Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

BY GARDNER & BARROW. THE GEORGIA nittßOfi, [s published every Saturday, in Florence tewart coußiV. Ga. at IHRKI. DoDL VUr.' a year, if paid in advance, or FOUR DOLLARS, if not paid until the end of the year. Advertisements will be conspicuously inserted at One Dollar per square, (15 lines) the first, ano 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. Nothing under 15 lines will be considered less than a square. A deduction will be made for yearly ad vertisements. All advertisements handed in for publication without s limitation, will be published till forbid, and charged accordingly. • Sales of Laud and Negroes by Executors, Ad ministrators and Guardians, are required by law to be advertised in a public Gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. The sale of Personal property must be adver tised in like manner forty days. Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an estate must be published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land and Ne groes, must be published weekly for four months. All Letters on business must he post run insure attention. hi We are authorised to announce ISAAC L. STREET zMgjgr man as a Candidate for >;.rnffof . ® Stewart county at the next elec ; ir»n. Sept. €*lß3B. 24 _ We are authorised to f.E WIS UTL LI AMS * for .Tax Collector » . Lt county at the election „ aminy m>\r. ,Se:>». w _24 ’ • T ■ We arc authorised to - ;m trounce*WJl LI VM \. BELL a -candidate lor Receiver ot Tax £> ” I ®’ Returns for Stewart county at the lxauJannarjr election. Sept. 8, 1838. 24 LOOK OOY FOR A STORM. THE subscribers having disposed of their stock of Dry Goods at Florence and Lumpkin, they take this method to inform their customers that all notes and accounts that remain unsettled . ter the Ist day of 3 «uu uy n-\t. will positively be . ~1 in the hands of an officer for collet Whs will allow* the HIGHEST CASH PRICE far COTTON in payment for any debts due. JERNIGAN, LAURENCE & Cos. Oct 6 *2B • ' . LOST. ONE NOTE of hand on Lewis Grimes lor Twenty Dollars, payable to Harper <A Grey; one on T. C. Pickett made payable to Robert Reynolds for hire of negro for forty dollars and seventy-five cents; one 011 said Pickett, given to myself, amount not tecollocted; one note on Blount Trot man for twenty dollars, payable to Harper fc Grey ; one note on William Johnson for fifteen dollars and fifty rents, payable to Har per & Grey; one note pn Amon Y. Lunsford for eighteen dollars, payable to llarper A: (\rev; one cote on Jeptha Pickett for twenty-four, uoflars, payable to llarper & Grey ; and one on Wijhajii Shaw for eight dollars, with a credit not recollect ed. 1 forewarn any person from trading for the above notes, or the drawers fr<ifn paying to any but my self. Any person finding said notes ami deliver ing them 10 me. hr any friend, so that T can get them, shall be amply rewarded. ' JOSEPH M. HARPER. Lannahassee, Stewart co. Julv 12 27 , EOST, BY the subscriber, on the 4:h September last, a common size leather JPorket ggjokf containing two notes for S3O each, on Gillis Jack son, of Lumpkin, made payable to the undersign ed; one on Isaac R. Jackson for S2O, made paya- Ide to DeLaimav 6c Gaulding; one on David and Arthur Reed, made payable to the subscriber for 9 or lOdnllars; one due bill on James Milner for *9, made payable to W'ti. S. Howell; and one •n Wru. S. Howell for s3l, given by him to the undersigned. The dates pf the above no'fs are cot recollected* excepting tb« 'wo .30 dollar notes, *hirh were .»• ■■ last OhriM* ias The Pocket kcontained many other papers not recollected. IM! per a. us . cotiotted against trading for any * the above tfotes, and tbe makers of the same dfom p,lying them to any other person’than thf, i f | '- ,scr *kr. LAB AN MORGAN. ■ \ 1* 30 NOTICE. 1 A LL persons are hereby cautioned against tra ding for two promissory notes, given by the subscriber to a man calling himself Amos Brown, from Burke county, one of the Notes was given sometime in September fa9t, forone hundred dol* lars,and payable the Ist January, 1 83ft; the other *as given at the same time for $l5O and due the ht January, 1840, with a credit of s‘26 upon it.— The above notes were given for a lot of land lying to Randolph county, being No. 81, in the 6th dis- said county. The land having been frau dulently sold by the said Brown, I am determined not to pay the above notes unless compelled by law. WEST LAIN. ro. Oct 17 4t 30 LOOK AT"THIS! T FOREWARN all persons from trading with * Larkin Reynolds or his negro wife Rliody, he having quit my bed and board without any provo t&tion and taken Rhodv with him, and removed to Randolph county, I will not pay aDV of their debts Ouless compelled by law. ■' Oct IS ■ ELIZA REYNOLDS. THE GEORGIA MIRROR. WT* _____ From the Columbus Journal* O YES i 1 TAKE THE PAPERS. BT UEORGE B. WATTS. O yes ! I take the papers— Their trilling octet is never missed, Although I've stood for forty years Upon the printer's list. Talk not of warriors—Faust released Earth from the terrors of her kings— lie twirled his Stick, and darkness ceased, And morning streamed along the East, On Freedom’s burnished wings. O yes ! 1 take the papers. And sons and daughters, tall and small, For they have been, through thick and tilin, The pastime of us all. ’Twas nobly said, that should a star Be stricken from the dome of night, A printing press, if stationed there, Would fill the vacuum to a hair, And shed a brighter light. That man who takes no papers, Or taking, pays not when they're read. Would sell his corn to buy a u korn,’’ And live, on borrowed bread. The printer opes the w ide domains Os Science—scatters Education All o’er the land, like April rains ; And yet his labors and his pains Are half bis compensation. Printing ('jf'ar. May, 1838. From Ike Southern Literary Messenger* Thf Vicissitude* of* Life. As .mvirayed in a Sketch. "What is the tale that 1 would tell ? Not one tiM strange adwiture, but a comman tale Os 'u-'icdness ; one to be read Daily, in many a young and blighted heart.” L. E. L. *»Le moaiie.est rompij tie beaucoup tie traverses.” Moliere. Ida V—— was the breathing portraiture of nil that poet his siu,_, or paint r embodied. At the time 1 first knew her scarce fifteen summers had shed their radience over her opening loveli ness; she was, as it were, on the vestibule ol womanhood, “beautiful as *a sculpt#'a dream.” witli a joyousness rarely varying, bursting like a fountain from its recesses, gleaming like a sun beam over every objeetthat came within its iiifiu ence, and touching all things with its own gol deu and gorgeous hues. I have gazed on her with that intensity of admiration, which "outstrips our faint expression,” and never have l turned from the contemplation of her brightness of beauty without an involuntary sigh, a sickness of soul, lest a temple so glorious might be scathed by the rtv.'.e blasts of "gdvcrKWV, crushed beneath the avalanche of “life's dark gift.” 1 ilfcve s metttnes j hoped, that unlike all that is most fair and bright, ; she would know no sorrow; that time, with its : accompanying mutations, would tiring unchanging J bliss and gladness to her, that "l:ke the long sun ny lapse of a summer day’s light, existence 1 would never be shadowed to her, but close as | gloriously and auspiciously as it has dawned. idolized bv all who knew her. followed by the j lingering gaze of adnmraffon,*' caressed hv het ft-iOpth it vould have been strange had Ida V—— dreamed file's book field, amid its pure leave-, j une gift of darkness; the phantoms of sorrow had j uWer invaded the beautiful scenes the world held j ,rut tA her. Her feelings, though deeply tinctured I with giadnes-, were, however, not without that usual accompaniment of a gifted mind kneeu sensibility. She was morbidly alive to neglsct from those she loved, and I have seen the tear brightening the lustre of her soft dark eye, leaving the bloom-and gloss of her young pure check, as her heart whispered the suspicion of alienation on the part of those to whose affection she clung; but it was oolv momentary. Ihe cloud pursed off to make succeeding sunshine more sparkling, and she was again wreathed in smiles—-the per- SOOifK atious Ot “youth ami hope mid joy.’ j] r , v who had emigrated to America shortly subsequent to Ida’s birth, was an Euro pean, and it was beneath the starry skies of Italy, encompassed by all that is most beautiful and se ductive in nature, that Ida V first awoke to wayward lift’.. Her mother had closed her eyes n death almost immediately after giving birth to her onlv t hi'd, and the leeble wnil of her infant voice iguish ol her father’s grief, as it reminded htm that although the ruthless spoiler had Invaded itis hearth, tt had not borne thence a£'Jvis' , 'hqiucholdgods.” Time, whose ob- KTWeV.rA the memory of the > keenest grief, wt- not > thout its balm to the lacerated feelings of Mr. V : and before the smiles and caresses of his infant daughter, whose features wore the impress of its mother’s ovelmess first aeonv of sorrow melted. He blessed heaven that he ’was uot desolate, anil the “lightly fib?ed sprsvs” of his atfecnou clung to the un conscious babe, with a tenacity the greater that he had nought else to love. As I have before said he fixed his residence in America, to aietire l at beatiful spot, which he took pleasure m ornamen ting with classic elegance. Bermatu the wuti h- her doating father, Ida sprang to wo manhood, adorned with all the graces of her sex „ilted with R rare beauty, and her mind enriched 1 with all those charms of literature, which, hke • the “glittering glory” of the fabled stahman, daz zled, but not to deceive. Though deprived of the gentle and elevating influences of a mother s lnve ] ® mother’s rare she was as femininely soft and ysSSSS**,*?- »*-a?as been nurtured beneath its beatns. Her *“ ole soul seemed concentrated io her father, and there FLORENCE, GA. SATURDAY, OCTOBER ‘37, 8. was a beautiful and toucliing blending’of confiding devotion, playful tenderness and worshipping de ference, in her deportment towards him, none predominating, but mingling m harmonious con cord. Amid the shades and retirement of her own home, commenced the intimacy of that friendship between us, which after years so strong ly’cemented; but the inipeiative demands ofduty soon called me front the enjoymeut of personal communion, and with a tearful eye and sad heart, I tore myself from the parting embrace of Ida. Time passed on, bearing many changes. The health of Mr. V became precarious, and he was induced to remove for a time -to Italy. Du ring their sojourn there, which was prolonged to nearly two years, 1 heard often from Ida; she seemed, with the enthusiasm-inseparable ffOin her temperament, to have burst upon a uew existence in this land of poetry and romance, where every object glows with beauty beneath n sky always bathed in light, where the whisper if past gran deur is borne on its baliuy breezes ; lie tale of de parted glory written on its crumbling me numents of empire ; the echo of fortune’s waywardness murmured within the tottering wallsof its decay ing palaces. Six months had fted, aid 1 hailed a letter from Ida, which told me htfself and her father were domesticated in the interesting family of an Englishman, who was residing ei ao elegant and picturesque villa hear Naples. She dwelt with rapture on their new friends, stid from the spirit of hefletter I learned the lady of the man sion, Mrs’. Clifford, was a genuine and practical Christian, whose piety threw its halo round their circle, gleamed Ironi every passing incident sub ject for gratitude to an Almighty Being, and the brightness of who*£ faith shone with undickeriqg lustre amid-fife mists of Romish superstition which environed her. To-one whose susceptibili ty was extreme, whojubaled, as it were, the senti ments and principles of those whom she loved, and with whom she associated, this blesseed ex ample was mu without lIS induetn es. Thought fulness precepnbiy imbued the tone of Ida’s com munications, and usurped gradually the place of that light-heartedness aud si>ortive gaiety, which had so characterised them. I was not therefore surprised to bear, before a year lad passed, that she had renounced the “.grided hollowness” of the world's pleasures, (dr the hope of imperisha ble and eternal ioys. The term of their residence in Italy, though considerably prolonged after this event, was now drawing to a cJoec. Mr. V found himself so renovated in health, he bethought him of rOttim ing to Ameri whic! -> - ■ feat the land of his adoption, was loved by Ifim far better than the sudny clime wjiicb had etmted alike, on hi* hap piness and misfortunes. It was early in April that f received tmm Ida intelligence of iaeir intended embarkation for the United States; naming the probable time of their arrival, and injuring me to meet them at their own home. It is not to be supposed I was deaf to these solicitations, and at the appointed time l found myself near Mr. V s residence. May —gladsome, laughiug May—“the bride of the summer, and child of the spring,” with her fairy gifts of sunshine and flow ers, had shaken her sparkling wreith over the smiling Jatuiscape, and every object had waked ; into life beneath the touch of her golden wand. 1 ; had -scar" time to • be towards these ‘ Burstlbc beauties; for the carriage was bearing me i rapidly to the house. On the portico 1 beheld i Ida-waiting to-embrace me ; a moment more and j { was encircled in her arms—from her 1 turned f‘> ireaet her father, who. wnh paternal fondness, i drew ;ivt» to his bosom, and imprinted a kiss upon j my brow. , , , Oh. ye hours of Raffprness : ve days of youth ful joy 'ye snuk uiffi the ashes of the past ! ve are -hr mde J heneatb its dark pall—hidden vithi but your fragrance 1 lias not departed with your freshness— “Rummer’s breath, or spring, A flower—a leaf,” oft conspire to unseal the fount of memory, whose waters come gushing forth like rich music burst ing into a requiem for that fats which consigns the brightest to earliest decay. After the first salutations were over, I followed my friend to the saloon, where my attention was immediately arrested by a pale, romantic looking gill, who was seated in a recess of the apartment, seemingly absorbed in the pages of a book which rested on a table before her. Her profile was turned towards me hs I entered, and struck me painfully with its attenuated and spirit-like ap pearance. Her features were beautiludy and classically chiselled, and though “the rose of youth” had apparently been prematurely blighted in the dark, lnxnriant tresses of her hair, which hung like a cloud around her, in the delicately pencilled and curved brows, the, pure forehead and petfectlv formed mouth, there lingered, if not the bloom of beauty, its breathing soul. As Mr. V - called “Nina,” she raised her lustrous eyes, with an expression of such sadness and melancholy, that I was forcibly reminded of the poetical words of a certain authoress, and mentally applied them to the fair stranger before me. .“if in her depression she resembles night, it is night wearing her stars.” Slowly and grace fully she approached us. Mr. V presented her to me, and as she returned my greeting, I al most started; her soft low voice floated so like melody from her .lips- She was dressed in deep black, which, added to the almost unearthly puri ty y f her complexion and her mourning habili ment's (with a richly gemmed crucifix which hung on her breast,) told its own tale. After we were , seated, Nina returned to her table and book, and i on Ida crossing the room to speak to her, Mr. V brieflv told me she was of Italian paren tage, almost iiobl» lineage, and had rereived her ‘ education within the walls of a convent, from which she had been emancipated, an enthusiast in the Catholic religion. High-born, by the glittering fascinations of rank wealth, him self and daughter had formed her acquaintance. Her suavity of manner and super*r intelligence had contributed towards the coot.nuance of that i acquaintance ; soon it spiaug into friendship, aud the successive calmities vhich had deprived her of friends, fortune, and even, home, in the little space of a few weeks, had in(.«> aj , e( ] t be interest he had conceived for her. The *eouliar desola tion of hei situation, encouraged tin, to offet her his guardianship and a home in his In-use ; an of fer which »he liad readily and tliankfi*|y accep ted. This information added to the Ueling of lympathy with which I already began to regard the fair Catholic—and every hour tended to aug ment the iaterest I entertained for her. From the contemplation ot Nina’s subdue,) loveliness, I turned towards my friend, to see if time’s wing had brushed aside one flower of that beauty which used to cotne over the beholder like i"a burst of sunlight.” She was now at my side, pouring forth her enthusiasm of admiration for the land she had so recently quitted. She was still beautiful, I saw at a glance, and as I gazed into her face as she continued to speak, and watched the "thousand blushing apparitions” which swept so changingly oVer her cheek, vary ing with every feeling she expressed, I lamented not the partial decay of that unfading bloom w hich had given to her early girlhood its flashing brilliancy. Her smile was sweet, but not so frequent ns formerly, on the polished fairness of her lovely brow, thought had made itself a beautiful resting place. The raps of gladness which had so unceasingly danced in her beaming eyes, were shadowed by the depth of tenderness which reposed there so sweetly. There was, too, an irresistible softness aud fascination of manner about her—a poetry of expression clothing her lightest words, which ad ded unspeakably to her attractions. In short, she was no longer the laughing, rosy girl, sporting so heedlessly in life's path, hut the regally, intellec tually, beautiful woman, who felt, a more exalted destiny awaited her than butterfly-like to be lured t.y tlw> n„rjuAii. Imas nf ovary flower whiofi Iflos somed around her. „ * . . , Before T had been an inmate of Mr. V—*'s household many days, "a heart’s husband secret” was whispered in my ear, aud I learned Ida was betrothed. The recital was too eloquently told to be forgotten, and l remember with vividness tire tumult of feelings which crowded mv bosom, as 1 first hearkened to that tale from the friend I .had loved so lODg and truly. There was the voice of joy for her cnitfing happiness—the whis per of hope. that Upr sky might ever be as bright as tjOwr, mingling with other thick-coining fancies, w'hirh 1 thrust from me, not choosing to mar the sunlight of the future; by lowering forebo dings. "it tvas after we had been in Italy about eight months, and in the family of Clifford.” said Ida V——, “that I first saw Gerald Beaumont. The increasing danger of my father’s malady, which had induced us to remove from Naples, where we had established ourselves upon our arrival at Italy, and accept the polite and kind offer of our English friends, was not mitigated for several months, and my time was unremittingly engrossed for many, long weeks. In attendance on him. The duties of the sick chamber were lightened by my inestimable friend, Mrs. Clifford, and it was in those vigils, those hours of watching, beside my dear father's pillow, that I first learned to appre ciate and admire the principles of piety, unmur muring resignation, and trusting faith, which she took pains to infuse into my soul. I have adver ted to this change in tiiy letters to you. Mrs. Clifford’s whole deportment was the most beauti ful exemplification of all that is hallowed in our blessed religion of Which it is possible to conceive, and 1 cannot pass over this period when I first awoke to a sense of my depravity, and subsequent ly grasped the fulfilment of the most precious promise, without adding this merited tribute to my spirt uni guide. “The violence of my father's symptoms yielded before the remedies which were employed, and though he was still Unable to quit his chamber, 1 could sometimes resign my duties near him for the enjoyment of a refreshing ramble over the beautiful grounds of Clifford villa. One day l had returned from such an ■excursion, and before ascending to mv father, l had thrown myself list lessly and languidly in the embrace of a luxurious fanlcuil wltjcli stood ill the library. 1 had scarce recovered from the fatigue of my walk, and was preparing to seek my father’s room, w hen an ad vancing footstep startled tne. aud before 1 had time to arise from my seat, the door of the apart ment was thrown open A tail and elegant look ing young man, in a travelling dress, entered He was evidently a3 much surprised at beholding me so unceremoniously established, as I had been at the interruption. 1 instantly arose, hastily re turning the courtly salutation of the young stran ger, and retreated through a door opposite the one near which he still continued standing. It was not till the dinner hour approached, and I repaired to the drawing room, that I learned the new comer was Gerald Beaumont, the nephew of Mr. Clifford, who was making his continental tour, and had arrived at the seat of his uncle, in tending to spend some time with his relatives. “I will uot dwell,” continued Ida, “on the pro gress of my acquaintance with Gerald Beaumont, hut hasten to speak of that event which coospired to affect mv future destiny. My father was ena bled soon after Gerald’s arrival, to join the social circle of #ur kind friends* and I was exposed to all the fascinating influences of the young Eng lishman's society. In this manner weeks fled, ! and before I was aware, the hope that 1 was be loved seemed inextricably iterwoven with my hap ! piaess. The soul of tenderness which was con j veyed in the tone in which Gerald addressed me, I the deep affection which spoke in his very look, I were enough to brighten the dininessof that hope. Yet no magical words, ‘small, still, but sweet,’ had bid me, revel in the depth of bliss 1 had dared to image—no murmured vow had shown me my dream was reality. My father had long been anxious to visit Rome ; thither he now purposed going, and the day before the one appointed for onr departure from our hospitable friends, wooed by the balmy breath of summer's eve, I had strayed to the tiny lake which spread its silvery expanse amid the embowering shades of Clifford villa. Gerald followed me, aud before we gottjjbt V*L. I.—No. 31. | our friends, I had been told I was beloved, with passion unswerving aod undying. Amid tbfc hus of nature’s repose; aimed the glories of ‘parting day,’ we plighted our troth. My father confirmed it with his blessing. Our union was deferred till my return to America, and accompanied by Ger ald, we spent the remainder of our stay in Italy; partly at Rome, partly at Naples. A few weeks Etevious to our departure for the United States, >erald sailed for England in order to make some arrangements preparatory to changing his place of residence; for lie has yielded to my wishes to fix his home here. He is an orphan, and lias no 'ies which this decision would sever. Soon after, we bade adieu to our cherished friends, to the bright land which had fostered my dawning hap piness, and in a few move days we were bounding ‘o’er the glad waters of the dark hluc sea.’ My last letters from Gerald hold out to me the hope of his speedy arrival in America.” "But Ida,” said I, after a moment’s panse, “what can you tell me of Nina? My imagiha tion has not been idle in picturing the history of one whose very glance is fraught with magical interest.” “Poor Nina?” sighed Ida, “her Metory 19 ond, as far as 1 know, of fearful grief, and its pages bear sad testimony to the oft reiterated truth of earth’s mutability. When we first knew her, she was encompassed by luxury and pomp, glowing in all the fascinations of beauty, and the incense of flat tery and adulation was wafted to her shrine by all who knew her. With the sunshine of fortune this homage has departed. The sorrows ot hex heart are written on her brow in inefaccable charac ters; the flowers of life have withered ere mor ning has past, and the bitterness of her destiny is brooded on by her with an intensity of feeling which is blighting her soul’s energies. We bs caipe acquainted with her some months after our arrival in Italy ; our intercourse soon ripened in to friendship, and the circumstance of her being attached to the Romish communion increased the feelings of interest with which I regarded her, so I could not bear to think that her youth and bloom and gladness of heart should be immolated to superstition, and after I had become a participa tor in that ‘peace which passeth understanding/ I conceived the hope of her conversion. Since that period my efforts to exhibit to her the purity and beauty of our holy religion, in hues which ■night disclose the glaring inconsistency of her professed fai*h, have been unceasing. 1 had tho influences of early education to combat, than which, you know, none cling with a more tena cious grasp. I now hope she is only a nominal Catholic, though she has not openly abjured her faith.” Ida now ceased speaking, and the subject of Nina’s history was never after revived by me, for there was a sacredness in the sorrows of the beau tiful Italian, on which 1 forbore to intrude far ther. The moments passed with “a clove's wing,” tho singularly interesting Catholic girl entwining her self around me slowly, but surtdy. She joined us occasionally in our stroll*, sang to u» some times in her own sweet, low, thrilling tones; the> lays of her “far-off land,” in it* melting, rich and glowing language, accompanying heraelf on her harp, the only relic of her departed grandeur which she retained—but she was more frequently secluded in the solitude of her own apartment, holdiug converse with her sad thoughts, bathing the memory of the past with such tears, “As'rain the hoarded agonies of years From the heart’s urn.” She seemed not insensible to my proffered affec tion, and before many weeks the chill of reserve had faded from our intercourse, and we were friends. I passed many quiet and happy hours with her; when sometimes she would revert with tearful sadness to her past sorrows. In the tone of resignation, humility and faith, which prevaded these conversations, 1 recognized not the senti ments 1 had been taught to expect from the Catholic, but those of the genuine and humble Christian, receiving chastening* with that unmur muring gentleness and meekness which spring from unmixed love of an Almighty Being. Nor did the arrival of Gerald Beaumont, which happened about this time, interrupt our tcle~a tetes. 'Tis true, Ida was less frequently with us, but then we could not regret it, she seemed so happy with Gerald; indeed 1 could not wonder at the idolatry of that affection he had waked in the bosom of iny young friend; there was something so indescribably fascinating about him. It wcs not the symmetry of feature which rendered him so strikingly, so intensely handsome, though his were by no means defective; it was rather the glowing, speaking expression of the large, dark, lustrous eves, the stamp of towering intellect, of “inborn nobleness,” whjch reposed so proudly on the broad, pale brow : and then the deep, touching melancholy, which at times shaded his counten ance, seized so on one’s interest, and the rich tones of his voice were at times sothrillingly sadt one could not help imagining life’s morn had not been cloudless. Be that as it may, ’twas evident be loved Ida with enthusiastic passion, and not willing to act Mademoiselle De Trop, l left the lovers to seek their own enjoyments, and contin ued to devote myself to Nina, whose gradually decaying health awakened not our apprehensions ; the unnatural brilliancy of her eye, and beauty of her rare smile,veiling the progress of the destroy er. Meanwhile the preparations for Ida’s mar riago continued, and the bridal morn at length arrived, being ushered in amid the cloudless brightness of heaven, and the flowing verdare of earth. In the radiant glances of Ida, hope spoke, nor were the jewels sparkling amid .the waves ot her shining hair more gloriously bright than the 6mile which seemed banqueting on the roses of her young cheek. As I gazed on her in irrepressible admiration; as I watched the beams of fond af fection which felt from the dark, flashing eye es the lordly-looking bridegroom on the beautiful being at his side, and hearkened to the tones of Ida’s voice, as tremulous with agitated joy, she pronounced the “fitting vows,” I prayed that golden hours which wefe opeoinij tfM&x