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Pcuotci) to Citcmture, Science, ciiih 3.vt, i!)e Sons of ctentpcnince, ©bii jTclloiusljip, Jllosonrij, anb ©cncval Jntdiiqcnee.
VOLUME I
• je i h a * sis is Y.
the ocread—a tragi comedy.
BY PETER PEPP^RGRASS.*
{*
Jturrlda contraxil ccelum tempestas. — Horace.
The drunkard lay upon the floor,
Apaco the night was waning;
A noise was heard behind the door—
It was his boots complaining:
‘Zounds! what a checkered life we lead !
In truth it is too bad ;
Oui‘ master’s of a fractious breed,
He surely must be mad.
• One half our pranks could not be told ;
’Tis strange what we were made for:
Vet this we know, though we are old,
We never yet were paid for.
‘Clad in a comic dress are we,
And live all o’er the lot;
Ne’er knowing where we next shall be,
Or our next errand what.
• A hole we have in either toe,
Which makes Jim foam and fret,
They set the children staring so,
And let in so much wet.
‘Andthen he calls us “ boosy heads,”
And every odious name,
For that we crook the path he treads,
Though not a whit to blame
‘ And worse than this, our soles, you know,
Are slippery as butter,
Which often lays him sprawling low,
And sometime in the gutter.
‘Then if by chance before the cock
Doth crow he reaches home,
We grieve to think how it must shock
Poor Moll to hear us come.
‘He grunting takes his station by
The tire which she has made.
And white tie lays us down to dry,
Cries out, “you lazy jade !”
‘Asmoke! a smoke ! poor Molly flies
The burning boots to catch ;
He swears he’ll fling them in her eyes,
And hurls a boot, the wretch!
‘Poor Moll escapes—the dog bow-wows,
The dishes down are cast;
He frets and fumes and raves and vows,
But picks us up at lust.
4 Thus are we banged about each day,
At morn, at noon and night;
At home, abroad, and by the way,
To gratify his spite.
‘ We’re forced to act, whatever deed
May chance to suit his whim ;
And then, if any mischief breed,
Are thrashed, instead of him.
‘ We’ll bear no more the foul disgrace,
The thump* and filthy spatters !
Next time W*’Jl burn to crisp, we guess,
Ere Molly can get at us !’
OaiGINAJ* 1411.
LOST AM) WON.
BT MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
CHAP I.
“ Ho entered in his house—his home no more,
For without hearts there is no home ; and telt
The solitude of passing his own door
Without a welcome.”
“Goodness me Pete, you really must not come
inhere ! It does seem to me so strange that you
can’t understand for your life that those horrid
boots of yours were never intended to tread on
my Brussel’s carpets. I wish you to understand
now and forever that these rooms were furnished
lor company, and I am sure that Virge and my
self would be awfully ashamed did anybody call
and catch you with such seedy clothes and dread
'll looking boots in our drawing rooms. And
there too,” continued the worldly Mrs. Eccleston,
‘‘ there too are your followers peeping in the door
‘liter you ; come in if you dare, you Hash and
Star 1 ” to the hounds who were truly poking their
noses inside the door from the passage, and who,
when their mistress grasped the tiny hearth-brush
scarlet and gold, as a weapon of war, turned
over °ne another in their efforts lo escape her vig
nrous knocks, and retreated yelping into the yard,
r °m whence their whines could be heard ; “1
ex pect nothing el se but to see those vile dogs
seated in this drawing room with their master,
u p° e them if I do catch them ! ”
‘ *or mercy sake Mary ! ” said her husband,
who during all this tirade had been quietly read
a otter, “for rnercy sake do stop scolding!
, arn sur eif they did enter they would not enjoy
e ‘ atmojphgre of t h e ro om any more than I gen
dl[y do, but would find it to be, like their master
en en counters it, too hot to bold them ; now do
commence afresh,” rising to leave, “I wish
y/y one kiss from my little Ada, for l suppose
thinks my toilette not sufficiently rcchtr
it a pleasure as well as a duty to kiss
L | er > good bye my dear,” as he fondly em
ateb w k° had thrown her arms affection
di J aroun d his neck, and still stood darting in
‘p arit l°oks at her mother and sister athis side,
o°o -bye, ’till to-morrow, and don’t read so
many of those cursed hooks lest you become like
soine others I can name.” And Mr. Eccieston,
now fairly roused, walked abruptly out, sans cere
monie and left his wife and daughters.
“ Humph, he’s in the sulks now,” said she, “ but
I really can’t help telling him about his odious
vvays. There my dear Virge is the man I mar
ried for love, for I truly did love him, and fancied
him everything that was perfect, and he used to
take some pains once to please me, but now you
see how he acts. Oh dear me, I wish I was not
a woman of so much feeling and delicate taslfu aml
I would not mind it as Ido .” And it was quite
ridiculous to see the look of complacent resigna
tion which she assumed, and which ill became her
chubby face and fat figure, upon which the broad
grin of humor would have been more at home.—
And so thought Ada 100, if the contemptuous
smile, (which I am sorry to say) wreathed her
beautiful mouth, might be taken as an outward
sign of what was passing within, as she leaned
farther back in the luxurious chair of crimson vel
vet, with a book in which she seemed much inter
ested.
Mrs. Eccieston was a woman of about forty
five, with a face • which might once have been
handsome, but now looked coarse, and with a vul
gar appearance, not at all in keeping with her
delicacy and feeling. Her dress too was costly in
the extreme, everything of the best , and yet the
fault was there being too much of it. Her dumpy
fingers were loaded with rings adorned with all
kinds and colors of stones ; and her rich oaterned
muslin was flounced and fringed, and altogether
she had that appearance even whilst at rest, that
always makes one nervous in the. extreme, that
cf being fussy. Her rooms partook in their ar
rangement somewhat ot her own agrieament, for
they were filled with rich furniture, but the same
fault—too much, over too much. There were
costly divans of crimson velvet, large central ot
tomans of the same unsubdued color, f/utcuils,
fete a tctc sofa tables, and eentie table strewn with
hijiux and fancy articles in profusion, statuettes
too were in corners, and in the broad seat of one
of the richly draped windows stood an exquisite
one of white marble, representing Cupid and
Psyche, and which her taste had wreathed with
artificial flowers, hiding thereby the truthful and
chaste simplicity of the petitte group.
Virginia, or as her mother called her, Virge
Eccieston, was reclining on a di ‘an placed near
the crimson draped window, whose rosy glow
was falling o’er her radiant face and beautiful
form, and with her eyes half closed, seemed to be
indulging in a reverie, if one might judge from
her dolcefar niente altitude which she had as
sumed, as graceful as it was luxuriantly indolent
She was indeed very lovely with the rich glow of
the curtain, as I said before, bathing her in its
rosy light, and with her massive tresses of pur
plish blackness, banded elaborately vet tastefully
around her head, whilst every feature, from
the low Grecian forehead, to the short, curling
upper lip, and slightly indented chin, bore the per
fection of the statue of beauty, such as must
have emanated from the chisel ot Phidias. And
weil she knew it, and well did she and her mother
endeavor to heighten the rich gifts ot nature, if
wo might judge from her costume which was
most becoming and beautiful.
Ada, the younger sister, apparently about six
teen, was somewhat in the same style of Virge,
but much slighter in her form, and with a pale,
clear complexion, which bespoke delicate health,
but there were times when the eloquent blood
would mount up into those pale cheeks, and the
large hazel eyes would speak in their intelligence,
and making her more beautiful than even her
queenly sister. Ada was not yet out, nor ever
would be, to use her own sarcastic phrase, until
Virge had made a good match. She appeared
therefore in a very simple dress —maroon colored
merino, with tiny white collar ; and hoi little
foot with its neat black gaiter, with the restless
ness of her lively disposition was tapping the
floor as she read.
“ Ada,” said Mrs. Eccieston, “ why don’t you
carry your book into the dining room ? ”
“ Thank you mamma, I feel very comfortable
here. The dim twilight of these rooms suit my
eyes',” replied she, with a smile which had a slight
tinge of malice in it.
“Yes I have no doubt you think so, buti think
the dining room will suit you best, as you are not
in society yet, and ’tis ~not expected that you
should appear when gentlemen call. Moreover,
Mr. Elder bey does not know you are in existence,
’tis your sister he visits.” . 1
“ Mamma I am only four feet nine inches, and
very slender, and I do not think in these too large
rooms I shall incommode your morning visitors.
Do not, I beg you, send me into exile, like 1 apa
and the poor dogs. To tell you the plain truth,
and there was a dash of determmauon in the
merry stnile with which she spoke, “ lam de
termined to see this paragon, this much talked ot
SAVANNAH, GA.. THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1849.
Mr. Elderbey, and if you will not allow me to re
main here, do not be surprised if you catch me
peeping through the back windows or lurking in
the passage when he is announced. Virge, my
all powerful and superb sister, will you not deign
to arouse from your dream and intercede for me
with our mother, that I may stay and catch a
glimpse of your millionare. I will be very quiet,
but 1 really have a curiosity. I know your word
is the law, for mamma likes not to see a frown on
that sunny brow, and that Pa and I are both left
ip peace by youraequiesconcc.”
Ada be silent, you are sometimes too imperti
nent to me and your sister. Indeed you give me
a great deal of annoyance, you resemble your
father so much.”
“ Thank you mamma, I would rise and make
you my most humble courtesy were I not so nice
ly seated, in acknowledgement of what I consider
a compliment, lo be likened in the least to my no
ble hearted father.”
The ring at the door here interrupted this sharp
fire of words, and the horizon had to be cleared
of the appearance of domestic storms, though the
pink, like tlie inside of the sea shell, which col
ored Ada’s cheeks, were her trophies of the re
cent combat. The servant announced Mr.
Elderby and Captain Linton.
CHAP 11.
“Asa beam o’er tlie face of the water may glow,
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,
So the check may be tinged with a warm, sunny smile,
Tlio’ the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.”
Eugene Elderbey was a man of about thirty,
of a noble bearing, and intellectual face, and
withallso wealthy as made him much sought after
both by mothers and daughters, as a good match.
Captain Linton, who accompanied him, was his
fid us achales , and had agreed to call with him on
the beautiful Miss Eccieston, whom Mr. Elderbey
had met at a parly, and whom he had declared to
his friend, over their bachelor breakfast, the morn
ingafter seeing her,to be the loveliest specimen of
womankind he had ever beheld, and he had just
returned from his European tour. He added,
also, that it he found her good tempered and ac
complished he would not hesitate in making her
the offer of his heart and hand, hoping at the
same time to win hers.
“ Be not so sanguine of your belle,” said Lin
ton as they stood together on the steps after ring
ing the bell, “and let not love blind your obser
ving faculties Elderbey, for I would like you to
have a worthy wife. “ Are the ladies at home ? ”
to a servant* On receiving an affirmative an
svver and giving their names, they entered.
Mr. Elderbey and friend was received most gra
ciously. Verge bad seated herself, and the sweet
smile with which she greeted Mr. Elderbey spread
in light and beauty over her face as the dimples
break on the smooth surface of some summer
lake, and made her, in bis eyes, appear still more
charming. He placed himself near her, and so
absorbed did he become, in contemplating her
and listening to her replies t.o bis own remarks,
that every one else in the room might have been
in India'for all the share they had of his attention.
Captain Linton conversed with Mrs. Eccieston,
and occasionally with Ada, with whom he had
casually met before in his visits to the house,
“ Will you not play something for me this morn
ing, Miss Eccieston?” said Mr. Elderbey, “I
know you must sing.”
Now the truth must be told, that Virge could
not play, and all that her efforts or her mother’s
untiring exertions in her behalf could accomplish,
were one or two badly executed waltzes. Her
mother was at hand however, to extricate her
from *this scrape.
“ Let me beg you to excuse Virge this evening,
Mr. Elderbey ; ” said she, “ for 1 have prohibited
her playing and singing until she becomes emiic
ly recruited from a sorethroat which has troubled
her lately.”
Virge glanced at her sister at this impromtu
sorethroat, and anxious to watch if her sister’s
countenance might not exhibit some indignation
at the liberties her mother had taken with truth,
Mr. Elderbey’s glance followed her now, and he,
for the first time, saw Ada, whose cheeks were
certainly rosier than usual, and her bright eyes
opened more widely, as if startled, but that might
be because Captain Linton was urging her, to
play for him.
“ Your sister, is it not?” said Mr. Elderbey,
“ she resembles you very much, may I ask an
introduction ? ”
Virge was obliged to name “ Mr. Elderbey ” to
Ada, as she arose to approach the piano, to which
Captain Linton attended her.
Ada excelled in music. Her touch was per
fection, and the natural trills of her voice wave
like those of some bird in the far greenwood.
It had been her company —her solace in the hours
that would have been otherwise weary, weary
ones of loneliness; when her mother and sister
were off to gay parties; and often too had it.
cheered her care-worn father. She therefore
loved music. It was to her like the lone flower to
the prisoner in the beautiful story of Picciola,
and she identified her love for it into her expres
sion. She did not at first intend playing, but in
dignant at her mother’s duplicity, she was afraid
to trust herself near her lest she might show her
how much she scorned and condemned suehcon
• duct, and therefore she hut the more willingly
arose to comply with Caotain Linton’s request. —
Her mother and sister scarcely ever heard
liv.l play ilium >clve, fm they generally avoided
die truthful, noble hearted girl, who open ridi
culed them in their worldly minded ncs and van
ity, and used sarcasm and ridicule open and
fearlessly. So Ada grew up alone, *or having
for her company only her hooks, her music ; and
“though she was with them yet she was not <>/
them.”
Mrs. Eccleston and Virgo were as much as
tonished though not equally delighted, with the
gush of music that poured forth in the fullness
of song from Ada’s lips, as was Mr. Eiderbev. —
He was enthusiastically fond of music, and had
ever thought to himself that it was a most wifly
accomplishment, one at all events, he should wi. h
his wife to possess, and so he turned to ‘\ irgo :
“ Your sister sings remarkably well. Are you
equally as fond of music as she must he, from
the soul, the expression she throws into that
song ! ”
o•• • %
“Y.es, I am very fond of it indeed, but—”
“ But Virge is more timid in Iter disposition,”
said -Mrs. Eccleston, “ than Ada, who is but a
child apd never seems to care how she executes,
or the opinion it may call forth. Ada my dear,
do not tire Captain Linton with music this mom
ing.”
“ Oh, rny dear madam, lam afraid J am tres
passing too much on her kindness in begging for
one more song.” “ And 1 loo,” said Mr. Eiderbev.
approaching the instrument, “ was anxious to n.-k
for a song which I fancy you must sing. Y\ ill
you oblige me also i ”
“ With pleasure, if I know it; bat all rny music
is so old fashioned that I very seldom play lor
any one but papa.”
“ Do you sing ‘My soul is dark,’ and if so,
please oblige me.”
Again Ada’s voice rang out iti melody, but
this time with a tenderness that suited the pathos
of the exquisite and adapted to the mournful
words, and Elderbey whilst listening to her strains
forgot for the moment, that Virge was seated
across the room, and alone, but they were soon
recalled by Mrs. Eccleston making some remark
which drew him again to his seat beside the
beautiful elder sister. Elderbey thought both eye
and cheek were brighter from pleasure in listen
ing to the song, but Virge herself was conscious
that envy of her sister’s accomplishment was the
secret that had leant the additional color.
After a lengthy morning call, and a promise of
soon repeating it, the gentlemen withdrew, and
then the languid beauty, with considerable ener
gy, and all mamma’s sharpness of tone, turned
to Ada, who still stood with some music in her
hand, and said :
“ Well, Miss Pert, I hope you are satisfied with
your display. Mamma, I declare if Ada’s allowed
to intrude upon my company 1 will stay up stairs.”
And tears of vexation burst from her beaulitul
eyes.
“My dear Virge you must not mind the efforts
of such a child to attract attention ; but Ada, your
forwardness is, I must tell you, as your mother,
very unbecoming one of your age, l shall insist
on your not appearing when we have morning
visitors again.”
“ Forgive me my great fault,” said the mis
chievous girl, as she glanced .around at them, “ I
did not mean to attract the great Mr. Elder bey’s
attention, and because he chanced to listen to my
playing, because Virge’s sore throat—”
“Ada be silent, and leave the room this instant,
and go to your own. I will send vour dinner.”
“Very well, manma, I hope you will send me
enough, 1 have a good appetite, from rny first suc
cess,” and with a quick, careless air she left the
room.
That lasted only, whilst her quickly excited
feelings m astered he r, for a fte rthrow ing herse lfin to
her large arm-chair, she said half aloud, as she re
sumed her work, “always so! yes I am always
saying something for which 1 am afterwards sorry.
But really mamma and sister do provoke me so,
and let me act as I will, they seem to dislike me,
and treat me like a stranger. Well! 1 can’t help
it papa, dear papa, loves me, and I will try to do
wh it is right for his sake and my own. But it
mamma and Virge would let me love them,
how happy we could be.
To he Concluded in our next.
Fireman's Toast. — Cupid and his torch —the
only incendiary that can kindle a llame which the
engines cannot quench.
NUMBER 38.