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340 (strength; his eyes became animated ; his face lighted up; his lips contracted; some thing supernatural appeared to be passing in him. His father finished reading the letter; then he cried with an altered voice : “ Emi lic! my father!” and extended his arms to wards them; but suddenly he fell back with out strength ; M. Menard placed his trem bling hand upon his heart —it beat no longer! ******* Several months after, at the entrance of a magnificent garden, there arose a tomb of black marble, surrounded by the waving branches of four weeping willows. Upon a table of white marble was written, in letters of gold, this epitaph : ‘•ln this tomb repose the father and son. Julian Menard, aged 27, advocate near the Court Royal of Paris: deceased in the month of November, 1832. He possessed all the virtues which could render man happy; but the fatal pas'sion of play conducted him to a premature death, at the moment when, to re compense one of his noble actions, he was about to receive an immense fortune. His father, Colonel of the ancient Army, died from sorrow a month afterwards.” According to his desire, the last words which he pronounced upon his bed of death, were engraved upon this marble. “If ever,” said he to the inconsolable wid ow of his son, “your son should come to weep upon the tomb of his father, let him re collect that, running after fortune in the in famous houses of play, he found but death. Let him have a horror of these places, where cupidity cannot satisfy itself, but with that which costs the repose, the honor, and the life, of so many unfortunates. If he is as eloquent as his father, let his voice echo in the tribunals, and cause a government so cul pable to blush for sustaining these houses of horror; let him have always present to his memory, that the fortune which he possesses was given to his father to assist the unfortu nate ; and that if, by his efforts, he contributes to the destruction of such houses, it will be the greatest benefit he can confer on man kind.” Sketches of £ifc. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE LISTENER—NO. 10. NOT BY CAROLINE FRY. RICHES AND TRUE RICHES. Many years ago, while 1 was still too young to discriminate character, or look be neath the surface of things, I passed a sum mer visiting, with my parents, some relatives at the North. One was a maternal uncle, whose reputa tion as a ripe scholar, and a devoted clergy man, inspired me with affectionate veneration. The other was my father’s brother, the pos sessor of ships, and houses, and lands, and stocks. I knew nothing more of him. I had seen him once, when he spent a few days with my father, as he passed through the city, on his way to the far West, where he was commissioned by the State to execute some high official business. I remembered him only as a tall, fine-looking man, with a cold blue eye, and a hard, impassive counte nance —who talked all the time to my father about things I did not understand. The cost ly toys he gave me, were not prized, for no words of love accompanied them. Not so with Uncle Herbert’s gifts. There was great joy when he visited us, for he al lowed us to sit upon his knee, while he ca ressed us, and our prattle received from him smiles full of love, of the tender love he bore to a dear sister’s children. His smallest gifts were treasured, and the memory of his visits hallowed by affection. The bright months of May and June spent at Hampton parsonage. It was a white cottage building, nestling in’ the shade of tall H. Li ‘ff HUE A£& ¥ ®AB£lf IT B ♦ oaks and over-spreading elms. A multitude of vines grew about it, and Hung their grace ful drapery over its walls; even the humble morning-glory, in which, my aristocratic sis ter could see no beauty whatever, had clam bered over a low kitchen casement, and where the sun shone upon it, flooded the room with a soft emerald light. The interior of the dwelling fulfilled the promise of its exterior. On one side of the wide hall, was the library —the only lofty room in the cottage. Gothic book-cases reached to the ceiling, filled with books of all sizes and sorts, from the heavy Hebrew Bible, and the huge volumes of learned commentators, down to the neat co pies of “ Anna Ross,” “ Sergeant Dale,” and “ Henry and his Bearer,” which the juveniles claimed as their portion. A table occupied the centre of the room, covered with the best periodicals of the day —and a few rare pic tures hung in niches on the walls. A large closet opened from it, where the antiquary might feast his eyes with tomes, whose black letter would attract no one else. All the windows were overgrown with vines, except one, where a tall rose-tree had obtained the ascendancy, and thrust its fragrance and beauty within the apartment. Opposite the library was an equally attrac tive room, bearing the old-fashioned name of parlor. The stately title of drawing-room would have been quite out of place, bestow ed on that charming old-time apartment. — The library was hung with a sober-tinted pa per, but the parlor walls displayed a delicate green vine on a light satin ground. One window’ descending to the floor, opened into a conservatory, where fuschias, and callas, and tall geraniums, bloomed in surpassing beauty. The pictures of the parlor were not very rare, but were choice for beauty, and the truthful delineation of fair landscapes.— A fine-toned piano occupied a recess, and beautiful engravings and richly-bound books were strewed about. Can you not, from such ornaments, judge of the tastes and oc cupations of the members of that secluded household I—music and flowers, poetry and painting, found shrines there; the very at mosphere was redolent of refinement and beauty. One other little room I must describe to [ you —my Aunt’s sanctum, leading from the library. There was but one window in it, I and that was a large bay window, opening i into the garden. There were cushioned seats 1 at its side, and near one was a work-table, fitted up with all the appliances for the truly feminine art of sewing; an embroidery frame leaned against it, and some baby aprons and dresses peeped out from the basket beneath— articles to be bestowed in charity, as were half the garments created by the industrious lady and her daughters. Beside the open seat, was an exquisitely carved writing table, supporting a desk of the same workmanship —both gifts from a friend who had recently i returned from Europe. I must not omit two i or three portraits on the walls, of dearly be | loved friends, and some fine vases filled with fresh flowers. Oh! if ever I feel discontent springing up in my heart, it is whenever me mory pictures again that blessed hour. But there was no such thing as riches there —riches which the world appreciates; the little purses were never very full, and no costly luxuries found their way thither. Un cle Herbert’s salary was small, and the de mands of charity were numerous; what lit tle was left was not hoarded up, but expend ed in books, pictures and music. The ladies never went “ shopping,” or discussed bar gains with boastful shrewdness. Stocks, markets, and commercial news, were never mentioned—political disputes raised no loud voices there —nor were the vexed questions of the day alluded to, except to gain informa tion on the subject, and having established ; reasonable conclusions, the matter was dis i missed from thought and speech. I have seen a sturdy politician forget his hobby, and find happiness in the beautiful refinements of Hampton Parsonage. 1 never heard a discussion of “fashions” or a budget of gossip opened in that house. Nor were any tones ever heard to disturb its repose, or unkind words breathed. It used to seem to me, that the kiss pressed on Un cle Herbert's lips every morning after pray ers, by each child of the household, w r as a promise for that day’s victory over had tem pers and passions. At breakfast, the news from the literary world and the Old World, and the council chamber of the nation, which had been gath ered from the newspapers, was always men tioned, and frequently playfully discussed.. After the meal was concluded—and it some times occupied an hour, for the social gather ings around the board were made seasons of improvement to all —my aunt and lit*r eldest daughters, assisted by a single female ser vant, passed an hour or two in household avocations. Then the children’s lessons were attended to, their tasks appointed for the day, and their comfort secured. After this, the time until dinner was devoted to their gravest and most important pursuits. If they sewed, someone read aloud from a well-selected book, frequently stopping to make, or allow others to make, comments on the author’s style or views. Sometimes they all separa ted, and each in her own room pursued im portant studies, which they had not relin quished when they had assumed the garb of womanhood. Occasionally, a visitor drop ped in ; but the village was not large, and this was of rare occurrence. A lunch at twelve o’clock broke in upon these arrange ments, for a half hour, when they again re sumed their occupations. At three o'clock, dinner was served up. — Over this simple repast, the employments of the morning were spoken of, the merits of various authors discussed, or questions asked by the children, to be answered by the pa rents. I remember the laugh which greeted l a question asked by little Alice, who aspired to be very literary— “ Papa, dear, will you please tell Anna and myself, whether Fingal wrote Ossian or Ossian wrote Fingal? We have disputed about it all the morning From dinner to tea was the time for recre ation; the older members of the family some times joining the children in their sports, they had a romp at “Blind Man’s Buff,” or a game of “ How do you like it ?” or “ What is my thought like ?” Occasionally, they acted charades, to the great amusement of their parents. In pleasant weather, rambles were taken in the woods, or a favorite book was read in their dim depths. When the sun went down—and it’s going down seemed always beautiful there, whether I watched it from the knoll behind the house, or the west window of my own little room—we assem bled to tea in the parlor. No lamps were lighted, for the long northern twilights were sufficient for our purpose : but when the twi light deepened, if the room was not flooded with moonbeams, streaming through the tall windows, and casting a mimic tracery of leaf and flower on the carpet, a shaded lamp, placed in the dining-room, threw its softened light over us. That was the holiest hour of the day, when it almost seemed to me as though Heaven was begun on earth. It was the hour of evening prayer. The twins and Charlie sitting in the low window seats, join ed their infantine voices with the more culti vated melody of Helen and Sophia, and the rich tones of the piano, in an evening hymn of praise. Then kneeling, Uncle Herbert thanked God, who giveth us all our bless ings, for so much happiness in a world of sin and sorrow. The prayer ended, the little ones gave to all a good-night kiss, and retired to their happy slumbers. The evening hours passed swiftly,enliven ed by music, recitations of poetry, in which all excelled, or reading aloud a dear, familiar author. I remember one evening, when my parents were absent for a few days, I was despatched to the library by Helen for a volume of Sis mondi, to determine some uncertain data-/ Uncle Herbert was reading to my aunt* by the study lamp, while she bent over her'em broidery. When I returned with the book he was reclining on the sofa, while she was translating aloud anew French work on sci ence. Young as I was, the scene struck me as a beautiful illustration of wedded happi ness, and long after, my idea of married life presented a charming apartment, full 0 f lounges and easy chairs, wheie one was al ways reading aloud to the ether. Such hap piness was worthy the tenacity with which, its pictures remain in my memory. At the end of June, we bade adieu to the dear Parsonage and its dearer inmates, and proceeded to Uncle Edmond’s. The family were at their summer residence, on a beauti ful island near the city. We crossed over to the island in the “Edmund Crofton,” a steam boat of which my uncle was chief proprietor. A handsome carriage awaited us at the land ing, and we were soon at Crofton House.— How eagerly I had anticipated this visit! Even at the Parsonage, I would sometimes fancy I was weary of the routine which made up life there, and long for the time to come when, at my rich uncle’s residence, 1 should catch some glimpses of the gay world of which l had heard so much. The family was about the same size as my Uncle Her bert’s, but there were always visitors there, and a constant passing and re-passing, to and from the city. A number of well-trained servants render ed useless the services of my aunt and cou sins about the house; so their affection for each other could not be displayed in the thou sand little nameless attentions, which added so much to the happiness of all at the Par sonage. The house, which was very large, was lull of fine furniture; there was also a room called the library, in which were a few cases of books that were never opened or re ferred to. A grand piano forte, a harp, gui tar, and one or two other musical instrument?, were in a small room leading from the draw ing-room, but no music was heard there, save a few fashionable sonatas, and airs from the operas. Rare exotics, cultivated at great ex pense, bloomed for no one to love, though they received an occasional glance of admi ration, or furnished the bouquets which were always in demand in the evening. Spirited horses were ever at hand for a free gallop over the surrounding country, and luxurious carriages were in readiness for the indolent who preferred them. The children were seldom seen; a maid and a governess relieved Aunt Gertrude of all care of them; still they had their own sources of amusement, for their parents were indulgent, and every pleasure that money could purchase was lavished upon them. — But they were very different beings from the children at Hampton; they wen* more selfish, less docile and loving, and far less intelligent- Two sons and two daughters were grown, and already well-initiated in the gaieties of the world. They had been to fashionable schools, and even been abroad for two years, but they possessed much less information and true refinement than Helen and Sophia Spencer. The girls were frivolous and vain, the young men arrogant, and useless drone? in life. Aunt Gertrude’s time was spent in planning new scenes of festivity', making preparations for guests, or giving advice to her daughters concerning their toilets, or the treatment of the gentlemen who visited them. No prayer ascended in all that house to the Bestower of the great wealth, for the use of which they were held responsible ; no sweet voices sent up the grateful incense oi thankful hearts to Heaven ; no parents’ ex ample and admonition checked this lavish