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WJIHM HTIEIMM (GMIWB.
TERMS, £2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
(Drigiunl Twrtrtj.
Ki.rthe Southern l.iterarj Gazette.
NIGHT.
BY JSJA AVINTA.
Night reigns!
many-voiced world doth rest
In sombre silence deep.
And God-sent sleep,
■ gentle limning of the angels’ wings,
To cares and pains,
; r [ronblous thoughts of many an anxious
breast,
To crimes and tears.
And strifes and tears,
f y p a u~e, a rest, a grateful respite brings.
n J now far in the Empyrean out-rings
That music voiceless for mortal ears—
The music of the Spheres,
Which,with its deep and tremulous waves,
TANARUS r. -1/ .hat ever flows,
sPU onward spreading goes,
Until Creation’s furthest shore it laves.
And rapid throng,
pound the wakeful soul,
Which now doth keep
Its meditative vigil deep,
| i.vn Thoughts and Visions, Fancies, Fast, To
Come,
Iu solemn train and long.
With varying and majestic roll,
Like clouds round mountain top
On-rolling without stop.
In countless sum—
Like mingled waves of richly jewelled sea,
foxing its treasures all confusedly.
But wends
The -ml stili upwards in Thought’s high do
mains,
From point to point still on,
Like daring climber that ascends
From crag to crag,
And ne’er doth dag,
Till topmost, dizzy, beetling cliff he gains;
Whicii boldly won,
From atmosphere
All silent, cloudless, pure, serene and clear.
Far forth he gazes; so
From thought to thought ihe soul
Upwards and upwards still doth go.
Till left below
The hazy region fraught
With taneies, dreams and common thought,
It finds its goal
In awful fields where Seraphs walk abroad,
’Midst Ideas sublime,
Beyond, unbound by Time,
Eternity, Immensity, and God.
Strange, wondrous Night!
How awful! how sublime!
five was the pondrous wheel of Time
Projected from God’s hand to roll
In ceaseless circles, till it reach the goal
Os vast Eternity—before the light
Broke forth from chaos-—thy dark wing did
sleep
In brooding silence o’er the deep ;
Thy silence too did see
1 he agony of mystery and fear,
W hen with its dread and deathly dart,
Eternal Justice smote the human part
Ot blessed Jesu in the garden drear,
W hen He sweat drops of blood forsinful man—
for me.
Jesu! to thee
B>’ ties redeemed soul made dedicate fore'er ! j
\nd tis Night’s holy silence which doth rear
b ithin my solitary soul,
Majestic thoughts and deep, and forms most
rare
“1 nameless beauty, and doth roll
Unutterable melodies around
My labouring spirit, which hath vainly striven, j
But never yet hath found
b w to those forms and sounds expression may
he given.
but God ! thou seest in the wondrous Night,
By thine eternal light,
A:1 that wells up within ;
Aud though this soul, beclouded now by sin.
And shaken by temptation's storms,
j Cm never give intelligible, voice
To Melody’s and Beauty's forms,
.'licit, with a nameless, utterless delight,
Bo make my silent, inmost soul rejoice,—
A ct from Thy height
<J! B lor .v, Gracious Father! take
Phe thanks I raise,
And all rny soui’s combined powers make
1 be ministers of thy praise !
-i i
frlritri) tf'iilw.
From the London Family Herald.
GOING TO CALIFORNIA.
CHAPTER J.
‘he wedding went off as all wed
dings do; the bride was all white satin,
r gracefulness, and blushes—the bride
-1 groom all gravity and decorum; and
havinjv taken the usual trip, the young
1 Peopled settled down as a demure
juried couple. They were extremely
i ll; ’ppv. and well-matched—everybody
*o; and this was a great deal tor
e ' er .vbody to say; but that dreaded
person, to whom everything is laid, in
I s instance saw nothing to find fault
V|f li. George Brendall was a young
; in of good, though not very fashion
family, with a tine person and cul
“Mited mind. Fortune he did not
! Possess ; but he was engaged in a flour-
I business, which gave promise of
| Wf alth in after years. Susan Bylton
“as one of a large family, and univer
% acknowledged to be a very pret
} ■ interesting girl. She was satisfied
Mtli the choice she had made, and the
public wisely concluded to leave them
[ to themselves.
i hey did not begin housekeeping in
for the means of the young
tradesman would have been altogether
‘Mquate to support; but having taken
| !l moderate sized house, iu a genteel
‘Mreec, they proceeded to furnish it in
a corresponding manner. There were
; 110 groups of statuary, no Bohemian
no satin curtains or full
leilgdi mirrors—nothing, in short,which
l K v could do without; and yet as the
Giuig | Jr ide paced slowly up and down
pleasant rooms, with their neat
mussels carpets and pretty centre-ta
ljle) around which they intend to pass
| many pleasant evenings, her eyes
I m upon a fine-toned piano, her hus-
Uid's gift—and if a tear glittered on
A MMiLT SMm&L. IM&TEB ffi THU MTS All All Tfi liWg&M&WGIL
the long lash, it trembled there with
excess of happiness.
She would not change places with
Mrs. E or Mrs. D ,or any of
the leaders of ton, and envied not the
cariiage and splendid establishment of
her newly-married friend, Matilda
Dewell. Envy ! she pitied her, when
comparing their two husbands together.
W ealth could never, never compensate
for the want of love, and she was sure
she could not possibly see how any
one could spend more than'the income
ot i!500 a-year; and she should think
that reasonable people might be satis
fied with i!300. When George had
realized that she intended to make him
leave off business and buy a villa in
the country. They could be so happy
there! making their own butter, and
raising their own chickens; and then
ot moonlight nights what delightful
walks they would have ! She intended
to stipulate for a piee of woodland, or
a grove at least, near the house, where
a great part of their time should be
spent —for the country is not like the
country without woods. And then to
throw’ open the shutters of a bright
J une morning, to hear the birds singing
in the apple-trees near, while the warm
sun danced in so gloriously. Oh! it
would be perfectly delightful!
Here Susan’s fancies came to an end,
and she found herself standing, duster
in hand, to remove some imaginary
cobw’eb from the parlour timepiece—
while she smiled at her own castle
buiiding, as she thought of the aspiring
milk-maid. Her thoughts had been
roaming off to country-places, fresh
butter, moonlight walks, and bright
June mornings, while there she was in
the unromantic city, the noon of a sun
ny October day diffusing its warm
rays on all around —and George, dear,
loving, self-denying George, toiling in
dustriously on in his gloomy counting
house for the very wealth that was to
act the part of Aladdin’s lamp, and ef
fect this wonderful change. How could
she be so selfish as to let her thoughts
run on imaginary pleasures, when every
day bound her heart closer to his plea
sant home ?
There was no use in arranging things
over again, for everything had been
arranged before; so after a few mo
ments’ more inspection of the quiet
rooms, which wore that cheerful, home
look that is so seldom seen, the young
bride tied on her honnet, and tripped
gaily over to her mother’s to taik of
her happiness.
* As she noticed the sofas and chairs,
whose slit cushions bore the marks of
her brother’s pen-knives, and saw the
look of weariness which the care of a
large, troublesome family hud left on
her mother’s brow, she could not feel
sufficiently thankful for her own altered
lot, and was glad to hasten home to
contemplate again her cheerful fire
side.
Mrs. Bylton had promised to come
over to tea ; which she did. As Susan
heard the well-known sound of her
husband’s latch-key turning in the door,
she sprang joyfully forward to meet
him; and returned in a moment with
her hand resting fondly on his should
er, and a pair of soft eyes raised earn
estly to his face. The bride of twenty
considered it now high time to assume
something of the matron ; and a little
coquetish cap rested on one side of her
head, whose blue ribbons harmonized
well with her fair complexion. George
protested that he could scarcely dis
tinguish her eyes from her bows, and
wondered which wore the deepest tint
of cerulean blue. With playful force
Susau seated him directly before the
fire in a large arm-chair; and assum
ing the wise look of a young house
keeper, left him and her mother to a
tHe-d-ttte, w hile she cast an examining
glance upon her tea equipage in the
back parlour.
All was ready ; the tea-urn had made
its appearance, and in a few moments
the happy trio were seated around the
little table. “How very ridiculous!”
exclaimed Susan, after perceiving that
each look in the other’s face caused an
answering smile, “people would think
us complete idiots !’’ and her little fin
gers were soon busy with the tea and
sugar. Mrs. Bylton acknowledged that
the muffins were far saperior to her
own; aud young Mrs. Brendall, upon
this enconium, glanced around with
such a lofty air that her husband laugh
ingly compared her to a peacock just
bursting with pride.
After tea the lamp was lighted, the
centre-table wheeled towards the fire*
aud as Mrs. Bylton noticed their con
tentment and happiness, she felt in
wardly thankful for her daughter’s lot.
“1 think,” observed George, “that
I would not change places with any
one now —we need nothing more, do
w r e, Susy!
“No,* indeed,” replied the young
wife; “it must be very troublesome to
be rich, 1 should think. 1 have re
ceived an invitation from Mrs. Dew
ell,” she continued, carelessly; “it is
to be a large dress party —so I imme
diately declined —for you, too, George;
for such amusements break in upon
the pleasant quiet of home, and you
know we cannot return them, even if
we wished.”
Would an uninterested person have
wondered at the look which George
Brendall bestowed upon his fair bride ?
1 think not.
CHAPTER 11.
“What nonsense do you think is in
the wind now, Susy ?” asked George,
one evening, about four years after
their marriage.
‘I am sure Ido not know, replied
the young wife, as she sat with a very
bright, wide-awake baby on her lap,
while a young George, built after the
elephant model, amused himself by
sucking the paint oil his drum. 4 1
j cannot te!l,” she continued; ‘'any new
j invention liaby-jumpers, you know,
have long since beamed upon the pub
lic, and passing a store this morning I
read ‘egg-crackers,’ and supposed them
machines invented to crack eggs, after
the fashion of lemon-squeezers—never
once thinking of crackers made w ith
eggs, and wondered what people would
invent next. After that lam prepared
for any new discovery.”
“Well, Mrs. Susy,” said her husband,
laughing at this curious mistake, “what
I have to unfold is something very dif
ferent. People are all crazy just now
about an inexhaustible gold mine, which
they pretend to have discovered, and
ships are quite crowded with live freight
for California.”
“Is it possible!” exclaimed Susan,
“that people can be so insane—so
wrapped up in the love of gold as to
fly from their homes to drag out a mis
erable existence in a foreign laud ? I
can scarcely believe it. Why, all the
gold in the world would not pay for
it!”
The young mother clasped her chil
dren closely to her, and drew her chair
nearer her husband’s side, as if fearful
of some pending separation.
“Yet so it is,” replied George; “the
emigrants remind me more of escaped
lunatics than rational men. They count
up the sums they expect to gain, and
then start off abruptly, they scarcely
know where. Perhaps, when they get
there their disappointment will equal
previous exultation. They tell all sorts
of wild stories about the place; but,
notwithstanding this, the general en
thusiasm is becoming quite inconve
nient. My shoemaker told me this
morning that 1 had now r received the
last pair of boots he would be able to
make me, as he intended to start im
mediately for California ; and the poor
tailor informed me, with tears in his
eyes, that his assistants had come to
an open revolt, and refused to sew an
other stitch when gold was to be ob
tained for the picking it up. Has the
baker yet made a similar disclosure ?”
“No,” replied Susan thoughtfully;
“what a pity ! What a curse this gold
may yet become!”
“Why, Sue, you are a regular croak
er! Not much of a curse, I should
imagine, to have a handsome house and
establishment with so little trouble—
rather easier than plodding in the shop
from morning till night. Do not look
so reproachfully, dear Susy; 1 mean
for those who consider these things es
sential to their happiness; I named no
names, Mrs. Brendall, aud have not
the least idea of making one in this
expedition. Old Howell, though, says
that every man under forty should
start immediately, and, as a good ex
ample, he has just shipped three sons.
1 could not resist so good an opportu
nity of making my fortune, and have
done something, Susy, of which you
may not quite approve. Will you
promise to be a lenient father confessor
if 1 acknowledge my fault
“1 must first learn what it is of which
my sapient husband is evidently
ashamed before I promise a pardon.”
“Well, then, don’t look at me so, or
else spare my blushes. 1 did what few
people do—took advice which 1 had
asked for, and invested £lO in spades
for the gold region, which said spades
are expected to dig me a fortune of
their own accord—all of which I intend
to settle upon my loving wife Susan on
her next birth-day. Now, Mrs. Bren
dall, junior, is not this quite as delight
ful as if some old India uncle had died,
and left you millions of rupees ?”
“Ah, George, how could you V ’ said
Susan, reproachfully ; “1 do not care a
straw about the money (which, bye
the bye , I never expect to see again),
but so hate to have you engaged in
this wild scheme. One step may lead
to others.”
“Oh, Jnever fear, Mrs. Susy. Come
here, you little dumpling,” he said, to
the young drummer, “here, climb upon
my knee, you rogue —and now, good
wife, what lias become of our tea, if 1
may make bold to ask ?”
They gathered around the table, and
it was the first time since their wed
ding-day that Susan had sat down with
a cloud upon her heart. She tried to
shake oft’ this sensation, and forced
smiles and repartees when she felt
much more inclined to weep.
“They are all savages, 1 suppose, in
California?” said Susan.
“1 don’t know much about those who
are there,” replied her husband ; “but
those who are going must be in a sav
age state, for they utterly refuse to be
accompanied by the ladies.”
“ Ladies /” exclaimod Susan, “1 should
think no ladies would go there.”
“Why, they are all crazy to go for
the sake of the adventure. There is
the greatest difficulty, they say, to keep
them on shore, and now and then one
gets smuggled in by mistake. Two or
three have gone in male attire. Sup
pose you venture, Susy 1”
‘'l, indeed!” exclaimed the young
mother, indignantly. “Do you sup
pose I would take my children to die
in this unhealthy climate, or leave
them behind to perish for want of a
mother’s care ?”
“But suppose,” continued George,
half jestingly and half in earnest, “sup
pose I should conclude to go, Susy ?”
“Then,” she replied quickly, “you
might go alone.”
“This to me!” he exclaimad, “and
do you then love your children better
than your husband. Would you be
willing to forsake me for them ?”
“You would be forsaking us,” re
plied Susan, “not I you. But come,
dear George,” she added, gently, “let
us banish these very silly and improb
able suppositions, We have both been
in jest, and we will now speak of oth
er things.”
True they had been in jest; and yet
the shadow still rested on the husband’s
brow, even while caressing his children.
“You remember Holman?” asked
George a few months after. “Well,
he started for California about two
years since, and came back yesterday
worth £12,000. 1 begin to be tired of
this stay-at-home life; business gets
dull, and there is nothing to interest
one.”
“Nothing to interest one!” Susan
felt a choking sensation in her throat as
she glanced from the children to her
husband in silence.
CHARLESTON, SATURDAY, APRIL 26, 1851.
George probably saw the tear that
trembled in her eye, for pressing a kiss
on the still fair cheek, he whispered —
“Forgive me, dear one! —I did not
mean that; but it is rather unsatisfac
tory to see your neighbours return with
a fortune from what you may call a
pleasure jaunt, while you still plod on
in the same dull routine.”
“A pleasure jaunt!” repeated Susan,
archly—“people have different ideas of
pleasure to be sure; but I never ye(
met with one who considered unceas
ing toil, chills and fever, a separation
from beloved ones, disease, and a ruin
ed constitution, in the light of plea
sures. 1 suppose I must have humble
views—but I own that 1 prefer a cheer
ful home, an affectionate husband, love
ly children, and the creature comforts
of life to anv fascination which may be
discovered in this rather dismal pic
ture.”
George smiled in spite of himself;
and drawing forth his watch, remarked
—“I believe, Susy, we spend this eve
ning at Mrs. Dewell’s. It is almost
time to go.”
He wrapped her shawl round the
graceful little figure, and putting her
hand in his arm, the young couple
cheerfully walked the distance of half
a mile, without one envious thought for
the well-lit carriages that passed them
every moment.
The Dewelis were at home; and
with a light heart Mrs. Brendall seated
herself on a couch beside her friend,
who, with her lustrous eyes, and dark,
proud beauty, might well have played
the Rebecca to her Rowena. George
glanced around the lofty, elegantly-fur
nished rooms, which seemed still larger
and more lofty from the contrast with
their own; and then his eye rested on
the magnificent woman before him,
who reminded him of a gorgeous t ulip,
while Susan appeared like a timid lit
tle violet at her side. After all he pre
ferred the beauty of his own little
wife; Mrs. Dewell awed, astonished,
and commanded admiration ; while Su
san’s cherub face seemed formed for
smiles and love. But that need not
prevent him from admiring the house ;
and to his fine taste, the paintings, sta
tuary, and vases, appeared desirable
possessions. lie did not mark the look
of withering scorn which the haughty
mistress bestowed on her husband , nor
his evident shrinking from those daz
zling eyes—he saw not this while feast
ing his taste with the trappings of her
slavery. But Mrs. Dewell’s eyes lost
their angry expression when they fell
on the sweet countenance of her friend;
Susan’s very presence seemed to com
fort her, and, when at length they rose
to go, she saw them depart with evi
dent reluctance.
What an astonishing change their
little parlours had undergone ! George
braced himself up very tightly as lie
entered the narrow door, and glanced
around as a monarch might be suppo
sed to gaze. within a hovel. But Susan,
bright, happy little soul! threw herself
laughingly int o a chair, and began hum
min “home, sweet home,” exclaiming
as she glanced around —“How delight
ful our rooms look, George !—and this
fire is pleasanter than ever from com
ing out of the cold air.”
“A mirror between the windows
would be a great improvement,” ob
served her husband; “aud Iso admire
statuary iu a parlour —a group of the
Graces, for instance. Did you notice
Mrs. DeweH’s diamonds, Susy?”
“Why really,” replied Susan, “I am
so accustomed to Alatilda’s diamonds
that 1 never think of them. Would it
be presumptuous in me, dear George,
to made the same answer as did the
noble mother of the Gracchi ?’
That blue-eyed little fairy was his
better genius; and, unable to resist
the impulse, he stooped down and kis
sed the pure young brow that was nev
er marred by a single envious frown.
“Yes, 4 *’ replied George, in a softened
tone, “you are right, Susy—l should
think that no diamonds could compen
sate us for the loss of our children. —
Poor Mrs. Dewell ! she must be very
lonely.”
“She is,” replied the young wife;
“she sees very little of her husband,
and gazes so earnestly always on our
little George. Poor Matilda! 1 envy
her not her wealth.
CHAPTER 111.
“Your promised birth-day present,
Susy,” cried her husband, as he burst
into the room and flung a packet in her
lap.
Mrs. Brendall had quite forgotten
the promise, and could not imagine
what might be contained in the parcel.
She was afraid that George’s aftection
ate generosity had hurried him into
some act of extravagance; and open
ing the paper with a trembling hand, a
£2O note fluttered before her eyes.
“Why, George!” she exclaimed in
surprise, “w here did this come from,
and why do you give it to me ? I can
not receive it.”
“Then throw’ it in the fire, my dear,’-
was the satisfactory reply; it is your
own rightful property, made by that
investment of spades, which, although
they have not exactly dug up a fortune,
have at least followed my directions,
so far as to dig up £2O. Pretty well
for a beginning. Allow me to congrat
ulate you, Mrs. Susan, on your acquisi
tion of fortune.”
“But, George, how in the world can
1 ever spend £2O? Do take it back—
it seems to me almost like drawing a
prize in the lottery.”
“Mercy upon me ! what a sanctified
look. It will not poison you, Susy, I
will answer for it. Instead of a lotte
ry prize, you may regard it as so much
California gold dust, refined and con
solidated into that very substantial
looking bank bill. And now, my love,
amuse yourself for a few moments
with your rapture aud horrors, while I
read a note that has been in my pocket
two whole hours. A glorious triumph,
Susy, over the fairer and more envious
sex.”
The letter was a long one; and even
after reading it, George pondered over
it such a length of time that our friend
Susan began to wonder what important
information it might contain. A short
extract from the letter itself may bet
ter explain his wrapt attention.
“You receive, my dear Brendall, £2O
which your invoice of spades has
brought, and accounts from the gold
region are as promising as can be de
sired. You here have an instance of
the case with which a fortune can be
made by an enterprising man; and
every one wonders that you, w ith your
youth and health, should remain tamely
in the counting-house. Take a friend’s
advice and join our party, which will
start in three months from this date.
The separation from wife and children
is but for two years at most; and my
friend, Mrs. Brendall, will readily par
dor the possessor of tens of thousands
any fancied neglect. A set of dia
monds oti your return would be an ac
ceptable peace-otiering. Ponder this
over well, my dear fellow, and if you
refuse ever to rise above mere respec
tability, perhaps your wealthy Califor
nian friends, when they come back in
their carriages, may conclude to give
you the go-by. ‘A word to the wise is
sufficient.’ ”
Carriages—diamonds —tens of thou
sands ! he was bewildered. How well
Susan would grace an establishment
like Mrs. Dewell’s, and how splendidly
a diamond tiara would gleam in her
sunny tresses. With such a prospect
opening before him, why should he any
longer feel his very spirit cramped by
the narrow’ rooms, which night after
night he surveyed with unsatisfied
yearnings ? Why should he be debar
red from all enjoyment of the beauti
ful in art, when Madonnas, Raphaels,
and (Janovas graced the apartments of
wealthy blockheads too stupid to dis
tinguish One from the other ? Was it
wise, was it right to fetter his genius,
as it were, with the chains of compara
tive poverty, when loosened from its
ignoble bondage there w*s no knowing
what it might become ?
Ah! friend George, you are a subtle
reasoner. What a flight you have
taken from the very bowels of the
earth to the clouds of fancy and senti
ment.
“Come here, Susy, you have studied
that note long enough—place it in
whatever way you choose, it remains
the same amount still. 1 want you to
read this letter, and tell me what you
think 1 ought to uo.”
He watched her narrowly as she took
a seat by the lamp, but he could not
read her countenance, for she had sha
ded her eyes w ith her hand, while as
the other grasped the letter, the small
lingers closed nervously on the paper
as though wrestling witli an impulse to
tear it to atoms.
She read it entirely through, and a
chill fell upon the warm little heart;
but resting her hand on her husband’s
shoulder, she whispered—“l will tell
you what 1 think, George—l know that
at this instant there are two spirits
urging you different ways; one is the
love of gold and pleasure, which urges
you on as it whispers, ‘go;’ the other
stands with its pure and beautiful eyes,
and points to past Hours of quiet hap
piness, and then turns to the present
with its flowers aud sunshine springing
up within our home. Which shall tri
umph, my husband?”
He gazed tenderly on the soft eyes
turned toward him, drew’ the fair plead
er still closer, and would have whisper
ed a few blessed words of peace and
comfort, when again his eyes fell upon
the letter. It was the serpent which
fascinated him, and his lirst decision
was inwardly revoked.
She saw it, though he spoke not, and
quietly disengaging herself from his
embrace, she sat down with a weight
of misery upon her heart.
“JSusan,” said he, iu an altered tone,
“my mind is made up—l go to Califor
nia. 1 cannot feel justified in remain
ing at home when wealth, that brings
so many blessings, can be so easily ob
tained in a foreign land.”
She said nothing in reply ; he wait
ed in vain for her to break that chilling
silence, and he continued excusingly —
“it is not like starting ofl’ by myself
on some wild adventure ; my friends
are every day taking their departure,
and 1 will write an assent to Mr. Gyles
—he does not start for three months;
and in a few years I shall return a
milJionare.”
“We have sufficient w r ealth now for
our happiness, George.
“True, Susy, there is sufficient for
ours, as our happiness does not depend
upon wealth; but shall we be justified
hereafter on seeing our children take
an inferior position in the world, ari
sing from their parents’s selfishness in
youth ?
“I cannot agree with you, George;
but if you are resolved to brave all
and go, much as I dread the breaking
up of our quiet little home, I will en
deavour to be ready at the appointed
time. We shall need many prepara
tions, and the poor children will, 1 am
afraid, suffer sadly for want of com
forts and conveninces—perhaps die
there. Oh, George! do give up this
wild plan.”
“My dear Susan,” said he, hesita
tingly, while his eyes were averted
from hers, “do not suppose me so sel
fish as to entertain for one moment the
idea of making you and the children
the companion of my journey. I shall
go alone,”
“Go alone! Has it then really
coine to this ?” She felt quite unable
to speak and pursued her work in si
lence.
Poor Susan awoke the next morning
with an undefined sense of something
dreadful; and tying on her bonnet im
mediately after breakfast, went over
to unfold her troubles to her mother.
“Preposterous folly!” exclaimed
Mrs. Bylton, “what does the man
mean by thus abandoning his family,
and going off like a boy of twenty ?
There ought to be a law to compel hus
bands to stay at home.”
“But he refused to take me with
him!” sobbed Susan; “anywhere would
seem like home with him—nowhere
without him.”
“Why, you silly child!” cried her
mother; “you ought to be thankful
that he didn’t wish you to go. It is
the only spark of sense he has display
ed in the whole affair—one life is quite
enough to lose.”
“Oh. mother! mother ! what shall 1
do.”
“I do not see that you can do any
thing,” was the not very satisfactory
reply. “Don’t let it w r orry you, child,
and 1 will come and talk to him in the
evening.”
Mrs. Brendall was bending her steps
sadly homeward, when a new r thought
struck her, aud she resolved to make a
confidant of her friend. Matilda, she
knew was firm and resolute, and it
seemed something to lean upon.
“Well,” said Mrs. Dewell, with a
contemptuous smile, “so you are cry
ing like a school-girl because your lord
is going to California, llow different
would be my feelings if Oscar Dewell,
Esq., should take a similar notion into
his wise head ! 1 should be ready to
hold a jubilee on the occasion. But
then I forget, my dear, how very dif
ferent the two gentlemen are. George
is a fine fellow, and l once had some
thoughts of falling in love with him
myself.”
Susan looked up in alarm at this, and
began to think Mrs. Dew ell a danger
ous person.
“Do not disturb yourself, my dear,”
she added, bitterly, “l do not give my
love where it is not sought—and not
belonging to the romantic kind, I pre
ferred wealth to love in a cottage. —
Should 1 not be very happy, think
you? Did you ever see such dia
monds, Susan ? such mirrors, and such
pictures ? What more can heart de
sire?” Then in a more natural man
ner, she continued—“And now, pray,
what did you do on first receiving this
terrible announcement ? Wept and
looked interesting, of course, and
strengthened by opposition a wavering
resolution! Allow me to tell you, my
dear friend, that I regard you as little
better than a fool, aud it will be vour
own fault if he goes!
“Why, what fcould I do?” inquired
Susan, in dismay; “I begged and en
treated him to remain, and plainly
showed him that his departure would
not leave me a moment’s peace.”
“Exactly, my dear; I have no doubt
that you did, and that is just what 1
complain of. Now, had Mr. Dewell
made a similar announcement, instead
of spoiling my eyes with tears, I should
have thanked him for it as the greatest
favour at his bestowal; but George
Brendall being George Brendall, and
not Oscar Dewell, the case of course is
different. Still, 1 must say that you
made yourself perfectly ridiculous; and
all that now remains for you to do is
to go to California on your own private
account.”
“Why, Matilda!” she exclaimed, in
surprise, “is this really your advice?—
How could I take the children ?”
“Do not take them at all; leave
them with your mother, and 1 will ac
company you. I dare say we can col
lect a party of eager fair ones. For
myself, I should like very well to have
some gold of my own without taking
my husband’s second hand, therefore
you may use my name as freely as you
please.”
Mrs. Brendall gazed at her friend in
surprise, and then drawing closely to
gether, a conversation was carried on
for some time in a confidential tone. —
The young wife may a long stay, and
on her return her face wore a most
roguish expression that sat much better
on her features than its former pensive
look.
“Now let me hear of no more tears,
you silly thing,” said Mrs. Dewell, at
parting; “just be perfectly indifferent
and independent, and play vour part
well.”
CHAPTER IV.
George Brendall came, home that
evening with the air of a man who ex
pected to meet with tears and reproach
es, or a countenance of silent suffering.
But Susan was merrily romping with
the two children, and he felt dissatis
fied, he knew not why. She spoke to
him in a cheerful tone, and her face
showed not the least trace of tears. —
“Can it be,” thought he, “that she has
forgotton all about it ?”
“Dur party,” said he, “start a month
sooner, Susy, than they originally in
tended.”
“Do they ?” she carelessly replied.
Then drawing a note from her pocket,
she continued in a more animated tone,
“1 have just received a tempting invi
tation from Matilda, but one which I
shall be obliged to decline, of course.”
“Os course,” replied George gaily,
“because you are foolish enough to
prefer the society of your husband and
children to one of Mrs. Dewell’s bril
liant parties. Oh, my little wife.”
“There is some difference,” rejoined
Susan, almost pettishly, “between a
voluntary refusal and a refusal from
necessity.”
“Well, Susan,” said her husband in a
puzzled tone, “if you really wish to go
to Mrs. Dewell’s, I see nothiug that
need prevent you. She is too well ac
quainted with our circumstances to ex
pect a return, therefore you need have
no scruples in accepting her invita
tion.”
“It is one thing, George, to go to a
parly, and another to go in a proper
manner—l have nothing to wear.”
lie had never heard her make a
speech of the kind before since their
marriage; and considerably pained, he
replied—“l was not aware of the de
ficiency of your wardrobe; I have al
ways seen you suitably attired.”
“Os course you have,” said his wife
more merrily, “but you have never
seen me dressed far a party, You
would not have me wear my morning
wrapper, would you, George? or a
walking dress, or this old silk? Neith
er, is a simple white muslin exactly
suitable as full dress for a married la
dy. Matilda was telling me of such a
THIRD VOLUME—NO. 52 WHOLE NO. 132.
splendid dress that Mrs. Moses Til
linghast was having made. The ma
terial was black velvet, to be worn
with diamond studs, ear-pendants, and
necklace.”
George Brendall wondered what evil
genius had bewitched lus little wife,
and began to doubt if Mrs. Dewell was
a suitable companion.
“Tillinghast is worth at least sixty
thousand pounds,” he replied, “and his
wife can afford to dress in this style.
But there is your £2O note, Susy, if
you wish to get a dress of this descrip
tion.”
“Oh ! uo,” rejoined Susan, while her
face assumed a most demure expression,
“I cannot think of such a thing, my
dear George, since you are going to
California in search of a fortune, I shall
regard that note as a sacred deposit,
and place it at interest to accumulate
for our little Eva, All I can possibly
save shall be devoted to the same pur
pose, that in case the dear child may
happen to fancy a |>oor man, she shall
be spared the petty details and annoy
ances of poverty.”
George could not help smiling at
this provision fora baby of six mouths,
but his wife had a right to do as she
chose in this respect, and he made no
further remark.
“Why, Susan,” said her husband, a
few evenings after, “you seem very
busily engaged with that letter —so
much so that you have not vouchsafed
me the least notice. Pray, who may
it be from ?”
“It is from Mrs. Dewell,” replied
Susan, as she looked up from the pe
rusal of some communication which
appeared to perplex her considerably ;
“I wish you to read it, my dear George,
and tell me candidly what you think of
it.”
Suppressing an inclination to laugh
as she watched her husband’s counte
nance, Mrs. Brendall sat demurely
quiet whilst he read the note.
“Stuffand nonsense! Pshaw! Was
there ever such a fool! The woman
is certainly crazy !”
“My dear Susan,” he read aloud, “1
have now the pleasure of informing
you that our plan is complete. We
shall be ready to start for California in
three months at furthest, and only wait
your co-operation to begin prepara
tions. Our party consists of about a
dozen ladies who have sufficient sense
to be disgusted with the want of ener
gy and enterprise that exists among the
sex, and sufficient courage to set a bet
ter example. Should you, like a cow
ard, persist in staying at home, you
may count upon being cut by the whole
clique. ‘Honi soif qui mal y pease! ”
“Mrs. Dewell seems to have exer
cised her restlessness in rather a cu
rious channel, Susy. You look per
plexed as though wondering whether
your friend’s wits have escaped her
entirely, and 1 am not surprised ; al
though the scheme, original as it is,
may still be meant perfectly in earn
est. Shall 1 answer this curious epistle
for you ?”
“Do not trouble yourself,” was the
reply, as Susan sat rocking herself very
energetically backward and forward;
“as to its being curious, George, you
did not appear to consider the letter
you received, a short time since, in that
light; and yet it was of precisely the
same nature.”
“Why, Susy, you are almost as cra
zy as Mrs. Dewell; it strikes me that
male adventurers are a little more rea
sonable than a party of women, wan
dering off in the midst of fatigue and
privations for which they are totally
unfit. Why, who ever heard of suen
a thing?”
“I have often; we are not the first
women who have taken the journey,
and when a husband and father forgets
himself so far as to abandon his home
and family, it is a natural consequence
that the wife should follow. It does
not appear to me the least bit strange,
and you see that I am not alone in my
opinion—there are a dozen ot hers ready
to support it.”
“That is a very different thing, and
far more reasonable. I supposed at
first that it was only meant as a jest,
or at least that you were not in earnest
about it, nor can I yet believe it. Now,
Susan, tell me candidly if you do not
consider this complete romance and j
nonsense, for a woman to expose her
children to certain death by taking
them to this wretched place, and ail
for the sake of gold !”
“I am sorry, George, that \ ou should
for one moment suppose me selfish
enough to risk the children’s lives by
making them the companions of my
journey ; besides, my time will be suf
ficiently occupied without attending to
them.”
“And pray, my dear, what do you
expect to do with them?”
“I shall leave them in my mother’s
care; no fear of their not being at
tended to, 1 shall write an acceptance
—it being very’ unsatisfactory to have
one’s friends return with fortunes which
one neglected the opportunity of mak
ing-”
“Why, Susan!’ exclaimed her hus
band, in surprise, after surveying her
for some time in silent astonishment,
“what in the world does possess you ?
1 feel very much inclined to exert a
husband’s authority, and put a veto up
on the whole business, but 1 am in
hopes to convince you by reasoning.
Now, tell me, in the first place, what
you expect to do with yourselves
when you are fairly landed iu El Do
rado ? You must go somewhere, you
know.”
“The truth of that remark is quite
manifest, my dear George; but allow
me to answer your question by asking
another ? What do you expect to do
with yourself on a similar occasion ?
Have you succeeded in hiring a pleasant
house already? If so, we can write to
the agent, and request him to engage
one for us. Matilda spoke of forming
a sort of convent.”
“A convent!” exclaimed George,
contemptuously, “a pretty convent it
will be! Pray where do you expect
to find nuns ? Not in California, I
should suppose ?”
Dear me! said Susan laughing,
•‘how very credulous you men are!—
I)o you suppose we meant to turn
Catholics at once? Matilda’s projec
ted convent was merely an arrange
ment by which we could all live to
gether under mutual protection, and
any other females there who conducted
themselves properly, would be allowed
to join us on application. But, my
dear, she continued, blandly, “since
you do not approve of the convent,
suppose we try a boarding-house? It
would, probably, turn out the most
profitable of the two, for 1 hear that a
tureen of soup brings £lO. We will
be more moderate, and ask but £B,
but even that will bring us a fortune
before long.”
‘‘A boanling-house cried George ;
‘‘worse and worse! Ido believe you
women are crazy. Look here,” he
continued, displayinga ridiculous news
paper caricature, “do you think you
would find such l>oarders very agreea
ble?” *
1 hey were certainly rather rough
looking characters, and Susan could
not repress a smile at their wild appear
ance.
“Oh, never mind,” she continued
cheerfully ; “we expect obstacles and
disagreeables in anew eountay; but
we can make them dress themselvee
more decently—they will be ashamed
to appear thus in the. presence of la
dies.”
“Necessity, Susan, has no choice.
But 1 wish to open your eyes fully to
what you are about to undertake; Ido
not despair of discouraging vou yet. —
1 here ought to be a law passed that
no woman should set her foot in the
place until it wears, at least, a civilized
appearance. You will get there and
find no home to receive you, probably
have the pleasure of assisting, with
your own hands, to raise some sort of
edifice to cover your heads—you will
of course be attacked with chills and
fever, and, perhaps, something worse
—and, even if left in possession of
health, your privations will be such as
to deaden all energy; you will find,
after gaining your wishes, that you have
gone there but to pine after home, and
make its comforts seem still more plea
sant by the contrast. Is not this suffi
cient?”
“Not at all, my dear husband; it is
plainly a point of duty. The priva
tions you have named only confirm me
in my resolution ; were all pleasant and
smooth before us, there would be no
sacrifice, and consequently no merit.
Compare our fancied trials with those
of our missionaries—what, are they in
proportion ? Think of the early mar
tyrs —think of those noble men who
have offered themselves up for their
country —think—”
Susan here paused, not exactly know
ing what to think of next; and George
looked at his wife to see if she were
not joking, while his perplexity increas
ed every moment, lie was quite stun
ned by this flow of words, not perceiv -
ing at the same time what it all had to
do with the subject in question, and
could only rejoin—“l consider this,
Susan, as the most ridiculous act of
folly that has ever come within mv
knowledge; a dozen married women
about to abandon their families, and
set up a boarding-house for the Indians
in California. You will be notorious!”
“My dear George,” was the magnan
imous reply, “1 should consider myself
one of the most selfish creatures in ex
istence, if, while you were toiling in a
foreign land. 1 remained here to enjoy
the comforts of home. You refuse t<>
take me with you, therefore 1 go with
others to assist you in making a fortune.
I have youth and health; therefore I
see no reason why I should not accept
Matilda’s proposal.”
He saw her sit down to her writing
desk, w atched her as she scratched off
a few hasty linos, and w hen he saw her
seal the note in a very resolute mari
ner, he felt very much like a man in a
dream. The deed was done ; and Su
san appeared in the last few days to
have undergone a complete metamor
phosis as w as ever read of in any fairy
tale.
CHAPTER V.
“Well, Brendall,” said one of his
fellow-tradesmen; “so you will join
our party, eh! Best plan, tell you
there is so little fortune to be met with
at home.”
“1 don’t know. ’ repliedGeorge,doubt
fully ; “I have not quite made up mv
mind yet.”
“iVb? know, my dear fellow ? i
thought you had decided long ago.—
Perhaps Mrs. Brendall’s tears and en
treaties have prevailed upon you to
remain ; depend upon it, she will be
much better pleased on your return
than if you had staid at home.”
“Not at all, replied George, brisk
ly ; “she does not mount my depar
ture in the least, for she intends going
herself.”
“Not with us, surely?” exclaimed
his companion in dismay. “Much as
we should feel flattered by her joining
us, we really cannot provide for the ac
commodation of ladies —it is altogeth
er out of the question.”
“You are quite mistaken,” was the
reply; “Mrs. Brendall’s views are to
tally different, Mrs. Dew ell (who, be
tween ourselves, is, 1 believe, crazy)
has taken a ridiculous scheme in her
head to form a company of ladies, who
travel entirely on their own responsi
bility. There is some harem-scarem
plan of a convent, or a boarding-house,
I forget which, and Mrs. Brendall goes
hand-in-hand with her friend in this ri
diculous adventure.”
His companion, on hearing this an
nouncement, looked at him for a few
moments, and then whistled rather
long and significantly.
Time wore on; the day of departure
approached, and Susan bustled about
quite overwhelmed with business. —
George received a letter informing him
that he was the possessor of £4,0<)0,
inherited from an uncle whom he had.