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pcuutcft tj £iteratnre, Science, anfr tl)c Sang of temperance, iellaiugljip, ittasonrn, anil General intelligence.
volume I
q%tQI HA< & WAI: E .
|K FORTUNE TELLER’S DAUGHTER.
Concluded.
BV MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
. CHAP. IV.
“ And fonder still
On pangs, that longest rack, and latest kill.”
Vina kept her own room, with her sewing the
} , v . for she dreaded meeting Clarence, think-
: |l ‘ l | lC inight read her secret in her face.
-caine ; and when Mrs. Peyton excused An
account of her “headache,” seemed very
! ,. T) and sent a message to her from “cousin
r n-i'V’ iat on I^lC morrow s^ie intended coming
ice her, as she was anxious to be acquainted
with one, in whom Clarence was so much interes-
*‘lcan never see her, mother, lam sure she
. i foul out nay secret.” And still more anxious
did she wish that she could hide herself and her
| n the country, afar from the sconce of her
•v. her humiliation. “Oh ! if l could only go,
die country, dear mother, I am sure I should
rptover this trouble,” did she exclaim in the rest
less of her mind, over and oft to Mrs. Peyton,
ishe, poor old woman, began to sigh for her
v home almost as much as her mourning child
\nna, though she dreaded this interview still
wished it, that she might see her rival, the object
; nn whom Clarence bad placed bis affections.—
The sun was near setting when they came. An
not in the room at the lime ; and when she
y V ed her mother’s summons, she paused before
i:'ic"nin nf the door, for she heard Miss Vincent’s
[At laugrb, which in her happiness rang out in
■:Ud music like a silvery rill.
She was a gay little creature, with soft blue
eves and delicate form and features, and with
“ Golden tresses
Such as float, on the wind’s caresses.”
Aid she was ratling in her merriment, with Mrs.
JVvton, as if she had known her all her life ;
wiiiist the silent Clarence, was listening with his
’ ll in his eves, to all her nonsense as if ’twere
the wisdom of Solomon.
This, was all taken in, by the first glance of An
na, ns she entered the room ; — cold, beautiful and
dianitied, as if some statue, bad condescended to
sum from its pedestal, and enter among a group
of earth’s children, instead of a daughter of a for
tune teller. Fanny was silenced for the moment,
by her surprise ; and rising, she greeted Anna in
stinctively, as an equal in society, so awed was
she by the calm mannerism of the young girl
Clarence expressed himself kindly, aud spoke of
her indisposition, which had prevented her paint
ing lesson.
“I think, Miss Peyton,” said Fanny, “that
you confine yourself too much here ; do come
and stay awhile with me, I am certain that the
change of air will be benefical, and you can con
tinue your painting with Clarence.
“Thank you, but I must beg you to excuse me
irom accepting your invitation, as I have so much
sewing engaged at this time, that I must ask Mr.
Vincent for a suspension of my instruction still
longer. 1 cannot think ol trespassing on
his kindness any more.”
“You know as well as myself my dear Miss Anna
“bat a pleasure it has been to me, to have so tal
ented a pupil; and I thought it was understood,
that the benefit was cancelled, by the honor that
“ill one day accrue to me, from being the instruc
tor of Miss Peyton ; whom her works will intro
duce into favorable notice of* the public.”
“Take, my advice Miss Anna,” said his cou
sin, with one of her witching smiles —“ throw
painting and sewing to the dogs; and come and
stay with me. You must know that I never allow
ln y rule to be disputed, and, in this instance, lam
less inclined than ever. Beg her Clare nee--tell
k r sh emustj Mrs Peyton, and I will say, do it you
pease Miss Anna. I assure you that you will
ncet no one but my old fashioned Pa and Ma ;
xv Wre as fond of painting as Clarence and your-
Will you go home with me this evening?—
well next week at all events. I wish you
‘ er y touch at this time, to assist me in shading my
embroidery; about which Mr. Impudence there,
lectures me forsooth ! because he says that my
taste for colours is at fault.”
. was obliged to make somewhat of a prqm
lse >ui order to escape from further importunities,
and they shortly after left. This was the com
mencement of their acquaintance, and though
, r ‘ n a shrunk from an intimacy, yet she could not
their visiting her very frequently. Clarence
and fanny attributed her rather repulsive manner
P r ide; and the awkward position in which she
] Vas Placed, and in their generous and romantic
aciiment, towards the young girl* determined
; lot to be repulsed. Week after week rolled on,
k Anna Peyton ranked high in the friendship of
. incent family ; but she herself was daily giow-
V! paler, weaker, more spiritless.
“Joy for you Mrs Peyton,” cried Clarence Vm-
cent, entering one morning, in an eager and exci
ted manner, “your ticket has actually, drawn a
prize. Allow me from my heart to congratulate
you.”
‘i’lie old woman was speechless; not asking in
her surprise, one single question, but gazing into
bis face with a stupified look.
1 “ Yes, you may believe it. It has drawn S3O,
000 ! ! Any assistance I can render you, in get
ting it cashed, you must tell me without hesitation,
as 1 can arrange it better than you.”
Then, did Mrs Peyton find voice ; and though
her first thought was for her child, yet she poured
forth her thanks profusely to Clarence, whilst she
begged him to take half at least, of his princely
present.
“ Not one cent, my (tear madam. When I pur
chased it for you, 1 hoped from m v soul, that a
sufficiency might be drawn, to enable you to quit
your present mode of life, so distasteful as I know
it must be, to yourself and daughter. For my
part, Fanny and I have quite a prett} T fortune be
tween us; and we would not for our lives, take
one penny from you, so rest satisfied, ’tis rightly
yours. 1 will attend to it and get you some money
at once, as you may perhaps wish it.”
Mrs. Peyton wept in her gratitude, more tears,
than had softened her eyes for many a day;
and hastened to communicate the joyful news to
Anna.
She received it with a calmness, that looked
very much like apathy, to her excited mother; but
she soon forgave her, when she gazed on the pale
sad face, and fragile form, and thought lor a mo
ment, bow dead must be the young heart, when
not even this release from the bondage of pover
ty, the hard, the grinding—could light up her face
with a smile of joy. So she upbraided her not,
but throwing her arms tenderly around, said :
“Now dearest child, we will goto our old house
once more ; and my Anna, will try and he hap
py, for her old mother’s sake. Tell me, arc you
<dad we may “o *?”
u J O
“From my heart, dear mother, let us go quick
ly.”
ciiAr. v.
Alas, for mj weary and care-haunted bosom!
The sjKills of the spring-time, arouse it no more ;
The song in the wild-wood, the sheen in the blossom,
The fresh swelling fountain —their magic is o’er !
The fortune thus obtained, made every thing
come easy to Mrs. Peyton ; and with Clarences’
assistance the old homestead, was re-purchased —
it had never been occupied, and furnished ; and
she and Anna were oucc again beneath its roof.
Fanny, who was at first interested in her from the
fact, of her being the protigec ot her lover, soon
began to love the gentle girl for her own sake.
She begged her earnestly to stay with her, until
her marriage should take place ; hut Mrs. Peyton
came to her daughter’s assistance, and said she
must have change of air; that she was actually
pining for her native home, and so, that settled
the question.
But the native air did not apparently work the
wonders they anticipated ;* for the pale cheek did
not gain color, nor the eye brightness ; hut day
after would she steal forth from her mother,
and sit for hours, in listless despondency. “ How
still, how unnaturally still was she,” did everyone
remark, and Mrs. Peyton, would watch her most
anxiously, aud endeavor to rouse her. She was
most attentive in ohe}dng the wishes of her moth
er, when her task or duties were designated ; hut
she nevej anticipated —never seemed to enter
with heart into her labors; and as soon as things
were finished, would again relapse into the same
inert state. No complaint would issue ; no mur
mur, hooks, music, flowers were heaped around
her in profusion, by the mother, to wean her from
her lethergy of grief; hut they were forgotton as
soon as they were glanced over. Mrs. Peyton her
self, began” to sadden, for she looked on the pale,
shadowy young creature, as passing away to that
spirit land, where the weary and burdened may
rest. . .
One day, Mrs. Peyton succeeded in rousing her,
hut she prayed, from her inmost heart, never to
witness the effect again, so trembling, weak and
dying did she appear afterwards. It was on the
receipt of a letter from Clarence and Fanny, an
nouncing their marriage, and proposing to visit
Mrs Peyton and Anna, on their return from their
tour; and to take the latter home with them. It
was this that drew the despairing wish from her
lips, “that she might he forever at rest, ere they
came. ri ,
“I do love Fanny, dear mother, and hope ooct
may long spare her to enjoy her happiness, in his
love; hut oh! indeed I am too weak to witness
it. Spare me this, for awhile dear mother, if pos
sible ; I try to smile —to sing to he as I used to
he, to please you ; hut I cannot succeed. Tt seems
my heart will hurst, and then 1 feci so weak, so
strange, that I fear I shall die soon, very, veiv
soon.”
And the week succeednig this, seemed to prove
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 18-50.
how true she spoke ; for Anna could not move
from the low couch, which was drawn close to
the window, that she might breathe the fresh air.
A Physician had been summoned, hut, he could
prescribe nothing; and he wisely refrained from
ministering to a “ mind diseased,” with drugs.
About a fortnight went b} T ANARUS, and Anna was still
extended on her couch of weakness at the window,
looking more like a dead than a living woman.—
So still had site remained, for some moments, that
her mother bent once anxiously over her, that she
might see if life was not extinct; but the languid
lifting, of her long black lashes, told of her being
still in the flesh ; and the old lady hurried to the
papers, which had just come in the mail.
“Great Cod !” was her exclamation, so deep
ly made, that her daughter roused, endeavoured
to rise and reach her mother, who was pale and
trembling; hut, Mrs. Pevtou recovered herself,
and caused her to lie down again, saying that she
had read a startling accident in the paper.
“ But he not alarmed dear Anna,” said she,
“Clarence is well, hut poor, poor Fanny,” her
tears interrupted her. Anna begged for the pa
per, hut her mother would not give it to her; tell
ing her however, that a dreadful accident to her
friend had occurred. When she thought her suf
ficiently prepared to hear i. f , she read the para-
graph.
A distressing accident occurred on the IGth inst.,
by which our esteemed townsman, Clarence Vin
cent, has suffered an irreperable loss. But a week
[last, he left here with his young and lovely bride;
and to day, lias returned, with the mutilated bo
dy, to he interred in lho family vault. The acci
dent occurred whilst on their wedding tour. They
had stopped to dine, and Mrs. Vincent having
finished, sprang into the carriage, in gay spir
its before her husband was ready to go. The hor
ses restive, became frightened by some means or
other, and darted off, and ere they could he stopped
by the driver, who was thrown from his seat, had
dashed down a precipice on one side of the road.
Before Mrs. Vincent could he extricated from the
crushed vehicle, life was extinct. We can find
no words to portray the anguish of the bereaved
husband, or the aged parents.
Notwithstanding the preparation, a. and
death-like swoon followed. For a long time after
wards, it seemed that death would also claim as
his pt’ey, another of earth’s fairest daughters.—
But slowly, gradually, day by day, she recruited ;
and again Mrs. Peytcn indulged the hope, that
Anna would he spaced her.
CHAP. VI.
“ I cannot think of sorrow now and doubt
If e’er I felt it—’tis so dazzlod from
My memory, by this oblivious transport.”
Two years have passed, and I beg 3*oll to enter
with me the room into which 1 have a mind to
intrude. It is a delightful one, with its cool, sum
mer matting, piano, rich furniture ; its hooks, in
their costly bindings scattered here and there, its
rare and fragrant [lowers, its choice paintings. —
The evening breeze too, is stealing sweetly in,
with perfume laden. See how it stirs the lace
border of the old lady’s cap, who sits dozing in
the large fantuil , close by the window. Happy
dreams old friend are coming through the ivory
gates to thee, or thy face would not wear so pleased
an expression. ’Tis Mrs. Peyton, who in her
matronly garb of black silk, her bible on her lap,
on which lie her spectacles, sits there dreaming in
that quiet room alone. Where is Anna ? Have
the angels carried her home to Heaven ? Hark !
arose lias fallen on Mrs. Pe3 T ton’s clasped hands,
rousing her from her nap, and with her start comes
a sweet laugh, echoing musically upon the quiet
air, as a gentleman assists a beautiful girl up the
steps leading into the room. ’Tis Anna Pc3 T ton,
and the gentleman is Clarence N incent.
But what a renovator, what a bcautihor ic hap
piness ! Who could dream for a moment that
that buoyant creature, all smiles, blushes, and
brightness, with that Hebe-like ionn, rounded
cheek, and dancing step indulging in, playlul irn
pertinances, such as throwing roses at her mother
and rousing that respectable person from her nap
—who, l sav, could dream for a moment, that this
being was the same person, as the fragile, love
sick, dying girl of two \ T ears past; and 3 7 et, so it
actually is. Did you tell her about it now, your
ear would surely ho saluted with a pouting ex
clamation, for 1 dare say Anna is thoroughly
ashamed of the tragedy she was near acting, and
would fain believe that you were laughing at her
in 3'our sleeve, and thinking it a comedy. 1 am
certain at this moment that she would tell 3 T ° U
with a sauc3* smile —
“ That men have died,
And women too —and worms have eaten them,
But not from love.”
Yes, when poor Fanny was gone, though Anna
was shocked and sincerely grieved at her un
happy fate, 3*et hope did spring up in her inmost
heart, that Clarence mighffiove her and she might
still be hnpp\*.
j And Clarence ‘? Long and truly did he mour
for his young bride, cut oil in her joy and love.—
He secluded hunseli until his health gave way,
and the Doctors insisted that change of air and
scene was necessary.
It was then that Mrs. Peyton, ever grateful to
him, wrote begging him Jo visit her. He went,
thinking to meet sympathy for his loss, nor was
he disappointed. He talked to Anna about Fan
ny, she wept with him. He continued from week
to week, until his conversation insensibly changed
from Fanny to herself, and at last, from pouring
into her ears the talent his woe, he began to speak
of his hopes, and his love for her fair self. lam
sure no one ought to blame him for he grieved
(wo whole years! and that in these days of im
provement was sufficient sacrifice to the remains
of a dead wife. He has been located here about
three months, and this particular evening in ques
tion is the eve before the happy event. To mor
row Anna Peyton, weds Clarence Vincent, her
first and only love, and are to live with Mrs. Pey
ton. “I give you Anna,” said she, when asked
for her consent, “ With great joy, for I feel, as if
I were restoring a fortune lent, and at the same
time securing the earthly happiness of my daugh
ter, and last of ail, and l wish you to note it par
ticularly, I am realizing the predictions I made
for her, when, as a Fortune Teller 1 told her, she
should live again in her old home, and be as happy
as the days are long now, don’t you doubt my
fortunes again, either of ymu,” concluded the
merry old lady, as she joined their hands.
Think Again. —lt is related that during the first
few days of the reign of Queen Victoria, then a
girl between nineteen and twenty years of age,
some sentences of a court martial were presented
for her signature. One was death for desertion—
a soldier was condemned to be shot, and his death
warrant was presented to the queen for her sig
nature. She read it, paused, looked up to the
officer who laid it before her, and said :
“ Have \mu nothingto say in behalfofthis man ?”
“ Nothing, he lias deserted three times,” said
the officer.
“ Think again my lord,” was her reply.
“ And,” said the veteran,_as ne related trie cir
cumstance to his friends, (for it was none other
than the duke of Welington,) seeing her majesty so
earnest about it, said, “He is certainly a had sol
dier, but there was somebody who spoke as to his
good character, and he may be a good man , for
aught I know to the contrary.”
“Oh, thank you a thousand times ! ” exclaimed
the youthful queen, and hastily writing Pardoned
in large letters on the fatal page, she sent it across
the table with a hand trembling with eagerness
and beautiful emotion.
What a world of instruction, goodness and true
philosophy, is contained in those two words, think
again . Could we adopt their spirit as the rule of
our lives, one and all, what a happy change would
come over society. In all our business concerns,
in our social and moral relations, our political and
religious duties, what important results might fol
low, if, on many, very many occasions, we would
think again before we decided upon acting.
California Castles “ Explored .”—A correspon
dent of the Boston Traveller has made some cal
culations that may well startle this California
crazed country. lie begins by stating that there
are now in the bay of San Francisco 300 vessels.
Five hundred will have left the United States by
the end of the year, all of which with the steamers,
will have carried 50,000 passengers. An equal
number will go by land. The cost of outfit and
passage for these 100,000 men cannot be less than
S3OO each, making in all $30,000,000. It will cost
them at least SSOO a year to live. This makes
$50,000,000 more. Suppose that the time of each
individual be valued at S2OO a year, and we have
a further addition of 820 000,000, making around
aggregate of $100,000,000. Not half this amount
can be realized from the mines. But this is not all,
The forsaken vessels have lost an immense amount
oflime. They have been knocked to pieces on the
voyage, and any one who examines the low scale
upon which the above calculations are made, will
be convinced that $ 100,000,000 will not more than
half cover the actual loss to the country, caused by
the California emigration in one short year. The
testimony is that the mines are less productive than
formerly,and it will probably take a dozen years
to make good to the country the losses of the pres
ent year.
Taking away a Name. —Some person whom Quin
had offended, met him one day in the street and
stopped him.
“Mr. Quin,” said he, “I —I —l understand you
have been taking away my name,”
“ What have I said sir V ”
“ You-you called me a scoundrel sir.”
“Oh! then keep your name, sir,” replied Quin,
and walked on.
NUMBER 49.