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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.