughed and said, that unless
her “ man of business.” Mr. Day, would
take pity on her, she feared that no one else
would. She did not see the color fly into
Sophia’s face as she made this remark, but
went tin talking about it until the “man of
business” himself came in the room. Poor
Sophia wasaftaid that her aunt would re
peat her observations; hut the old lady,
luckily, had forgotten to order n particular
dish for the birth day dinner, and she hurried
out to attend to it.
Mr. Day walked quietly up to Sophia,
and took her hand ; Mr. Marshall’s card vvas
still in it, and it? putting it on the table, the
name caught his eye.
” Marshall— then it is this Mr. Marshall
that sent you the valentine ? I know his wri
ting, Sophia—may I have a peep at this
wonderful paper to-day 1”
‘‘■Why, vour head inns strangely on this
yalentipe .Mr Dsi—rr. i-— _—---*
for such trifles. Some time or other I shall
show it to you, but not to-dav. Have you
forgotten that this is my birth-dav I”
” Forgotten it ! no, indeed ; when did 1
ever forget it ? but tlieie is a formality now
that we did without a few yeais ago. Then
you used to fly to nie and—”
“ Oh, yes, I remember—hut you forgot
that 1 am now a sober, quiet girl of nine
teen, and expect something far better than
sugar-plumb . You have a box there, anil
1 am dying with curiosity to see what is in
it.”
“ No. Sophia, you care hut little for that
box. You are not like yourself to-day, nor
were you like yourself yesterday ; 1 was so
unhappy about it that I staid by myself nil
the evening, and yet I was half a dozen
times on the point of coming here. W hen
1 finally made up my mind to come, 1 look
ed at my watch and found it was too late.”
“ 1 am sorry to he the cause of uneasi
tiers to.juui,” said Sophia, “but if you say
nothing more about that foolish valentine, I
shall forget it myself. Come, pray, let me
see what is in that box ?”
“ Otdv a pretty set of ornaments for you,
niv dear Sophia. Here is a chain—let me
put it on your neck; it is very becoming,
indeed ; anil how do you like this watch
and these rings !”
“Oh, beautiful, most beautiful! and these
I ear-rings, and this aigrette; every thing is
| indeed too beautiful to he praised. Oh,
how costly they are—ought you to have
thrown away so large a sum on one so little
aide to—”
“ The time, I perceive, is not far off, my
dear Sophia, when you will require a few
ornaments of this kind. lam determined
to be beforehand witliyour lover—for lovers
generally make their betrothed a present,
you know. The writer of that valentine—
nay, Sophia, hear me out—if it he this Mr.
Marshall, is fully able to cover youi head
with diamonds. He is possessor of im
mense wealth ; hut rich as lie is, you shall
not go portionless.”
“Mr. Day, you mistake entirely. Look
at the card—you see that Mr. Marshall is
soon to sail for England. I saw him this
morning after hieakfast, and—”
“ And what, Sophia ?”
“ Why, I intended to keep the thing from
yonr knowledge, as l did from my aunt— “’
You are then engaged to him,” said
Mr. Day, laying down the box. and walking
to the window to hide his emotion. “Good
Heavens !” said he to himself. “ why does
this so painfully affect me ? ought 1 not to
rejoice that she can give her affections to
one so worthy ?”
By a strong effort he recovered himself
sufficiently to ret urn to his seat near Sophia.
He took Iter hand and gently raised it to his
lips. “ Forgive me, my dear girl,” said he,
“ 1 have been for so many yeais accustom
ed In watch over you, and to care for all
your wants and pleasures, that it goes near
breaking my heait, stout as you say if is, at
the thought of being nothing more in future
to you than a common acquaintance—for a
friend you will not need. You have not
known tlie gentleman long; hut 1 have, and
he ia most worthy of you. I presume when
he returns from England foolish fel
low! loving you as be roust love you, why
does he leave you behind I”
“ Oh, Mr. Day, what an error you are in.
Now hear me, I tell you truly that I refused
Mr. Marshall—that he is not the one who
wrote the valentine, and I tell you as truly
that I will never marry any other rnan than
the one who did write it.”
‘* T pH (ho, tIITII, lUtor ta “
thy of you ? who can it he ? and why am I,
the one most interested in your happiness,
to lie kept in ignorance? You are in tears.
Fear not,” said he, ns he drew Iter gently to
him, “ feat not, my dear girl, tell me all; if
the want of foitune on hispnit he the ob
stacle, provided he deserves you in othet
respects, that shall lie no hindrance, for are
you not my sole heir ? Most tenderly arid
devotedly have 1 loved you, my dear Sophia,
from your childhood to this hour, hut never,
till this moment, did I know it would lie so
hitter a pang to part with you—to give you
to another. But you mHV In* convinced of
tlie sincerity of my affection hv the great
sacrifice 1 make in thus giving you up; and
must I—must I indeed pait with you. just
as I have discovered that you nre so neces
sary to my happiness ? arn I to live in soli
tary wretchedness, without hearing that
sweet voice 1 without—— Oh, Sophia, dear
girl, forgive me—forget what I have said,
and believe me only voui friend. Alas!
that one so unsuited to you in years, should
dale to love you as I do—as I must always
love.”
Sophia wept, to he sure, but they were
tears of joy. She raised her head at length,
hut he begged her not to speck, not to dis
tress herself fuither, cs he would wait till
she was more composed, before he asked
who the gentleman was. She went to the
writing-desk, and took not the valentine;
hut when she put it ill his hand, he shook
his head anti sighed.
“ Not now, Sophia, not now,” said he, “I
only want the name ; ns to the verses, the
handwriting, what is that to me now ?”
“ Evetv thing to you,” said Sophia, cast
ing down her eyes, “ it is every thing toynu,
if you really and truly love me as you say.”
” If i really love you, Sophin ? can he
who wrote this paper ever hope ta love you
as tenderly as 1 do ?”
. “ IJv —■; *•*,’ ’* j
Look at ti.e wining, will you t pray, do and
hear me declare that I never lihvp,
never can love any other—that I never will
marry any other than the writer of this fool
ish valentine.”
With a desperate effint Mr. Day tote open
the paper, lmf the color flew to his temples
—he wns like one in a dream—lie looked
at Sophia—her eyes were on the ground,
hut tlieie was a smile visible ; he pronounc
ed I er name in n low voice, anti, then, cheek
ed himself, as if not during to realize the
ttuth.
“Sophia,” said he, nt length, “ Sophia,
may 1 believe in the truth of the words you
have just uttered ?”
“Can 1 believe ill all that you have just
said,” replied Sophia, “ when you-no stout
ly denied having written this valentine ?”
“ Blessetl paper!” snitl he. kissing it,
” most precious valentine ! little did I dream
that it was to he the meuns of so much hap
piness.”
“ But when did you write it ?” said So
phia, trying to disengage herself fiom his
aims, “ tell me all about it, for I nm still in
the dark—to whom did you send it if not
to me?”
“ I did not send it to any one, dearest.
This was the way .f it : About four years
ago Ralph Fleming was very desirous of
going to the races, anil l wns very desirous
that lie should not. He promised me at
length if I could do him n little favor he
would give up the races, for that year at
least. The little favor was simply to write
this valentine. He wrote a large irregular
hand, and this required the finest of writing,
and the smallest nfletters. It was you, my
dear Sophia, that induced me to form my
letters in that way ; in fact, I had your
wishes, your pleasure in view, in every
tiling that I undertook. How could I have
been so blind to the nature of my affection
for you ? Dear little paper, but for you, I
would never have known that I might as
pire to he loved in return!”
Poor Mr. Day—love made him as loqua
cious as it does those who have lived upon
the thoughts of it all their lives. Mis.
Brooks’ “ man of business’’ was like all oth
er men, and Sophia, the happiest of the
happy, was thinking how well love-speeches
became him. He was considered by her
young friends to he plain-looking, but in her
eyes, at this moment, he was positively
handsome.
“ I was not many minutes writing what
I then thought a very foolish thinir,” contin
ued he, “and to tell you the truth, I wrote
mechanically, without considering the int
p< rt of the words at all. I only iccollect
thinking it a very silly thing, that a • man of
business,’ as Mrs. Brooks always calls me.
and which I am. should have engaged in
wiiting love-verses. Ah! if I could huvo
foreseen-—”
“ Well,” said Mts. Brooks, on seeing Mr.
Day with his arm around Sophia’s waist,
looking fondly in her face, “ you have made
up 1 see; why. wo wore all gloomy enough
when I left the room ; have you found out
who wiote the valentine ?”
“ Yes. my dear madam,” said he, “ and
as Soph ; a has determined to mßrry the one
who wrote it, I have given my consent, and
1 bojie you will give yours.”
“ Oh, my dear, dear aunt,” said Sophia,
throwing her arms around her neck, “Mr.
| NUMBER 10.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
Day wrote it himself—you shall bear all
about it.”
” But you promised to marry the writer,
lie soys—is it true? and is it my‘maoof
business, all the w hile that gave uasucb dU-
M.itmnr* tmotrr tm nta •■MultlWY An, SO*
phin how often in my heart have I wished
for this, hut did notdare to speak my tnind.”
” Sophia lias spoken her mind,” said Mr.
Day—” God bless her f”
M 0 @ © E L fi> A M ¥.
Orpheus and Eurydice.—A writer the fit
Deiniiriatic Review, for May, ISIS, in an
article tefeiiing to a very beautiful out
line engraving by Dick, of an original
drawing of'Ciawford’a Orphans, made by
tlie sculptor at Rome three years ago, jn
tioduces, by way of episode, tlie following
pretty veision of the well-known fable of
Utpheusatid Eiirydic.e.
“Os ail the stories of antiquity, not one ia
more beautiful or touching than that of Or
pheus Strange that his eainest lore, aud tbs
unwonted errand on which it led him, after
charming successive centuries.and becom
ing the iln nil- < f pi icts, si mild be first re
coided in niathle hy a youthful artist whose
first sight opened in aland far away from
the country of the hero—beyond Ultima
Thule —beyond the Hesperian Gardens and
the Islands of the Blest ; and beyond that
ocean which, poured round the ancient
world, seemed more impassable even than
those sullen waters that guarded Eurydice!
“The tale is simple, and in the memory
of all. Y oung men and maidens for ages
have listened to it. and old men in tlie chim
ney-comer have mused over if. To Or
pheus Apollo gave a lyre.—Such a gift from
such a god was not in vein ; and the youth
dimmed by his music as music never char
med before. The rapid rivers ceased to
flow, the mountains moved, and the rage of
the tigers was restrained, to listen to his
songs. ‘J he fairest nymphs acre his com
panions ; hut he heeded only Eurydice.—
To her he was smiled in marriage. But
She fled from his approaches ,Ja* t!? ‘*? r
piessed the glass, in her rapid flight, a ser
pent stung her foot, and she died. The
nvmphs of the woods awakened the echoes
of the mountains with her sorrows; and
the rocks of the Rodope, tlie lofty Pengseus,
the Hehrus, and the sternest pnrtsof Thrace,
wept. The lover was desolate :
“ Te, dulcis conjnx, tc t-lo in littore tecum,
“ To veniemedic, te derodmitc canebtt ”
“He resolved to regain his lost bride.
With his lyre in his hand, lie enters the in
exorable gates of the regions below. The
guardian dog Cei herns is lulled asleep by
the unaccustomed strains:
“The gentle shades of the dead, wives
and husbands, magnanimous heroes, boys
and uumariicd gills, came forward and
wept. The grim ruler was startled. The
rock of Sysiphus stood still; the wheel of
lxion ceased its eternal motion ; the re
fieshing water once again bathed the lips of
Tuntalus; the daughtna of Danaus sus
pended their never-ending task ; the Furies,
with their necks clothed with snakes, ceas
ed to rage. All listened, rapt to the music,
and forgot their pains in sympathy with the
bereaved charmer. And now suceess has
crowned his efforts. Tlie woman’s heait
of proserpine is touched, and Plouto yields
to iier intercessions. Eurydice is restored,
hut with one condition. The lover shall not
tutn to look upon her face, until they are
both again in the upper air. Joyful he—
leaves behind the abode of death, and Eury
dice follows, unseen by him ; yet still she
follows. But who shall impose restraints
upon the longings of love ? Forgetful of
the stern condition, thinking only of her, he
easts one look behind. He saw his Eury
dice ; but with that vision she disappeared
forever, as a wreath of smoke fades into the
air. He stretched forth his arms to embrace
her, but she was not there. He raised his
voice to speak to her, hut she heard him not.
He endeavored to retrace his steps, but the
gates of Aichero closed haishly against him.
What shall he do 1 With what words shall
he seek to bend the will offhe gods ? How
shall he assuage his own grief? All is in
vain; and he soon meets with a violent death
at the hands of the Thracian women, enra
ged at his continued fidelity to their living
charms. His liead is thrown into the He
hrus, and,as it floatsdnvvn to the sea,the cold
tongue lisps the name of Eurydice, aud tho
rivet’shanks send hark the sound.”
An industrious Man.— The Cincinnati
Gazette says that Elder Walter, who for
merly had tlie pnstorial care of the First
Christian Chinch in New York, but who is
now pastor of the First Christian Church in
that city, during the course of hi* ministry,
has traveled extensively in £0 of the differ
ent Slates, snd while on preaching tours,
has traveled far enough to reach nine times
round the world. He crossed tho Alle
ghany mountains thirty-six times—has bap
tised twenty-nine hundred and eighty-five
liappv converts—received upwards of five
thousand members into the Christian Church
has visited and prayed with eleven bundled
and eighty-four sick persons—preoched up
wardsoffour hundred funeral sermons, and
married nine hundred and forty-three cou
ples.