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Original ]Mn\.
For th Southern Literary Gazette.
SONNET.
BY ROSE DU SUD.
“ Then they all forsook him and fled.” — Mark 14,50.
An hour agone, they eat with Thee, the wiue
They quafiVJ, that symbolized Thy generous
blood;
Touched by Thy grace, in sorrow’s tenderest
mood,
Hung raptured on the eloquence divine,
In sweetness gushing from Lo”e’s purest shrine:
Close gathered to thy bosom’s perfect rest,
Thy best-beloved lelt heaven upon Thy breast.
Oh, Grief! By one denied—by Friendship’s
sign
Betrayed—forsaken in Thy anguished hour,
By all —who now would trust the Human, but
That Thy deathless constancy asserted
linked with the divine—its worth j made
t-U-OM t , . vC -w
redeemed,
And o’er the Human Love, Thy glory shed.
Original (Taira.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE LOTTERY ;
Oli, WHO’S THE HEIRESS?
BY M. E. G.
[CONTINUED, FROM LABTWKKK.]
CHAPTER IV.
An event soon alter transpired, which
filled the hearts of all with joy. Mr.
Tudor, seeing there was no hope of
securing De\ ere for Marie, came to
the determination not to let him slip
through his fingers entirely, by recall
ing his daughter, and giving his full
consent that she should espouse De-
Vere. Ile did more, he wrote to Theo
dore’s father. Whatever was in that
letter, it satisfied the old gentleman
fully.
Ou a glorious day in the middle of
Spring, when every green leaf and
flower “seemed to assume a dye more
deep”—when the woodland choirist
ers expanding their throats, poured
forth melodious songs —w hen the skies
seemed of a more cerulean hue, and
all nature, apparently, was rejoicing
at some glad festival —a bridal party
was seen wending their way towards a
small church, not far from the resi
dence of Mr. Tudor. The young la
dies wore chaplets of white roses on
their heads. Marie, as first brides
maid, looked unsurpassingly beautiful.
Nothing could have been more superb
ly besoming, than her dress of white
tissue, witli her short tunic embroider
ed with straw. As the fond father
gazed at her, he thought she would
make no unfit representation of one
of the angels of Heaven, and could
not cease wondering at UeVere’s over
looking her, to select Lisette, who,
though looking pretty on that day, had
none of Marie’s brilliancy. DeVere
had, however, no eyes for any one but
Lisette, who sat in the corner of the
carriage, calm, composed, and very se
rious. Chatworth went through the
ceremony with less of trepidation than
could have been expected, considering
that grief was heavy at his heart, for
Lisette must now be to him as a
dream, which had passed away forever.
That night a brilliant bull was given
in honour of the nuptials, at which
Marie shone as the queen of the eve
ning, although Nannetta came in for a
full share of admiration. A few days
spent in festivities, and the young cou
ple left the country for the city. They
w ere received by Mr. DcV ere’s family
with courtesy and kindness. But we
pass on to events of a more exciting
nature, at least, to Theodore DeVere.
The father and son were seated in
the study of the former, the morning
after the arrival.
‘’Well, my son,” said the elder Mr.
DeVere, with a countenance expres
sive of much exultation, “suffer ine to
congratulate you on having won the
prize; besides, being in possession of
a very sweet, though not pretty wife.”
T heodore looked surprised, as he re
plied—
“ You do not mean to intimate that
you think 1 have married the heiress?’
“Certainly 1 do,” answered Mr. De-
Fere, surprised in his turn.
“Upon what, my dear sir, do you
predicate your supposition ? for 1 as
sure you, 1 ain of a different opinion,
ind should be roost agreeably sur
prised to find myself in the wrong. —
Hut you are mistaken sir,’ added De-
V ere, earnestly.
“The deuce 1 am,” relumed the oth
2r, in an irritated tone, “and let me
tell you, young sir, that if it should
;urn out so, you are a ruined man, for
iot one dollar can you get from me !”
T heodore was astonished.
“Why, did you not give your full
consent that 1 should marry Miss 1u
lor?”
“So 1 did, upon the intimation from
icr father that she was the heiress.”
Theodore started.
“There must,” said he, “certainly be
some mistake, for Mr. Tudor hinted to
ne in pretty plain terms, that Marie
was the heiress.”
It was now the old gentleman’s turn
o start. lie rose, and, visibly agita
ed, paced the aparnient for some time,
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then, turning to his son, w ith a look of
mingled sorrow, disappointment and
vexation, he said—
“ Yes, ’tis as plain as daylight, that
we have had a gross deception prac
tised upon us, and are both the dupes.”
“Not me, sir, for i never, for a sin
gle instant, thought Lisette wealthy.”
“Then, let me ask you, what you
l ntend to do?” intearogated Mr. DeVere
abruptly.
“With a little assistance from you,
sir, I shall endeavour to enter into
some business.”
“Theodore,” said his father, seating
himself beside him, and in a grave
tone, “it is time you should be unde
ceived as to j our future prospects. I
have told you all along, 1 had the most
jay sons .why you sb—.ld ■. airy
none but a wealthy girl. Was it un
reasonable in me to hope, that with
your personal appearance, your man
liers, talents, and reputed prospects,
you would do so ? It is now my duty
to tell you, that I am worse than poor;
already weighed down by heavy debts,
an unfortunate speculation occasioned
rne to mortgage the whole of my pro
perty. My estate will shortly be sold
to pay off this mortgage, and now in
my age, I shall have to struggle with
difficulties.”
“Then,” said Theodore, “I must to
work. The labour of these hands
must now support me. The most me
nial employment shall not be con
temned.”
“God forbid!” exclaimed -Mr. De
vere, “that any son of mine should
stoop-to menial employment!”
“It is not the employment, sir, that
dignifies the man, hut the man who
dignifies the employment.”
Mr. De\ ere turned from him with
a sneer on his lip, and left the apart
ment. But Theodore DeVere, with
all his boasted stoicism, could not but
be aware of the perplexity of his situ
ation.
“And could he disclose to his young
wife, that she had married a beggar,
when her family thought that he was,
at least the son of a wealthy man ?
I And how will she, w ho has been reared
i in the lap of luxury, hear poverty and
privations?” murmured he to himself.
It was many days before Theodore
could make up his mind to speak to
his wife of his aw kward predicament.
In the meantime, Lisette observed that
| something had distressed her husband,
but, fearful of being intrusive, she
asked no question, confident that when
he thought proper, he would disclose
j to her the source of his uneasiness.—
! Once, and only once, the idea occurred
| to her, that perhaps, he was disappoint
ed in not finding her the hieress, hut
this she instantly discarded as unwor
; thy of him, and herself.
“Besides,” said she, “he could not in
[ any way have ascertained the fact, as
i he knew the heiress was not to be de
j elated till sometime after her marriage.
That she herself was not the one, Li
sette’sgood sense taught her to believe.
On the contrary, she was confident that
Henriette, so closely resembling her
! aunt in many respects, must be the
prize. And yet,” said she, sighing,
i “Marie is the only one who could
adorn such a fortune.”
The only evidence which Lisette
evinced that she knew something heavy
was pressing upon her husband’s spi
rits, was in increased devotion on her
part. She watched his every look, an
ticipated every want, essayed every
art she was mistress off to amuse his
mind. All this only made DeVere
the more reluctant to distress her, by
disclosing that she had united herself
to poverty. lie had been sedulously
endeavouring to get some employment
but business was not easy to procure.
At length, he got a situation as book
keeper, with a very trifling salary.
“And now,” said he, “the crisis has
arrived. Lisette must he apprised of
our situation. 1 can no longer think of
burdening my father with our support.
But how will she bear it? Will she
not despise me for my duplicity in
keeping the paltry secret so long]—
And, missing all the elegances to which
she has been accustomed, will she not
upbraid me for depriving her of them?
She may even accuse me of mercenary
motives in marrying her, supposing
her to be the heiress. Oh! Lisette,”
with a burst of uncontrollable agony
he went on, “better, far better, would
it have been, had we never seen each
other ! 1 must delay the dreadful dis
closure a few days longer.”
With ill-concealed sorrow, Lisette
watched the countenance of her hus
band, now pale and haggard from his
inward struggles.
“It cannot be,” she once said to her
self, “that guilt has stained his soul!
Oh! no, perish the miserable thought!
It must be that he deems me unwor
thy of his confidence. Ah ! if he could
read my heart, he would find out what
a lenient judge 1 could be, even if his
actions were guilty. Oh ! if he were
guilty, still would I cling to him, and
never relinquish the hope of working 1
a reform. And if he should cast me
away as he would a worthless casket,
still unwaveringly would I follow his
footsteps, through good or through
ill!”
Poor DeVere still delayed the dread
ed communication, which he thought
would inflict such pain and distress up
on his adored Lisette ; and yet, worlds
would he have given to have been able
to make the disclosure. One evening
DeVere came home fatigued, and in a
state of nervous excitement. Lisette
met him at the door of his room, and
throwing her arms around him, she led
him to a couch, and, taking her seat
beside him, tried to soothe him. Theo
dore looked at her for some time earn
estly.
‘ “Pwor thing.” thought ho, ‘Uf
knew I was a beggar, would she thus
throw her arms about my neck, and
soothe me to repose?”
At length, his feelings overcoming
him, he hurst into tears. ’Lisette, in
expressibly affected, assured him of her
deep sympathy, and then, for the first
time, gently murmured—
“ Between husband, and wife , there
should be no concealments .”
The moment had arrived. Looking
in her face as he raised his head, and
holding both her hands, he said—
“ Lisette, if by any turn of fortune
we were reduced to abject poverty,
would you still love me, and think it
never was my intention to deceive
you?”
“Oh, what a question!” answered
she, brightning up as anew idea seem
ed to break in upon her. “If you were
so reduced as not to be able to gain a
crust of bread ; if imprudence, or even
guilt had brought you to this, still
would 1 rejoice at the opportunity it
would afford, of proving to you how
deep, devoted, and disinterested was
my affection. Do you see these fin
gers,” said she, “1 would work them to
the bone, if you were ill, to procure
you the comforts of life, and would
! seek no higher reward, than your ap
proving smile. Oh, yes!” she contin
ued, becoming excited, “a husband’s
! love compensates for every other de
privation ! It sweetens every labour,
and makes the winged moments fly on
swifter pinions ; and if, love, we had
no shelter but the bright blue sky
above us, and the sweet green earth for
our only resting place, still no repining
should escape my lips ; looking up to
II itn who clothes the lilies of the field
in their pure white raiment, and sends
the little birds their food, knowing full
well too, that he would not forsake the
creatures whom he has formed after
his own image, if they only look up to
Him in humble hope, I should not de
spair.”
DeVere clasped his young wife to
his bosom, with the first smile which
had illumined his face for many days,
j and yet, with one doubt still lingering
1 at his heart.
“And soon, Lisette,” said he, “will
j your theory have to be put in prac
tice.”
“The sooner the better,” said she
with a confident smile, “I am prepar
ed.”
DeVere now relieved his labouring
breast of its pent-up secret. Lisette
listened till he had finished, then burst
j ir.g into tears, she covered her face
with her hands, while DeVere looked
iat her with dismay and anguish. But
| soon falling on her knees, and clasping
her small white hands together, while
her eyes were cast upward, she ex
| claimed —
“My God, I thank Thee for thus te
! lieviug my fears ! Never more will 1
| I doubt Thy superintending Provi
i dence!”
CHAPTER V.
A small house in the suburbs was
rented, and furnished with a few ne
cessary articles. Lisette went gaily
to work, and seemed perfectly happy.
But DeVere thought the novelty alone
pleased her.
“This will soon wear off, and then,”
said he, “perhaps she is deceiving me
by a show of cheerfulness, while her
heart is consumed with secret sorrow.”
But when weeks and months wore
away, he was forced to acknowledge,
that she was acting in all sincerity.—
As Washington Irving has remarked,
“Women bear the reverses of fortune
with more fortitude than men,” 1 say
more, she is the watchful angel who
brings man back to a right estimate of
his powers. When his failing energies
are about to give way entirely, she
stimulates him to new exertions. If
woman is gay and heartless in society,
’tis often because she has had no stim
ulus to open some recess of the heart i
where are hidden the treasures of good
ness, tenderness, fortitude, and strong
propensities to virtuous emotion. A
man need wish no brighter gem than
a wife who knows herself to be proper
ly appreciated by her husband. If he
is poor, he has in her an uncomplaining
sharer in his poverty. If misfortunes
fall thick around him, he lias the com-
CHARLESTON, SATORjIAY, NOV. 1, 1851.
fort of knowing there is one deeply
sympathizing bosom, upon which he
can repose his wearied head in perfect
confidence. If hovers round
his couch of unwearying
watchfulness, but wonn ? \She is the
rainbow of his hope, be sunbeam of
his life. But to procefe- \
Many a heart-rending sigh i\scaped
DeVere as he looked at his yom%r wife
in a sphere so united to her,
ten he would say -o himself, “She upv, 0
whose check Ho gentle breezes only otf
prosperity have played, how meekly
she bend? to the rude blasts of adversi
ty.”
Whenever Lisette observed a shade
on her husband’s brow, she would inti
mate that she required a little exercise
i Hie open atr. ifer object Mung to
wile away his thoughts from his wretch
ed situation, by withdrawing him fora
while from the objects which reminded
him of his destitution. They would
thus of a moonlight night, wander to
the beautiful battery, enjoying the wa
ter prospects, with the elf-like waves
dancing in the moonbeams, or watch
ing the little shallops as they sped past
them, their white sails looking like
ghosts upon the river; and Lisette
would exclaim—
“Ah ! can the rich have any greater
gratification than this? Are they more
sensible of the beauties of nature, than
the poor ?”
“And yet, Lisette, dearest,” would
DeVere exclaim, “for your sake 1 would
covet wealth. We are both so fitted
to enjoy riches!”
And then Lisette’s reply—
“\\ ill you believe me, dearest,
when 1 say I would rather not be rich.
I’or what do multiplied riches bring
but multiplied cares and wants? And
do they not sometimes foster passions
that might have remained dormant ?
No, no! lam happy now, and no
change could make me more so!”
One evening when DeVere returned
home, he found Lisette with an open
letter in her hand. It proved to be
from Marie, who informed her sister
that she was about to form a splendid
alliance. “Mr. Welford is,” wrote she,
“of an aristocratic family, fashionable
and wealthy,” she went on to say, “she
hoped her dear Lisette and Mr. De-
Vere would both be present at the
wedding.”
DeVere who thought a trip into the
country would benefit his wife, was for
accepting the invitation, but Lisette
smilingly shook her head in the nega
tive.
“And why not, Lisette? Y’ou have
looked pale of late, and—”
“You know,” she said, interrupting
him, “that you could not spare the
time, and I am too happy in my home
to wish to leave it, even for a short
time. Besides we shall see enough of j
Marie, when she comes to reside in the
city.”
Lisette did not tell her husband that
the dresses which she had made up be
fore her own marriage, in spite of re
peated turnings, patching, and darning
had become too shabby to exhibit in
such gay scenes, and the small sum re
quisite for even an moderate outfit,
would be more than their limited
means would warrant. Lisette had
blushed when she made a false excuse
to DeVere ; it was not indeed the first
deception she had practised, but her
conscience acquitted her, as she thought
the end justified the means. Fre
quently after her husband retired, and
she saw him in sound sleep, would she
noiselessly creep down stairs to finish
some piece of work, for which she ex
pected to get a small remuneration,
pleasing herself with the thought, that
she would thereby procure some of
those little delicacies for Theodore, to
which, she knew, he had been accus
tomed, and thus employed would the
morning break in upon her. One day
DeVere, with a smile of fond approba
tion, said to her—
“ Lisette, you must be an excellent
manager to furnish such dainties as
this, (pointing to the nice ragout) with
the trifling sum I am enabled to allow
you.”
“Oh ! you know,” she returned smi
ling and slightly colouring, “I have al
ways been famed for good manage
ment. They have told me at home
that I could make a nice dish out of
any thing.”
DeVere was satisfied, and eat with
a relish, which was all that Lisette had
aimed at.
“Did he know,” said she to herself,
“that my hours of sleep are abridged,
aud my eyes nearly put out by the
dim light of a single lamp, his appe
tite would be entirely gone.”
Lisette was subjected to many other
hardships, but she bore them all with
uncomplaining patience and sweetness.
Aud in spite of these adverse circum
stances, she was happier than many
who pressed their downy piilows, and
feel not a want but what themselves
created. If the evening was cold and
stormy out, Lisette would rack her in
genuity that nothing within should re-
mind Theodore of their poverty. A
cheered fire lighted just before he was
expected, would blaze on the hearth.
The table rolled into the middle of the
floor,y.vould be covered with books,
the lamp carefully trimmed, and a
vase of such flowers as she could pro-
in the centre. They would
then|fe>ass the evening in reading al
ipruaSly to each other, and their little
homely parlour presented a charming
piet of domestic love and content
men And thus passed several weeks.
Alarie V.iuptials had taken place with
ab th : eclat and brilliancy, which
wean warrants. She was daily ex
pected fj, to we. to make one of the
nutllb “ l> ’ beings of
: {“V 1 ’ “J'/’Aeir time
nq nn “at midnight dances and
the public show.”
Nannetta was, at the same time,
wedded to Chatworth, who, finding Li
sette lost to him forever, could not
long remain insensible to the charms
of the lively Nannetta. And now
there remained only Henriette, who
was generally supposed to be the heir
ess, aud crowds of suitors, tempted by
the glittering bait, poured their incense
upon her. But Henriette, like her
aunt, was determined not to become
the prey of a fortune-hunter. The truth
was, she had rather remain single, and
endow a convent with her immense
wealth, for she had embraced the Ro
man Catholic religion.
Lisette, as the time approached for
Marie to visit the city, would frequent
ly have to check a sigh, as she reflect
ed what a brilliant display her sister
would make in the fashionable world.
Not that she cared about this herself,
but she thought that DeVere would
feel mortified when he compared the
different position of the sisters.
The winter had now fairly set in ; a
sharp frost had thrown a white veil
over the face of Nature, indeed, a slight
snow had decorated the earth with her
feathery mantle, “and dead the vegeta
ble kingdom lay.” One day Lisette,
without a fire, was in her little parlour
turning over in her miud what she
could do to assist her husband in pro
curing a sufficiency of fuel, and clothing
for the winter, which threatened to be
severe, when she was startled from her
reverie, by an elegant equipage stop
ping aT*tfie door, from which descend
ed a lady splendidly attired in a rich
imperial purple velvet cloak, with a
white satin bonnet, adorned with os
trieh and marabout feathers. It was
impossible not to recognize at a glance
the brilliant looking Marie, and the
sisters were soon locked in each other’s
arms. The contrast which presented
itself was striking in the extreme.-
Marie, as a votary of the reigning
goddess, Fashion, was superb in her
i appearance. If she but raised her
haud, her delicately rounded wrist dis
played diamond bracelets, whose bril
liancy dazzled the sight. If she moved
her head, pendants of the same spark
led through the long, light curls. Li
sette, who had never been handsome,
now dressed simply in a sober colour
ed muslin, which was protected by a
black apron, her hair put up with per
fect simplicity behind her ears, and no
ornament except her wedding-ring,
(while Marie’s fingers were covered
with diamonds) appeared to the least
possible advantage beside her peerless
sister. As Lisette gazed at Marie
with undisguised admiration, the first
weakness which she had ever had,
crept over her. It was not envy, she
was a stranger to that feeling, but she
thought when Theodore saw her beau
tiful sister, the contrast would strike
him, and she might, in his estimation,
sink into insignificance. She was glad,
therefore, that he was not at home.
“Why, Lisette,” said Marie, whose
character had somewhat changed, “one
wbeid think you had turned Nnn, so
sad-coloured is your dress ! And what
a miserable hovel you are in! Has
any misfortune overtaken DeVere?—
W r e all thought him wealthy.”
Lisette had not troubled her family
with her poverty, she thought they
would know it soon enough. She now
replied—
“l never enquired, or thought wheth
er Mr. DeVere was rich or not. Ilis
father has lately been unfortunate, and
Theodore has been thrown upou his
own exertions for support. Under
these circumstances, it would be unbe
coming in me to dress differently. And
indeed, dear, I think we are as happy
as you can possibly be. And what is
the end and aim of our existence, but
happiness?”
“True,” answered Marie, with a sigh,
“wealth cannot purchase happiness.—
But do you not think DeVere thought
you were the heiress instead of my
self?”
“I am certain he did not,” said Li
sette quickly. “But you surprise me!
Are you, then, really the heiress? Al
low me, my dear sister, to congratu
late you upon—”
“Not so fast, Lisette,” said Marie,
interrupting her. “It is not known
who is the heiress, but my father told
Mr. W elford he had good reasons for
supposing it to be me. But it seems
the time has not yet arrived for ascer
taining who is to inherit this immense
fortune. In the country, it is generally
thought to be Henriette, and she her
self thinks so, and gives herself airs in
consequence. But what is the speci
fied time ? Have you any idea, Li
sette ?”
“None, Marie, for I never think about
it.”
“Well,” said she, wishing to go, “in
the city, 1 am thought to be the heiress,
and it is my intention to make hay
while the sun shines. Comforting my
self as a wealthy heiress, I shall accept
of all the adulation which is poured
upon me, as such, Lisette, ft is the
height of my ambition to the leader of
ton. But how is DeVere? Do you
know 1 was half in love with him ?
But he preferred your unfading charms
to my perishable beauty. And now,”
she added, “I must make the most of
which God has given me.”
“And of which,” said Lisette, “you
may in a moment be deprived. A
thousand chances are against you.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” said Marie, laugh
ing, “that horrid monster, the small
pox, may scarify me; or, a fit of ill
ness might make me look old and ugly.
But these are additional reasons why
I should make the most of myself
while beauty and fortune are in the as
cendant.”
She said this while enteringher splen
did carriage, and she was soon rolled
out of sight. Lisette sighed deeply
as she turned to pursue her homely
avocations, but the sigh was not for
herself.
“Ah, poor Marie! I fear you will
soon be spoiled by prosperity ; your
heart seems already hardened !”
Marie had offered no assistance,
neither had she spoken of introducing
her husband, indeed, she had scarcely
mentioned him at all. On Theodore’s
being informed of Marie’s visit, he col
oured with mortification, but recover
ing himself, he asked—
“And how did Marie look, and w hat
did she have to say ?” casting his eyes
around.
“She looked very beautiful,” replied
Lisette, “and was splendidly attired.”
“Aud does she seem perfectly hap
py?”
“That would be a difficult question
to decide in so short a time. She says
Mr. Welford is under the impression
that she is the heiress of my aunt’s
fortune.”
“1 hope,” said DeVere dryly, “that
he will not find himself mistaken, for
if 1 know the man, his treatment of
his wife will be governed by her pros
pects.”
“But surely, Theodore, Marie has
charms and accomplishments enough
to command the affections of her hus
band.”
They were interrupted by a servant
entering with a note, which proved to
be an invitation to Marie’s first soiree.
This was rather curiously w orded, as
Lisette thought. It ran thus—
“ Dear Liz—-My first Soiree takes
place on Thursday, I wish DeVere and
yourself to be present; but don’t put
yourself to any inconvenience to oblige
me, as you know I shall enjoy a tete-a
tete in your eosey little parlour infi
nitely more. I expect to have a bril
liant assembly. The ladies, lam cer
tain, will be handsomely dressed, &c.,
Yours, Maris.”
Without making any comments on
the note, DeVere said—
“Of course, Lisette, you will go ?”
“The farthest thing from intention
Theodore, I hope you do not desire
it?'’
“Indeed I do desire it,” said he, “and
if you respect my wishes, Lisette, you
will not hesitate. It will be the means
of introducing you to some of the most
respectable and fashionable people in
the city. As the sister of the elegant
hostess, you will receive attention from
them.”
“But of what use, dearest,” Lisette
ventured to ask, “will these acquain
tances be to us? In our present ob
scurity, our poverty is unknown, and
we escape ridicule. But when these
people enter our dwelling, they—”
“Nonsense, Lisette, is there any ne
cessity for admitting them ? Have you
forgotten the fashionable excuse ?”
Lisette sighed, and wondered what
had become of her husband’s usual
good sense.
“If you do not feel inclined, Lisette,
to comply with my wishes, you w ill,
at least, respect my commands. 1 ex
pect obedience.”
Lisette’s eyes filled with tears which
J she turned aside to conceal. It was
j the first time DeVere had spoken to
: her, except in the softest accents of
| love. It had not been her intention to
have offered the slightest opposition to
. her husband’s wishes, although she
I knew she would have to sit up several
: nights to be able to earn enough to
’ purchase even a plain white dress for
FOURTH VOLUME-NO. ?7 WHOLE NO. 179
| the occasion, which she thought would
be least likely to excite criticism.
[Concluded iu our next.)
flint it (Enlni.
OBEY ING INSTRUCTIONS.
“Well, Julia, suppose I ask your
father; his refusal cauuot make things
much worse than they are at present!
Suspense, Julia, is the cause of the
most miserable feelings.”
“We must not be hasty, Robert—
our situation requires caution; by a
little management we may possibly
succeed, gloomy as the prospect seems
to be. Now don’t say anything to Pa
about it yet; I had much rather you
would not. The best possible way for
us to accomplish our washes, is not to
advance too soon.”
“Too qi^on —ty-j sopn, Julia ! -Have
we not waited two long years and
more ? and you have been all the while
preaching the same doctrine, ‘too soon!’
Too soon, indeed!”
“Well, now, don’t he angry ; throw
that Irowu from your countenance ami
look pleasant, and we will immediate
ly set about some plan by which to
effect what you so much desire. Come,
smile away your anger, the skies of
love are sometimes clear.”
Robert Moultrie loved Julia Hallo
well, and she loved him ; two years
and more had passed since they had
agreed—come weal, come woe —they
would trudge through life together.
Two long, long years! Two years
seemed an eternity to wait upon the
eve of bliss, and to delay a happy con
summation
J ulia’s father was a wealthy shipper
of the port of Charleston, S. C. He
was an upright and highly honourable
man ; but whose ipse dixit was law su
preme wherever his power could be
exercised.
Robert Moultrie was a clerk in the
counting-room, and his salary, which
was his sole dependence, though far
above the pittance usually allowed to
young men similarly situated, and am
ply sufficient to warrant his assuming
the expenses of a family, did not ele
vate him to that importance in society
w hich would justify him in presuming
upon the hand and heart of the daugh
ter of a wealthy shipper.
The character of this young gentle
man was unimpeachable, and he was
as much respected for his talents as he
was for his correct deportment ; but
the curse of Gehazu was upon him—
he was poor.
Robert had been in the counting- j
room of Mr. Ilallowell since he was !
fourteen years of age; he had grown |
up in his family and by the side of this J
lovely heiress, who had been promised j
to a thing of wealth and show. That ,
thing was in the Indies; amassing
riches lay at the feet of his bride, but
his soul had on it the stain of dishon
our, and Julia had vowed before God
she would never be his wife. Mr. Hal
lowed knew that Robert generally at
tended his daughter to church, and that
he went and came with her when
she visited her acquaintances, and so
on ; but he never dreamed that, the
wily Cupid was witching his darts suc
cessfully in the bosoms of both; and
the arms of the little god were firmly
fixed, and he dealt out the silken cord
until they were far out upon the sea of
love, too far to proceed or return with
out each other.
“Do tell me, Robert, what is the
matter with you. 1 have been a wit
ness to your downcast looks and sor
rowful appearance, until I have grown
melancholy myself. What’s the mat
ter, boy ?”
This question was asked by Mr.
Hallowed one day, when he and Rob
ert were in the counting-room alone,
and if any individual has ever passed
through a like fiery trial, he can have
an idea of Robert’s feeling, when the
man, whose daughter he had loved,
was contriving the best plan to get
from him the seciet cause of his down
cast looks, and addressing him in such
kind and affectionate language. It went
too deep, however, into the recesses of
Robert’s bosom for him to return a
| quick reply. Mr. Hallowed plainly
I saw that something was working upon
his mind that made him unhappy, and
| he wished, if possible, to remove the j
j cause ; he urged a candid revelation of
| ad that affected his feelings, and prom
! ised his assistance to relieve him, what
ever it required. Robert succeeded,
however, in putting him off that time,
and trembled at the thought, when at
their next meeting he related the mat
ter to Julia.
“I thought,” said she, laughing, “you
were not so anxious to ask the old gen
tleman as you appeared to be. Now
that was a stumper, Robert. Why
did you not ted him ? Why did you
not? Ha! ha!”
“Julia, do you think he suspects ?”
“Not a whit more than he does the
king of the French !”
“Wed, Julia, to ted the truth about
the matter, 1 left this morning with the
intention of telling him ad about our
affection for eacli other ; and if lie re
fused 1 was determined to act for my
self, without further advice ; and when
1 caine before him, I felt something in
my throat choking me, and l could
hardly talk to him about business,
much less about love affairs.”
The lovers met often, and the voy
age from the Indies being threatened,
it became necessary that they should
prepare for the trials that seemed to
await them. In short, Mr. Hallowed
was endeavouring to discover the cau ie
of his clerk’s unhappiness, more for
the good of the young man than b>
j cause he cared for the unimportant
1 mistakes made by him in his accounts,
j The next opportunity that offered, he
; repeated the former question, and in
sisted upon an immediate reply.
Robert stuttered and stammered a
great deal, and at last came out with
it—
“l am attached to a young lady of
this city, sir, and have reason to believe
that she is much attached to me, but
there is an obstacle in the way, and-”
“Ah, indeed ! And does the obsta
cle amount to over a thousand dollars ?
If it does not, you shall not want it.
I’ll fill up a cheek now. Have all the
parties consented I”
“Why, sir, the cause of my—the
reason—she—that is—the cause of my
uneasiness is, I am afraid her father
will not consent!”
“Why, who is he? refer him to me;
I'll settle the matter.”
“lie is a rich man, sir, and 1 am not
rich.”
“Ilis daughter loves you, does she ?”
“I think —a —yes, sir.”
“She says so, any how, don’t she?”
“ W hy—l—yes—she—she—yes, sir,
she has said as much.”
“Is the old fellow very rich ?”
“i believe, sir, he is tolerably well
off.” , -
“And lie wont consent! By the
powers of love he must he an old
Turk—he won’t hey ? here, give me
his name—l’ll soon settle the matter.
But stop, has he any thing against
you ? Does he know me ?”
Here the old gentleman gave a string
of questions, w hich Robert felt not dis
posed to answer, and which it is not
worth our while to relate. The conclu
sion of the conference left Robert in
the possession of the check for a thou
sand dollars, a letter of introduction
to l’arson Green of the Presbyterian
Church, and the following advice from
tlie lips of his fatner-in-law in prospec
tive. He was to run away with the
girl, to use Mr. Hallow-ell's carriage,
and George, his black waiter, was to
drive.
Robert governed himself in strict
accordance with the advice given ; and
before dark the parties were before
1 arson Green, w hose scruples of con
science were quieted by the introduc
tory letter. They were soon pronoun
ced husband and wife, and jumped into
tiie carriage, followed by the blessings
of Parson Green, w hose fee was a small
part of the thousand dollar check. —
George was directed to drive to a rich
old childless uncle of Robert’s, who
lived about five miles from the city,
and to whom the secret was told. The
old man, thinking the joke too good a
one not to be enjoyed, sent out for
some of the neighbours. Midnight
still found the jovial assembly destroy
ing the good things the aunt had provi
ded, and laughing over the trick so suc
cessfully played upon the wealthiest
shipper at the South.
Early in the morning, Robert and
Mrs. Moultrie were attended by their
j uncle and aunt, to the house of Mr.
j Ilallowell, the young couple, anxious
for the effervescence of a lather’s wrath
j to be over, and the antiquated pair to
witness the reception and act as mod
erator on the question. They were
inet in the parlour by Mr. Ilallowell,
whose first words were—
“ You young rogue, yon; little did I
know how iny advice was to act upon
me. \Y ell, Robert,” he added, laugh
ing heartily, “you caught me that time,
and you deserve to he rewarded for
the generalship you have displayed.—
Here, mj boy—my son, I suppose I
must say—here are deeds for property
worth eleven thousand dollars, and
henceforth you are my partner in bu
siness.”
Nothing lost by Civility.— A gen
tleman who has filled the highest mu
nicipal offices in one of our cities, owed
his elevation chiefly to a single act of
civility.
A traveller, on a hot summer’s day,
wanted some water for his horse, and
perceiving a well near the road side,
turned his horse up towards it. Just
then a lad appeared, to whom the stran
ger addressed himself, saying—
“My young friend, will you do me
the favour to draw’ a bucket of water
tor my horse, as I find it rather difficult
to get off’ and on ?”
The lad promptly seized the bucket,
and soon brought a supply of water.
Pleased with the eheeiful temper and
courteous manner of the youth, the
traveller inquired his name, and so
deep was the impression made on his
mind, that the name of the lad and his
place ot residence were remembered
until several years afterwards, when
the traveller had occasion for a clerk,
lie then sent for this youth, and gave
I him a responsible and profitable place,
from which he rose to the chief magis
tracy of the city.
Retort of a Witness.— Mr. Buffum,
of Lynn, Mass., in a patent case, was
under cross examination by an attorney
named Lord, who did his best to per
plex and brow beat him so as to over
set the testimony he had given against
his client. The question was something
relating to machinery, and Mr. Buffum
! had used the word “philosophically” in
his evidence. Mr. Lord continually
harped upon this phrase, and endea
voured to make the witness ridiculous
in the eyes of the jury. At last he
inquired, “pray, Mr. Witness, as you
seem to be a great philosopher, can
you tell me what the consequences
would be if the air should be exhaust
jed from a hogshead ?” “Yes, sir,” re
plied Mr. Buffum, “the head would fall
in.” “Indeed, sir!” pursued the coun-
I sel, “and can you tell me, ‘philosophi
cally,’ why the head should fall in
first?” “Yes, sir,” returned Mr. Buf
fum, “it is because hogsheads are like
some lawyers—their heads are their
w eakest part!” The roar of the court
room acknowledged the victory of the
w itness over the counsel.
[.SV ieniijic American.
Moral Evil. —l remember once be-
I ing in company w’th the excellent Mr.
Newton, when a forward young man
asked him, “Pray, sir, what do you
think of the entrance of moral evil?”
“Sir, I never think about it,” he said;
“I know nothing about it. I know
there is a remedy for it; and theie,
? sir, all my knowledge begins, and all
: * my knowledge ends.”