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now would she listen to pour Caroline, who was
most anxiously solicitious concerning her mother,
but with the noble courage and benevolence oi
woman when excited by a worthy object, Miss
Linton quieted the filial apprehensions of the suf
fering girl, by promising that she herself would
call directly upon her ’ mother, and, added she
with a smile that beamed upon poor Caroline
like spring sunshine on the wintry earth, “ 1 will
see that vour mother is rendered comfortable and
wants for nothing.’ 5 Ah ! would the wealthy but
dream of the Godlike power they possess—aye !
and the Godlike happiness they would experience,
how r often would they apply the sums frivolously
expended, or the listless hours of ennui, in minis
tering to suffering worth—me-seems such mis
sions must almost constitute the joys of Heaven !
Perforce the exhausted frame of the young girl
compelled her to remain, for in endeavoring to
raise her head she sank back powerless upon her
pillow.
Miss Linton was as good as her word, for al
though the night was terrible, and her ample
means might well have procured a substitute, she
was not one of those who consider wealth a
skreen from duty, or do that by prox} r . Certain
of her brother’s willingness to accompany her on
her errand of mercy she found him fortunately
not yet retired. After his unsuccessful pursuit ol
Caroline, anxious to ascertain her direction he had
returned to the merchant’s store although loth
to see him, as he feared his excited feelings would
prompt harsh expressions—to his chagrin he now
found the clerk in his employer’s place, who in
formed him that Mr. M had left but atew T
minutes previous, saying he had some business
to transact before he went to a wedding party,
but that he feared Albert would be unable to find
him until the next day, for he knew that he in
tended going upon some frolic of the season, hav
ing heard imperfectly some such arrangement
made with his young friends through the day.
Albert being thus thwarted, was forced to
postpone his benevolent intention tor the night,
and had just returned from some imperative busi
ness which had detained him in connection with
the’ Order, until late; surprised by his sisters
voice at his door asking admission, he in turn
surprised her by eagerly enquiring the dress ol’
the poor wanderer, and as he half feared, tound
it the same as the young person he had pursued.
Although unused to oaths, Albert much shocked
his sister by muttering between his tightly” clenched
teeth, “ D—n that hard-hearted M I say !
propose him for an Odd Fellow! he shall be
taught that the grinder of the face of poverty and
the cowardly in suiter of innocence i* unfit for
their’s or any honest society ! ” and in no very
palliative terms detailed the scene which he had
witnessed in the merchant’s store, to his excited
sister.
“ Thank God that you have unveiled his char
acter, brother ! his apparent worth had so won
upon me that I—l had half resolved to favor the
suit his pointed attentions to-night made evident,”
exclaimed Mary, blushing to the eyes at her in
genius avowal.
“ If the soul of worth and intellect could win
that little heart of yours sister, I wish it could
awaken its regard for the person of young Dr.
Ha milton, who loves you I know to distraction ;
but his shrinking modesty will not allow him to
declare himself—but come, let us hasten, for
doubtless the poor mother is most anxious con
cerning her daughter! ”
And truly was haste needed, unintermitted
watching by the couch of the old lady, the pri
vations of poverty and rest, joined with uneasi
ness concerning her husband had almost ever
powered Mrs. Arden, but when after the lapse of
several hours her daughter came not, the alarmed
mother, no longer able to remain in suspense, re
solved to leave the idiot girl alone with the corpse.
God pity her! with her overwearied frame out
in that wild night, searching for her young and
unprotected daughter whose very loveliness
would but expose her to insult, especially at such
a season, when all that was abroad most probably
were riot and debauch. Disappointed of her
only clue by finding the merchant’s store closed,
she yet was buoyed up by the hope that she
might have possibly returned in her absence,
home, which she found alone with the senseless
maiden ; and nothing but her frantic excitement
sustained her as the dismal winds howled away
the torturing hours, from insensibility. Night —
wintry midnight was upon them.
Concluded in our next.
GOV. SCOTTOFKENTUCKY.
While he was Governor, someone sent him a
challenge to fight a duel, to which he deigned no
reply. The challenger, after waiting for a time,
sought an interview, and desired to know if the
General intended to accept.
‘T do not ,” said he.
“Is it possible that Gen. Scott, brought up in
the army declines a combat!” said the gentle
man.
“I do,” said the old hero.
“Then the only means left me for satisfaction
is to post you for a coward !”
yi Post me a coward! In doing so you will post
yourself a liar.” And here the matter ended.
The ripening of early genius was freely devel
oped in John Callahan, a lad of 7 years, last
week. The young sprout was fined at the Police
Court for stealing vegetables. He can’t be beat.
SEftSeVSB VOBfßf■
From the Yankee Blade.
HOUSEHOED LYRICS.
BT TOMMY TKWKSBURT
Our sister Kate has got a beau,
But she don't care for him; Oh no!
I often hear Miss Katy sigh,
*Tis ’cause he vexes her says I;
And when she meets this prince of beaux.
She blushes like a crimson rose ;
But sister Kate was always queer —
Avery bashful girl I fear,
Our sister Kate has got a beau,
But she don’t care for him ; Oh no!
He often happens here ’tis tue,
But this. I’m sure, is nothing new;
And when he leaves, ’tis always late ;
No doubt, this much displeases Kate,
But she can’t order him away,
If the great boody wants to stay!
Our sister Kate has got a beau,
But she don’t care for him ; Oh no!
Before he comes on Wednesday nights,
She always sets the things to rights ;
How beautifully she curls her hair!
How fine her evening dresses are!,
But then our Kate is hard to beat,
And not to blame for being neat,
Our sister Kate has got a benu;
But she don’t care for him; Oh no!
She seems, of late, less fond of prose ;
She’s growing wiser, I suppose;
She’s daily writing notes , I see,
But then she hints (’twixt you and me)
That all those notes, she sends by Teddy,
“Are only for the doctors lady”
Our sister Kate has got a beau;
But she don’t care for him ; Oh no !
She does not much misuse her knight,
But that, you know, is not polite.
I’ve often seen them looking sweet
And once I saw their four lips meet ,
And other things that can’t be told—•
But then some fellows are so bold ,
Our sister Kate has got a beau;
But she don’t care for him; Oh no!
Our sister Fau thinks Kate will wed ;
But Fanny has a silly head—
For Kate u thousand times has said
She meant to live and die a maid;
And what Miss Katy says is true,
At least, I think so —pray don’t you ?
Our sister Kate has got a beau;
But she don’t care for him; Oh no!
m Mk in,
THE MERCHANT OF MARSEILLES.
Those who have been at Marseilles will re
member that vast building on the quay (close to
the Hotel de Ville, and in the same style of archi
tecture,) which, though now subdivided into ware
houses, bears token, by the unity of its design, of
once having been in the possession of one owner,
and originally intended for one purpose. That
great building was long known as the Hotel St.
Victor, and belonged to the wealthy family bear
ingthename.
In the year 1700, he who bore the honors of
the house was in trouble. His firm, for years the
largest and richest in Marseilles, was on the eve
of bankruptcy ; their credit, which had stood for
ages unimpeached, was tottering to its very base.
He was a man in the prime of life, that St. Victor,
but the dark fine hair was thickly strewn with
silver, and lhe broad brow was furrowed by lines
that care must have planted there. All around
the room in which he sat, silent and alone, might
be seen the evidences of the wealth once pos
sessed by the family, and of the luxury in which
they had been accustomed to live; rich furniture,
velvet and gold, mirrors, carvings, soft carpets —
rare luxuries in France even at the present time
—trinkets, pictures, all that money could pur
chase and taste could select, were gathered in
that splendid apartment. Each panel of the walls
contained, or had contained, the rarest paintings,
of large size, and mostly by the Italian masters;
but it might be observed that some of them had
been recently displaced, and such—as the marks
on the walls testified, had been of greater size
than those remaining, and doubtless, of greater
value, though those still hanging on the panels
were meet for the palaces of kings. Above the
high mantel-piece, of pure white marble, with
its elaborate decoration, and majestic proportions,
hung an oval portrait—the portrait of a young
man. It was a fair, radiant face, with an open
happy expression, and surrounded by soft, fal
ling hair. It was the portrait of St. Victor—but
of’ St. Victor long ago. Every now and then,
and mechanically, as it were, the man, amid his
sad, silent musings, would raise his eyes to the
bright picture of the boy. What a contrast did
these present ? the one, how beautiful—how
happy! the other, how mournful, and how wan!
The door opened, and an old man entered.—
He was old enough to be the father of St. Victor;
but it was only Devereux, once head clerk to the
house of St. Victor, now a substantial merchant
of Marseille. The dress of this person was warm
and rich, his gait was feeble, and he leaned heav
ily on his staff; his brow was also furrowed, but
the lines were those of age and thought; there
was much of harshness, of pride, of determina
tien, to be traced on his countenance, but none ol
that woeful anxiety which seemed withering up
the manly prime of St. Victor.
The latter rose at his entrance, and moved to
wards him with evident pleasure—
“ Devereux! ”he exclaimed. Welcome ! ”
But Devereux put back the offered hand and
said—
“ To-morrow, St. Victor, all those bills I hold ot
yours become due.”
St. Victor started.
“ ’ Tis so I know ; but I am safe, for you hold
them ; and you will not press me.”
44 You miscalculate, St. ictor,” said the old
man coldly. “ 1 shall want the money.”
St. Victor tried to laugh.
44 You know, Devereux —} r ou know it is impos
sible that I could meet the demand. I could not
take up one of those bills, far less the whole
number.”
44 I want not the amount of one, nor two, nor
three, but of all ; and ’tis this I come to say.”
44 Devereux,” said the debtor, with a cheek as
white as ashes, 44 you might throw me into pris
on, you might ruin my credit and my name for
ever ; but I take Heaven to witness, I could not
raise one half the sum, though it were to save my
soul. What mean you ? Is it not as a friend
that you have become the holder of those bills ? ”
The creditor rose to his feet.
“ No! ”
The poor debtor groaned aloud —“It was not
always thus. Why do you now turn against
me?”
“I turn not now,” answered Devereux. 44 1
have longed for this hour —sought it early and
late—lived but for it! You wronged me once St.
Victor, but my revenge is at hand ! Yes, they
shall be thine ! the disgrace of bonds, the igno
miny of the prison—proud, beautiful, beloved
St. Victor ! I shall triumph now ! ”
Does the old man rave? This St. Victor,
shrinking, bending before him, weary, careworn,
wiih dark locks so sadly streaked with white —
this world-broken man ! How is he worthy such
epithets ?— 44 proud, beautiful, beloved.”
But the old man speaking thus, looked not at
his wondering auditor; his eyes were raised to
the bright, smiling portrait, and to that he spake.
Devereux continued, —
“Ah ! St. Victor, dost thou remember, long ago,
when thou wert a young gay gallant, and 1 but a
poor clerk in thy father’s prosperous house?
When you, the young heir, were but a boy, I was
past the season of youth. \\ hen you attained
your briliant majority, I, Devereux, was a man of
sober middle age. But I loved, oh! passionately
and truly, loved for the first time, and even yel,
St. Victor, that love is here!” And he laid his
: withered hand upon his heart.
“She was very beautiful and good, that girl, and
she accepted my suit; we should have been hap
py, but you came. I need not tell \ou how it
was; how soon the young, the dazzling St. Victor
won from the plain clerk that heart, with all its
wealth of love ; how soon l was forgotten and dis
carded, how deeply you were loved. I need not
repeat all —all my efforts to retain her, all my
pleadings —pleadings poured vainly on the ear of
passion—pleadings both to } T ou and to her But I
will remind you of one day, when, scorned by her
in your presence, I made a last appeal —an ap
peal to her faith, her honor, —to your generosity,
your pity, when, stung to madness by the sight of
your happiness, I ventured on bolder words than,
perhaps, I should have used, and you answerered
by a blow ! but you were happy and you soon
forgot that circumstance. Soon the maiden died.”
And here his voice, that failed and faltered, his
eyes, that seemed to dim with tears, his lips that
quivered, gave tokens that he spoke the truth when
he said his love for her yet lived. And the poor
debtor, while listening, forgot the troubles of the
moment, thought not of the present. The past,
with all its sorrows and its joy, its unimaginable
happiness, its unimaginable woe, was his again.
Devereux continued:—
“The maiden died. Well for her she died, be
fore your love grew cold, before she learned how
much she had cast away for ever. She died be
fore remorse or retribution could arrive : she died
in your arms! Above her grave we metagain.
My love must have been strong, St. Victor, since
it conquered my natural pride and brought me to
that grave —a mourner. You were sad—sub
dued ; yoii extended me your hand, you prayed
that all might be at peace between us —that all
might be forgotten. 1 took the offered hand—it
was necessary that I should dissimulate—and 1
said that I forgave. Time rolled on, you over
came your grief, you married again, you inherited
your noble patromony, you became the head of
the great house of St. Victor. I left you, but be
fore I quitied your employ I had prepared the
way to ruin ; 1 had sown the seed of all that hath
followed, and is yet to come. I, also, married
for the sake of wealth. I entered upon business;
I struggled hard; I have not toiled in vain ; I am
now the richest man in all Marseilles. My wife
is dead, but she has left me one son, the only
thing I love; for him and for this vengeance I
have worked and lived!”
“And for his sake,” exclaimed St. Victor, “you
will have mercy on me ; if not on me, on my
wife ; if not on me, on my children !”
For a moment the hard eye softened, and the
face assumed an irresolute expression, but it was
only for a moment. His answer was—
“No! the anguish, the shame of a life, shall not
pass unavenged! To-morrow, and St. Victor
shall be the wonder and the scorn of all Mar
seilles !”
“Ah, Devereux! think not, I beseech you, of
that hasty act! Think rather of my long-felt,
long shewn trust in you ; think of my father, how
beloved and trusted you; think how ours has
been, for years, the first housa here. What a
terrible thing this would be ! the head of the St.
Victors arrested—arrested, and by you\”
44 All this,” answered the creditor, 44 that you
urge against the act, but stirs me more deeply to,
wards it. To-morrow, and I have my revenge!”
44 Give me but a day, Devereux, and I will essay
to raise the money. Give me a week. The ship
Volant, my last venture, is expected ere the week
is out. Give me but until her return. Her cargo
is of ore and diamonds; if she comes laden, as I
hope, I may meet all demands, and save, at least,
my honor. Give me but time!”
But the creditor smiled as he replied,—
“Not and hour!”
44 Oh, Deverenx, have some mercy!” and St.
Victor sank upon his knees, clasping his hands in
agonv.
Just as the creditor opened his lips to reply, a
howling blast of wind shook the windows of the
room, and moaned wildly down the wide chimney.
He paused and started.
“My son is at sea; God grant there be no
storm! ”
He approached the ca<sement., he gazed anxious
ly forth. Evidently he thought only of his young
sailor, nothing of the suffering debtor at his feet.
The debtor rose —
44 That wind is fair for the Volant ; Heaven
send her safe to port! ”
“ The Volant! the Volant! ”
Creditor and debtor both rushed to the window.
44 What of the Volant ? What news of the \o
lant?” shouted St. Victor from the casement.
There was an eager group upon the quay;
many had friends or relations in the expected ves
sel ; some had shares in the rich freightage ; fifty
telescopes were levelled at the horizon ; a hun
dred voices were loud in assertion, denial, con
jecture ; but all agreed in one point, that a ves
sel was in sight and making towards the port.
44 ’Tis the Volant, five days before her time ? ”
said an old sailor, who had been gazing long and
eagerly through his glass. “ I would swear to
her top gallant sails among a thousand. ’ Tis the
Volant! ”
“ And I may yet be saved ! ” murmured the
debtor.
The creditor turned fiercely upon him—
-44 Triumph not yet, St. Victor ! ” he said, “she
is yet far away ; the perils of the deep sea are
many, and between her present course and this
harbor the sands are shifting, and the rocks are
dangerous. Triumph not yet! ”
But St. Victor, wild with hope, heeded him not;
and the old man muttering angry threats and de
nunciations, quitted the hotel and look his way
home.
His residence was also on the quay, not far from
the Hotel Victor, with his windows also looking
upon the busy scene of the harbor—upon the
dark distance of the sea. As with slow and fee
ble steps he retraced his way, he paused amid
the throng now momentarily increasing on the
pier. Even to his feeble vision a dim white speck
was visible, just between the deep blue of the
sky and the deeper purple of the ocean.
44 If it is the Volant,” said one, 44 we shall hear
the gun for the pilot soon.”
The old man turned away.
“ 1 would that she and her cargo were deep
within the sea ! ”
He reached his own door; as he paused ere en
tering, someone addressed him. It was Jean,
the pilot, whose turn it would be to answer the
signal gun of the Volant.
44 Hast thou any commands master Devereux ?”
asked Jeon.
Devereux made no reply, but opening his door,
he ascended his stairs. The pilot followed. —
Devereux entered his apartment and closed the
door; Jean stood within side.
He laid his hand upon the spring lock of an
ancient bureau, arid the carved portals flew wide
at his touch; there were many bags of gold within.
“I he half of this,” said Devereux, 44 1 would
give, that the Yolant were deep within the sea.”
The pilot spoke —
44 Give me all, and it shall be done,” Devereux
hesitated for a moment.
44 1 will give thee //.”
The gun sounded, and the pilot flurried to bis
post. The pilot boat sped merrily across the
waves ; but night was falling over blackening
waves and whitening foam, and ere she reaches
the Volant, neither boat nor ship were visible.
The dawn of morning showed the Volant
stranded on those dangerous rocks so well known
to the pilots of that sea, the rocks on the right of
the entrance to the harbor. But with the morn
ing came a calm ; the wind fell, the turbulence of
the ocean subsided to a gentle swell; and so near
was the Volant to the shore—so hushed was the
tempest, that the voices of those within could be
dislinetly beard upon the pier.
All that day boats went to and fro between the
wrock and the shore ; all the rich cargo—the
heavy ore—the caskets of precious diamonds,
were safely landed and consigned to the ware
house of St. Victor; even the good ship herself
—lightened of her load,some what strained, but
still sound and buoyant—was saved.
The pilot stood before Devereux, claiming hi*
reward. But the latter said—
“ The freightage and vessel are saved.”
44 No fault of mine,” muttered Jean, “ I have
done my best, the tempest fell just as she grounded*
and she lived through the night.”