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For R’chards* Weekly Gazeae.
I LINES
on Mount Yonah.
BY JACQUES JOTJRNOT.
were the thought to paint the scene,
gazing from this height serene,
to me like the laud of dreams,
licit Pidcnie radiance streams.
H r :,i soars above expression':* reach,
cling scorns the aid of speech ;
high the mountains rise,
too glorious are the skies
tribute verse of mine,—
transcends and shames the line.
■e on forests spreading wide
of their verdmt tide,
uutains piled on mountains high,
Hq. against the glowing sky,—
H. iVwn, where, cradled in her deeps,
a hee’s Vale of Beauty sleeps!
T all \v of the Evening £tar,*
High I have wandered near .and far,
spot has blessed my eyes,
now before me smiling lies.
arc thy fields of waving corn,
thy flowers of Summer born ;
l>order*d by o'erhanging trees,
blooming haunts of birds and bees,
dulcet wjiridings soft and low,
waters flow,
many a sun-lit wave,
ires of shining pebbles lave ;
the golden sunlight shivers,
pride of Georgia rivers,
i- as lovely o'er thee bcud
1 by thy guardian hills,
1 ilion art free from common ills
Bf dopings on thee, valley fair—
and rocks, and mountain air!
new vigor in my arm—
tides of life flow swift and warm—
radiance of an earlier day,
shed again around my way,
of the primal spring,
Ht'c highland breezes seem to bring.
these rocks all day to lie,
watch alternate earth and sky—
ho varying light and shade,
ready pencil laid
clitT. and forest nook—
tdow green and babbling brook;
when the twilight’s purple hazo,
l dint the landscape from my gaze,
the stars conic, one by one,
cadi its glorious place has won :
H"< on the earth, yet near to heaven,
my gaze would then be given,
such as man can novel* know',
Hdh human roofs, in Tallies low.
* * * * * * *
Hr” mountain wdd-hirds sing to me,
Hd the squirrels fast friends be ;
Nature, to her temples wild,
welcomes me, her wandering child!
B" !,|i ‘'"'o signifies, in the expressive language of
“The Evening Star.”
For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette.
■MAN k WOMAN'S LORD.
K BY A LADY OF GEORGIA.
■1 CHAPTER 11.
jH!” :v is in Maryland a large estate.
had descended from father to son.
■>uli every generation, from the first
settlement of the country, till
■ the close of its colonial existence. —
■ i! was inherited by an only daughter,
■> was left an orphan at an early age.—
■ “as educated by the Catholics, who
with a jealous eye upon the de-
of those who had brought their
■> ‘ u this country. They cultivated her
and her manners, in every way cal-
Itlcd to add new beauties to her natural
tins, and looked upon her as the future
and of a family that would cluster around,
he subservient to, their priesthood.—
their plans, they endeavored to
■°’ v her, by all their inlluencc, into the
■ l|,; y of Catholic gentlemen ; but when
■ ‘"‘'it true love run in the channel mark
■"H by cold calculation ?
■'ll” came, he saw, he conquered”—
■ ‘it well he applied to the success of a
■vd'iin gentleman, who, attracted by her
■utation, sought her society. But, alas!
■ -w a Protestant, and a true Democrat
■ “ puhlican of the Revolutionary school,
■ therefore he met with opposition from
■ guardians, Iler faith and her estate
■fe both voluntarily left at her own dis
■M, by her lord elect, who loved her bet-
H the “ground she walked on;'’ and
■'his tree country, it sufficed to quiet scc
■aii opposition. Their sun of happiness
shone brightly for many years; but it was
doomed to set amid the storms of the ocean,
surrounded by the most appalling features
of angry Nature.
They left two sons and a daughter.—
1 he eldest, a young man of towering genius
and commanding intellect, sought renown
among master spirits, in the legislative halls
of the country. The youngest son, loving
home and domestic occupations, preferred
the duties and the amusements which the
country afforded. Genevra, the daughter,
was left at a convent, where she trod the
same path her mother did before her.
Did you ever, my dear reader, feel the
eastern and north-eastern winds, as they
rush in their fury across the wide Atlan
tic, seeming to gain strength from the tow
ering waves and humidity from the briny
deep ? If j'ou had, you would appreciate
to their full extent, a margin of magnificent
oaks, to shield your mansion from the chill
ing blast.
But the ocean is not always angry;. the
winds are not always furious and chilling;
and gentle summer breezes are often heard
among the branches of the magnificent
lords of the forest.
The ocean slept in calm serenity—only
agitated by huge, undulating billows; anil
those that reached the beach, broke in qui
et, monotonous murmurs along the shore.
The oaks had caught the last rays of the
setting sun, and the winds were sighing
through their branches, as if in sympathy
at his departure. They cast long shadows
in ihe twilight, towards the family man
sion, around which lingered many memo
ries and many traces of the “olden times.' 1
“My daughter, does your spirit fail ?
Are you willing still to sacrifice the world
to the faith of your fathers'?”
“Holy Father, not only the world, but
myself, that those I love may be saved from
the heretic’s doom. My spirit rises, I as
suie you, as I imagine myself near that
blessed seclusion, in which I can devote
myself to prayer and penance for our rep
robate house.”
“ Then,” said her darf-eyed conductor,
“ the twilight will cover our escape to a
vessel which awaits us behind the point of
that little island. Step into this skiff, my
daughter, and remember, your tic to the
world is now severed forever; jmur novi
tiate for Heaven commences from this
hour.”
She said, “ Amen, Holy Father,” and
raised her eyes to Heaven, as she counted
her beads in prayer to the Virgin.
Gcnevra had been an orphan for many
years, hut her mother had instilled a de
voted love of the Holy Mother into her
whole nature before she died. Gcnevra
was an enthusiast in feeling, and being ed
ucated in a convent, by her mother’s ex
press desire, and living in seclusion forthe
few months since she had left it, the whole
force of her feelings, aided by her devotion
al nature, were exhibited in a passionate
devotion to the Mother of Jesus. She had
a pious nature, hut not a pious heart: she
would bow her head in submissive meek
ness to the Crucifixion, but her heart would
melt in tenderness when contemplating the
weeping Mother. She had a dignified,
pure and devotional mind. Her love of
learning and her love of thought had both
been indulged to their full extent in the
convent. Her purity had met with nothing
to contaminate, nothing to awaken it, from
its peaceful slumbers in her calm breast.—
Her devotion rested upon a beautiful ideal
—ever glowing with a radiance, reflected
from her vivid imagination and high
wrought feelings. The memory of her
mother and the thought of the Mother of
Christ, formed the basis ; then the prayers,
the tears, the penances, of the church—the
boundary between the world of death and
the world of life—the only portal to her
Heaven; then, above all, like a resplendent
star, was the light shed from the holy fa
thers—unmistakable ! unquestionable !
Alas! how soon her bright star was to lose
its lustre!
In less time than I have taken in descri
bing her, the priest had, with well-timed
and rapid strokes of his oar, guided the
boat down a narrow creek, into a wider
stream. There xvas a more rapid current,
and a small island was all that separated
them from the wide Atlantic. Then it was
that Genevra noticed, for the first time,
with what skill and strength he seemed
to guide the small bark. With one dash
of his oar, he would send it across the wa
ter like a “thing of life,” then, to guide it
while the impetus lasted, he would press
the oar into the water, and standing erect
and throwing it as he wished, he seemed to
be independent of the clement over which
he rode triumphant. Around a point of
woods, in a sheltered cove, rode h small
craft, light and trim in her appearance,
and well formed to scud before the wind.
As the boat touched the side of the ves
sel, the steps were lowered, and Genevra
ascended unaided to the deck. Her form
was as commanding as her miiul was dig
nified; and as the priest, who followed her,
mounted the side of the vessel, she said to
him, “ Holy father, shew me to the cabin,
and to the sister you said would attend me
on my voyage.”
“My daughter, does your heart fail you?
Do j’ou shrink from the position you wish
to hold among the sisters of charity and
love?”
“My heart fails me not, my father. I
love my brothers with an earthly love, but
I shudder to think they are heretics. I
will crush this earthly love, and ’when it
becomes all heavenly, Holy Mary will
soften their hearts and turn them to the
true faith. Pray with me, father.”
Here she involuntarily clasped her gold
en rosary. Her eyes closed, her lips part
ed, and the most heavenly calm was de
picted on her features. But the holy fa
ther's eyes were fixed on her, not on the
distant mediation which the “world seeth
not.” The Priest withdrew his admiring
gaze, as she concluded her supplications—
but the serpent that was in his heart lifted
its head, looked upon its victim, and coiled
itself again, with fresh confidence in its
success.
“Daughter, you see I have consulted
your comfort in all the arrangements here.”
“ Thank you, holy father, but m3’ king
dom now is of another world; hardships
and toil I have chosen ns my heritage on
earth.”
“I knew, m3’ daughter, that you were
brought up in the midst of luxury and ease,
and wished that 3’our introduction into the
bosom of the Catholic Church might not
seem altogether austere, or devoid of the
elegancies of life. Did your feet ever tread
on a softer carpet than this, which was
woven in the looms of Turkey ? Did your
eyes ever behold more exquisite workman
ship than this silver lamp and chain, which
was wrought by artists of the Celestial Em
pire ? Look at those massive ebony chairs,
the velvet cushions of which are stuffed
with the eider down, gathered in the bright
halcyon days that bless the eastern climes.”
“You may value all these things, holy
father, and still he pure ; but I must forget
the luxuries of life, and iove the hardships
which will introduce me to m3- mother in
Heaven, and elevate me among those saints
whose prayers and tears save those they
love.”
“This is all very beautiful, my daugh
ter; but did you never love anything but
the souls of men 1 Did you never love
yourself, Genevra !”
“Oh, yes, I have loved all things beauti
ful in Nature: but I have never found any
thing beautiful in myself; 1 have had high
and holy thoughts imparted to me by the
Mother of Got), which always fiil my soul
with peace; but without them there is a
vacuum, when I feel which, all beautiful
thoughts and ideas vanish away. It is to
fill this constantly, that I wish to devote
ray whole being to the service of God.—
Ave Maria, I pray to thee for aid!”
“It is very praiseworthy in you, my
daughter, to sacrifice yourself for others.
Did you never think yourself beautiful,
and worthy the admiration of men ?”
“The sisters taught me, father, that if
the soul was pure, the temple was worthy
in the sight of God and the Holy Mother
of Christ. I seek not the admiration of
the world.”
“You love to worship, daughter; how
would you like to be worshipped—to be
adored ?”
“ God forbid, holy father, f feel naught
in myself worthy of adoration. My spirit
mother and the Holy Mother keep me from
evil.”
“Genevra, sweet daughter, would you
not like to be enshrined in another’s heart,
as your mother is in your heart! Would
you not like to reign supreme over the
destiny of one who loved you passionate
ly, devotedly V’
As these words fell from his lips, he
threw lus cloak from his shoulders, his
cowl from his head, and stood confessed
before her, a young man in the prime and
vigor of early manhood. Before she could
speak, he knelt and took her hand. She
stepped back, and with a look of horror,
and exclaimed —
“No, vile monster, neither the soul, nor
the temple you have ensnared, shall yield
to mortal man. Who and what are you,
that you have dared thus to deceive
me 1”
“I am your destiny, proud woman. —
Born in the far sunny south —warm Span
ish blood filling these veins—l desired ex
citement and sought it on the 6ea. The
risks of the ocean gave added charm to a
free rover’s life. Thus it is I visited your
coast.
“One evening, about twilight, you walk
ed on the sea-shore. Unobserved, I saw
3'ou count your beads, your lips move in
prayer, and ever ajjd anon, the crucifix
clasped in fervor to your bosom. Then I
too became a Catholic. For your sake,
and to win you, 1 assumed a priest's robe,
a holy father’s dictatorship. Yot know
the rest. Do you believe me now, when I
say I am your destiny ?”
“ No. God and the Tloly Mother will
protect me. Behold! lam alread3’one of
the sisterhood.”
As Genevra said this, she laid aside the
large cloak which had shrouded her figure,
and displayed herself attired in the liaaili
ments of the order—the coarse black dress,
with large sleeves, hiding the symmetry
of her beautiful form—her luxuriant hair
cut close, and her features bandaged around
with the black bands of her eternal doom.
She had not been more astonished at his
transformation, than he was at beholding
hers ; and for a moment he seemed to think
there was an impassable gulf between
them. And so there was, proud man!—
Exult 3'ou may, in 3'our fancied power!
Tile serpent may arise again from your
heart, look with eager exultation in the
face of its victim, and coil itself again in
its secure abode; but there is a power above
the elements, stirring them up for the de
liverance of the deceived.
“Still, for all this, Genevra, lam 3'our
destiny. You are alone with me in the
world. Your brother at home knows, ere
this, you have left clandestinely. Your
brother in Washington will soon be inform
ed of the fact. They will not believe that
a holy ardor has impelled you to this step.
In the eyes of the world, Genevra, o’ msy
consider yourself already condemned.—
Again I tell you, that you are alone 11 the
world with me.”
“And what of that?’ said Genevra.
“ Yield yourself to the ardor of my af
fection—consent to marry me —and to-mor
row we will again land at your brother's,
honorably united.”
“Who and what are you, that you thus
dare to speak to me of love and marriage V’
“My name is Arthur . I heard of
your youth, beauty, seclusion, and wealth
These combined, inspired me with a desire
for conquest. Asa fortune-hunter, I sought
you—fell in love with you as a beautiful
enthusiast—felt certain you would never
notice a common mortal, and won your
confidence as a holy father.”
“ Despicable man ! the vengeance of
Heaven will punish you for your sin. I
abhor, I detest your art, you.- duplicity,
your profanation of a holy order, to your
own vile purposes.”
“ Will you, Genevra, marry me ?”
“ Never, never, never,” said Genevra.
“ Then you shall do worse, proud maid
en. Know that this vessel is mine. 1
have haunts where you may dwell un
heard-of ever again. There you shall be
mine on my own terms. If you are not
willing to give me your fortune, your stand
ing, your influence, then you shall pay me
for enjoying mine.”
“Hush, proud, imperious man! hear you
not the warring elements ? God and the
Holy Mother will protect their child, even
if it be in death.”
Just then, loud cries were heard above
the wailing of the tempest, which was ra
ging—the rushing of angry waves across
the deck—the dashing of the vessel down,
down into the mighty gulf of waters. In
the next moment, “ man overboard !” was
heard. Arthur started to his feet, but turn
ing to Genevra, said—
“ I fear not a watery grave. My for
tune says that ‘my star shall ascend, till
a bird of the ocean lures me twice to stray.’
Remember, 1 will still be your destiny.”
Thus they parted : he to his destiny, she
to the protection of guardian angels; for,
strange to say, the next day the vessel was
found stranded—no one in her but a sister
of charity, who desired no other service
than to be taken to the nearest order as
soon as possible.
It was discovered that the vessel was a
condemned rover of the seas, named the
“ Sea Gull,” and as she was richly fur
nished, she was quite a prize to the coast
pirates, who in those days looked with ra
ther too loving eyes upon wrecks.
CHAPTER
Thus ran the letter whiih Charles EUis
ton delivered to his cousin Ellen :
My Dear Cousin: I had thought, with
grief, that we were to continue strangers;
hut a wise, over-ruling Providence, ordains
it otherwise. A mystery, which has hith
erto cast the same shadow across our dif
ferent paths in life, his been dispelled by
a strange development of truth. My bro
ther will inform 3011 of all the circum
stance-. Come, my dear cousin, with your
little family, and my stranger uncle, to the
old roof, which sheltered our forefathers;
anu here 3'ou will find loving friends to
welcome you, besides
Your truly attached cousin,
Gexevra.
“Well, Charles, what do you think of
our mountain home ? lam glad that the
first morning after 3’our arrival, we should
be blessed with such glorious sunbeams.”
“ And shedding them on a glorious coun
try, Ned. What can be more splendid than
the prospect now before us ? Those dis
tant mountains, commencing with peaks,
and running off finally in an apparently in
terminable range. This valley, sleeping as
it were at our feet, in the bosom of the
everlasting hills, and the thin mists, that
rise and float away before the sun-beams,
give the last softening touch to nature.”
“I have anticipated this surprise with
much pleasure, Elliston ; and it was for
that reason, that I did not prepare you by
description.”
“I assure you I am indeed surprised,”
said Elliston. “Remember, I have been
travelling through a dreary road, with no
thing but interminable forests and only
scattering indications of human life. Yes
terday evening, when I arrived in the vil
lage, although I was prepared to greet
with a welcome the habitation of man, yet
when I heard 3'ou lived but a mile be3-ond,
I hesitated not to come in the darkness 0/
the night to my college chum.”
“ And welcome, indeed, you are,” said
Ned. “I am rejoiced that, after all 3-our
skepticism with rega.d to Cherokee, Geor
gia, 3-011 have been surprised into a volun
tar3 r tribute of admiration.”
“My tribute wilt Vx* always given to
such, a scene as this, which presents one of
the sublimesf features of God’s creation.—
From early association, the ocean filled my
idea of the sublime. To stand upon the
beach, and see the waves, one after the
other, with ceaseless murmur, dash upon
the shore and rise to my very feet—to view
the sun, rising from a bed of liquid blue,
gilding the clouds with gold and silver
light, and seeming to proclaim hrs nrajest3',
as he ascended higher and higher into the
arch of Heaven: these were the images,
dear Ned, that made me sceptical on the
subject of Cherokee, Georgia.”
“As much as I love the mountains,
Charles, your description of the ocean in
spires me with a feeling of its silent majes
-13-, which is indescribable.”
“If 3'ou had been reared there, Ned, with
your enthusiasm, you would have sjught
excitement on its bosom; while 1 onty
sought reflection on its shores. In truth, it
is associated w ith all the sorrows of my
life, and 1 am only willing to forget it
when surrounded by such scenes as these
before me.”
Just then, Ellen approached, with the !
bloom of health upon her cheek, and true
benevolence depicted in her earnest eyes.
“ I know where you have been, Ellen,’’
said Ned. “l’eggy Day always makes
you look sad.”
“ I have been there, Edward, and I re
ally have come to the conclusion that Jim
my’ Day is more of a brute than a fool.”
“ Does she still say, Ellen, that Jimmy
does his best for her, after all, when he is
sober t” said Ned; “that is, rocks the cra
dle, brings water a few steps, and occa
sionally lights the fire.”
“ She has confessed more to me this
morning than usual,” said Ellen. “She
says last night he came home tolerably so
ber, and she thought he really was going
to do belter, lie did not quarrel with her. I
or whip her for money, but when he thought
her asleep, he searched everywhere, to see
if he could find either money or spirits.—
At last he became very angry, dragged her j
out of bed, and threatened to kill her, un- j
less she gave him either dimes or liquor.
To save herself and child, she was obliged
to quiet him by giving him all the money
she had made last.”
“Wretched woman!” said Charles
“Is it possible, that even here there are
such monsters'? I had forgotten to tell
you, that man was my guide here last
night, and his vile mutterings by the way
filled me with disgust and horror.”
“That accounts,” said Ned, “for his re
turning home tolerably sober.”
“ Edward, 1 have proposed to Peggy to
enter our service again,” said Ellen, “un
less Jimmy will promise to let her have ail
she makes to support herself and child.”
“ He might make that promise to her a
thousand times, my constant Ellen,” said
Edward,” and yet it would not bind him
one moment. A voluntary obligation is
only binding, when there is a principle of
justice in the soul. Do you suppose that
a man, whose selfishness has grown with
| bis growth and strengthened with his
j strength, would lay it aside for one whom
ihe has lorded it over for v'ears ? A man
who sees not the image of the Creator in
the friend of his choice, hut the image of
himself, only of a lower order of being,
commences with deception, goes on with
tyranny, and ends with sacrifice—for, at
last, the silver cord of the bow of life must
break.”
“ Well, what remedy is there, my dear
Edward, for this state of things? l’eggy
has sacrificed her own comfort and happi
ness; we must not allow her to sacrifice
her life.”
“ You are a constant friend, my Ellen,
and I honor you for it,” said iS’ed. “Would
that all these poor women had such friends;
there would be anew era for this country.”
“Do you mean,” said Ellen, “ that we
would run the women off from their hus
bands, in our ardor to promote their happi
ness ?”
“ Oh, no; I was not thinking of your
expedient,” said Ned, “but merely of your
earnest feeling on the subject. 1 have
thought much on this subject, dear Ellen.
They are a degraded and suffering class,
and nothing hut the laws of the country
can elevate them.”
“Explain yourself, Edward, fori car.not ‘
imagine what you mean. These people
marry, often, wlien they do not own a cent
in the world. In such a case, a settlement
would he absurd—and unless I am very
much mistaken, a settlement is seldom
thought of by them. For instance, Betsey
Brown, who married two years ago, had
made bj her needle and by weaving, suffi
cient to buy a servant, a small cottage, and
besides, had several hundred dollars at in- J
terest. She married without thinking of a ■
settlement, arid now where is it all V’
“In the hands of strangers,” sq,id Ed
ward, “and they beggared. No, Ellen,
settlements will not remedy this wide-spread
evil; that protection is for the favored or
ders—those who have experienced the com
forts ar.d the luxuries of life, and prize
them too well to trust a loss of them either
to themselves or their children. They are
more calculating. These people are im
pulsive; they have very little, and too of
ten care for nothing more than their daily
bread. Starving children and personal suf
fering waken up their energies.”
“ You speak truly, Edward,” said Ellen;
“and how many instances we could name,
where the woman is up early and late,
delving at home and driving from home, to
support her family, while the man folds his
arms, eats the bread she provides, or, if he
does go to market, spends all he gets for
her labor, and comes home diunk. llut I
am anxious to hear your remedy.”
“ It is to be found,” said Edward, “only
in the laws of our country. Settlements
do not reach their case, and never can, hut
the law extending her protecting arm around
them, at once gives them the importance
they ought to have, as mothers of future
generations. The mother could then feed
her children in safety and in peace—and
why ? Because she then would not be
serving a master, but one with whom she
has equal domestic rights. If he chose to
get drunk, he would receive her services as
from a friend ; he could not exact it as an
imperious tyrant. The lash would never
be heard of, because he would know that
the law could not be whipped into submis
sion.”
“Do you not think, also.” said Ellen,
“that the children would be better edu
cated ?”
“1 have no doubt of it,” said Edward.
“All women who have energy enough to
support their children, have ambition to see
them rise in the world. It would be the
best free school appropriation that could
be made, because the funds would he in
vested in every family, and in the hands of
those who would feel a jealous interest in
its success.”
“ I like your idea very much,” said El
len, “ and wish it could be carried into ef
fect.”
“It our legislators would only give to
these people those privileges, which add
brilliancy even to the ‘lone star’ of the
West, it would be crowning our prosperity
with jewels, which would shine in the fu
ture history of our beloved Georgia. The
law r , with her magic touch, would at once
create in every family a little capital, which,
like a rock of safety, would give a place of
rest, amid the storms of life.”
“ You really impress me deeply with
your ideas,” said Ellen, “and I feel assur
ed that your plan would emancipate that
class from moral and mental ignorance.”
“It would, in course of time,” said Eld
ward, “work its own reward. There
would be many exceptions at first, because
there are many idle, good-for-nothing wo
men—many now that are broken down
with exertions already made : hut as one
or two generations passed away, vve wool I
feel, through every part of our happy State
the benefit and the wisdom of protecting
the weak.”
“ You would make the weak strong, Ed
ward,” said Ellen, “and that is not desire,’,
by many of 3'our sex.”
“ It would make them strong,” said Ed
ward, “only in the consciousness of being
appreciated. They would become then
what they should ever be—the ministering
angels of home. Like vines clinging a
round the trunk and branches, each of it
owti dear tree, they would form the loving
bond of union, and even though fallen,
would still retain the same loving em
brace.”
“ What do you think, cousin Charles,”
said Ellen, “of this Utopian prospect ?
Edward and I have inflicted silence on 3'ou
by nnr ‘much talking.’”
“ 1 have been a willing listener, I assure
j ou,” said Charles, “ for that is one part of
the subject I have never thought of. 1
have been obliged, by circumstances, to
know something of marriage settlements,
and have found, to my cost, that they are
often of no avail whatever.”
“ I cannot conceive,” said Edward, “how
you could have had any experience about
marriage settlements. I know that 3'ou
were altogether in favor of them ; hut how
they could have cost you anything, is to
me an enigma.”
“And neither do you know, I suppose,”
said Charles, “that I served one year
faithfully at a mechanics’ school, with the
positive intention of making machinery a
profession I”
“Well,” said Edward, “youare certain
ly the prince of mysteries. A student of
Franklin College, and just within reach of
the first honor, you suddenly fly off in a
tangent. A young man of fortune and
standing, you go to a mechanic’s school to
learn how to make a living; devoted to
your friend, you leave him suddenly, just
on the eve of his marriage—of course, im
pressing him with the idea that you only
half sympathized in his happiness.”
“I can soon explain that to you, Ned,” and
said Charles, “without leaving on your
mind a shadow with regard lo my feelings.
The same cause robbed me of the distinc
tions of Franklin College and the pleasure
of attending your wedding, which wascon
; sunimated near Athens soon after Com
mencement. My sister’s property, which
was on the sea-board of Georgia, was to be
sold togratify some wild speculative whims
of her husband. This l wished to per
suade her to oppose, hut I arrived too late
to prevent it. She, like many other weak
women, forgot the welfare of her family, in
1 the persuasions of one she loved ; and as
i soon as the sale was made known, the
proceeds were seized upon by many claim
ants, and they were left with nothing.”
“Now I know,” said Edward, “what
your generous nature prompted you to do.
You sacrificed your property, to save your
sister from want.”
“ Not exactly,” said Charles: “my prop- ‘
erty lay in the tipper part of Alabama, a
State where the wife is doubly protected.
But notwithstanding, 1 had no idea of pay
ing a fortune-hunter for playing the fool.
They removed there, enjoying the whole
proceeds: but I retained the principal in
my own right.”
“ And for that reason,” said Edward,
“you went to a mechanics’ sctiool, tojearn
how to make a living TANARUS”
“ Exactly so, my dear Ned. Have I ex
plained to your satisfaction 1”
“ Most fully, I assure you, my noble
! hearted EUiston,” said Edward ; “and now
j that I know you could not have done oth
erwise than leave us, at the mo>t interest
: ing time of our lives, Ellen and I are more
i anxious than ever to hear those devclopc
ments which your sister says you will
make to us. Our hearts have yearned for
kindred as well as congenial friends, to
share with us our happiness.”
[To be continue*! J
t&“ A Yankee writes from San Fran
cisco to a New Haven paper: “ A Spanish
girl is the best grammar in the world : and,
since my arrival in town, 1 have been—
studying grammar.” We suppose he’ll
conjugate soon, if the girl don’t decline.
Love is the great instrument and
engine of nature, the bud and cement of
society, the spring and spirit of the uni
verse.—Dr. South.
6 gjy- A machine has been invented en
titled a “fire annihflator,” which, by a
powerful application of vapor, extinguish
es a most intense lire in a fiew seconds.
The passions, like heavy bo,tie
down steep hills, once in motion, movo
themselves, and know no ground hut th,
bottom,— Fuller.