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“THE POET’S CORKER.
Fertile Georgia Citizen.
Alj Sister’s (.raves.
Hove the willow tree that bends
Its boughs, and gently waves,
O'er the hallow’d spot of earth,
That marks my sisters’ graves.
And oft at eve when twilight dies,
lly meditation led,
I to this silent spot repair
To muse upon the dead.
This world is but a fleeting show,
Its joys art* soon o ercast,
We live, we love, our race we run,
Death claims us all at last.
Yet they did seem too fair to die,
Their race had scearce begun ;
liii righteous hanj their lives withdrew,
0, God! ‘'Thy will be done.”
When I am dead, O let me lie
Where green the willow waves !
I'll calmly rest, and sweetly sleep,
Beside my sisters’ graves.
‘ZEriIYR.’
Talbotton, Ga.
Wait for the Wagon.
Most of our readers are, no doubt, familiar with the
, tone of this song. Perhaps we may do a favor to
1 many by publishing the words :
Mill you come with me dear Phillis
To yon green mountain tree?
M here the blossoms smell the sweetest,
Come rove along witli me.
lis every Sunday morning
M hen I am by your side,
Me will jump into the wagon,
And we will all take a ride.
M here the moon shines like silver,
And the birds they sing so sweet,
I have a cabin, Phillis,
And something good to eat.
Come listen to my siorv,
And it will relieve your heart,
I And we will jump into the wagon,
I And off we will start.
Do you believe, my Phillis, dear,
Old Dick and all his wealth,
Could make you half so happy,
As I with youth and health ?
e will have a little farm,
A horse, a pig, a cow ,
And you will mind the dairy,
And 1 will miud the plow.
A ur lips are red as poppies,
Your hair so slick and neat,
AH braided up with dahlias,
And holly.hockfc so sweet.
L* every Sunday morning,
” ben 1 am by your side,
e jump into the wagon,
And all take a ride.
L gether on ||f t ’ 8 journey,
” e will travel till we stop
A if we have no trouble,
e w ,11 reach the happy top;
• “ come with me, my Phillis,
I **>’ dear, my loving bride,
Aitd we wi|j jump into tU
And all take a ride.
Jrm the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.
rust to God and Persevere.”
Bv 01,v KR OAK WOOD,
brother i |;r a <
j, ’ “" e 8 corning clouded,
Is .u lt fUl >hght ceased to shine*.
\y e *?>’ ‘Lfkness shrouded,
CheV’ h Ub K OUat bt re P iHe *
I, P ’ L brolher . let thy vision
Soon willY"*’ lighlisnear .
n T e the next transition,
JS ‘ * n Lod and persevere !”
“fotlier ha. l.r > i
) hfe s hope reoeded,
VrienH ‘" U * ong * ll itß joy ‘ vain ;
| rove,] ful ße *q Jen mogt |y nee dcd,
chL.r j r ingauhy ' ) ™i
\y . 1 r °^ er > here’s a blessing
Eoe f ‘ nglor t,lee —never fear:
sing confessing,
st in God and persevere!’’
all things round are calling
voiee ’ * be s,ro,,s: ’
The wron ? s of earth be galling,
Yea ln J v ? Ufet . los ® their strength ere long.
brother, tw life’s trouble.
B<^: twi l ii e v ! n T t 0 dark de p ir .
ii T . vanish like a bubble,
u *t in God and persevere !’’
Tus high throne in heaven
ll* W :|| C es Qvef y ste P you take,
see each fetter riven,
an s <:r nke;
To and ’ F ° l ler j He has power
“ Trr ar^ est tempests lower,
’ St ln G °R and persevere !’’
®!p femfpn Ctfepi
Brother, there’s a quiet slumber
Waiting for thee in the grave ;
Brother, there’s a glorious number
Christ in mercy deigns to save ;
Wait, then, till life’s quiet even
Closes round thee calm and clear,
And till called from earth to heaven,
“ Trust in God and persevere ! ’’
‘■ w ■
From the Memphis Eagle and Enquirer.
The Harp, the Angel, (he Flower and the
Star.
There's a harp within my soul,
Dearest friend—
There’s a !iarp within my soul,
And its wayward echoes roll
Like the music of the spheres
O'er the rainbow-brow of years—
Wild and high its notes ascend—
There’s a harp within my soul,
Dearest friend !
And a bright-wing’d angel there,
Dearest friend,
And a bright-wing’d angel there
Sits with waving golden hair,
And on the yEolian strings
Gently droops its fairy wings 5
XX ith my own its whispers blend —
There’s an angel in my soul,
Dearest friend!
There’s a flower within my heart,
Dearest friend !
There’s a flower within my heart,
And its perfume seems a part
Os some bud which drooped and died
Upon life's wild tempest-tide—
Proudly o’er its bloom I bend—
There’s a flower within my heart,
Dearest friend !
There’s a star bends o’er this flower,
Dearest friend!
There’s a star bends o’er this flower,
Watches o’er its sleep each hour,
Prints love's kiss upon its leaves
When its waking bosom heaves;
Would that their two lives might blend—
The star and flower within my soul,
Dearest friend !
Harp and angel in one tone,
Dearest friend—
Ilarp and angel in one t*.ne,
Star and flower one bloom alone,
What wild music then would rise !
What rich perfume seek tlte skits I
Would, oil would they all might blend—
llarp and angel, star and flower,
Dearest friend !
Laura Lorrimer.
Cumberland Iron XX orks, )
Tenn., Nov. 1. f
IB i SC ELIA NY.
The loss of John Wilson’s Whiskers.
A CARPET BAG 6TORY.
John had married a very pretty and interest
ing Lowell girl, who loved him with unfeigned
sincerity. Indeed, Sarah XVilson was so fond
of her husband that, ridiculous as is the idea,
she actually became jealous of his whiskers, of
which John himself was exceedingly vain and
proud. One day, when John had taken un
usual pains to brush and curl his fine silky ap
pendages, Sarah sfid to him:
‘ 1 declare, John, I do wish you would'nt
worship your whiskers—Fin really growing
quite jealous.’
* Jealous of whom, my dear ?’ asked John.
‘ Why your whiskers, of course —you pay
them more attention than you accord to me,
your loving wifi*.’
* Pshaw !’ replied John, smoothing his whisk
ers.
* I tell you it’s true,’ said Sarah, ‘ and really
t have a good mind to cut them oft, that i
have.’
John laughed, and (it being Sunday) went
and stretched biniselt on the sola with a book,
and soon read himself to sleep. Meantime Sa
rah had fretted herself into a passion, because
she believed her John was slighting her, ‘I will
cut them oft!’ said she to herself; and acting
promptly on this resolution, she procured her
scissors, and as Delilah ot old tricked Sampson ,
so she prepared to serve her husband. Gently
she passed her scissors through the silky curls
of his whiskers, as close as she could, cropping
them, however, but from one side only! The
other side she left as it was. She had replaced
her scissors and taken her book, when John
awoke and said
‘Sarah, I believe I will take a walk down as
far as brother Joe’s; will you go V
‘ No,’ said she, suppressing a hearty laugh
at the figure John cut, with one whisker in all
its luxuriance minus its mate ; ‘I guess I wont
go down to-day.’
John put on his coat, and strange to say, did
not go the glass ; it was fortunate that he did
not, as the cat would have been ‘ out ot the
bag.’ He took his hat and walked out of the
house. For a moment Sarah's heart misgave
her, and she was half a mind to call him back :
but upon second thought, she said to herself,
‘l'll cure him, if it is a bitter pill.’
Our hero sauntered slowly down the street,
lie had not proceeded far when he met two la
dies of his acquaintance, whom he accosted.
He noticed that their countenances wore a cu
rious expression, and that there was a roguish
twinkle in their eyes, and when he left them,
and passed on, he thought he beard a sup
pressed titter. ‘ I wonder what the deuce they
are laughing at V thought he to himself. Poor
John ! you will know full soon. He went on a
little further and met two jolly bloods who
Jooked at him,and then burst into a loud laugh.
‘ What are those fools laughing at ?’ muttered
he to himself. He soon found, however, that
from some cause or other, he was an object of
universal observation and merriment to every
one who passed him, all seeming to be \astly
pleased at his appearance. John began to grow
vexed. ‘ What is there about me that is so
wonderful ?’ he asked himself. He cast a has
ty glance over his person ; his boots were well
polished, his vest was spotless white, his coat
and pants were each an unexceptionable fit
what could it be? he drew himself proudly up,
complacently stroked the side of his face which
owned a whisker, and walked on. He arrived
at his brother’s house and walked in without
ceremony. As soon as he entered the sitting
room he was saluted by a loud laugh from Joe
and bis wife, and two or three of their mutual
friends, who had dropped in for a socia 1 chat
John was vexed this time—his ‘ dander was up.’
‘What the deuce are you all laughing at, I
should like to know?’ he asked in a tone of
great vexation. 4 Every one whom I have met
between my house and here have done noth
ing but stare and grin at me ! By— (and he
swore a‘big swear’) I wont stand it!
‘ Well, John,’ said Joe, ‘I wouldn’t if I were
you—but just look ip the glass, my dear fellow,
MACON, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 18, 1852.
and perhaps you can find a solution of what has
mystified you.’
John accordingly strode toward the glass,
gave one look, and snnk into a chair. ‘ Confu
sion !’ said he, ‘this is Sarah’s work. By hea
ven ! I'll never forgive her as long as I live;
thus to make me an object of ridicule. She
shall rue it!’
Saying which, he asked Joe’s wife for the
scissors, and soon made an alteration in his
looks. He stopped not long, but left for home.
He entered the house looking daggers at Sarah.
She flung her arms around his neck. At first
he repulsed her, but she looked so sorry, and
said ‘John,’ so mournfully, that he could not in
his heart but forgive her. But he said :
‘ How could you, Sarah, serve me such a
trick V
‘ I was jealous!’ sa'd she ‘I thought you
did not think so much of mo as your whiskers,
and I wished to cure you.’
And John was cured, though to this day he
wears magnificent whiskers; yet he does not
make himself so vain with them. Sarah’s les
son made him a w iser man, and they often have
a laugh at the ridiculous figure he cut on that
memorable Sabbath.
The Girl with the Tin Pail.
“ Earth’s blossoms thrive not in the shade,
Unblest by gentle showers from heaven ;
But that sweet flower by kindness made
To bud and bloom will never fade
And truly are its odors given.’’
Some twenty years ago, I was a ’prentice boy
in the then ‘ City of Mud,’ now the goodly city
of Rochester. The business of which I was ob
taining a knowledge, was conducted upon Ex
change street, though 1 boarded in one of the
streets in the western part of the city.
In going to my tea, I was in the habit of
meeting,almost every evening, for many weeks
in succession, a small, young, well-dressed, and
good-looking girl, with a pail in her hand. At
length my curiosity became excited, and I re
solved to ascertain, if possible, the daily errand
ot the girl. Having met her the following
evening, 1 accordingly turned upon ray heel,
and followed her at a distance that would not
excite suspicion in any one. lat length saw
her enter a small shoemaker’s shop on South
St. Raul street. I subsequently learned that
the shop was owned by an industrious young
man. and an excellent mechanic, and that he
was the girl’s husband, lie had been married
a few months, and possessing no other capital
than a good trade, a good name, and a robust
constitution, had resolved to economize, by hir
ing a house in the suburbs of the city.
His breakfast was always ready for him by
daybreak, and taking liis dinner with him, he
saved the hour each day which most persons
spend in going and coming from that meal.—
Many economists would have been satisfied
with the saving so much time as this between
the rising and going down of the sun, but not
so with the young shoemaker. He also wished
to save the hour usually devoted to tea, and
therefore had that meal daily taken to him by
bis pretty little wife. This arrangement can
died him to spend the whole day, and as much
of the evening as he chose, in the shop.
The industrious habits of the shoemaker were
soon discovered, and met with their due reward.
Customers flocked in upon him, and he was ob
liged not only to rent a larger sliop, but to em
ploy an additional number of workmen. But
the increase of business did not wean him from
the plan lie had early adopted for the saving
lime—this third meal still having been taken to
him by his wife, in the tin pail.
About this time I left the city and did not re
turn for some twelve years. 1 had not, howev
er, forgotten the shoemaker, having from my
first knowledge of him, discovered the germ ol
success in his manner of life. I visited the
place where his old old shop had stood ; it had
given place to anew brick block. In vain I
looked about for the sign ; it was nowhere to be
seen. I was at length informed by a friend,
that about two years previous he had removed
to Ohio.
4 Do you know anything of his circumstan
ces ?’ I enquired.
1 I do. In the first place he took to Ohio
about five thousand dollars in cash, some three
thousand dollars of which he invested in real
estate near Cincinnati ; he has already realized
three times the amount. The other two thou
sand he put into a pork establishment, and that
sum has yielded him a large profit. But even
if he had not resorted to speculation,’ added
my friend, ‘ he could not but have succeeded in
life, so thorough were his business habits, and
especially as those habits are seconded by an
industrious little wife.’
I have recently returned from a visit to Ohio,
aud have again seen the shoemaker and his wife,
lie is now in the prime of life, aud possesses an
ample fortune and unsullied reputation for pro
bity. Never having any personal acquaintance
with him, I introduced myself as a Rochestero
nian. This was late in the afternoon, and 1
very cheerfully accepted an invitation to take
tea with him. Improving a moment of silence
at the table, I remarked:
4 1 fear, Mr. 11. you are not so great an econo
mist of time, as you used to be ?’
4 Why not?’ he enquired.
4 When I first became acquainted with Mrs.
11. you could not afford time to go to tea, and
she used to carry it to you.’
‘ In a little tin pail,’ said she, bursting into a
laugh.
* Exactly.’
‘lndeed, Mr. W., ha.’ o you known us so
long ?’
1 then made myself known as the former ap
prentice of Mr. R. and was immediately recog
nized by Mrs. 11. as one ot her earliest street
acquaintances in Rochester.
‘ But that pail, what do you think has become
of that?’ asked Mr. H.
‘That, I suppose, was long since numbered
among the things that were,’ I answered.
‘ By no means ’ said he, at the same time tip
ping a wink to his wife.
She arose from the table and left the room ;
and soon returned with the identical pail, as
they both assured me. I need not say that it
bore palpable evidence of the ravages of time.
‘ But what is your object in preserving that
pail.’
‘ Its associations. We look upon it as one
of the earliest instruments which contributed to
our success in life, and as such we shall ever
cherish it.’
I soon after took my leave of Mr. ami Mrs.
H. and their interesting and happy family;
and not a day since then has my mind been
without its remembrance of the Girl and hei
Tin rail.
“My lad, are you the mail boy ?” said a lady
to a boy with a pair of saddle bags- 0 j e
shure I is. You doesn’t ’spose I’se a female
boy does ye? It you do,you’re suckei, ia
all,”
Ellse De Vaux.
BY FANNY FERN.
‘Well, doctor, what do you think of her?
She has set her heart upon going to that New-
Year’s Ball, and it will never do to disappoint
her, poor thing!’
The blunt old doctor bit his lip impatiently,
and striking his gold-headed cane in no very
gentle manner upon the floor, said—
'Think! I think it would be perfect insan
ity for her to attempt it. / won’t be answera
ble for the consequences.’
‘Pshaw! my dear sir; she has had a dozen
attacks before, quite as bad, and— ’
‘And that is the reason that she should be
more cautious now, Madam. Good morning,
good morning! Heaven save me from these
fashionable mothers,’ he muttered, as he bang
ed the door to behind him. ‘She’ll kill the
girl, and then her death will be laid at my
door—ugh !—it would be a comfort if one
coidd meet a sensible woman occasionally !’
Ellse was sitting in bed, propped up by pil
lows, when her mother entered. If youth,
grace, and beauty could bribe the destroyer, or
lurn aside his unerring aim, then had she been
spared. Her cheek was marble pale, and res
ted wearily on one little hand; the eyes were
closed as if sleeping, and from the other hand
a few choice flowers had escaped, and lay up
on the snowy counterpane.
‘Oh is that you, mamma ? I hope you have
made that stupid doctor give you something
that will set me up. I feel such a deadly sink
ing—from want of nourishment, I fancy. I)o
pray see what you can get for me. I hope Dr.
Wynn didn’t presume to interfere about my
going to the ball, because I intend to go, dead
or alive ; and mamma, while my lunch is get
ting ready, just bring me my dress, and let me
see if Jennet has placed the trimmings where
they should be, and have a ruche placed around
the wrist of my kid gloves : and mamma, don’t
torget to send Tom to Anster’s for that pearl
spray I selected for my hair; and, by the way,
just hand me that mirror; I’m alaid I'm look
ing awfully pale.’
‘Not now,’ said the frightened mother, ‘you
are too weary. Wait till you have had some
refreshment; and the pale beauty sank back on
her pillow, crushing a wealth of dark ringlets,
and closed her eyes wearily, in spito ol her de
termination to be well.
A ring at the door! (a bright flush came to
her cheek) ‘That’s Vivian, mamma. ‘Tell
him—tell him (and a sharp pain through her
temples caused her to pause;) tell him I'm bet
ter, and he mav call for me at ten tomorrow
night; and, mamma hand him this ;’ and she
drew a little perfumed note from beneath her
pillow, with a rose bud crushed in its folds.
‘Draw aside the curtain, Jeannet! Oh !we
shall have a nice evening for the dance; now
hand me my dressing gown. Mamma, that
medicine is perfectly miraculous —1 never felt
better, lleuven knows where I should have
been bad you not called in a better counsellor
than Dr. Wynn, lie would like me for a pa
tient a year, 1 daresay ; but I know better than
to line his pockets that way ;’ add she skipped
gaily across the floor to a large fauteuil, and
called Jeannet to arrange her hair.
‘Softly—softly, Jennet! My head isn’t quite
right yet. There that will do,’ said Ellse, as
the skillful French woman bound tress after
tress in complicated glossy braids around her
well-formed head. ‘Now place that pearl spray
a little to the left, just over my ear. Pretty,
is it not, mamma?’
‘Here, Jennet!’ and she extended the dainty
foot for its silken hose and satin slipper.
‘Rest a while now, Ellse,’ said her mother, as
she looked apprehensively at the bright crim
son spot on her check, that grew deeper every
moment, and contrasted so strikingly with the
marble paleness of her brow. ‘l’m afraid you
are going beyond your strength.’
‘Mamma, what are you thinking about?
Look at me! and see how well 1 look. Besides,
I’d go to this hall to-night, if it cost me my
life. Mabel has triumphed over me once\ she
shall not do it a second time. Besides, there is
really no danger; I feel wild with spirits to
night, and anticipate a most brilliant evening;’
and she clasped the pearl pendants in her small
ears; and the light,fleecy dress fell in soft folds
about her graceful person, and upon her fair
arm placed his gift, and taking in her hand the
rich boquet, every flower of which whispered
hope to her voung heart, .-lie held up her check
with a bewitching smile, ar.d said —
‘Now kiss me, mamma, and say that you are
proud of Ellse.’
And now Jennet, with officious care, draws
the rich opera cloak about her shoulders, and
with a thousand charges from mamma ‘to be
ware of the draughts, partake sparingly of ices,
and not fatigue herself with dancing,’ the car
riage wheels roll away from the door, freighted
with their lovely burden.
‘Ellse de Vaux here!’ said a tall, queenly
girl, attired in black velvet; and she curled her
pretty lip with ill-concealed vexation. ‘1 thought
her dying, or near it, and as Ellse glided grace
fully past in the dance, every eye following her,
and every tongue eloquent in her praise, Ma
bel’s cheek paled with anger.
‘How radiant she is ! how dazzling ! Sick
ness has but enhanced her beauty, and how
proudly Vivian bears her through the waltz !
Every step they take is on my heart-strings.
This must not, shall not be ! Courage, cow
ard heart!’ and, mastering her feelings with a
strong effort, she joined the dancers. Excite
ment and exercise soon brought the rose to her
cheek, her eyes grew wildly brilliant, and, had
not Vivian been magnetised past recall, his
would have been caught by the dazzling vis
ion.
All eyes were fixed upon the rival belles, and
amid the voluptuous swell of music, the flash
ing of lights, the overpowering sweetness of
myriad flowers, and the rapid, whirling motion
of the dance, every brain and heart were dizzy
with excitement.
‘Heavens! that is not Ellse de X aux,’ said a
nephew of Dr. Wynn’s. ‘XVhat mad folly!
My uncle told me if she came it would be at
the price of her life. How surprisingly beauti
ful she is!’
Still on—on they whirled ! the dancers ! till
the stars grew pale, and the sweet flowers
drooped in the heated atmosphere.
‘No sleep till morn, when youth aud pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
‘What unearthly beauty !’said an old gen
tleman to a young man, upon whose arm he
was leaning, as Ellse glided past. ‘Who is
she ?’
‘Ellse de Vaux,’ said the young man, me
chanically, his eyes riveted to her figure.
Do you know what you are saying ? said he,
tapping him gently on the arm.
‘Yes, Ellse de Vaux.’
‘Well, why do you look at her so wildly ?
Has Cupid aimed a dart at you out of those
lovelv blue eyes.
1 ‘Good God !’ said the young man, leaping
forward, as a piercing shriek came upon the
air. ‘Make room ! help! throw up the win
dows!’ and Ellse was borne past, gasping,
senseless, to the cool night air.
Aye, Vivian, kneel at her side, chafe the lit
tle jewelled hands, put back the soft hair from
the azure-veined temples, press the pulseless
wrist, listen for the beating heart —in vain !
Ellse is dead !
And in the arms of him for whom she had
thrown away her young life, she was borne to
her home. The diamond sparkled mockingly
on the clay cold fingers, the pearls still linger
ing amid her soft ringlets, the round symmetri
cal limbs still fair in tlieir beautiful proportion.
The heart she coveted was gained —the dear
bought victory won.
TMI .!■> I
Extraordinary Love Letter.
In a collection of ancient tracts and manu
script’s, by Charles Clark, is the following cu
rious and quaint love letter, which was addres
sed to a lady of Malden, England, in the year
1044. As it is a remarkable specimen of then
fashionable mode of inditing such compositions,
we give it entire :
To the most choice Gentlewoman and ornament
of her sex , Mrs. Elizabeth Goode , daughter
of Mr. Sebastian Goode , Esquire , at Mal-
den.
Mrs. Elizabeth : I have long beene an earnest
suitor to your honour and deserts, that I might
be admitted an humble suitor to your svveete
selfe : now, after many starvings and wrestlings,
I have almost prevailed. My next suit is, that
your dearest selfe would comply with your dear
est parents desire and mine; they are most
ready to part with a great part of their estate
for your sake, and I most willingo to place all
myjoyes aud delights in you alone. Now it is,
or will sodainly be in your sole power to dash
and frustrate, or crowue all my endeavors : here
by you will make me a most happy man, and
your selfe (I hope) a no less happy spouse.
Well, sweet Mrs. Elizabeth; be notafraide to
venture on me ; as you have a most tender fath
er, a most indulgent mother, so let me, that I
thank Providence kept for you, furnish you with
a very, very loveing husband. Could you
reade my most inmost thoughts, you would
answer love with love. I here promise you
and will make good this promise againe (when
that happy day comes) on holy ground, that I
love and honour you.
Knowe, this is my virgin request, the first
request in earnest that ever came from my lippes
or pen: my eyes have seen many young gal
lants and virgins, but Mrs. Elizabeth is the de
light of my eyes. Others of your sexe have
been acceptable, and some precious in my eyes;
but you, and you only, have been and still are,
the pearle of my eyes.
Amongst all the works of God, I delight
most in beholdinge (the sun excepted) an ami
able countenance ; and such is yours, or none
in these parts of England. Your face is a
mappe of beauties, your gentle breast a cabinet
of virtues, and your whole selfe a cluster of all
the choicest delicacies, but, in plaine English,
not j’our pleasinge aspect, nor well-featured
person, nor admired excellencies, nor weighty
portion, fastened my affections on you, but your
love (of this I have been long perswated) to a
(myself I mean) so undeserving it.
As for myself, I am thought worthy of a
good wife, though unworthy of you. These
pretty toyes, called husbands, are such rare
commodities in this age, that I can woo and
win wives by the dozens. I knowe not any
gentlewoman in these parts but would kiss a
letter from my hands, reade it with joye, and
then lay it up next her heart as a treasure; but
I will not trye their courtesies except I find you
uncourteous.
My last request is this, take a turne in pri
vate, then reade this letter againe, and imagine
the penman at your elbow. Next lay your hand
upon your heart, and resolve to say Amen to
my desires. If so, I shall accept your portion
with the left hand, but your lovely person with
the right. Portions I can have enough to my
minde in other places, but not a wife to my
minde in any place of the wide world but at
Malden. I hope, therefore, no place shall fur
nish you with a husband but Kingstone, where
lives in hope your most hearty friend and ser
vante. Thomas Bogrman.
From my Chamber, Dec. 3, 1044.
A Puzzle. —Here is something worth stud
ying over. We find it in an exchange. If
any of our readers can solve it, and feel the
point, they are at perfect liberty to do so:
F Y
O (1 O
WE F O
RYO U R
I‘ A P E
11 P A
Y U
P
—
Ho for a Strike !—All honest men who
won’t go in debt, who won’t get a living without
earning it, who “Won’t be uose-led by Fashion,
are invited to meet for consultation. XV e have
no riotous intentions —we are law abiding men
—but we want our rights. It is our right to
wear a hat till the nap is all gone from the edge
of the crown; but our oppressors oblige us to
get anew one every six months, or a year at
most, and for our lives we can’t tell the new
one from the old, except by the date on the
hatter’s card inside. It is our right to wear an
overcoat two years, if it is sound and strong, al
though it has turned grey, and the button-holes
need repairing. But we cannot do it unless it
be on rainy days, and the tyrants thus cheat
us out of a fortnight’s hard earned wages. It
is our right to hire a pew in the gallery of the
church where we can hear equally well, and be
as fervent in our devotions; but we must pay
four times as much, and sit in a prominent
place below, and spend another week’s wages
for the balance. We have a right to rent no
more room than we use, but the world de~
mauds one parlor or two for its use; and we
must pay one hundred dollars more for rent to
oblige the world. We have a right to live with
in our means ; but Fashion clutches us by the
throat and commands us to sign mortgages and
bonds and sealed notes, and we must do it.
Gentlemen, honest men, wise men, are not
our wrongs intolerable? Let us strike tor our
rights and be free.— JVew York Times.
A young lady, a sensible girl, gives the, fol
lowing catalogue ofdiflerent kinds of love • 4 The
sweetest, a mother’s love ; the strongest, a wo
man’s love ; the longest, a brother’s love : the
dearest, a man's love ; and the sweetest, longest
strongest, dearest love —‘a love of a bonnet.
If you would succeed with the girls, keep as
unsullied as possible. A man with dirty boots
and ungroomed hair stands no more chance
with the feminine gender, than a bobtail horse
in fly time.
The King’s Vengeance.
“Lady,if I die for it, I will tell you I love
you.”
Ihe speaker was the young and handsome
Count de la Casastro, and his words —those
burning words of passion—were addressed to
Carolina, the lawful wife of King Godfredo.
Rale, trembling, the lady leant against the
wall for support.
“ This is too cruel,’’ said she, faintly, 44 why
run such a dreadful risk ?’’
“ You care for my life, then?” cried he, again
kneeling at her feet; “ ah, then I feel that life is
precious. Sweetest, dearest —the gold that
gave me access will ensure my retreat; only
tell me that you do not hate me—that you will
sometimes suffer ine to look ou a face dearer to
me than Heaven!”
Carolina had but a woman’s answer to give
—tears,bitter tears.
4 ‘ Do not weep,” whispered he, rising and
taking her hand, “ I cannot feel sad while I see
you. Oh, do you know what it is to be happy
on a look ?—let me hear one word —I care not
what it is, if I do but hear your voice.’’
She struggled with an emotion that would
not be subdued ; her heart beat till it choked
her voice; her lips moved; but the sound was
inaudible.
4 ‘ How beautiful you are, but how pale : are
you wretched too?” and he fixed his large, dark
and mournful eyes on her. ‘ I could taik to
you for hours, long, miserable hours, but I for
get them now ; shall I not often forget them ?
Tell me loveliest, may I not sometimes return ?
Tell ine the next time I come you will expect
me.’
‘No!’ muttered Carolina, with a cold shud
der.
4 Do you fear ?’ exclaimed the Count, a slight
curve on his lip, ‘ will you not,’ added he in a
pleading tone, 4 lmzzurd a little for my sake ?
Forgive me, but I love you so madly that I even
hope ’
4 Hope ?’ returned she, with a strange and
hollow accent, 4 hope ?’
‘ Yes,’ continued Casastro; ‘ beloved by you,
every thing seems possible.’
‘Every thing but guilt,’ said the Queen, who
seemed started into composure by the sound of
her voice.
‘ Guilt!’ interrupted the Count.
‘Sir, you must at once leave my presence.’
* Lady!’
‘Nay, speak not—urge nothing in return; I
say you must leave me.’
‘ I cannot obey you lady.’
4 Cannot ?’
4 No—l pray you pardon me —but there can
be no guilt in the worship I pay to you, even
as to my good angel. You will but pity me,
but look upon ine with those sweet eyes, whose
light makes me believe in Heaven.’
‘ Sir!’
4 Dearest Carolina,’ he returned.
4 Hush !’ said the Queen ; ‘ I have already lis
tened too long. A w ife—a royal wife—l have
not a thought or feeling at my own disposal.
I have not appointed ray own lot, but I submit
to the will of God.’
4 Aud will you sacrifice me,’ exclaimed he
passionately, ‘ to those phantoms of duty—cold
—vain ?’
‘ My own heart,’ replied she, faintly, 4 tells me
that they are neither cold nor vain. Again I
bid you leave me.’
4 1 cannot; think, Carolina—ah ! let me call
you so before you reject love so devoted—you
will never be so adored again ;’ and he pressed
the cold hand he still held to his heart.
The Queen stood for a few moments the very
image of despair; the damps rose upon her
forehead—there was not a vestige of color on
the lip or cheek, and the face more pale from
the masses of golden hair that hung around it.
A shudder of convulsive agony shook her slight
frame, but her resolution—the firm resolve of a
virtuous heart—was taken.
‘ Count Casastro,’ said she in a low, but dis
tinct tone, ‘ I will confess to you that I am more
wretched than you can be, but he who has heard
so much from my lips, must hear no more. —
To-morrow will, I trust, witness your depar
ture.’
She had allowed her hand still to remain in
his; she had led him to the door, which she
opened herself. Surprised, subdued, the Count
obeyed the impulse; but he paused on the
threshold, when a slight noise caught his quick
ear. He looked in that direction, and from
one of the balustrades of the winding gallery,
saw a face look down. It was but a glance, yet
be recoguized the fine features and black look of
the King. At once he felt the prudence of re
treat, and he obeyed the sign to depart, while
Carolina leant, white as a corpse, and almost as
inanimate, on the threshold.
‘Farewell,’ murmured she, 4 farewell, Count
Casastro, forever!’
Arid her words were fearfully prophetic, for
scarcely had the sounds found utterance, when
she saw the floor open beneath Casastro’s feet.
A trap door, purposely left unfastened, had
yielded to his weight: he disappeared, and the
arches of the gothic gallery reverberated to one
last and terrible cry of human agony.
Carolina sprang forward ; a natural impulse
of horror induced her to start back from the dark
abyss that yawned at her feet. Surely, far
down in the darkness she saw the glitter of
jewels, and she heard one low moan, and then
all was silent as the grave. The next instant
she cast one desperate glance to bcaveu and
dashed herself forward.
* * * * * *
They heard, who lingered in the gloomy
corridors, a piercing scream, which filled each
heart with instinctive horror. And Godfredo
smiled as he listened to the echoes of that fear
ful sound, for he felt, and the consciousness fill
ed him with fiendish joy, that Carolina had
sought her lover —the victim of a king's ven
geance.
We noticed a few days since an error made
on the telegraphic line between Springfield
Mass, and New York, by which the death of
“Myron Lawrence,” was given out as “my son
Lawrence,” by which the deceased was thus
taken to be the son of the editor of the Repub
lican, whose name was signed to the despatch.
A more comical mistake occurred the other
day in this city. The fact was announced by
a female friend in the following words:
“Mr. : Increase in family. Sarah
and little S. are doing well.”
By a blunder on the wires the dispatch was
made to read: “Sarah and litters are doing
well.” The happy father was horrified, not
having bargained for such a wholesale “in
crease in family.” The first intimation of
the mistake was conveyed in the following
dispatch received from # the west.
“ Mrs. For heaven’s sake how* many
has she got ? Answer immediately!’’
The gentleman’s suspense was relieved with
out delay. Buffalo Com ,
A New Way to Pop the Question.
BY JAMES 11. DANA,
I was sitting one Jay drcaminglv regarding the fire,
when my friend, Henry Conway, came in, looking in
expressibly woe-begone,
“ What’s the matter, 11*1 ?” I said cheerfully, “ Has
Lizzy jilted you ? ’
“ You’ve hit it,’’ he replied moodiiy. “To-day,
when I asked her to be iny partner ou our sleigh-ride,
she curtly told me that she was engaged to Ned Ham
mersley,’
** Rather strange,’ I said, “ Surely she don’t mean
to prefer that conceited fool to you ?”
“ I wish I had never seen her,’’ said Harry’ “ I’ve
been in torture for a month past, wishing to ask her
to be mine, and yet withheld by the fear of refusal.—
And now, the suspense is over ; but oh S how fatally.
She despises my suit,’’
“ Not so fast, Harry,’’ I answered. “lam a mar
ried man, and claim to know something of the gentler
sex; and there is nothing more certain than that a
woman frequently means the very reverse to wlial she
does’
“ Then you don’t believe/’ eagerly said my friend,
“ that Lizzy scorns me
“I do not. On the contrary, I fancy that she like*
you—nay, more than half loves you.”
“ God bless you for these words,” cried Harry shak
ing my hand rapturously. “ You make anew man
of me.’’ But almost immediately his countenance
fell,and he added, “ Yet what did she mean by en
gaging to go with Hammersley i She knew very well
1 intended to ask her/
“Perhaps,” I said quietly, “there's the pinch.—-
Young ladies nowadays, don't like to have it thought
that any time will do to ask them. W hen I was a
bachelor, llarry, and wished a fair companion for a
sleigh-ride, I took very good care that no one arked bet
before I did.’’
“ A precious fool I’ve been,’’ said Harry.
“ That's a true word, if ever you spoke one,’
said I, laughing. “ Yoh know no more about eoart
ing, Harry, than a cat does about astronomy. The
case is this, my dear fellow. Lizzy is piqued, and,
though she has a good right to be so, perhaps, you
must not allow her, for all that, to get the advantage
of you. If she flirts, you must counter-flirt; so go in
the parlor at once, and ask Miss Lawrence to be your
partner ; you’ll find her and my wife at their crotchet
work ; and engaged, though it is not known here ; so
there’ll be no harm done, flirt as hard as yon will,’’
Now, Miss Lawrence was a beauty, and an heiross,
and a famous boast. Her home was in New York,
but she had come to spend the Christmas among our
hills, and great had been the sensation which she had
created , for, in truth, there was no ono to compare
with her. in the whole county, except Lizzy herself.
After much persuasion Harry consented to my plan.
Fortunately, my fair cousin had made no engagement
for the ride. When Harry had gone, I let Miss Law
rence into the secret.
“ Now,’’ said I, “ You must assist me mo to make
this match. Lizzy loves Harry, there is do doubt ;
but she i3 a little toe willful ; for she has every thing
her own way here.”
“ As all belles should,” saucily interrupted my
cousin.
“ Agreed,’’ said I, “ except when it is going to mak
them unhappy for life. Harry is very sensitive, and
a little flirting, let me tell you, will not frighten him off
altogether. The thing is to make Lizzy jealous, and
so repay her ia her own coin. After that she’ll easier
come to terms.”
“ For once, I suppose I must turn traitor to my
sex,” 6aid Miss Lawrence, laughing.
The evening for the sleigh-ride eame, and it was a
night among a thousand. There was not a cloud in
the sky, and the winter moon shone clear and beauti
ful ; the air was cold as zero, but still; the landscape
looked like dream-land. It was a sight to make an
old man young again, to see the sleighs dashing to and
fro through the village streets, tollecting their lovely
freight; while the merry jmgle of the bells made the
blood dance joyously in the veins.
Away swept the gay cavalcade. Most of the belles
and beaux were distributed through three enormous
sleighs, and to judge from the incessant mirth kept up,
were crazy with fuu. There were half a dozen single
sleighs, however ; and among these were Harry’s and
Hammersley’s.
Lizzy Looked astonished, as I suspected she would
when she saw who Harry’s companion was. She
knew that Miss Lawrence was quite equal to herself
in beauty, and superior in fortune; and a shade of
alarm stole over her face. But she disguised it clev
erly, under an additional gaiety of manner; was wit
tier than ever; and danced, laughed and talked as if
she was the happiest of the happy.
My fair cousin played her j>art, meantime, to admi
ration. Every body thought that Harry had made a
conquest; and not a few complimented hkn, even in
Lizzy’s hearing, on his good fortune. But he himself
was less elated.
“ We're carrying it too far,’’ he said to me,
anxiously. ** Lizzy dont mind me a bit. She’s re
ally half in lore with Hammersley. See how she
leans on his arm and looks up in his face.”
“ So did Miss Lawrence, five minutes ago, to you ;
and yet she’s in love with another. Ah! Harry, wo
men are born cheats. I’ll wager now that Lizzy is as
uneasy ns yourself.’
‘ I wish I could think so,’ sighed Harry.
* Keep up your flirtation,’ I said, 1 and don't be the
first to give in.’
I would have said more but at that moment the cry
of fire rang startingly through the hall-room ; and
looking up, I saw from the huge volumes of smoko
pouring into the door-way, that the ball-room was in
flames. Simultaneously a voice cried that the staircase
was on fire, and retreat in that direction out off. It
seems that, while we had been daneing, a candle had
fallen, and the fire got head-way undetected.
‘ We must escape by the windows, Harry,’ I eried.
‘Fortunately the roof of the porch is just beneath
them, and the descent thus not far, while the snow
will break the jump. I will look after my wife ; yon
take Miss Lawrence.’
But llarry had already disappeared. As, at that
instant, I caught sight of my wife, I thought no more
of him, pushed through the affrighted crowd, in order
to join her. In another moment she was safe on the
ground, and with Miss Lawrence, whom I had found
dinging to her. Having rescued them, I hastened back
to render what assistance I could to others.
I had scarcely, however, regained the ball room
when I saw a wild form dashing by ; but I had hardly
reoognijed it as that of Liny, when it fell into the
arms of a gentleman advancing quite as wildly from
the opposite direction.
*Oh ! save me, save me/she cried : bewildered with
terror; and with that sank senseless.
* Yon didn't seen, to think of Miss Lawrence,’ said
I, slyly, to Harry, when all having safely escaped, wo
went together to seek our sleighs. ‘ Nor in fact, did
Lizzy appear to think of Hammersley. A pretty pair
you are to flirt !*
Harry made no reply, but looked excessively flat,
yet happy beyond description.
A month subsequently, Lizzy married my friend,
Miss Lawrence being bridesmaid.
* Do you and Harry intend to flirt any more ?’ said
I, in a whisper, to the bride. ‘You’re such adept*,
you should keep it up. You especially finish so su
perbly.’
Lizzy blushed scarlet, but rallying, saucily replied—
* I find it was you who put llarry up to flirting ; you
wished to set us quarreling, you rogue 5 but he cheek-
NO. 37.