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A MBTjgill FlliLl TO LITHIUM, Til MTS MB SCIIHCSS, 118 T© SIHEML MWLUMML For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. SONG. More than I can tell thee, Love, thou art to me; — Source of all my gladness, What am 1 to thee 1 Thoughts of thee are sunshine In my heart, each hour, And my inmost being Owns thy beauty’s power. All my dreams thou stealest, In the starry night, And thy bright eyes haunt me, With the morning light. More than l can tell thee, Love, thou art to me ; 0! my Consucllo , What am 1 to thee 1 Charleston , S. C From the New York Tribune. MISERRIMUS. BY II . H. STODDARD. “ Rest! perturbed spirit!” lie has passed away Fr< m a world of strife, Fighting the wars of Time and Life; The loaves will fall, when the winds are loud, And the snows of Winter weave his shroud, Hut he will never, ah ! never, know Anything more Os leaves and snow! The Summer tide Os his life was past, And his hopes were strewn like leaves on the blast ; His faults were many—his virtues few, A tempest, with flecks of the Heaven’s blue! might have soared in the morning light, But he built his nest With the birds of Night! He glimmered apart In a solemn gloom, Like a dying lamp in a haunted tomb ; He touched his lute with a cunning spell, But all its melodies breathed of Hell! He summoned the Afrits and the Ghouls, And the pallid ghosts Os the damned souls! But he lies in dust, And the stone is rolled Over his sepulchre dim and cold ; He has cancelled all he has done or said, And gone to the dear and holy dead ! Let us forget the path he trod, And leave him now To his Maker, God! October , 1849. ifaißiaißaiAiaisias. rlKi , i^ A T MWP^ ™ >.: J:-:- J Sg g V- r .*-~*- For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. SUCCESS DEFEATED. BY “LA GEORGIENNE.” PART FIRST. The character of an ordinary produc tion is written in its first three lines.— “Sublimely bad” commences with thun der-storms; romancing comes in with a sea-breeze; and sentimentality ushers in its heroes, beseeching your sympathy.— All these do well enough for the beautiful, the heart-rending, or the awful; but when it comes to “life’s dull realities,” the more quietly they walk in, on a good sunshiny day, the better. Now, the state of the weather you may guess from the burden of my Tale. In the wealthy part of our city, is an aristocratic, old-looking building, known by the name of “ Lorsden Hall.” In Eng land, it might have passed for a comforta ble country-house, but standing where it does, it is looked upon as a wonder of an tique elegance. Certain it is, that the massive pillars in front, and the lofty oaks overshadowing, bear no resemblance to the “creations of the day” by which they are surrounded. The present occupant is one of proud and noble lineage —tracing far back into the old world, from whence his forefathers came, ready-made gentlemen. Indeed, (if we may credit the records of our State,) they well deserved the esteem in which they were held—possessing, with a just sense of their own rights, a constant consideration for the dues of others; and uniting these qualities to sound heads and courageous hearts. But the heir, to whom most of their wealth had descended, was the “degenerate son of a worthy race,” de ficient in the virtues which had made them beloved, and utterly void of that common sense which would have given him a just estimate of his own standing. He stood aloof from the world at large, mingling on ly with those of his own atmosphere, and seldom troubling himself about others— whom he looked upon as beings of a dif ferent sphere. His daughter, the only re maining child, inherited a great many of her father’s ideas, but with them, a concil iating refinement, that softened, even when pride was most apparent. Another mem ber of the family w r as Edwatd Larsden, a nephew of the old gentleman, who, having been left an orphan heir, had lived in the family mansion, until every one considered it his home. His “clique” regarded him as a singular compound of talent and folly —the populace called him “The Noble Aristocrat”—and both parties joined in ad miration of his fine mind and equally fas cinating manners. These three, together with sundry old family servants, who did pretty much as they pleased, completed the establishment. But there was another, who, from being constantly found there, might almost be classed among them.— This was a grand nephew of the old gen tleman, who prided himself on being very much like him, and looked upon his fa ther's brother as altogether too democratic for an aristocrat Between these four, an animated discussion was now going on, in which the old gentleman was very vehe ment, and his nephew very earnest. Hen ry Larsden broke in whenever he could— and Ella seemed more intent upon what was said, than desirous of having a voice. “/ say,” continued the old gentleman, “ that God Almighty has placed us in a higher grade, and that it never was meant for us to assimilate with lower.” “ And yet,” replied the nephew, “it is the duty of every true-born aristocrat to do all in his power to elevate individual merit, come from whence it may, exclusive of the policy of strengthening our higher ranks with those who are superior to their own.” “ And what do you cal! superior 1” edg ed in the younger. “Superior in refinement and intellect ,” returned the other. “As for moral worth, I believe there is as much in the middle, as in the higher classes.” “But what if these said ‘superiors’ strike out our ‘ inferiors’ 1” “ Well, let them do it! I tell you, Hen ry, the worthless vagabonds ot our class are doing more harm in the world than all the excellent put together can wido. Take one thing only: ‘ Mobocracy' —which is now shaking the very foundations of our strength—-never would have gained ground as it has done, if our young men had not been too insignificant to command respect. Actually, they inspire contempt , where their fathers did veneration.” “Ye heavens! how he is derogating from our dignity,” exclaimed the young man. “ Why, Uncle, you’ll have my cou sin Ella, here, marrying a plebian, for fear of finding her lord a ‘ worthless scamp.’ ” “ Ella has too much of her father’s spirit for that,” said her proud father, smiling on his daughter. “ I don't know about that,” persisted the young man. “I think Ella has been lis tening to other advisers, of late.” Ella changed countenance, but laughed, and replied— “ There is not much danger of good counsel taking effect, among such a set of rank aristocrats.” “ Oh, exclude me,” exclaimed the elder cousin; “771 go hand in hand with you.” “ But 1 won’t go ‘ hand in hand’ with you, though.” And laughing, she sprang to the piano, and struck up “Yankee Doodle,” with an emphasis that set them all laughing. The three stood regarding her with looks of ad miration, but there was something in the expression of her elder cousin, which told of a more enduring feeling. A momenta ry gloom passed over his face, and he turn ed to resume the conversation, in which both his uncle and himself seemed, from some cause, deeply interested. They talk ed on for some time—Ella meanwhile play ing away, as if she had no concern in what was going on. Her young cousin, after gaping for some time, declared she was ter ribly stupid, and went home. The old gentleman, not long after, left the room— and Ella remained alone with Larsden. And now, to understand the whole beau ty of this man’s character, we must look into the heart—see what is going on there then look to the objects for which he is laboring—and finally, see him, with the might of a vigorous mtnd, casting aside all prejudice, and viewing things through eve ry medium in their proper light. He had watched the growth of his little cousin— had seen the gradual opening of virtue af ter virtue, and had bent all the powers of his fine mind to develope and beautify hers. Under his tuition, the loveliest traits of her character had appeared. Her hered itary pride had been tempered, and all the finer feelings of her nature had been culti vated. Now, she was his companion, his delight; but when he would have laid his fortune at her feet, he found her affections set upon another, worthy in every respect, but poor, and unnoticed. For a while, his heart sank within him. Life seemed to have lost its chief object. But even Ella never guessed the cause of his sudden sad ness, and wept that his manner had grown cold and reserved. Then came a gradual change. The mind was returning to its wonted vigor; and ere a month had pass ed, he was warmly interesting himself in the object of her affections—rousing him to action, and bringing him into notice—at the same time, seizing every opportunity for weakening her father’s high-born pre judices, which he saw must form an insu perable barrier to their union. And now we may judge what his own feelings were, as he seated himself by her, and talked over their plans for the future. “It is impossible,” he said, “ to tell whether we have made any progress as yet. Your father evidently suspects noth ing, and it is better he should not. After the world has learned to appreciate How ard for his own intrinsic worth , he may then sanction your engagement; but so long as he remains a poor, unnoticed man, with nothing to recommend him but agood head ami heart, 1 have very little hope. I am candid, Ella, because you must be careful.” Ella laughed and replied—“l believe my dear, kind father thinks me in love with Henry.” “ I wish you could make Henry think so,” returned Larsden. “I’m not much afraid of your breaking his heart, and a little disappointment would lower the fel low’s vanity. Moreover, I think he sus pects your attachment, and if he does, it will soon reach your father.” The tears started into Ella’s eyes, as she exclaimed : “Ah! dear cousin, I'm becom ing a complete hypocrite.” The other replied, with a sigh, “You must meet men of the world with their own weapons, Ella; and your father, with all his virtues, would not hesitate to sacrifice your happiness to his pride.” “Oh! I can't believe it,” she exclaimed. “ Father never refused me anything in his life.” “ Nor would he anything else, Ella.” The two parted—Ellen to grieve over her duplicity—Larsden to go to Howard, who was to make his debut at the bar on the following day. His client was not one likely to bring either honor or emolument, being an un fortunate Irishman, taken in the midst of a brawl; but Larsden declared that, once launched forth, there would be no keeping him back. “And for a first show, the Irishman would do wonders. Besides which,” he added, “ you may save the poor fellow a thrashing.” ******* The important day came —clear, cold, and invigorating, and Charles, quite as calm as usual, took his seat. All the wealthy idlers about town had assembled —among them, the old gentleman, several strangers, and someone or two foreigners. Larsden came in while the charges were being read, and took his seat just behind Howard. His uncle sat just opposite, join ing occasionally in the criticisms upon the young advocate. “What a remarkably fine head,” said one intellectual-looking man. “ I wonder if there’s anything in it asked a youth, who looked like a senti mental goose. “ That remains to be proved,” said a third. “He's a splendid looking fellow,” re marked a young officer. “ Now comes the test,” exclaimed ano ther. The young man rose, wrapped his cloak around him, cast a look of merry sympa thy at the doleful prisoner, and had com menced, when an old lawyer, from the op posite side, exclaimed — “ Capital! The fellow’s no more afraid than I am.” The young man bowed across the court, and replied—“ lam awfully afraid that my poor client stands a bad chance, sir.” The prisoner, who had been looking quite dismal, burst into a loud laugh, ex claiming— “Now, by St. Patrick, he’s an Irish man.” But poor Pat was called to order, and the case progressed. Despite all the young lawyer’s eloquence, the unfortunate delin quent was in some danger. His accusers made the best of their evidence; and poor Pat got in the fidgets. “Bymy so wl! won’t they let me spake!” says he. “Genthelmen, it’s a misthake you’ve made.” Another call to order, and Pat sat down again. Howard excellet even the expec tations of his friend. His arguments were strong, his eloquence tocching and impas sioned, and the classic ease of his whole bearing seemed the inspiration of a noble mind, rather than the studied grace of a scholar. Murmurs of ipplause occasion ally interrupted him ; aid when he closed, his client was cleared, and congratulations poured in from every sile. Poor Pat made his way through the best of them. “And snre,” says he, “it’s myself that has a right to spake to the genthelman. — And it’s a raal frind you are,” says Pat, “ and it’s thruly I hope when yer honor gets in throuble, you’ll call upon myself.” And the poor fellow wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and stared at the laugh. Among the few who did not come for ward, was the old gentleman. He felt no interest, and did not ctre to assume it. After the rest had all gone, Howard met him at the door, when he remarked, with dignified politeness, “You made an excel lent defence , sir,” and the next moment, in the same tone, said, “I don’t see my hat.” Larsden looked disappointed, and Howard, somewhat anxious, colored, which the old gentleman attributed to modesty, and, being for the first time interested, asked him to dinner. Charles was engaged, but thank ed him for an invitation to call whenever business would permit. They parted, mu tually pleased : on the whole, not even Larsden was disappointed. And now all things seemed to prosper. Howard, buoyant with hope and energy, found in every stumbling-block a stepping stone to success. Even poverty added to his eclat, and men who had grown old among law books, applied to him for coun sel. In high life, the wealthiest and most respected outvied each other in the honor bestowed. And Larsden began to fear that his young head would be crazed. But he soon saw how matters stood. Howard valued bis success only as placing him at Ella’s side, and while he studiously avoid ed pointed devotion, was insensible to eve rything but the hope of being made worthy of her. Larsden watched them with trem bling anxiety; he saw their attachment daily growing stronger, and feared lest it might be inadvertently disclosed; but a lit tle schooling does wonders—and the most keen-eyed never could have guessed that aught of love lurked beneath their despe rate flirtations. Things, however, could not remain always as they were. Charles had twined himself completely around the old man’s heart, and even Larsden indulg ed the hope that all obstacles were now surmounted. The hour came. Ella had left the room. Charles, Larsden, and his uncle, had for gotten what they were talking about.— Larsden got up and walked humming to the window. Charles felt like following, but stood still. As for the old gentleman, he seemed lost in a reverie. At last— “I know no one,” he said, turning to Charles, “whose success in life has been more rapid than yours.” “ And yet,” replied Howard, “the whole object of my endeavors is not yet attained.” “ Not yet attained,” exclaimed the other in surprise, “ why what else would you have 1” “ What you alone can grant sir,” replied Charles, crimsoning as he spoke. The old gentlemen looked at him en quiringly, and then scarce crediting the presumption of the man, exclaimed, “ why you are mad!” “ I am, if love be madness, sir,” return ed the young man, “Do I understand you?” said the old gentleman, incredulously. You are determined not to understand me,” replied Charles, his temper rising. “Ah! I begin to realize my senses,” said the other. “You may hear what my daughter has to say, sir.” And, bowing haughtily, he left the room. Charles stood confounded, Larsden looked shocked and distressed, and neither seemed to know what to do. Larsden was the first to speak. “Go to Ella, at once,” he said, “ she is in the library.” He opened the door between, and Charles passed through. Ella was tying up a beautiful bouquet. She held it up as he entered, saying, you are to take this to but, pale and excited, he clasped her in his arms. *’• Ella,” he said, “my fate is sealed—your father sends me to you.” “Then why do you look so pale—you know" —she hesitated. “ That you love me—tell me so, Ella — yes I do know it—but what if your father forbids it.” “ Why I thought he sent you here.” “ So I did,” thundered the enraged fa ther, entering, “but did I ever dream that my daughter could love a plebian.” “ Your daughter loved no plebian,” ex claimed Howard, excited to the highest pitch. “ It matters not,” shouted the old gen tleman, throwing Ella off. “Sir, I order you never again to enter my house.” The young man paused—“And 1,” he returned, taking Ella’s hand, “ swear never to marry another.” “Nor will I, Charles,” exclaimed poor Ella, bursting into tears. He held her hand for an instant, pressed it to his lips, and left her weeping bitterly. Larsden heard him leave the house, and followed. Ella was fading, the bloom on hercheek was gone, and her proud form wns becom ing more fragile ; but gentle and unmur muring, she filled her station as before, and her father was blinded. Larsden, on the contrary, watched over her as a dying plant. He saw the gradual decay, and every pursuit yielded to the barest hope of checking its progress. Every scheme that ingenuity could invent was in turn re sorted to; and when all failed, he devoted himself to her, almost compelling her to study; interesting her when least atten tive, and keeping her so steadily employ ed, that insensibly her depression began to wear off’. Still the silent hours of the night made sad havoc. Larsden, while he made every effort for her happiness, felt almost inclined to give up in despair. At last, the change became so apparent, that even her father was aroused. He railed against Howard; wished that “she had never set eyes on him;” but as all this did no good, he made up a large party for the coui :ry, and poor Ella, in the midst of ga\ety and youth, was whirled off to play lady hostess.” Pat saw them as they dash, and by. “Where’s he ginthleman ?” cries he to the servants in the rear. “ What ge. tleman ?” shouted they. “Misther Howard to be sure.” An in sulting laugh replied, and Pat not to be out-done, goes to the “ginthleman him self.” Howard was busily engaged with his law books, when a head poked through the door. “Where's the horse 1” says Pat. “What horse 1” “To follow the partliy, your honor.” “ What party 1” “The parthy with the young laidy.” “ What do you mean 1 ?” asked Howard. “ Arrah! the young laidy your honor’s been paying his devotions to.” “And, what do you know about that?” “Sure, have’nt 1 been watching you at all the parthies.” “ You scamp!” exclaimed Howard, al most laughing. “ Faith ! its yourself is the scamp,” said Pat, “ laive a young crature like that.” “Come, Pat! I wont’t have this,” ex claimed Howard, getting angry—“ you are going too far.” “ Pm going to favor the owld gentleman with my sintiments,” said Pat, scratching his head. “ Come sir,” exclaimed Howard, exas perated—“ you are interfering where you have no business, and the sooner you keep quiet the better.” Poor Pat looked deprecatingly at him. “oh, your honor,’ he said, “it’s the rich ginthleman, keep aisy when a friend’s in throublc.” It was needless to argue the point. Pat would’nt be convinced, and after a good hours “bother,” Charles got rid of him by promising to go to see his wife and “the children.” Several days passed be fore his troublesome friend again appear ed ; and as there was then no resisting his importunities, Howard prepared for the walk. Their way lay through the thick est part of the city, and as Pat was parti cularly proud of “ the ginthleman,” they paraded on to the no small amusement of Howard’s friends, who greeted him as they passed, with “ Where to now, Howard ?” Howard nothing ruffled, let Pat discourse on, uninterrupted, except by an occasional laugh, but as they neared the outskirts of the city, he began to wonder how far they were going. “ Only a mile or two, your honor.” “ What road is this ?” “ The road the old ginthleman and the young laidy thravels, ycr honor.” “ The mischief!” exclaimed Howard, be- | ginning to wonder what he would look like in such company. “You needn't throuble yerself, yer hon or,” said Pat. “The young laidy’sas par tial to myself as you are. Sure, didn’t she ride out there, and compliment the childcrs with anew suit a-paice.” For some distance, their road was dull and uninteresting—leading through a gloomy succession of stagnant swamps and half starved pines; but leaving these, they turn ed into a covered path, which brought them to the banks of a beautiful river. Here they threw themselves beneath the shade of a wide-branching oak, and listened to the quiet rippling of the water. They had both grown callous to city noises, but country quiet was delightful. [Continued next week. ] [From Mack ay’a “Western World.”] SOCIAL LIFE IN AMERICA. It may as well here be premised that, in America, the ladies exercise an undisputed sway over the domestic hearth. Home is their sphere, and to them all the arrange ments of home are exclusively left. In many respects, this is the case in every civilized society ; but in Europe, the fami ly is, in some points, as much under the control of external influences, as the indi vidual, denying to those who manage the household, that perfect freedom of action which they enjoy in America. Let no quer ulous lady, who thinks that she has not enough of her own way, imagine that this implies, on the part of her more fortunate American sister, an absolute immunity from marital control. Wives in America know their place, and keep it, as generally as they do here, although how far that may be, might be difficult to tell. But, whilst in their social relations they are less fetter ed by existing institutions than European women, there is a more general abdication in their favor, on the part of husbands, in all that concerns the domestic arrangements and external relations of the family, than is, perhaps, to be found anywhere else. The consequence of this is curiousenough. The social position of the husband is not carried, in all its extent, into the social re lations of his family. His sphere of action is without, where all are on an equal foot ing ; but in the position of his family, and in their intercourse with those of his neigh bors, he finds no such principle very gen erally recognised. Equality without—ex clusiveness within—such seem to be the contrasts of American life. The profession al man may be on the veiy best of terms with the blacksmith, but ten chances to one if the daughters of the professional man know the backsmith’s daughters, or if they would acknowledge it if they did. In-door life in America is fenced round by as many lines as social life in Europe. Therp is not a community there, any more than here,but has its fashionable quarter and its fashion able circle. This may be all very natural, but it is not in conformity with the gener al aspect of their national social life, that they carry with them into these coteries all the exclusiveness of feeling, which forms so marked a feature in the social fabrics of the old world. In a widely extended coun try, like the translantic republic, and a widely scattered community, like that which peoples it, it is to be expected that these feelings would manifest themselves, in different places, in different degress. In some, however, they assume a form quite as inveterate as they do with ourselves; and young ladies will turn up their delicate but saucy noses at the bare idea of an ac quaintanceship with those, with whose fathers or brothers their own fathers or brothers may be on terms of the most per fect familiarity. The circle once drawn, it is not very easy for those without to transcend it. The family’ that introduces anew member, is held responsible for his or her good behaviour and respectability ; and it is not always that the countenance of a particular family will suffice to give a party the tree range of the favored circle. In great communities, where the circle of society is large, and the lines have been long drawn, one need not be surprised at this, the fashionables finding within their own circle sufficient sources of amusement and gratification. But it is singular to wit ness the speedy development of the feel ing in anew community, where inequality of circumstances are scarcely yet known ; where all are, side by side, though in dif ferent ways, perhaps, equally engaged in the pursuit of the same end. Indeed, it is in these communities that the feeling is gen erally carried to its most ludicrous extent, society in the older and larger cities hav ing assumed a fixed form, in which each family has its appropriate place ; but in the new towns, the prize of social pre-emi nence being yet to be striven for, those who are uppermost for the time being, assume a very supercilious attitude to those below them. It is in these matters tnat the men in America take very little part. Whilst they are engaged providing the means, the mothers and daughters are using them in working the family in its true position as regards society. The exclusive feature of American socie ty is no where brought so broadly out as it is in the city of Philadelphia. It is, of course, readily discernible in Boston, New York, and Baltimore; but the line drawn in these places is not so distinctive or so difficult to transcend as it is in Philadelphia. The fashionables there are more particular in their inquiries, than are their neighbors, before they give admittance to the stranger knocking at tbeirgates. Asa general rule, an unexceptionable recommendation is all that is necessary in America to secure the stranger a ready acceptance by those to whom he is presented. The presumptions are all in favor of his fitness for the sphere which he aspires to adorn. To this, how ever, society in Philadelphia forms the most notable exception ; a recommendation there only operating to put the new comer on his probation, and if found wanting, his recommendation goes for no more than it is worth ; being estimated more from the proved qualities of the party receiving than from the standing of party giving it. Once admitted, however, society in Philadelphia will be found amply to compensate for any delays and uncertainties with which the preliminary ordeal may have been accom panied. It is intellectual without being pe dantic, and sprightly without being boister ous. It seems to be a happy blending of the chief characteristics of Boston and New York society. In both society is more ac cessible than in Philadelphia. In Boston the nucleus on which it turns is the litera ry circle of the place, which, comprising individuals and familes of all grades of wealth, gives to society there a more dem ocratic cast than it possesses eitheir in New York or Philadelphia. It must be confess ed, however, that there is a literary affecta tion about it, which is easier to be account ed for than endured, Bostoniansalwaysap pearing to best advantage when they are farthest from home. In New York, again the commercial spirit predominates overev cry other, and largely infuses itself into the society of the city. There is a permanent class of wealthy residents, who form the centre of it; its great bulk being composed of those who, by themselves or friends, are still actively engaged in the pursuits of com merce. With a few exceptions it is, there fore, in a state of constant fluctuation, in accordance with the fluctuating fortunesof commercial life. Its doors are guarded,but they seem never to be closed, and you have a constant stream flowing in and out. The consequence is, that there is much more heart than refinement about it. It is gay to a degree, sprightly and cordial, but far less conventional than the corresponding circle in Philedelphia. Society in the lat ter has all the advantages iucident to a large community, in which the commercial spirit does not overbear everything else, and in which literature is cultivated as an orna ment, more than pursued as a business.— In their habitual intercourse with each oth er the Philadelphians have an ease of man ner which is perfectly charming. They are familiar without being coarse. It is not until the stranger gets upon the footing of being thus treated by them, that he begins to appreciate the real pleasures of Philadel phia life. It is only after he has surmount ed the barrier of formalism which encoun ters him on his first entrance, that he be comes aware of the genial and kindly spir it that pervades the circle to which he is introduced. In many respects, Philadel phia life is the best counterpart which America affords to the social refinements of Europe, whilst it has at bottom a warmth and cordiality, the manifestation of which is not always compatible with the exigen cies of European etiquette. fi©*-The “Cardinal points” have been pronounced, in Rome, to be bayonets. No where, is the place where the banks lend money to the poor men who need it, instead of the rich, who do not.