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MRFIIB HIIMII (EMMS.
TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
I (Original snrtrtj.
Fartlie Southern Literary Gazette.
A MEMORY.
BY JENNIE EI.DEK.
“ Through the shadowy past,
hike a tomb-searcher, memory ran,
I U Lifting eat'b shroud that time had cast
OYr buried hopes.”—Moore.
“ And otherdays came back to me
With recollected music, tho’ the tone
Is changed and solemn.** —Byron.
n-'. my own loved muse, hath donned her
I vest
I o; glorious mingling azure, purple, golden,
I , -tending up, the distance from the west,
\ n j gentle silence doth dim gray embolden,
I ,id its shadow, typing lessons sage,
1..-, - a y, “so steal we on the eve of age.”
n j n g, I worship thee! Thou fill’st my cup
I With the weired, mingling hues of inspiration,
I t fleams and sparkiings,flashing wildly up;
I >'* o n .
I Flashes of purple, golden and carnation,
With chastening of sombre shadowy gray,
training gleams which all too wildly play.
- mil 1 now sip! Shall I upon the billow
I)| Jo y unchecked, launch forth my struggling
soul ?
Or shall I nestle on the flowery pillow
When Hope her sceptre sways with sweet
control ]
ir linked with Memory, tread the silent glades,
Where pale, white flowers festoon tho dint
arcades!
O.eomc with me,” saitli Hope, “ among tho
roses,
No shadow rests upon my bright domain,
\iul, wooing thee, each glowing leal uncloses,
\ll yielding sweets, which know no taint or
stain.”
U, Hope, shall 1 to thy soft voice give heed,
Whose smiles and whispers serve but to mis
lead !
o,come with me,” saith Memory, “though
the meadows,
Whose soft grass yieldeth to the press of love;
fear not to pass the dark valley with shadows,
The sun still gleameth in the dome above,
And gentle streams reflecting silver light,
then at thy wish shall bring the loved to sight.”
I'm thine, O, Memory, draw those soft gray
bands
Around my soul, and guide me to those
streams
Which glide through mystic vales of mystic
lands,
In solemn music and soft, silvery gleams—
Where branches of the weeping willow trail,
And white flowers droop all motionless and
pale!
Thy hand is on me —my immortal soul
Is passing onward to the sacred shrine
Tpreared by an omnipotent control.
With buried loves, which on the earth were
mine,
But now, all taken hack by Him who gave—
’ e! the damp grass upon a new-made giave!
ut me rest here ! there is an angel meek,
01 gentle mien and tender, pleading eyes,
That lays its shining wings upon my cheek,
And beckons ine in most beloved guise.
And its soft voice brings back that loving strain,
Winch I, in lile, may never hear again.
0, Hope, unite with Memory! Be my stay —
The lirm supporter of my feeble life,
Be my companion in the thorny way,
And strengthen me beneath the awful strife,
That makes the night a cenotaph of tears,
And wraps in gloom all coming days and years!
Lunenburg, Va.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
TO CLEONTA.
BY JACQUES JOURNOT.
Thy caskets with jew r els
May glitter and shine,
And gems from Golconda,
And gold from the mine,
May be wojen and braided,
And twined in thy hair,
But thy forehead is clouded—
Deep shadows are there !
Ah ! the bosom that throbs
’Neath a glittering vest,
M ith treasures celestial,
Not always is blest;
But labours of duty,
And missions of love,
Shall win thee a blessing,
From heaven above,
And Peace, like an angel,
From mansions of rest,
In silence descending,
Shall dwell in thy breast.
Charleston.
(Drigitial £’nlrs.
For the Southern Litterary Gazette.
MORNING CALLS:
OR. THE FRIENDS OF FASHION.
BY AGELE DE V. HULL.
“Ileigho !"’ said Mr. Elmore, as he
st °od with his back to the fire one
Morning, while his wife still sat at the
Wakfast table; “this is one of my
‘■lark days of horror,’ Louisa. I have
a bote to pay in bank, and it happens
to be particularly inconvenient at this
present juncture.”
“My dear Philip, I’d rather pay fifty
Botes, than perform what 1 am hound
3o this morning. See this list,”
Mid Mrs. Elmore rose and joined her
husband, taking a piece of paper out
°f a porcelain casket on a little chif
loniere near her; “there are thirty
’ atnes of ladies to whom 1 owe calls.
I Must return them, because it is but
e lvil to do so. Yet, out of the num
ber, I assure you, not a half dozen in
vest me ; 1 have, as you know, no in
ornate friend —for treachery and de
ceit have scared me out of the wish to
!in< 3 another—so without caring a sous
*° r this host of acquaintances, I am to
Press myself in my “very best,’ and
£° from house to house, saying, how
§' a( l I am, and how happy I should be
f ° meet them again. Is not thathypoc
!%, Philip?” and she looked archly
mt ° his face.
a mim mmAk mmm m mme tm m& a® mmm. a® m mal iuk
“No one as sincere as you are, my
dear wife, can even be hypocritical,”
and he passed his arm around her
waist. “You have a very thankless
task before you, but we, who live in
the beau mo tide , must bend to conven
tion. You are not going to make pro
fessions to all these people ; you will
not pretend to love any, by unmean
ing caresses and fond words, which
many of your sex seem to think a ne
cessary ceremony. So 1 will not ac
cuse you of hypocrisy, even if the
whole tribe you have on your list, re
turn the call you now pay them. My
opinion is, that any one who sees you
once and twice, must still wish for a
third meeting. So kiss me good bye,
Loo ! I shall return to dinner at four
and if you are not at home by that
time, 1 will wait for you. Shall 1 send
a carriage? you cannot walk all the
morning, it will tire you to death. It
shall come round in an hour, and you
can set out when you like.”
“Thank you, dear Philip, how kind
of you to think of it! 1 will certainly
be back to dinner as soon as you, for I
would not keep you waiting, you dear
obliging old thing!”
And Mrs. Elmore ran after him at
the hall door, to see if he had his tab
lets. lie sometimes left them behind
him, but this time all was right, and
the pretty creature went back to her
dining room and housekeeping.
The carriage came, and she dressed
herself quietly. She hated a fuss, —
and when she sprang in, and leant back
looking as charming as a sweet, bloom
ing face, and exquisite taste in dress
could make one, Mr. Elmore’s pride
seemed perfectly justifiable. In a few
minutes, the check string was pulled,
and the beautiful horses were soou
pawing the ground in front of a hand
some house in a most fashionable spot.
“Ring the bell, Mingo,” said she to
the little black footman that came to
the carriage-door, “and ask if Mrs.
Leverich is at at home ?”
“Mrs. Leverich does’nt receive to
day, ma’am,” was the answer, and Lou
isa joyfully took out her card-case, and
then drew her pencil across the first
name on her list. Mingo mounted be
hind, and oil'they drove again.
The next moment the check-string
received another pull, and Mrs. Brown
was at home ; so Louisa alighted, and
passed through the hall into the hand
some parlours, where she wailed twen
ty minutes before the lady of the house
came down, very much overdressed
for the morning. But she had flown
from the basement, where she was
scolding the servants, to her own room
and exchanged a very doubtful-looking
loose gown, for a handsome silk with
four flounces.
“Mrs. Elmore ! I am delighted to
see you. How* are you to day? You
look too well, however, for me to he
in any doubt on the subject of your
health.”
Louisa acknowledged that she was
very well; aud inquired after the little
Browns.
“Oh, they are always well, (Phoebe !
Phoebe! bring the children down to
see Mrs. Elmore,) I don’t know what I
should do if they were ever sick, see
ing as much company as I do. You
know Mr. Brown gives so many gen
tlemen dinners, and 1 give so many
large parties! It takes so many ser
vants to attend to every thing, when
any one receives and entertains as we
do every day of our lives! Such a
large quantity of silver, and two or
three hundred glasses for various wines!
I’m sure, I don’t know how other peo
ple do to live through it who can’t af
ford as much help as I have. And I
have one servant whose only employ
ment is to answer the front door bell,
1 have such a crowd of visitors, Mrs.
Elmore! It seems to me that I can
never get dressed in time to receive
them, although I merely walk through
the rooms after breakfast and give my
orders. But I was so mortified the
the other day, Mrs. Cowan caught me
in my cashemere pignore, and when
you came, I had on my favourite vel
vet coon de foo ! ‘ Mrs. Brown took
breath, and the children entered as she
paused.
“Oh, there are my little chaps?—
Henry Clay, come herq and speak to
Mrs. Elmore. Don’t you remember
her my dear? I declare I’m surprised
at you! He’s a very bashful child
with strangers. Plantagenet, you’ll
speak to the lady then? No? Well
come here Marina, you are the good
one; come and kiss this pretty lady,
won’t you?”
But they were all plain, awkward
children, and remarkably ill-natured,
so their mother coaxed in vain, and
then sent them out of the room.
“They are so used to society poor
things! that they are perfectly indif
ferent to it, Mrs. Elmore. I don’t
know what to do about it. Y\ hat would
you advise in such a case ?”
“I would deprive them of seeing
company for a while,” replied Louisa
quietly ; “it probably fatigues them.”
“Well, perhaps, that would be a
plan to succeed,” said Mrs. Brown be
nignly, “but they must need the excite
ment by this time, they are so used to
it you know. My friends came in here,
sums falcon, and Mr. Toylet romps with
them so delightfully. Mrs. Curl’s lit
tle hoy comes every day, as if this
were his home. Henry Clay has so
many expensive toys, that it amuses
him. 1 don’t mind any expense at all,
and whatever he sees that takes his fan
cy, I immediately buy it, no matter
what the expense.”
“Did you go to the concert the other
night ?” asked Mrs. Elmore, hoping to
change the subject.
“Oh, dear no ! I was very sorry, but
Mr. Brown had invited a number of
his friends to take supper with him af
ter it was over, and, as my new waiter
had just arrived, I had to stay home to
instruct him. He is an excellent ser
vant, I’m delighted with him. He has
just been sent out by my friends at the
North, and has the highest recommen
dations. He was brought from Eng
land by Mrs. Heighflier, and she enga
ged him at an immense price, while he
was in the Dooke of Wellington’s ser
vice. I do wish you could hear him
speak of the Dooke ! He really en
tertains me for hours, and mimics the
aristocracy so well. lie says 1 put
him so much in mind of the Countess
Seymour. You know she was the
Queen of Beauty once.”
Mrs. Elmore rather wondered atsueh
familiarities between mistress and ser
vant, hut too much disgusted to sit any
longer, she rose to go.
“Oh, I wish you would stay!” ex
claimed Mrs. Brown ; “I have been so
delightfully entertained ! Do come so
ciably Mrs. Elmore, and sit the morn
ing with me, I shall he so happy. Mr.
Brown is so anxious to make Mr. El
more’s acquaintance. Good morning.”
And Louisa thoughtfully seated her
self in her carriage, breathing a sigh of
relief, as she again took her pencil and
struck out Mrs. Brown’s name from
off her list.
“How contemptible such a woman
will always be,” thought she as she
closed her gold tablet case ; “to think,
that because she has wealth, people
court and seek her intimacy ! Ido
hope Philip won’t wish me to encour
age her acquaintance. I’m sure, Mr.
Brown cannot interest him any more
than his wife does me.”
The third visit was to Mrs. Stack
house, who also took time to dress, and
kept Louisa waiting long enough for
her to become really impatient. At
length, she heard the rustling of a silk
dress, and the lady entered.
“You must really excuse me, Mrs.
Mrs. Elmore, I do hate to keep you
waiting in this way, but my little girl
is not well to-day, and I had to give her
medecine. You can have no idea what
a life I lead with my children ; lam
the most anxious mother in the world,
when they look at all pale. Amelia is so
soon affected by anything that she eats,
that I am afraid to let her go out, lest
she should be given some unwhole
some article of food. Now yesterday,
she went to see Mrs. Brown’s little
ones, and she ate a piece of rich plum
cake. As soon as she told me of it, I
felt alarmed, and gave her some soda
to settle her stomach; but at night
she had pains, and in these cholera
times, you know, one must he so care
ful ! I directly sent down stairs for
hot water, and gave her some tincture
of ginger with brandy. Then 1 made
a mustard plaster, and put it on her
chest, I was afraid that she would be at
tacked with those horrid vomitings,
but she grew better after that and fell
asleep. I declare lam worn out with
anxiety aud loss of rest.
“You must feel quite fatigued,” said
Mrs. Elmore, trying to sympathize
with her. “A mother’s heart is so
easily filled with fear for her little flock.
I believe the city is healthy, however,
at present, I hear of very few cases of
cholera. I saw Doctor—”
“Oh, don’t rely on the doctors my
dear Mrs. Elmore,” interrupted Mrs.
Stackhouse eagerly. “They deceive
you, indeed they do. They will not
tell you the real state of the case, and
I condemn their conduct decidedly.”
“Well,” rejoined Louisa smiling,
“the weather is in our favour, at all
events, and I try very hard, not to let
my thoughts run on the cholera. Some
times we can get sick from pure fear
and the excitement one’s nerves must
undergo from its effects. So keep up
a stout heart, Mrs. Stackhouse, and do
not let your spirits flag. I will pro
scribe for you and w arrant you a speedy
cure.”
“Oh, Mrs. Elmore ! you are not a
mother, you cannot enter into my feel
ings. I could not be cheerful when I
know that this dreadful scourge is
about, and my family as liable as any
to suffer from it! I could no more do
as Mrs. Brown does than die ! She is
a happy woman indeed —she leaves her
children night after night, day after
day, and actually forgets their exis-
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, FEB. 8, 1851.
tence. To be sure, she is a worldly
woman, and I am not, hut one would
imagine that a parents feelings were al
ways the same.”
“Mr. Stackhouse has been absent, I
understand from my husband,” said
Louisa. “Was he long away ?”
“Only a week—he didn’t feel very
well, and he made as short a stay as
possible. He does not look like him
self, and I begin to feel uneasy about
him. Is Mr. Elmore ever sick ?”
“Thank heaven, no !” was the reply.
“He is blessed with perfect health, and
consequently excellent spirits. What
a fine, large yard you appear to have
there, Mrs. Stackhouse. So pleasant
for your little ones, 1 should think.”
“It would be if I could persuade
myself that it is prudent to let them
play about, hut they are so apt to take
cold. Venetia, I thought, was threat
ened with croup the other night, and I
was nearly frightened to death. I gave
her hive syrup, and onion syrup, bathed
her feet, and managed to overcome the
symptoms after much trouble. But
Dr. Knight laughed at mv fears, he
says she is not one to have the croup.”
Louisa escaped as soon as she could
—Mrs. Stackhouse seemed a walking
drug shop, and bent on having her dar
lings ill, so finding she could not afford
her any comfort, she gladly took her
leave.
“Mrs. Nile is at home, ma’am,” said
the dusky little footman, and Louisa
stepped out for a third time, to enter
another wide hall, and pass into other
luxurious parlours, where there was
rather a pretty woman with a pair of
wild, treacherous eyes, that were un
pleasant in their expressions. This,
however, was done away with by her
extreme fascination of manner, and she
glided forward to meet Louisa with a
winning smile, casting an arm around
her neck, and kissing her repeatedly.
“You dear creature ! lam so glad
to see a pretty face and a bright one.
Now do take off’ your bonnet, and
spend the day. Didn’t you come for
all day ? No? you disobliging thing.
You are positively in love with your
husband yet. Sit down in this chair—
I want to look at you, it does me good.
How is that caro sposo this morning ?”
“Very well, thank you. And where
is my little golden haired pet to-day ?
Your lily white Evelyn?”
“My dear child ! Evelyn is forever
raving about you, you have bewitched
her completely, and you must come
here and unwitch the child. I hear of
nothing hut Mrs. Elmore’s sweet voice,
and Mrs. Elmore’s pretty pink cheek .
Fortunately, it is a pleasant subject to
the mother as well as to the daughter.”
Louisa bowed gracefully—she could
not bear compliments, hut Mrs. Nile
made everything so pleasant.
“Where have you been to-day, dres
sed like a fairy? You must tell me
something to amuse me, I am such a
poor, dull lecluse! You appeared to
me like the sunshine of the Laplanders.”
I am paying visits this morning, and
have just left Mrs. Stackhouse,” re
replied Louisa.”
“Ah! and she told you about Tom
my’s bowels, and what a dreadful cold
Venetia had. How alarmed she was
about Rebecca’s back, and how she
plastered it. Now didn’t she?”
“Not quite so bad as that,” said
Louisa laughing, “but something like
it. I could not hut feel sorry for her,
she seemed in a state of constant ex
citement.”
“Pshaw’! my dear! she’d die if she
thought her children all well. She
would have nothing to talk about, if
that one idea were quenched. Who
else did you see this morning ? Tell
me all, I have the blue devils dreadful
ly, and you were sent to save me a
siege.”
“I went to see Mrs. Brown.”
“Mrs. Brown ! oh, yes ! and she talk
ed very loud to you about the large
parties she gives, of how much she
spends, and what a quantity of silver
she has. Then she told you about her
new waiter from the “Dooke of Wel
lington’s,” and how* capable he is ! how
gentlemanly ! How much he amused
her, (the idea!) and her resemblance
to the queen of beauty. I declare it
is too bad to encourage such people in
society —I never speak to that woman,
and I have been introduced to her a
dozen times. Lizzy Reed gives me a
regular account of her absurdities.—
Did she tell you about her piynore
and her toon de foo ?”
“Unfortunately for herself, she said
all that you have repeated,” replied
Louisa, “I wonder that some of her
friends do not advise her to act differ
ently.”
“You simple thing ! Her friends, as
you call them, dote on her folly. It
makes them laugh, and they assemble
to remember her mistakes. She told
Mr. Denham the other night, that the
toute enscramblee of nis tableaux was
beautiful, and presented such a fine
coop dole /”
There was another ring at the door,
and Mrs. Nile glanced out. “Lord 1
there’s that horrid old Mrs. Digg!—
The greatest bore in Christendom. She
plagues my life out with her complaints
of Permelia Ann. I wish she were at
the . Here the door opened, and
Mrs. Nile rose with the same winning
smile with which she had greated Lou
isa, passed her arm around Mrs. Digg’s
neck, and kissed her.
“How do you do, Mrs. Digg ? I re
joice to see you out this morning. Mrs.
Elmore—Mrs. Digg. I expect you
knew her mother, years ago. You
knew so many pleasant people. All
well to-day ?”
• “Pretty well, thank you, Mrs. Nile,
can I see you for a few minutes—the
lady will please excuse me for a mo
ment.”
Mrs. Nile turned to Louisa with a
grimace, and followed the old lady in
the back parlour. They spoke in a
low tone, but Louisa could not help
hearing Permelia Ann’s name very of
ten. At last, the conference ended,
and Mrs. Nile dismissed her with
another kiss, which she wiped oft’ as
soon as the door closed.
“Nasty old thing! I declare her
breath nearly knocks me senseless ev
ery time she comes here. Didn’t 1
tell you she had had a quarrel with
Permelia Ann, and now* is going to her
other daughter’s for a month ?”
“Poor woman ! she is almost too
old to be driven from pillar to post,
as you say she is,” said Louisa, w*on
dering why Mrs. Nile kissed her when
it seemed so unpleasant to her. She be
gan to doubt the sincerity of her pretty
professions, and felt uncomfortable.
“You are thinking that I am a very
unreasonable person, I know,” said
Mrs. Nile, looking at her with a smile.
*‘sou must not judge me by my wavs.
They seem careless, but I have sorrow
enough behind them, and must laugh
when and I how can. Now, I could
not treat you as I do Mrs. Digg—mere
ly because you are yourself, and not
Mrs. Digg. Don’t you see? She will
bore me to death ; you are a delightful,
intelligent creature, suited to my intel
lect. 1 make her pay me for my trou
ble, by grumbling and making fun of
h er —l want you to love me because
you love is worth having.”
And many, wiser than Louisa, would
have deemed Mrs. Nile sincere—many
had been captivated before she was.
All distrust of her vanished, an she re
luctantly rose to go.
“Do come with me, and help me to
finish my calls,” said she.
“I would, indeed, but I vow, I’ve
nearly broken my hack with bending
down, to hear what Mrs. Digg said
about Permelia Ann. lam not strong
enough for any such penances, even if
I am to have all my sins forgotten in
consideration of it. When will you
come again to help one while away the
dull hours? I declare life is but a
worthless thing when it is like mine.
Do think of me sometimes in your
sunshiny hours—you are so happy,
dear Louisa—l must call you Louisa.
Good bye,” and Mrs. Elmore was near
ly smothered with kisses, that she was
convinced, meant to convey a vast deal
of affection.
Her call was to a second Mrs. Brown
—an ultra fashionable, who would have
roasted like King Philip, at the fire of
Convention, sooner than move herself
away. This was not her reception day,
the servant said.
“Take my card, Mingo,” said his
mistress. He returned instantly—Mrs.
Varnish would not receive cards. She
had a reception day, and was at home
then, to all who called. Louisa sent
for the servant —he said he was forbid
den to go to any carriage, since Mrs.
Brown’s new English waiter, had said
it was not the fashion. Mrs. Brown
had told his mistress so, and he dared
not disobey orders. She laughed, and
told Mingo to mount again, so they
drove on.
“Mrs. Viner receives to-day, ma’am,”
was the answer to the next bell.
And this time, the ladv sat in the
parlour, ready for visitors. She was of
course, delighted to see Mrs. Elmore,
and did her best to entertain her, being
very particular about herpronunciation
of the English language, but neverthe
less, rather pleasant than otherwise.
“I oft-en see you pass here, Mrs. El
more, and regret that you make your
visit so much like angel’s—few and far
between.”
“I am not a very great visitor, Mrs.
Viner, and rarely go out unless I am
obliged to do so ; yet, I would gladly
make this my stopping place, did I not
fear to become troublesome. We know
by experience, that all hours are not
convenient for house-keepers.”
“Oh, I should want you to come
without ceremony, Mrs. Elmore,” was
the reply, for Mrs. Viner was always
amiable to people who had what is
called standing. “You must consider
yourself now, as welcome at any hour.
I have long wished to tell you so, and
should have ben (she thought been in
correct) to see your before now, but
for the weather.”
“I’m sure I feel much gratified at
your kind offer of friendship,” said
Louisa sweetly. She was so easily de
ceived, poor young thing. “I am very
much of a stranger here, and have
taken advantage of the beautiful day
to return all my visits. 1 have just
left that charming Mrs. Nile.”
Airs. \ iner’s lip curled. “And so
you really think her charming ? Well
she is such a deceitful, unprincipled
woman, that I cannot but warn you
against her. She will sell every friend
she has, for interest—sacrifice them all
to her love of ridicule. Do not trust
her my dear Mrs. Elmore, I am not
actuated by any feeling but that of in
terest for yourself.”
“You surprise me ! you shock me !”
exclaimed Louisa, “I really deem
ed her perfectly sincere. Are you not
mistaken ? I have known her longer
than any of my acquaintances here.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Elmore, her character
is too well known, for me to be mista
ken. I never could visit her for that
reason—l knew the whole world could
not err.”
Louisa was disappointed, but she
found Airs. Viner’s sisters a pleasant
addition to their tete-a-tete, and sat
sometime longer. They were self-pos
sessed, and perfectly used to society—
had soft voices, and lady-like ways,
and never did rude things to any but
insignificant people. And Louisa was
of consequence.
Fortunately, she found most of the
rest on her list “engaged,” which means,
“not fit to be seen,” or not at home.
So she accomplished her visits, and
returned in time, to chat comfortably
with her husband, and tell him all the
news. He listened with so much plea
sure to all she said !
“About Airs. Nile, Loo, I believe
Mrs. A iner is right. But if you don’t
think so, visit her and find out for your
self. Only do rot trust too much to
her—that’s all.”
The next time she saw Mrs. Nile, it
was at her own house. She came with
Mrs. Digg, whose carriage, she whis
pered, was so convenient. “You need’nt
mind her, and don’t encourage her to
talk. Tell her she seems very hoarse.”
But Louisa was too kind-hearted to
be rude to any one, so she established
the old lady in a comfortable chair by
the fire, giving her a footstool and a
screen.
“My dear, I have a piece of news
for you,” said Airs. Nile. “The Dooke
of Wellington is gone— clean gone!—
And the Brown’s is black with dismay.
She had four hysterical fits day before
yesterday, and went on her knees to
beg him to stay.”
“Now*, Airs. Nile !” said Mrs. Digg,
in her deep bass voice. “Permelia
Ann’s girl know*s Airs. Brown’s Molly,
and Molly told her that the English
servant took on dreadfully about leav
ing any one that reminded him so
much of the queen of beauty!”
“My child, the credulous old soul
believes it like Gospel,” said Airs.
Nile, aside to Louisa. “Now, Airs.
Digg, you know the “Dooke” was of
fended because one of the queen of
beauty’s friends, didn’t notice his how,
and he vowed he would call out her
husband. Air. Brown threatened to
kick the “Dooke,” hut got kicked in
return, and lay at the foot of the stairs
till his Countess picked him up. Ha !
ha ! oh, Lord! I shall die with laugh
ter. Louisa get me something to drink
for mercy’s sake.”
And while she went to order a glass
of wine, Airs. Nile glanced around the
elegantly furnished rooms.
“Humph !” said she to Airs. Digg,
“every thing in handsome style. I
wonder if it’s all paid for.”
“Hush! here she is!” said Airs.
Digg. “You talk too loud.”
“My dear Louisa, how pretty every
thing about your parlours and hall is !
So chaste and elegant—just like your
self. This is an atmosphere of refine
ment indeed,” and Mrs. Nile sipped
her wine. “What delightful black cake
—did you make it; I wish you’d give
my housekeeper the receipt.”
“The furniture and cake were sup
plied by the same bounteous hand,”
replied Louisa with shining eyes. “My
uncle and his kind wife presented us
w ith all our household arrangements,
and this box of cake came in time for
my new year calls. It is my dear aunt’s
making.”
“Indeed you are fortunate,” said Mrs.
Nile. “I wish my Evelyn had such
fairies. Good-will for her relations.
Mrs. Aloore told me the other day, that
Mrs. Viner and her sisters, had not
given their brother’s wife a pin, when
he was married, and actually refused
to give the bride an evening party, or
a family dinner, saying, they could not
afford it. Women that spend as they
do on themselves!”
“Didn’t they like her?” asked Airs.
Digg, coughing and spilling her wine.
“I wish she’d choke!” whispered
Mrs. Nile, as Louisa turned to ring for
a glass of water. “Such an old bore
as she is, with that ugly cough. Let
THIRD VOLUME—NO. 41 WHOLE NO 141.
me slap you on the back Mrs. Digg—
it wil relieve you.”
But Airs. Digg declined, and Louisa
brought the water as the servant hand
ed it, holding the goblet to her lips.
As soon as she could speak, she repeat
ed her question.
Airs. Nile rolled her eyes at Louisa.
“They ought to have worshipped her,
hut she was not rich, and they didn’t
like the match. Airs. Viner was dread
fully disappointed, and her fierce black
eyes winked about like some enraged
animal’s, when I congratulated her, on
her new sister. She looks more like a
fury than any human creature I ever
saw*, and those w ho know, say, that her
poor sister-in-law has been pulled to
pieces by the whole set, through her.”
“Every body knows what worldly
people they are,” coughed the old lady,
as she pressed her hand against her
chest. ‘‘Permelia Ann, don’t HUo
them at all.”
“Well, they have not much sense,
and we can afford to excuse them, can’t
we, Louisia?”
“Do not say we, Airs. Nile,” said
she in return. “1 thought them very
pleasant people, and liked them very
much.”
u Chacun a son gout,” said Airs. Nile
shrugging her shoulders, and rising to
go. “Whose portrait is that, Louisa ?”
“My mother’s,” was the reply.
“One can see that you are not like
poor Aliss Simmons. Her father was
fond of collecting old rattle-traps, and
bought a number of paintings at pub
lic sale. Some are really good works
—portraits (fancy of course) of re
markable handsome people. These, the
old deceiver passed off as his own re
lations—and Aliss Simmons will show
you her grandmother and grandfather,
uncles and aunts, who have, actually,
never existed. Good bye, Louisa—
your mother was a lovely creature, and
you look like her.”
Louisa sat down and wondered.—
Who was she to trust —to like? Mrs.
Viner cautioned her against Airs. Nile
—Airs. Nile abused Airs. Viner. She
did not think either of them right, so
she determined to wait and judge for
herself.
Some time after, she was out shop
ping, and Airs. Brown’s carriage drew
up at the door of the store in which
she was. Who should get out of it,
but—Mrs. Nile! and Mrs. Viner!!—
They both looked somewhat discon
certed as they saw her, hut bowed, and
passed on, hanging on Mrs. Brown’s
arm, as she flounced up the long line
of counters.
Louisa followed them with her eyes
—she could not believe her senses.
They seemed in a high state of intima
cy ; and she heard Airs. Brown squall
out,
“Oh, this will do, Air. Stoat—Airs.
Nile, won’t this do? It’s only five
dollars a yard—a mere nothing.”
“A mere nothing—you sumptuous
woman! Do listen to her, Livinia,
how she talks'!” And Airs. Nile’s
clear laugh rung through the place.
They passed Louisa again on their
way out, and coldly returned her bow.
The next day, she heard that Mrs. Vi
ner had said she was shocked at all
she had learned from Airs. Nile, re
specting that Airs. Elmore. That she
had said some horrible things about
all her family, and on Airs. Nile’s de
fending them, became angry, and be
haved so badly, that Airs. Nile would
no longer notice her! Louisa would
not believe it, but it was nearly all
true!
Airs. Nile found out that Airs. Brown
could be useful to her—so could Airs.
Viner. She conciliated them both, by
a repetition of her conversation with
Louisa the morning of her visit, and
reversed the characters. Both knew
better, but feared her sharp, bitter
tongue, and assented to cut Airs. El
more.
Louisa accepted her congd in silence,
and smiled in pity as she viewed the
manoeuvres of the three, that once
made her professions a Venvie Vune de
Vautre.
Philip despised fashionable furies so
much, that he was glad his Louisa was
out of their claws. And there was no
doubt of it, indeed—her lot was as
much preferable to theirs, as goodness,
sincerity and refinement, can be above
malice, deceit and vulgarity.
New-Orleans, Jan 13 th, 1850.
Archimedes. —Archimedes said :
“Give me where I mey stand, and I
will move the universe!” Ferguson,
a celebrated astronomer and naturalist,
was accustomed to amuse himself by
calculating that if at the moment w hen
Archimedes pronounced these words,
God had taken him at his word, in fur
nishing him with a stand point at the
distance of 9,000 miles from the cen
tre of the earth, with materials of suf
ficient strength, and a counterpoise of
200 pounds, this great geometrician
would have required a lever of twelve
quadrillions of mi1e5—12,000,000,000,-
000,000 —and a velocity at the extre
mity of the long arm equal to that of
a cannon ball, to raise the earth one
inch in tw r enty-seven hundreds of bil
lions of years !
t'jje Itorij Oiler.
From the Drawing Room Journal.
TIIE MAII) OF THE WOODS.
BY WILLIAM GRIMBHAW.
IN THREE CHAPTERS-CHAPTER SECOND.
Devereaux had no weapon of de
fence, except a whip, loaded at the
butt-end with lead; and this he knew
to be quite inadequate, should he come
in contact with two men, each of whom
he could discern by the faint rays of
the moon, which, at intervals penetra
ted through the branches, was fully as
large as he was himself; he, therefore,
very prudently made a sudden wheel,
with a design of returning to Mr.
Macdonnell’s house; and, putting his
horse to his utmost speed, he seemed,
for a short time, to outstrip the rob
bers, who, the instant he had shown in
dications of retreating, had followed
him in hot pursuit. When they had pro
ceeded, however, about half a mile,
the horse of Devereaux, making a sud
den start at a night-hawk, which crossed
the road, one of the villains was thus
enabled to approach within a few yards
of Edward, and, at the instant when
both were preparing to strike with
thfcir loaded whips, the robber was
swept from his saddle by a projecting
branch, and fell backwards with a tre
mendous crash, upon the road !
His companion now made most
strenuous efforts to reach his prey,
dashing his spurs into his horse’s sides,
and lashing him most violently with
his whip; and, in the agitation and
frenzy of the moment, even uttering
shouts, which were re-echoed from the
utmost recesses of the forest, in order
to rouse the spirit of his steed. The
high and convulsive breathing of the
robber’s horse told the retreating Ed
ward that the conflict could not be
many moments delayed ; both horses
were now urged to their utmost speed;
the robber had succeeded .in passing
the retreating youth, on the left, and,
raising his ponderous whip with his
right hand, was in the act of drawing
it, with all his might, with a design of
striking his intended victim a back
ward blow upon his head, when fortune
again interposed to save the gallant
youth from the murderous stroke.—
At that instant, the robber’s horse,
pressed by the rein out of his sponta
neous course, came in contact with the
stump of a tree, and, falling forwards
upon his head, pitched the assassin,
with impetuous force, headlong into
the middle of the road. The horse of
Devereaux, making a sudden spring,
went clear over the fallen steed, and,
in recovering his ground, he drove the
projecting heel of one of his shoes into
the robber’s head. The fallen horse,
however, was soon upon his feet again,
and continued his rapid course, as if
unconscious of his master’s absence ;
and, as the hor*e of the first dismount
ed rider had not for a moment inter
mitted his speed, the three horses—
now breast to breast, and side to side
—dashed forward in their emulous
race, until the whole, having at length
gained a tremendous headway, were
stopped at the same instant, by Ed
ward’s pulling up his steed at Mr.
Macdonn ell’s house.
The noise of the approaching horses,
had alarmed the family within, and
Edward found them already at the
door. Mr. Macdonell required but
little explanation, as to the cause of
the young traveller’s quick return, and,
bidding him instantly to dismount, and
to enter the house, assisted by his hir
ed man, he led the three horses to the
stable, and putting hay into the racks,
sufficient for their consumption until
the morning—for, in their high state of
perspiration, it would have foundered
them, had he given them water, or any
species of grain—he carefully secured
the door, and returned to the dwelling
house, eager to obtain the particulars
of the recontre in the forest.
It would be superfluous to repeat the
expressions ofgratitude, uttered by the
kind-hearted host,and the lovely daugh
ter, on hearing that the young stranger
in whose safety they had both taken
so lively an interest, had escaped un
hurt. The happiness felt by them, on
the occasion, was evident, from their
their countenance and manner. As
soon as the agitation, caused by the oc
curence, had, in some degree, subsided,
supper was placed upon the table ; and
the usual grace, with the addition of
fervent thanks to the All-Wise Dispo
ser of Events, having been offered up,
by her father, Edward joined in the
plain, but ample repast, with as much
appetite as could be expected, after
the exciting conflict, in which he had
been so recently engagad.
The meal being finished, and the ta
ble removed to a remote comer of the
apartment in which they sat—serving
the double purpose of kitchen and par
lour—while his wife and daughter were
engaged in the usual avocations of the
house, the host invited Edward to take
a seat near the cheerful fire.
Mr. Macdonell had the appearance
of being in about his sixtieth year.—
lie was in stature, tall, being rather
above six feet high ; his limbs were
finely proportioned, his whole frame
muscular and athletic, while his erect
and portly figure gave him the appear
ance ofa soldier. His hair was almost
entirely white, collected, behind, in a
cue of graceful length. He wore a
stock of snow-white lawn, as w r as then
the custom, plaited, and fastened be
hind with a silver clasp. His coat, of
a dark brown cloth, was made in the
antique fashion of the court, with a
standing collar, and cut-steel buttons,
of ample size; his Waistcoat and small
clothes were of the same colour and
material, and his shoes—as was then
the universal fashion for persons of ev
ery degree—were fastened with buck
les ; hose which he wore being of pol
ished silver. On the whole, it was ev
ident, from his dress, together with his
easy and dignified deportment, that he
had been bred a gentleman, and had
been accustomed to a society of a
more refined character, than was to be