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Pcuoteb to Citcarturc, Science, (mi) Art, tljc Sons of (temperance, <Di)D jTcllorosljip, . Jilasonrn, ani) (General Jntelligciuc. VOLUME I. fd£f£f. LIVE THEM DOWN. Brother, nrt thou poor and lowly, Toiling, drudging, day by day, Journeying painfully and slowly On tliy dark and desert way? Pause not —though the proud ones frown! Shrink not, fear not, —dive them down! Though to Vice thou shalt not pander Though to Virtue thou shalt kneel, Yet thou shalt escape not Slander, Jibe and lie thy ssou’. halt feel, Jest of witling, curse of clown—• Heed not < itiur—live them dow.x. Hate may wield her scourges horrid, Malice may thy woes deride, Scorn may bind with thorns thy forehoad, Envy's spear may pierce thy side; Ln! through Cross shall come the Crown i Fear not foomen, —live them down ! ssissf i&ias. THE VILLAGE DOCTOR. bv sU'iiui o'lknucnuE. ( Continued from our lust.) We betook ourselves immediately to the resi dence of Lord James Kysington, a large and handsome house, full of servants, where, after waiting sometime, lirst in the an teroom, and then in the parlours, we were at last ushered into the presence of the noble invalid. Seated in a large arm-chair was an old man of cold and severe as pect, whose white hair contrasted oddly with his eyebrows, still of a jet black. He was tall and thin, as far as I could judge through the folds of a large cloth coat, made like a dressing gown. — His hands disappeared under his cutis, and his feetwere wrapped in the skin of a white bear. — A number of medicine vials were upon a table beside him. “My lord, this is my nephew, Dr. Barnaby.” Lord Kysingtou bowed ; that is to sav, he looked at me, aud made a scarcely perceptible move ment with bis head. “He is well versed in his profession, and ] doubt not that his care will be most beneficial to your lordship.” A second movement of the head was the sole reply vouchsafed. “Moreover,” continued my relation, “having had a tolerably good education, hS can read to your lordship, or write under your dictation.” “ l shall be obliged to him,” replied Lord Ky sington, breaking silence at last, and then closing his eyes, either from fatigue, or as a hint that the conversation was to drop. 1 glanced around me. Near the window sat a lady, very elegantly dressed, yhocontinued her embroidery without once ruis l[*gher eyes, as if we were not worthy her no- Uce * Upon the carpet at her feet a little boy unused himself with toys. The lady, although first strike me as pretry —because black hair and eyes ; and to be pretty, Me <)r f U m y notion, was to be fair, like Lva e^ ,l ’ ai ! d moreover, in rny experience, 1 i eau ty impossible without a certain air of g°t ness. It was long before I could admit the u woman, whose brow was haughty, lib t and her mouth unsmiling. — iv h t kysington, she was tall, thin, rather .;♦ * 111I 11 c , racter they were too much alike to w ,T h °! her well. Formal and taciturn, they a together without affection, almost without len< UrS k* The child, too, had been taught si ; h . e Wa lked on tiptoe, and at the least noise ?° k lrom his mother or from Lord Ky k on Ranged him into a statue, isn Wasto °hue to return to my village; but it lost^W 00 ate to re £ ret what one has loved and • My heart ached when 1 thought of my \vf * ?‘ Y valle ?’ m y l^rty. Iha / at * * earne< 4 concerning the cheerless family 6 en sered was as follows: Lord James Ky- S had come to Montpelier for his health, deteriorated by the climate of India. Second son of the Duke of Kysingtou, and a lord only by courtesy, he owed to talent and not to inheri tance his fortune and his political position in the House of Commons. Lady Mary was the wife of his youngest brother ; and Lord James, free to dispose of his fortune, had named her son his heir. Towardsme his lordship was most punctiliously polite. A bow thanked me for every service I rendered him. I read aloud for hours together, uninterrupted by the sombre old man, whom I put to sLeep, or by the young woman, who did not listen to me, or by the child, who trembled in his ancle’s presence. I had never led so melancholy a life, and yet, as you know ladies, the little white cottage had long ceased to be gay ; but the silence of misfortune implies such grave re flections, that words are insufficient to express them. One feels the life of the soul under the stillness of the body. In my own abode it was the silence of a void. One day that Lord James dozed and Lady Mary was engrossed with embroidery, little Harry climbed upon my knee, as I sat apart at the fur ther end of the room, and began to question me with the artless curiosity of his age. In my turn, and without reflecting what I said, I questioned him concerning his family. “ Have you any brothers and sisters ? ” I en quired. “ I have a very pretty little sister.” “ What is her name V ” asked I, absently glan cing at the newspaper in my hand. “She lias a beautiful name. Guess it Doctor.” I knew not what I was thinking about. In my village Iliad heard none but the names of peas ants, hardly applicable to Lady Mary’s daughter. Mrs. Meredith was the only lady I had known, and the child repeating, “ Guess, guess ! ” I replied at random, “ Eva, perhaps ? ” We were speaking very low; hut when the name of Eva escaped my lips, Lord James opened his eyes quickly, aud raised himself in his chair, Lady Mary dropped her needle and turned sharp ly towards me. I was confounded at the effect 1 had produced ; I looked alternately at Lord James and at Lady Mary, without daring to utter another word. Some minutes passed ; Lord James let his head fail back and closed his eyes, Lady Mary resumed her needle, Harry and I ceased our con versation. I reflected for some time upon this strange incident, until at last, ail around me hav ing sunk into the usual monotonous calm, I rose to leave the room. Lady Mary pushed away her embroidery frame, passed before me, and made me a sign* to follow. When we were both in another room she shut the door, and raising her head with the imperious air which was the most habitual expression of her features : “ Dr* Barn aby,” said she, “be so good as never again to pronounce the name that just now escaped your sips. It is a name Lord James Kysington must not hear.” She bowed slightly, and re-entered her brother-in-law’s apartment. Thoughts innumerable crowded upon my mind. This Eva, whose name was not to be spoken, could it be Eva Meredith? Was* she Lord Ky- daughter-in-law ? Was lin the house of William’s father? I hoped, but still I doubted ; for, after all if there was but one Eva in the world for me, in England the name was, doubt less by no means uncommon. -But the thought thru I was perhaps with the family of Eva Mere dith living with the woman who robbed the widow and the orphan of their inheritance, this thought was present to me by day and by night. Ln my dreams I beheld the return of E\a anc ler son to the paternal residence, in consequence of the pardon I had implored and obtained for them. But when I raised my eyes, the cold impassible physiognomy of Lord Kysington froze all the hopes of my heart. I applied myself to the ex amination of that countenance as if I had never SAVANNAH, GA.. THURSDAY, JUNE 23, 1849. before seen it. ; I analysed its features and lines to find a trace of sensibility. I sought the heart Iso gladly would have touched. Alas! I found it not. But Iliad so good a cause that I was not to be discouraged. “Pshaw!” I said to myself, “ what matters the expression of the face’/ why heed the external envelope ? May not the darkest coffer contain bright gold ? Must all that is within us reveal itself at a glance ? Does not every man of the world learn to separate his mind and his thoughts from the habitual expression of his countenance ? ” I resolved to clear up my doubts, but how to do so was the difficulty. Impossible to question Lady Mary or Lord James; the servants were French, and had but lately come to the house. An Eng lish valet-de-chatnbre had just been despatched to London on a confidential mission, i directed mv investigations to Lord James Kvsington.— The severe expression of his countenance ceased to intimidate me. 1 said to myself: “When the forester meets with a tree apparently dead, he strikes his axe into the trunk to see whether sap does not still survive beneath the withered bark ; in like manner will 1 strike at the heart, and see whether life be not somewhere hidden.” And 1 only waited an opportunity. • To await an opportunity with impatience is to accelerate its coming. Instead of depending on circumstances we subjugate them. One night Lord James sent for me. He was in pain. Af ter administering the necessary remedies, I re mained by his bedside* to watch their effect.— The room was dark; a single wax candle showed the outlines of objects, without illuminating them. The pale and noble head of Lord James was thrown back upon his pillow. His eves were shut, according to his custom when suffering, as if he concentrated his moral energies within him. — He never complained, hut lay stretched out in his bed—straight and motionless as a king’s statue upon a marble tomb. In general he got somebody to read to him, hoping either to distract his thoughts from his pains, or to be lulled to sleep by the monotonous sound. Upon that night he made a sign to me with his meagre hand to take a book and read, but 1 sought one in vain ; books and newspapers had all been removed to the drawing-room ; the doors were locked, and unless I rung and aroused the house, a book was not to be had. Lord James made a gesture of impatience, then one of resig nation, and beckoned me to resume my seat by his side. We remained for some time without sneaking, almost in darkness, the silence broken only by the ticking of the clock. Sleep came not. Suddenly Lord James opened his eyes. “ Speak to me,” he said. “ Tell me something ; whatever you Lke.” His eyes closed, and he waited. My heart beat violently. The moment had come. “ My Lord,” said I, “ I greatly fear I know nothing that will interest your lordship. 1 can speak but of myself, of the events of my life— and the history of the great ones of the earth were necessary to fix your attention. What can a peasant have to say, who has liv-ed contented with little, in obscurity and repose ? I have scarcely quitted my village, my lord. It is a pretty mountain hamlet, where even those not born there might well be pleased to dwell. Near it is a country house, which I have known inhabited by rich people, who could have left it if they had’ liked, but who remained, because the woods were thick, the paths bordered with flowers, the streams bright and rapid in their rocky beds. Alas ! they were two in that house—and soon a poor woman was there alone, until the birth of her son. . My lord, she is a country woman of yours, an English woman, of beauty such as is seldom seen either in England or in France; good as, besides her, only the angels in heaven can be! fche had jut completed her eighteenth year when I left her, fatherless, motherless, and already widowed of an adored husband; she is feeble, delicate, almost ill, and yet she must live:—who would protect that little child? CJli! my lord there are very unhappy beings in this world! To be unhappy in middle life or old age is doubtless sad, but still you have pleasant memories of the past to remind you that you have had your day, your share, your happiness ; but to weep before you are eighteen is far sadder, for nothing can bring back the dead, and the future is dim with tears. Poor creature ! We see a beggar by the road side suffering from cold and hunger; and we give him alms, and look upon him without pain, because it is in our power to relieve him ; but this unhappy, broken-hearted woman, the only relief to give her would be to love her—and none are there to bestow that alms upon her! “ Ah ! my lord if you knew what a fine young man her husband was ! hardly three and twenty; noble countenance, a lofty brow—like your own, intelligent and proud ; dark blue eyes, rather pen sive, rather sad. 1 knew why they were sad.— He ioved his father and his native land, and he was doomed to exile from both! And* how good and grateful was his smile ! Ah ! how he would have smiled at his little child had he lived long enough to see it. He loved it even before.it was born ; he took pleasure in looking at the cra dle that awaited it. Poor, poor young man I I saw him on a stormy night, in the dark forest, stretched upon the wet earth, motionless, lifeless, his garments covered with mud, his Temple shat tered, blood escaping in torrents from bis wound. I saw—alas! I saw’ William—” “ You saw my son’s death ! ” cried Lord James, raising himself like a spectre in the midst of his pillows, and fixing me with eves so distended and piercing, that I started back alarmed. But not withstanding the darkness, I thought I saw a tear moisten the old man’s eyelids. 4i My lord,” I replied, “1 was present at your son’s death, and at the birth of his child! ” ‘i'here was an instant’s silence, Lord James looked steadfastly at me. At last he made a movement; his trembling hand sought mine, pressed it, then his fingers relaxed their grasp, •and he fell back upon the bed. “Enough, sir, enough; 1 suffer, I need repose. Leave *ine.” I bowod, and retired. Before I was out of the room, Lord James had relapsed into his habitual position , into silenco and immobility. 1 will not detail to you my numerous and re spectful representationsto Lord James Kysing ton, his indecision and secret anxiety, and how at last his paternal love, awakened by the details of the horrible catastrophe, his pride of race, re vived by the hope of leaving an heir to his name, triumphed over his bitter resentment. Three months after the scene 1 have described, I awaited, on the threshold of the liotise at Montpellier, the arrival of Eva Meredith and her son, summoned to. theirfamily and tp the resumption of ail their rights. It was a proud and happy day for me. Lady Ma rv, perfect mistress of herself, had concealed her joy when family dissensions had made her son iu ir to her wealthy brother. Still better did she conceal her regret and anger when Eva Meredith, or rather Eva Kysington, was re conciled with her father-in-law. Not a cloud ap peared upon Lady Mary’s marble forehead. But beneath this external calm how many evil pas sions fermented ! When ttie carriage of Eva Meredith (t will still mve her that name) entered the court-yard of the house, i was there to receive her. Eva held out her hand—“ Thanks, thanks, tny friend ! ” she murmured. She wiped the tears that trem bled iu her eyes, and taking her boy, now three years old, and of great beauty, by the hand, she entered her new w a bode. “1 am afraid ! ” she said. She was still the weak woman, broken by addiction, pale, sad, and beautiful, incredulous of earthly hopes, but firm in heavenly faith. I | (Continued cm. fourth page.) f , * jmJtg! p NUMBER 17.