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lOLI'ME I.
Ws% iSSfBP BOSfB I.
I THE blessing of the fountain.
BY ELIZABETH BARBER.
s lionc the light of the Summer skies
;Q n t ] ie Fountain’s silver rain,
\Vhere the children gazed with their earnest eyes,
While tuneful notes of sweet surprise,
Their merry laugh and their joyous cries,
Made with the fountain's melodies
\ sweet harmonious strain.
\ thoughtful scholar thither strolled,
And looked on the diamond spray,
p ut -} iC fount he sought, its name was told
In quaint devices, and rhyme enrolled
On the legendary page of old, —
| )r ink was damp with a century’s mould,
And it lay ’mid ruins gray.
A poet paused amid the train
And his “heart of hearts” was stirred,
For it seemed to him that that silvery strain,
Like the drooping of the early rain
Or the half-remembered low complain—
Os songs no voice might sing again
In his boyhood’s visions heard.
And another looked with thoughtful eye
On the Fountain’s sparkling spray,
And he dreamed of that fount that used to be,
In the fields-of his early years gone by,
When an angel stood entrcatingly —
hut now at last, the fount was dry,
And “ the angel had turned away.”
And one whose innocent days were o'er
Came slowly loitering by,
And she thought of the brook by the homestead door.
And her girlhood's happy hours of yore ;
She quietly turned away once more—
And tears she ne’er had wept before
Were in her sunken eyes.
The old man heard and thought that day
Os a green and sheltered nook,
Where the scattered friends, who were far away,
Some who now in the church-yard lay,
And some whose locks like his were gray—
Used of old with him to play,
Bv the side of a running brook.
Oh singing Spirit, dear thou art!
A blessing comes with thee.
A song and smile for every heart
Whence sweet responsive echoes start,
Joy of the field, and crowded mart
Os Nature’s loveliest gifts a part,
Spirit of Melody!
OBIQIBAIi f AIB.
WJ.VmM’’LT.’ - - ■■ --- ■ ‘■ 1 *
For a Friend of the Family.
ROSALIE DA VINCI.
BY MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
Chap. I.
“Such around her shone
The nnmeless charms unmarked by her alone:
The light, of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And, Oh! that eye was in itself a soul! ”
Bride of Abydos.
Rosalie, the Italian Girl!—“ Tis nothing but a
romantic love story’, not worth reading ! For my
part, I’ll have none of it, and will not encourage
the committing to paper such.love-sick vagaries.”
Such, probably, will be the exclamation of some
plain matter-of-fact person, or some would-be
critic; and right glad will 1 be, if they keep their
words, and literally will have none of it. It is
not tor such I would write, but for those who can
sympathize for all those deep-felt, long-cherished
feelings which for a brief moment lit up an ex
istence with an unearthly joy, and which though
garnered up with a life-like tenacity, were soon
10 be laid waste before a shrine whose idol has
fallen or fled: such, then, lend me their hands
whilst, Asmodeus like, I conduct them to a fairy
in Italy, where all they must do, is to open
heir eyes—with all indulgence to me* —and ob
scr r \ e * With this preamble I will on.
The gorgeous, bright glow of an Italian sun
set falls on a small vine-covered cottage, making
the light green trellice-work look like gold, and
throwing a rosy tint over that part of the pure
.it® frame, ‘that the creeping clematis or bang
jasmine allowed to show itself. The per-
a *thousand flowers is. floating through the
\vith Sm ? mer . a * r ’ ma king even the passer-by loiter
the 1 a an Bu'd>8 u 'd> half delicious sensation. ‘ I think
fknw - S i a * wa y s something in the fragrance of
ei > tna t pre-dispose the mind to sentiment,
ij f U sw eet thoughts that come
in g u from the maiden fancy, and fly oil
music to the skies, and then are lost,
Ahese ever streaming odors—”
At a window which is nearly o’erhung with a
in U sh tenn ® ora ’ stands a young girl, employed
j, 1 n f at m °st gentle and feminine task, trimming
e kagrant branches around the lattice, and giv
-8 them a tendency to suit her taste. The hand
hhits light tapered fingers, together with the
r Un * a * r arm, might indeed serve, one ot her
either as a model for painting or
rapture. But, ah! you have caught a glimpse
ler upturned face, and I see both hand and
rrr *are forgotten. Well! I’m not surprised, or
. * ‘ ‘ ■ ‘’ ‘
rather, I should be so at your even remembering
your own identity as you gaze on the loveß vision.
It is one of those faces through the eyes of which
the very soul as it were, is visible; brilliant, yet
softened both by intellect and feeling, passionate
dark eyes, which seem actually to flash when
excited; or else so subdued, so tender when
under the influence of more softened sentiment,
as to make you forbode for their possessor some
mysterious fate, of which the shadow o’er those
eyes seem but the presentiment. And the skin,
the sott, clear olive of the south, mantled as it
now is with the vivid red, the effect of exertion.
Picture to yourself these, accompanied, by the
rosy, smiling mouth, around whose lips the dim
ples, w T ith an expression of determination, con
tend ; the straight nose with its thin nostrils, the
narrow, arched brow, and the soft, silky, curling
brown hair, loosely knotted with one or two long
ringlets behind the small ear; and she stands be
fore you : the heroine of my simple story, the
Italian Girl—“ Rosalie Da Vinci.—Hark! she sings,
and in her rich voice, there is such sweetness, that
the very bird on wing poises himself in the air,
trying to catch the melody as it gushes forth, and
then hies himself to his green home and trills
forth as impromptu the borrowed strains; whilst
his pleased mate listens fondly to what she
imagines improvised by bis love.
“Ah! obstinate, you will not stay as I place
you;” was the exclamation which interrupted the
song of Rosalie, as the cluster of roses, which
she had fastened up, now fell walk their own
weight—“ but, you shall, for Charles told me he
wished I had trained you over the casement, and
now, over it you shall go;” —and, again the joyous
feelings of the maiden broke forth in song.
“Always gay, Rosalie, mia , ” said a young
gentleman who at that instant entered the little
gate, and he spoke with an air of pique—“always
singing and happy when with your flowers, that!
sometimes fear to intrude, lest my presence may
break the enchantment.”
“ Ah ! Charles, is it you ?” but why, why scold
me for singing, or at least, why speak thus?”
and the gladsome voice with which she com
menced took a tone of reproach and sadness.
Well! dearest, pardon me, but I cannot bear
even a rival in your thoughts, and am always
fearful that even for one moment you should cease
to think of me; and you know,” and as he spoke,
he placed his arm around Rosalie’s slight waist —
“I could not live if such were the case ; and sing
ing too so gleefully, and I not b} T ANARUS!”
“ But, Charles, I was altering the vine, because
you suggested, and was singing your favorite
song.”
“Again pardon, and now thank you for attend
ing my wishes, which were idle, for what should
I wish for when I have thee. Whew! here Car
lo,” cried he, as a splendid animal bounded over
some boxes, in which flourished beautiful plants,
“here, sir,” and the obedient dog came at the
command looked up in his master’s face, and then
quietly followed him and Rosalie into the cottage,
where signora Theresa, Rosalie’s aunt, sat at the
little round table, on which was spread* their re
past. This evening was but a repetition of many
which preceded it, and yet, Rosalie always thought
the last one the happiest had ever spent in her
life. Happy in his company, loving him with all
the ardor of her clime and temperament, she, in
her devotion, anticipated his every wish, sung
when he asked her, or listened to his accents, so
low that Aunt Theresa could not catch the slight
est whisper, the subject may be guessed, and
“ speak low when you speak love.” But, one
sad revelation did Rosalie hear on this particular
evening, which paled her cheek and made her
breath come quickly. It was that Charles had
received letters of recall from home, from Lng
land ; and though he spoke of the impossibility
of parting, even for a space of time, yet Ilosalie
knew it must be, and her woman’s heart felt all
the agony of the parting by anticipation.
They had first met some twelve months back,
when Signor Da Vinci, a celebrated musical
o-enius, lived in Naples, Charles Lauriston had
been introduced to Da Vinci by some ol his own
countrymen then in Naples, and delighted with
music, listened with a love of it almost equal to
the enthusiastic Italians, in his favorite sonata s.
Some three months went by, and the intimacy
which had progressed very rapidly, was at a stand
still; for the Signor bad removed from Naples,
and Charles, either through forgetfulness, or not
thinking of its being requisite, was not invited
to visit him in his cottage home. Thus, with the
reserve of his countryman, and fearing to intrude
he hesitated seeking him out, though be really
missed his company, for many and many of the
listless hours ot the day, when Charles found him
self too languid for exertion were cheered by his
delightful music.
Signor Da Vinci, on the other hand, had never
failed praising his young English friend to his sis
ter, Signor Theresa, and to Rosalie, Avho, almost
SAVANNAH, GA., THURSDAY. AUGUST 30, 1849.
a prisoner we may say, to the close practice to
which her father obliged her to attend, had no
opportunity of judging for herself of his worth
as she had not as yet seen him. Os an imagina
tive turn, as most persons reared in solitude or
with persons much older than themselves .gener
ally are. She had begun indulging in the idle
habit of day-dreaming, and unconsciouslv and
imperceptibly, Charles Lauriston became the hero
of all her schemes. Her father’s health, by this
time, began to fail so rapidly, that he was con
fined to his room, and she, of necessity, as well
as from the natural promptings of affection, was
obliged to be constantly with him. At this crisis,
a whim entered the old man’s head, that if he
could sec Charles to converse with him, he should
feel better. Rosalie, ever ready to amuse her father
despatched a note by the servant who was to
guide the English gentleman to the cottage.
That evening, wearied with her constant at
tendance, and her father being asleep, she stole
out for a walk. On her return she found Charles
Lauriston, and was struck by his fair English
look and distingue appearance, and He, on the
other hand, was astonished by the “ vision of
beauty,” who entered so softty and gracefully ;
and being withall of a very susceptible nature,
was ready at the close of the evening to swear
himself her vassal for evermore. What a pity
that those who most generally make such decla
rations, should oft times be the first to forswear
themselves.
Well! a year has passed since then, and that
small space of time fled, not without making its
i , t O
progress by its sorrows, its joys. The father had
died, and Rosalie, tho’ she sorrowed after him
much and long, appeared to feel as if God in his
taking him who was old, infirm, and mentally
weakened, had given her one in his stead on
whom she could cast her affection ; and thus she
loved, as from an obligation for his attention to
her, and sympathy with her, during the first
months of her bereavement, and like the graceful
tendril which must cling to something, so she to
him, prepared for it by her father’s praises of his
young friend, her own wild imaginings, his sub
sequent devotion, arid we all know,
“ That accident, blind contact, and the strong
Necessity of loving have removed
Antipathies.”
Yes, Rosalie loved for tlie first time, and was her
self beloved, and time glided on with them sweetly
as floats a “ summer sea,” till Charles’ recal, as
spoken of before in this same chapter.
CHAP. 11.
“Oil, Heaven! were man
But constant, he were perfect; that one error
Fills him with faults ; makes him run thro’ all sins.”
Skakspeare.
The morning was a bright frosty one in Decem
ber. The hedges though stript of their green
still seemed beautiful, though its aspect changed
from the thousand reflections sent forth from the
tiny diamonds, clustering on every bough, and the
air had all the brightness of summer. The ring
ing sounds sent forth as the high mettled steeds
swept along the road, seemed to exonerate the
spirits of the pair, seated within the light carriage,
and jokes and confidences were freely exchanged.
“By Jove, Charles,” cried the elder of the
3’oung men, to our old acquaintance. “You ap
pear to carry off the good will of the mamma as
readily as you have borne .off the love ol the fair
daughter from us poor mortals. How do you
manage man ? Say ? For I cant see why you
should be preferred so immeasurably. Some
trick, I dare say, you have learnt from some ol
them old Italian necromancers, among whom you
sojourned so long ; come, tell me the secret; I
cannot expect to rival you with the fair Annie, but
1 may make myself irresistible among some of
the beauties whom lady Woodley has collected
together to spend the Christmas.”
Pshaw ! Dennie, you who have been for the
last two years the “ glass of fashion,” and the
breaker of hearts, to ask such questions! Though,
by-the-bye, there is nothing like wakening up
some of childhood’s remembrances the hearts
of some fair ones. Lady Annie and myself, some
six years ago, swore eternal fidelity to each other.
I, on returning to college, after one ol the long
vacations, which I spent cooped up at Lauriston
Park with a broken arm, and when my lady
mother was receiving, among other guests, lady
Woodley and daughter, and she went to rusticate
anew in the shades of Woodley Hall, and to per
fect herself in those acoomplishments which have
since aided her great beauty in making such a
sensation in the fashionable world.”
• “But, Charles, I remember when you met her
scarce a twelve month since, }’ou seemed not to
recognise her?”
“In truth, I did not,” said Charles. “You
must know that at the time you speak of, I was
entirely under the spell a little Italian had cast
over me, and even Annie’s familiar face was not
recognised. Poor Rosalie! 1 believed, vvithou
vanity, she loved me for myself alone, and I can’
for my life divest myself of the idea that the foe
establishment mingles not a little with Annie’s
dream of love. By-the-hye Dermic, I must tell
you y when I get into one of my sentimental moods,
about Rosalie.”
“We are almost at Woodley Hall, at this time,
or I should call for the recital at once, for when
in lady Annie’s presence, adieu to confidences,
you seem to have no eves, ears, or tongue for any
mortal but her fair self.”
Twilight had deepened into night, as the young
men arrived, anti after adjusting their dress,
entered the drawing rooms. Many persons were
assembled there, but conspicuous among them
was Charles Lauriston’s bdle fiancee , lady Annie
Woodley. There was less of the heart in the
smile with which she received him than Rosalie
would have given him after a day’s absence. He
had not seen lady Annie for a fortnight!
“What detained you?” was the enquiry of
lady Woodley, of Charles. “We expected you
some days back.”
“ Engagements, impossible to escape, I assure
your Ladyship, we were detained against our
wish.”
“You* have come in time for the part} 7 at Mrs.
Marchments,” said lady Annie. “Mamma se
cured you an invitation, as we intend going.”
“It seems,” said Col. Joynes, “ that Mrs.
Marchment intends this party by the way of an
introduction into life, of a young foreigner she
has brought from the continent. A peerless beauty
they say, and wealthy too, it was told me by some
one, that in the stay they made in Paris, she cap
tivated the hearts of every one, and among others
the Earl of Orford. ’Tis a pity since her advent
among us, that our disagreeable climate should
have caused her entire seclusion as yet. Some
cold she has taken caused Mrs. Marchment to
hurry her down to the place for quiet and musing,
and so to beautify before her introduction into our
beau inonde .”
“Well done, Joynes, you at least, are quite au
fait to the doings at Marchment Place,” said
Dennie ; but this lady, Italian I think, I too have
heard of her, and am prepared to say she is the
“ Queen of Beauty.”
“ I shall positively fear to encounter her to
morrow,” Said lady Annie, with her own bright
smile of conscious loveliness, “ for in truth she
must be beautiful if she has animated that piece
of machinery, the Earl of Orford, into life by the.
magic of her charms. Ah ! me ! I fear my reign
is over, and I shall be pronounced passec ; and as
she spoke she moved from the group and seated
herself at a table filled with engravings, where
Charles Lauriston soon followed her.
Chap. hi.
“Alas! the love of !—it is known
To be a lovely, and a fearful tiling;
For nil of theirs upon that die is thrown
And if ’tis lost, life hath no more to bring
To them, but mockeries of the pjfst alone
Byron.
Marchment Place was an antique mansion,
about six miles from Woodley Hall. Its present
proprietor had come into the property when quite
young, and though, when married, he had modern
ised and adorned the interior, be had allowed the
old house itself to retain its outward appearance
of gloomy grandeur.
In a pretty bourdoir, filled with rich furniture,
and all those nameless luxuries attendant on
wealth and rank, sat two ladies. The elder seem
ed about thirty, a pretty, lively woman, dressed
in a fashionable morning costume ; but her com
panion appeared much younger, though her atti
tude full of grace, but also ot listlessness, be-*
tokened both languor and depression of spirits.
Her face was so varying that ’twas impossible to
judge if the latter was habitual, for occasionally
a smile would wreath her mouth into a succession
of bright dimples, evanescent, ’tis true, but the
more beautiful for that very reason, and with the
smile came that radiance of look, as if it
“Rung from her very soul;
And w here it most sparkled, no glance could discover,
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brightened all over—
Yet when it ceased, again those deep eyes looked melan
choly/’
“ Come, cheer up, my sweet Rose,” said Mrs.
Marchment, “ for I want all your beauty, and
more than your present quantity of smiles for my
party to-night. This Earl of Orford has writ
ten an acceptance for the invitation sent him,
and Lady Woodley comes with all her visiters
from Woodley Hall. Pray don’t disappoint me
in the triumph I anticipate over her; since her
daughter’s engagement to young Lauriston —”
what more Mrs. Marchment meant to have added
is not known, for Rosalie sank back, pale and
half-fainting, and her friend affrighted, sprang up
to assist her.
“ Excuse me, my dear, I know you must be
exhausted, and I to be so selfish as to forget your
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