Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

a yAM in iqomai, Mum n um&tm, im ills mb mismss, mb n c shoal iumLiflsjica. ETERIS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. 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, W “f/irri'D ID)W m(\ WTWPTp oUJ QM mlai J\j ILI i liiiMiM U IhMiM A Jio 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.”