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I For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
PARTING, STANZAS.
■
I Bv Mrs. C. W. DrUosE.
■ Fare thee well, and God he with thee—
I I Guard thy life from every ill;
■ Os His “race the richest perfume
I I Hound thy path in love distil!
I May Ilis spirit linger near thee,
I I Shedding blessings on thy head—
■ All the darker shades dispelling,
■ By tho glory round thee spread.
tM&y it safely keep thee, guard thee
From the tohch of human w oe—
laKl | thy spirit pure and lovely,
9 Stainless as the winter's snow.
and sadly shall we miss thee—
■ Miss the music of thy voice;
; s the smile, whose light so gladsome,
■ .Makes our very hearts rejoice!
t we may not wish to keep thee,
■ I Wh n the voice of duty sails,
■ ‘ TVimrli the mournful sound of parting,
Fa lly on our spirit falls.
now, we tender to thee,
■I I’.irting word, of troth and love ;
we commit thy keeping
To the care of Him abuve!
we trust He will restore thee
T‘* our loving hearts again ;
1 though hitter now the parting,
Hopefully we wait till then.
V ..p thco well, thou dearly loved one—
■ ■ May Ilis blessing on thee rest,
hioi. afar from home endearments,
Thou wilt rove, the stranger’s guest!
■st the stranger smile upon thee,
■■ And supply our place awhile —
■ ‘ !1 tip’ loneliness of absence
■ strive by kindness to beguile 1
thee well, best and dearest—
II Fadly now we bid thee go ;
■ tingled tears and mingled blessings,
I S From our hearts in sorrow flow !
I Tnim/uUla, Sr/>t , 1849.
H jil A j'J i; S .it.
’
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. |
[.IX ,V XVOMAN S I,OKU.
I BY A LADY. OF GEORGIA.
CHAPTER X .
it an absence of several weeks, Mr.
P - Dupont arrived at home. Ascetid
p Wolf from the landing-place, they
themselves on a rude bench, a sta
p convenience, which was overshad-,
l"'dh majestic oaks. Immediately
I them, was the almost precipitous
[terminating in a distinct border of
Id, from which the tide had recently
On this, the waves curled np peace
nil fell in rippling, pleasant imir
-1 hough oft-times lashed into fury,
y were quiet, hiding beneath a fair
i that destructive power ever lurk
te mighty mass. In front of them
open spot, but so surrounded by
■oves, it seemed as if the sunlight
ly struggling for an occasional
beneath their shadow. On the
the front, a hundred yards off, was
t that seemed to be very luxuriant,
n every side, orange trees, with
bt still hanging, relieved the eye
* sombre green hue that Surround-
Still farther on the right, was,
dain, large building, which was the
nn hospital; and closing the view
lirection was the cottage, and the
H wound with the irregularities of
tb from the landing-place, to the
‘he court-yanl. On the left, seen
“lie irregularity among the over
’ verdure, were the white-washed
die family servants. Extending
them, and soen, as far as the
allow the vision to reach, was
a single track, leading directly
-■be island.
ins particular in describing this
p 'ause it i s the last time I shal]
cull up such recollections of Gniievra’s ear
ly home. If it be true, that “coming
events cast their shadows before them,”
may it not he, that Genevra felt that these
things were to pass away from her?—
Else, why that tearful eye, as she gazes
with fixed attention on the road—and sad
ly smiling, too, as if the music of other
days was impressing its last, but sweetly
lingering notes upon her heart.
The nurse from the hospital, who was
rather a privileged character, advanced to
wards them. She made a courtesy to her
master, and rather more familiarly took her
mistress’s hand.
“ Why, Miss Genevra, what made you
go away, when you knew Massa Charles
was coming here so soon 1 Why, do you
know, my dear, he came the very day you
went away ?”
“Is it possible, Maum Gracey,” said
Genevra. “ But why do you think I knew
he was coming ?”
In the meantime, the nurse had perceiv
ed a dark scowl on her master's face, and
thinking she had been too familiar, said,
with more precision—
“ Because he told me so, my dear mad
am. He says he wrote you a letter, two
days before he left Savannah.”
Genevra turned with the energy of one
stung to the quick, and said—“ Dupont, is
it possible?” But the half-finished sen
tence was scarcely uttered, before she faint
ed in the nurse’s arms. She was taken to
the house, and soon recovered, hut with
consciousness, came a conviction that was
more painful to her than death.
“ Is it possible that Dupont could be ca
pable of deception so base ? Is it possible
he would even desire to separate me from
those who have loved me so tenderly, and
who have always treated him, until he
threw them ntf, with so much considera
tion ? Now, I know that the visit South
was not to give me pleasure, hut to accom
plish some deep design.” And yet she
loved him; and she clung to the fond idea,
that this was all done that he alone might
be the object of her affections.
What was Dupont's course ? Accident
had in a moment betrayed his baseness;
but in the strength and determination of his
will, he resolved it should only serve to
advance his purposes. lie knew the
strength of her love, and determined to
absent himself from her, that she might, in
desiring his presence, forget the impres
sions of the past.
Thus, after a night's rest without repose,
Genevra found herself alone for the first
time in her life—on an island, with none
but servants around her. Before she was
deserted, no image intruded into her mind
but her brother’s; now, Dupont’s was ever
before her, in a varied and ever-varying
character. At one time, she would think
of him as she once knew him—captivating
her whole soul; then she would pass on
to the different exhibitions of his charac
ter, and after pondering for a long time,
the conviction that he had deceived her
would force her to weep bitter tears.
But time rolled on, and he came not; and
after a while, she found in her heart ex
cuses for his deception and regrets for his
absence. At last, during the winter, he re
turned for a short time, hut, like the wily
serpent, it was only that he might secure
the last coil around his victim. When he
left again, which he said was on pressing
‘political engagements, she was already im
molated on the polluted altar of a selfish
heart.
Excuse me, my reader, for giving you a
hurried view of passing events. X\ itn
melancholy pleasure would I follow her
and detail to you her life—for she was
gentle—she was enduring—she was un
conscious of evil.
In the earliest month of Summer in the
following year, a young man of noble and
benevolent countenance landed at the same
old landing-place, on the Island. This was
Charles Elliston. He asked if his sister
was there, and hurried to the house. I
will throw a veil over their meeting; but
oh! how painfully interesting were those
moments! attended, as they had been, with
distrust of each other's affection.
“But why have you left Athens before
the Commencement ?” said Genevra,
“Because 1 wished, if possible, to save
you from ruin,” said Charles. “What is
tlie meaning of this advertisement ;”
And so saying, be took a paper from his
pocket, and read : “ To be sold, on such a
day, that valuable Island, the residence of
Mr. Dupont, and lately owned by Mr. El
liston—together with negroes, stock, &c.,
&c.”
“ I know nothing about it, I assure you.
This is the first I have heard of it,” said
Genevra.
“Bui, Genevra, your husband would not
have the audacity to do such a thing, un-
less he had some excuse for it. Are you
sure you have never signed a paper?” said
Charles.
“ Yes, I signed something in the winter,
hut 1 did not know what it was,” said Ge
nevra. “He said he wanted to draw some
money, and my signature was necessary.”
Charles turned away with emotion.
“ Well,” he said, “ poor girl! you are
doomed. Your husband has gone to the
North to spend your money, and election
eer for popularity. You are left here to
suffer all the privations and inconveniences
of solitude; to be torn rudely from all
those associations which have grown with
your growth and strengthened with your
I strength.”
1 will not dwell upon this scene.
Charles had a plantation in MiJdle Geor
gia, to which he removed his sister before
the sale of her property. He told her, that
from that time, she should enjoy the pro
ceeds of the place, as if it was her own;
lie would only retain the privilege of ap
pointing the agent, and of requiring that
his people should be well treated.
We must pass by these scenes, without
dwelling long upon them. Charles, pos
sessed of an energetic and determined mind,
with fitm and generous resolves, entered,
without delay, a mechanics’ school at the I
North, in which he remained one year. In 1
that year, many things had happened to
make Genevra drink the bitterest cup that
life could offer. Her husband had met with
disappointment in his aspiring hopes; in
deed, he was poUtiealli/ dead. Even after
the sale of all Genevta’s property, he had
no money, and made such frequent demands j
upon her, that she was left penniless often. |
before her remittances would be due. Then
he would leave home, and at the time we
now wish lo introduce the reader, he had
been absent for several months, no one
knew where.
Charles had been engaged to superin
tend the building of a large steam-inill in
Savannah, where he received the counte
nance and support of all who knew his
exalted character, his strong mind, and the
elevated and refined devotion that impelled
him to work. Yet there were many who
looked upon the mechanic with contempt,
and who hesitated not to whisper their
opinions among their dear confidential
friends, with regard to his reception from
some of the elite of their circles.
When Charles visited his sister, he found
her in attendance on the sick bed of a dy
ing infant. A kind neighbor was with her,
who whispered,words of cqmfort; but Ge
nevra heeded them not. Cold and unmov
ed, she looked upon his stiffened form, and
fearlessly she shrouded him.
“Why is this, my sister ?” said Charles.
“Where is your tender, sympathizing heart,
that used to melt at others’ sorrows, and
shrink at the thought of death ?”
“Death is a happy relief to those who
suffer,” said Genevra: and the expression
of her countenance shewed the internal
anguish she endured, “ There are greater
sorrows in every-day life than there is in
the grave, my dear brother. Oh ! how of
ten have I wished to die; and in thus wish
ing, my heart lias closed against the sym
pathies of life.”
Btit the A course of human events” was
hurrying on to a close, and we cannot lin
ger. Genevra's health was failing so per
ceptibly, that her brother and kind Mrs.
Yillers felt the greatest anxiety on her ac
count. In the course of a month, they
were on their way to Apalachicola, whejc
they embarked, for the West Indies. The
vessel they went in, slopped at Key West;
and as they intended remain! ng till the next
day, our party went on shore for the pur
pose of seeing the place, and lodging for
the.night. Little did they realize the fatal
terminatron of theii stay there, or the im
probabilities of life that would surround
them before the morning came. They were
aroused in the night by the noise of con
tending elements. The waters seemed ra
ging in mighty wrath, even at their very
doors. They could hear the angry dash—
the boiling, surging violence, with which
they still continued to rise around them.
The winds, in angry contest, seemed to be
gathering strength from every point of the
compass, to meet with fury at this devoted
spot; and it seemed as if the heavens
above, the earth beneath, and the waters
around them, had formed a league for their
destruction. All was darkness, tumult and
dismay: but, foriunately for our party,
Charles was calm amid the confusion, and
Mrs. Villers, who had accompanied them,
possessed great self-control. She was one
of whom very little was known, hut all
who knew her loved her. She had been
living in the settlement near Mr. Elliston’s
plantation for a year past, as a teacher in
a neighboring school. Her kind and ju
dicious management of the children, togeth-.
er with her gentle but dignified manners,
bad won the admiration and respect of all.
She was, in appearance, rather tall, well
proportioned, ami with a fine figure; but
her face was extremely sallow, and she
wore a most unbecoming cap, which con
cealed with its wide frills all appearance
of hair. She had, on every suitable oppor
tunity, introduced herself to Genevra’s no
tice by her kind attentions, and this partic
ularly when Dupont was away. Now,
that he had not been beard from for so
long a time, she had made herself almost
necessary to the suffering Genevra: and
when Mr. Elliston desired to procure a ser
vant to attend his sister, she offered her
services, which were thankfully accepted.
Having a mind that re-acted under misfor
tunes, and gained fresh energy under diffi
culties, she was the best female aid Gene
vra could have had in their present trying
situation.
Many touching scenes could be descri
bed. that transpired in that awful night. As
they heard the rush of the waters around
them, the tumbling ruins, the cries of hor
ror, mingling with the howling blast with
out, it was indeed interesting to behold our
trio within. Charles, calm and self-pos
sessed, supported his sister with an encir
cling aim, while he spoke cheerfully and
hopefully of the future. Mrs. Villers spoke
words ol trust and confidence of the pres
ent—and so earnest, so truthful, was her
manner, it seemed as if only experience
couhl have dictated them. Still the ele
ments raged in their mightiest fury; the
night shrouded them in her blackest pall:
but Hope and Faith rise above the storms
which so often obscure the physical and j
mental world.
Towards morning, the winds lulled, and
as the earliest dawn appeared, they were
enabled to realize more fully the dangers
that surrounded them. Houses were sub
merged, and many that the day before were
joyous with the light of iife, were now
passed away from earth, finding a grave in
the mighty deep. Vessels were driven off
from their moorings, and some could be
descried far off', with their mastless and dis
mantled forms tossing about on the still
angrv billows. There was nothing visible
but the mighty waters which surrounded
them; and the fate of still falling houses
warned them to escape, if possible, from
this doomed spot.
The billows were heaving in majesty,
but the contention seemed to be past. The
heavens above were clear, but still dim
with the lingering night, while all around
the horizon was a dense border of clouds,
which looked like still threatening judg
ments from the past terrible night. A
boat, driven by the impetuous flood, ad
vanced towards them; and Charles, with
that firmness and determination of will
which so often controls circumstances, was
prepared for the event. He liad, before
this, drawn tile bedstead to the window,
and fastened one end of a long substantial
rope to pile of the posts. lie then fasten
ed it to himself, and as the boat came ca
reering wildly by, impelled by the irregular
current, though many feet below, he jump
ed into it. With his strong arm, he soon
brought it, by the aid of the rope, beneath
the window, and hailed the ladies with a
cheering voice. Confidence and trust, with
a cheerful manner, inspire the same feel
ing in those around us; and so it was in
this instance.
Mrs. Villers now displayed her firmness
and ingenuity, its well as her devoted inte
rest in Genevra She unloosed the rope
from the bedstead, and drawing it round
the post, fastened it with one end left for
their use; for the boat being several feet
beneath them, and dancing in the uncer
tain eddies that went whirling around the
building, there would have been, in jump
ing, great risk of missing even the strong
arms of Elliston. She made, therefore, a
long loop in the end of the rope, and en
couraging Genevra to step in, she was soon
lowered into the arms of her brother. But
now it would be more difficult to make the
descent herself, and she would not consent
that Charles should leave the terrified and
almost fainting Genevra. So, taking the
looped end, and making a slip tie around
the already tightened cord attachod to the
boat, she slipped down, and was safely
received below.
They were now freed from the danger
of a falling house, but abroad on the wa
ters, without rudder or helm. Charles,
however, was still calm and self-possessed,
and sculled the skiff with the strong arm
of manhood and the skill of an experienced
boatman. They would, perhaps, have still
lingered around the settlement, but that one
vessel, nearer than the rest, seemed to he
the surest refuge, and the quickest way of
getting on to their point of destination.
The clouds that had lain in a dense fol I
around the horizon, were now gradually
spreading themselves over the face of the
sky; hut before it was entirely covered,
the sun for a moment shed a glaring light
on the dark and foaming waters, ft was
like an unconscious and ghastly smile on
the face of the suffering. The air was
heavy and motionless—the clouds hung
lower and lower—and the waves mounted
tip with their snowy summits, as if in sym
pathy, to meet them. Charles looked with
anxious eyes upon this still and awful
scene, and made renewed exertions to reach
the vessel hefore the storm.
In the midst of this tcene, they saw near
them an individual lashed to a floating
timber, and they determined on his rescue.
This they accomplished with some difficul
ty, and found, to their horror and astonish
ment, that it was Arthur Dupont. What
Gcnevra's emotions were, may be more ea
sily conceived than described. He had
been the ohject of her first and her devoted
love. She had looked up to him. through
her imagination, as a pattern for every
thing noble and perfect in this life. Why
should she not still hope that, helpless and
senseless as he lay by her, he would re
vive to life, and be won to her side once
more. Tiiese were woman’s vain imagin
ings. springing from woman’s folly in con
fiding in a purely selfish nature.
But to the sequel. When Dupont revi
ved, he recognized Genevra, and not only
removed his head from her support, but re
fused every manifestation of her affection.
“Genevra,” he said, in a faint and hesi
tating voice, “ I will die honest: I have
never loved you.”
And the poor girl wept, because he told
hei so. He had persecuted her; he had
robhed her; he had deserted her: yet, with
Woman’s pvcr-hnpinp: avor-truatiag Fan,!,
she had clung to a fond ideal.
When received on hoard the vessel, dis
mantled and mas-tless as it was, there was
certainty a greater degree of safety; yet
those who would have needed that con
sciousness the mosl, appreciated it, at this
moment, least of all. Dupont, writhing
with pain and exhausted with suffering,
lay helpless on the deck, his head support
ed by a coil of ropa, with a cloak flung
over it. His wife sat by his side, over
whelmed with mental anguish. He had
lost all nobleness of appeaiance, and ex
cepting that his Jetty hair clustered with
the same grace around his polished brow,
there was nothing left of the proud and
noble-looking Arthur Dupont. His coun
tenance indicated his impatience at Gene
vra’s presence, ami as if to crush the very
sense of feeling within her heart, he said :
“ When you hear what I have been, and
what I have done, perhaps you will not
he quite so loving, f will tell you now,
my nalure needs no sympathy from yours.
I have been a deceiver. I sought yon in
the seminary, that I might lay the founda
tion for future action. I sought you in
Savannah, that 1 might perfect my plan,
and realize my golden dreams. 1 always
knew that you were weak; but little did 1
expect so easy a triumph.”
Dupont looked at Genevra with so cold
and contemptuous an expression of coun
tenance, that from an appearance of in
tense affection, she passed to one of indig
nation. Her cheek flushed, her eye bright
ened, her head, which had been bowed,
was raised ; she even stood up, and point
ing to the awful scene around them, said :
“ The vengeanre of Heaven will over
take you, Dupont, for your base decep
tion.”
“So Sister Madeleine “aid ; but yet I
may be saved,” said Dupont.
As he uttered these words, a form ap
peared beside him, tall, dignified, and beau
tiful, in the calm expression of her saint
like eyes. Her noble brow, fair and smooth
as marble, looked as if it had received the
impress of the Deity. Her soft, luxuriant,
dark brown hair, lay in rich folds around
her classic head.
His eyes were rivetted upon her face,
and you could see that the strong, proud
spirit was quelled.
“You said that f would die,” he mutter
ed. “Genevra Elliston, you will now be
avenged.”
“Yes, Arthur Dupont, your time has
now arrived. This vessel is commanded
by Antonio—that man who was with you
in your wanderings—who has pandered to
your crimes. According to that prophecy
which you so proudly repeated to me, that
1 until a bird of the ocean lure you twice to
stray, your star would be in the ascendant,’
your time is now arrived. This vessel is
named the Sea-Gull.”
“1 feel that it will be so,” said Dupont.
Genevra Elliston, you are the first wo
man I ever loved, and to you I will make
confession. 1 desired wealth and political
power, The first 1 secured, by robbing
your niece—intending, if disappointed in
my political designs, to fly the country and
enjoy my affluence with one I had loved,
and had wronged.”
“ Angelina?” said Genevra Elliston.
His only answer was a deep groan, and
then he said, in a half-unconscious lone —
“Oh! Antonio, would l couid hear your
voice hefore I die.”
Then there was a pause, in which, rose
a clear, sweet young voice, sounding high
up among the shrouds, and floating around
like something etherial and unearthly.—
Arthur Dupont's life of sin and excitement
was fast drawing to a close, and now, for
the first time, an expression of repose rest
ed on his countenance. Genevra Elliston
kneels beside him, and with Christian char
ily. points him to a Saviour. The lasi
words he ultered, were these :
“ I will make restitution of all. My pa’
pers will shew where the money is. It is
still in Georgia. Genevra Elliston, for
the sake of that Saviour whom you love
take care of my little Antonio.”
She said, “I will;” and then he breath
ed his last, amid the muttering thunders
and flashing lightnings of a coming storm.
In the meantime, Charles Elliston, who
looked with horror upon the dying wretch,
had taken his sister into the cabin, where
he made use of every art to tempt hermind
from dwelling tenderly upon the passing
scene. He at first encouraged her indig
nant feelings, believing that it would be
the means of rescuing her from desponden
cy and death. Then lie lold her of the
identity of Mrs. Villers with Sister Made
leine—of Sister Madeleine with their aunt
Genevra, who had disappeared so myste
riously ; so that when Miss Elliston enter
ed the cabin, Genevra fell into her arms
—:k ana uevoujii ui a lov
ing child.
Thus were the machinations of an arch
fiend thwarted by an over-ruling Provi
dence. Though he had flourished like a
j “green bay tree,” in the temporary success
|of his designs—though he had trodden
beauty, intelligence and worth beneath his
feet, and had triumphed in the acquisition
of power—yet, his doom had overtaken
him at last. Hearts which would never
have been united if he had lived, were
now enjoying the perfect union of souls.
The violet was restored again to its natu
ral soil; the bud that had been crushed
well-nigh to bursting, resumed its fresh
and beautiful appearance, and peace, hap
piness and joy once more dwelt in the old
family mansion in Maryland.
criAPTFin xi.
When T.ove scalters flowers around the
pathway of the young, and imparts with
his magic influence, happy thoughts and
virtuous desires, they care little for the
comments of the cold world. The finger
of scorn, and the cold eye of jealousy, are
unheeded ; the censorious tongue unheard,
amid the harmony of their own souls.
We have conducted our hero to the
happiest period of his life—where his no
ble mind has found an equal and a match;
hut as the world of Clarksville was not ac
quainted with his history, and his motives
of action, let us take, for a few passing
moments, a reminiscence of their “sayings
and doings.” ft has been rumored in the
air, that villages are famous for scandal
and gossip, though we ourselves deny the
charge, believing lhat the whole world is
inhabited by the same kind of people, pos
sessing like propensities.
in a parlor in one of the hotels of Clarks
ville, was collected, one bright autumnal
morning, a little coterie of talkers. Among
them was Miss Ormstead, a lady of very
i questionable age, whom everybody knew,
and whom everybody thought very enter
taining in a general way. Yet Miss Orm
stead was in the habit of spicing her con
versations with many little etceteras, which,
although they seemed very trilling at the
time, always left an indelible impression,—
The most striking peculiarity of it was,
lhat she never made any distinct charge
against any one; yet there were a thou
sand insinuations made, and a no less
number of blanks, lelt to be filled up by
the imagination of the hearer.
“ Have you heard of the interesting in
cidents that happened at the Falls lately ?”
said Miss Ormstead.
•‘No,” said Mrs. Newell, “I have not.
What are they ?”
“ Why, that Charlotte C'arey, that pat
tern of maidenly dignity, had quite anadven
ture, with a young man lately come into
the neighborhood. It seems, when the
party went on to the base of the Falls, she
preferred remaining alone on the flat rock
—some say, no doubt with the intention of
having a private interview.”
“ Im]ossible,” said the sensible married
lady “Miss Carey's character would
scarcely allow of such an interpretation.”
“ Oh! my dear madam, you are very
charitable,” said Miss Ormstead, with a
peculiarly ironical tone; “but you do not
know what us young girls will do, when
impelled by the power of the gentle god.”
By the by, Miss Ormstead was neither
young, nor handsome, and worst of all,
was never known to have excited, at the
most remote period, a tender feeling in the
heart of man.
“ To what gentleman do you allude ?”
said a young lady sttting near.
“To a man by the name of Elliston,”
said Miss Ormstead. “A mechanic, I be
lieve, employed by Mr. Oliver about some
of liis improvements; for you know he is
forever carrying on some foolery or other.”
“1 expect,” said the same young lady,
“he is the very man my papa met one
evening walking into town, leading a poor
old horse—for he asked hitn where Mr,
Oliver lived.”
“ Perhaps it may be, ’ said Miss Orm
stead. “It seems he has been hard at
work in Savannah for some time, and in
Augusta. I hear he is a great factory
builder.”
“ 1 believe you are quite mistaken, la
dies,” said another lady of the company.
“ I dined at Mr. Oliver’s, with Mr. Ellis
ton. He is a perfect gentleman in appear
ance, and I was told, though not by one of
the family, that he is very wealthy.”
“ Perhaps Miss Carey had heard the
same news,” said Miss Ormstead, “and
thought it would be a fine speculation. At
any rate, she risked a good deal to malfe
it, for they say that she came near falling
into the river, and by him.”
“lnde.ed!” said the last lady. “But
what is ones lile worth, compared to sil
. v* anu gold ‘!”
“Oh! but,” said Miss Ormstead, “to fall
with a certainty of being saved, and then
receiving a large price for the risk, would,
I should say, he a good speculation. I
have heard it rumored lhat Miss Carey is
engaged to Mr. Elliston; and I thought it
hardly possible that Mr. Carey would con
sent to her marrying a poor mechanic. He
must have been very successful at his
trade.” This was said with a sneer and
emphasis upon the last word.
Miss Ormstead little thought that any
one there knew that her origin was a few
degtees below the tradesman; for the world
had been kind to her: they had allowed
her many privileges, in consideration of
her many weaknesses.
Just then, very apropos to the subject in
question, Charlotte and Emma Carey called,
accompanied by Mr. Elliston and Mr. Gef
fries. Miss Carey introduced the gentle
men with ease and grace, and all the time
she remained, she conversed with the great
est life and vivacity. Indeed, there seem
ed to he anew impulse imuarted to both
the sisters. Miss Carey, from being rath
er haughty and reserved, was affable, and
even playful—while Miss Emma, from be
ing the giddiest and the gayest, had become,
like magic, changed into the dignified and
agreeable woman. Why should I dwell
upon the manners of the gentlemen? for as
we know that they have resigned their
lordly selves into the hands of the fair, we
also know they must have been most
agreeable— at any rate, to those who lov
ed, they were just what they should he.
\Y hen they departed, they became again
the subject of comment.
Miss Ormstead said “she believed now
, it was true, what she had beard about Km
-1 tna Carey. Poor girl! her father was go-
I ing to make her marry her cousin, because
he was heir to a large fortune. She look
-led so serious, she knew there must be
i something preying on her mind. Besides,
.-.lie was so young—so very young—only
1 fifteen her last birth-day.”
1 beg leave to inform my unsophisticated
i readers, that she knew that Emma Carey
was seventeen. She continued—
“Any how, I hear they are to be mar
ried very soon, and to go down and spend
the winter in Savannah. I suppose Air.
Elliston may have a jab engaged there.”
Sad changes come over the spirits of out
dreams sometimes; hut alas ! how crue’ it
is to stop the easy flow of words, from such
prolific tongues! to put a sudden check
upon the enjoyment of those who delight
to dwell upon the imperfections and the
misfortunes of others! nay, more, to tear
down, with a rude hand, that beautiful
structure that we have reared in our imag
inations, composed altogether of either the
supposed or desired failings of those we
call friends.
An elderly lady, who had shewed her
interest in the conversation, only by an
occasional indignant glance at Miss Orm
stead, now laid down her knitting for .a
moment in her lap, removed her spectacle*!,
and said: