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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.”