Newspaper Page Text
THE FRIEND OF THE FAMILY.
VOLUME 11.
Cjje Jtiraii nf €jje jfantiltj,
A Weekly Southern Newspaper,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY
EDWARD J. PURSE.
terms:
Two Dollars a year, in advance, or Two
Fifty if not paid within three months.
SUBSCRIPTIONS RECEIVED FOR SIX MONTHS,
AT ONE DOLLAR, IN ADVANCE.
Three copies for one year, or one copy
three years, $5 00
Seven Copies, 10 00
Twelve copies, 15 00
*** Advertisements to a limited extent,
will be inserted at the rate of 50 cents for a
square of twelve lines or less, for the first in
sertion, and 30 cents for each subsequent
insertion. Business cards inserted for a year
at Five Dollars.
ty A liberal discount will be made to Post
Masters who will do us the favor to act as
Agents.
Postmasters are authorized to remit mo
ney to Publishers nnd all money mailed in
presence of the Postmaster, and duly for
warded b him, is at our risk.
rr* aii communications to be addressed
(post-paid) to E. J. PURSE,
Savannah, Ga.
~~W. S. LAWTON & CO.,
Warehouse & Commission Merchants,
MACON, GEORGIA.
LAWTON & DOWELL,
rACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS.
No. 210 Bay St. Savannah, Ga.
Tender their Service# to their Friends and the
PuWlie nnv 2
W. S. WILLIFORD,
Auction Commission Merchant ,
MACON, GA.
O* All kind# of Merchandise and Produce
[except Liquors] received on Consignment .ol Pur
chased to Order. 1 vr nov 2
CLASSICAL & ENGLISH SCHOOL.
No. 159 Bronghton-St.
BERNARD MALLON, Principal.
J. H. LUTHER, A. M., Classical Teacher.
MISS V. JONES. Assistant. nov 9
GEO. M. WILLETT & CO.,
DEALERS IN
GROCERIES, WINES, LIQUORS,
TOBACCO, SEGARS, FRUIT, PICKLES,
Preserves, Confectionary , Garden Seeds.
All kind# of Fish and Oysters, when in season.
No. 68 i St. Julian and 101 Bryan Streets ,
J P. A. Dupon, ) (Witling’s Building.)
John R. Tebeaw, \ nov 9
BOOK AND JOB PRINTING.
GEO. N. NICHOLS,
(Ouens’ Building, opposite the Pulaski House,)
SAVANNAH, GA.
I# prepared to execute all work in his line, with
neatness and despatch, and in a style
not to be surpassed.
Prices as reasonable as any other establishment
Hi the city. ly sept 28
G-. BUTLER,
MASTER BUILDER,
DEALER IN WHITE PINE LUMBER,
York Street, Oglethorpe Square.
N. B.—He is prepared to put in Iron fronts
in Stores, &tc. ly oct 19
T. R. CLARKE,
FASHIONABLE 800 T MAKER ,
Next door to corner Bull anil Broughton-sts.
•ct 10 ly
A. PONCE,
Importer and Manufacturer of Segars,
No. 13 Whitaker Street,
Keeps on hand a well selected stock of impoited
Serar* ; also Manufacture!! Tobacco, Snuff, Pipes,
and all other articles usually kept in his line of
business, which he offers on the most reasonable
terms. ly <>ct 19
N. ELLS,
FASHIONABLE BOOT MAKER,
104 Broughton-st., near the corner of Bull-st.
•ct 12
J DE MARGIN,
DEALER IN
Fruits, Wines, Liquors, Segars.
PICKLES, PRESERVES and GARDEN SEEDS.
—: also: —
APPLES, ONIONS S? POTATOES,
When in season, received fresh by every vessel.
—: also: —
Oysters put up to order in from 1 to 10 gallon kegs-
Corner of Bay and Whitaker Streets,
JOHN OLIVER,
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTER,
GILDER, GLAZIER, &c.,
Ns. 121 Broughton Street, a few doors east of
Whitaker Street, Savannah, Ga.
Iy All kinds of Paints—Paint Oil, Turpentine,
Varnish, Glass, Putty, &c., for sale. julv 20
EDWARD G. WILSON,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
Conveyancer, Collector, Accountant $• Copyist ,
Office under J. M. Haywood’s,
rr* Return Day. Wednesday, December 25th. j
~COIiINS & BULKLEY.
Importers and Dealers in
CROCKERY CHIN A & GLASS WARE,
FAMILY Harrtwaie, Table Cutlery, Wood and
Willow Ware, Lamps, Lanterns, \\ icks, &c.,
Also, Camphine and Burning fluid. Together
with a great variety of Fancy and House F urnish
hing Goods, at Low Prices.
No. 100 Bryan St., Savannah, Ga.
J. P. COLLINS, )
T. A. BULKLEY. > nov
MRS. SILBER,
MILLINER DRESS MAKER
No. 157 CONGRESS STREET,
Has the pleasure of informing the flfam
HHP Ladies, that she has returned
“PZV from New York with a beautiful
assortment of Silk Pattern Bonnets all colors,
Straw, Leghorn, and New Fashioned style of Jen
ny Lind Bonnets. French Flowers and Ribbons,
of the latest styles, and a general assortment of
Fancy Goods and Trimmings. Also the Latest
Fashion of Silks, Cassimere, Monsfine de Lane
&c., &.c. °*;t ~6
CO-PARTN ERSHIP.
THE Subscribers have entered into a co-partner
ship for transacting a’ General Commission Busi
aess as follows:
FRIERSON & HOGE, Savannah. Ga.,
HOGE & FRIERSON, Macon, Ga.
Geo. S. Frierson, Savannah. Jno. S. Hoge,
Meeon. * ,v 2
Daioteti fa Xifafar?, jriuire miit &rt, tjje Inns ot faiproiw, (Pith jfyUoaigjjip, JflDsannj niiti tjje Jta of tjje Dai|..
McARTHOR & MORSE,
Manufacturers and Dealers in
PLAIN, JAPANNED & BLOCK TIN WARE,
HOLLOW & ENAMELLED WARE,
STOVES AND COOKING RANGES,
Lead Pipe, Sheet Lead. Copper and Zinc,
STORE, 13 BARNARD STREET.
All kinds of Copper, Tin and Sheet Iron Work,
done in the best manner, at the shortest notice.
sp pt 21 lyr
ALLEN & BALL,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 112 BAY STREET,
SAVANNAH, GA.
J. M. BALL & CO.,
®ommtsston picrchauts,
MACON, GEORGIA.
ROBERT A. ALLEN, JAMES M. BALL,
sept 20 ly
JONES & PAPOT,
Shipwrights, Spar Makers,
AND CAULKERS.
Yard opposite R.&. J. Lachlison’s Foundry.
R. H. DARBY,
t jwl. jbe m xr „
Corner Broughton and Whitaker Streets,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
R. H. D. is prepared to execute all ordets for
Making or Cutting on reasonable terms,
mar 9 ly
J. S. STUR^PEV ANT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Corner Montgomery and Liberty Sts.
All orders in his line will be promptly attended
to, and faithfully executed. ly june 1
JOHN V. TARVER,
FACTOR 4- COMMISSION MERCHANT
EXCHANGE WHARF, SAVANNAH, GA.
RABUN & FULTON,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No 207 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
J. VV. RABUN, R. L. FULTON, I. P. WHITEHEAD.
LANIER HOUSE,
BY LANIER & SON,
june 1 22 Macon, Georgia-
J. HASBROUCK & CO.,
Wholesale and Retail Dealers in
CHINA, GLASS AND EARTHENWARE,
sept 21 BROUGHTON STREET, SAVANNAH.
S. Y. LEVY,
ATTO RN E Y A T LAW,
Office, No. ISS Bay-Street.
E. T. SHEFTALL,
ATTORNEY AT LAW,
may 25 Dublin, Georgia..
MEDICAL NOTICE.
DOCTOR MOREL. Office No. 157 Brough
ton Street. ts mar 23
FRANCIS WAVER,
IMPORTING & COMMISSION MERCHANT,
No 107 R#y Street, Savannah, Geo.
PHILIP KEAN,
DR APE II AND TAILOR,
AND DEALER IN
READY MADE CLOTHING.
Penfield’s Range, No. 98 Bryan Street,
Store formerly occupied by J. Southwell &, Cos
}. T. JONES,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
Duble & Single Guns, Rifles, &c.,
West Side of Monument Square.
SAMUEL S. MILLER,
manufacturer of
CARRIAGES AND WAGONS,
DEALER IN HUBS, SPOKES, FELLOES, &c.
No. 140 Broughton St., Savannah.
A CTJODT
MASTER BUILDER,
Will take contracts for Building and Work in
Mi sonry of every description. Corner of South
Broad and Whitaker streets. may 26
G. W HEDRICK,
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTER,
Gilder, Glazier, Grainer & Paper Hanger.
No. 12 Barnard Street, South of the Market,
ISalwaysreadytoexecnteallordersinhisline
with dispatch, and at the lowest prices. All
kinds of mixed Paints, Glass and Putty kept
tor sale. lyr Dec 22
CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER.
The subscriber is prepared to execute with
neatness and despatch all work in the above line.
142 Broughton St. Two Doors West of 1. W.
MORRELL’S Furniture Store,
june 1 ly I. SOLOMONS, Agent.
CLOTHING,
PIERSON & HE IDT offer for sale CLOTHING,
Wholesale and Retail, at New York prices, No,
10 Whitaker Street. apl 26
DR. J. DENNIS,
BOTANIC DRUGGIST,
Next door above L. C. Warren & Cos,
Augusta, Ga.
Keeps constantly on hand a choice assortment,
selected from the best establishments in the United
States, consisting of Emetics, Cathartics, Diapho
retics, Diuretics, Expectorants. Emmenagoguu-,
Stimulants, Tonics, Astringents, Nervines, Alka
lies, Alteratives, Rubelacients, and Compounds
for family use. Composition Powder, No. Six,
Lobelia in its various preparations, &c., also
Medical Books. may 4
ALFRED HAYWOOD,
CORNER BRYAN AND BARNARD STREETS,
Market Square, Savannah,
Dealer in Choice FRUITS. CANDIES. NUTS,
ORANGES, LEMONS, APPLES, AND PO
TATOES; Wholesale and Retail.
First quality Thunderbolt Oysters, Fish, &c.
Newark refined Champaigne Cider, and Albany
Cream Ale, by the bbl.
Orders from the Country, accompanied
by the cash or City reference, punctually attended
to aag 9
GAS PIPES AND FIXTURES.
STRATTON & DOBSON,
Having received an assortment of Chandeliers ;
Pendants, Brackets and Portable Gas Burners,
respectfully invite the citizens of Savannah to
call at their store. No. 72 St. Julian street, and
examine the same 4t june 1
G M. GRIFFEN,
HAY ING pui chased the stock in trade of
tiry j) delate M. Eastman, would solicits the con
£iJiifiued patronage of all the friend of the
establishment. All customers shall be pleased
with goods and satisfiad with prices.
GEO. M. GRIFFEN-
N. B. —Watches and Chrometers will receive
the personal attention of Mr. G. at U6&l.
sept 15
Irlfrteii Calf. “
[From Mrs. Ellis’ Morning Call.
SELF-DECEPTION;
OR, THE HISTORY OF A HUMAN HEART.
CHAPTER I.
It was a still, bright summer’s day
—one of those days on which no
cloud sails along the calm blue hea
vens, nor leaf is stirred amongst
the green foliage of the woods, nor
flow r eris ruffled, save by the boiste
rous bee that knows no noontide
slumbering—one of those days on
which we fancy, in this windy
storm-girt isle of ours, that the sun
shine we enjoy surpasses that of Ita
ly, or Greece, or any of those clas
sic regions so celebrated in all ages
ot the world. What will not En
glish people fancy to their own ad
vantage, and to the honour ot their
country ?
It was high noon, too, on such a
day; not that noisy noon of dust
and turmoil which the denizens of
thickly-peopled cities know so well.
No, this noon was soft, and pure,
and noiseless as an innocent sleep,
and like that sleep was solemn in
its deep repose. Nat'ure was not
weary, as at night ; she had only
ceased awhilefrom her multitudinous
avocations to listen to the beatings
oi her own great heart. Weary she
could not be, amidst the gush and
glow’ of so much beauty ; she only
rested to renew’ her vieour between
the dances of her joy. She had led
the sun up to his high throne in the
centre of the heavens, and turned
the sunflower lo receive his beams,
and opened out her myriad gems of
plants and flowers ki woodland,
field, and grassy lane, and set them
all to glow and sparkle in his light.
She had fed the early wakening birds,
and heard them hymn their grati
tude and joy. She had driven the
sheep to the green pastures, and
ihe cattle to the hills. What had
she more lo do ? So nature placed
her sentinel wood-pigeons on the
stately boughs of the great elm, and
made them coo until she woke
again ; and while the labourer res
ted, she also slept.
Ah! that hour of summer’s noon,
in the deep stillness of a country
life, it. is a glorious tiling ! inspiring
all who feel its power with thoughts
of wonder at the works and wavs of
God. Night is the time to dwell
upon his love, and mercy ; his deal
ings with the brotherhood of man,
and with ourselves ; but this vast
noon of nature is the time to hear
his footsteps on the hills, and in the
valleys,,and lo see the glory of his
presence walking in the garden as
of old ; and then to think how
many faded leaves the serpent sin
has strewn ; and thus, to tremble,
while we love—to weep, while we
adore.
II was llie hour of noon, and
never since that pure existence
in the paradise of our first parents,
did an earthly scene present more
perfect loveliness, than that which
bloomed in all its summer beauty,
around the dwelling now to be des
cribed. This dwelling was a coun
try parsonage, originally an humble
edifice, yet one to which the taste of
him who loved his home,but had not
much to lavish on himself, had ad
ded, as he lived from year to year,
some well-arranged embellishment,
such as a terrace walk beneath a
yew tree’s shade, a window open
ing out upon a lawn, a fountain
playing here, a green verandah
there, and such a mass of wreath
ing plants and flowers, that only
now and then a gable, porch, or
rustic lattice, could he seen peep
ing from out the roses, the ivy, and.
vines*, Such indeed was the per
petual shade and misty gloom of
these embowering plants, that even
now, at that high glorious noon, the
inner light within the parsonage
was more like that of evening ; on
ly that the broken rays of sunshine
would come in, and throw between
the vine leaves, showers of gold
upon the floor, upon the antique
furniture, the books, the vases of
fresh flowers, and ail the simple
ornaments which unambitious fluids
had placed within the peaceful
dwelling.
Shut into the old parlour of the
parsonage then, there was, even at
high noon, a sort of dim religious
light ; except that none could call
religious those bright spots of gold
which fell unheeded—would that
more fell thus! —fell at the feet of
one who saw them not ; who in her
present mood would scarcely have
stooped down to gather them had
they been fresh from California;
yet she has known the want of gold.
But of gold she is not dreaming
now. Her thoughts are gone
gone into the deep and far-oft past.
She is beholding that which has
been, and not which is. Scene af-
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 4, 1351.
ter scene of her past hours is stand
ing out before her in the dim per
spective ; all so real that she lives
again her former life, regardless of
the present. Yes, her very child
hood, even that comes back with all
the floods of love and kindness
which it bathed her in, until joy and
beauty glowed together on her
cheek, and a fearless exultation
darted from her eye, bespeaking
homage—demanding it before the
very kiss was granted and then
laughing with the wild ecstasy of
childish mockery to see how
homage could be rendered—all for
nothing.
But there are other scenes which
glow with more than childhood’s
brightness. A wild young girl is
for away amongst the hills. Her
chesnut hair is streaming in the
wind. The purple heather blooms
around her, and her laugh is heard
again. Her steed, the foremost in
the race, bounds headlong down a
steep declivity. She heeds it not;
why should she heed it ? There
are troops of friends around her,
summer-day friends, and she is
loved bv all.
V
Again, there is a widely different
scene. A solemn deathbed, and a
splemn figure sits beside the bed.
None could see that figure without
wondering whence it came, and
what its business might be on this
earth ; a tall fine figure, with a
highsouled countenance and hear
ing; a spiritual expression, gentie,
but so cold ! Net cold to that poor
sufferer on her lowly bed. Ah !
no. A heavenly smile is on his
features when he speaks to her ; but
to the denizens on earth, still cold,
and passionless, and almost fearful
in its purily and elevation above the
things of earth. What does she
there, that thoughtless one ? Is shea
mocker now? It would seem like
it, for she sits so still and looks so
meek beneath her rich ajul glowing
beauty, now unfolded and matured
to womanhood—what does she
there? Better had it. been for both,
had one been an inhabilant of earth,
the other of some far-off’ planet,
rather than to meet together thus.
But they did meet thus, and so
the next scene holds them both. It
is by a frail tenure, for ihey stand
upon the deck of a lone vessel,
fearfully tossed upon the troubled
waters, and his brow is calm, his
pulse as regular as when he sat
beside that cottage death-bed—nav,
more so; for his race seems nearly
run, and what has he to fear, since
that inheritance for which he lived
must soon be his ; unless the storm
should waste its fury ere the shiver
ing vessel breaks asunder. Even
now there seems to be a death-mark
on his forehead, a paleness like light,
and such deep beauty! Does she
love him now? She kneels before
him, and her hair is streaming in
the wind, but not as when she rode
amongst the heath-clad hills. Hea
vy, and wet with rain and tears, it
falls dishevelled ; for she heeds it
not. Life to her is dear; too dear,
perhaps it has too much to give.
And did it give all which it promised ?
Let her story tell.
But will she tell it? That very
question she is at this moment
pondering in her mind, and dare
not undertake ihe task. Dare not?
It never was her wont to act the
coward’s part What ails her now,
that she should hesitate? What
calls into her cheek that blush, so
delicate, so deep, as if the crimson
of her youth, with all its burning
impulse, came again even yet.
Ah w'hat it is to be a woman still,
even in that season when a few
grey hairs have shed their warning
ashes on the brow,
‘•What! lay my heart bare? let
the world see all—-tell truly, and
without reserve, the history of that
inner life where dwells the soul?
never! And yet what am I now,
that I should tremble at the world’s
dread laugh. Has it not laughed
before, and had its triumph over
me ? What am I now ? Is there
still left one human soul to suffer
with kindred agony to mine? why
then should I hold back the record
of my life, if there he anything its
truths may teach to others ?
“ ‘ -Life has passed
With me but roughly.’
Now I see the secret of its troubled
course; long in learning, difficult to
teach, 1 have been made to under
stand at last. Others may be set
ting sail on the same ocean with a
barque as frail as mine a compass
as untrue, a helm as stubborn. May
not the unravelling of soqae of the
great mysteries of human suffering
in ope case, prevent that suffering
in others? In the material world
it is ever thus. The kindest lega
cy which one generation can be
queath to another is a faithful re
cord of the truths it has discovered,
the errors it has seen through, the
lalse impressions which its experi
ence has corrected. And should it
not be thus in that moral world
where we are all struggling, in the
midst of distress and confusion, after
some unknown, or uncertain good ;
none wiser than their ancestors, be
cause none will disclose how they
have come by their individual
knowledge. And shall a lonely
woman venture to do this? She
ought, perhaps, for the very reason
that she is lonely, to be the more
willing to doit, because the conse
quences must fall upon herself
alone.”
She has taken the pen, but that
blush again is spreading over her
fine features ; her lips quiver, her
eyes grow dim with tears. None
could be less calculated for being
their own historian. Always too
much a woman, she is not less so
now. Let us spare alike her blush
es and her tears, and tell the story
of her life ourselves.
CHAPTER 11.
A happy childhood ! what a birth
right is that to enter upon life with.
Not only in the early stages of exis
tence is this birth-right so blessed a
reality ; but as bright sunshine and
soft airs affect the opening vegeta
tion of spring, not_ for that season
only, but for those which are to
follow, so a happy childhood gives
as pleasant promise of a flowerv
summer, and an autumn rich in
fruit. Not that these consequences
follow of necessity ; there may be
a soil uncultivated, furrows sown
with tares, a whitening harvest with
no labourers to’gather in the grain,
or there may come a blight, even
on the eve of summer, and a stormy
sky ere autumn leaves have fallen.
All this our native climate teaches
even to the least observant; but on
the other hand a miserable child
hood, chilled, contracted, and crush
ed down in its awakening impulses
—this also is a most intelligible fact,
which every human heart can un
derstand.
Ella More was born to the high
privilege of a happy childhood.
Her parents, in no respect distin
guished people, were comfortable,
rich, and generally respected. Oc
cupying a large London house,
decidedly within the precints of the
city, they made no pretension to be
anything but city people ; indeed
they were rather fond of being such;
for Mr. More had made his large
fortune as a silk mercer, and did
not care who knew it. So far from
this, he spoke continually of his
trade, his business, and even of his
shop. It never once possessed his
mind to call the means by which he
had made his money a “profession,”
or the place in which he had made
it the “rooms,” “the office,” or
even “the warehouse.” He thought
a shop was just as good as any one
of these ; and he knew it was a shop,
moreover, which fact always stood
for something with honest Mr.
More.
At the time of which we speak,
however, this worthy gentleman
had retired: and, as a preliminary
step to further retirement, had taken
a house in Finsbury*, had added a
small footman to his establishment,
and was actually contemplating the
purchase of a horse and gig. But
so wary and prudent a man was the
retired silk mercer, that his care
fully accumulated wealth, which in
the present day would probably
have found some very different
mode of exhibition, was limited to
the display of some half-dozen grand
dinners in the year —the family
thought them very grand ; a velvet
gown for his wile ; and a promise
of the best education which money
could procure, for their only child.
“She was richly worth it,” the
father said, as he parted from her
forehead the clustering curls of soft
brown hair, and looked into her
little blooming face, as if it were
the brightest gem in all crea.lion.
And so it was to him. Mrs. More
was of the same opinion, but she
neither thought nor'felt so deeply
on any subject as her husband, un
less it was on the value of a Brus
sels carpet, or the richness of a
Lyons silk. Here she was profound,
and uttered her opinion with that
peculiar tone and manner which
always conveys with it an- impres
sion of infallibility to those who
look and listen.
Personally, Mrs. More deserves
description. She was a short,
plump, comfortable woman ; and,
but for one peculiarity, might have
been really fine-looking, at least to
common eyes, and in the ordinary
acceptation of the term. This pe
culiarity consisted in a somewhat
curious disproportion betwixt her
head and shoulders, and the height
of her whole person. Mrs. More
always wore atowering head-dress,
which nodded with peculiar dignity
above the table when she was doing
the honours of her more elaborate
dinners, to a few favoured guests.
On such occasions Mrs. More might
be said to look her best, indeed a
vast amount of labour would have
been lost had she not looked it. It
was then that her opinion carried
weight, while laying down the law
respecting paperings, and hang
ings* servings up, and servings out,
in so authoritative a manner that
had her dignity rested on a loftier
pedestal, it would have been all
commanding. Beyond this the
good lady had a quick temper, aud
a sharp method of reproof, especi
ally to her servants, which kept up
a sort of fretting and uneasiness all
around her, not by any means dis
agreeable to the taste of certain
individuals, though peculiarly of
fensive to others.
Mr. More, unlike his wife, was
one of those equally-constituted
characters, exceedingly agreeable
to meet with, but affording little to
remember as peculiar. In his
youth he had been very handsome,
so far as a finely-proportioned per
son, with a bright complexion, regu
lar features, and beautiful hair, may
be considered to constitute a hand
some man ; and he was now, in his
five-and-fortietb 3 r ear, scarcely less
good-looking. Perhaps the most
striking characteristic of his appear
ance was an extremely bland and
pleasant smile, which was not real
ly more bland or more pleasant than
the kindly spirit to which it owed
its chief attraction ; for it was not a
smile made up for an occasion, or
put on to serve an end, it was a
genuine true, and cordial smile,
the index of a warm and Ifonest
heart.
Without a cloud to overshadow
their domestic comfort, it was but
natural that the child of these pa
renis should be as happy as any very
much-indulged child could be. In
fact, the little Ella was as happy as
she was beautiful, and that was
saying a great deal. Her father
often told her she was spoiled bv
too much petting. But he did not
think so ; or it he did he was a very
guilty man, for he only petted her
the more, and pressed his lips more
fondly to her rosy cheek, and laid
her head more lovingly upon his
bosom, as if to make atonement
for a half-implied reproach. Such
was the only discipline the father
ever attempted ift the training, of
his child, for if she had a fault he
could not find it out ; or if she ever
did wrong, it so happened that he
was not there to st^p.
On the maternal side, it is true,
there was at times a small attempt
at something more like discipline, so
far as contradiction went ; for Mrs. ]
More was of the opinion that chil
dren never should have given them,
the thing which they directlv asked
for ; and in this respect she acted
upon principle; for- she made it a
strict point whenever Ella really
asked for any tiring, to refuse it on
the instant, and to grant it to her
only after she had fretted, coaxed,*
or wheedled for it, during a suffici
ent length of time. This mode of
discipline produced upon the child
an effect which the mother never
dreamed of in her philosophy; for
it naturally reduced her to the neces
sity of using artificial means for ob
taining what she wished. Thus, a
little more show of affection than
she was at the moment actually feel
ing, a little flattery, a little exhibi
tion of extraordinary goodness,
were always sure to obtain for her
posession of the object on which
her heart was set, provided only it
was possible to be had. In this re
spect, however, Ella was no wiser
than her fellow-beings of the human
family; for she wanted everything,
especially everything which other
people esteemed or counted pre
cious—and above all, she wanted
their good opinions of herself. To
what extent she would have coaxed
and wheedled to obtain this grand
objectofher wishes, who shall tell?
That depth remains yet to be fath
orned.
In the mean time Ella must be
sent to school, the best school, as the
phrase goes, in which money could
procure her a place. Everything
likely to correct her faults, or im
prove her mind, was deferred until
that time. School was to do every
thing, and, without doubt, it does
require a good school—somewhat
better than the best —ao accomplish
that miraculous metamorphosis of
mind and character’ which has to
be effected under these circumstan
ces.
Os course it was extremely diffi
cult to fix upon the right school for
Ella, more especially as everybody
within the circle of the family’s ac
quaintance —men, women, and
children—were consulted ; the gen
tlemen on general, and theladieson
particular points; while the chil-
i dren themselves, at their Christmas
parties, were more privately ques
tioned on the amount and quality of
their school foot!, with many other
items of a very delicate and. search
ing character, all tending to exem
plify that great duty of parents,
which consists in keeping a sharp
look out upon the welfare of theif
offspring. The result of these in
quiries was seldom entirelv satisfac
tory, and it seemed as if the time
would never come for Ella’s educa
tion to comrrtence. Something,
however, must be done, for she was
growing a great girl, and “not at all
improved,” as the maternal visitors
whispered to one another ; “too tall,”
they observed, “for her juvenile
frocks,” —“wanting air, wanting
manners”—this implied wanting
everything. And so, in tfuth, it
was ; for the poor girl was just in
that transition state, betwixt a child
and a young lady, when the figure
looks unformed, the countenance
unfinished, and all the movements
irregular, uncertain, or constrained.
It was, indeed, high time lor Ella
to be sent to school. The very
servants remarked that she was
losing her good looks, and had no
manners in the world.
These observations, of which a
considerable number reached the
mother’s ear, combined with the
conflicting sentiments of many
friends to render the question of
education more and more painful,
harassing, an'd difficult to solve ; be
cause as the necessity for doing
something increased, the difficulty
about what to do increased in the
same proportion. On one occasion,
when the question appeared nearly
settled, the child herself obtained
a piece of private information which
overthrew the whole plan. Boiled
beef was served up once a week in
the establishment, and Ella protest
ed against eating boiled beef. On
another occasion matters were still
more ripe for action, when it was
hinted to Mrs. More in confidence,
not with any wish to injure the
school, but in the strictest confidence
that the voting ladies from that es
tablishment had a tendancy to cur
vature of the spine. On a third
occasion, the vouna ladies were
considered defective in manner; and
soon, until the poor mother became
decidedly ofopinion that education
in general was in fault, and that
schools, like servants, wanted an
universal reform. Who knows but
she might have set about making
that reform herself, but from an un
to.vard circums ance, of which more
in its place.
li was indeed a difficult affair to
decide upon, for in all the schools
respecting which Mrs. More made
inquiry, there was something, and
in most of them a great many things,
to object to; so at iast she adopted
another plan, wondering, when it
was proposed to her, that she had
not thought of adopting it sooner.
iSbe next made stipulations that her
daughter should be an exception to
some of the general rules. They
might be harmless, perhaps good,
for others ; but her daughter must
be exempt from the necessity of ob
serving them. “ Money,” she said,
“ was no object. Mr. More would
pay for anything that might be
agreed upon.” To this suggestion,
some heads of establishments were
willing to listen for a while; but
when they found that Miss More
must nut walk out in the heat of the
day, and that she must walk in the
cool ; that she must learn no lessons
in the afternoon, and at no time any
but what she had a decided taste
for, and took up of her own accord ;
that she must never eat boiled food,
pastry, nor anything seasoned with
pepper; and so on to an incalcula
ble extent; for where there was a
willing car to listen, Mrs. Moore was
unable to draw her requisitions to a
close; when an hour had been oc
cupied in this mariner, it generally
became evident to all who might
otherwise have been willing to bar
gain, that Miss More, with all her
money, was not a pupil for them.
Under these circumstances, it is
more than probable that Ella More
would not have been educated at all,
but for the unexpected occurrence
of one of those distressing ciicum
stances, which, while attended with
every outward appearance of the
deepest calamity, are in reality
blessings in disguise. Mr. More
had driven out one da3* in the hand
some chaise, which, after years of
deliberation, he had ventured to
make his own. He was not the most
skilful driver, and the horse was
seldom exercised. In passing along
one ot the busily frequented outlets
to the city, the animal started off
the road, and a frightful accident
was the consequence. Mr. More
was taken up with little appear
ance of life. Besides a variety of
other injuries, he was 4 oand to
NUMBER 43.