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laic illness, anti tire you so much with iny ceaseless chatting. Now, lay back in your chair and rest, and as penance for the mischief 1 have done, 111 sit for die next hour perfectly silent,” saying which she took up a book. And Rosalie ; it is our sell-same whilome happy Rosalie, that we knew in her Neapolitan cottage, singing so gleefully amid her flowers, with all the heart’s music of her youthful requited love.— And vet, though the shadow is o’er the face, I though death-like in its present marble-like pale ness, yet even more beautiful than when we last saw her in her own sunny home. Accident had introduced her to Mrs. Marchment at Rome, about six months back, and that lady struck with her gentle manner, fascinating beauty, and exquisite voice, blessed the accident and set about culti vating an intimacy with Rosalie. She melan choly, with her naturally gay spirit subdued if not broken, clung to Mrs. Marchment with sincere affection, loved her because she was English— from the land where Charles was born. As Col. Joymes said, she was wealthy, for an old uncle of her father’s, a miser, who had never noticed them during his lifetime for fear of- being called upon to give some mite from his abundance, died and left her his heiress. She was at Rome, to which she had been summoned at his-death, and ’twas during her sojourn there she met Mrs. Marchment. As already narrated, Mrs. March ment became her friend, and earnestly solicited her to accompany her hack to England. Having now no ties to bind her in Italy except love for lier beautiful home, excited by a vague hope rela tive to Charles, whose name, by the bye, she had not once mentioned to her English friend, she consented. She had thought Charles faithless, and hitter in deed was the she had with her heart to obtain mastery over her feelings, to keep them under control, to hide with a smiling lip her an guished heart; and to check by the light gay laugh the bursting sigh. She had thought to win him back to her ; to make him love her more deeply— fervently than before—to take her stand among the beautiful and accomplished of his own proud land ; and conscious of her unequalled beauty and brilliant talents, to be the first among them— thus making him proud of her and ambitious of her love. Such had been her scheme, and bitter was the disappointment, when Mrs. Marchment had announced Charles to he engaged, actually engaged and coming with* his young bride, elect to night ! There she lay, apparently com posed and quiet, in that softly cushioned chair, more torturing fai th an the bed of Procrustus or the rack—for when did the body ever hear what the mind lias borne, with eyes closed, and the thick dark lashes rest ing on the pale check, and who can tell of the hitter thoughts passing through her brain, making her almost sigh*for death. Mrs. Marchment in sisted on Rosalie’s not making a toilette for din ner, hut to allow her to send some to her dressing room, and to sleep off her present exhaustion in order to be better able to support the fatigue of the evening. Rosalie,musing herself, acquiesced with a sweet smile, and wrapping her shawl round her, glided from the room, and reaching her own dressing room threw herself on the couch. There, with her face buried in its silken cushions did she lie till her maid brought up her repast, which she forced herself to eat, and conscious of the slight she had received,* she imagined it could he read by the eyes of all if she departed from her usual customs —such is the suspicion taught us by our own consciences—and dismissed the servant with a message to Mrs. Marchment, “ that she felt much better, hut would take her advice and rest till it was time to dress for the soiree . Then could one hear her pace that room, with quick steps and sparkling eyes, for that “ pride which o’er mastereth all” was at work within.— She to love him ! no—for was she not spurned, slighted, aye, even forgotten, and by him too to whom she had given all her young, pure, girlish love. But that night should witness her triumph over herself, over him —she had resolved, had so determined—and again the little mouth wore a brilliant smile, not the childlike, trusting, loving one of yore, hut the queenly smile of triumph, and the cheek was flushed with the bright crimson of excitement and high resolve. . * ciiAr. iv. ••Heart on tier lips, and soul within her eyes, Soft as her clime, and sunny as its skies.” “ There Flora that will do,” said Mrs. March ment,as she superintended the toilette of her young jirotegec. Truly, no heart, can withstand you, this night.” Even Rosalie, as she caught her reflection, in’ the large Psyche-glass, could not help the smile of gratified vanity, which stole over her face. — Her exquisite form in its floating full skirts of white crape, elegantly embroirdered with wreaths of Paris floss, from under the tasty finger of some French modiste —the wax-like throat and rounded arm encircled with necklace and bracelets of di amond—the soft sunny tresses, bound in smooth bands and caught up with a comb enriched with the same precious gems, whilst the loose, grace ful curl softened the face, as it were, and made it still more lovely. Through those silky, perfumed ringlets, as she moved her head, was the face caught changing in its glorious radience, now wreathed in smiles, and anon wearing a noble, queenly mien, “ Os greatness in her looks, and of high fate That almost awes one.” Already the rooms, are nearly full, but Ros alie’s quick glance, cannot discover, her faithless lover. The Earl of Orford, q. quiet, gentlemanly looking young man, joins her; and soon many others are introduced. The centre of a group of admirers, they plead for a song, and Rosalie, whose watchful ear has caught the announcement of La dy Woodley’s name, rises, and allows the Earl of Orford to lead her to the harp. After a brilliant prelude, she raised her head, and almost immedi ately before her, stood Charles Lauriston, with agitated face, upon whose arm leaned a fair, slight girl. A moment’s pause —then looking up at the Earl of Orford, with a sweet smile, as if to ask him what to sing—Rosalie, commenced a gleeful air, as if the very embodyment of mirth, and speaking he r own heart’s merriment —her voice never fal tered hut rang out gladsome and clear, like the soft sound of a silver bell. Again her strain is changed into one deep, plaintive, hut withitsvery tnelodv and sweetness causing tears to come into many a bright eye, and as she leaves the harp she meets the eye of Charles —mute, appealing, he stands gazing at her —he has dropped the arm of the astonished Lady Annie, and advanced to wards Rosalie. No one, but himself catches the glance of contempt she casts upon him, Him, the proud man !—but all observe the despairing face as he turn-s away from her. Yes, fickle as lie was, and is now to his be trothed, Rosalie has triumphed. The first strains from her bird-like voice, brought hack to his memory of the heart, the vine clad cottage—the rosy evenings—the fond words spoken—the vows exchanged —and the bitter parting ! and with that rush of memory comes back deep, more passionate, the love, which made then her brightest word, a spell to bind him. What cares he, for Lady Annie now, when her very existence seems forgotten. He passes her like one un known, and moves on, till Donnie, observing bis stricken look, lays his hand kindly on Lis arm and draws him, as in converse from the room, and Rosalie, whose heart was once teaming with love for him, now gazes on her rival with pitying eye, for in her own heart is no vestige of her former love. His mean, cringing look as it were — ashamed of her, of himself, made so by his own wavering, unstable mind, has swept it away as completely, as would the simoon the light, fairy like temple raised on the desert, leaving no trace that it once existed.. The Earl, of Orford dazzled, enchanted, whispers those words which leave his fate in her hands. At this moment Dennie ap proaches, and unperceived, hands her a’ note from Charles. Her first impulse was to return it, but to show to his confident how heart-whole, how careless she had become, she calmly opened it, and then handing it hack to Dennie, said as calmly : “Tell your friend, Mr. Lauriston, that I will be disengaged to-morrow, andhis interview for which he so earnestly begs, cqn take place here, in the house of my friend,” and as Dennie turned from her to.do her bidding she said to her companion : “ for certain reasons I wish you to he an unseen witness, to this interview, and then, you may have my answer” CHAPTER V. “ VVi’ curling lips, and scornful ‘eon, She listened to all lie said, While the sun’s bright and twinkling sheen Still gammers above their head My heart is wae, for the luckless knight, His vows are scattered in air, For pitiless is his lady bright, And his prayer is a bootless prayer.” All! hut Rosalie, in my own heart Eve never wandered, and though Seperated from you, and 1 thinking it had been said not in the same feeling with which you had inspired me, I tried to forget you and my own unhappiness. Many a time and oft did I plan to seek you out and beg for those words which could chase away mv doubts: hut circumstances detained me in England. “ But could you not have written, Mr. Lauris ton ? ” Written ! most certainly, and did repeatedly do so, hut uusatisfied with each they were never sent. Led on by others, and a desire to forget ray own unhappiness I sought the attraction of society —met Lady Annie Woodley, and reminded by her manner and inueridoes of some boyish engagement, paid her attentions which, though they meant npthing, were not so received—l found that it was arranged by her family and the world, and l was forced, aye obliged to make those vows to her, when my every thought turned to thee.” ou then, Mr. Lauriston, never loved Ladv Annie ? ” Loved ! Rosalie, dear one, how could I, when your image prevented all others from entering my heart; and he advanced more boldly, and at tempted to take her hand, which was however coldly withdrawn—“ Ah ! I cannot, I need not tell you beautiful one, that to love you once, is to love you ever.” “ And you then truly love me, as in past days, Mr. Lauriston ? ” you see I do dearest ; but call me Charles as you used in those old days, and smile on me as you were wont. Those were happy, happy day Rosalie.” “ Ah, were they ? Do you recollect that sweet evening we sailed with aunt Theresa> on the bay of Naples, when with song and story vve spent the hours ? ” Recollect! It seems but as yesterday.” “ Have you forgotten the moonlight walks when you had not as then told me in words you loved, but tried by actions to show it? ” Sooner forget my existence. “ tclid I tell }ou when you plighted your faith to me ? ” You said—“ Charles, it may not be that I tell you, how much I love you, but time must prove. Life must be extinct ere my love will cease.” “And now, hear me, as with shame I recall those words spoken, as they then were, from the depths of a true and loving heart. Mind you, ‘tis at your own seeking you hear this, and mind you well also, and take this truth to your heart— did you ever have one—“that woman never, never doubts till she is taught to do so.” lam not, Mr. L auriston, so much ashamed of the declara tion, as of the fact of loving so mean an object as yourself. Nay sir, hear me, as much as I loved you, do I pity and despise you ; and must do my self the justice to say, that I am fully convinced I never loved you , but the creature of my imagina tion, from whom I now discover you to be as dif ferent as darkness from light. Farewell sir, I have granted you this interview more in accor dance with my own than your washes, and I hope it has ended as satisfactorily to yourself, as to me; ” and she passed coldly and calmly from his pres ence.” It is almost needless to add that in time Rosalie Da Vinci—the Italian girl—became the wife of the Earl of Orford : and he had never cause to regret his choice. Lady Annie Woodley, smart ing under the neglect, she received from Lauris ton, discarded him ; and worse than all, his friend , his own familiar friend, supplanted him, in ben af fections, and in less than two months, led to the altar she who was to have wedded Charles. lie died, as lie lived, an old bachelor. THE FARMER AND THE BEGGARS. An old farmer was once travelling with his son on a lonely and unfrequented road. By some mishap the cart in which they were seated broke down, and they were obliged to dismount and try to remedy the evil.. They found, however, that they .should require more assistance than they two could render to set them riajit. In this dilemma a troop of ragged beggars came up, and began to enquire what was the matter. “You may see that plain enough,” .said the far mer ; “ouraxletree is broken, and we need help to mend it.” “Ho ! ho ! ” said one, “he expects to find help ready made to his hands.” “ No doubt he would have us mend the cart,” said another, “ that he might have the pleasure of wishing us good morrow as he drove away.” “Do but w r ait awhile, old plowman,” said a third, “ and the axletree will grow together again . o o o of itself.” “ Thank you, good friends,” said the farmer, pulling; a strong cord out of his pocket, “ but it just strikes me that I can perhaps do without your help, as I certainly can dispense with your jokes and counsel.” With that the beggars set up a laugh, and went on. The farmer, by the aid of his cord, soon righted his misfortune, and arrived safely at the end of his journey. Not long afterwards, as the farmer sat at meat with his before the blazing kitchen fire, the three beggars who had mocked him by the road-side came up and asked for alms. The far mer invited them to come in out of the cold, in loud, hut hospitable words and set before them the best provisions his house would afford. W hen the beggars were gone, the little boy, who remembered them well enough, said to his father : “ I ather why did you give those men food ? They are the same wicked beggars who laughed at us on the lonely^road.” “ True my boy, answered the farmer, taking his hand and leading him to the door steps : “ but do you see the great sun in the beautiful blue sky over our heads ? ” “\es,” said the wondering child. “ Well,” added the farmer, “ he shines on the e\il and the good alike. It never troubles him whether men, are deserving or not deserving of the light, and warmth he sends them. Itis enough 10l him that ho can diffuse his goodness in his own great way. And so it should be with us. lfother men aie unkind and bad, that is no reason why we should be so. Our course is clear: To do good at all times, both to friends and foes.” —A Fable , by J. Scurle. I have no other rule, says Rosseau, by which to judge of what I read than that of consulting the*disposition in which I rise up from my book; nor can I well conceive what sort of merit any piece has to boast, the reading of which leaves no benevolent impression behind it nor stimulates the reader to any thing that is virtuous or good. A devotee of Bacchus being absent from home rather later in the day than suited the sovereign will and pleasure of his “spare rib,” she de volved the task of announcing the arrival of the delinquent spouse, upon her eldest boy. Very soon the little urchin ran into the house, exclaim ing : “ Marm, here daddy comes, leading two men hoim” A FRIEND OF THE FAMII 1 | SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, AUGUSTIrT^W u ’ 1843,1 AGENTS. I Mr. J. M. Boardman is our Agent for Macon. Mr. S. S. Box for Rome. Mr. Rout. E. Seyle for the State of South Carols James O’Conner, Travelling Agent. Dr. M. Woodruff, Columbus, Ga. I * TO THE PUBLIC. We offer the following premiums to individuals,^ visions and lodges, the distribution of which to take j,j. ■ the Ist October, and all persons competing will pl ease ‘ the fact when they send in their list of subscribers w 0 . . ’ ’ e ton* I no exceptions in favor ot town or county. To the individual, club, division or lodge, who returns r greatest number of subscribers on or before Ist Or Harper’s Pictorial Bible, Turkey, gilt edges, worth $25 To the second largest list—The American Agricul* from vol 1 to vol G inclusive, bound in cloth, worth $7,50. To the third, Braude’s Encyclopaedia of Science, Liters and Art, worth SS,GO. To the fourth, American Farmer’s Encyclopedia, w. \\ $3,50. To the fifth, Downing’s Fruit and Fruit Trees of Amer worth $1,87. The sixth, American Poulterer’s Companion, worth sl*ll To the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth, Allen’s IE, j and Description of Domestic Animals. {Tjr 3 Any Postmaster sending us the names of three;, [ scribers, and enclosing $5, shall receive a copy of the p. free for one year. TO OUR PATRONS. One half of the year’s circle has been performed by * > Friend of the Family,” lias it met your views reader—k. you been amused or instructed by the perusal of its from week to week- —is it your wish that it should continur its visits ? If your answer is in the affirmative, and you wish its cud tinuance, then comply with the terms and send us the a mum,; of subscription. One thing is certain, the paper will be cos- I tinned. It has met with more favor than, all things coni*, I ored, we liad expected, and its prospects grow brighter even I issue. It s circle is rapidly increasing and no effort on our L part to make it more entertaining and useful will be spared, f IlF* We present our readers with another original storr from the gifted pen of Miss Stuart. It is equal in point of literary ability to those produced in Godey’s Lady’s Book. SEiP Nothing of interest is transpiring incur healthy ufi orderly city. Frequent showers cool the atmosphere ai,m make us as happy and comfortable as clams. L Introductory Lecture before the Mechanics Society of Mncnn.l By S. T. Chapman, Esqr. Macon, S. Rose & Cos., Prio-I ters, 1849. . The Lecture is an able production arid contains truths that we wish every Southern man, Mechanic, Farmer, Lawyer, Physician dr Merchant would appreciate and act upon, li we wish prosperity to shed its benign rays over the sunn South, we must fester the mechanic arts. They are as m cessary to her wealth ns good crops of grain or cotton. Be the dawning of brighter days is at hand—the clank of n, chinery now resounds from the seaboard to the mountain and tho mortifying truth of the subjoined extract will sooube known only in tho past: “ The same difficulty exists with regard to capital. Ocr Banks, for two-tliirds of the year, refuse to make discount# except against cotton ; and a cotton speculator, a wild adven turer, without a cent in his pocket or a single tie to bind him to the community, can obtain accommodations, while the toil ing worthy Mechanic, with his shop full of materials—with heavy contracts on hand—with a well-earned character and a promising family in our midst, is turned away from the j counter with the declaration that “ his paper cannot be don* j unless in the shape of exchange.” As he has no friend to draw upon, the answer amounts to a refusal to furnish the asked lor aid. Should he apply to a money-lender for the purpose, it may be, ot raising a few dollars with which to pay his workmen, he is compelled to submit to a shave of p el cent, and interest for 39 or 60 days, or ho must fail to meet his contracts. On the contrary, should ho succeed in raising tho meat* and fill his shop with the products of Southern Mechanic labor, his difficulties will have but begun. The very persons who discourse most eloquently and feelingly about Southern rights and Northerp encroachments, are the last to think of sustain ing Southern industry and Southern Mechanics, by giving a preferanco to the products of Southern labor. Some iniagi nary difference, in style or price, determines them to prefer a Parisian or a Northern-made article. Their hats, their shoes, their clothing, their furniture, their agricultural implements— every thing which they use on their persons, around theirhoine* steads,*on their plantations, or in their offices, are the product* not only of Northern labor, but the labor ot the \4ery men vv. are vilifying our institutions and denouncing us as men-stealei> and murderers. The value of shoes annually imported from the Northern States, added to the various other manufactur of leather, may bo estimated at nearly four millions of doll# The value of ready-made clothing, say from six to seven in**’ lions; of hats, three millions; of household furniture, lout millions; of manufactured goods, six millions ; of hardware and agricultural implements, tvvo millions; of carriages ami vehicles ot various kinds, three millions ; of printing paper aid stationery, one and a half millions; of “ Yankee notions” and general, from two to four millions. It these articles were manufactured at the South, as they ought to be, as they can be, and as we believe they will be, three-fourths of this money would go towards the support oi our own laboring classes. Hundreds who are now in idleness would be allured to habits of industry—hundreds who are n°' v suffering the pinches of poverty would find the means of earning a handsome competency —hundreds who now i ntest the haunts ot vice and dissipation would have their energi® 3 quickened, and be induced to press forward in the great r® 6 ® of improvement.