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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
STANZAS.
Here, where great oaks overshadow.
In the well-known walks she roved,
Here we laid the little maiden,
Whom our heai ts so well have loTcd.
Silent waving, the great brunches
Make a shelter for the form,
Which our love had vainly striven
Xo secure against the storm.
Oh ! how peaceful—Oh! how quiet,
Sacred still, her little home,
Where the squirrel loves to riot,
And the rabbit loves to roam ;
With the summer do we leave her,
With the autumn we'll return ;
Hut with her wc lost our summer,
And with autumn fitly monrn.
Dctilla, S. C. PARISH SAXON.
u j , asiß©!£aiaLifl®s{B*
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
WOMAN k WOMAN’S LORD.
BY A LADY OF GEORGIA.
CHAPTER VI.
Time flies swiftly to the happy and to
the young. He steps lightly along their
pathway, when it is strewn with flowers,
.and lingers not long when it is shadowed
Iwiih clouds of gloom and sorrow. Hope,
|io them, is ever the companion of Time.—
[Mie wreathes him with garlands of the
[choicest and sweetest flowers, and flies
with him, joy beaming from her eye. They
gaze upon the bright picture, and forget
that Time will, ere long, be stripped of his
garlands, and that Hope will exchange her
[beaming smile for a sad and pensive gaze.
Time had flown rapidly to Charles and
• lenevra Elliston. Genevra had finished
her education with the Sisters of Charity,
and had returned like a happy bird to her
Inative clime. No heart was more joyous
[than her own. She had never known a
[moment of sorrow since the loss of her
[mother, and her guardian spirit had taught
[her, that perhaps that mother was a tninis-
I 1 ring spirit to her children, while they
should remain on earth, and was only ele
► ated before them, to a higher existence.
I “Let this idea lead you to cultivate eve
|y virtue, my Genevra,” said Sister Made
leine. Indeed, Sister Madeleine was like
It shield around her lovely daughter. She
protected her from the too strict rules of
Be establishment—from the narrow-mind
ld prejudices and superstitions of the weak
■Hers, and from the prying eyes of the
Iriests. The ever-watchful eye of an a-
Bakened suspicion was around them; and
Bn over-ruling Providence guarded them
Bom evil, Why was it that Sister Made-
Bine was so independent among the Sis-
Brs of Charity 1 She had come among
Bern like a mysterious visitant, invested
Bith wonderful endowments. The saint-
Borshippers almost looked upon her as a
Bft sent from Heaven for the especial ben
fiit of their institution. Her influence was
B 1 great—her life so pure and holy—her
Banner so commanding and dignified—that
■>e seemed, instead of being plastic in the
Bands of others, to be the presiding spirit
|f the establishment. All arrangements
Bare made in reference to Sister Made-
B'ne; and when the sad fate of the Home
Baced Genevra under her care, there was
objection made to her taking entire
Barge of her education.
■ < harles Elliston has passed with honor
■ the Junior Class in Franklin College,
■G now the November vacation arrives.
His heart throbs with delight at the pros-
H< t ol meeting his sister in Savannah, and
■j°ying, in her society, his liberty from
■’ ! .v and her release from school. He
if he shall find her the same love
s’ loving and confiding Genevra as ever.
H rTlf ’ passed on, and we see them in Sa
■aiiuh. enjoying with delight one of the
seasons the place had ever known.
Balls, •parties, pleasure rides, and the thea
tre, alternately claim their time. The
shades of Bonaventure, where the majes
tic oaks throw their arms abroad as if to
protect the spot from intrusion, always hal
lowed their feelings with the memory of
her who had passed away from them.
Some call this a cold, callous and un
feeling world. Those who feel this, could
never have stopped a moment to view the
crumbling tokens of the past, or have
-paused to meditate on the frail tenure we
all hold to the present. We look upon the
sad memorials of the past, where happy
hearts and joyous spirits once sported, and
! feel that as they are, we shall be: and
j there is nothing that sheds over the spirits
. a sadder influence than the ruins of the old
I family-seat, and the sombre shade of the
j old oaks at Bonaventure.
Then, to change the scene, there were
the gay rides taken in “Inver’s Lane,”
the companj constituted the charm. Here
was felt the influence of mind, forced on
ward by all the effervescence of mirthful
spirits. At Bonaventure was felt the in
fluence of Nature—modifying and soften
ing these exuberant feelings, and leading
them to contemplate the great first cause, j
and the end of all things.
Charles had found Genevra all that he j
desired —lovely, loving and confiding.— ;
With how much delight would he hold her
off at arm's length—examine her beautiful
face and figure with a criticising eye —then I
with all the ardor of a brother’s love, fold !
her in his arms, and say, that in external
charms, she was all he could desire.
,s But I was afraid, my dear sister, that
those Sisters of Charity would make your
heart as cold and passive as their own; j
and particularly when I heard you insisted 1
to have Sister Madeleine come out with j
you, I began to doubt your sanity on the
subject of society.”
“If you thought I should not love the
gay world enough,” said Genevra, “ I think
you have had full proof to the contrary, 1
i my dear brother.”
“Yes,” said Charles, “you have been
one of the gayest little butterflies of the
season. I begin to think the Sisters of
Charity have a more worldly influence
than I had supposed.”
. “ Your odious comparison aside,” said
| Genevra, giving him a slight tap on the
cheek with her thimble, “ the real truth of
the matter is, that Sister Madeleine has to
| nte been a host within herself.”
‘ “ What, does Sister Madeleine waltz and
i dance polkas, as well as excel in music
| and drawing, and all the etceteras I see you
exhibit daily, even down to the delicate
j vine I see you tracing on that muslin col
! lar ?” said Charles.
“Oh, no,” said Genevra; “she neither
! waltzes nor dances polkas.” And vott
might have heard her merry laugh resound
through several rooms of the “ Pulaski,”
| at the strange idea.
| “ She taught me everything but waltzing
land dancing,” continued she; “but that
! was taught me by a gentleman.”
“ Indeed,” said Charles, “I thought that
j gentlemen were entirely prohibited, unless
i they came in the garb of priesthood. No
I wonder that you like Sister Madeleine so
I f
j well, if she is so much like the rest of the
world, as to allow you to take dancing
lessons from a gentleman.”
“ Sister Madeleine said she was educa
ting me for my father and for society—not
for a convent, or for herself.” said Genev
ra ; “and this man came with written re
commendations from my father.”
“ And are you very sure, my dear sister,
that you never thought him either a priest
or a gentleman in disguise ?” said Charles.
“1 confess, sometimes I thought his
speaking eyes and ample forehead told a
different tale from his profession,” said
(lenevra; “but his beard and moustache
make me shudder even to think of them.
| 1 never saw him, without thinking of
! “ Beauty and the Beast.”
“Ah, leave romance to the softer sex, I
say,” said Charles. “Here is my little
sister, whose beauty has been guarded so
1 mysteriously from all eyes, has even fell
| its influence through the cracks of her
j cell.”
“ Well, it was not like a ray of light, I
assure you, my dear brother; for,although
there was sunshine above, and the most
brilliant orbs imaginable to reflect it, yet
there were clouds below, which obscured
j the light and the romance together.”
“I am glad to hear that,” said Charles,
“ for you know the young ladies of Savan
nah have a brilliant conquest in store for
. one of them. We are to dine at the Judge’s
to-day, in company with the lion, Mr. Dti
’ pont.”
I “ Indeed !” said Genevra, “ishoto be
there 1”
“ Yes,” said Charles, “ so I was told, as
a great additional charm to the party-; so
1 will leave the charm with you, my dear
sister, to aid you in your preparations for
the occasion.”
Then came an interval of quiet—reflec
tion, that bridge almost divine, connecting
earth and heaven, gave pleasant occupa
tion to her thoughts. They passed, one
after another, in quick succession over the
heaven-formed fabric ; but there were none
so sad as to weigh it down upon her happy
spirit. They were at first distinct, and
i dwelt upon her father engaged in the busi
’ ness of life—her brother and herself, ex
tracting the honey-dew of enjoyment from
every flower—her gratitude and love to
those friends who had received her with
a true Southern welcome to their hearts
and their firesides. Then more indistinct
ly, but with a feeling of calm repose, her
I thoughts lingered around her who had
! cherished and loved her when she was sol
itary and wretched. Her eyes filled with
j tears, as she remembered seeing her that
morning, engaged in an act of benevolence
—for to the good, the goodness of others
gives rise to*he lenderest emotions. This
is the chain of sympathy, and the earthly
foundation of virtue and that true charity
which seeks the good of others. More
vague and indistinct still, even like shad
ows they passed and re-passed through her
mind. There was one vivid remembrance
of her school-days; and while attending to
Iter toilet, she wondered more than once
if she should ever meet among men such
eyes as she had once seen.
At the Judge’s they had a brilliant par- j
ty. Taste and elegance, combined with an
inexpressible air of comfort, pervaded all
the arrangements. The viands were ex
quisite; the wines were of the choicest
kinds. Above all, there were sparkling
minds, that rivalled the sparkling cham
pagne, and wit that filled the cup of social
joy to overflowing. But where was the
lion of the day, Mr. Dupont ? He stands
aloof from the young ladies, and only with
his flashing eyes and courteous hows, pays
homage to their presence. At the table,
he passes the social glass, and gives a toast
“to the ladies of Georgia, who rule by
beauty, and rule by the law.”
“We drink to the powerof beauty, sir,”
said the Judge, bowing in the blandest
manner to the ladies; “ but we feel dispos
ed to question the last part of your toast.”
i “ I will only refer you to the case deci
ded before you this morning, sir, to prove
that your ladies rule by law, as well as by
I beauty.”
“In that case, the law has only done her
! justice,'’ said the Judge.
“ 1 admit the law has only done her jus
tice, said Mr. Dupont, “but would it have
done so, without her appeal ?”
“No. I suppose not,” said the Judge.
, “Then your ladies are very powerful,”
’ said Mr. Dupont, “ for they can wake up
j the terrors of the law against evil-doing
husbands whenever they please.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the Judge, “ but
■ you mistake the character of our laws, and
;of our ladies. lam sorry to say that we
have no law, apart from marriage settle
ments, to protect the domestic rights of wo
man in our State.”
“Why should you desire anything bet
ter than this, that enables trustees to claim
property and retain it in the State for the
1 use of the original owner, the wife ?” said
Mr. Dupont.
“ Because the benefits arc not general
enough. It does not protect our poor wo
men who have no marriage settlements:
neither does it protect those rich ones, who
are led away by persuasions, or a false
idea of propriety. Although there is a
very strong protection under certain cir
cumstances in marriage settlements, yrt
we are forced to admit, that to the design
ing fortune-hunter and the idle mismanager,
they ofler very little opposition.”
“ I confess, sir, I am a stranger to your
1 domestic polity,” said Mr. Dupont, “ but I
I should suppose otherwise, if such cases as
the one I witnessed this morning, were of
’ often recurrence.”
“ It is in that, sir,” said the Judge, “that
you have mistaken the character of ottrla
-1 dies. They too often forget the true inter
ests of their families, in either an impul
j sive desire to please their husbands, or a
dread of the opinion of the world. The
lady whose case you have mentioned, had
resigned nearly all of her property : and at
’ last, when she found the last remnant about
to he sacrificed, she entreated the trustees
of her marriage settlement to Interfere in
her behalf. The suit you witnessed was
between the trustees and the gentleman. —
The unpleasant feelings connected with
! such sacrifices of property, as well as the
more unpleasant exhibitions of them to the
public eye, would all, in my opinion, be
obviated by the passage of the 1 Woman's
Bill.’ Besides this, sir, fortune-hunters
would he more seldom seen in our State — !
for, knowing the law, young men would j
feel greater inducements to personal exer- J
lion in early life, and thus form habits of j
industry. The prejudice existing with I
man) r against marriage settlements, as well j
as the secret opposition which is made in j
many families against their influence, would
then find no ground for action.”
And thus the conversation ended, so far
as we are concerned.
The ladies had retired to tile drawing
room, and were engaged in making a thou
sand speculations about the handsome strati-,
ger. One said she heard that he was a no-1
bleman in disguise ; another said she heard j
he possessed a large coffee plantation in !
Cuba, and was immensely wealthy : ano- j
tiler said she had “ heard h<* was a for- j
tune-hunter. What do you think of him, i
■ J
Miss Elliston ?” said she.
Genevra, who had been indulging in a mo- i
mcniary dream, said, thoughtfully, “I won
der if he dances.”
“ Well, perhaps you may find that out
at the next ball you attend,” replied the
young lady. “1 am sure I cannot tell.”
And she turned off with a contemptuous!
slung, as much as to sav, “ You treated :
my question very cavalierly,” or “ I expect!
you are in love.”
The moments pass swiftly, and the strati-.
ger enters. To Genevra, I suppose, he j
must he the interesting stranger, for lie liasj
absorbed her attention in a recess of the I
room. He is jriving her a glowing descrip- j
tion of the tropical Islands—the orange and
lemon groves, that tttver fail to yield their [
golden harvest —the acacia hedges, that 1
shed their perfume in the air, without re-J
gard to seasons —the luscious fruits that \
hang ready for the willing hand—above |
all, the untiring imagination, the never- \
wearied mind, that lives in continual en
joyment till obliged to yield itself to its
Creator. She listens with wrapt attention,
and looks with a fascinated gaze into his
speaking eyes. He rose to depart, but not
until he had engaged to accompany her
party to the theatre that evening. Event
ful hour, which is to develope the true
character of one, and hasten on with rapid j
strides the destiny of another.
The scene changes, and a solitary walk- 1
er passes down Bull street. He passes by j
familiar places, but he heeds them not. He j
might even he brushed by an acquaintance j
without heeding him, so intent is he on his j
plans. He enters Monument Square, and j
passes on. Is he going to his lodgings at;
the City Hotel, or is he going to “Our;
House,” to lounge over the latest news?!
No —he is in search of a poor sister—not i
a Sister of Charity, but one who lives on
charity. Strange coincidences often occur, i
Who will doubt the wheel within a wheel j
in human events, who knows anything of •
these romances it? real life. He stops at a
lane—draws his coat higher up—
down his hat, and enters. Occasionally a i
gleam from a window crosses the narrow
street, and is reflected on the opposite house
or wall. Then he steps quickly, and en
ters the deep shadows. At last he knocks j
at a door and enters. The front opens on !
the market-place, in a little front shop; the
back part is occupied by a woman and her j
little son.
“It is well you have come, Arthur.”
said the woman, “ for-it you had not kept
your promise, I should have gone in search
of you.”
“ Then you would have ruined both our
prospects, sweet Angelina, for you know
1 your fortune depends on mine,” said Du
pont.
lf so, I wish you would give me mine
then, for while you are enjoying every
thing good, I am as poor as poverty can
make me,” said Angelina.
“ You must live on the prospect at pres
ent, till I can make a fortune for us both,”
said Dupont.
“ You have been telling me that for the
last three years, brother mine,” said Ange
lina : “but excepting that 1 see you en
joying society and fine friends, I have seen
nothing of it yet.”
“ Patience, woman—you will soon see
that 1 have not planned and looked for
ward for years in vain,” said Dupont.—
“The fruit hangs ready to be plucked, and
you shall share. Where is little Antonio ?”
“Sister Madeline teaches him music,
besides reading and spelling, and he has
not yet returned home,” said Angelina.
“Who is this Sister Madeleine ?” said
Dupont. x
“ She is an angel of mercy, sent from
across the water to give me brea I,” said
Angelina.
“ She is a fiend,” said Dupont, whose
countenance became as black as night,
“sent to thwart my fortune, and to scatter
yours to the winds of Heaven.”
“ Do you know Iter, Arthur ?’’ said An
gelina, with an astonished countenance,
and a voice rather raised.
Just then, a sweet young voice was
heat'd, singing the “ Evening Song to the
Virgin,” and as the “Ave Santissima” fell
upon the ear, the latch was turned, and
Sister Madeleine entered, accompanied by
Antonio. Dupont put his linger to his
lips with an expressive gesture, and left
by the opposite door; but the iiatpe had
vaguely sounded on the ear of the Sister,
and for an instant she involuntarily turned
her eyes on the retreating figure.
CHAPTER VII.
Time flies swiftly to the happy and to
the young. Dupont was happy—happy
in the assurance of success—happy in the
triumph of those passions and desires of
his nature, which he had always cherished
with tenderness and cultivated with suc
cess. He was happy also in the con
sciousness of being beloved. But why
was this ! Not because he either felt, or
desired to lie, worthy the love of a pure
soul, but he knew by that token he should
possess unbounded power. If I could whis
per a tale in vour ear, gentle reader, and
you could hear it, you would know that
the cool calculation of years had just reach
ed the point of consummation. The web
had been woven in his own mind, and
now but we will not anticipate. Gen
evra was young, and she was happy.
Time, with his golden hours, flew by,
and Hope wreathed him with roses and
with smiles. She was happy in her devo
tion—she was happy in her pure and guile
less mind—she was happy also in the be
lief that those speaking eyes spoke love.
Charles had but one month left of holiday,
and it was concluded they should devote
that time to pleasure—to visiting their isl
and-borne, and then extending their visit
further south, to the land of flowers. Sis
ter Madeleine was not forgotten by Genev
ra, but her image was not so continually
present with her. Her last visit to the
Convent was the morning of her departure,
when her eyes spoke the language of her
heart, and beamed forth nothing but joy
and gladness. She brought with her, as
an offering, a cluster of rare exotics. Du
pont had brought them to her a few mo
ments before she was to leave on her visit,
though these moments had been lengthen
ed to minutes, and the minutes to a good
half-hour.
“I have found, Sister Madeleine, some
thing as sweet and lovely in the heart, as
these flowers arc in Nature,” said Genevra.
“ And what is that, my dear girl ?” said
Sister Madeleine.
Genevra threw her arms around her neck,
her beautiful face suffused in blushes, and
whispered low—“ Love.”
“ Love, human love, has thorns; beware,
my child, they do not pierce your heart.—
But tell me how you have made this dis
! covcry.”
With many blushes, and many enthusi
astic expressions of admiration, she told
Sister Madeleine of her meeting with Mr.
Dupont—of his perfect devotion to her
1 since their first meeting—of the influence
she was conscious he had ever exerted over
iter, from the first moment she had seen
i him ; and at last, she told her that she had
given him her heart, and would give him
her hand as soon as she had her father's
sanction.
“ I tremble for your happiness, my dear
girl. Beware that you are not led away
by impulse,” said Sister Madeleine.
“ It is a delightful impulse that impresses
I me with the idea that Dupont is as perfect
jin nature as he is in appearance. Besides,
| Sister, he is quite old enough to be my
| guide. He looks as if he had reached the
; very summit of manhood,” said Genevra ;
; and she drew herself proudly up to her full
height, and added—“ Yes, as long as Ar
: thur Dupont is mine, 1 shall be supremely
j happy.”
“Arthur,” said the Sister, in a half so
i liloqttizing tone, “Arthur. I have heard
| that name twice in the last few days;” and
! her mind reverted to the little room near
Market Square, and the tall and fine-look
ing stranger who passed out as she enter
; ed. Then, as if a light had burst upon her,
| she said—
j “ Genevra, lam convinced he has a poor
j sister in this city. If he is worthy, why
| does he let Iter suffer ?”
“ I think you are mistaken,” said Gene
vra. “for he says ho has no relations in
| this country; but if he has, she shall be
’ my sister.”
Then ensued a long conversation, in
which Sister Madeleine told her about An
gelina and her little son Antonio. Gene
vra’s face wore a thoughtful expression,
amj her eyes were suffused with tears of
sympathy. She told Sister Madeleine to
give her all the aid she could, from a well-1
filled purse left in her charge. She told
her, also, that she thought she would be j
married a few days after bet return from
the South, when she would have a sister's
right to claim her, or, at any rate, to serve
her. Then was the farewell, and the pray
er for her safety offered by Sister Made
leine.
With pleasure would I accompany the
party to the land of flowers, and depict to |
my readers the glowing eloquence of Du-.
pont, as he told the Spanish legends, or the
Indian stories, coiniested with the early ,
settlement of that country. I would speak !
of the influence he acquired over Mr. El-j
liston—the confidence he secured from j
Charles—the perfect and entire devotioji ,
he had fixed in Genevra’s mind. I would |
like, also, to take my readers through or- ’
angc groves, and through avenues of ihc ,
fragrant laurel-rose, meeting their branches i
overhead, and shedding their perfume on !
the soft, bland air of that Southern clime. I
l would like, also, to take them up the St.;
Johns on a pleasure excursion, and on the ‘
lakes of that favored region, where they i
wonld see themselves mirrored to life on !
the glassy surface, and see the heavens 1
reflected from the far depths. But this!
must not he. Love, pleasure and romance i
are delightful in the enjoyment; but as |
portions of memory, they lose their impor
tance when contrasted with the reverse—
that sa l change which too often comes
over those led away by impulse, or those
actuated by interest.
“ Mr. and Mrs. Dupont have arrived in
Savannah,” was the news through all the j
fashionable circles. They had been mar
ried at the cottage on the Island, which was
to be their future home; they had been con
gratulated by their friends; their depend
ents had “wished them much joy;” and
Genevra had introduced him to, and renew
ed her own acquaintance with, all the
scenes and associations of her early youth.
They had taken rooms in Savannah for
the rest of the gay season, and many scenes j
there were of varied interest; but we have
no time to linger with them, and will only
describe one, which is intimately connect-1
! ed with the denouement of our tale.
Genevra's first thought, when she re- j
turned to Savannah, was to relieve the dis
tressed Angelina, and if she was indeed
the sister of Arthur, to adopt her at once
into the family circle. She went in her
carriage for Sister Madeleine, just as the j
sun was sinking beneath the horizon.— j
They drove to Market Square, and then
down a street leading to the Bay. They
alighted at a lane, and walked a few paces
to a small house. As they entered, Ange
lina and Antonio were eating their frugal
supper. As her eye rested on Sister Mad
eleine, who entered first, she said, “Enter,
sister—friend of the unfortunate. You are
always welcome.”
“I have brought a lady to sec you, An
: gelina, who thinks she may be of service
’ . . .
to you,” said Sister Madeleine.
Genevra, who seemed ready to burst with
her contending emotions, exclaimed, with
feeling—
“ Yes. I have hear ! much of you, and I
have come to relieve you—to take you
! away front this plaoe, and give you n
home.”
“ A home, lady ? I never had a home, |
since I was young as you. Tlte ocean—j
the sea-girt isle -the miserable room like J
this has been the wanderer’s home,” said
Angelina.
“ You shall wander no more, Angelina.
Arthur and I will be your brother and sis
| ter,” said Genevra.
“Arthur and I? Who aro you 1 ?” she
, said with an imperious tone. “ And what
I Arthur do you mean ?”
I “I am Mrs. Dupont,” said Genevra, with
. an earnest lone, as if she thought and hojted
j it would be a pleasant surprise, “ and Ar
; thur is my husband.”
“ Arthur Dupont your husband said
Angelina, with a wild and frantic energy,
“Arc you rich, woman 1”
Just then, Dupont entered the room in
J haste, with surprise and rage depicted on
his countenance. Genevra looked like an
s angel of mercy, unconscious of the evil
! passions of the world, yet deeply wounded
at the different turn the affair had taken to
iwhat she had fondly anticipated. Sister
Madeleine rose up in the majesty of her
offended pride, and looked indignantly at
Dupont, for she recognized in him that Ar
thur who had given her the first and last
lesson in worldly policy she had ever re
’ ccived. lie gave his arm to Genevra, and
! quickly conducted her, without saying a
’ word, to the carriage, He then whispered
i that he would soon follow her, and return
ed to the house. There he encountered
Sister Madeleine, who said to him—
“ Mysterious and evil-minded man! what
are your designs in all this? - ’
“ To he revenged on you. mailam, and to
gratify rny desire for wealth, powur and
influence. Remember what I told you—
‘that l would be your destiny.’ Dare to
say one word, or make one approach to,
my wife, and I will prove to you my pow
er.”
“ You have, indeed, revenged yourself,' 1
said Sistet Madeleine; “but remember, the
same God who saved me from your bass
designs, may punish you, and that speedi
ly.” Thus saying, she loft the room, feef
ing that Genevra's happiness was forever
wrecked.
Angelina was alternately wild and pas
sive, when first left alone with Ait-hur, hut
she soon became calm and conscious of her
own situation.
“Oh, Arthur, ■’ she said, “send rta back
to my far home. Let me not see her again
—so beautiful -so rich ! Let me not see
you again, so happy I”
“Call yonr brother here, Angelina,” said
Dupont.
“My brother!” said Angelina, and laugh
ed in derision at the sound. “ Did you not
say 1 must call the fruiterer my husband ?”
Antonio, her brother, entered. Dupont
proved that he hail made his fortune, by
giving them thousands to settle ir> their
native home, on a promise from them that
they would seek him no more. Thus ends
our intercourse with Angelina and the An
tonios: but could the ocean, the sea-girt
islp, and the miserable hovels, speak, what
romances could they not tell to those who
love them.
Dupont had yet a task to fulfil, which
his whole soul was bent upon; that was,
to do away with all impression on his
wife’s mind of any wrong in himself, and
thus re-establish that perfect confidence in
her mind again. When he returned home,
Genevra met him at the room-door, and
said—
“Oh, Dupont, why will hot your sister
let me love her 1 Why will you not com
pel her to let us treat her as a sister 1”
“Genevra, my sister is a woman of im
perious will. She left her fallter’s house
with a vagabond, whom she clings to, and
follows over the world. This is the rea
son why I have not recognized her. But
how did you know anything of her?” said
Dupont.
“Sister Madeleine told me she suspected
tire relationship, and 1 thought I would
give yon an agreeable surprise, by bring
ing her and the little Antonio home,” said
Genevra.
“This Sister Madeleine is forever in my
way,” said Dupont. .
“ Sister Madeleine in your waiy ?” said
Genevra. “That is too ridiculous a charge
to bring against one who lias been shut up
in a convent all her life.”
“1 knew her before she went into a
convent,” said Dupont, “ and if I were to
tell you who and what she is, you would
be surprised at the strange tale. Besides,
when 1 first saw my Genevra, I could
scarcely look at her, without Sister Made
leine's piercing eyes being fixed upon me.'*
“When you first saw me,” said Gents
vra, “1 am sure Sister Madeleine was not
there.’.’
“ I assure you that she was,” said Du
pont. “and if you tire still a skeptic, t wilt
I prove it to you.”
lie went to his trunk, took out a salsa
| heard and moustache, and put it on ; tlieiv
I turned, and taking Genevra, who was cou
j founded by the metamorphosis, went whirl-
I ing and waltzing with her around the room,
repeating the instructions of a dancing.
| master.
“Do you believe tne now, sweet wife ?”
said Dupont, imprinting a kiss upon her
up-turned cheek, as she lay nearly ex
hausted in his arms.
“Oil, Dupont, T must believe all you sa\\
for the world is nothing tome without you,
my husband.”
Mr. and Mrs. Dupont were seen that
i evening surrounded by company, and they
; were the gayest of the gay. No eye there
had witnessed the scenes they had passed
through so recently. No eye there could
see into the depths of that heart, that was
only happy in the success of his deep-laid
schemes. He had well said that he wish
ed to be revenged. Revenge, the dire oil
spring of an uncontrolled temper, is never
satisfied till it destroys its object. Dupont
had lived too long for himself, to begirt lo
live now for others. But let ns leave him
to thu workings of his own will, and turn
for a time to more pleasant and more recent
events.
[To bo continued J
EI'IOR A M .
jpiiil died in bed—strange fate for ono mi ev M ’
• Perhnps ! —but that don’t c ave bim f Oni the de
vil !