Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

Terms, $2 Per Annum, in Advance. Second Year, No. 38-Whole No., 88. a mmm mmn mwKL —bmotsb to mtsmtsm. hi &m mb scimcss, m to whim. nmMsiw®. C‘ ; j For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. WILL YOU COME TO MY MOUN TAIN HOME? BY MBS. C. W . DUBOSE. Will you eoinc, will you come, to my mountain home, Where the bounding deer through the forest roam— Where the free birds sing in the glad sunshine, And the inserts hum in the summer time; While the grasshopper chirps to the silent air, Aud you list all day to their concert rare! Will you come, will you come, to my mountain home, Where the willow hough droops in the river's foam— Where the meadows are bright with the harvest sheaves, And the forest is dark with the clustering leaves— Where the green ivy clings to the old oak tree, And roses are blooming in beauty for thee 1 Will you come, will you come, to my mountain home — Will you rest ’ncath the arching of nature’s domed Where the sun always sets in a crimson shroud, And golden and green is the hue of each cloud ; While the soft summer twilight steals over the scene, And the moon, like a vestal, in beauty is seen! Will you come, will you come, to my mountain home and hove biddeth you thither, no longer to roam ; Where the river flows on with a murmuring sound, Ami the sweetest of odors are scattered around — Where the glow-worm gleams in the summer night, And the stars arc shining in silvery light. Will you come, will you conic, to my mountain home and Oh ! list to tho tones that are bidding you come; Make thy bower ‘ncath the beams of yon lovc lightcd star, That shines like a vision of beauty afar ; The sunshine of love all around thee shall gleam, And thy life pass away, like a beautiful dream! Tratujuilla, (la., I S ID. Til IE si©jilAj'J®lsS, rT V=. V - • For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. SUCCESS DEFEATED. BY “LA GEOROIF.NNE.” PART THIRD. “Little things.’’ however necessary to “the sum of life,” are usually tiresome in the detail. And although we may see much to interest us in others, we seldom like to accompany them through all their grievances and woes. We cannot, there fore, follow Howard through all the weari some hours attendant on a slow recovery. Nor can we even notice all the little cares and attentions by which Larsden endeav ored to make suffering bearable; suffice it 1,1 say that after long enduiance, and un remitting watchfulness, one came forth a broken man, —the other worn with toils, of which fatigue and anxiety bore but a small part. Happy is he whose sorrow can he les sened ; but there are some whom sym pathy annoys, and kind words aggravate. Larsden did not exactly belong to this class; to one or two he could have turned, but those were they who had dealt the wound, anil how could they heal 1 lie shrank from the idea of their even sus pecting the truth. Alas! he mourned not not only the loss of his love, — it was the the loss of his friend, Ella, whose soul had learned to assimilate with his own, who could enter into all his plans, and brightened all with a warmth of heart that was foreign to his own. He had hived her for her confiding simplicity and buoyant tenderness, and when, as she grew older, her high-toned soul seemed blending with his own, and he found her ardently comprehending thoughts which *o ordinary minds were strange, love of Ihe child turned to admiration of the being, ln d every thought of his heart became hers. Was it strange, then, that the cheek of the strong man should grow pale, and that spite of his proud reserve, the world should tnatk a change and attribute its own causes. “ l’ropeity,” said a man of solid dull ness, “ properly has depreciated. The Larsden estates are not what they were, and I suppose Larsden is beginning to feel the pressure of the times.” “I doubt it,” replied another. “He is not a man to mind trifles, and with such wealth as his he can scarcely be embar rassed. I rather think it is nothing more than the want of something to do. Lately he was constantly excited and occupied by that young man, Howard; now How ard has recovered, and he has nothing to interest him. It is a pity to see a man with such advantages making no use of them. Here he is, with talents that would do honor to any profession, living without any object in the world.” “Who? Larsden !” exclaimed an aston ished auditor; “there is not a more effi cient man in the State. Who is doing more to improve our city ? who is bringing all our talented young men to light, whose poverty would throw them into the back ground ? who is it that rescued so many widows and children from penury? And then his intellect —why the very influence of such an intellect alone is incalculable. Our young men look up to it and learn to appreciate worth. Our old men find in him a companion who with the wisdom of age unites the ardor of youth, and our daughters—Lord bless us—they are asham ed to admire shallow-brained dandies when Larsden is near.” Meanwhile the young ladies themselves were not silent. “What can be troubling Mr. Larsden.!” exclaimed one. “Which one ?—there are three.” “ Oh, pshaw ! not Mr. Larsden, sure ; nobody ever sees him, to find out whether he’s in trouble or not. Mr. Henry Lars den, he’s not worth talking about. Mr. Edward Larsden—the grand, the sublime, the unapproachable, the affable —whose only fault is that he makes every body fall in love with him, and won’t fall in love with any body.” “Excuse,” blushed a third, “I’m not one of your every bodies.” “There now, Annie, you are over head and ears in love; just see how she’s blushing.” “I’m not! I hate him; he’s a proud, cold-hearted aristocrat.” “Mr. Larsden! Mr. Larsden !” scream ed the first speaker, from the head of the stairs, “Annie Lawton says she hates you. She says” — “ Come ! do for heaven’s sake hush !” “What’s that, Miss Emma?” called Larsden, with a laugh, from below. “ Mercy!” exclaimed the wild girl, aghast, at her own impudence. “La! you little fool,” she laughed, looking at her blushing friend, and dashing down the stairs, she was heard greeting Larsden with shouts of laughter. After a little while the door slammed down stairs, and the laughing girl came running up again. “Mercy!” she exclaimed, pressing her hand against her panting heart; “that man is too witty—lie's been keeping me laughing ever since 1 went down. He asked for you both, only I wanted to have all the talk myself, and was determined you should not come. So I told him you had a head ache, and didn't like to take the trouble of coining down to see people that you hated.” “Why Emma!” “ You need n’t look so shocked ; he sent you a most respectful message, and said he consoled himself with the hope of meeting you after the ball. Hut T declare, girls,” she continued, in a grave tone, “ he is not at all himself. He was as gay as he could he while talking, hut when you are answering him, he looks at you as if he was reading your very soul. I got vexed, and declared that I would not speak to him—for all the time he was looking at me as if he did not believe one word 1 said ; he laughed in an odd kind of way, and said something about getting into had habits. I wonder what is the matter; these sickly sentimental people always make one laugh ; hut to sec a man like that, looking like a blasted oak, is enough to make we tender-heaited ones cry,” and the laughing girl rubbed her eyes and played off hysterics, until the tears actu ally did roll down. Howard, too, was dreadfully altered. Already he was poring over deeds and law hooks, bat Larsden was shocked to see that the frank, careless being of for mer days, was transformed into a grave, thoughtful man. The joyous laugh had given place to a smile, bright and animated, hut gentle almost to sadness; and the daring hopefulness which constant adver sity could not affect, had been worn away by the silent working of suffering. The world looked at his placid dignity, and called him an improved man; but Larsden thought him a wreck. Released from the self-imposed duties of nurse, most men would have left their pa tients to lake care of themselves, hut Lars den was not one to do tilings by halves; he said that Howard would, if left to him self, forget his own feebleness and plunge headlong into fatigue, and as he had no idea of this, he kept a close look out on the wayward invalid. At least a dozen times a day, it was— “ Down with that book, Howard!” “Now Edward, be off.” Until at last Howaid declared that he never came to the bottom of a page with out expecting Larsden to walk in. “ I must say, Edward, that for so sen sible a man, you are the veriest teaze that ever lived.” “Very possible; now just wrap that cloak around you, and don’t keep me waiting.” Linder such ‘ care and keeping,” strength slowly returned, and if a lapse of several months found Howard an altered man,* they at least found him energetic and tal ented as ever. And now, strange to say, the immovable old gentleman began to vascillate. Ru mor which for a long time was only afloat, now embodied itself in a regular statement of facts, which (as is often the case) came very near the truth. Now Pat might have grumbled forever, and the whole race of parvenus might have clammorcd without even being heard, but the murmur of his own class was a very different thing; and Mr. Larsden not unfrequently heard his conduct commented on in terms which at first astonished, then incensed, and finally set him to thinking of the true state of af fairs. Rut if his mind had begun to wa ver, its bent was determined by a conver sation which he overheard between two of his acquaintances; men who boasted blood as royal as his own, and conse quently whose opinions deserved some weight. “What in the world has gotten into Larsden?” remarked one: “does he sup pose that his long established respectabili ty rests on so slight a basis that one ma rauder can shake it? It does well enough for families that have grown up on stills to dread being knocked over, but when one is built on the stronghold of genera tions, I defy any marriage to lower them, or even to lower the individual unless that family itself casts its branch from them.” “It is the verriest folly I ever heard of,” replied the other. “Besides, this young man Howard, so far from being a parvenu, belongs to a most respectable family ; true, they are not remarkable for ancestry, but their name is unsullied, and the young man himself would do honor to any sta tion. Moreover he is an orphan, and has no near relations whatever, who could in any way interfere with his success. Why the moment he married into the family, he would he classed with the Larsdens at once. Already the mere fact of his being Edward Laisden’s lriend has placed him in the first circles.” “Ah, his own talents had something to do with that.” “His own talents, I acknowledge, have kept him there ; but Larsden had a great deal to do with his getting there.” What more they said the old gentleman did not hear, but anew idea was started ; he was intimating a doubt of his own standing by his fear of lowering it, and from that moment pride took a different di rection. He determined to prove that the Larsden connexion alone was sufficient to ensure elevation. Thus it is that pride and public opinion, so often blamed for their devastations, not unfrequently ‘.urn upon their votaries and compel them to a different course, ultimately bringing them to the very stand to which common sense and feeling at first pointed. “1 begin to hope again,” said Ella, one day, to Larsden, as he lounged on the sofa beside her ; “father constantly alludes to the power of rank, and when he says a true aristocrat can do as he pleases and incur no risk, I fancy”— “ That he alludes to Howard, —well, it may be so, and for your sake, I hope it is; good-bye.” Larsden spoke sincerely, but he little knew the strength of his own attachment. A day or two after Howard was poring over a ponderous folio; his law books were ranged in shelves around him, and his door opening directly on the street, was only half closed; a book was wanting, and musing he rose in search of it. His eye rested on Larsdcn’s approaching figure, but he was thinking of other things, and instead of meeting him as usual, he turned away and stood in a recess looking at the passage he wanted. A half muttered tone startled him, he turned suddenly and unseen—stopped speechless. Larsden had thrown himself into a chair, his head rest ed back, his limbs hung motionless, and the expression of- his face was that of most intense agony. He had come intend ing to greet Howard with a smile, to tell him that the long denied consent was gain ed, and then he dared not look farther. Had Howard been seen, the whole world could not have extorted one sigh ; but alone, the spirit lad nothing to bear it up, and he fell insensible to every thing, save his own utter desolation. “My God! my God!” he muttered, rising, with his hand clasped over his aching brow. “Kil me! kill me! oi l shall murder myself.” A suppressed exclamation, and Howard had thrown his arm a-ound him. “Edward! Edward!'’ he said, “ what is the matter ?” In a moment Larsden icturned to his senses; he saw the gulf into which he had thrown himself; he saw that one more un guarded word would make his friend as wretched as himselfhut what to say— what to do : he stood bewildered. How ard was equally shocked and perplexed ; he had never seen him so excited. He knew not how to act. That something dreadful had happened, he was certain ; but at one glance he felt that what could so move Larsden, was beyond mortal control. He who could with his indomitable spiritover come every obstacle, was not to be crush ed by weight that could be removed. These thoughts rushed through his mind, as still keeping his arm around his friend, he look ed on the downcast and troubled face, so different from the usual calm intellectuality which rested there. Larsden was the first to speak. “ I nev er knew the power of a friend before,” he said ; “ your very voice has stilled a tem pest.” His natural manner returned, and throwing himself again into the chair he looked up as if expecting an answer. Howard had not recovered himself suffi ciently to know how to speak, hut as he met his eyes fixed on him a smile of deep feeling stole over his face, and he replied, “1 have felt your influence more than once, Edward. Often when I have been inclined to give up and leave every thing to its fate, the very sound of your footstep has made me feel that something yet was left to live for, and that the world never could be utterly void so long as you were in it.” “I knew the cause of your depression, Howard. 1 had been with you through every scene of hope and disappointment, and it was but natural that your cares should grow lighter when the friend that shared them approached. Rut you know nothing of this. Were others not concern ed you should know as much as 1 do.” Howard looked pained, and after a little pause, Larsden concluded with, “ Believe me, it adds no little to my grief, that my lips must he sealed.” Howard questioned no farther; he felt that his friend’s confidence had never been withheld, and that it was not now to be urged. Larsden remained for a while as if in deep thought, and then suddenly starting up, exclaimed, “ My own cares must be heavy, indeed, when they make me forget your happiness. Now, don’t go crazy at the news I came to bring you.” “I can’t promise, if your looks speak true. You have something to tell me about Ella. What are you hesitating about ?” “ Don’t go head foremost out of the window. No, don’t fly off like a mad man.” “‘No,’ 1 Dont.’—You scamp! there’s no getting anything out of you,” exclaim ed Howard, seizing hold of him with a a touch of his former spirit. “Behave yourself, Howard. I knew there’d he no managing you. You long faced lovers ” “ Edward, will you never hush ?” “ laird, man, you are getting your strength back again. Now if you can make up your mind to act like a gentle man, you can go and spend the rest of the morning at my uncles.” “ You are not in earnest, Edward!” “Would I trifle where your happiness is concerned, Howard ? Sage bachelor, tho’ I be, I can sympathize tviih fools some times.” “ Fools! I only wish some fair girl would make a fool of you, Edward.” “ A fool of twenty-seven ! I had as soon be a grey-headed baboon,” and tak ing up their hats they went off together. Strange to say,Howard, as they approached the house, seemed almost to have forgotten his friend’s existence. Ilis heart, perhaps, told him that there was something still wanting, hut the thought assumed no defi nite form, and as he stood upon the long forbidden threshold, nought was remem bered save Ella. Alas! he was not the only one to whom she was the all-absorb ing object. Larsden’s self-control had al most failed, and had any been there to mark him, they might have seen in his ghastly cheek and compressed lips, the to kens of an inward struggle that had well nigh overmastered him. Content with ushering Howard in, he went on to his own room. Despair gave him momentary strength. He felt that to make her happy he had resigned his last hope—that there was now nothing in the world to live for, and but one thing remained—it wasdeath ! Death which he had once abhorred, but which now came to his relief. Yet he turned shuddering from self-murder. “I dare not! I cannot!” he muttered, clasp ing his bands again over his brow. He turned to take up his pistol. Ilis mother’s picture was before him ! Her gentle face seemed to look pleadingly on him. He dropped the pistol and fell before it. “Mother! mother!” he groaned, “would to God they had lai I me beside you.” His brain seemed fading, and yet his eye was on that face. A faintness came over him, hut he still knelt before it. At last life seemed ebbing, the heart became still, and his breathing ceased. “My prayer is an swered,” he murmured. One pang shot through him. He rose and gasped—but it was 100 late. And now to the happy pair. Hour after hour passed, and Ella still sat by the side of her once hopeless but now happy lover. In other days lie had never more than kiss ed her hand, hut now he sat with his arm encircling her, an?l as she listened to the words which he poured into her ear, per fect happiness left her no thought for re proof. “ Charles, dear Charles,” she whispered, as his soft k i -s pressed her forehead, “ we shall only I).- happier now. I never should have loved .ou so dearly if you had not endured so much, and you never would have prized me so highly if I had not been so hard to v in.” It was time to go. One thing only re mained —the old gentleman. He was in the library, and thither after some little hesitation from Ella, they bent their steps. Through the very door which had last opened upon his agony, he now passed with the blushing Ella oil his arm. Alas! how changed ! The old gentleman saw it —he felt it as they approached him. “My children! my children!” he ex claimed, clasping them in his arms. Then, indeed he was venerable ; his silvery locks floated on his daughter’s neck ; his whole soul shaken with emotions once smothered but now restored. He felt only that his rhild was happy, that they were all happy, even while he hung weeping over them. A sound as if of a fall alarmed them, and Howard, breaking away, flew to his friend’s room. Ella, trembling, she knew not why, followed, and the old gentleman, wonder ing at his own fears, could scarcely carry himself up the stairs. The door was lock ed, and whilst Howard vainly tried to open it, Ella found her way through their dress ing rooms, and unlocked it within. Lars den was to all appearance dpad. His pray ei had been granted—his senses were gone. Life, too burdensome to he borne, had crushed its victim, hut had not lied. He was laid upon the bed—a slight pulsation alone giving any sign of life. The dread ful expression of the face was again there, and as Howard watched the returning an imation, he could not but see that that deep settled agony wns not the work of a moment, and even while bending over him in breathless anxiety he felt astonished at the self-control which could master and even smile upon such internal suffering. He felt more than ever the nobleness of his friend, and his own joys seemed dashed away as he thought on his concealed mis ery. Well was it he never guessed its cause. Reared up in the house with Ella, they were by all regarded as brother and sister. And laughed at would have been the suggestion that he cherished for her more than fraternal affection. When Larsden opened his eyes, Howard was standing over him with Ella by his side. He looked at them a moment as if to read their thoughts, and then turned his head away. Ella’s hand was on his fore head. He held it there for a moment, pressed it to his lips, and retained it in his. Alas! it gave no pleasure to hold that hand now that it was another’s, and yet even its touch soothed him. As strength returned he looked again towards, and then with a smile which seemed half meant to teaze them, said, “ Rather a singular interruption of your first meeting. I’m glad to see your color coming back, Ella.” “So is yours,” replied Ella, laughing. “Now I shall leave you to the tender mer cies of these two gentlemen.” “ Well, be off, and have a good dinner ready by the time I come down. No, no, Howard; I’ve been playing the invalid quite long enough. My dear uncle, this nephew of yours always was remarkable for doing as he pleased.” “ The doctor’s come, sir,” said a servant staring aghast. “ Ask him to stay to dinner with his pa tient.” “ Now the Lord hah massy,” exclaimed the astonished negro. “If massa Edward airit gotde debbil in him, I make mistake.” The bridal evening was past. Laisden seemed endowed with a power superhuman. The fever raged within, bill the outward man was all life and happiness. His was the stand nearest his friend, and the idol of his heart gave herself to another with his eye watching every varying expres sion of her face, and when the gay as semblage had departed, and each sought their own homes, his were the loud wish es, sinccrest of them all, and then his the only throbbing heart of agony, mourning his own blasted hopes. Said I only —no, one, silent and unobtrusive amid the gay assemblage, marked the anguish which none other saw. She, on her lonely pil low, without mother or father, sister or brother, to comfort her, wept that he who had been all to her, who had rescued her from poverty and want; he, who without seeking, had won her young heart, was wasting with a love which she could not soothe. The orphan slept, and dreamed ; but he of whom she dreamed knew no rest. Not long after, a vessel was clearing the port. Many moved about herdeck—some weeping, others looking hack in silent grief, for all were leaving their native land. Yet in spite of their own sorrows, many were continually glancing at one seeming ly bowed to the earth. They could scarce catch a glimpse ot his face. Rut once had he risen from his recumbent posture, and that look had roused their admiration and sympathy. Now he lay enveloped in the fold of a heavy cloak. No sigh escaped him, hut it was impossible to look and not feel that no ordinary grief was there. To wards evening there was a cry, “We are going out of sight of land.” The stran ger sprang up. Like a heavy shadow, his country rested on the water’s edge. It seemed a symbol of his life—once break ing forth in light and shade, and stamped with prospects innumerable; now, gloom ing like a cloud in Ihe distance, while he, hourly wandering farther, could see only waves without and darkness within. He turned away. All eyes were upon him, strangers though they were. They mark ed his agony, and he, drawing his cloak again around him, descended to the cabin. Here we leave him. One was “success ful,” but to the other that “success was defeat.” AUILUE ASlfOSAffl. A TOUCHING SCENE. The New York Tribune records the fol lowing beautiful incident connected with the attentions to the Hungarian refugees : “On Monday morning, three Germans, evidently working-men, went to the Astor House, and asked to see the Hungarians. They were immediately introduced, and remained some time in conversation with Gov. Ujhazy and family. Finally, two of them withdrew, and left the third, who continued to talk, but seemed Jp have some thing to say which he could not get out.— At last, addressing Mile. Clara, the daugh ter of Mr. Ujhazy, he said that, as exiles who were remote from country and friends, and whose property had been confiscated in consequence of their devotion to freedom and the peojile’s rights, they must be in an embarrassed condition. Then, drawing from his pocket a bank note, he said— -1 Fraulein, this is hut little, for I am a poor man, and have only what I can earn, but 1 could not refrain from giving the tribute of my mite to you. Receive this, I beg you, as the heart offering of a workman to the defenders of liberty.’ Mile. Ujhazy, who had not expected anything of this kind, and was rather embarrassed, replied in a tone of emotion, that she was deeply grateful for such kindness, but that they were not in a condition to ask it, when her father said : ‘ Take it, my daughter, and feel thyself and us all more honored than if a monarrh had bestowed millions upon thee!’ at the same time warmly pressing the hand of the noble laborer, and assuring him that they could never forget him. We leave our readers to imagine the scene.” EXTRAORDINARY INVENTION. A Mr. Appold has invented a remarkable machine, called the “Centrifugal Pump,” for draining marshes, &.C., and a most in genious affair it is. You have heard of the turbine—a small box water-wheel, possessing extraordinary capabilities for work. Well, Mr. Appold’s model contains such a wheel made of tin, a little thicker but no larger than a half-penny. This is fitted at the bottom of a square tube dip ping into a small cistern containing water,, which may represent a lake, &c. The lit tle wheel being made to rotate with great velocity, throws up water rapidly into the tube above itself until it overflows in a continuous stream at the top, and the vol ume of the stream is such as to deliver eight gallons per minute; and, on apply ing a nozzle, the* stream is driven to the distance of twenty feet. This, you will say, is a marvellous effect from so appa rently insignificant a cause; but a wheel about fifteen inches in diameter, exhibited at the same time, will deliver 1800 gallons per minute; it requires to be worked by an engine of four horse power. Mr. Appold has lately proposed to the engineer of the Dutch government to fix a similar wheel on the Harlem Sea, now in process of be ing drained, by forty pumps driven by steam. A centrifugal pump of forty feet, in diameter would do more work than all the others put together, would deliver, so the inventor asserts, 1,500,000 gallons per minute. With such power at command, one would think we ought never more to hear of ships foundering at sea; and the emptying and reclamation of the Zuyder Zee resolves itself into a possibility.—For eign Journal. SOUTHERN LABOR. Speaking of industrial operations, Gov. Collier, in his inaugural address, says:— “We rely too exclusively upon our agri culture as a source of wealth, while we are exhausting lands without an effort to reciaim them. But few form attachments for the soil, and only seek to make it most productive at the least cost and trouble.— Such a life is unfriendly to social enjoy ment and the cultivation of the sympa thies—it prevents us from devoting the proper share of attention to the improve ment of the intellectual powers, and the elevation of the moral feelings. The rem edy for these evils is, to divert labor into all the channels in which it can be made useful and profitable, instead of employing the entire capital of our agriculturalists in the production of a single staple, diminish ing the price by an over supply. The producer, the manufacturer, and the con sumer, would then he placed in proximity to each other —each pursuit would stimu late and advance the other; and agricul ture, which languishes in solitude, would become animate and very prosperous. — The concentration of industry and capital at home, would arrest the propensity of our people to emigrate, and education in all the departments of knowledge would receive an impulse which would be felt and seen everywhere around us. The benefit of such a state of things is exem plified in many States of the confederacy; but. perhaps, is more fully illustrated in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. These States take our cotton and wood, and man ufacture them into cloth and ships—selling us the former at compensating prices, and with the other, become onr carriers upon the ocean. Thus they grow rich, iu des pite of the inhospitableness of climate and inaptitude of soil to grow a sufficiency of breadsluffs. While Alabama, with quite enough surplus labor to manufacture her cotton and produce all her provisions, with out diminishing the product of her great staple, is comparatively poor. These States safely and successfully employ a banking capital of forty-five millions, and have millions always awaiting an opportunity for profitable investment, while the people of Alabama, with natural advantages great ly superior, are, the most of them, borrow ers, without an active monied capital, ade quate to the supply of their wants. If, in ice-bound New England, with a soil which even in its virgin state, requires artificial stimulants, such are the results of well-di-