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UHWEr.iiTV MV
JOHN H. SEALS,
NEW SERIES, VOLUME 111.
Cjje Ccntperante Cnisakr.
Published every Thursday in the year, cxcay* tm-
TEHJIS: Two Dollars per year* 1m a&vtuose*
CSJavsaUo 3jß:3<bs3
Clubs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash,
will receive the paper at - - - - slso^jicopy.
Clubs of Five Names, at 180 “
Any person sending us Five new subscribers, inclo
sing the money, shall receive an extra copy one year
free of cost.
ADVERTISING DIRECTORY:
Rates of Advertising:
1 square, (twelve lines or less,) first insertion, $1 00
“ Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six
lines, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
Standing Advertisements:
Advertisements not marked with the .number of
insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged
accordingly.
Druggists and others, may contract
for advertising by the year on reasonable terms.
Legal Advertisements:
Rale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per square, 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per square, 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n, 500
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guard’p, 3 25
Legal Requirements:
Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators, Exec
utors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on
the First Tuesday in the month, between the hours of
ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the
Court-house door of the county in which the property is
situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a pub -
lic Gazette, forty days previous to the day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given
at least ten days previous to the day of sale.
Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an estate, must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court oi
Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be pub
lished weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration, must be pub
lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration
monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship,
forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published
monthly, for four months —for compelling titles from Ex
ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued
by the deceased, the full space of three months.
Publications will always be continued according
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise or
dered JOHN A. REYNOLDS, Publisher.
STATE AND FEDERAL AFFAIRS,
FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.
James Buchanan, of Pennsylvania, President U. States
John C. Breckenridc+e, of Kentucky, Vice “
Lewis Cass, of Michigan, Secretary of State
Howell Cobb, of Georgia, Secretary of the Treasury
Jacob Thompson, of Mississippi, Secretary Interior
John B. Floyd, of Virginia “ War
Isaac Touchy, of Connecticut “ Navy
Aaron V. Brown, of Tennessee, Postmaster-General
Jeremiah S. Black, of Pennsylvania, Attorney General
Judiciary—Supreme Court.
Roger B. Taney, Baltimore, Md. Chief Justice, ap
pointed 1856—Salary $5 000
John McLean, Cincinnati, Ohio, Associate Justice,
appointed in 1829 —Salary $4 500
James M. Wayne, Savanrfah, Ga. Associate Justice,
appointed 1839—Salary $4 500
John A. Campbell, Alf bile, Ala. Associate Justice,
appointed 1853 —Salary $4 500
John Catron, Nashville, Tennessee, Associate Jus
tice, appointed 1837 —Salary $1 500
Peter V. Daniel, Richmond. Virginia, Associate Jus
tice, appointed 1841—Salary $4 500
Samuel Nelson, Cooperstown, New York, Associote
Justice, appointed in 1845 —Salary $4 500
Nathan Clifford, Portland, Maine, Associate Justice,
appointed 1857 —Salary $4 500
Robert C. Grier, Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, Associate
Justice, appointed 1846—Salary $4 500
Benjamin C. Howard, Baltimore, Maryland,Reporter,
appointed 1843—Salary $1 300
The Supreme Court is held in the City of Washington,
and has one session annually, commencing on the first
Monday in December.
STATE OF GEORGIA.
J. E. Brown, Governor
J. A. Steele, Secretary Executive Department
John B. Campbelle, “ “ “
M. W.McComb, “ “ “
E. P. Watkins, Secretary of State
John B. Trippe, Treasurer
Peterson Thweatt, Comptroller General
James A. Green, Surveyor General
John F. Condon, State Librarian
John E. Ward, President of the Senate
W. B. Terhune, Secretary of the Senate
J.W.H.Underwood,Speaker House Representatives
Alex. M. Speer, Clerk House of Representatives
William Turk, Principal Keeper Penitentiary
Benjah S. Carswell, Assistant “ “
H. J. G. Williams, Inspector of Penitentiary
Wm. A. Williams, Book-Keeper “
Dr. Tomlinson Fort,Physician “
Dr. T. Fort, B. P. Stubbs and Dr. L. Strohecker,
Trustees Lunatic Asylum.
Supreme Court for Correction Errors.
Joseph H. Lumpkin, Judge. Term expires 1868
Charles J. McDonald, Judge. “ “ 1861
Henry L. Benning, Judge. “ “ 185
B. Y. Martin, Reporter
R. E. Martin, Clerk
First District. —Composed of the Eastern and Middle
Judicial Circuits, at Savannah, on the second Mondays
in January and June in each year.
Second District. —Composed of the Macon, South
Western arid Chattahoochee * Judicial Circuits at Ma
con, on the 4th Monday in January and 3d Monday in
June in each year.
Third District. —Composed of the Flint, Coweta, Blue
Ridge and Cherokee Judicial Circuits, at Atlanta, on
the 4th Monday in March and 2d Monday in August in
each year.
Fourth District. —Composed of the Western and Nor
thern Judicial Circuits, at Athens, on the 4th Mondays
of May and November of each year.
Fifth District. —Composed of the Ocmulgee and Sou
thern Judicial Circuits, at Milledgeville, on the 2d Mon
days of May and November of each year.
*Note. —Thu Pataula Circuit is attached to the 2d
Supreme Court District; Brunswick to the Ist; Talla
poosa to the 3d.
The firm of j. m. bowxes & co. is this
day dissolved by mutual consent, Wm. B. Seals
retiring. The business will be continued by J. M.
Bowles at the same stand, where he will keep, at all
times, a full supply of Family Groceries, and will be
ready and willing to serve his friends at very Short Pro
fits for the CASH. “J. M. BOWLES,
Feb 25 WM. B. SEALS.
LOST OR STOLEN,
A LL persons are forewarned against trading for
x the following notes: A note on Wm F Luckie for
Seventeen Dollars and Forty Cents, dated in April or
May last, and due the twenty fifth December thereaf
ter ; one on Wm Moore for Twelve Dollars and Twen
ty-five Cents, dated in May or June last, and due the
tweuty-fifth December thereafter; one on David Phelps
of Hancock county for Twenty Dollars, dated in March
last and due from date ; and one on John Mitchell of
Mount Zion for Seventeen Dollars Twelve and a-half
cents, dated'in April last, and due the twenty-fifth of
December thereafter.
The above notes were made payable to [he subscriber
as guardian of free boys Jerry and Ben ;-uid the ma
kers of the name are requested to make payment to no
person except myself or my order.
’ , . THOMAS D. SANFORD..
Greenesboro’, March 4, 1858.
THRESH CRANBERRIES AND CURRANTS.
X Maxell-25 J. M. BOWLES.
ORANGES AND LEMONS.
J March 25 J. M. BOWLES.
IjgKyou want bright and sharp Knives, buy a BATH
fSRICK of [April 22] J. M. BOWLES. .
A NICE lot of CROWDER PEAS for sale by
April 22 J. M. BOW'LES.
1858 SPRING TEARS. 1858
CHOICE FAMILY DRY GOODS!
Augusta) Georgia.
-
BROOM & NORRELL would invite attention
to their large and elegant stock of SPRING AND
S UMMER G O ODS, which they are now displaying
at tlieir
comprising everything of the latest and most elegant
styles in
I;ADIB8’ DRESS GOODS,
EMBROIDERIES,
LACE MANTILLAS,
Kxi k jm., ml*, am 9
HOOF SKIRTS of every style manufactured ;
HOOPS of every kind ;
DUSTERS —a large assortment;
IRISH LINENS, of our own importation ;
French, Eng. and American PRINTS, GINGHAMS,
Muslins, Cluillies, Beregcs, Hosiery, Gloves, Furni
ture, Brilliants, Jaconets, Cambrics, D'Beges, $-c.s-c.
ALSO,
All the best makes of Domestics, Housewife goods,
Linen Damask, Sheetings, Pillow Linens and Cottons,
Doyles, Towellings, Dimities, <fe. tj-c. making up one
of the best stocks of
Qhy ( -/^oocfu
ever offered in this market, and embracing all of those
styles most highly prized by good housekeepers. _
And as ours is the only house in the city that invari
ably adheres to the
so
*!
© S3 SO
5* S H
P3 W
ss
we would call particular attention to this feature of our
trade, and|ask all to consider its advantages: It guar
antees to the BUYER the lowest market prices, because
it forces the SELLER down to the smallest sum he can
afford to take for his goods; and of course, BARGAINS
cannot be expected from any other mode of doing busi
ness. notice that we rigidly adhere to
ONE PRICE —that price we guarantee to be as low as
the lowest, and that we never resort to the trick of
BAITING. April 15, 1858
Dr. W. L. M. HARRIS,
to the good citizens of Pen
field and vicinity, for the liberal confidence
Gft and encouragement given him, respectfully contin
ues a tender of his professional services to them.
Dr. R. J. Massey, his former Plainer in the practice,
will, with pleasure, attend any-J|&L*4 any time, that
may be made while Dr. H. is. engaged
and cannot be obtained. A Jlnrch 11,1858
HHHE SUBSCRIBER IS WOW OPENING
A a nice stock of
, Spring and Summer Goods,
to which the attention of the citizens of Penfield and
vicinity is respectfully invited. The styles of the sea
son are unusually handsome and prices very reasonable.
An early call will be highly appreciated.
Penfield, March 25th Wm. B. SEALS.
Atlanta Medical College,
rspHE Fourth Course of LECTURES in
J- this Institution, will commence on the Ist Monday
in May next, and continue four months.
Facility:
fiT. W. BR O WN, M D Professor of Anatomy ;
JOHN W. JONES, M D Prof of Principles and Prac
tice of Medicine ;
IF. F. WESTMORELAND, MD Professor of Prin
ciples and Practice of Surgery ;
THOMA S S. P OWELL, M D Professor of Obstetrics
and Diseases of Women and Children ;
ALEX. MEANS, M D Professor of Chemistry and
Pharmacea ;
JOSEPH P. LOGAN, MD Professor of Physiology
aud General Pathology ;
J. G. WESTMORELAND, MD Professor of Materia
Medica and Medical Jurisprudence f
T. C. H. WILSON, MD Demonstrator of Anatomy.
Fees:
For the Course of Lectures $lO5 00
Matriculation 5 00
Dissecting Ticket (taken once). ...10 00
Graduation 25 00
The increased facilities in the departments of Anato
my, Surgery and Chemistry, afforded by ample and well
adapted rooms in the New College Building, make these
branches of study much more entertaining than hereto
fore. The Dissecting Room, situated in the upper story
of the building, and furnished with skylight, will be
opened and supplied with sound and inoffensive subjects
by the 15th of April.
Good board can be had in the city at $3 to 4 per week.
For further information address
April l-st* J. G. WESTMORELAND, Dean.
JUST RECEIVED!
A Large Stock of Family Groceries!
CONSISTING OF
All Grades Sugar and Coffee;
Fine Syrups and Molasses ;
Good Apple Vinegar; Rice ;
Nos. 1, 2 and 3 Mackerel;
A large lot of Hydraulic Candles, which can be
bought exceedingly low;
A variety of Pickles ; Maccaroni; Sago;
Currants ; Raisins and Candies ;
. Table Salt; Soda; Pepper and Spices ;
Chewing and Smoking Tobacco ;
Pipes ; Any quality ol a Cigar;
Large lot of Jar Snuff;
All qualities of Soap;
Drugs and Patent Medicines;
Perfumery—a choice lot.
By way of remark, I would say to the citizens and vi
cinity of Penfield, that I am giving this business my un
divided attention ; and if they will give me a liberal pa
tronage, I will save them the TROUBLE and EX
PENSE of going farther.
Penfield, Ga. March 9, 1857. J. M. BOWLES.
DItS. COE & LATIMER would inform their friends
and patients that one of the firm will constantly
temain in Greenesboro’, and that the other will be found
in the following places at the times specified below:
White Plains, from March Ist to March 14ih.
Mount Zion, “ “ 15th to “ 28tb.
Oxford, “ April 12th to April 25th.
Penfield, “ “ 26th to May 9th.
As this time table will be strictly adhered to, those
who call early will be most likely to receive attention.
Feb 25th, 1858
A GOOD lot of SALT in new sacks.
March 18, 1858 J. M. BOWLES.
ALL persons are forewarned against trading for a
note of $53 00, held by Franklin Moore against
myself. The considerations for which the note was
given having failed, I decline paying it.
April 8, 1858 W. W. DURHAM.
BACON! BACON!* A fine; lot of Tennessee
cured Bacon, for sale by J. M. BOWLES.
! March 18, 1858
! “\TAILS! NAILS! Any size, for sale by
| April 22 J. M.,BOWLES.
A Goon ’Un.—We heard tire other day a capi
tal anecdote of a witty clergyman of this city,
who is said never to come off second best in a joc
ular encounter: -
As one day he was passing down one of the
streets of a largo village in this State, where he
was settled he was observed by some waggish
hangers on at a public house which he was ap
! proaching. One of these fellows, knowing that
I the reverend gentleman was a “ hard case” at a
| joke, said that he would bet the drinks for all
hands that he could head Mr. H .
“ Done,” was the response from a number.
As Mr. H came opposite the merry
group the pr oposer of the bet called to him. Mr.
ll halted and drew near, whereupon the
confident chap thus addressed him:
“ Mr. H —, we have a dispute of some im
portance which we have agreed to leave to you as
one competent to give a correct decision.”
“ Ah ! what is it ?”
“It is in relation to the age of the devil; will
you tell us how old ho is ?”
“ Gentlemen,” said the imperturbable minister,
“ how can you presume me to be acquainted with
matters of that sort ? You must keep’ your own
family record I”
The minister went about his business, and the
vanquished gentleman went in and treated freely.
THE ADOPTED ORGAN OF ALE THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE.
FENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURS DA Y , .A PR I L 29, 1 858.
“^editrels^
I V J j
BIT MBS. HI. E. BRYAN.
m mMm*
BY MARY E. BRYAN.
tftTY niece, Miss Stanly, writes me that she
JIVJL intends spending some time with us this
winter. We may expect her now very soon,”
said my mother, looking up from the perusal of a
letter she had received by the morning post.
“ Oh! I’m so glad,” cried my sister Bertha,
springing up from the sofa and dropping her own
perfumed epistle on the floor; “then papa can
not refuse us another soiree dansante, and I shall
get the point lace at Madame Ricarde’s”
I went on quietly cutting the leaves of Block
wood's last; for, as soirees dansante had no attrac
tions for me, I was quite indifferent to my moth
er’s announcement, or, to tell the truth, I was a
little annoyedj at the prospect of having to do
double duty as escort when beaux were not over
plentiful, of being made a convenience of on
every occasion, and worse than all, of beijig com
pelled through politeness to do my part towards
entertaining a guest for an indefinite period of
time—having my bachelor habits broken into for
the sake of listening all day to Thalberg’s varia
tions and the silly talk of two idle girls.
My opinion of the sex was not a very flatter,
ing one, having been drawn from my circle of fe
male acquaintances, of which Bertha was a sam
ple ; Bertha, who had but two ideas in her pretty
little head—dress and marriage; Bertha, who
came down to breakfast in dingy chintz wrappers
and curl papers, spent the morning on the sofa,
reading Dumas and the evening at Stewart’s de
ciding between a solitaire and crepe de Paris; Ber
tha, who kissed her dear Sue and Carrie through
tlieir lace veils at the corners of the streets,
called them “ my sweetest,” and then went home
to criticise their bonnets and inveigh against their
vanity and bad taste.
And she was a fair specimen of the young la
dies I had met in my life of twenty-eight years—
all save one—one whose perfections might re
deem her whole sex—one, the glorious type of
such womanhood as poets dream of. But Oh!
Beatrice, child of. genius and beauty, and alas!
of misfortune also, why speak of thee? The
grass of five summers has grown between thy
heart and mine, and I shall never find another
to fill thy place.”
“Is my cousin pretty, mama?” asked my sis
ter, settling herself again on the sofa.
“Remember, I have not seen her since she was
a child, my dear; she was a pale, shy little thing
then ; I used to ruralize, occasionally at my bro
ther’s southern home, near Eatonton, in the ear
lier years of my marriage, before an increased
family and the cares of such a large establishment
confined my flittings to Newport and Saratoga.
It was a beautiful, quiet spot, and your cousin
was born there, and has lived in the neighbor
hood ever since. Paul will like that; he is so
fond of rural simplicity. Do you hear Paul ? you
are to have a little rustic cousin to divert your
mind from those tiresome books.”
“Ah!” said I, pausing to finish the concluding
sentence of an article on criticism; “from the
country, is she ? red cheeks, corkscrew ringlets,
thick wrists and ankles, and all that, I suppose ;
belle of the neighborhood, perhaps; won the
hearts of the young farmers and the village school
master, and is ambitious of extending her con
quests in anew field; shall have her coming
among us, looking up from a forest of plumes
and rustling in the brightest and newest of lilac
and cinnamon silks; for commend me to the
simplicity of a country belle on her first visit to
the city.” \
“ Why Paul!” interposed my mother, depre
catingly, “ I thought you liked all pertaining to
rusticity.”
“ Ah! my mother, that was in the old days,
when Allan Ramsay’s pastorals were a first love,
and visions of a cottage home and a blue-eyed
country lassie, in white frock and straw hat,
haunted my day dreams. I have outlived
all such romance, my dear mother. Would I
could say I was the happier, as well as the wiser,
for the change! But you have not yet told me
my cousin’s name. If I ever heard it, it has es
caped my memory.
“ It is Claire,” replied my mother.
“Claire Stanly ? Not so bad a name. I had ex
pected a Matilda or a Caroline —and her letter,
I believe it is not the first she has written you.
I have never asked to see the correspondence.
She gives you all the items of village news, does
she; a record of the marriages that have taken
place in a ‘ twelve month,’ and of the improve
ments going on in our town ; the new stores and
churches that have been put up, etc. etc. ? I’ll
wager I have guessed the style of her letters.”
My mother replied, by putting the letter in my
hands. One glance at the firm, yet delicate, clii
rography sufficed to change my opinion of the
writer, and before I read to the end, surprise had
given place to admiration. It was not in the
least pretentious. The style was simple and ele
gant, and there was a quiet earnestness and inde
pendence in the language that pleased and inter
ested me.
“ I like the letter,” I said, answering my mo
ther’s look of inquiry; “and if you please, I
should like to know something more of this
cousin Claire.”
“ You knew that she was an orphan,” said
mama, softly. I bowed my head. Woman of
the world,mbs I knew my mother to he—her time
fully occupied in spending, in as showy a manner
as possible, my father’s considerable income, she
had yet preserved, through all the frivolities of
life, a tender memory of the one brother of her
childhood, and at his death she. had mourned
sincerely. She resumed:
“ Claire’s mother died first—when she was quite
a child. My poor Richard was a generous, high
souled man— rather wild in his youth, and I have
heard that he returned to his old habits a few
years after his marriage. He left, his affairs un
settled, and his fine estate was sold to satisfy his
creditors. It was bought by a brother of his wife,
the guardian of Claire, who took her to live with
him. lie was an invalid, full of odd whims and
fancies. So Claire led the life of a martyr. Find
ing her dependance galling to her Stanly pride,
she procured a few pupils and insisted on sup
porting herself. She was nurse, housekeeper and
servant to the whimsical old man, until he died
about a year ago, leaving her a moderate compe
-1 tence. She lias been living ever ‘since in the
dreary old homestead, with only the few family
ants; and pitying her solitude, I wrote, urging
her to pay us a visit. You know all now that I
do of Claire Stanly.”
My heart warmed with a something like affec
tion for my unknown cousin. The self-abnega
tion revealed in this simple history touched me,
as much as the independence and self-reliance
awakened any respect. But a lonely, loveless
life she must have led—that little orphan, sister
less and brotherless; the victim to the caprices
of a peevish valetudinarian. I was pleased and
interested, and I said as much to my mother.
“I think,” said I, “I shall overlook the thick
wrists and ankles, even if one could fancy them
belonging to the writer of such a letter.”
“ I hope, said my mother, that there will be
nothing outre in her appearance. Thank Heaven!
milliners and hair dressers are plenty in New
York, and she need not be seen until she is pre
sentable.”
Two days afterwards my cousin arrived rather
unexpectedly, for we had not looked for her so
soon. We were alone in the sitting-room, my
mother and I, Claire having spent the evening
out. The room was dim with shadows, but it was
too early to ring for lights. I lay on the lounge,
absorbed in one of those dreamy reveries that
come with the overshadowing wings of twilight.
My mother, her cl. air drawn to the glowing an
thracite, was caressing her Spanish poodle.
“ Miss Stanly,” announced the servant, open
ing the door; and a slender, graceful figure robed
in black, glided in and threw her arms around
the neck of my mother, who had risen to receive
her.
“ My dear girl,” said mama, you come upon us
rather unexpectedly, but you are, nevertheless,
very, very welcome.”
A tremor passed over the form still clasped in
my mother’s embrace. It was followed by a sti
fled sound li£e a convulsive sob.
“Nervous and hysterical,” I mentally ejacu
lated ; “worse and worse; better the vulgar coun
tryisms. But I did not feel inclined to sneer,
when the moment after, my cousin raised her
head and said, with a quiet smile, “Forgive me;
I am not usually so easily agitated. But your
voice, your face, your manner are so much like —
like my father’s. But where are my cousins,
aunt?”
“ Bertha is out, but here is Paul to welcome you.
I hope you will like him, Claire. Mrs. Grant says
he is called odd by his acquaintances, but I think
him a very good son in the main.”
Claire looked rather doubtfully, as she took my
proftered hand; but after a second survey, so
prolonged and earnest that I smiled in spite of
myself, she Baid, cordially, “I am glad to know
you, cousin Paul. I have heard of you, but I
think we shall be very good friends; that is,”
she added, after a pause, “if you will let me.”
“ With all my heart,” I replied, for there was
something very winning in the sweet, earnest
voice. I led her to the sofa and rang for lights.
They were brought, and when the travelling
cloak and bonnet were laid aside, I scrutanized
my cousin more closely.
The face did not belie the voice. It was a pure
oval, with clear, pale complexion, relieved by
lips of deepest redness and folds of dark hair,
plainly banded from the broad, thoughtful brow.
There were lines of strong power about that face.
Intellect sat on the ample forehead, and the
clear, gray eyes were deep as fathomless waters.
But the expression was what rendered the fea
tures so peculiarly attractive to me—the open,
truthful look of the candid face, so unlike the
false, shallow, simpering countenances of my sis
ter’s lady friends. There was a charm, too, in the
quiet manner, so free from all affectation or pre
tence, and yet so graceful in its simple dignity.
Bertha came home in a little while, bringing
with her a couple of her dear friends —come to
practice duetts, they said, and after a brief intro
duction, Claire, pleading fatigue, retired to her
room. I did not see her again till next morning.
I was an habitual early riser. I had learned the
habit in my European journeyings; hut early as
it was, when I came out on the back piazza for a
view of the sunrise and a breath of the late jas
mine, my cousin was already there, leaning on
the balustrade, watching the brightening clouds,
or listening to a bird that had left its green fields
in the country to mingle its sweet music with the
babel sounds of the city.
“Ahl my little cousin,” said I, approaching
her and laying my hand upon hers,” when you
have learned to waltz and flirt, and turn night
into day, after the miftmer of these Gothamites,
you will also learn not to keep Etonton hours in
New York.”
“And why should I learn all this?” she asked,
with her quiet smile. “Because I chance to
breathe the air of Fifth Avenue, must I necessa
rily submit to Fashion ? Judging from present
appearances, you do not always obey her man
dates.”
“Oh! but Bertha will tell you I am so old-fash
ioned, she is quite ashamed of me. And apropos
of her opinion, you said you had heard of me be
fore—from other sources than my mother’s let
ters, I suppose. I should like to hear the char
acter I have abroad, or at least the one that
reached you.”
“Only-that you were ‘odd’—a word that epito
mizes the whole; that you were cold and cynical;
that you laughed at things other people admired;
that you preferred other countries to your own,
and remained abroad nearly all your time; that
you were talented without being ambitious or
turning your gifts into use; and worse than all,
that you professed little faith in man, and less in
woman.”
“Horrible!” I exclaimed, laughing; “no won
der you looked at me so inquiringly; I dare say
you expected me to make my appearance in
green spectacles with the smile sardonic on my
countenance. Pray, who was it that had studied
my character so minutely ?”
“My informant was a lady acquaintance of
yours, whom I met in Charleston.”
“Ah! then, this is not your first experience of
city life? my mother said you had never before
left the neighborhood of Etonton.”
“ She was probably not aware that I resided
for a year in Charleston as assistant in a seminary
there. But you have not plead guilty to the
truth of the character given you. Shall I accept
it as a correct one?” .
“ Instead of answering your question, I will ask
another. Do you think it true? Your sex are
instinctive judges of human nature.” She fixed
her clear, searching eyes upon my faoe.
“I hardly know,” she said, after a pause; “I
believe that much of your cynicism is assumed;
tfiat there is a warm under-current in your na
ture which you endeavor to conceal. But it is
true, that you are wasting your talents in leading
an aimless, and, pardon me, an indolent life.”
“You are right; my existence is indeed aim
less, objectless; lam a drone in the great life of
humanity; but how cant-, be otherwise? I have
no occasion to labor; I have wealth sufficient to
supply my wants.”
“ And are there no channels of usefulness which
that affluence opens to you? Do you owe noth
ing to your fellow-men ? Believe me, cousin, you
would be happier were you to put that wealth to
worthy purposes and call your talents into use to
acquire more. Employment is the only cure for
restlessness of spirits; we are always happier
when we are most useful. Do you not think so?”
“ J do not know; there is nothing I dislike so
dry details of business; I may take
but not now. lam jaded and sick
f this painted Jezabel; this gilded hum
bug called Yew York, and I must have some res
pite befor I plunge into the whirlpool of cheat
ing and money-making. I must dream again in
the forest of Fontainebleau, or upon the banks
of the Rhine, or, better still, on the sunny hill
sides of Italy, listening to the songs of the vine
dressers an l the sweet laughter of the peasant
girls, or heiping them gather the vintage in the
golden harvest days.”
“Why do you love Italy so much?” asked
Claire, abrubtly.
“Oh ’. because of its beauty and its poetic asso
ciations; and,” I continued, as her eyes seemed
to read my thoughts, “because of a green grave
on one of those vine-hung hills and a low cottage,
where I am welcomed as a son for the dear sake
of one who lived and died there. But let us not
speak of thisand continuing our promenade,
I turned the conversation upon other themes, and
on all, my cousin spoke with the earnestness
of one who had thought much and felt deeply.
After that, our conversations were frequent.
We left Bertha to her novel, or her harp exercise,
while we traversed fields of thought or read alotid
to each other. There was not a subject that her
far-reaching intellect did not grasp and compre
hend. She gave me new view life and human
duties, and inspired me with portion of her own
quiet energy and self-reliance.
A week after my cousin's arrival, the soiree dan
sante was decided upon, and mama and Bertha
were in their element. My services were called
into requisition to make out a list of names for
invitation.
“Shall I write Frank Dashwood?” I asked of
mama.
“ Certainly; affairs of this kind always pass off
so much better, with Frank Dashwood to put
people at their ease. He is such a brilliant talker,
and then his music is really charming, although
Professor Hoffman says it is in the highest degree
incorrect.”
“ Who is Mr. Dashwood?” inquired Claire,
looking up from the trimming she was altering
on Bertha’s dress, which, on its return from her
mantua maker’s, had thrown that amiable young
lady into a paroxysm of rage and hysterics.
“ Mr. Dashwood is the original of Orso,” I said;
“ the author of that beautiful poem you admired
so much in the Magazine yesterday.”
“ Indeed!” cried my cousin with sparkling eyes
and more enthusiasm than she usually mani
fested ; “ I shall be glad to have the privilege of
knowing the writer of such noble sentiments.
He must he something above common mortals.
I smiled, but forbore comment, for I was pleased
with Claire’s interest in one who, despite his
faults, was the only friend I acknowledged in the
great wilderness of New York; and after the list
was completed, 1 strolled down to Dashwood’s
rooms, for I was by no means sure that he could
accept an invitation. His circumstances were, as
he affirmed, “ precarious,” and the elegant suit
in which he charmed the elite in the saloon last
night, might next day be in the possession of the
pawn-broker.
Brilliant, witty and handsome, Frank Dash
wood was the idol of club-rooms, the pet of the
ladies, admired by all, loved and pittied only by
the few who had looked into his heart. “ Enjoy
the present, and let the future take care of itself,”
was his motto, and so well did he follow it, that
he lived one day, ignorant and careless how he
should manage the next —spending ffeely, lend
ing recklessly, getting deeply into debt; and then,
when haunted by creditors and threatened with
arrest, dipping his pen into the ink and dashing
off page after page of brilliant thoughts, which
the newspaper and magazine editors were too glad
to pay for and publish under his pseudonym of
‘ Orso.’ One day you found him in handsomely
furnished apartments, dressed like a prince,
drinking costly wines and giving costly dinners,
that liis associates might “drink them too; the
next he had vanished into some out-of-the-way
garret, and was wooing the muses under the in
spiration of brandy and water. The reputation
he had won as an author, and his inimitable pow
ers of conversation, proenred for him the right of
entree into the best society. Young ladies, charmed
with his dark eyes and delicate compliments,
smiled their sweetest when they met him in
Broadway, and mamas were exceedingly polite
to the poet who might immortalize Arabella in
a sonnet for the Ladies’ Magazine.
The case might have been different had Frank
Dashwood been a “marrying man”; but while
professing himself open to the tender influences
of Love, he had too frequently disclaimed all ma
trimonial intentions.
To Mrs. Grant, who advised him to marry as
the only hope of his ‘ settling down” in lite, he
replied with a sigh that excited the old lady’s
tenderest sympathy, that it was a bliss beyond
his ambition —that he would wish any woman a
better fate than to be linked with him—while
over sandwiches and sherry at Delmonicas, he
laughed at the idear—spoke of marriage as an al
ternative to suicide; and m reply to the sugges
tions of his companions as to the probability of
drawing a rich prize in the matrimonial lottery,
he would exclaim—“ Give me my crust of bread
and liberty.”
He laughed at fame, affirmed that he wrote
only for the pleasure of composition and for bread
and butter; and when pressed by necessity, would
accept literary employment of almost any kind.
It was perfectly indifferent to him whether he
penned a political squib for the columns of the
Democrat, or a religious essay for the Presbyterian;
and he wrote upon each subject with equal fa
cility. Yet, there were times when Genius would
assert its independence. Frank Dashwood would
disappear from his accustomed haunts, and lea
ving behind him the noisome city and the faces
of men, would seek the green banks of a stream
beyond the suburbs, whose voice was as musical,
and whose violets as fragrant, as though the great
tide of human life flowed not almost within sound
of the fair retreat; and there, wandering beneath
the murmurous boughs, with skies above and
singing birds around him, the sweet spirit of po
esy baptised his soul anew, and thoughts rich with
feeling and fancy, w#uld flow from bis pen, and
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL. XXIV. NUMBER 16
the pages of the magazine glow with some exqui
site -poem like that I had read to Claire.
Who shall tell in such moments of softenep
feeling, what holy of his childhood;
what regrets for wasted intellect; what aspira
tions towards a higher life, visited the soul of
Frank Dashwood 1 They were all banished, when
at the next club supper the president of the nigh
sneered at his long face, and asked him to favor
them by saying grace.
Yet, something noble in the mind of
this gifted man. Notwithstanding his reckless
habits, there was nothing mean —nothing sensua
in his nature. From these, his genius preserved
him—genius which, even in the error of the
senses, seeks to escape from the gross and debas
ing into the realm of fancy and ideality; genius,
whose eagle wings may sometimes trail upon
earth, but whose aspirations are ever upward;
whose eyes are ever fixed upon the sun.
I found Dashwood in very good lodgings, on a
quiet but respectable street. He was earnestly
engaged in writing, seated at a handsome desk
of inlaid wood; but he rose immediately on my
entrance, and came forward to receive me, look
ing quite the dignified man of letters* in his cash
mere dressing-gown and embroirdered slippers.
He could not long support the dignity, however.
Pushing off his tasselled lounging-cap, he ran his
fingers through his long, light curls and threw
himself upon the sofa.
“ Quito flush now,” I said, looking around at the
elegant disorder of the room.
“Yes, appearances rather different from the
crazy attic in which you saw me last. But to con
fess the truth, I don’t believe I can write as well
here as in my garret.”
The real Tempo of the Poets is the garret.
Shakspeare and Goldsmith wrote best in garrets,
and glorious old Beranger sighs for his ‘attic cell.
But I think I shall not soon be compelled to re
turn to mine. I have my hands full of business
just now.” •
“ So I see,” I replied, taking up the manuscript
from the table.
“Yes, that black-head Derby of the * Constitu
tionalist’ has undertaken a political contest with
Johnson, who is more than a match for him, and
ha 6 employed me to write his editorials.”
“ But Dashwood, you might surely find better
employment. You gain no reputation by this
lending of your brains to another.”
“ A fig for reputation,” he cried, with his mu
sical laugh. “ I am writing for bread. Don't
look so grave, Paul. I shall not quite sink into
a newspaper dvudge, or a manufacturer of acci
dents and coarse puns. I intend to be respecta
ble. I mean to make a fortune first, and a repu
tation afterwards. In a word, lam going to re
form.”
“So I have heard you say a hundred times be
fore, my dear fellow. What are you doing with
that?” pointing to a half-emptied decanter of wine
on the table beside him.
“ Oh! that is the fount of Helicon; real Bur
gundy I assure you. It is impossible to write
without an occasional draught from the spring of
inspiration, but you look as though you had some
thing to communicate.”
I have; here is a card of invitation from my
mother. I know such affairs are great bores, but
you must go. A little country cousin of mine
from the South is anxious to know the Poet
* Orso.’
“Ah! charming creature in white muslin and
coral necklace, susceptible heart, poetic sensibili
ties—eh Paul ?”
“ She is the noblest woman I have met with in
years,” I said with unwonted earnestness.
*• By Jove!” exclaimed Dashwood, drawing a
deep breath and regarding me with surprise,
“Smitten yourself, Ido believe. Now,” he con
tinued, putting on a look of tender solicitude, so
like Mrs. Grant, that I could not repress a smile,
“ let me give you a bit of advice. You are two
years older than I am. It is quite time you were
‘settled in life.’ Allow me to say to you, as the
pretty widow Bruges said last night to me, ‘mar
riage will be your salvation.’”
“ Nothing is farther from my thoughts; and
yet, how our feelings change. Ten years ago* the
very sight of a bonnet made my heart flutter with
emotions indescribable. But that,” I continued
musingly, “ was in the transition state between
boyhood and manhood; not till years after, when
experience had chastened, without destroying,
youthful romance, were those fleeting shadows
upon tremulous waters banished to make way
for an image, pure and bright as it was, lasting.”
“ But that love was also a boyish dream,” said
Frank Dashwood.
“A dream, then, whose memory will haunt me
forever;” and my voice trembled with concentra
ted feeling, and my grasp lightened upon his arm,
until he looked up surprised into my face.
“Forgive me, Paul,” lie said, “you have not al
luded to this for years, and I thought not that
you still remembered it with feeling— you who
are usually so cold—and so long ago as it was.”
“Frank,” said I “I would as soon cease to re
member my youth, as to forget her at whoso
death all its brightness vanished. Her memory
has outlived all else that belonged to that halcyon
time of life—youthful enthusiasm, generous con
fidence, young hopes and aspirations, outlived
them ail. Her memory! the memory of the vic
tim to family pride—of the woman who loved me,
and who died for me, Frank. But enough of this.
I never speak of it save to you.”
He did not reply immediately, but sat looking
dreamily out of the window at the far blue sky.
Suddenly, he laid his hand on mine.
“Paul Leslie,” he said, “I would give all my
earthly hopes—the genius which is my only birth
right—to love anything as you loved that woman.
Worthless dog as I am, I believo it would be my
redemption. And if I could be loved in return—
but pshaw lit is folly. What would our club-fel
lows say to hear such sentiments from me, except
they were on paper, and that you know is profes
sion? One who writes to quiet the gnawing ofhls
gastric juice, must cater for the public tastes, and
sentiment is the rage jus.t now in this money-ma
king, grasping, working-day world. It is an anti
dote to the practical, I suppose, acting on the prin
ciple of counter-poisons;” and Dashwood laughed
lightly, and drained another glass of Burgundy.
“ Have a cigar; you’ll find one between the leaves
of that Encyclopedia. Blest solace of life 1” he
continued, placing the “fragrant weed” between
his lips. “Essence of happiness, dried and rolled,
and capable of being carried in a vest pocket!
Real Havana—precious cigar*
Sweet as manna—bright as a star.”
Now, Paul, for a stroll on the Battery; and
throwing off his dressing-gown, Dashwood linked
his am in mine* and for the next hour was the
gay. good humored, yet satirical wit, in which
character alone he was known to his admiring
circle of acquaintances.
[to ws eesTlifWD.l