Ekuotci to fatcartuue, Science, ant> 3trt, tl)e oons of temperance, (Diiii iTellocosljip, itlasonrp, an& General intelligence.
VOLUME I.
ss&sew&s jsssif.
‘•I LOVE THE LADIES, EVERY ONE.*.’
RY JAMES STILLMAN.
I love the Ladle's, every one—
The laughing, ripe brunette—
Those dark-eyed daughters of the 9un,
With tresses black as jet.
What rapture in their glances grow !
Rich tints their cheek discloses;
And in the little dimples there
Young smiling love reposes.
I love the Ladies every one—
The blonde so soft and fair.
With looks so mild nnd languishing, *
And bright and golden hair.
How lovely are their sylph-like form 3
Their alabaster hue!
And their blushes far more boautiful
Than rose-buds bathed in dew.
I love the Ladies, every one—
E’en those whoso graceless forma
Are rugged ns the oak, that’s borne
A hundred winter’s storms.
The young, the old. the stout, the thin ;
The short as well as tall;
Widows and wives, matrons and maids—
Oh, yes! I love them all.
I love the Ladies, every one—
None but a wretch would flout ’em;
This world would be a lonely placo
If wo were left without ’em.
But, lighted by a woman’s smile,
Away all gloom is driven ;
And the most humble home appears
Almost a little heaven.
I love the Ladies, every one—
They’re angels all, God bless ’em!
And what can greater pleasure givo
Than to comfort and caress ’em ?
I call myself a temprance man,
Sol’ll drink their health in water—
Here’s to the mothers, one and all,
And every mother’s daughter!
SEI.SC® filiS. ~
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
bt Madame d'akbouvjlle.
(Continued from our lost.)
How those two loved each other ! Never have
1 seen a being more completely wrapped up in
another than was Eva Meredith in her husband !
AVhate ver her occupation, she always so placed
herself, that, on raising her eyes, she had Wil
liam before them. She never read but in the
book he was reading. Her* head against his
shoulder, her eyes followed the lines on which
a illiam’s eyes were fixed; she wished the same
thoughts to strike them at the same moment; and,
when I crossed the garden to reach their door, I
smiled always to see upon the gravel the trace of
Eva s little foot close to the mark of William’s
hoot. \\ hat a difference between the deserted
old house you see yonder, and the pretty dwelling
of my young friends ! What sweet flowers cov
ered the walls! What bright nosegays decked
the tables! How many charming books were
! cre °i tales of love that resembled their
! How gay the birds that sang around them !
lin? ? O(X | * twasto live there, and to be loved a
tv 6 J Vlose w ho loved each other so much !
imf 1 are n §ht w ho say that happy days are
hiii \' us ea ''h, and that, in respect of
PP n s, God gives but a little at a time.
I n ,,„ e , m ° ri i l L ® Va Meredith appeared to suffer,
questioned her with all the interest I felt for her.
ans “vre(i me abruptly.
is mrt not f ee -‘ , my P u,se >’ doctor,” she said ;“ it
i< riff’ heart that beats too quick. Think me child
liam .^° U -' VI ’ ‘ 3ut l a m sad this morning. Wil
vn, , ‘V- 01n S a ' va }'. He is going to the town be
■'°nd the mountain, to receive money.”
9b m Cn return ? ” inquired I, gently.
lookt almost blushed, and then, with a
replie/ 1 f t e i?. ed t 0 sa y> Do not laugh at me, she
Ihis evening!”
her imploring glance, I could
P re ss a smile. Just then a servant brought
her ‘ lered^’s horse to the door. Eva rose from
Seat} went out into the garden, approached
the horse, and, while stroking his mane, bowed
her head upon the animal’s neck, perhaps to on
ceal the tear that fell from her eyes. William
came out, threw himself lightly into the saddle,
and gentl} r raised hjs wife’s head.
“ Silly girl! ” said he, with love in his eyes and
voice. And he kissed her brow.
“ William, we have never yet been so many
honrs apart! ”
Mr. Meredith stooped his head towards that of
Eva, and imprinted a second kiss upon her beau
tiful golden hair; then he touched his horse’s
flank with the spur, and set off at a gallop. lam
convinced that he, too, was a little moved. Noth
ing is so contagious as the weakness of those we
love ; tears summon tears, and it is no very laud
able courage that keeps our eyes dry by the side
of a weeping friend. I turned my steps home
ward, and, once more in my cottage, I set myself
to meditate on the happiness of. loving. I asked
myself if an Eva would ever cheer my poor
dwelling. laid not think of examining whether
I was worthy to be loved. When we behold two
beings thus devoted to each other, we easily dis
cern that is not for good and various reasons that
they love so well; they love because it is neces
sary, inevitable ; they love on account of their
own hearts, not of those of others. Well, I
thought how I might seek and find a heart that
had need to love, just as, in my morning walks, I
might have thought to meet, by the road-side,
some flower of sweet perfume. Thus did I muse,
although it is perhaps a wrong feeling which
makes us, at sight of others’ bliss, deplore the
happiness we do not ourselves possess. Is not a
little envy there ? aud if joy could be stolen like
gold, should we not then be near a larceny ?
The day passed, and I had just completed my
frugal supper, when I received a message from
Mrs. Meredith, begging me to visit her. In five
minutes I was*at the door of the white cottage. —
I found Eva, still alone, seated on a sofa, without
work or book, pale and trembling. “ Come, doc
tor, come,” said she, in her soft voice ; “ I can re
main alone no longer; see eow late it is!—he
should have been here two hours ago, and has not
yet returned ! ”
I was surprised at Mr. Meredith’s prolonged
absence ; but, to comfort his wife I replied, qui
etly, “ How can we tell the time necessary to
transact his business ? They may have made
him wait; the notary was perhaps absent. There
were papers to draw up and sign.”
“ Ah, doctor, I was sure you would find words
of consolation ! I needed to hear someone tell
me that it is foolish to tremble thus! Gracious
heaven, how long the day has been ! Doctor,
are there really persons who live alone ! Do they
not die immediately, as if robbed of half the at
mosphere essential to life ! But there’ is eight
o’clock ! ” Eight o’clock was indeed striking.—
I could not imagine why William was not back.
At all hazards 1 said to Mrs. Meredith, “Madam
the sun is hardly set; it is still daylight, and the
evening is beautiful; come and visit your flowers.
If we walk down the road, we shall doubtless
meet your husband.”
She took my arm, and we walked towards the
gate of the little garden. I endeavored to turn
her attention to surrounding objects. At first she
replied, as achdd obeys* But I felt that her
thoughts were not with her words. Her anxious
o-aze°was fixed upon the little green gate, which
had remained open since William’s departure.
Leaniug upon the paling, she suffered me to talk
on, smiting from time to time by way of thanks;
for as the evening wore away, she lacked courage
to answer me. Grey tints succeeded the reH sun
set, foreshadowing the arrival of night. Gloom
gathered around us. The road, hitherto visible
like a white line winding through the forest, dis
appeared in the dark shade oi the lofty tiees, and
the village clock struck nine. Eva started. I
myself felt every stroke vibrate upon my heart.
I‘pitied the poor woman’s uneasiness.
SAVANNAH, GA,. THURSDAY, JUNE 21, 1849.
“ Remember, madam,” I replied, (she had not
spoken, but I answered the anxiety visible in her
features,) “ remember that Mr. Meredith must re
turn at a walk ; the roads through the forest are
notin a state to admit fast; riding.” I said this
to encourage her ; but the truth is, I knew not
how to explain William’s absence. Knowing the
distance, I also knew that I could have gone twice
to the town and back since his departure. The
evening dew began to penetrate our clothes, and
especially Eva’s thin muslin dress. Again 1 drew
her arm through miue and led herto the house.—
She followed unresistingly ; her gentle nature
was submissive even in affliction. She walked
slowly, her head bowed, her eyes fixed on the
tracks left by the gallop of her husband’s horse.
How melancholly it was, that evening walk, still
without William ! In vain we listened ; there
reigned around us the profound stillness of a sum
mer night in the country. How greatly does a
feelingof uneasinessincrease under such circum
stances. We entered the house. Eva seated
herself on the sofa, her hands elapsed upon her
knees, her head sunk upon her bosom.
There was a lamp on the chimney-piece, whose
light fell full upon her face. I shall never forget
its suffering expression. She was pale—her brow
and cheeks exactly the same colour ; her hair,
relaxed by the night-damp, fell in disorder upon
her shoulders. Tears filled her eyes, and the quiv
ering of her colourless lips showed how violent
was the effort hy which she avoided shedding
them. She was so young that her face resembled
that of a child forbidden to cry*
I was greatly troubled, and knew not what to
say or how to look. Suddenly I remembered (it
was a docter’s thought) that Eva, engrossed by
her uneasiness, had taken nothing since morning,
and her situation rendered it imprudent to prolong
this fast. At my first reference to the subject she
raised her eyes to mine with a reproachful ex
pression, and the motion of her eyelids caused
two tears to flow down her cheeks.
“ For your child’s sake, madam,” said I.
“Ah you are right! ” she murmered, and she
passed into the dining-room ; but there the little
table was laid for two, and at that moment this
trifle so saddened me as to deprive me of speech
and motion. My increasing uneasiness rendered
me quite awkward ; 1 had not the wit to say
what I did not think. The silence was prolonged ;
“ and yet,” said I to myself, “I am here to con
sole her; she sent for me for that purpose. —
There must be fifty ways of explaining this delay
—let me find one.” I sought, and sought—and
still 1 remained silent, inwardly cursing the pov
erty of invention of a poor village doctor. —
Eva, her head resting on her hand, forgot to eat.
Suddenly she turned to me and burst out sob
bing.
“Ah doctor!” she exclaimed, “I see plainly
that you too are urteasy.”
“ Not so, madam —Indeed not so,” replied I,
speaking at random. “ Why should Ibe uneasy (
He has doubtless dined with the notary. The
roads are safe, and no one knows that he went
for money.*’
I had inadvertently revealed one of mv secret
causes of uneasiness. I knew that a band of for
eign reapers had that morning passed through the
village, on their way to a neighboring depart
ment.
Eva uttered a cry.
“Robbers! Robbers!” she exclaimed. “I
never thought of that danger.”
“But, madam I only mention it to tell you it
does not exist.”
“Oh ! the thought struck you doctor, because
you thought the misfortune possible! William!
my own William ! why did you leave me! ” cried
she, weeping bitterly.
I was in despair at my blunder, and I felt my
eyes fill with tears. My distress gave me an
idea.
“ Mrs. Meredith,” I said, “ I cannot see you^
torment yourself thus, and remain by your side
unable to console you. I will go and seek your
husband ; I will follow at random one of the paths
through the forest; 1 will search everywhere and
shout his name, and go, if necessary to the tow
itself.”
“Oh thanks, thanks kind friend !” cried Eva
Meredith, “ take the gardener with you aud tha
servant; search in all directions 1 ”
We hurried back into the drawing-room, and
Eva rang quickly and repeatedly. All the inhab
itants of the cottage opened at the same time the
different doors of the apartment. “Follow Dr*
Barnaby,” cried Mrs. Meredith.
At that momenta horse’s gallop was distinctly
heard upon the gravel of the garden, Eva ut
tered aery of happiness that went home to every
heart. Never .shall I forget the divine expression
of joy that illumined her face, still inundated
with tears. She and I, we flew to the house-door.
The moon, passing from behind a cloud, threw
her full light upon a riderless and foam-covered
horse, whose bridle dragged upon the ground,
and whose dusty flanks were galled by the empty
stirrups. A second cry, this time of intensest hor
ror, burst from Eva’s breast; then she turned to
wards me, her eyes fixed, her mouth half open*
her arms hanging poweiless.
The servants were in consternation.
“ Get torches, my friends! ” cried I, “and fol
low me ! Madam we shall soon return, I hope,
and your husband with us. He has received some
slight hurt, a strained ancle, perhaps. Keep up
your courage. We will soon be back.”
“I go with } T ou! ” murmured Eva Meredith in
a choking voice.
“ Impossible ! ” I cried. “We must go fast,
perhaps far, and in 3 r our state —it would be risk
ing your life, and that of 3’our child—”
“ I go with you ! ” repeated Eva.
Then did I feel how cruel was this poor wo
man’s isolation ! Had a father, a mother, been
there, they would have ordered her to stay, they
would have retained her by force ; but she was
alone upon the earth, and to all my hurried en
treaties she still replied in a hollow voice: “ I go
with you! ”
We set out. The moon was again darkened
by dense clouds; their was light neither in the
heavens nor on the earth. The uncertain radi
ance of our torches barely showed us the path.—
A servant went in front, lowering his torch to the
right and to the left, to illumine the ditches and
‘bushes bordering the road. Behind him Mrs.
Meredith, the gardener, and myself followed with
our eyes the stream of light. From time to time
we raised our voices and called Mr. Meredith.—
After us a stilled sob murmured the name of Wil
liam, as if a heart had reckoned on the instinct of
love to hear its tears better than our shouts. We
reached the forest. Rain began to fall, and the
drops pattered upon the foliage with a mournful
noise, as if everything around us wept. Eva’s
thin dress was soon soaked with the cold flood.—
The water streamed from her hair over her face.
She bruised her feet against the stones of the road,
and repeatedly stumbled and fell upon her knee;
bat she rose again with the energy of dispair, and
pushed forward. It was agonisingto behold her.
I scarcely dared look at her, lest I should see her
fall dead before my eyes. At last—we were mo
ving in silence, fatigued and discouraged—Mrs.
Meredith pushed us suddenly aside, sprang for
ward and plunged into the bushes. We followed
her, and, upon raising the torches—alas ! she was
on her knees beside the body of William, who
was stretched motionless upon the ground, his
e\ 7 es glazed and his brow covered with blood
which flowed from a wound in the left temple.
“Doctor!,” said Eva to me. That one word
expressed-—“ Does William live ? ”
I stooped and felt the pulse of William Mere
dith ; I placed m3 7 hand on his heart and remained
silent. Eva still gazed at me ; but, when my si
lence \vas prolonged, I saw her bend, waver, and
NUMBER 16.
