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'?DX>
the GEORGIA MIRROR,
13 PUBLISHED EVERT SATURDAY,
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JOB PRINTING.
(t ON NEC TED with the office of the
J MLRROR, is a splendid assortment ol
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And wc a re-enabled to excite all kind of Job
cwork in the neatest manner and a* the short
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“\civ Ca n sii’ssio » H
TITHE subscribers have as-
T I sociated themselves to
»*rtlßsethcr as COMMISSION
MERCHANTS, under the
name and style of „ «.
JO JI.V !>• PUTS A to,
Tl.cv have purchased the commodious
WARF.-lIDUSE ami CLOSE MOKE,
lately occupied by Jeroigan, J'* «“
where they will receive C 1
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t ui in their possession and under their con
trol. Their charge, will be as customary.
The business will be conducted by John
D. Pitts. We solicit the patronage of the
public, and are prepared to give Columbus
l.ric«i fur e«uon. p piTTS-
M. J. LAURENCE.
Florence, Nov. 10 _ K
jnrsTAun,
FORWARDING AMD COMIVIiSSION
MERCHANT,
St. Joseph, Fla*
January 10, 1839.
DRY GOODS.
r|A PIE subscriber having recently rcplen-
L ished his stock, invites l»is custom
ers and the public generally, to call and ex
amine for themselves. His goods are new
and well selected and he is offering them on
as good terms as any in the market. His
stock consists in part ol the followings
Woolens, Snttinetts,
A variety of Broad Clot Its,
Circassians, Merinos,
Bombazines and Bombazcttcs.
Ked and White Flannel,
A good assortment ol
itemli/ allude Clothmg%
A large supply ot 800 l’E and bHOEb,
crntkmen’h AND ladifs
SADDLES, BRIDLES AND MARTINGALS.
Crockery , Hardware and Cutlery,
With a variety of other articles suitable
to the season, whicbhe takes great pleasure
in offe ing to his customer* and the pub
lic, at h anew store on the North side Cen
‘"aTl* 40 THO: GARDNER.
NEW STORE.
THE undersigned having associated
them selves under the name and style
of Harvey & Chastain, offer for sale anew
and well selected Stock of Goods. Wares,
nod Merchandize, from Charleston, viz.
Broad Cloth,
Sattinctts,
Emernetls,
Merino,
Silk Lustring and Mattronas,
French Muslin,
do Ginghams,
do Prints,
Scotch Ginghams,
r Anew assorted Stock of English and A
merican Prints, Furniture I’ruits, Bonnets,
Hats, Shoes, of all kinds, Bridles, Saddles
and Martingales. Besides a variety of oth
er articles too tedious to mention. Which
will be sold low for cash or undoubted cre
ditors.
The pnblis are requested to call and ex
amine fur thamselves.
JOHN P. HARVEY.
MORGAN CHASTAIN.
March 26. 1839 50
rpilE SUBSCRIBERS have just re
-F ceived a select lot of
GROCERIES,
which they offer on reasonable terms for
Cash.
n ROOD * 7^ LMAN -
Doc 14 37 if
THE MIRRA 18.
PROSPECTUS
OF THE
SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
' I Mils is a monthly Magazine, devoted
A chiefly to Literature, but occasion
ally finding room also for articles tha fall
within the scope of Sciencf. ; and uot pr
essing an entire disdain of tasteful selections,
though its matter has been, as it will con
tinue to be, in the main, original.
Party Politics, and controversial Theol
ogy, as far as possible, are jealously exclu
ded. They are sometimes so blended with
discussions in literature or in moral sci
ence, otherwise unobjectionable, as to gain
admittance fur the sake of the more valu
able matter to which they adhere: bit'
whenever that happens they are incidental,
only, not primary. They are dross, tolera
ted onlv because it cannot well be severed
from the sterling ore wherewith it is incor
porated.
Reviews and Critical Notices, occu
py their due space in the work: and it is the
Editor's aim that they should have a three
fold tendency—to convey, in a condensed
form, such valuable truths or interesting in
cidents as are embodied in the wpfks re
viewed, —to direct the readers attention to
books that deserve to be read—and to warr
him against wasting time and money upon
that large number, which merit only to be
burned. In this age of publications that by
their variety and multitude, distract and o
venvhelmn every undiscriminating student,
impartial criticism, governed by the views
just mentioned, is one of the most inesti
mable and indispensable of auxiliaries to him
who does wish to discriminate.
Essays and Tales, having in view’ utility
or amusement, or both; Historical sket
ches —and Remixisences of events too min
ute for History, yet elucidating it, and
heightniug its interest—may be regarded
as farming the staple of the work. And
of indigenous Poetry, enough is publish
ed—sometimes of no mean strain—to man
ifest and to cultivate the growing poetical
taste and talents of our country.
The times appear, for several reasons, to
demand such a work—and not one alone,
but ttranyt The public mind is feverish
and irritated still, from recent political
strifes: The soft, assuasivc influence of Lit
erature is needed, to allay that fever, and
soothe that irritation. Vice and folly are
rioting abroad :—They should bo driven by
indignant rebuke, or lashed by ridicule, in
to thcii lilting hauuts. Ignorance lords it
over an immense proportion of our peo
pic:—Every spring should be set in motion,
to arouse the enlightened, and to increase
th"ir number; so that the great enemy of
popular government may no longer brood,
like a portentous cloud, over the destinies
of our country. Ynd to accomplish all
these ends, what more powerful agent can
be employed, than a periodical on the plan
of the Messenger; if that plan be but car
ried out in practice?
The South peculiarly requires such an
agent. In all the Union, south of Washing
ton, there are but two Literary periodicals!
Northward of that city, there arc probably
at least twenty-five or thirty ! Is this con
trast justified by the wealth, the leisure,
the native talent, or the actual literary taste
of the Southern people, compared with
those of the Northern? No: for in wealth,
talents and taste, we may justly claim, at
least, an equality with our brethren md a
domestic institution exclusively our own,
beyoud all doubt, affords us, if we choose,
twice the leisure for reading and writing
which they enjoy.
It was from a deep sense of thisfocfl? want
that the word Southern was engrafted on
this periodical: and not with any design to
uourish local prejudices, or to advocate sup
posed local inte osts. Far from any such
thought, it is the Editor’s fervent wish, to
see tne North aud Soutli bouud endearing
ly together, forever, in the silken bands of
mutual kindness and affection. Far from
meditating hostility to the north, lie has al
ready drawn, anil he hopes hereafter to
draw, much of his choicest matter thence ;
and happy indeed will he deem himself,
should lus pages, by making each region
know the other better contribute in any es
sential degree to dispel the lowering clouds
that now threaten the peace of both, and
to brighten and strengthen the sacred tics
of fraternal love.
The Southern Literaty Messenger has
now been inexistence four years—the pre
sent No commencing the fifth volume.
How far it has acted out the ideas here ut
tered, is not for the Editor to say; he be
lieves, however, that it falls not farther short
of them, than human weakness usually
makes Practice fall short of Theory.
CONDITIONS.
1. The Southern Literary Messenger is
published in monthly numbers, of 64 large
supei royal octavo pages each, on the best of
paper, and neatly covered, at $5 a year—
payable in advance.
2. Or five new subscribers, by sending
theii names and S2O at one time to the edi
tor, will receive their copies for one year,
for that sum, o’ at $4 for each.
3. The risk of loss of payments for sub
scriptions, which have been properly com
mitted to the mail, or to the hands of a post
master, is assvm and by the editor
4. If a subsi r ption is not directed to be
discontinued before the first number of the
next volume has been published, it will be
taken as a continuance for another year.
Subscriptions must commence with the be
ginning of th<* volume, and will not be ta
ken for less than a year’s publication.
5. The mutual obligations of th«* publish
er and subscriber, for the year, are fully in
curred as soon as the first number of the
volume is issued : and after that time, no
discontinuance of a subscription will be
permitted. Nor will a subscription be dis
continued for any earlier notice, while yna
thing thereon remains due, unless at the
option of the Editor. t
NOTICE.
IN conformity to a Resolution of the Flor
ence company, will be sold on the Ist
Monday in July, twt> wharf lots.
Terms made known on the day of sale.
11. \V. JERNIGAN, Agent
April 15 1839. 1
H“ ENRY A. GARRETT ia the author
ised agent, to take notes, receive cash
and give receipts for any demands due the
Male and Female Academies at Florence.
May 6 4 THE TRUSTEES.
@A» sT'ffW3 3* a3S©»
Prospectus
or the «
SOUTHEtg 1% FARMER.
AT tite earnest solicitation of a large
number ol our fellow-citizens, we is
sue a Prospectus for the cublication of a
weekly paper to be styled THE SOUTH
EI4N FARMER, aud devoted exclusively
to ihe improvement ol Agriculture, and the
general in teres 1 of the Planter. We are
persuaded that a work of this character is
essentially needed in this State; that its ad
vantages are duly appreciated ; and that wc
have only to commence the publication in
order to be patronized ar.d sustained by the
great body of the people.
At the North, where works of thiskim!
have long been fostered and cneouraped, Ap
riculture is studied as a department of sci
ence, and is therefore in a continued and
rapid state of improvement; in consequent
ol which, industry and economy are pro
moted in all classes, and the substantial com
forts of life are accumulating around every
hearth.
We, of the South, have always been su
pinely neglieentof our best interests in ref
wence to this subject, and it is now high
time that we should shake off our lethargy,
md our shameful dependant ; upon the
North for every valuable sug{ ’stion in Ag
riculture as well as Literature. Why is it,
that the fresh and fertile fields if the South
cannot vie in the quantity and quality of
their productions, with the old and worn out
fields of the North ? An answer may be
found in the fact that Northern farmers de
vote more attention aud study to the im
provement of tie various branches of Agri
culture. With the advantages in point of
soil and climate, which our Southern States
undoubtedly possess, we see no other reason
for the paucity of their productions, than
imperfection in the Agricultural system here
in vogue.
Agriculture may be considered both as an
art aud a scicnre, depending upon innumer
able sources for its perfection, and applica
ble to every spot of earth Inhabited by man ;
and no individual can acquire by his own ex
perience alone, more than a limited degree
of knowledge on the subject. A paper ol
thekiudwepropo.se to establish, will offer
great advantages for the interchange of ex
perience and opinion, by which every indi
vidual may possess himself of the combined
observations of a great number, with whose
interest his own is identified. By this means
a general intelligence in relation to agricul
tural subjects, and a competent knowledge
of the principles that govern its operations
will be diffused throughout the community,
and thus afford increased stimulus and en
couragement to all who are engaged in its
puisuits. We conceive onr undertaking to
be a laudable one, and therefore respectfully
call upon the public for patronage and sup
port.
Communications from practical men, on
practicable subjects, will, at all times find a
place in the columns of the SOUTHERN
FARMER, and from the interest which
some of our intelligent friends have already
evinced for its success, we hav» no doubt of
being able to present to the public au inter
esting and valuable paper.
The publication will be commenced as
soon as a sufficient number of subscribers
are obtained to authorize it.
TERMS. The Southern Farmer will bt
published weekly, on fine paper, in quarto
form, at the rate of Three Dollars per an
num, } v/abte, inallcases, in advance. Sub
scribeu to the Georgia Mirror will he en
titled to receive »he Southern Farmer at
Two Dollars per annum. Both papers will
he sent co one address for Five Dollars.
GARDNER & BULL.
Flotence, Ga. May 17, 1839.
LAND FOR SALE.
THE Subscriber would sell the follow
ing Lois of Land low for cash:
No 68, 16tli dist. of Dooly.
No. 229 do. do.
No. 2, 15th (list, of Early.
No. 511, 7th (list, of Irwin.
No. 408, 28th (list of Early.'
No. 130, 12th dist. of Dooly.
Apply tothe Subscriber in Monroe coun
ty Ga. JOHN PITMAN.
May 15, 1839 6 3t
” ALABAMA LANDS
FOR SALE.
NIIALF 9 14 30
. S. half 4 14 30
N. half 8 14 30
N. half 7 14 30
S. half 7 14 30
S. half 6 14 30
S. half 11 14 20
S. half 20 18 28
S. half 34 19 28
N. half 36 19 29
S. half 36 19 29
W. half 29 16 26
N. half 6 16 30
E. half 21 22 26
E. half 22 13 28
N. half 33 20 26
S. half 32 18 28
W. half 26 15 24
S. half 29 16 25
E. half 2 18 25
Any of the above Lands will be sold on
terms to suit purchasers, by application to
John D. Pitts, Esq. Florence, Ga. or to the
subscriber, at Macon.
July 26 18 J. COWLES.
STEWART SUPERIOR. COURT
FEB. TERM 1839.
Cain, & Pope ft )
Mark M. Fleming, & I
Neil Robertson,
vs. I Pill for JDiscoveiy,
William Solomon, j Relief f) injunction.
John Martin,
John Chain, and
Arthur A. Morgan. J
IT appearing to this court, that John Chain,
one of the defendants to the said bill of
complaint, resides out of the limits of this
State,
On motion, of the Solicitor of complainant,
ordered, that service be perfected, by pub
lication once a month for four months, in
one of the public gazettes of this State.
A true extract from the minutes of Stew
art Superior court, February term, 1839.
ELIJAH PEARCE, Cleik
April 1,1839.
IPCDISESIYro
LOVE AND THE LOTUS!
from hafiz.
When in the cast, the golden sun
Has risen from his ocean bed.
And o’er the earth, so lately dark,
The glories of his brightness shed ;
The lotus on the river’s breast.
Lifts with deep love her dewy eye,
And thanks him lot the life ar.d light
He sheds upon her from the sky.
' At noon her loving gaze pursues
His proud career untirerf, unturn'd ;
And when at leugth he 6lowly sets,
She watches every beam that buru’d
Until the last is lost—apd then
She downward bonds her gentle head,
And leans in sadness o'er the stream,
To weep till morn his brightness fled.
So lady, do I turn to thee.
Through every change in every hour ;
Heedless of all on earh beside
Save thy pure beauty’s thralling power;
In thy loved sight I live—but when
I lose the glory ol its ray,
Like to the lotus, bowed and bruised.
My spirit weeps itself away ;
From the Louisville Journal.
THE STOLEN KISS.
TO ——, OF LOUISVILLE.
That much 1 sinn’d, my girl, 1 own—
But Oil your eyes did wink so,
I thought the crime might pass for fun,
But you it seems, didn’t think so.
It was indeed a sad offence,
And though you frown'd and chided,
Who in the name of common sense.
Would not have done as 1 did ?
From the Sou'hern Literary Messenger.
Tlie Poet’s J>csti»»y.
By a Youßg Lady, a Native of Va.
CHAPTER I.
A cloud swept o‘er the lover’s face.
As lie stood before me now ;
A scornful smile was on hi 9 lip,
A shadow on his brow.
Two years of exile passed away, and Er
nest Gordon was again in England. Time
and change had wrought their usual work,
and calmed the tumult of feeliugs which
nothing could entirely subdue. Though
his brow wore no longer its deep sadness,
yet it was shaded still; and it may be, that
the memory of some early sorrow urged
him to flee from the gaieties of the metro
polis. and seek the solitude ofliis childhood's
home. There, he could be alone with his
own thoughts. Society no longer charm
ed him ; and steadfastly scru.inizing the
frivolities of the world, he had learned to
shun and pity those who loved them.—
Books were now his companions ; and some
times, in his bitten ess of soul, he deemed
them the only friends who never altered or
betrayed.
It is a sad period in life, when such feel
ings crowd upon us; when the beauty
seems taken from our luture, and the light
gone from our path-way. Gloom like this
was on Ernest, as lie wandered through
the old familiar haunts of his boyish days
—and he pondered on those days as the
only happy period he had ever known ; for
getting that many hopes brightened over
him still, that no era of existence is with
out its blessings, and that none ran be real
ly unhappy while there is good remaining
to be done on earth. How few, in such
mournful meditations, perceive that the
change is not in the scenes and objects, a
routid them, but in themselves ; that the
blight has fallen, not on their prospects, but
on the withering flowers of theirown hearts.
The stars are always in Heaven, and the
darkness lwhich shuts them from us, is a
round ourselves.
It was early on a summer afternoon that
Ernest was seated in the library, whosetrea
sur“s had so often contributed to the con
solation of his loneliest hours. The win
dows of the room were open, and the soft
breeze sighed through the cur'ained case
ments ; repose like a mantle on all. and its
influence fell on Erneat also. IJis eyes
were fixed on the page before him, but Ills
thoughts had reamed far away to the records
of the past.
Throwing aside tlie learned volume, he
took a panphlet from the table and careless
ly opeued it. While he glanced at its con
tents. a change came over his countenance,
as if the lava of years had been suddenly re
moved from the world of his memory. The
lines lie looked on were addressed to the
writer's “only friend,” and were these ;
“I will not forget thee ! the links of the
past,
They are clinging around me yet ;
And the thoughts which connected my
spirits with thine
Are such the heart cannot forget.
They are lingering near me in tender
ness still.
Unstained by the touch of decay.
And are brighten'd by gloom, as stars
shine at night
Which lose ail their lustre by day.
I will not forget thee ! too many bright
hopes
Are gathered around thy dear name.
For with accents of kindness thou greet
edst me oft.
When others spoke only to blame.
Thy memory comes like the breath of
the south,
With fragrance and lovelines fraught;
For communion with thee, was hallow’d
by love,
And chasten'd by beauty of though*.”
Ernest's conscience smote him for liis
forgetfulness, as he read the verses addres
sed to himself and signed with the name of
Walter Vere. Since their parting, these
frieuds had heard nothing of each other—
for Walter, with that peculiar reserve which
generally forms a feature of an imaginative
character, lad said nothing of h>s plans or
destination ; and Ernest, in the selfishness
of his individual disappointments, after the
lapse of a few months' absence, had rarely
thought of his youthful companion. Per
haps he may be forgiven this neglect, by
those wk o feel that the memory of childish
friendship is often lost iu the engrossment
of a deeper passion. But now, when the
variety and distraction of travel had pas
sed away, auJ he was once more eujoying
the quiet of home, Gordon's interest in his
friend returned with redoubled ardor, and
he dwelt w'ith the tenderest affection on
the proud aud seusitive disposition of the
gifted poet.
Entirely igno-ant of Walter’s residence,
Eruest wrote to Sir Godfrey Kneller inquir
ing for it; for he had resolved to
compensate by future kindness and atten-j
1 tion, the past ueglect and suspension of
their intercourse. A tew days brought the
wished-for information, anil Ernest des
patched a note to his friend.
“Once more, dear Walter,” he said, “my
wanderings are ended, and again I am a
mongthe tranquil beauties of home. This
place recalls the happy hours we have pas
sed here, and in roaming through its fami
liar scenes, I can scarcely realize that years
have fled since we enjoyed them together.
Will you not come to me, Walter? The
sight of long forgotten things will impart to
you anew inspiration—and communion
with your earliest friend, will blot out the
memory of sorrows we both havejtnown too
well. Do not deny me, Walter; 1 have so
much, so very much, to tell you.
which 1 cannot write. Moreover, 1
long to learn your prospects and hopes;
they were confided to me so oper.ly once,
that I cannot relinquish (lie pleasure of a
renewal of your confidence, lam here a
lone, and the thought of having you for a
companion, has given me a taste of joy 1
have not felt since we parted.”
Ernest wrote truly. In solitude, his more
youthful feelings had returned, and it was
with an interest he had long ceased to cher
ish lor the commmou events of life, that
he looked for Walter’s answer. It came at
last, and Ernest read as follows:
“Thanks, a thousand thanks, dear Er
nest for your kind invitation ; it would in
deed bring back the past, to be with you
again—but it may not be. The poor have
but few of the pleasures of this world, and
my destiny shuts me out even from these.
I must remain here anil toil in solitude—
but do not think me insensible of your
goodness because 1 am forced to decline
its offers; believe me, your affection is a
mong nty dearest consolations, and you can
never know how precious J hold it, till
like, me, you have only only one or two to
love y ou. You express an interest in my
prospects; alas ! Ernest, there is little in
the future that promises well forme. My
writings are sufficiently profitable to pre
vent our suffering, but I no longer, work
with the zeal of my past efforts. Now, ex
ertion is painful, and 1 turn, almost with
loathing from the very lines which are the
sole support of my daily existence. Do not
deem me ungrateful, Gordon, because 1
speak often of my sorrows : they have, alas !
been more familiar to me than joy. 1 have
but one real pleasure on earth, and that is
the consciousness of giving comfort to my
mother and sister, lor them 1 live, and
perhaps their affection is the dearer, be
cause, with the exception of yours, 1 have
proved it to be the only love which ebangeth
not. D» you teitiei; tier. Ernest how of
ten in our boyish anticipations, I used to
picture a manhood brig lit with honor and
glorious with renown ? How confident 1
once was, in my powers ; hew scaring was
thcambitiou which urged me to win celebri
ty ! Those hopes have vanished. I find
that in trusting to my own intellect, I lean
ed on a broken reed, and that in sighing
for frme, I pined Cor that w hich can only be
gained by parting with happiness. 1 am
wiser, or at least humbler, than I then
was; for nothing produces in us humility so
soon, as the shadowing of our proudest and
brightest hopes. But 1 will uot weary you
my friend, by dwelling longer on my misfor
tunes ; (heir recital can avail nothing. Will
you not write to me. Ernest ? Let me re
alize one of my early dreams, in proving the
truth of your friendship. Through years
of silence and separation, I have never
doubted it, and it would be paiuful indeed
to find it vain at last.”
“Poor Walter !” murmured Ernest, as
iie finished these mournful lines : “lie has
indeed known many sorrows but lie lias
escaped the haughty scorn whose blight is
now upon me 1”
Ernest did not suspect that the disap
pointment which had withered some of
the better feelings of his heart, was even
then clouding the sunshine of his friend,
andstialing away the beauty of bis life.
He dreamed not that his sadness was as
nothing, compared to the wild, unmitiga
ted despair of a being like Walter. Ernest
had many resources ;—wealth gave him
power; and change had brought him calm
ness. But the poet was poor ; his suffer
ings had been increased by silence and lone
liness ; there was no excitement to draw
his thoughts from the hour which '. ad seal
ed his misery in revealing the hopelessness
of his early passion. He had worshipped
too long at that forbidden shrine, to knpcl
before another. The incentive to exertion
was gone with the faithless dream in which
he had garnered up the hopes of life. The
poet was of ton gentle too loving a nature,
to find support in the pride which iiad prov
ed a solace to Gordon- He could not, like
him, re pay the scorn of the one, on ihe ma
ny ; and while Ernest smiled in haughty
bitterness, Walter wept in secret sorrow.
CHAPTER 11.
His sorrows were in secret kept,
Their strength was never seen ;
And those around Irm did not dream
How wretched he had been !
It was a sweet summer night, when the
brother and sister gazed together on the
quiet and religious beauty of the far
off stars. The poet’s brow was pale with
j deep and troubled thoght, and in the un-.
certain light, his eyes emitted a strange
brightness from their dark, passionate
depths. His smile too, wssi-sd, and beau
ful as the moonlight. Lucy looked at lum
in silence, as, wrapt in ihe mournful teveiie
which was now a common n.ocii wijh lum,
lie gazed on the orbs w andering above them.
Tears filled tlie sister’s eyes as she mat ked
the unconscious absoibtun. and witnessed
the gloom which so olten cast its shadows
over Waller’s spirit. ,
“I have not told you , Lucy, tfaat I shall
be obliged soon to go to London,” said
Walter, at last; speaking as if with an ef
fort. “The publisher says my presence
will be necessary in superintending n y forth
coming work and though I dread the ve
ry thought, I must go.”
*tl can scarcely regret the necessity, dear
Walter,” said his sister, “for I think the
change of scene and exercise will improve
both your health and spirits.”
“I cannot bear the idea of mingling again
in the crowd,” he said ; “the very air of Lon
don makes me gloomy, and I fee! doubly
desolate in a throng where so many sre
happy. I wish Ernest would go with nte.”
“Can you not ask him I" inquired Lu
cy calmly; but the mention of hia name,
whose sound to her was now an abiding
sorrow, called up a sudden paleness on her
cheek.
"1 will write to him,” continued Walter
“he has so many friends in London, it can
but be a pleasure for him to go there. It is
the wretched only who shun the multitude”
“And why should you be so wretched,
Walter? asked Lucy almost reproachfully.
“You have blessings even yet—and is it
no consolation to remember you are the
stay and comfort of our mother ?”
* Yes, Lucy, that consolation is the sole
comfort ol my life. As for my blessings—
where are they ? Is it a blessing to see you
suffering from this harsh climate without
the power to find you a gentler one ? If
these are blessings, Lucy, I am blessed in
deed !”
“You must not think of me, dearest,'she
answered. “Believe me the suffering of
sickneßß ran no»», give the pain I feel at
your repining in bitterness.”
"Not in bitterness, my sister, but in sor
row and hopelessness,” said Walter. “But
it is too old for you here, dearest,” be ad
ded, after a moment’s panse. “Retire to
rest, Lucy— and may your dreams be hap
py!”
“Will you not go too, Walter?”
“My dieam are not bright enough to
tempt me,” lie answered, with his strange,
sntile. “I will watch with the 6tars a
little longer,”—and Lucy left him.
Walter looked after her sorrowfully, and
he thought her slight figure seemed wasted,
even since he last observed it.
Lucy sat long at her window, wrapt in si
lent, cheerless meditation; and when at
length she retired, she perceived through
the dimness of the night, that her biother
was sti'l at his station.
The next morning Walter wrote to Er
nest asking him to th<* metropolis.
“1 dread the prospect,” he said, “but my
going is necessary, and I would not neglect
any thing which may add to the comfort
of those dependant on me. Now, more
than ever, 1 am bound to make every exer
tion— fora new affliction is approaching, end
death is written on the brow of one, ncarett
and dearest. It is not yet too lute to save,
her, and if tny next work prove popular and
pofitahle. I shall seek her health in a foreiga
land. Four Lury ! she is sensible of her
danger, even while she attempts to conceal
it; but her confession is not needed to re
veal the decay 1 can trace so surely on the
cheek and in the eye !”
Ernest itadily corsrr.ted to rcecinpftny
his friend, but he little suspected their mu
tual dislike to London arose from the same
cause. Walter’s letter awoke new ftclii gs
in Ernest, and he read of Lucy 's danger,
her sweet face came hack to him, as from a
dieam. 11c remembered, and without vaa
ity. the one short interview, which had Le
trayed to him her heart's secret, and he
asked himself if lie had done wisely in cold
ly passing by such love.
Ernest’s first lev • was very like most men’s;
it was more a memory than a reality ; for,
it was not proof against neglect and new as
sociations. His devotion to Lady Alice
had been so scorned and repulsed, that it
had given place to a feeling of dislike ;
and pride, more than affection, induced
him to avoid tlie possibility of meeting her.
With much true and deep feeling, he min
gled a vein of vvorldlim ss, which perhaps
did more than any thing else towards heal
ing the wounds <>• lus lusnm.
“Can 1 not an W iher in restoring'lus'hs
ter TANARUS” he thought. “1 have wealth, and if
is all he needs. She, perhaps, ran love me,
even now ; and I would willingly show the
world, that there are otbeis as w orthy of a
doration as the Countess of Lysle!”
How different the emotion that prompt
ed the proud, yet humble adoration of Wal
ter ! With a devotedness, which for years
had been liis blessing, he still treasured up
one lovely face ; and Alice knew not the
heart she trampled en,u lien site so haught
ily rejected the poet’s love ! ,
Scarce a week had passed, ere etfotker
was added to the ciicle of the poet’s heme.
The next day the friends were to journey to
the city ; and now Ernest and Lucy were.
again together. A single glanre at her al
tered andplflcid face, told Gordon she was
doomed ; and he saw, that in anticipating
iier restoration, his friend v.as hoping against
hope.
Walter was writi“JJir his room, aril Lti
ey wandered with Ernest in the suit moon
light. They spoke of her brother, L;s
fears, and the quiet days oi their earlier in
tercourse. Gordon vaguely alluded to 1 s
o.vn disappointments ; but flying from the
past, he lingered over the pies< nt. At
length all was forgotten and lost but too
holy enchantment of that joyous moment;
and in the low tone of intense feeling. U?
uttered the sweetest words that ever fell oii
Lucy’s ear.
•■J am changed. Lucy." he continued,
“from the enthusiastic being you and Wal
ter once knew ; aud perbups 1 have lost nil
claim to yoor forgiveness and generosity ;
j but, trust me, you will find none, even t
tnong the happiest and most devoid tX
your suitors, who can Ltdd you dearer in
his lica tof heart*, t hat/T do ! Sneak to
tnc, my beloved ; tell me, Lucy ! that you
cau love me, even ycl I”