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pcuoteft to Citcraturc, Science, mib -Ul, tl)c oau3 of temperance, Jfcllorosljip, ittasanrn, anti ©cncral Sntclliqcnce. VOLUME I 9XXH XH A & f All. THEWIDOW’S daughter BY MISS SUSAN A. STUART. CHAP. I. (i \ lovely being scarcely formed or moulded, A rose, with all its sweetest leaves unfolded.” Byron. Have vou ever been clear reader in that sweet little village of A in Virginia? If you have not I really pity yon, for you have certainly not seen the sweetest Eden of this earth, where the 4vV is the bluest, the air the purest, and the sun pets more beautiful surely than ever Italy can boast. But on second thoughts, I would pitv vou more had you been there, and been forced to leave all these delights. There lived my heroine, and such a heroine ; at the time I shall introduce her to your notice, kind reader. It was five o’clock on a lovely spring da v, when a strikinglv handsome, and distinguished looking young gentleman, alighted from his buggy at the irate of Mrs. Morton’s residence in the afore men tioned village. Charles Lennard had been re ceived as a hoarder, for the summer months, into Mrs. Morton’s quiet family circle, as his health was too delicate to allow him to trust to the preca rious and uncertain kindnesses shown by the land ladies in general, of thriving village inns. Some monied business had called him to A for a few months, and here he arrived at five o’clock, on a lovely spring day. “Bv all that’s pretty, his a little paradise ! ” was his soliloquy, as he passed through the little flower garden, with vines that veiled the bird nest of white neeping out from amid the green foliage, and thousand tinted flowers, “T hope mv room overlooks this garden ’twill he delicious to study hi, with the perfume around me.” The door was open, and a blue-eved matron sat sewing in the back part of the hall, who raised her eves inquiringly, as his shadow darkened the doorway. “ Mrs. Morton, T presume?” asked he, as rising die approached him —“ lam Mr. Lennard, whom you were kind enough to admit.” “ fain happv to see vou,” said she, and hospi tably extended her hand to welcome him, “ Walk in sir, we are quiet here, Mr. Lennard, but vou must endeavor to make yourselfat home. Alice,” ton servant, “take Mr. Leonard’s horses round to the stable.” Then turning to her guest, she conducted him into her cosy little parlor, now filled with the golden moats of the glimmering sunbeams, that quivered through the foliage that draped the windows, whilst the atmosphere itself breathed sweets unnumbered. Thevchatted on all the common topics—the weather, the village—’till Mrs, Morton, excusing herself, attended the whispered summons of a servant, and Charles was alone. He threw him self dreamilv and lazily back in the old fashioned arm chair which stood in the shadow of the win dow. A young, glad voice, and a light, bounding step, broke (jn his reverie, and as he looked around to see whence came the sounds — bang —in his face almost, came a heavy wallet, half full of books, ttnd a ringing laugh of glee from a young fairy, ‘whojust stopped long enough to make him doubt whether she was angel or mortal, and then again bounded off like a startled fawn. Tis our heroine! Edith Morton, releaved from her duties at the village academy, wild with repressed play and mischief, who has done him this favor, and who soon returned with her mother, blushing and reluctant, to sanction, by her pres ence, the apology uttered for her. “lou will excuse mv little daughter, Mr. Len mrd, she tells me the light dazzled her so much ? he could not see vou, and she has been in the habit of throwing her books into ibis room, to be ready for her, as that old arm chair in the window is her study. Edith speak to Mr. Lennard, my tell him you are sorry, and hope you not hurt him.” I am sure were I hurt, your apologv would he j u 'h‘nt mv dear madam, which is however, not t e ca>e. But now let me apologize to Miss Mor jen nr having unknowingly taken possession of ner study, which indeed, I must say, is inviting enough to woo the muses to visit her, with their klndl y inspiration.” A gleam of light, like a lurking smile, might oe detected in the arch eyes of Edith, as she re i'cd this apology from Charles Lennard. And nc thought, but did not give words to his thoughts, V ,lt a bewitching little creature.” Euiih Morton, though not sixteen, was an , IA u dte specimen of girlish beauty, as impossi |. e j° resist as to describe. Her charm did not l lr ! regular features, her golden ringlets, or u, r beautifully moulded, and sylph-like form, . and every one of them adjuncts to lnme beauty, she possessed in a pre-eminent ov’ c. But her expression! arch sjyirituellc LIS useless for me to endeavor to convey the impres sion she would make on you, with those divine eyes, lit up in their blue depths, with the sunlight of her merry heart, or the piquante expression of that rosy mouth, whose deeply tinted portals, when wreathed with one of her infectious, heart beaming smiles, disclosed those even, white little pearls, looking, as Jonathan Slick quaintly expres es it, “like a mouthful of chewed cocoa nut.”— Shy before strangers, from her secluded life, she became the life of every circle, where she knew, and was known. Full of mischief, and always the first in a frolic, her ringing, light laugh, mellow and sweet, echoed through tiie play ground of the village school, and might often be heard ere you caught sight of her, borne aloft in the swing, or! dancing like a young fairy on the green. Many were the boy-lovers who bowed at her shrine, and proffered there the simple, but true offerings of their young loves. The evening was passed pleasantly enough to Charles Lennard, who, at first attracted by the beauty of our little heroine, was afterwards amused by her playful and original replies to his questions, by which he endeavoured to establish some sort of acquaintanceship between them. He found her not uneducated, nor unaccomplished, though raised in that secluded little village. At the close of the evening, Mrs. Morton requested Edith to sing, to which request only her mother’s command forced compliance, and though the young voice at first trembled, yet ’twas of mar vellous sweetness. Her smile toe,ns she bade “good night” to their new inmate, showed him that already she began to consider bim among her friends. “ W hat a nice little wife she will make one of these days for some happy fellow,” murmured Lennard to himself, as standing at the window, overlooking the moon-illumined garden, he found himself thinking on the exquisitely graceful and beautiful child. Charles Lennard had no idea, at that moment of ever loving Edith. She was too young, too unformed in mind to comprehend him, and to follow him, as a kindred spirit, through the abstruse, and trancendent.al range of thought, in which he loved to engage. Delicate in health, he contented himself for the present in weaving bright dreams for the future, in which he was to plav a most conspicuous part, and we will not say a vision also of* dazzling eyes, dancing ringlets, and woman’s light form, did not make a part of the picture of the dreamy student. The neat little breakfast parlour of Mrs. Mor ton, looked fresh as herself, as Charles descended the next morning to that meal. And there sat Edith in the old deep cushioned chair, book in hand, conning her task most zealously; but ever and anon pushing out her tiny foot to a kitten on the floor, playful as herself, who seemed very in tent upon catching it, and whose frolicsome an tics caused the young student to laugh merrily ere she again resumed her book. Charles watched her for a moment, and then exchanging the morn ing salutations, begged to assist her in her les sons. “ Thank you, I have finished them ; I have been up early. Mother always wishes me to rise early, that my lessons be prepared in time.” “ 1 know well,” said Mrs. Morton, “ she will be obliged every half hour to stop for play, for Edith, I am sorry to say Mr. Lennard, is a sad idler, and her examination takes place soon.” “ No fear mother but what I shall do credit both to you and my teacher, for when I get in that horrid old building, where there is nothing pretty to be seen, I always make up for time lost here.” As soon as breakfast was over, away went Edith to the academy, and Charles walked through the village to see the lawver who had the estate in which he was interested, in charge. And so time wore on—monotonous, but yet full of calm enjoyment to the quiet student, and to the widow, and her beautiful little daughter. chap. ii. “Unto the ground she cast her modest eye, And ever and anon with rosyred, The bashful blush her sunny cheeks did dye.” The hollidays had come, and Edith was at home for the summer. How pleasant were her antici pations of the jovous freedom from dull books, and the restraint of school routine, for months to come. The ensuing year she was to become a boarder in a fashionable school in Philadelphia, and her mother decided that the intervening time should be spent with her needle in preparation for that event. Yes, how delightful, as Edith thought, to sit in that sociable room sewing, where the air was redolent with perfume, and the sun shine stole so coyly in through the vine-draped windows, making shimmering and fantastic fig ures on the highly polished and waxe oor o that peculiarly summer room, as the sweejt soul i wind waved them gently to and fro. Oh, tor her young heart of hope, the summer air was so sweet when it came through that window \\heie l SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1849. she loved to sit dreamily, of a lucid, still morn ing, coming laden with sweets stolen from the dewy flowers ; and then a glance at those fleecy, shifting clouds in the deep blue sky, why ’twas better to her, by far, than the fairy scenes of a magic lantern or a theatrical spectacle. And there sat Lennard 100, quite domesticated by this time, with his book, occasionally reading passages from his favorite authors, and child as she was, looking into Edith’s eyes for sympathy in his enthusiasm. Nor was music’s soft strains neglected to gild the passing hours. There, in the witching hour of the summer twilight, still, soundless, save the low melody gushing from Edith’s bps, as she sung to her simple accompani ment uu the guitar, and with the fuller, deeper tone of Charles’ voice, they sat, wrapt in the pres ent, unconscious, at least ono of them, of the feel ings rife within their hearts, of what heightened their enjoyment. Edith uas unconscious , she was fully aware, it is true, that life was gaining every dl O o a y new charms for her. To her eye, the blue vault had never looked so deeply, darkly, so in tensely blue as now ; the birds had surely never sung so sweetly, nor the very flowers worn so b right aline. And yet, to all appearance, she was not so gleeful or so wildly frolicksome as usual. No longer would you hear through the house or garden, the ringing laugh and the mirth ful carol, and yet, in her heart, what a spring of happiness was bubbling up, almost to overflowing, quietly, unknown to others ; but thrillingly alive to herself; so intense at times, that those sweet eyes would glisten with unshed tears at the thought that death might come and bear her off from so bright, so joyous a world, when life itself was such bliss. Her quietness—her fitful and ra diant blushes—l he soul-full glances—the manner that was stealing so softly, yet so perceptibly o’er the young girl, toning down, as it were, her high spirits, was noticed by ihe mother, but her con clusion was simply, “that Edith is growing into a woman, and will not be such a hoyden as 1 dreaded.” Edith was unconscious! but not so the dreamy student. He, though albeit as much a child in the actual business and cold realities of life as Edith, was better skilled in the heart’s love. He had seen the kindlin x cheek, at his approach, had watched the flash of joy which brightened her eye, and the smile of womanly sweetness wreath ing her exquisite lips at his glance or words of warm approval. He had become, wtth Mrs. Mor ton’s glad acquiescence, Edith’s instructor in Fren h, and he saw how anything but weariness, was ihe daily task ; and in the solitude of his chamber stole welcomely into his mind the thought, ihat he had taught her practically , to congugatc through nil its inflections, the verb aimer. Mrs. Morton very often complained that Edith neglected her sewing for her book, her guitar, her evening rambles ; but she was the widow’s only child, her bright gleam of sunshine, and her idle ness was overlooked, and she was allowed to have her own will and to be the constant compan ion of Charles Lennard. ’Twas a moonlight evening in the latter end of October, Edith and Charles, with Mrs. Morton and an elderly lady, on a visit to her, had ram bled about a quarter of a mile from the bustle of the lillie village, to a place called the cool spring, to enjoy one of the summer nights that October had stolen. Delighted with the beauty of the lovely, sequestered spot, where ihe moonbeams rested so brightly and reflectingly on the rustic spring, bubbling up from the green sward, now hiding in the thick leaves, now revealing itself by its glitter; that they set themselves down on the rucie bench near the spring, chatting and recall ing reminiscences of “ lang syne” (I mean the old ladies) Charlesand Edith were standing some distance from them, watching the silver tops of moon touched trees. Very quietly had they stood drinking in the beauty of ibis enchanting scene, where no sound was heard save the hum of the village, borne but echo’ngly to their ears, and the rustling of the foliage as it was kissed by /he night breeze. “Edith, dear Edith,” said alow voice, “Is ihis not beautiful! Does it not whisper to you, as to me, that here would I be content to live, to die, with thee dearest, at mv side ! ” A quick, eager, flashing gaze, as her eye was raised for a moment, was his answer. ’Twas ihe look of some wondering and awakened child that Edith wore, as the consciousness of her feel ings towards Charles stole upon her, beautiful, though strange! and something of gladness was in the melody of her childlike, trusting, low toned voice, with which she breathed, rather than uttered “ oh yes.” “ Dearest Edith ! ” was all that Charles said for some moments, as he held the little trembling hand in his own, then placing it within his arm, he drew her to the shade of a large tree, under whose foliage lay the fallen trunk of an oak, upon which they sat. “Dearest,” he again said, as she, wiih down cast eyes, blushing in the dim light that reached them, at his impassioned tones and loving words, “ promise me that you will love me and think fondly of me for the next two years 1 am doomed to wander ? Then, when I have fullilled my guardian’s wishes, that you will be my wife ? My own Edith say ? ” You could almost hear the beating of that young heart, as she thus sat listening at his side, shrinking in trembling from the arm thrown round her waist, and turning in timid modesty, from the eyes looking so ardently loving, into the glisten ing depths of her own, striving to hide her feel ings from those fondly searching eyes. And 01 larles. with the ligbtening’s rapidity, came into his mind the words of the puet *. “She loves me much, because she hides it ; Love leaches cunning even to innocence ; And when he gets possession, his first work Is, to dig deep within the heart, and there Lie hid, and like a miser in the dark, To feast alone.” “ You will forget me long ere you come hack,” was her answer to this reiterated appeal, “ why need I then to answer you,” and there was a tear almost in the liquid voice, as a vision of what her hue would be, should such prove the truth, arose before her mind’s eye. Forget you ! Do you judge me by yourself Edith, w hen you say that ? ” “Oh no!” was the impulsive reply of the young maiden, as she hastily and unthoughtedly answered him, “Oh no, indeed! But you Mr. Leonard, are going to Europe, and you will see •here so very many persons to make you forget me —a school girl—an ignorant child ! 1 was ashamed of myself before you, to think I knew so little, so very little, and you — you will blush for my ignorance yourself, and then, bow could you love me ?” How sweet were those tones, so full of heart music, that he —luxuriating in them, hesitated to answer, that he might catch even their echo ; but at length came his reply, “ How could I love you ! rather ask how can, how could I help it ! You are to me, more perfect than any human being lever dreamed of or imagined. So lovely Edith, that when you burst on me in your angelic loveliness I doubted if vou indeed belonged to our dull earth. How could, 1 love you ! what a simple ques tion, yet deep in its very artlessness, with another meaning. Yes dearest, I .almost ask myself the question, how I could dare to love one so like an angel, that I will not dwell on my unworthy self, lest I should say : “ ’Twere as well to love some bright, particular star, And think to wed it.” But promise me that you will love me, that you will think ever of me; and that when I return you will be my wife ? ” “ You must ask mother—l cannot answer you —it almost frightens me, though ” —and the young head, with its golden ringlets, bent low as she whispered, “ I love you better than any one in the world. Let us go Mr. Lennard to mother,” she quietly added, startled as it were, by her own confessions, and springing lightly from him, as he attempted still lo retain her with his honied words, and almost nestling down by her mother’s side like a truant dove returned ; and yet, her heart healing with the fullness of joy at the sweet knowledge she had thus gained, her eyes lit up with the love conned from the new page ot the book in her life, of which she had but then been learning. And Charles stood by Iter, even more eloquent in his silence than when he had wooed her ’neath the old tree. “ But they were young ; oh, what without our youth Would love be ?—what would youth be without love ? Youth lends it joy, and sweetness, vigor, truth, Heart, soul, and all that seems as from above.” CHAP. 111. “Ah me ! what is there in earth’s various range, Which time and absence may not sadly change.” Events mark time more than years. Edith arose the next morning, after Lennard’s declara tion, a woman. Child in years still, with a wo man’s loving, devoted heart. Mrs. Morton had been informed, much to her surprise, of his pro posal to her daughter, by Charles, and though predjudiceM in his favor, demurred in giving her consent to their engagement, on account of Edith’s youth. Charles had informed her of his family, his fortune &c., and she, at last, won by his ear nest entreaties, gave her permission for the young lovers to correspond during Charles’ tour, and her consent to their marriage at his return. And now we must hurry over the subsequent weeks that followed, before Mr. Lennard’s depar ture, nor do we design giving an account of their parting, which eventually look place the latter end of December. January found Edith at her new school, and her days glided on tranquilly and hopefully. She was early and late at her studies. Her French, her music were entered into with indomitable will, as NUMBER 4t