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“ We ’ll send the children down to-morrow, sir,
if you’ve no objection. Mary will come with
them. Be sure you make them pretty pictures,
Mr. Artist!”
Here I ventured to insinuate, my name was
Aubury.
“Aubury!” id she; “Aubury—l beg your
pardon well, I declare, that is a queer name, and
I don’t think I shall remember it long. Howso
ever, that’s neither here nor there, so that the
pictures please me.
“No, my dear madam, it is not of vital import
ance, certainlyso she continued with the usual
preface, “Well, I’ll send the girls and boys to-mor
row ; please see they do not get into mischief and
get hurt, as Mary is so shy before strangers; Mary’s
a young girl, that lives with me. My childien aie
great pets, Auctubry. ’
I promised her to do my best, and she finally
arose to take leave, saying, as she went:
“My name’s Sibbs —Mrs. Sylvanius Sibbs —my
husband is a large importer of wine, sir. You
must call round and see him,” she added, in a
confidential under tone. “If we like the pictures,
it will be the best thing you ever did for yourself.”
Saying which, she smiled patronizingly on me,
and bade me good morning, I flung myself in
a chair and indulged in a quiet laugh, at the ex
pense of my lady patroness. Then I thought of
the task before me: to paint a mother and four
children, all I doubted, as ugly and vulgar as the
mother, and to make “ pretty pictures of them.”
Was it not a task ? But, 1 resolved to undertake
it, and endeavor, bv a little flattering to make
them presentable. I confess I did not like to
tamper with my beloved art, by this dissimulation,
but Mrs. said unless they were pretty they
would not suit, and how was I to accomplish it
otherwise.
Agreeably to our appointment, early the next
morning, a handsome, but very showy equipage,
drew up to the door, and out jumped two big
blustering boys, then a girl of eight, and a young
lady of some seventeen summers, who stopped
at the carriage, to help a lovely little creature
to descend, whom I rightly conjectured must be
the fairy Kate. By this time the elder children
had marched in, and were gazing with wondering
eyes, around. I soon found they were disposed
to be more familiar than was agreeable, by touch
ing paintings, books, and every thing new and
curious to them ; and, in short, I found 1 should
have some difficulty in preserving either order or
patience under their vigorous attacks. Kate and
her companion had glided off to another part of
the room, whilst Miss Martha was gazing at her
rather ruddy locks in the glass. Withdrawing my
attention, for a few moments from mv boisterous
visiters, I followed the younger child and the
young lady. Mary—for that was the designation
Mrs. Sibbs had given her—was standing in a rather
embarrassed attitude, holding the hand of little
Kate, who seemed to await my permission to ex
imiue the pictures nearer. The sight of this very
beautiful child was truly refreshing and I soon
became better aeqainted with her. But the em
barrassment of the young lady seemed to increase
the nearer I approached. I drew near respect
fully,— made some commonplace remarks, —
and handed her a chair. 1 invited little Kate to
amuse herself as she thought best; so she seized
her friend Mary’s hand, exclaiming :—“Come,
Mamie, we can look at all these pretty things.”
I saw a beautiful smile, on the lips of Mary, as
she took the little girl’s band, and in her silver
toned voice whispered :
“ Yes, dear, but be a good girl and do n’t touch
anything.” She looked as she spoke apprehen
sively at the two boys, who bad thrown them
selves on the large central ottoman, and were
kicking at each other.
Martha had betaken herself to a chair, and was
very leisurely surveying me, in something of the
same fashion, her mother had done. It was now
time I thought to proceed to business, I observed,
to one of the boys.
“ Well, sir, you are the oldest, I presume?—
Master James, come this way, Does your mo
ther wish you to be painted all together, or sep
arate portraits?”
44 Why,” said he: “Mother don’t care how
you paint us ; but as I am the biggestboy, I think
I’ll sit by myself. Charley can be painted with
Martha, if he likes.”
“No;” said Martha. I wont set with Charley
—I want to be painted, like that lady, with flow
ers in her hair.”
Charles here joined the chorus, and told her she
need n’t trouble herself, as he had no idea of sit
ting with anv one; that he wouldn’t be painted
at at all, unless he could be taken like that boy,
pointing, as he spoke, to a sketch of a youth, in
the act of purloining some apples from the pock
et of an old woman.
I saw 1 had a pretty self-willed trio, to deal
with ; however, I hoped by skilful management,
to quell by degrees, these wilful indications, and
get on better terms with my little noisy sitters.—
After concluding the first sitting of the eldest,
who persisted in sitting separately, I proceeded
to sketch the two girls. Little Kate’s innocent
prattle amply compensated for the rudeness of
of the others. So passed the first and second
days. Each day we got along better. We had
become quite friends, that is the children and I.
They came every day, accompanied by Mary, I
could not but feel an interest; in this pale, slight
creature, who spoke and smiled so sweetly, and
who seemed by her destiny, to be thrown into a
situation unsuited her appearance and apparen
tastes. And yet, her devotion to these children
was untiring.
One day, I ventured to attempt something like
conversation, from which she had always appear
ed to shrink, I made some freshly gathered flovv
ers as the pretext to address her. As I handed
them with respectful air, commentingas I did, on
their variety and freshness, Mary’s cheek colored
like (he rose I presented her; but she held up her
hand, with a movement of such grace, that 1 lost
myself a moment, in the admiration it occasioned.
We fell into conversation, and though timid and
bashful, even sometimes to painlulness, there was
an atmosphere, it I may say so, of refinement
and elegance, too plain to be mistaken. The
reader must not be surprised at the embarrass
ment of this young girl. Sent, as it were, unask
ed, to the atilicr of a stranger, occupying almost
a subordinate station, as regarded these noisy
children, compelled to bear their caprices. I
appreciated the delicacy of her position ; and,
therefore, to place her more at ease, I forbore to
notice when some mala-propos speech sent the
color to her clear cheek and once or twice, suffus
ed those beautiful eyes in tears. 1 found myself
daily becoming more interested in my singularly
beautiful visiter. As yet, I knew her only by the
name of Mary. In the name there was a charm
for me. I thought not to ask the question, who
was she that bore it ? I had nearly completed the
portraits of the boys, but a nameless but bewitch
ing feeling, urged me to delay their completion, to
enjoy the pleasure, exquisite to me, 1 began to
take in these sittings. 1 had many opportunities,
unnoticed by many, of witnessing her gentleness,
her forbearance, as she sometimes endeavored to
win them to obedience, by her soft, whispering
persuasion. To her wishes the boys seemed to
pay but little attention, and I determined to rid
her of this trouble, at least, by assuming a more
authoritive tone with them myself, which succeed
ed to admiration. With Martha, also, was I pop
ular, by giving her confections, and occasionally
praising her beauty and goodness. In this, I did
some violence to my feelings, for my young
friend was not positively winning either in manner
nor looks. But, then, I had an object in view:—
I wished to relieve Mary f.om her heavy respon
sibility.
[Conclusion next week.]
MTS C ELLA NY
THE CREDIT SYSTEM.
BY MRS. S. HAYES.
On passing a wood-yard one day, my attention
was arrested by bearing a person who was en
gaged in sawing, remark to a gentleman who
stood beside him, “ I am sorry you are going to
leave town —you are such uncommon good pay.”
This observation appeared trifling in itself,
but there was a great deal in the tone; and to a
reflecting mind it carried a deeper meaning than
the mere words would seem to convey. “ Un
common good pay” evidently showed that the
gentleman was an exception to the general rule,
and one who in his practice endeavored to con
form to the principles laid down by bis great
Master in the Holy Scriptures—the laborer is
worthy of his hire. It is my purpose now to il
lustrate this by a short and simple story.
In a garden belonging to a handsome mansion,
aman might have been seen employed in diguing,
from early morning until the lengthened shadows
gave evidence that night was approaching. The
only interval of rest had been at noon, when he
had gone home to his dinner. He was some
what past middle age, and from the manner in
which he handled his spade, appeared to under
stand his business particularly well. Just before
sun-down, a gentlemafi entered the garden to note
the progress of the work.
“ Well, Simon,” said he, “ von have got along
finely for these two or three days, and you have
really digged it very nicely. I think I must hold
on to.you as a gardener.”
“ I am glad it pleases you, sir ; it is very hard
digging, but 1 have taken great pains with it.,’
At this moment a little girl came up, took her
father’s hand and said :
“ Pa, tea is waiting.”
“ The sun will soon be down, Simon,” said the
gentleman, as be walked off with his daughter,
“and I guess this is all I shall want you to do
just now. You may call in some day and I will
pay you —I’ve no change at present.”
As he uttered these words, the owner of the
mansion entered his comfortable abode, and sat
down amid his family to the luxurious supper
prepared for him. He did not reflect whether
the poor man, who in laboring for him had borne
the burden and the heat of the day, had one
equally as good to partake of; nor had he done
as the lord of the vineyard we read of in Scrip
ture, who, when the evening was come, said un
to the steward: “call the laborers and give them
their hire.” In fact, accustomed as he was to the
command of* means, it had never occurred to him
how important was the pittance a poor man earns,
to his family.
True, it is many times a trifle, but let it be re
membered that it is his sole dependence—his all;
and that God, who has said “ The wages of him that
is hired, shall not abide with thee all night until
morning”—[Lev. xix] —has nol left the time of
payment with ourselves.
And now we will look a little farther and note
the effects of one neglect.
As the sun went down, Simon proceeded home
ward—his features were careworn and he seemed
wearied and depressed as he moved along. On
entering his dwelling, the first words his wife ac
costed him with were these —
“ Well, Simon, did Mr. G pay you ? I have
got the kettle on, and I will run and get a loaf of
bread, a little tea, and you shall have something
comfortable for supper.
“No, he did not,’* answered Simon, sighing
heavily, as he seated himself on a bench. “He
is a kind hearted man —but I don’t believe he ever
thought how bad off a poor man often is or he
would never have required me to charge him with
my three day’s labor.”
And here we will pause to observe, that wc are
very much inclined to doubt whether those, from
more carelessness, who are guilty of such injus
tice, are in reality more culpable than those, the
result of whose practice is the same, altho’ actu
ated by baser motives.
“Oh, why din’t you ask him? now inquired
Simon’s wife, “and tell him how much we need
ed it ?”
“ He did not offer to pay me, and I Could not,”
returned he moodily.
“Poor little Maggy has been fretting for some
thing good to eat all day,” said the mothor, wi
ping the tears of disappointment which had gath
ered in her eyes, with her apron, “her fever has
left her, and the doctor said she might eat some
thing nice if I only had some wheat bread.
“ Why don’t you borrow some ?” interrogated
the husband, at the same time arising to look at
his sick child, who was quietly sleeping.
“ 1 have borrowed several times,” said his wife,
“and as we never get anything to return it, I can’t
go again.”
At this moment several other little children
came bounding into the house, clamerous for their
supper. Their mother arose, thickened the wa
ter boiling on the fire with corn meal, and this,
with skimmed milk , furnished by r a neighbor,
formed their evening repast. This fare was not
very substantial, it is true, for one who has to toil
day in and day out as Simon had ; but we dare
say the rich, who sat down to their tables groan -
ing with every delicacy, never thought of that.
His children might stand in need of comfortable
clothing to protect them from the cold, and from
their infancy might be inured to every privation—
but what was that to his employers ?—they were
not his keepers, and it was mighty little they
owed. “ Mighty little,” however in a good many
hands in the aggregate would have been found to
amount to considerable, and in Simon’s case the
wages owing to him by his employers when they
were due, would if properly expended, have en
abled him to gather many little necessaries and
comforts about his family which they were now
forced to do without.
In the present instance we would not have our
readers suppose that we were painting an ex
treme case. And in order to prove, we will men
tion one or two facts drawn from the history of
every day life. “I have neither meal nor pota
toes in the house,” said a laboring man to one of
his employers ; “ can }'ou not give me the dollar
you owe me to buy a bushel of grain ?” “ This
is the very first money I have handled in nine
months, and I have worked regularly .almost every
day,” observed one on being paid for his labor.
What a history of privation—of positive suffer
ing—was embodied in these few words? A per
son residing in the village of informed us
that having occasion atone time to go to the house
of a woman who earned her living at the wash tub,
he found her with her four children seated at din
ner, and the sole article of food upon the table
was cabbage, and from her manner, and her not
making an apology he supposed the fare was not
unusual.
Cases of such destitution must be rare, but
they are more numerous than many suppose who
do not take an interest in making inquiry on such
subjects. We are not, however, at present upon
charitable objects. Whatever may be the calling
of those who are employed, their labor should be
cosidered as a full equivalent to their wages, and
as God has not constituted any man the judge of
another’s circumstances, it is an imperative duty
to give them, and at a proper time, what is justly
their own—always mindful of the injunction we
have before referred to, the end of which should be
deeply impressed upon every mind, however un
reflecting— The laborer is worthy of liis hire .
Bacon —ln saving bacon through the summer,
many persons have it injured by skippers, and for
fear of this, they*use hams and shoulders early
in the season.
I have saved mine in the following manner.
When taken out of the salt, I let the brine
drain off a little, and then take black pepper,
ground very fine and rub well over the flesh side
—being very particular to rub well into the
cracks ; then hang if up and smoke it I never
lost any when well put up in this manner. About
one pound of pepper to 600 lbs. meat. Try it
once, and perhaps it will benefit you as much as
the Farmer has me.— ’ Prairie Farmer.
“ It often happens that great talkers are very
shallow thinkers.”
, .Yes— and some people who talk very little,
think— -just as much .
81 iSllli f9i¥lf 4
Written for “A Friend of the Family.”
THE BEREAVED.
bt miss svaan a. stuabt.
A husband had sent to Ireland for his wife. The ship
which she and his child were expected was reported a 9 be’
in the river. With a heart full of warm welcome and j 0 y I
her arrival, with all the impetuous feelings of his nation
ran to meet her. What a disappointment! She had n j
come and he was told she had no design of doing so. ‘j
news was too sad for him to bear ; his hopes were so
and rudely overcast; the motive that urged him on to nobj,
exertion existed no longer. The bottle was sought ns a ref Uff
from his grief, his disappointment. Three days after the gjjjp
notually arrived, bearing his wife, but he who had samuio!
her from her “ own green isle” was no longer there to y,-,
come her to her strauger home. He that day lay a corpse
The ship is speeding swiftly on, to rench her port at last
And to that long, long wished for shore, what hoping
cust,
For hearts have crossed the brin}- deep, to meet fond heart
again,
Tears too of joy are falling fast, softly as summer rain.
And on the deck alone, apart, there stands a stranger one,
A look of rest is on her face, as if her task were done,
And the eyes so sad a moment past, nre lighted now with joy
For she will see her husband here, and he his infant boy.
How restlessly expectant is the look she casts on land,
To see the chosen spyt of earth where he, her loved, will stand
And she answers to “her questioning heart, as if to still its fear,
“ He’s here, tlio’ I can’t see him now, 1 know, I know he’s
here.”
“Oh ! this moment, that I’ve dreamed of long, this happy, hap.
py day,
What months of deep, deep agony, will this moment now repay,
To meet him in a foreign land, for this I’ve crossed the sea,
And my heart it throbs so quickly now, ’tis painful unto me.”
Many have gone and left her there, yet hoping, yet alone,
And her eve is filling fast with tears, changed is her gladsome
tone,
As she hushes now her baby’£ cry, and murmurs soft and low
“ He's hiding in his glccfulness, ’ tis wrong to do us so
A hurried step is heard, she turns, ’tis not his step she heari,
And a shuddering thrill creeps over her, she knows not wlwt
she fears,
A kindly voice speaks welcome, and comes to lead her homo,
“But he, my husband, say why, why doth he not come
They lead her to a stranger home, upon a foreign shore,
And he, in life, her loved, her lost, she ne’er will see him more.
As she gazes on him, pale, in love, unto her came
Strength to bear up against her woe, that shook both heart and
frame.
And looking up with tearful eye, with trusting voice did Bar,
“He that hath given unto me, can He not take away ?*’
Then bending meekly o’er the clay, with her warm hands m
his breast,
Her greeting and her parting kiss, upon his lips she press’d.
a fn i e¥d o f tiie fa mTIyT
SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, AUGUST 9, 1849.
AGENTS.
Mr. J. M. Boaroman is our Agent for Macon.
Mr. S. S. Box for Rome.
Mr. RofiT. E. Seyle for the State of South Carolina.
James O’Conner, Travelling Agent.
Du. M. Woodruff, Columbus, Ga.
TO THE PUPLIC,
We offer the following premiums to individuals, clubs, di
visions and lodges, the distribution of which to take place on
the Ist October, and all persons competing will please state
the fact when they send in their list of subscribers, we make
no exceptions in favor of town or county.
To the individual, club, division or lodge, who returns us the
greatest number of subscribers on or before Ist September,
Harper’s Pictorial Bible, Turkey, gilt edges, worth $25.
To the second largest list—The American Agiicultuiat,
from vol 1 to vol 6 inclusive, bound in cloth, worth $7,50-
To the third, Braude’s Encyclopedia of Science, Literature,
and Art, worth $5,00.
To the fourth, American Farmer’s Encyclopaedia, worth
$3,50.
To the fifth, Downing’s Fruit and Fruit Trees of Americn
worth $1,87.
The sixth, American Poulterer’s Companion, worth $1,25.
To the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth, Allen’s History
and Description of Domestic Animals.
THE PREMIUMS.
We h ave been requested to prolong the time of distribution
until the Ist of October, and see no reason why we should not
comply with that request.
rr* The New York Papers of the 29th reported 14 deaths
and 6 new cases of cholera in Charleston, which the papers
and authorities of the latter city state to be false. We are
informed that the report was transmitted by telegraph by a
Charleston paper, that 11 deaths and 6 new cases, not stating
the disease, had occurred at the Hospital in Charleston, to
which report the Telegraph or New York papers added the
word cholera.
BURKE COUNTY RAIL ROAD.
The meeting of citizens on Tuesday last was large and ® D ’
thusiastic. They met for the purpose of devising ways and
means for constructing a Rail Road from the 80 miles static* 1
in Burke county to the city of Augusta, and, ns will be per
ceived by the proceedings, took the necessary step to accom
plish that object.