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About A Friend of the family. (Savannah, Ga.) 1849-1??? | View Entire Issue (Sept. 27, 1849)
□cuotetr to literature, Science, (Util Art, tije oon3 of temperance, iTelloroslpp, ittasoitrt), anti ©encral intelligence. VOLUME I. gsftzcvsd test si. OLD GRIME'S SON. Old Grime’s boy lives in our town, A. clever lad is be— He’s long enough, if cut in half, To make two men like me. He has a sort of waggish look, And cracks a harmless jest— His clothes are rather worse for wear* Except his Sunday best*’ He is a man of many parts, As all who know can tell— He sometimes reads the list, of goods, And rings tho auction bell. He’s kind and lib’ml to the poor, That is, to Number One— He sometimes saws a load of woocfl And piles it when he’s done. He’s always ready for a job— (When paid)—wher’er you choose— He’s often at the Colleges, And brushes boots and shoes Like honest men, he pays his debts, No fear has he of duns— At leisure, ho prefers to walk, But when in haste, ho run3. His life was written some time since, And many read it through— He makes a racket when he snores, As other paople do. When once oppress'd he prov’d his blood Not covered with the yoke But now he sports a freeman’s enp, And when it rains, a cloak. He’s dropped beneath a southern sky, He’s trod on northern snows— He’s taller by a foot or more, When standing on his toes! In church he credits all that’s said, Whatever preacher rise— They say he lias been seen in tears, When dust got in his eyes ! A man remarkable as this, Must sure immortal be — And more than all because he is Old Grimes’ posterity! OBlffilSAl fAll. = “the sisters. nr h. m. c ——. CHAPTER I. ’ \ little learning is a dangerous thing 1 Drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring.” In the latter pari of December, lady richly ■ dressed, might be seen alighting from hes car ■ and tripping up the steps of a fashionable I mansion in Henry street, New York. She rang I the bell and inquired of the servant who answered I the summons, if Mrs. Atkins was at home ; on I being answered in the affirmative, she followed I him into the drawing room, whilst he carried her I card to the mistress of the mansion. She soon en- I tered; and after usual salutations, and common I topics of the day had been discussed, the eonver- I sation very naturally fell upon the subject of edu- I cation, were both the mothers of daugh- I ters, nearly grown. “My dear Mrs. Atkins,” said the visitor, “do | you intend removing vour daughters from,Madame 1f- , 1 have heard they do not intend returning ader the hollidays.” “Wc have not decided,” said Mrs. Atkins, “ as I yet, Mr. Atkins, does not think they improve at all, I and speaks about changing the school.” Alter a few more remarks of no consequence I as bearing on the subject under discussion, the I lady arose to take leave. And now with your permission, lady reader, we will retrospect a little, I and by way ot indulging your feminine curiosity, I tell you who, and what are the Atkin’s we have I been bold enough to introduce to you. I William Atkins, had commenced his mercan- I care er, as clerk in a retail drv good store, and I hunks to his handsome face and fine person, had ■ le d the only daughter of the principal, a f i oVv |. oi eighteen who had just finished a I u education , or, in otner words. I ou speak a little French, understood a little of mus j c; an j left her with but e nca j, th and no energy of character to com \ j. CnCe . 1 e * or when does a woman commence. sten <*b I mean the realities , if not when of a e r on hers elf the duties and responsibilities *, a anc l a mother. On the death of Mrs. and - U)s which happened a few years after eirmarrmge, her husband sold out the estab- ment, and joined a wholesale firm in William ” r ' et ’ In w hich firm he is at the commencement present story. I Paying the listener to conversation which | P iac e between the husband and wife, a few inn S .^ revaous the opening of this tale, we shall w hy Mr, Atkins was desirous of removing ind a^ters k° m Madame P ’s charge, and chJil to some less fashionable and 1 P e r establishment. “Anna,” said Mr. Atkins, looking up from the newspaper he had been apparently reading, “business has been rather on the decline for ihe past two years, and we must reduce our expenses so that they may at least correspond. What say you? “ I am perfectly willing, tfly dear,” she replied. “ if you will only tell me how, and where we can commence in our system of retrenchment.” “ I have been thinking over the subject,” con tinued he, “ and nothing at present, suggests itself in the item of expenses, in which we may call ourselves extravagant except in Mary’s and Em ma’s hills at Madame P ’s. I was under the impression they were improving, and was therefore very ready to submit to this expense ; but on ex aminating them a day or two since I was astonish ed to find them so ignorant, with regard to any thing like useful knowledge. They appear to have skimmed over the surface of every kind of study and learned nothing in the end ; I have in consequence been making some inquiries where 1 could find a school conducted on a different plan and to-day, I have heard of one which I think will suit, if you approve of it. It is a school where the girls are taught to make bread as \Vell as a graceful courtesy; to know the propel place for the dipper in the kitchen, as well as finding the constellation of the same name in the heavens; and are likewise taught the use of the ifoning as well as the blackbqard. What do you think of it? You know it suits me, for I was ever an ad vocate for practical education.” “ Where is this school ? I did not know there was such a One in New York City.” “ It is not in the city, my deaf* but in Massachu setts. I felt sure you would not object, when you considered how much it would he for the girls’ advantage to have them taught not only those branches usually considered a school education, hut those also of domestic economy. When you were young, you were never taught them; and since your marriage your health has been such as to prevent your attending to them. Now, you know from experience the want of such know ledge, and the importance we must attach to it, l hope you will agree with me, and endeavor to get the girls ready for the commencement of the Springterm, fori think at the ages of twelve and fjurteen we can trust them from home.” “But, William, you know Mary’s health is so very delicate ! 1 have always been afraid of her exposing herself to the changes of the weather, that I dread trusting her to her own unadvised conduct. And then too, her manners are so gentle, that I should not dare to trust her with those rude girls, as they must be accustomed as they appear from your description, to household work ; and although I should like to have my daughters acquainted with domestic affairs, yet even for the sake of this I could not hear to see them unladv like or vulgar in manner.” “ But, Anna, it does not follow necessarily that a woman should he rough or vulgar because she understands how to do her own work ; or visa ver sa that she should he a lady, because she is fash ionably educated. In my opinion, if a girl has pure religious principles ; —just ideas of proprie ty, —delicacy of perception —and a good English education to enable her to converse with her guests or compeers, she is a lady no matter where educa ted.” “ Well! William, I will consult with the girls ; I should not like to coerce them, to such a school, against their inclination.” The subject was now dropped, and Mr. Atkins returned to his store, to pander over his liabilities and to embark in some fresh and daring specula tions, which should release him from that incubus of the tottering merchant —protested notes. Mrs. Atkins, on the other hand, to receive and return fashionable visits, among a coterie where her ideas as regards education, was ihe received and gen eral one, and where her prejudices as regards the practical, were strengthened and renewed. On consulting with her daughters, Mary at once joined her mother, and declared she would hot go —The younger one, Emma, with a more natural and irirlish taste, delighted in the freedom from city restraint, and at once begged to he sent where she mioffit frolic with the girls and occasionally throw a snow ball without being dubbed as hoydeuish and shockingly vulgar; and where she would be at liberty to wander in the woods, with a merry crowd laughing gleefully without being checked because their light laughter had a tone from the heart and was rather beyond the fashionable simper prescribed by the etiquette of Madame P. And so she went! But we will not follow her, or linger over the next four years which she spent at her new school, whilst Mary still continued with her former instructress I will only sav education was conducted according to hei father .> plan. She had no decided talent for music, there fore that was abandoned, but for acquiring the modern languages she was an adept and at the age of 17, became mistress of both French and SAVANNAH, GA.. THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 27. 1849, Spanish. Her manners too, without being affect edly soft, were such as must ever emanate from a good and pure heart; which is as desirous of securing the happiness of others, and as careful of their feelings, as of her own. CHAP. 11. “ Sweet are the uses of adversity— Which, like a toad, ugly and venoriious, Wears yet a pivcious jewel in his head.’* Shakspt ire. And adversity came to this family. The firm which for the last .five years had been tottering, now fell, and in its havoc and ruin carrying off the property, the self-esteem, and finally, the health and life itself of Mr. Atkins, for a brain fever, which terminated fatally, was brought on by intense anxiety and excitement during the struggle incident upon the bankruptcy. And Mrs. Atkins, impoverished and having no resources to meet her unexpected poverty, what must she now do to support herself and one daughter at least? for Mary, though now eighteen, was as little fitted to battle with the world as when she first started in the race of life. She was tall atld delicately beautiful as regarded so m and feature, decidedly fashionable, accomplished too, for she could play and sing a few Italian airs and Pravura songs, could dance most gracefully, had been much admired at the balls the proceed ing winter, and bid fair to become One of the belles of the subsequent one, had not fate willed it otherwise. And Emma'', who was at home also at the lime of her father’s death, was not without her share of good looks, though not as beautiful as her sister. Exercise and pure air had freshened arid brightened the roses of her cheek and given elasticity to her light, active figure, whilst her smiling, frank countenance, and dancing brown eyes was decked by her soft ringlets of dark chestnut. In the same room where five years ago we listened to the conversation between husband and wife, Mrs. Atkins again sat in her widow’s weeds weeping silently and hopelessly. On a lounge opposite reclined the listless figure of Mary, with the skirt of the black dress upon which she had been employed,lying on the floor whilst she had given herself up to her despondency. The light curls wefe disheveled and drawn off from her brow, so that the wearied and hopeless cast of countenance stood boldly revealed. What a con trast to Emma, who, sitting at her little work table, was busily plying her shining needle in making the body of her sister’s dress, and though her usually happy and joyous face was shadowed over with the cast of thought, ’tw T as not like Mary’s, hopeless and despondent, for Emma’s character was two energetic to allow of her sink ing on the first blast of fortune. She sorrowed for her father, hut she, at the same time, felt there was a duty owing to herself and others, and was perfectly conscious of her own resources. This was the object of her present thought, for these girls must now seek the wherewithal to make life comfortable to their mother and themselves. “My dear grds,” said Mrs. Atkins, “what are we to do? Your father’s creditors are willing we should remain in the house, furnished as it is, for one year, hut how are we to subsist? J have but lit tie money, and know not from what source [ can obtain more.” Mary’s only answer was a hurst of tears. — “Mamma,’’ said Emma, looking up from her work —I did not wish to disturb you before but 1 walked to Madame P ’s this morning to see if she would employ Mary and I as assistant teachers; she said, she did not know of what sister was competent to teach* but on examining myself she agreed to give me my hoard and suf ficient to cloathe me, for instructing in French and Spanish and said in the course of another vear she would increase the salary. She advises me not to attempt a school bv myself as I am so young, l toid her I could not possibly accept her offer, as Mary and myself must decide on some means of support for you as well as onrselves.” “M adame P ” said Mary, interrupting her sister “ was right, I cannot teach, for she never taught me anything thoroughly enough for that.” “Well! sister,” said Emma, “as we cannot accept of Madame P—-~’s offer to myself (for I will riot accept of a comfortable home whilst you and mamma are unprovided,) we must learn a trade.” “ Lrarn a trade /” scoffed Mary. “ What! go to a low woman and sit with a crowd of mechanics’ daughters ! I should die .” “If you so much dislike that idea, what say you to learning to make flowers? 1 have been informed it can be learned in a few weeks, and what is of more importance, it pays well. It has also another advantage, the flowers can be made and sold without our exposure, to our customers, as in a dress maker’s or miliner’s.” “Is there noihing else, Emma, you can think of, it is so dreadful to have to learn a trade.” j The discussion was now interrupted bv the en trance of their only servant —an Irish girl—who boisterously entered with : “ a letther, ma’am, for the young misthress, master Brigg’s tnan ses he’ll call in the mornin’ for the ansther”—and out she bolted. The beautiful lips of Mary curled with an ex pression of scorn, and the crimson blood flushed her before pale countenance, as she took the letter and breathed out with a derisive laugh, 44 1 cannot be bought, sir, poor as you think me.” “What is it, Mary?” inquired both. 44 Read it, Emma, I cannot.” Her sister took the letter, and with a scarcely concealed smile, read as follows * My Dear Miss Mary, As I met you verv often last winter, ami never tried to hide how much l admired you, I am sure von are aware of my sentiments, 1 hardly dared think you would marry me when your father was living, but now you are poor I thought may be you would rather be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave. I have bought a handsome house, carriage and horses, and every thing necessary for a wife to enjoy herself, and now if you will consent I shall be just fixed, say, my dear miss Mary, will you take me for better or for worse, as the song says* Awaiting your answer, I will sign myself Your most devoted admirer Nathaniel Briggs. “Who on earth is Nathaniel Briggs V” said Emtna. “A horrid, vulgar creature,” said Mary “ who has amassed a large fortune by keeping a grocery and then retiring with a full purse, people have forgotten how the money came. I have spoken to him and one night, I am ashamed to say, I paid him rather more attention than usual, because I wished to pique a beau, whose attentions 1 wished to secure. You now see the consequence, in his presumption I shall, however give him the pleasure of reading his own letter again, as I shall send it back in a blank envelope.” “By-thc-bye, Mary, what has become of that young lawyer Wra. Layton ? He used to be } T our shadow, when I was last here at vacation.” Again the smile lit up Mary’s rather listless beauty, and the blush now came from a different source as she answered her sister, for the sweetest chapter in her existence was passing in review before her. “ I do not know where he is now,” said she softly and tremulously, “about a month previous papa’s death, he returned home; recalled, l be lieve, by his mother’s illness. Whether he has returned to the city since, I do not know, as I have not heard from him.” Will. Layton, was the son of a farmer in Mas sachusetts; and though not a man of wealth, was a man of education; and on his son’s evincing decided talents, had him brought up tor the bar. It was about two years after he had commenced his practice of law, that he first saw Mary and and struck by her beauty, soft manners, so differ* ent from his own plain energetic, cousins, that he sincerely loved her, yes but with the timidky ever attendant on true love, he was afraid to hazard a declaration of his sentiments, for his income amounted only to a few hundreds. He saw she received bis attentions with pleasure ; and content with the present, weaving schemes for *he future, he suffered the days to glide on happily, till his mothers illness caused his recall, where he was at the time of Mr. Atkins’ death, and from whence he had not yet returned. Concluded next week* The Uses of Adversity. —It is sorrow which makes our experience ; it is sorrow which teaches us to feel properly for ourselves and others. We must feel deeply before we can act rightly. It is not in the tempest and storm of passion we can reflect* but afterwards, when the waters have gone over ovr soul; and like the precious gems and the rich merchandise which the wild wave casts on the shore out of the wreck it has made ; such are the thoughts left by retiring passion. Reflection is the result of feeling ; from that absorbing, heart-rending compassion for oneself, (the most painful sensation almost of which our nature is capable,) springs a deeper sympathy for others; and from the sense of all our weak ness, and sell-upbraiding, arises a dis position to be indulgent-—to forbear—and to for give—so at least it ought to be. When once we have shed those inexpressibly bluer tears, which fell unregarded, artel which we forget to wipe away, oh how we shrink from inflicting pdin ! how vve shudder at unkindness ! and think all harshness, even in thought, only another name for cruelty! These are but commonplace truths l know, which have often been a thousand times better expressed. Formerly I heard ihem, read them, and thought I believed them ; now I feel them ; and feeling, I utter them as if they were something new. Alas! the lessons of sorrow are as old as the world itself.— Mrs. Jamieson. NUMBER 30
