Newspaper Page Text
VOL. 2.
From Authur’s Home Gazette.
Think Twice.
“Did Horner know the bill f” enquired Mr.
Gilbert of his clerk, who had just come in.
The young man shook his head.
‘Didn’t pay it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What answer did he give V
‘He was angry, and said that he wished you
wouldn't send alter the bill any more ; that,
w lien he was ready, he would bring you the
money, and not before
‘He aid that did he ?’ Mr. Gilbert spoke with
considerable excitement of manner.
‘Yes, sir. I have never called on him that he
didn’t get out of patience, and say something
unpleasant.’
‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Gilbert, in a menac
ing tone ; ‘give me the bill. I’ll collect it.’
‘And, taking up his hat, he left the store.
Within two or three blocks was the office of an
Alderman; and thither his steps were turned
‘Thank fortune ! there’s a short way to deal
with men in these cases.’ Thus Mr. Gilbert
talked to himself, as he moved rapidly along.
‘Not send my bill, indeed ! Why doesn’t he
come and pay it, if he is so nice in these mat
ters\ ? He doesn’t mean to pay; that’s the true
reason. Hut, he is dealing with the wrong
man, and lie will find this out before he’s twen
ty-four hours older. He can bluff off a clerk, but
he will find a city bailiff a different sort of a cus
tomer.’
Such was the state of Gilbert’s mind, as he
hurried on his way to the Alderman’s office.
Horner, the offender in this case, was a poor
tailor, who had become indebted to Gilbert for
groceries. The amount of his bill was sixty-six
dollars—a very large sum for him, and far ex
ceeding what he had supposed it would be.—
Sickness, and the loss of a child, had, some
months previously, lessened his income, and also
burdened him with unusual expenses. But for
this, he would not have become indebted. Hon
est and sensitive, the debt worried him. In
stead, however, of going to Mr. G. and asking
him to let the obligation stand for a short time
until he could pay it off gradually,he kept away
from him, and fretted himself with thinking
over the unpleasant relation he bore to the gro
cery. As was to have been expected, the bill
came in. The clerk by whose hands it was sent,
made his demand in a style that Hornor
thought rude, if not insulting. This was more
in imagination than in reality.
‘Can’t pay this now,’ was the tailor’s brief an
swer. He spoke with a troubled voice and coun
tenance. The clerk interpreted his manner by
the word ‘anger.’
‘When will you settle it?’ he enquired, with
something peremptory in voice.
‘I can’t tell,” said Horner, in a short, quick
tone of voice.
The clerk bowed and went away. His report
did not please the grocer, who, in a few days,
sent again for the money. Thesecend demand
came upon Horner while he was thinking of the
bill, and hopelessly casting about in his mind
for some means of paying it. Not possessing
a great deal of -'elf-control, ho unwisely uttered
an expression of impatience the moment he saw
the clerk of Gilbert.
‘Well, sir; what about that bill?’ said the
clerk.
‘lt’s no use to keep calling on me,’ replied
Horner. ‘As soon as I hsive the money I will
see Mr. Gilbert.’
A third time the clerk called. Poor Horner
was in a very unhappy state of mind. He had
been thinking of but little else besides the gro
cer’s bill all the morning ; while in his mind,
was a nervous presentiment that he should
have a visit that day from the collector. He
was not in error. Even as the thought troubled
him, open swung bis door, and the messen
ger of Gilbert entered.
‘See here, young man ?’ exclaimed Horner,
beforo the other had time to speak; just tell
Gilbert nut to send that bill here again. It won’t
bring the money an hour sooner. When lam
ready, I will pay it, and not before.’
The clerk turned off and left the shop with
out a word ofreply.
‘That wasn’t right, John,’ said the tailor’s
wife, in a tone of gentle reproof, after the lapse
of five minutes. She wisely forbore to speak
until time enough had elapsed for her irritable
husband to regain a degree of self-composure.
‘1 know it wasn’t’ answered Horner, pausing
in his work and giving vent to his feelings in a
heavy sigh. I know it wasn’t. But, this con
stant dunning is hard to bear. He knows, as
well as 1 do, that he will get his money as soon
as lean possibly earn it.*
‘No, John; not as well as you do,’ said the
wife, mildly. ‘He cannot see your thoughts.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Have you even seen Mr. Gilbert, John ?’ en
quired Mrs. Horner.
‘No. But— ’
The tailor hesitated. Ho sa\i''that wa3 in
the mind of his wife, and felt it,*. wpe.
‘Don't you think it would ,Gv better to
Fee him, and explain just how it is with you ? I
don’t believe he would give you any trouble, if
you were do so. There is no telling what kind
of messages his clerk takes to him. If he gives
simply vour words to-day, Mr. Gilbert will be
angry ; and there is no knowing what he might
be tempted to do.’
‘I don’t wan't to see him,’ replied Horner.
‘I can’t bear to look into a man’s face if I owe
him money.’
The wife sighed; but did not answer. Both
remained silence for some time. Horner's own
mind soon suggested all that his wife wished,
but hesitated, to say. It was but right f*r him
to see the grocer, explain to him fully his posi
tion, and after assuring him of his intention to
pay every dollar of the debt, ask of him a lib
eral extension of time.
‘l’ll see him.’ said he, at length, pausing sud
denly in his work, and getting down from his
shop-board. In a little while he was ready to
go out, when he started forth to see his credit
or. - . •?
the meantime, Gilbert bad kept on his way
toward the Alderman’s, fully resolved to hand
his debtor over to the tender mercies of the
law. H e
was within a few doors of the office
“hen he met a friend.
hat’s the matter? 1 enquired this individual.
iou look as if you were going to sue soraebo
dust what lam about doing,’ replied thegro-
Ah, -indeed ! \V ho is the hard case that
Squires such a stringent rneawre.’
‘Horner, tho tailor. You know him I be
lieve V . . ...^g T . t |
‘Yes; very well. But you are not going to
sue him ?’
‘lndeed I am.’
‘How much does he owe you ?’
‘Sixty odd dollars.’
‘l’d think twice before I troubled poor Hor
ner,’ said the other, shaking his head.
‘He sends me only insulting answers,’replied
Gilbert. ‘l’ve dunned him until I’m tired.’
‘Perhaps you've dunned him too hard. He
is sensitive and irritable.’
‘No; I’ve only sent three or four times. This
morning he returned for answer that he would
pay when he was ready, and not before.’
And, on the spur of the moment, you have
determined to put the account into an Aider
man's hands.
‘I have.’
‘Too hasty, friend Gilbert. In all matters of
this kind it is better to think twice. Remem
ber, that Horner has had sickness and death in
his family. These, I know, have thrown him
back. Here lies the cause of his slowness in
paying. But surely, these things entitle him
to consideration. He is honest. lam certain
of this.’
‘I didn’t think about his sickness and the loss
of his child,’ said Gilbert, in a modified tone.
‘But this is no justification for the rude, unsat
isfactory answers he sent to my applications for
money.’
Os course not. But, every man cannot, at
all times, control his feelings. An honest mir.d
often feels a quick sense of indignation when a
demand is made for a debt where present ina
bility to pay exists. This is, no doubt, the case
with Horner. Honest in his intentions, he felt
your repeated applications as questioning that
honesty ; and lie could not bear the imputa
tion with becoming patience.’
The two men separated. Gilbert had thought
twice; and, instead of going to the Magistrate’s
office, returned to his store. There, a little to
his surprise, lie found the tailor awaiting him.
They met with some reserve and embarrass
ment. But Horner said, in a moment or two,
and in a subdued voice—
‘l am sorry, Mr. Gilbert, to have kept you
out of your money so long; nothing has pre
vented my paying you but inability. I have had
sickness and trouble;or it would not now be with
me as it is. I felt worried when your clerk call
ed to-day, and sent you an improper message.
Let me recall that. And, now, I will tell you
tile best I can do. If you will take from me five
dollars a month, until the whole bill is settled,
I will faithfully pay you that much; and more
if it is possible.’
‘Perfectly satisfactory,’ replied Gilbert, in a
voice so cordial that it sent the blood bounding
through the veins of the unhappy tailor. ‘lf
you had only made this proposition before, it
would-have been cheerfully accepted.’
W hen the two men separated each was wiser,
and each felt happier. The tailor kept his en
gagement, and the grocer not only received his’
money but retained a goo< ; , customer. imfSe
for sober second thoughts. ’-*-X
Have a Trade. —By all means have a trade.
Don’t go up and down in the world, and find nothing
you can put your hand to. No matter ifyou don’t have
to work for a living. You may not always be prosper
ous as you are now. This is a mutable planet. The
.nan that is up to day may be down to morrow.—
Tliank heaven, we live in no land of primogeniture,
hereditary succession. Each man is morally bound to
labor. Have a trade, we repeat. Educate your hands.
Have somethhing you can turn your energies to when
times pinch. It will be an everlasting resource. We
never knew a man who. with a good trade, could not
get a good living, and much more with a right applica
tion. What though you are going to college, or into a
profession? The case is not altered. You need it just
as much. It will come in play every day of your life.
It is so much the better. Discipline of the hand should
always go before that of the head. We never knew a
college boy who wasn't better fora substantial trade.
He always graduates with the highest honors. lie is
sure to make a scholar. The fact is, he knows how to
work—to pure---to conquer. He but transters himself
from the shop to the study Young man, decide at
once to learn a trade. Apply yourself with all your
mind and heart, and be its master. And when you
graduate and ask your diploma, if you do not want, or
are not obliged to work at it. you have laid by so much
and such a kind of wealth can never be lost—never be
taken from you.
Interesting Incident. —The New Y'ork cor
respondent of the Philadelphia Enquirer, in one
of his letters, mentions the following interesting
incident:
Some fourteen years ago, Mr. C., a young
merchant of this city, who was possessed of a
handsome fortune, entered very largely into
speculations in real estate, and became, as was
generally supposed,immensely wealthy. A great
revulsion in the business of the country happen
ed,as many persons have ample reason to remem
ber, and Mr. C., instead of remaining a million
aire, suddenly became a bankrupt. Mrs. C.,
upon the happening of this untoward event, im
mediately retired from the fashionable arena,
reduced her personal and family expenditure
to suit the alteration of her pecuniary circum
stances. At the time of the failure of Mr. C., in
business, it happened that Mrs. C. was indebted
to Messrs. A. T. Stewart and <fe Cos., for goods
furnished for her personal use to the amount of
about two hundred dollars. This debt she was,
for the time, entirely unable to pay, but the mor
al obligation to discharge it was not forgotten.
Years rolled on; Mr. C., continued insolvent,
the debt became barred by the statute of limi
tations, the legal liability to pay it was extin
guished; twelve years had elapsed, and the
creditors considered the amount as lost. The
circumstances of Mr. C., have for several years
past been gradually improving, and a few days
ago, his wife, finding herself once more able to
procure the means, carefully calculated the in
terest on herd bt of twelve years standing, ad
ded that to the principal, and enclosed tho
whole in a note addressed to Stewart A Cos.
Messrs. Stewart A Cos., upou the receipt of
the note and monev, addressed a note in reply
to Mrs, C., in which they requested her accep
tance of the accompanying gift as a slight testi
monial of their appreciation of an act so honor
able and so rare as to call forth unqualfied ad
miration. With this note was sent a superb
brocade silk dress, and some laces of exquisite
texture and of great value.
Such a woman is a credit, not only to her
own sex, but to human natqre,
A Western editor lately offered his old hat as a prize
for the best essay on independence.
The following obtained the prize : “National inde
pendence is easier imagined than described ; personal
independence consists emphatically in being situated
“ ‘.MejiniiiFiit in nil tilings —Jimitral in notjjiiig:*
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY” MORNING, JUNE 7, 1851.
in a clean shirt, drawers, socks, and nicely blacked boots,
with at least a dollar and a half, and a clean cambric in
your pocket—ail on Sunday morning with your wife on
one arm and your own babe on the other, taking your
own course towards your own church, to sit under the
ministry of your own preacher, in blissful expectation of
doing your own snoozing in your own pew, wherein no
ouedare venture to nudge you with his elbow or tickle
yo ur nose with a straw.”
A Rare Patrimony. — A young man of
Nureinburg who had no fortune, requested a
lawyer, a friend of his, to recommend him to a
family where he was a daily visitor, and where
there was a handsome daughter, who was to
have a large fortune. The lawyer said be did
not exactly know, but he would inquire.
The next time he saw his young friend, he
asked him if he had any property at all.
‘No,’ replied he.
‘Well,’ said the lawyer, ‘would you suffer any
one to cut off your nose, if he would give you
twenty thousand dollars for it ?’
(What an idea!)
‘Not for the world!’
‘’Tis well,’ ‘replied the lawyer,’ I had a reason
for asking.
The next time he saw the girl's father, he
said :
‘I have inquired about the young man’s cir
cumstances. He has, indeed, no ready mon
ey, but he has a jewel, for which, to my knowl
edge, he has been offered and refused twenty
thousand dollars.
This induced the old father to consent to the
marriage, which accordingly took place ; though
it is said that in the sequel he often shook his
head when he thought of that jewel!— Ex. Pa
per.
A Pretty little Fable for the Chil
dren- A little boy and girl were once seated
on a flowery bank, and talking proudly about
iheir dress,
“See,” said the boy. “what a beautiful new
hat I have ; what a fine blue jacket and trou
sers, and what a nice pair of shoes; it is not
not every one who is dressed so finely as I
am !”
“ Indeed, sir,” said the little girl, “I think
I am dressed finer than you, for I have on a
silk hat and a pelisse, and a fine feather in
my hat ; I know that my dress cost a great
deal of money.”
“ Not so much as mine,’ - said the boy, “1
know.”
“ Hold your peace,” said a caterpillar, crawl
ing near the hedge, “you have neither of you
any reason to he so proud of your clothes, for
they are only second hand, and have all been
worn by some creature or other, of which
you think but meanly, before they were put
upon you—Why, that silk hat first wrapped up
such a worm as I am.”
“There.,Miss, what do you say to that ?’ said
tho. boy. . -
1 the fea'her,” exclaimed a bird, perch-
I u upon a tree, “was stolen from, or cast oft’by,
one of my race.”
“What do you say to that, Miss ?” repeated
the boy. “Well my clothes were neither worn
by birds nor worms.”
*• True,” said a sheep, grazing close by,
but ihey were worn on the back of some ol
my family before they were yours; and as for
your hat, I know that the beavers have sup
plied tho fur for that article ; and my friends,
the calves and oxen, in that field, were killed
not merely to get there flesh to eat, but also to
get their skins to make your shoes.”
See the folly of being proud of your clothes,
since we are indebted to the meanest creatures
for them! and even then we could not use them,
i( God did not give us the wisdom to contrive the
best way of making them fit to wear, and the
means of procuring them for our comfort.—
Cobin.
HOAV TO BE USEFUL.
“ It is all very well for you, dear papa, to
talk about being useful—you are so much older
and wiser than I; but what can Ido ?” said
little Sarah, a child of eleven or twelve years
old, to her father.
“ I will tell you what you can do,” he re
plied; “or rather, I will tell you what I saw to
day; and I think you can answer your own ques
tion.”
“ Oh ! papa is going to tell a story,” said
little Molly, and climbed upon his knee, while
the other children all collected around him.
“ 1 went to see Miss C., who, you know, is ve
ry sick of consumption; and who, young as she
is, has been shut up in her chamber now for
months. I found her holding in her hand a
wine-glass, with a little bunch ot early violets
in it.
“ Y”ou cannot tell how delighted I have been,
she said. ‘ These violets were left at the door
by a little girl that l never saw, the daughter, it
seems, of a poor washerwoman, who lives
down the neighboring alley. She said she
heard that I was sick, and udshed that l would
take them.’
“ The sick young lady placed the flowers
in the open window. She could see, as she re
clined on her couch, the top of a neighboring
tree, whose green leaves scarcely stirred in the
warm air, and the thin cloud which now and
then glifted across the sky. But the fields which
she loved, and the gardens and the birds, she
knew she would never see again. These fresh
violets spoke to her of the green meadows,
and happy hours spent there with dear friends.
As she turned them round and looked at them
l saw a tear swell upon her eyelid; and she
fell back, as if weary and sad. upon her couch.
The day was still; and suddenly—not as if
it had been lost in a great city, but rather as
if it had come as a blessed messenger from
ihe gardens aud flowers—a humming-bird flew
in, and buzzing around, full of life, thrust his
bill into the fragrant violets, and, lingering a
few moments, again flew away.
“ For some days in succession, I havo visi
ted her, and have still found the flowers care
fully preserved ; and to-day they were yet in
iheir accustomed place.”
“Oh ! how §b e 11)1181 have loved them!” said
little MoHy.
“ Yes, she did ,” replied her father; “ and
it probably gave her more pleasure in her sick
chamber than the discovery of a mine of gold.
Would you not think that the person who
gave her the flowers had done what was use
ful r
The children all replied that they did.
“I thought so,” said the father; “ and to-day
I went to see the mother of the thoughtful lit
tle girl. She was very poor; and you would
have imagined that she and her children would
have had no power tq be useful to others. By
means of some inquiries, I discovered the his
ory of the violets. Her chi Id had accompani ed
a Sunday-School on an excursion into the coun
try, and during the day had gathered them. On
her return, she had hardly shown them to her
mother, before she said, ‘I know what I shall
do with thPm. I shall carry them to the sick la
dy, where the doctor’s chaise stops every day.
I know she will love them. ‘ But,’ said her
mother, ‘she was always a dear, kind thought
ful child, and always trying to make those a
round her happier.”
‘‘l wish I knew her,” said Sarah. “I know
now what you mean by every one’s being use
ful. I suppose you think I should be useful
though I did not do qny great thing, if I
tried to make those ar- jnd me happier. When
I feel as if I could doJyjo good, I will think
of the washerw'AinaU’sJ r (tie girl, and of how
much happiness she cornu give through a bunch
of flowers and a kind heart.”
“Mr. Snow, I wants to ax you one question.”
“Propel it,**den.”
“ Why am a grog-shop like a counterfeit dol
lar?”
“Wall, Ginger, I gibs dat right up,”
‘‘ Does you gib it up?—Kase you cant pass
it.”
“ Y ah? yah! nigger, you talks so much ’bout
your counterfeit dollars, jus succeed to deform
me why a counterfeit dollar is like an apple
pie.
“Oh, I drops the subject, and doesn’t know
nothin bout it.”
“Kase it isn’t current.”
“ Oh do Lord, what a nigger! why am your
head like a bag of dollars?
“Go ’way from me—why am it?’’
“Kase dere’s no sense (cents) in it*”
“Well you was always de blackest nigger
I never see—you always will hab the last
word.”
GEMS OF THOUGHT.
Persons who talk constantly must often say
ihings useless and common-place.
The progress of some men is so rapid that
they keep ahead of common sense.
Be careful how you choose your associates,
and let no consideration ever lead you into
doubtful company.
Talents, merit, beauty, rank, fortune,are res
ponsibilities sufficient, without adding to them
ostentation.
A man with an irritable temper is more to
be pitied, than one bowed down to the earth
by poverty.
How humbling to human pride is the reflec
tion that man is the only species of the animal
creation that wars upon its kind.
All the performances of human art at which
we look with praise or wonder, are instances
of the resistless force of perseverance.
It is every way credi v E to handle the
yardm'yk and to mea 1 the only dis
cred„etice!sisis in hawwhose range
ot thought is as short as arid narrow
as the tape. f-/W\
Brutus may have beeV. in de
nouncing his own sons; but rn doing so he
inflicted moral torture on every heait that throb
bed around him.
Do not indulge in that insipid and unmean
ing admiration which many people express for
things only tolerable. This sentiment is inten.
ded for beautiful things.
Let the young man remember, there is noth
ing derogatory in any employment which
ministers to the well-being of the race. It is
the spirit that is carried into employment that
elevates or degrades it.
It has been the error of some devout men in
every age, to conceive that religion is so exclu
sively occupied with the great intrests of our
eternal being that the body, which is destined
so soon to perish, is hardly an object of its pious
care.
Silence is a privilege ofthe grave, a right of
the departed ; let him, therefore, who infringes
that right by speaking publicly of, for, or against
those who cannot speak for themselves, take
heed that he open not his mouth \vi*h a suffi
cient sanction.
The time is soon coming, when, by the
common consent of mankind, it will be esteem
ed more honorable to have been John Pounds
putting new and beautiful souls into the ragged
children of the neighborhood, while he mend
ed their father’s shoes, than to have sat on the
British throne.
1 here is no glory in the act affixing a signa
ture by which the treasures of commerce are
transferred, or treaties between nations are
ratified; the glory consists in the rectitude ofthe
purpose that approves the one, and tho grand
eur of the philanthropy that sanctifies the
other.
Fortitude is so becoming in human nature,
that he who wants it scarce deserves the name
of a man.
Tho most benevolent intentions and the
most beneficent actions,lose a great part of iheir
merit, if they are void of delicacy.
Resentment is the very bane of society,
smiting not only its object but he who resents,
whilst forgiveness is its inspiring cordial, elixer
of happiness to both alike.
Religion recommends no frivolous or excess
ive care of ornaments, which are always the
indications ol a vain and unchaste mind ; but
it is equally remote from that grossness of senti
ment which disgusts by its negleet.
Ylany pious men in the’ humble stations
of life,have imagined that, if we possess the sub
stantial virtues ofthe gospel—its integrity and
truth-—its penitence and faith—the more amia
ble and ornamental graces of refined manners
are hardly to be desired. This persuasion ot
these good men, so contrary to the order of
nature, is not less opposed to the evangelic or
der. For the holy apostle, a man the most ab
stracted from the vanities ofthe w'orld,enjoins,
with peculiar emphasis, the cultivation of
“whatsoever things are lovely.”
Moke Candid than Civil.— Dr. Johnson,
when asked to give his opiuion on the produc
tion of a lady, who told him, “that when she
had finished that, she had other irons in the
fire,” replied, “Madame, put this with your oth
er irons ’
A country clergyman to the
use of the bass viol in church service, was
overruled by tho congregation. The first sun
day it was brought into use, he announced the
psalm as follow’s : “To praise God, we will
now fiddle and sing the 40th psaltn, second
part, short metre !”
* Madam,’ said old Rodger to his boarding
house keeper,“ in primitive countries, beef
is often the legal tender; but, madam,” said he
emphatically, thrusting his fork into tho steak,
all the law in Christendom could’t make this
tonder.’—CArjprr Bfy,
For th Georgia Citizen.
LEOXI,
OR THE ORPHAN OF VENICE.
A TRAGEDT IN FIVE ACT3.
■ V T. H. CHIVSRS, M. •
[Continued.]
Dramatis Persons.
MEN.
Cocmt Alvar, LeomTs seducer, afterwards married to There**.
Don Carlo*, Leoni, friend to Leoni, and brother to Elvira.
Alvino, cousin and husband to Leoni.
Don Pkdo, friend to Count Alvar,
Count Rodolph, father to Theresa end one of the Duke's
Council.
Duke and his council.
Officer end Guard.
WOMEN.
Leoni, Orphan of Fenice.
Elvira, her friend.
Theresa, wife to Count Alvar.
ACT IV.—SCENE 1.
An apartment in Alvino’s house—Enter Altlno
and Leoni. /
alvino.
Now, we commence another path of thorns!
Thou hast beheld the Bark, upon the
With swan-like majesty, ascend the waves,
And spreading out her penons to the winds,
All pregnant with the glory of the storm,
Plough on her journey for the destined port,
But, as she rises on the billowy hills,
To see the forest bristling on tho coast,
When every heart beats gladly at the sight—
Behold ! the breakers of an angry sea
Dash on the languor of her wave-worn sides,
When, shrieking to the mercy of the Storm,
She bows, once more, in grandeur to the gale,
And, conquered by the rudeness of the blast,
Sinks down within an hour’s sail of land ?
LEONI.
Oh, yes—we have beheld all this in time;
But the downcast sadness of thine eyes,
In which there was so much of youthful joy,
And love ineffable ? Tell me the cause!
ALVINO.
A wintry fear lies cold about my heart!
LEONI.
But did he not deserve to die? -
ALVINO.
He did—
Ten thousand deaths!
LEONI.
Then why regret the aot ?
Is there not comfort in the downy urms
Os her, who prompted thee to that great deed ?
And consolation in the happy thought,
That she would die ten thousand deaths for tliec?
ALVINO.
There is, indeed.
LEONI.
Then rest assured thou art
The great avenger of an injured girl,
Whose honor has been trampled on by one
Who now inherits all the misery of his guilt
In Hell's deep gulf, where hope can never eoino !
ALVINO.
You know that handkerchief I used to have ?
I left it on the bed where Carlos sleeps!
LEONI. ‘ |
Not where you slept last night ?
ALVINO.
That very place
I have been thinking that if Carios fina
It there, he will be false enough to swear
’Tis mine, if he is borne to prison.
LEOM,
He?
ALVINO.
Yes lam not suspected by the Count—
I never showed Count Alvar any hate—
But he has, threatening him with instant death.
LEONI.
But if they find it there, will they not think—
ALVINO.
That Carlos killed the Count.
LEONI.
So let them think ?
ALVINO.
And have him suffer for an act of mine ?
LEONI.
No—find some cunning means to set him free.
By all the golden links that bind us in
The chain of everlasting love, let not
An outward show of honor ruin thee now ?
No, summon Pedro, if it should be so, f
To go to Carlos, whon confined in chains,
And bear the secrets of tho then formed plot,
And tell Don Carlos, for his own soul’s sake,
By promising Elvira shall be his—
To instigate Don Pedro to the death
Os old Count Rodolph —then contrive some means,
When that is done, to set Don Carlos freo.
ALVINO.
Oh ! blessed woman ? Angel that thou art!
Man says that thou art weaker than his sex ;
But what is lost in feebleness of limb,
Is made up in the cunning of thy soul *•
For with one effort of thy dazling thought,
In dangerous hours of fierce extreme, thy plans
Can minister to his relief, when ail
His own have failed him iu despair ? Then let
The warrions, on the battle-field, think not
To win the victory by his power alone,
But seek some gentle creature, like thyself,
And ere the ramparts of the enemy
Appear in living lines along the field,
Commune in gentle earnestness with her;
Aud he will gain more glory on that day,
Than ever was the lot of one proud man. /
LEONI.
Then listen to the voice of one that loves.
ALVIMO.
Weil, let it be as thou hast said.—Come on.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 11.
The same apartment in Don Carlos’ palace.—En
ter Don Carlos, Don Fepro and Elvira.
DON CARLOS.
So, he that was the gardner of the flower—
Who plucked the sweetest rose that ever bloomed,
And left tho nectar of its ruby folds
To perish in the stagnant winds of Ileaven—
Has withered by the frost beforo tho flower!
DON rEDRO.
What! has Alvino lashed him for tho deed?
DON CARLOS.
I heard that he hail murdered him last night—
Although no one suspects he is the man.
ELVIRA.
What! is it possible that he is dead ?
I fear, dear Carlos, you have been too rash !
DON CARLOS.
But none ever saw me, but his wife.
ELVIRA.
Behold ! who enters there ?
• SON CARLOS.
I need not doubt—
ELVIRA.
Alas'.
Then, for your sister’s sake, dear Carlos 1 fly 1
DON CARLOS.
Why should I fly ?
ELVIRA.
They come for thee l Away 1
Enter Ornca* and Guart-
RtMfl EMM V MMOTV *’ i ui ue. 1
OFFICER.
Sir, by the oath invested in this writ,
lam compelled to fetter thee iu chains.
ELVIRA.
In chains ? Why bind the innocent in chains I
OFFICER.
I am compelled to do so by the law.
don Carlos.
[Giring’ himself up.
It is your duty thus to do.
ELVIRA.
[Taking his hand and knteling.
Alas!
And shall my brother die ? We must not part!
DON CARLOS.
Arise, my gentle sister ! We shall meet
Again.
[She rises.
ELVIRA.
Perhaps no more on earth !
DON CARLOS.
We shall.
And, Pedro, parting as the best of friends,
I owe thee oMligations, which shall live
As long as thou shalt live to think of them.
So fare-thee-well!
DON PEDRO.
Farewell to meet again.
Exit Don Carlos, followed by Officer and Guard.
ELVIRA.
Oh ! Pedro ! what wili be our prospects now—-
Seeing the brightest of our hopes is gone?
Cun you not save him from that cruel death ?
DON PEDRO.
And prove that Pedro is the friend of one /
Who called upon him in the hour of neetH^-^
That he w ho would not promise me thy hand,
Shall have the joy of being saved by mine ?
ELVIRA.
lie will consent. My heart, you knoic, is thine.
DON rEDRO.
Elvira ! Pedro cannot lie to thee !
For he has worshiped thee in ail his dreams !
And when the chambers of the night were hung
With all the silver shining lamps that deck
The azure palace of the glorious sky,
Like roses blooming in the fields of Heaven—
He lias communed in silentness with thee ;
And think that Pedro can forget thee now ?
I swear, Elvira ! Carlos shall be saved !
ELVIRA.
Oh! Pedro! never did my heart believe
That mortal man could be so true as thee!
But see ! Alvino conies! lie looks not strange !
Enter Alvino.
alvino.
I see, Don Pedro, Carlos is not here. /
DON rEDRO.
He is not here—for he is prisoner in thy steadl/
ELVIRA. S
Alvino ! if thou art the man thou art,
I now conjure thee to be true to him !
ALVINO.
What! think yon that Alvino will be false ?
The heart that urged him on to that great deed
To mend the broken vessel at the fount,
Which.after ministering to his delight,
Was thrown iu wilful vvantouness away ;
Shall be the prompter to restore his friend.
Alvixo Kill be faithful to the last.
ELVIRA.
Then instantly release him from the chains!
ALVINO.
This letter shall be evidence of that.
I wish it, Pedro, to be borne to him,
And, after Carlos has divulged it thee,
I wish an answer speedily returned.
I would not trust another man on earth,
And hope you will be faithful as
The trust reposed in you.
[Giring the leltsr.
DON’ PEDRO.
It shall be done.
I will be with him straight.
-s [ Exit Don PrrdrOj/ >
ALVINO.
[Aside.
The work is done!
ELVIRA.
What was there in that letter ?
ALVINO.
Tedro knows—
Or soon iei7f know, when it is read.
ELVIRA
But toil
Me what was in it ?
AI.VINO.
Know you not our plans ?
ELVIRA.
I know them not.
ALVINO.
Then you will never know
From me.
ELVIRA.
Perhaps it may effect his life !
ALVINO.
If Pedro is the friend he seems to be,
lie will divulge it all, when he returns.
No woman ever kept a secret yet.
[Exeunt Omnes. /
SCENE HI.
.4 prison— Carlos is discovered bound in chains —
Enter Don Pedro.
DON CARLOS.
What! Pedro ?is it you ? What is the news ?
Does Carlos own thy heart ?
DON PEDRO.
Ho does, my lord ;
And he is destined—
DON CARLOS.
Destined ?
DON PEDRO
To be free.
DON CARLO*.
Alasthose cherished hopes were almost gone!
DON PEDRO.
Who can compel the spirit of the just ?
The Eagle is not freer in his flight,
When, to the unfenced fields of upper air,
Ho roars with an illimitable joy—
Than is tho soul when innocent of guilt!
DON PEDRO.
Amen
To that! Alvino bade me hand you this.’
And wished an answer speedily returned^
DON CARLOS.
[Reading the letter.
Alvino ? Is he faithful to the last ?
DON PEDRO.
He wears the aspect on his brow full well.
DON CARLOS.
Alvino—Pedro! listen ! swear that thou
Art harder than tho adamant of Hell,
And thou shalt have the Jewel of my house!
DON FEDRO.
I am, to do the simplest thing for thee. v
DON CARLOS,
Alvino instigato mo here, to prompt
You to the murder of Coapt Rodolph—go!
That we may be as free as air again—
And bear this unsealed letter to him straight!
And should he question yon about iu truth,
Then show him, when the message has been read,
Thia handkerchief, he left upon my bed !
[Giving hint the handkerchief and letter.
**’ ‘ - *
DON PEDRO.
j If this will save thy life, by risking mine,
It shall be done ! J
/ DON CARLOS.
It will—6e quick
VOS PEDRO.
Then swear
Elvira shall be mine.
DON CARLOS.
By Heavens ! she shall J
But go—find Rodolph at the risque of life 1
[East Pedro— Scene closes ,
SCENE IV.
The tame apartment in Count RoDOLfu'a palncts—
Enter Count Rodolph and Theresa.
£ RODOLPH.
The trial comes on at the hour of three.
THERESA.
But will he be condemned ?
. COUNT RODOLPH. .
As sufc as fate,
But you will be required to swear that ha,
Don Carlos threatened him with instant death.
Leoni was the cause.
THERESA.
Who told you so ?
COUNT RODLPH.
I heard the tiling from good men’s mouths. The;
mark !
The evidence against Don Carlos will
Be truer than the truth, when that is known.
THERESA.
Why so ?
COUNT RODOLPH.
Because he killed bun for that girl ’
THERESA.
But of Alvino married her, why did
He not revenge himself upon the Count ?•
COUNT RODOLrH.
There is the mystery which will be cleared
Os all its darkness, when the truth is known,
And brought before the Council. Who comes there’
Withdraw—perhaps ho may dissolve the doubt.
[Exit Theresa
Enter Don Pedro.
PKDRO.
[Bowing,
My lord l
COUNT RODOLPH.
Don Pedro X/
■bON PEDRO,
That's my name, my lord.
COUNT RODOLPH.
Who saved you, when the sentence of your death.
Was registered upon the Book of Fate ?
DON t’feDßO.
Count Alvar did.
COUNT RODOLPn.
Then why forsake that man” >
Why, rather than be faithful to your friend,
Colleage yourself with that damned, infidel,
Who, laden with the heavy chains of State,
Now reads his destiny among the dead !
DON PEDRO.
Because the trust reposed in me, by him,
Was sacrificed to gain another’s love,
COUNT RODOLPH.
Who coulld be dearer to you than he was < •
DON PEDRO-
My love for her—Elvira’s love for mo.
COUNT RODOLPH.
No, thou art forging in thy cursed heart
The lying words which hang upon thy lip*!-
I will not suffer thee to live an hourL^-*”
DON PEDRO,”
Hold ! lot me show thee to thy naked eyes,
That Carlos is not guilty of the deed!
[Handing him the letter„
COUNT RODOLPH.
[Reading it t
Now toll me, at the peril of thy life,
If under any circumstance of hate,
Alvino wished to instigate theq, by
This letter to Don Carlos, to destroy
My life ?
DON PEDRO.
He did, my lord—he surely did;
Leoni being prompter to the deed,
This handkerchief was found upon his bed.
[Giving him the handkerchief.
COUNT RODOLPH.
Ye Gods! how eloquent is this poor thing ’
My ears are sated with its silent speech !_
It says more than the clamorous tongue of man,
With all his liquid fluency of words!—
There is no evidence against his soul,
Can speak so loudly as this drop of blood yS
DON PEDRO.
And then his name is on the corner there
COUNT RODOLHH.
‘Alvino!’ yea, it is most true—’tis here!
And though housed the cunning of his soul,
Ti. keep the secret of the deed untold,
Yet, lie has spoken more by this same thing,
Than if he had proclaimed it to the world !
But go—tell Carlos he is free again—
Alvino shall be prisoner iu bis stead—
DON PEtyRO,
And man may call me coward, if he will j
But who would not, in such an hour as this,
Lie boldly, in the very face of truth,
To gain possession of that woman’s love ?
Since, but to hesitate, is losing all !
Then, as my interest prompts me to the act,
And as Elvira will be mine, if done,
And happiness must follow, if she is,
There shall be nothing to deter my power.
[Exit,
SCENE V.
The same apartment in Alvar’s house — Enter At
vino and Leoni.
LEONI-
So, of the handkerchief thou hast not heard f
And Pedro has not yet returned ?
ALVINO,
He stays
Anti, by that staying, brings me nearer death !•
LEONI.
Oh ! say not so! He may have been detained
ALVINO.
I must say so—there is no other hope !
LEONI.
You do not think that Pedro will be falee ?
ALVINO.
If Carlos promise him Elvira’s hand,
lie will betray to Rodolph all our plans ;
And then the sentence of the law will fall
Upon cs with.avenging wrath!
LEONI.
Most true !-
Bat cannot there be something done to ward,-
Away thie direful blow ? Yes, let us fly ‘
ALVINO.
Leoni 1 it is best that we should stay—
Fly ing would only serve to prove our guilt.
And give suspicion stronger claims to proof
And now remember, in this trying hour,
If any portent should retard our hope*—
Be strong as Ipve ia infinite!
LEONI-
I will;
And drink the last drop of the hitter cvp.
jAs freely as the first one—to thadrag*! :
But when ia <?arlos to h* tried T
NO; 10.