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Denoted to Citcratituy Science, ant) Ctrl, t!>c Sons of ©NN jTdlorosljip, ill as onr n, anb ©cnctal Intelligence.
VOLUME I
6 A ft
gTFottTUNE TELLER’S DAUGHTER.
by MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
CHAIN I.
~ wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
\Ve b and bo <iuiet when we hear it cry.”
Mother, I pray you abandon this mode of
rf**’aid the young girl, as the tears fell fast
‘I n her cheeks, “oh mother, anything but this !
cannot near this degradation. Remember our
■e happy home ; recollect my father’s pride
i th in vou and myself, and oh, dear mother, if
vc ilove me, never, never tell fortunes again ! ”
* Anna ; it ill becomes you to dictate thus
, nrnc —to your mother —though she be a fortune
• Her ” Vet a more tender expression passed over
Ihc determined face of the old woman as her
daughter hung around her so imploringly. “Do
vou'not see my child that more can be gained
bvthus duping the world than by imploring iis
clemency, or by hard labor. Recollect you, when
tea me to this city, with the grief fur fallen for
tunes fresh on mv heart—recollect our vain en
deavors to gain, by hard labor, the scanty pit
tance wherewith vou furnished your own food.
1 the medicine necessary for my sick bed. Aye,
and whilst stretched on that bed of pain, walcli
jrmvour pale face, made pale by labor and care
forme, did I then determine on this method of
gaining for us a more easy life. 1 have succeeded
even better than I could anticipate. Here I sit
crippled and poor, and vet, how numerous have
been the lovely faces who have sought the fortune
teller, that never visited, as angels of mercy with
healing in their wings, the poor, crippled old wo
man, who could have been fed from the crumbs of
their table. Yes, Anna, talk as yon will, you can
notchange my resolution except I see something
better and easier by which l can obtain the stall’
of life. They pay always in this world best,
those who dupe them, and therefore I tell for
tunes.”
“ Oh, but mother, the disgrace! ”
“ Psha, child, don’t talk of disgrace to me—l,
who have seen thee, my only one (and far more
beautiful than any of the ladies who come for me
to read their bright fortunes) seen thee, drooping
ami languid for want of food and exercise.—
Drive all such thoughts away, and come here and
let me tell thee thy fortune loo.” And the old
woman clasped the little hand that grasped ner
vously the arm of her chair.
“ Mother, mother, let us go back to the country
and leave this hated city. Oh, how it has changed
you. You do not —you cannot love me here as
vou did when you lived alone, with the sweet
birds th at sa n g,a n and th e brigh t do we r s th at bloomed,
and the fresh breeze that played around our dear
home. Then you taught me to love the good
God, to hate lies and dec it, to esteem honor, and
to fear nought when acting from principle; and
now mother, I cannot —I do re not sav to you what
lam almost tempted to say. Oh do, do leave
here, and let us return.”
“How foolish to try and persuade me,” said
the mother, “on what would we live? Ihs auj
in vain, your talk to me, as is now your dreams of
home; yet the time may come child, when we
may once more live there. It seems as it a spun
of prophecy whispers it to me, nav look not so
incredulous” ’tis not the some spirit with which I
dupe the fools who listen to me.”
As she thus spoke, a knock fell on their ear>,
and Anna, who was never visible to her mother’s j
customers, retired to send their little Irish ser\ant
to the door.
Os rare loveliness was Anna Hevton, both in
form and feature ; and, sitll more, in that moral
loveliness of min i, which seemed to shine forth
trom her dark eyes, and to draw the gazer, almost
mechanically to her side. But seventeen, at the
time of which we are speaking, she appeared to
have gained all the dignitv of womanhood, hilst
Vet none of the blushing timidity of girlhood had
gone by. Indeed, more like a painter’s dream, or
a poet’s thought was Anna Peyton, than creature
of narth, fated to struggle through nil the hopes,
an A yet more fears of this real world.
CHAP. IT.
Anna, whilst, her mother was thus engaged, re
tired so her little garden, back of the small tene
ment, and which! though scarce large enough to
enable her to plant a few rose bushes, and other
simple flowers, was her daily recreation when she
c ">uld spare the time from her sewing, and the
thousand little household cares which ue\olved on
her.
One side of this garden was bounded by bouses
a similar description as the one which Anna in
habited ; on the other side it was overlooked by tbe
windows of a large dwellingthat seemed the abode
of wealth and luxury, and whose high walls o er
shadowedthe garden of the young girl, so as to
make her roses look pale and sickly, by depriving
them of more than their share of the sun’s light.—-
Often had Anna seen splendid exotics in the win
dows of the mansion, whose rich, yet tender
green, and bright blossoms, seemed to,taunt lier
more humble flowers. She knew not her neigh
bors, but several times had she observed at one
of tlie windows, a noble looking young man, who
;it first, to her seeming, regarded her with sur
prise, and at other times, when Anna’s timidity
would allow her to glance up at the window, he
appeared to look upon her with interest, so re
spectful, so kindly, that it soothed the young girl
and made her feel grateful to him, as being the
lirst in that world of strangers that had ever
deigned to show a look of feeling towards the des
olate and sad Anna Peyton.
The morning on which our story opens, Anna,
with her cheeks flushed, and the tears still spark
ling in her large dark eyes, sought the garden, and
too much excited to enjoy the occupation of tend
ing her flowers, seated herself disconsolately on a
rude bench, and began to think about her mother,
herself, and her lost home.
She started—a paper wafted on by the light
breeze, rested at her feet, and taking it up she
found itan exquisite little drawing. Anna’s eyes
were voluntarily raised to the window above.—
Holding back the silken curtains, with a cheerful
smile on his open countenance, and looking kind
ly npon her, she beheld the same young man she
had often before seen in the same room. Blushing
deeply, she held up the drawing to let him know
it was safe. *
“ I will come for it, if you please,” said he, as
he withdrew from the window.
Anna re-entered the house ; her mother’s visi
tor had gone, and the knock for admittance was
that of the strangercome to claim his picture.
She held it towards him, but lie entered never
thedess, and politely accosting Mrs. Peyton, laugh
ingly told her the cause of his visit.
Anna still held the picture gazing on it with so
much pleasure, that at length the young gentleman
said: 44 ’Tis a little sketch which I will freely ex
change with you for one of your sweet rose buds,
which I perceive are now in bloom. I drew it
whilst you were tending your garden, and it seems
destined for you, for no sooner had I put the fin
ishing touches to it, than it took the 44 wings of the
wind ” and flew to lay itself at your feet. Will
you make the exchangh ?”
You shall he welcome to my poor flowers, yet
[ will not rob you of this drawing,” said she, as
she laid it down on the little table near which he
had seated himself, and withdrew to gather the
flowers.
44 Anna is always so delighted with drawing,
that 1 am notsurprised at her admiring your beau
tiful one,” said Mrs. Peyton, 44 from a small child
she has been noted for her fondness for it.”
“Does your daughter draw madam?” said
Clarence Vincent,
“ A little, but she has never had but little in
struction.”
At this moment Anna re-entered with one or two
half open roses tastily arranged, with some sprigs
of mynonette, and presented them, together with
the drawing, to the stranger.
“ Indeed I feel grateful to die little design for
having introduced me to one who, like myself,
has a passion for tbe art. I beg you to accept it,
and oblige me by allowing me to look at your
sketches.”
She endeavored to excuse herself from show
ing them, but her diffidence was overcome by
the entreaties of Mr. A incent and her mother: so
Hie produced several, displaying, though rougely
executed, great genius in tlie design.
Clarence Vincent, surprised, for he had expec
ted only some wretched daubs, delighted the
mother by his praise of the daughter’s skill; and
the daughter by explaining to her what collec
tions would be necessary to carry out, into skilful
execution, her talented design.
44 1 am an artist,” said he, 44 and I cannot tell you
how delighted lam when I find any one who likes
drawing and are at the same time possessed of a
oenius Tor it. How well you would paint with
some instruction, and l am almost, though at the
risk of being deemed impertinent, tempted to
offer you my services in that respect. Would
you not like to take lessons ?
Her eves, with their speaking and pleased
<?lance t answered for her, but, on second thought,
she prudently thanked him and said, “ she feared
she had neither time nor money to indulge her
self so far.” , . „ . . 7
“ I think you might find time for the lessons i
would “ive you, and 1 would not receive a greater
reward for my instructions tlian the honor and
credit such a pupil would do me. whom her pen
cil must one day bring into notice. I make the
offer frankly, and I beg that no scruples on the
score of not being able to pay* may induce \ou
to refuse. It may be, one day, a source of great
profit, and will be ol undoubted plcasuic. Ii
SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 2. 1850.
you will allow I will call sometime to-morrow
with more drawings, and you can then let me
kn<*p if yon refuse or accept my offer.”
With thanks to Anna for her flowers, and bid
ding them both “ good morning,” lie withdrew.
41 M >ther, if f should learn from this kind voting
man, and through him obtain the means of earn
ing our bread, will you promise me Logi\c up this
dreadful mode of life ?”
“Acs Anna, freely and gladly, my own heart
often makes me turn in disgust from the decep
tion.”
44 Then will I accept his generous offer, and God
l O 1
I am sure will enable me to learn.”
And so delighted was she with the thought of
soon causing her mother to abandon the hateful
means of living, with all the buoyancy of youth
and hope, seeirigtibefore her none of the disap
pointments. but all the reward attendant on suc
cessful genius, went with a singing heart to attend
her household affairs, leaving her mother to her
occupation.
chap. hi.
“ There is within the bud of every rose
One drop of prescious fragrance ; at the moment
It opens to the sun, that drop exhales,
And only lie, who bending, whutches o’er it,
May ever taste its sweetness.
And thus ’tis love, first only love, the one
Exquisite drop within the human heart.
Yes, once exhaled and reck’d not of by him
Beneath whose influence, as to the sun,
A flections bud incloses it returns,
Earthward no more, but rises to its own,
Its native heaven.”
“ Well John,” said Clarence Vincent to his ser
vant as he waited on him at breakfast one morn
ing, about a week previous to the opening of our
story, 44 have vou found out who are our neigh
hors?”
44 Yes sir,” said John, 44 Mrs. Cotter, where I
gets butter from, says they are a fortune teller and
her daughter. The daughter sir, you have seen
hi the garden, and the mother has a power of la
dies coming toher to get their fortunes told.”
44 Humph !” said Clarence, 44 a fortune teller !
Why I thought tbe daughter looked much above
that sort of thing, and 1 became so much inter
ested iu her, that J thought if I could be a friend
to them, I would gladly.”
“ Mrs. Cotter says, sir,” continued John, 44 that
the young lady, so she hears from Biddy, that’s the
Irish girl sir, what is servant for them, she says,
that Biddy says, Miss Anna won’t hold with the
old lady at all about telling fortunes, hut works
and cries and begs her mother to give it up, so the
old woman is afraid sometimes she will die, she
grieves so, and is sortur sickvfied.”
44 Boor thing,” thought Clarence, 44 how I do,
wish Fannv would return, and she might then do
something for her. At all events I will try and
aid them if I can. John,” said he aloud, * 4 take
away the breakfast tray and hand me tlie news
paper.”
Clarence Vincent was a voung man of excel
lent family and an orphan. Inheriting from his
family a good fortune, he had followed from choice
as a resource from ennui, his favorite pursuit, paint
ing, and at ttie time our story opens, had hut just
returned from Italy, where he had been studying
the old masters fur the last three years, and at
last settled in the large house next Mrs. Peyton,
where he intended painting and keeping bache
ler’s hall, until his marriage.
Long and ardenily attached to his cousin Fanny
Vincent, to whom he was engaged, lie was anxious
she should return from her visii to her married
sister in Carolina, whither she had gone about
a month since, that she might enable him to assist
Anna more efficiently than he possibly could at
present. As their marriage was to take place
soon she would then be their neighbor also, and
thus could patronise the young girl and bring her
into notice, which would enable her to get her liv
ing in some more honorable way tnan the avoca
tion her mother at present pursued. Clarence
Vincent had been left an orphan in early years,
with an only sister —young, beautiful, and loved
with all the warmth of his affectionate heart, for
they were alone m the world. Death with his
iron grasp had borue off this fair young sister, and
her place was not yet filled, though he had long
sbice surrendered his heart to ibe keeping of his
cousin Fanny. When he lirst saw Anna Peyton
he was surprised at the extraordinary resemblance
she bore this dear sister, and so morning alter
morning he watched her as she tended her flowers,
with an interest aroused by this likeness, till his
heart softened by the thoughts of the dear one who
had been taken from him, warmed towards the sad
looking, though beautiful girl, till he unconsciously
and romantically began to feel tor her the protec
ting and loving care cfa brother.
Time wore on ; Anna had most gratefully ac
cepted Clarence Vincent’s kind offer; and day
after day saw him sealed at the small table in their i
humble parlor. The bright blush with which she
always greeted the arrival ot her instructor, had
been noted by Clarence with the quick glance of
an artist, but having less vanity than usually falls
to the lot of the “lords of creation,” was set
down entirely to her natural timidity, yet more
heightened by the consciousness arising I’rom the
knowledgeof receiving a benefit from a stranger,
undone not of her own sex too.
Week alter week did Anna receive his instruc
tions, at the sametime w itliout thinking, that she
was giving to him her pure, warm heart, washed %
unsought. lie was, as Ibehi re said, the only one
that had ever bestowed a look of kindness on poor
Anna, and slie who actually pitied for sympathy—
shutout from all congenial society—with nought
to attract one moment’s passing interest, loved him
devotedly long before that feeling had even been
acknowledged to herself. Her ver}’ ambition now
to excel in the art which Clarence and herself
both passionately loved, was merged into the de
sire of obtainijig his smile of approbotion, and
though he was in no wise chary of either his
smiles or words of kind approval, yet each one.
was cherished as fondly by her, as the warm gleam
of sunshine and the breath of pure fresh air are
by the pining prisoner in his mouldy prison cell.
One morning Clarence entered their usual sit
ting room, where he found Mrs. Peyton and Anna,
anti with a joyoussmile on his happy face, said—
“ This morning I feel so deeply glad that with
more romance and sentiment than usually enters
intomymind, I am desirous of perpetuating the
remembrance in some way. 1 can now enter too
with full sympathy into the feelings which dictated
the lavishing of gifts and largesse among the east
ern monarchswhen any fortunate event chanced
in their lives. With this preface allow me to pre
sent my little mementoes of to day,” He handed
as he spoke to Anna, a beautifully bound, and il
lustrated Shakspeare, adding, “ This 1 hope will be
accepted by my dear friend, Miss Anna, in token
of sympathy with me, and to employ her to-day
in lieu of our accustomed painting lesson, as I must
play the idler for once. And now Mrs. Peyton,
can your science tell you w hat is the gifL 1 design
for you,” and he held towards her playfully his
hand but lightly closed.
“Nothing,” was her laughing guess.
“So it mmj prove, my dear madam ; I hope
however, that your guess may not be correct for
thetime to come,” and opening bis hand, he held
towards her a lottery ticket, “and you must ac
cept this from me, with the fervent wish of its
bringing wealth and comfort to your old age. See,
’tis the “ Mammoth Scheme,” and if it does not an
swer my wish, let it at least be a token that 1 bad
the wiliio bestow one on you.”
Both bis presents were accepted with thanks.
Airs. Peyton asked him “ from what happy event
TLrose his joyful feelings’, and their presents'? ”
“A happy event truly, my dear madam. My
cousin Fanny, of whom you have olten heard me
speak, returned yesterday, and to day has tilled
me with joy by allowing me to name this day
month for our marriage.”
Mrs. Peyton tendered congratulations to him,
and he, in turn, only bowed as lit 1 , withdrew. —
Anna, taking her present from the table, essayed
to leave the room. Tw ice was the effort made,
and with each time came the consciousness that
she could not reach the door. The news was so
unexpected. She loved, and had never dreamed
of the future. She had never hoped for herself,
for her the present had been so lull of happiness*
that she wished not for it to pass away, and she
had only loved without hope, without {ear, hut with
|a perfect trustfulness and devotion. And now
the blow came so suddenly, her short dream ot
bliss bad so entirely vanished ; and sbe felt again,
the isolated, desolate girl, the fortune teller’s
daughter, with no one to care for her supremely.
The shock was too severe for this nervous, gentle
girl, for she had ever kept her feelings to herself,
and her very reserve though it enhanced her joy,
also augmented her sorrow. Poor Anna, she felt
so crushed by this announcement, that it seemed
to her she could die as freely and as gladly as had
now died within her heart all her bright thoughts
which made life so cherished and so dear.
“Come Anna, and see if tis a whole ticket,*
said Mrs. Peyton, still scanning the piece of pa
per, but looking round at her daughter, and star
tled by her ghastly face, and its heart-struck, sad
aspect, she quickly arose, and Anna leaned against
her, utterly unable to answer her questions. Mrs.
Peyton at once divined the cause, and with a
mother’s love clasped fondly the little baud rest
ing so powerless in her lap, and with more deli
cacy than her calling warranted, sat stroking her
daughters soft hair, and bv actions, both tender
and expressive, showed her sympathy and ten
derness.
“ I wish indeed my child,” said she, “we had
never entered this city. Why is it that some
should be poor and miserable, who deserve best
to be wealthy and happy. I wish truely we were
NUMBER 48.