Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

“ 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.