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I
RICHT AT LAST;
OR,
Treachery Outwitted
COIN" 031 XT ZD IE ID.
BT A. II. DAVIS.
I rose betimes in the morning, for Tabitha
loved to take her ease now that the mistress was
away. By half-past six, a dainty breakfast had
been prepared, and Mr. Raricson summoned.
He was so bright and fresh with the glow of
perfect health, that I liked him better every
moment. Such an employer would inspire one
with doty and cheerfulness. I told him that I
had resolved to aceept the position, and he ap
peared well satisfied. We parted with a cordial
adieu, I promising to be in town by the first of
October.
A few days afterwards a letter came from Miss
Sydenham which amused me greatly. She was
anxious to know every word that Mr. Ruricson
said. Did he look disappointed ? Did he seem
very much in love? A third person could tell so
much better, she thought. She wanted to know
every particular.
I answered briefly, though I tried to make my
slender stock of knowledge go as far as possible.
Four or five days later Mrs. Rothsay wrote to
say that Helena and Mr. Ruricson were engaged.
Well it was all right, I supposed. He must
know what manner of woman suited him. And
yet—but what could it matter me.
I rambled through the woods, I read, sewed,
and practiced on the grand piano, but after a
month the life began to grow rather monoto
nous. Mr. and Mrs. Barton were away, and I
had no acquaintances in the place.
One day Jerry brought his mother a letter.
Her only sister was lying at the point of death,
and had sent for her.
‘ But I don’t know how I can leave you alone,
miss,’ she said, with real feeling. ‘ I could get
a woman who used to live here to come and stay,
I am pretty certain.’
I concluded that would be better, though I
was not afraid to remain alone, and Tabitha bad
already baked and brewed and laid in provis
ions enough to last a week.
‘ Mary, the gardener's wife, will do anything
for you. And Mrs. Brown will come over to
stay every night. I hope there won’t anything
happen.’
• Do not distress yourself, good Tabitha,’ I
said, reassuringly, and bade her a cheerful
good-by.
Nothing did happen for three days, then Mrs.
Brown was seized with a fever. Jerry proposed
to get some one else.
• It is not worth while,’ I said.
No one came to alarm me the first night. I
took my solitary breakfast, kept the doors locked
and the lower windows barred. It was about
noon, I think, that from my outlook at an upper
room I saw two slender figures slowly saunter
ing up the avenue, a woman and a child.
‘Some tramps,’ I said to myself, running
down.
In the hall I paused to tie on a sun-hat, and
leaving by a side door, meant to intercept them
in the walk and send them about their busi
ness. They would not know how unprotected
I was.
By this time the woman had sat down on a
little mound. She looked ghastly pale, and
there was a purplish line about her mouth,
v;hile her figure sw«,ved to and fro The child’s
/ace was filled with the most passionate dis
tress as she raised her large, pathetic eyes to
mine. I could not withstand the appealing
look, and was softened at once.
• My poor woman,’ I said, ‘ you look faint and
hungry. What can I do for you ?
She made a gesture almost of disdain. I saw
then that she was no common beggar, and also
that she must be very ill. After two or three
ineffectual efforts, she asked if Mrs. Rothsay
was at home.
I answered in the negative.
‘When will she be?’ Oh, how can I die until
I have some assurance for my child? Are you
Miss Sydenham?'
• No, but an inmate of the house at present, I
• Oh, have a little pity, then ! I am William
Rothsay’s daughter, his only child ! She poisoned
his mind against me, when I think he would
have loved, would have forgiven. Now I am
dying!’
I was amazed, stunned. What if she were an
impostor, after all? I had heard of burglars re-
connoitering after this fashion.
«j gee you do not believe me. Helena would
know me, I think, or even Louise. And here is
his picture. I had to sell the case to keep from
starvation.’
She fumbled with eager hands, and drew forth
from her bosom a sort of leaden case. ‘ Look,’
she cried, convulsively, ‘ if you have ever seen
my father. I wanted to come in his last illness,
but she would not let me. I know it was her
doings. She hated me. Yet she might be a
little tender toward my poor child.’
It was the likeness of William Rothsay surely.
And now that I studied her face I found some
traces of resemblance. ,
• My marriage displeased my father, though
she half persuaded me he would forgive it in
time I think now it was her deceit and hy
pocrisy. And my husband was hurt by the
treatment, and when we had trouble he fell into
bad habits. Then my babies were born—two of
them-but Albert died. Afterwards my hus
band was killed. My poor little Elsie and I
have lived and worked and begged, sometimes
almost starved. And now—oh, she can t be so
hard and cruel! Tell her—
She threw up her hands with a sudden gasp
and fell backward, while a scarlet stream passed
t,*r line I raised her, and screamed for assist
ance, uselessly enough, but I could not think
8t She lay Q perfectly still. The child began to
cry and to kiss the 7 poor, pale hands How long
1 held her I do not know, I was so stunned but
it came to me presently that she was really dead.
So l“aid her down carefully, and ran down to
Poad hoping to procure assistance. And
^was there a providence in it?-the doctor was
riding along in his old-fashioned gig, and I im-
P '?TL d e »ooMi. * “£■ »,* h “ d
made a slight examination. ‘How unfortunate
that she should have crawled here to your feet.
I will have her taken to my surgery.
1 Tn * ’ I said, ‘she claimed to be Mrs. Roth-
? ,w)hter She came to ask a little assis-
say s d^K^er. ^e ber la8t extremity.’
““Ah?“relember. Yetldoubt if M».
Rofhsav wll thank her. The poor thing made
Kotnsay wm . or no ma rnage at all, it
an unfortunate r g - ghe ought to have
was suspected. YetAsupp ; ^ Dunda8> j
decent burial. P . f a ; r girl. And to come
remember her as a sweet, fair gin.
...d word toMn>.Kotbs»Y immediate-
ly,’ I said. ‘What else can I do f
* ‘You are alone in the house ?
«Y©B.’
He toll into deep thought.
•I still think,’ he began ‘that sheiijnigM ^
ter be taken to my snrge « r go a od
mediately for Mrs.Rothsaj. for
find some help. Perh p w jjj ^ ee »
k you to look after the child. We win P
’’matter as qniet as possible. I knew vu
or had been some family trouble, but it is not
worth while to noise all one’s affairs abroad. ’
The parting between the mother and ohild
was heartrending. The little one’s very life
seemed entwined with her mother’s, and the
hand had to unclasped by force.
As I took the halt-lifeless ohild in my arms,
something in the grass oaught my attention. It
was the locket, and I picked it up. In the strug
gle the frail cord had been broken. Then I bore
the little one to the house, soothed her to a com
parative degree of quiet, then fed her, for she
was almost famished. After that she sobbed
herself to sleep.
The portrait was a painting on ivory. The
oase was thick and clumsy, and I found the pic
ture came out easily.
‘Folded up small and much worn in the
oreases was a marriage certificate; Paul Orlcff
and Dora Rothsay had been legally married.
There was another record of the birth and
baptism of twins—Albert and Elsinore—and the
death of Albert at fifteen months; on the back
of this there was a name written which I could
not decipher.
The doctor came over again in the afternoon.
‘I cannot understand how the poor thing
lived so long,’ he said; ‘her lungs were nearly
gone, and her heart was in a frightful state.
Only her will could have brought her thither,
for she could have had no physical strength. ’
He sent over some one to stay all night. By
the next evening Mrs. Rothsay had come.
I had never fancied myself particularly fond
of children, but I took to Elsie at once. She
was five years old, but not larger than ordinary
children of three. She c ungto me, and would
not even aifow Mrs. Rothsay to look at her.
Was there some inherent antipathy between
them.
‘ It is a pity the child had not died with her
mother,’said Mrs. Rothsay. ‘I cannot conceal
from you, Miss Duudas, that we had ample
procf of the miserable girl’s shame. She never
was married. That was the thing her father
could not forgive.’
‘She appeared very sure of the fact, before she
died,’ I answered in a voice that I know must
have sounded peculiar.
‘It was to her advantage to say it, of course,’
she replied with a wintry smile.
•But if it could be proved ?’ I said, while my
heart was in my throat.
‘It would amount to nothing now if it were,’
she answered indifferently. T think I shall
place the child in some institution where her
birth never will be questioned. I must consult
with Helena. What a miserable, unfortunate
affair ! I wish she had died anywhere but here.’
I took counsel with myself that night. If I
delivered up these papers they might be des
troyed. I had not a bit of confidence in Mrs.
Rothsay. There was something at the bottom
that I could not understand.
Dora Orlcff was buried quietly. I did not go,
neither did I wish Elsie to see those cold, sad
rites. Helena had gone to Brighton, and Mrs.
Rothsay was exceedingly anxious to meet her.
Tabitha had returned, so I was left in charge of
the house again.
‘Though I shall be back in a week at the
latest,’she said, ‘I suppose, Miss Dundas, you
have made no arrangements for the future ?’
‘No,’I answered slowly.
‘ She flushed and looked a little awkward,
then said, hurriedly:
• Helena wishes me to shut up the house after
she is married, as she is to go abroad immedia
tely. So if you wish to see about a situation -’ j
The lady made an abrupt pause.
Of course I could expect nothing from Mrs. |
Rothsay ai*^r she had ceased to need me. But j
for a day^two she had been less cordial, I ■
alivote^the ensuing week to little Elsie,
making h4 some clothes, and listening to her i
prattle. Other father she had no remembrance, j
Nowand then, in her simple way, she told of ;
being tired and hungry, and poor mamma sit- |
ting down to rest under the trees.
She appeared to be a very sweet-tempered
child, with a clinging, sensitive nature. How
terrible it would be to turn her out to the char
ity of a careless world.
I had a fancy that Mrs. Rothsay had wronged
the poor baby’s mother in money matters. What
else could make her so anxious to have the
child gone and forgotten ?
I determined to keep watch and ward of her in
some manner.
Helena was as haughty as a queen on her
return. She and her mother had decided to
put the child into some charitable institution,
and I soon found that they did not desire my
longer stay. Already, they seemed to hold a
grudge against me.
‘ I have secured a new situation,’I returned,
‘ and can leave at a day’s notice. But I have a
favor to ask, Mrs. Rothsay.’
‘ What ?’ and she turned her eyes sharply on
me.
•That you will give me Elsie. You do not
care for her, and you feel that she is a blot on
your father’s honor. I have learned to love her.
I have no kin and but few friends. I will prom
ise to give her a good plain education, and to
make her useful. Moreover, I will pledge my
self not to apply to you for any assistance.’
‘ Your proposal is very strange, Miss Dundas,’
and her eagle eye seemed to pierce me through.
‘ What motive can you have for anything so ab
surd ?’
‘A whim and a little love,’ I replied.
‘I do not feel able to do anything for her. Mr.
Rothsay left very little, and you know I have
only the income of this place, but I cannot con
sent to have you so burdened, for I take a
friendly interest in you.’
«No matter, since I am willing to accept all
the consequences.’
I think at heart both women were very much
relieved, though they strove to appear so indif
ferent. Helena drew up a paper which sne re
quested me to sign—to the effect that the child
should be known by the name of Elsie Rose,
that I should never apply to them for assistance,
or disclose to the child the tie that existed be
tween them. On these conditions they would
pay the sum of five hundred dollars.
‘I do not want the money,’ I replied, proudly,
‘but will observe the conditions faithfully.’
A few days later I took Elsie and went to town.
Helena merely touched the tips of my fingers,
but Mrs. Rothsay, though she was profuse in
her good wishes, seemed very uneasy, and never
hinted that she would be glad to hear from me
or see me again. Some mystery lay at the bot
tom of all this. . „, . ,
I sought out an old friend, confided part of
my story to her, and engaged apartments for
myself and Elsie. My friend had a large mother
ly heart and no children, so the little one was
welcome. I then sent a note to Mr. Ruricson,
stating where I might be found.
He called on me about the middle of Septem
ber. He and his partner, would like to have
me come and get acquainted with the business
before the other clerk left. I consented to this
readily and went.
I liked Mr. Winters, the other partner, and
felt very well satisfied. Now and then Mr. Ru
ricson dropped in for the last half an hour and
chatted with me, but I had a consciousness that
Miss Helena would not approve.
One day I asked:
•Does Miss Sydenham know that I am in
your office ?’
«Not from me,’ he answered, in a grave, dry
tone. ‘ She does not seem fond of business de
tail 8 *’ „ . ,
What did it matter? They were to be mar
ried in November and go abroad immediately.
Mr. Ruricson had some property affairs to set
tle in Sweden. One day he brought a bundle of
papers to me to be arranged systematically.
After I had gone through one or two I became
deeply interested, and waited for him to oome
in until past my usual hour.
Had I really fallen upon the clue to my mys
tery so soon ?
He had come for some money that Mr.. Win
ters had drawn for him that day.
‘Ah, Miss Dundas,” he said, cheerfully, as he
looked into my sanotum, ‘ you are too faithful!
—you defraud yourself.
‘I have waited, Mr. Ruricson,’ I said, ‘in
order to ask a few questions.’
He came in and sat down.
* Was this Paul Orloff your brother ?’ 1 asked.
‘Yes; my mother was twice married. Paul
was her darling and a spoiled child. After her
death no one had influence over him. He mar
ried very unfortunately. Chance threw the
whole story into my hands.’
‘ If he had left children—’
‘ He did not. If he had I should have no
right to touch a penny of the fortune. I have
boen searching for his wife for the past six
months, finding a clue here, missing it there.
At last it all came out oddly enough. Miss
Dundas, I wished you had stayed longer at
Oakdale. Paul’s wife was Mrs. Rothsay’s step
daughter; she seems to have been a peculiar,
erratic sort of woman, and he had one of those
impatient, sensitive, poetic temperments; I
never could keep trace of him, and I think he
did not like me very well. But a few weeks ago
this poor woman came baok to Oakdale to die.
Their children were dead already.”
‘Are you glad or sorry, Mr. Ruricson?’ I
asked, frightened afterwards at my temerity.
He came and stood before me.
Sketches of Southern
Literature.
THE PAST AND PRESENT.
NO 7-
Southern Writers and Authors.
By JUDGE WILLIAM ARCHER COCKE,
of Florida.
Author cf the Constitutional History of United States
and Common ami Civil Law in United States.
“A Brief Inquiry ” by Abel Upshaw, one of
the judges of the general court of Virginia, and
Secretary of the Navy during a part of Tyler’s
administration, is a reply to Judge Story’s work,
on the constitution of the United States, in
reference to Federal views discussed by this au
thor, in opposition to State-rights.
It is not so documentary nor so minute in
history as the above work of Judge Tucker’s,
but it is a more composite and analytical argu
ment—very lucid and discriminating, and writ
ten in a style rarely equaled by English authors.
Though a small work, it is a gem in our politi
cal literature.
The subject of slavery, which at the North
has given rise to silly novels, low and vulgar
sermons, defiled with infidelity ; and miserable
verse, from their chief poets ; has in the South
been the foundation of a profound political and
‘Do I look like a man whoiwould shirk a duty, ■ sociologic philosophy ; which has indicated the
Miss Dundas, or stumble c; r er a truth, or de
fraud a dead brother ?’
‘ No, you do not,’ I answered.
‘I would take just as much pains for Paul’s
child or children as for myself. You must be
lieve that.’
What should I do? My brain was in a chaos.
Allow Helena Sydenham to luxuriate in Elsie’s
fortune? I saw the whole plot now. This was
why they were in such a hurry to get rid of me.
They had laid their plans nicely. Whether Mr.
Ruricson would be disgusted with his betroth
ed after this evidence of her duplicity I never
thought.
‘Mr. Ruricson,’ I said, ‘I wish you would go
to Oakdale and have an interview with Dr.
Bowen. He oan tell you some more particulars
about Mrs. OrlofTs dying moments.’
‘ How mysterious you are ! Were you there
yourself?’
‘ I was. Mrs. Orloff died at my very feet. For
the rest you must see Dr. Bowen.’
He sat as one stunned.
I was almost sorry that I had pained him.
Then I rose quickly, put on my cloak and hat,
and went out. I did not see him for two days,
then he called on me in the evening. He was
haggard, perplexed, and agitated to the last de
gree
power, and purity of the Southern pen, as it j
has invited to its support, some of the most j
logical, and cultivated minds to be found in the :
various fields of our literature.
Among the works on this subject may be men
tioned “Modern Reform Examined, or the Un
ion of North and South on the subject of
Slavery,” by the Rev. J. C. Stiles. It is a plain,
and direct argument, though somewhat slovenly
in style.
Dr. Ross’ work on slavery, is a brilliant pro
duction ; with occasional passages of true el
oquence.
Professor Bledsoe, of the University of Vir
ginia, and Dr. Smith, of Randolph Macon Col
lege, have published able, and elaborate argu
ments on the subject of slavery, which do great
service to the philosophic literature of the
South.
George Fitzhugh, of Virginia, an unique
thinker, and didactic writer, is the author of
two very profound, and philosophical works—
covering the entire ground of slavery. The first
is called “Sociology of the South ;” and dis
cusses the moral, political and ethical points
upon which slavery is based by natural laws. It
is perhaps a more complete and compact argu
ment than his second work, “Cannibals All, or
Slaves without Masters which latter title best
‘Miss Dundas,’ he said, ‘I have been listen- j explains the character of the book. This is an
ing to a strange story, and sounding depths of ■ unique name ; and is truly an unique work. It
perfidy I should not have dreamed of. It is like ' ’ * *
reading a horrible tale. I loved an ideal that I
thought was Helena Sydenham, but I find her
an untruthful, scheming woman. I have no
love, no respect left. That she should want me
to defraud my brother’s child that she could
produces many unanswerable arguments, to
prove the cannibalism of society, based upon
anti-slavery principles ; which is best obviated
by the existence of negro slavery. It exhibits
more learning, and brilliancy than “Sociology,”
and will continue to attract an increased share
discovered that
iss. trood Heaven!
Gander.”
An arrant fallacy iB one conveyed in the com
mon dictum that “sauce for the goose is sauce
for the gander.” If that is so why am I expelled
from my club for cheating at whist, when the
ladies unblushingly substitute cards of power
for useless ones, and “dodge ” aces and tens at
vinjt-et-un, without as much as an objection
from their victims ? If I lose a bet and don’t
“stump up,” I am incontinently shunned. A
lady may lose twelve pairs of gloves to me, and
I am denounced as a “brute ’ if I remind her of
heer indebtedness; whereas, when I make a bet
with a lady, it is understood that if she loses I
pay all the same, and the whole thing is a joke.
Very like it.
Once more. I am (we will say) a weak-chest
ed, cachectic man, and I am among a company
in an omnibus. A stiff north-east wind is blow
ing, and there prevails no little sleet, cutting
your cheeks and searching out your very mar
row. The omnibus stops, and the conductor
(knowing the popular prejudice) has no com
punction in asking me “ to sit outside to oblige
a lady.” The conductor is perfectly in the right;
he trades on the ridiculous fallacy; I am a vietim
to it. The stur ly, ruddy, raw-boned “good-for-
ninety ” woman takes my warm seat, and I, the
weak-chested, nervou.-, cold-catching man,
whose life means bread to my children, “ sit
outside to oblige a lady ! ”
Once again. If I say, and persist in saying,
rude things to one of my own sex, I run the risk
of having personal chastisement inflicted on me
(of course, I am not supposing myself a critic;
that race is exempt;) but a lady may say the
most insolent, cruel, and malicious things of
you, and to you, and you must bow and smile.
She may strike you, and, being often the strong
er vessel, may soundly thrash you, but no dis
senting voice is raised. Though she has unsex-
ed herself by assuming man’s mode of quarrel,
you must not retalite. “Ruffian !” says Twad
dle the melo-dramatist, “ what! strike a woman?”
No ! it is clear in this, as in other points, that
“ sauoe for the goose is not sauce for the gander.”
have spent the wages of crime and dishonesty ! | of public attention, as truth advances—being
Ah ! I was fearfully angry. It is well that they i more comprehensive and wider in its philosoph-
And now what has become i ic range of the principles of society — of natu
ral labor and government.
t _ _ I The able essays of Leigh, Harper and Dew i
‘for wanting her to ’ the Anprejd^qjate.yyg’-^jrf.^iAlv Rhid«oe-
keeping me from | a high place in Southern literature. Fitzhugh jt
' ” is the first, and only man, who has taken a true
philosophic view of slavery ; others have placed
it upon the grounds of expediency ;—he places
it upon natural laws, and the unavoidable ne
cessity of society. It exists and has existed
the world over, not connected with color ; but
as a decree of Heaven. It is a natural sociolog
ic status ; which laws must recognize, but do
not establish. If negro slavery is abolished,
j then the white man takes his place, with all the
evils, and none of the advantages of slavery ;
and men in a social sense become, as our author
has been the first to demonstrate, under a very
expressive term, “Canibals all. The world is
governed by slavery—the German slavus, the
Latin servo, indicate the philological meaning :
as it does the philosophic features and phases of
societv.
DeBow’s Review, for many years, occupied a
leading position in Southern letters. Roane,
a finished scholar, a very chaste writer and dis
criminating critic, and Dr.Cartwright, with his
elaborate learning, are well known to the read
ing public as its contributors ;—while scattered
through many of its volumes, are the essays of
Fitzhugh—the Briarian son of Southern litera
ture. They are on every conceivable subject ;
and oftentimes has he evolved sterling truth
from the vast and chaotic mass of philosophy,
with which the world has been distracted.
“Elements of Moral Philosophy, ” by R. H.
Rivers, President of Wesleyan University, at
Florence, Alabama, is an excellent work — clear
and forcible, and no less adapted to academical
use than interesting to the general reader. On
many points, the author presents true views
upon ethical subjects, so long obscured by the
vagaries of Paly, or deformed by the sophistries
of Wayland and Mahan. \
On the slavery question, the Rev. Mr. Rivers J
most happily exposes the imbecility of Way- J
land. His theory of moral obligations, is clear- !
er than that of Dr. Alenonden, or the author of j
the Lowell Lectures.
We have before us, a work entitled “Leisure ■
Labors, or Miscellanies, Historical, Literary, and
Political,” by Joseph B. Cobb, of Mississippi.
As a review writer, he is superior to any yet
produced in North America ; not equal to Le-
gare as an essayist, but scarcely inferior to the
best of European reviewers. His paper on
Macaulay’s History of England, would not pale,
by the side of the best papers of the great Cory-
phmusof the Edinburgh Review. His essay on
Jefferson is a brilliant historic paper — just and
true. His reviews of Willis, and Longfellow,
show not only high critical powers, but. a true
appreciation of poetry, which sought in vain
adequate food in such versification as comes
from the fop of Idelwild — or the mystic muse
of Boston. Rarely have there appeared, two
such papers—abounding in nice analysis, clear
discrimination, and elegant and keen satire ;
dearticulating, joint by joint, with such nicety
and skillfulness, that even those who felt the
blade, could but admire the operator.
There are other papers of merit, in this book,
to which the reader is referred. The author
died a middle-aged man, in September, 1858—
the same year in which his papers, previously
published in several periodicals of the day,
were issued in book form.
There is a work which ought to be cherished
by the genius of Southern literature ; on ac
count of its historic truth, and the truthfulness
of its criticisms, as well as its literary polish.
It is “Observations on the writings of Thomas
Jefferson,” by Henry Lee, with an introduction
and notes, by Charles Carter Lee. It is the very
best commentary on the character of Jefferson,
and his writings that has ever appeared.
He was the son of General Henry Lee ; was
induced to publish this work, from the unjust
assaults made on his father’s memory by the
publication of Jefferson’s correspondence. The
Life of G neral Green, by Judge William John
son, contained many inaccuracies, and some
unjust reflections on his father, and his brave
do not suspect you.
of Paul’s child ?’
‘ She is up stairs asleep a “jweet little girl,
think you will not. blamern ,ju)V
i t— •„•-*- • ( * .
‘ I shall always thank yo J
a crime. Through this I 1
woman’s perfidy and selfis;
what I have escaped.’ 'w
I brought him the portrait and the certific
ates.
‘ Some strange impulse must have led you to
keep them, he said. Mrs. Rothsay would have
destroyed them without a scruple. Elsinore—it
was our mother’s name. Poor Paul ! why did
you not have more faith in me?’
It was quite late when all our explanations
were made. Mrs. Tracy took him to see Elsinore
asleep in her crib. If I had liked him before I
honored him now.
He went to Sweden, claimed Elsie’s fortune,
and was appointed her guardian. She would
be a great heiress when she attained her major
ity. But after his return he insisted that I should
give up my position and devote myself to Elsie,
who was extravagantly fond of me. Then he
prepared a beautiful home for us.
A year or so after he came himself. In that
time I had learned to love him truly, and was
proud and happy to become his wife. Elsie is
the sweetest and dearest of children. I hope
her poor mother can look down upon her happy
child.
Yesterday we were out driving, and passed
Helena Sydenham in the carriage of her sister
Lottie, who had become Mrs. Ashley. She look
ed old and faded, and glared at me with venge
ful eyes. Yet I felt sorry. The truth would
have saved her, and given her a husband and
love. Still it was not I who had crowded her
out. And I thought, too, of the poor old Mrs.
Sydenham in her grave. Her legacy seems a
sacred trust to me. Mr. Ruricson insists that I
shall spend the interest on homeless little girls,
and it is a pleasure for me to do so.
‘‘Sauce for the Goose is Sauce for the
legion, so memorable in our Revolutionary his
tory. This indneed him to defend alike the
memory of his father and those indomitable of
ficers, and soldiers, he commanded - which oc
casioned the publication of an admirable histo
ry entitled, “Campaigns in 1782, in the Car
olines.”
. He was appointed by Jackson, Consul to Al
giers, whither he proceeded ; but the appoint
ment was not confirmed by the Senate. He
visited Italy on his return home. In Rome, he
became acquainted with Mere — the mother of
Napoleon. His impressions of Napoleon’s cam
paigns in Italy, and the injustice done him by
Scott, induced Lee to undertake the life of
Napoleon. An Englishman has always proven
too prejudiced against Napoleon—a Frenchman,
too prejudiced in his favor; an American, with
qualifications in other respects equal to the
task, was the proper man ; and such was Henry
Lee. Abbott, the American compiler, with no
capacity for writing history, except that of a
copyist, and mutilator, attempted it, but failed.
In 1835, Lee published the first volume of his
history of “The Life of Napoleon.” It was
published in Paris and in New York. The nar
rative is brought down to the year 1796. He
was laboriously engaged in the contir nation of
the work, but died in Paris, January, 1837, be
fore completing the second volume. After hia
death, the first volume, am. the a Iditional mat
ter he had prepared, were published in a 1 irge
octavo, in London and Paris, unuor the title,
“The Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, down to the
peace of Talentino, and the close of his first
campaign in Italy.”
From the very complimentary manner in
which it was received in England and France,
as in America, we leel assured that if the author
had lived to complete the work, it would have
occupied an equal position with the best histo
ries of Napoleon.
Joseph G. Baldwin, born in Virginia, but for
many years a resident of Alabama, is the author
ot two works —one called “Party Leaders”—the
other, “Flusn Times of Alabama and Mississip
pi. The former contains some fine specimens
ot rhetoric, but very superficial sketches of
some of our ablest statesmen, composed with
but little deliberation, and exhibiting less dis
cernment of character. The latter work is
much better in every respect; its aim is lower,
but more just, and presents the reader a fair
history of the rude, uncultivated, reckless pop
ulation, that first settled, what is popularly
known as the “new States.” It has but little
literary merit, yet it possesses value as history
—exhibiting the early phases of the “new
States’ ” society—-showing the character of that
class of settlers, who were the first to leave the
old States, and open the wilderness for the elite
families who, enticed by prospects of wealth,
soon occupied the lands and formed societies of
the most elegaDt and educated cast. The style
of this book is well adapted to its character.
The author shows his natural powers, which has
a strong tincture of keen and excellent wit.
Hugh Blair Grigsby, formerly of Norfolk,
now of Charlotte county, Virginia, has present
ed a brilliant, yet solid contribution to South
ern literature, “The Virginia Convention of 17-
79.” It is a discourse delivered before the Vir
ginia Alpha of the Phi Beta Kappa society of
the William and Mary College. It was after
wards published and forms an octavo of 204
pages.
OUR KENTUCKY DEPARTMENT.
CONDUCTED BY REV. ,1. B. C0TTBELL.
Wfinnu/3, SaS eTOcYeu to rue united States Sen
ate by the Legislature of Kentucky, on the 16th
inst. Two weeks were consumed in the strug
gle, and from what we le.trn every nerve was
strained by all the candidates and their friends.
But is it not humiliating, an office such as
that of United States Senator to be electioneer
ed for openly, persistently and extravagantly?
It is getting to be the custom, and public opin
ion justifies it; but public opinion is radically
wrong. Such stations and offices are belittled
and made despicable by such methods of secure-
ment. The most private posts are being enhan
ced in dignity by public ones being cheapened
after that fashion. In a degree, even ecclesias
tical advancement comes, in many cases, by
what is vulgarly called cheek —men getting into
heroics over their own devotion to the pecu
liarities of their church, or being seized with
paroxysms of demonstrative piety just when it
pays. “Oh! the pity of it! the pity of it,
Iago!”
Rev. Y. D. Cottrell, well known throughout
the South as a teacher, and the founder of the
Spartan newspaper at Spartanbug, S. C., died in
Hearne, Texas, on the 11th of January (inst.)
at about sixty years age. He was a brother of
the writer, and tidings of his death will excuse
the meagreness of this department this week.
Temperance.
“The .Murphy movement, under direction of Lec
turer Wensell, has smitten Russellville at the four
corners. There has been between seven and eight
hundred signers of the pledge, and the watch
word is, onward !
“At Bowling Green, the work has been quite as
effective, in proportion. Also, at Owensboro.
“Wensell will go to Alabama after a while. Let
him be well received. He is attended by his
modest, retiring wife, and his little children.”
Joaquin and his Umbrella.
Joaquin Miller, who is wintering in New
York, lost his umbrella the other day. Most
people do, and therefore there would be noth
ing worth noticing about the matter were it not
for the fact that his particular “all men’s prop
erty” is a notable illustration of his known pas
sion for anything Byronic. It has a silver
horse’s head and a silver bear on the handle, and
a pendant chain, a la chatelaine, but its crown
ing glory is the fact that the handle of the cane
is composed of one of three sprouts of a slip of
a tree once planted where Byron was buried at
Newstead Abbey. Joaquin Miller secured one
of the sprouts with considerable difficulty, and
had it carved into an umbrella handle. The
other day he lost it, and was in despair. A
short time after the songster of the Sierras, while
strolling up Fifth avenue, encountered a negro
who was coolly swinging the Byronic umbrella
as though it had been destitute of associations
or contemporaneous human interests—swinging
that wand of the muse precisely as if it had
been a Sairev Gamp affair of no account what
ever ! Ye Gods ! Miller snatched the Newstead
Abbey slip from the despoiler’s hand, and it
was some moments before the unfortunate col
ored person could explain that one of the
guests at a reception the other night left the
precious article there. Joaquin probably knew
better, but he was content to regain his property
which he had been spending a small fortune in
advertising for. But still he tempts fate by car
rying it about with him, rain or shine.
God loves man when he refrains from sin,
the devil loves man when he persists therein;
the world loves man when riohes on him flow;
and you’d love me could I pay you what l owe.
The world is bigger than you think it is, and
you are smaller than yon think yon are. These
are two awfnl facts.