Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11.
£jje jfritnii nf Cjie jfantilq,
A Weekly Soathern Newspaper,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY, BY
EDWARD J. TURSE.
iER M s :
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Fifty if not paid within three months.
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at one dollar, in advance.
Three copies for one year, or one copy
three years, - -- -- - -$5 00
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*** 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
mt Five Dollars.
CFA liberal discount will be made to Post
Masters who will do us the favor to act as
Agents.
Postmasters are authorized to remit mo
■ey to Publishers and all money mailed in
presence of the Postmaster, and duly for
warded b him, is at our risk.
nr All communications to be addressed
(pest-paid) to E. J. PURSE,
Savannah, Ca.
FALLIG-ANT & TAYLOR,
CONTRACTORS & BUILDERS,
Shop corner Whitaker and I’erry Streets,
Jan 4 ly SAVANNAH.
W. S. LAWTON & CO.,
Warehouse & Commission Merchants,
MACON, GEORGIA.
LAWTON & DOWELL,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS.
No. 210 Ray St. Savannah, Ga.
Tender their Services to their Friends and the
Public! nnv 2
W. S. WILLIFORD,
-Auction f Commission Mcychant,
MACON, GA.
tfJT All kinds of Merchandise and Produce
except Liquors] received on Consignment.ot Pur
chased to Order. 1 vr nov 2
CLASSICAL & ENGLISH SCHOOL.
.Vo. 159 Bronghton-St.
BERNARD MALLON, Principal.
J. 11. LUTHER. A. M., Classical Teacher.
MISS V. JON RS, Assistant. nov 9
GEO. M. WILLETT & CO.,
DEALERS I.V
GROCERIES, J FINES, LIQUORS ,
TOBACCO, SEGARS, FRUIT, PICKLES,
iPrettrves, Confectionary , Sf Garden Seeds.
Yill kind* of Fish and Oysters, when in season.
No. 68 St. Julian and 101 Bryan Streets.
J P. A. Dupon, > (Wuring’s Building.)
Jhn fR. Tebeau. £ nov 9
TbOGK and job printing.
GEO. N. NICHOLS,
(Owens’ Building , opposite the Pulaski House,)
SAVANNAH, GA.
I* prepared to execute all work in his line, with
neatness ami despatch, and in a style
not to be surpassed.
Prices as reasonable as any other establishment
In the city. ly sept 28
G. BUTLER,
M ASTER BUILDER, i
DEALER IN WHITE PINE LUMBER,
York Street, OglrtJwrpe Square.
N. Li.—-He is prepared to put in Iron fronts
.in Stores, Arc. ly ort 19
T. R. CLARKE,
‘FASHIONABLE BOOT MAKER,
Nextdoor to corner Bull and Broughton-sts.
ort 10 ly
A. PONCE,
Importer and Manufacturer of began, ;
No. 13 Whitaker Street,
Keep* on baud a well selected stock ol inipoifed ‘
Seears ; also Manufactured Tobacco, Snuff, Pipes, !
and all other articles usually kept in It is line of
business, which he offers on the most reasonable
terms. ly 4,cl
E. T. SHEFTALL,
A T TOR N E Y A T L AW ,
may 2o nrai.i.v, oeoroia.
MEDICAL NOTICE.
DOCTOR MOREL. Office No. 157 Brough
tn Street. ts niar -'l
J DE MARTIN,
DEALER IN
Fruits, Wines, Liquors. Segars.
PICKLES, PRESERVES and GARDEN SEEDS.
—: also: —
APPLES, OSIOSS A- POTATOES,
When in season, received fresh by every vessel.
—: also: —
Oysters put up to order in from 1 to rO gallon kegs.
Corner of Bay and W hitaker Streets,
JOHN OLIVER,
HOUSE AND SIGN PAINTER,
GILDER, GLAZIER, Szc.,
So. 121 Broughton Street, a few doors east of
Whitaker Street, Savannah, (ia.
ur All kinds of Paints —Paint Oil, Turpentine,
Varnish, Glass, Putty, &c., for sale. july 20
EDWARD G. WILSON,
JUSTICE OF THE PEACE,
Conveyancer, Collector, Accountant Jj- Copyist,
Office under .T. M. Haywood’s.
FV Return Day. Wednesday, February 19th.
COLLINS & BULKLEY.
Importers and Dealers in
CROCKERY CHINA A GLASS WARE,
FAMILY Harowaie, Table Cutlery, Wood and
Willow Ware. Lamps, Lanterns, Wicks, Szc.,
Also,Cauiphine and Burning Fluid, Together
with a great variety ol Fancy and House Furnish
hing Goods, at Low Prices.
No. 100 Bryan St., Savannah, Ga.
J. P. COLLINS, )
7. A. BULKLET. ) nov 2
MRS. SILBER,
MILLINER >5- DRESS MAKER
No. 157 CONGRESS STREET,
Has the pleasure of informing the
HP Ladies, that she has returned
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
1 ashion of Silks, Cassimcre, Moustinc de I.Rne
oct 26
Dnmlfii fn litmitniT, sriiw unit Irt, tjp Inns rtf €tntjiminre r (DMt /rlliuuGljiji, Jfennnj anil fljr of fljr Dmt.
F. JACOBS’
SEGAR MANUFACTORY,
No. 27 Bull Street.
THE SUBSCRIBER keeps on hand at all times
the best Brands of Havana Segars, and is ready
to fill orders for Country Merchants and others,
as low as any other establishment in the City.
He also Manufactures Segars of various quali
ties, and has on hand the best of Chewing Tobac
co, Snuff, &c. Segar holders, Pipes—common
and fancy—Port Monies, Segar Cases, Tobacco,
I ouches, Szc. Orders from the Country wiil be
punctually attended to. * n „v 2
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, 1.1 BARNARD STREET.
All kinds of Copper, Tin anti Sheet Iron Work,
done in the best manner, at the shortest notice.
lyr
ALLEN & BALL,
FACTORS & COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 112 BAY STREET,
SAVANNAH, CA.
J. M. BALL & CO.,
Commission pi 1 r cftan ts,
MACON, GEORGIA.
ROBERT A. ALLEN, JAMES M. BALL,
sept 20 ly
N. ELLS,
FASHIONABLE BOOT MAKER,
No. 101 Broughton-st., near the corner of Bull-r.
ct 12 ts
JONES & PAPOT,
Shipwrights, Spar Makers,
AND CAULKERS.
Yard opposite R &.J. Lachlison’s Foundry.
R. H. DARBY,
rMT* u*Bk._ AS B> SSL „
Corner Broughton and Whitaker Streets,
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
R. H. D. is prepared to execute all orders for
Making or Cutting on reasonable terms,
mar 9 ly
J. S. STURTEVANT,
MASTER BUILDER,
Corner Montgomery and Liberty St*.
All orders in his line will be promptly attended
to, and faithfully executed. ly pine 1
JOHN V. TARVER,
FACTOR 4- COMMISSION MERCHANT i
EXCHANGE WHARF, SAVANNAH, GA.
RABUN &. FULTON,
COMMISSION MERCHANTS,
No. 207 Bay Street, Savannah, Ga.
J. XV. RABUN, R. L. KULTOK, J. P. WHITEHEAD. I
LANIER HOUSE,
BY LANIER &, SON,
June 22 Macon, Georgia.
J. HASBROUCK & CO.,
\V holesale and Retail Dealer* in
CHINA, GLASS AND EARTHENWARE,
sept 21 BROUGHTON STREET, SAVANNAH.
S. Y. LEV Y,
ATTO RN E Y AT LAW,
Office, No. IS-5 Bav-Street.
FRANCIS WAVER,
IMPORTING & COMMISSION MERCHANT,
No 107 Bay Street, Savannah, Geo.
PHILIP KEAN,
DItA PE 11 AN D TAI L O It,
AND DEALER IIV
READY MADE CLOTHING.
Penfield’s Range, No. 9d Bryan Street,
Store formerly occupied by J. Southwell Sz. Cos.
J. T. JONES,
MANUFACTURER AND DEALER IN
Dublotfc Single Gnus, Rifles, &c M
West Side of Monument Square.
A SHORT,
MAST E R BUILDER,
Will take contract* for Building and Work in
Masonry of every description. Cornet of South
Broad and Whitaker streets. mav 20
CONTRACTOR AND BUILDER.
The subscriber is prepared to execuie with
neatness and despatch all work in the above line.
142 Broughton St. Two Doors West of I. W.
MORRELL’S Furniture Store,
june J Iv I. SOLOMONS. Agent.
CLOTHING,
PIERSON & IIEIDT offer lor saIeCLOTHINti,
Wholesale anti Retail, at New \ork prices, No.
’ 1(1 Whitaker Street. apl 2<i
g\s PIPES AND FIXTURES.
STRATTON Sz. DOBSON,
Having received an assortment of Chandelier*.
Pendant*, Brackets and Portable Gas Burners,
respectfully invite the citizens of Savannah tr#
call at their store. No. 72 Sr. Julian street, and
examine the same 4t june 1
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. Emmenagoeue*,
Stimulants, Tonics, Astringents, Nervines, Alka
lies, Alteratives, Rubefacients, and Compound*
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. Szc.
Newark refined Champuigne Cider, and Albany
Cream Ale, by the bbl.
Orders from the Country, accompanied
by the cash orCiiv reference, punctually attended
to aug 9
G. M. GRIFFEN,
j£*L HAVING purchased the stock in trade of
M. Eastman, would solicits the con
nmiiHf ; jtiued patronage of all the friend of the
establishment. All customer* *hall be pleased
with goods and satisfied with prices.
GEO. M. GRIFFEN-
N. B.——W atches and Ohrometers will receive
the personal attention of Mr. G. as usual.
sept 15
DAGUERREOTYPES^
P. M. CARY would respectfully give notice to the
puhlic that his Rooms, corner Bryan Street and
Market Square, are now open, where he will be
happy to wait upon all persons who would have
their pictures well taker.. dec £
Irlrrfrii j.'ortnj.
FEBRUARY
Palo sister of a banished queen,
W ith wasting snow-wreaths round thy
brow,
Thy robe with rain-drops glimmering sheen,
A joyless, loveless court, I ween,
Cold queen, hast thou!
“Be still, presumptious child of earth,
And hear what good I bring to thee :
I, too, with wind and wave came forth,
And send my tempests from the north,
O’er land and sea.
“But I can walk with so tatep light,
Upon the soft and slumbering ground ;
And where I linger, pearls of white,
And gems of gold, and emerald bright,
Spring all around.
“ Behold the snow-drop at thy feet,
My first-born child, of beauty rare;
Her bended head thy step to greet,
She seems to ring with music sweet,
Her soft bells there.
“Nor lot the bolder aconite
Peep from the ground with golden eye.
Nor varied tints of crocus bright,
Unwelcome meet thy- careless sight,
Unheeded lie,
“ But. hark ! above all fancied sound
Os fairy bell, or chiming flower,
The woods are bursting all around
With floods of joy, that, know no bound
Save day’s last hour.
“ Loud—loudor grows each chirp and trill,
It is thy morn, Saint Valentine!
And every warbler’s tiny bill,
The air with rapture seems to fill,
Why then repine ?
•‘Come forth, and walk the earth with me,
Rejoicing o’er the firm green sward :
My flowers, though few, are fair to see,
Bright gems of promise let them be,
And rich reward.”
fclcrtcit Gale.
[ From Mrs. Ellis’ Morning Call.
S ELF-DEC EPTION;
OR, THE HISTORY OF A HUMAN HEART.
CHAPTEtt VII.
In the meantime there was a very
young, but a very weary traveller
approaching the outskirts of the
great city of London —so young,
that, notwithstanding an unwonted
amount of anxiety of mind, sleep
had at intervals weighed down her
heavy eyelids —so weary, as to have
become absolutely sick of all the
soft cushions and other alleviations
provided for the accommodation of
a painful and injured limb. Many,
many were the thought*, more pain
ful a thousand times than her sprain
ed ancle, which had filled the mind
of Ella More in the early part of
this journey; many were the bitter
regrets excited by the past —many
the agonising fears which the future
called into life.
As is mostly the case in travelling,
however, the mental transition from
the place she was leaving to that
which was to terminate her fatigues,
took place long before the half of
her journey had been completed;
for il was wonderful, sometimes, on
bidding adieu to friends, and taking
one’s seat in a con veyance,how rapid
the hearl anticipates each coming
scene connected with the end of
our travels, and turns towards, and
i lives amongst, ihe friends it is about
I so be welcomed by again, however
I interesting, or however much be
j loved, the friends just left may be.
It was so with Ella More ; for, even
before the boundary line between
the two counties had been crossed,
her heart was again in London, and
all her concentrated emotions of
love and tenderness, of hope and
fear, were once more with her pa
rents.
Whether from the fatigue of the
journey, or from the unwonted pre
sence of these emotions, Ella’s
cheek grew very pale as she looked
out of the window of the carriage
on the morning of her arrival at
home ; and her eye was quick to
see that the houses were thickening
on either side of the road, while
other facts were indicating the vi
vinity of a town ; such as the fre
quent passing of light carts, and
other vehicles, with now and then
an eari} T cry announcing the com
mencement of the toil and traffic of
another day.
The ear of the sensitive traveller
was quick to detect these sounds.
Forgotten as they had been, they
now came back with dismal dis
tinctness, bringing familiar intelli
gence that she was drawing within
the precincts of the great city once
again. But the roll of innumera
ble wheels soon stunned her senses
and, thus shutting out from her ear
all perception of separate tone or
cadence, producing that universal
hum and din which in its unbroken
monotony, becomes to those who
SAVANNAH, GA.. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1851.
are accustomed to it, almost as con
ducive to rellection, and to concen
tration of thought, as perfect silence
can be.
“Now,” thought Ella, “ l shall
soon know the worst”—almost 100
soon, she thought; for now that she
was nearing the point of intense
interest, she would almost have de
layed the crisis which was to put an
end to all her doubts —it might be
to all her hopes—and yet the car
riage seemed to whirl her along at
a speed so rapid that her unstrung
nerves actually quivered at every
turn, as she neared and neared
the point from whence she knew
that the windows of her father’s
house would be visible, so as to af
ford her an opportunity of ascer
taining whether they were closed
or not. ‘The loneliness and speech
less silence of her situation, too,
though exactly what Ella wished
for, had been rather 100 much for
her warm and open heart, which
seemed naturally to require the
most frank and instant outlet for all
its feelings; but she was glad on
this occasion to be quite alone—glad
that the timid and retiring Mr. Ste
vens prelerred what he called “ the
air,” and so look it to his heart’s
content on the seat beside the driver,
only looking into the carriage at
every halting-place to ascertain that
his charge was safe, and to inquire,
with untiring perseverance, whether
anything was wanted inside, and
there was something in these dis
tant and respectful attentions, but
especially in the delicate and well
timed withdrawal of his own per
son, which pleased Ella exceeding
ly, and thus she more than once
extended her own head from the
window to ask her father’s clerk if
he took care of himself, or if she
could lend him any of her spare
wrappings; which gracious and
unexpected attentions pleased the
good man quite as much.
“ I shall soon know the worst,”
were words which began to swell
thick and fast upon Ella’s lips; and
for some time before she reached
her father’s door everything in the
world was forgotten by her, except
the one absorbing fact which the
next moment, or tlie next, or the
moment after that, would reveal—
the fact of her father’s life and
love being still spared to her, or
lost for ever. “ If—if I should see
the shutters closed,” murmured
Ella to herself, and her white teeth
seemed to grow together, and her
limbs trembled as if she had actu
ally heard the peal of her father’s
death-bell.
But now the carriage was actu
ally turning into the very street. —
Just at the turn a clear view might
have been obtained of her father’s
house, but Ella was not able to look
out at the precise moment, and thus
the opportunity was lost. Must she,
then, ask at the very door, and of
common servants, whether her
father is living or dead V That
would, indeed, be agony if her
worst apprehensions should be re
alized. But what is this ’? A little
slip of paper attached to the end of
the coachman’s whip appears at ihe ;
carriage window. Ella, surprised,
catches hold of the missive. All
hopeful are the words upon that
paper* “ Good, kind Mr. Stevens,”
said Ella aloud, “ 1 will love you
as long as 1 live for this.”
“ The paper, and the simple
words “ All safe,” had been made
ready beforehand in the clerk’s ex
act and methodical way ; for Mr.
Stevens knew exactly at what point
of the road he should be able to
see for himself how matters stood.
For this reason, especially, he had
preferred the “air.” He would not
have been inside the carriage at lhat
moment for all the wealth ever con
tained within his master’s ware
house. The slip of paper was at
tached to the end of the whip before
reaching the turn in the street. If
the worst should have befallen, it
was only to withhold it altogether.
If not —if there was a signal of hope
to be seen from that point—it was
all ready, and not one moment of
time need consequently be lost—
not one agony endured by Ella
which it was possible for his kind
ness and forethought to prevent.
All was safe, then, so far as Ella
might hope to see her father living.
At such a moment that simple as
surance seemed to be everything,
and she sunk back in the carriage,
and yielded to a violent gush of
tears —a natural relief, which she
had not previously enjoyed during
the whole of the journey. Once
having begun to weep, Ella’s tears
became almost hysterically violent,
and in this state she was taken out
of the carriage at her father’s door,
the servants all bidding her kindly
“ not to cry,” “ not to take on so,”
for that their master was not worse
than he had been for the last day or
I two ; “and,” they added, without
ary scruple about modes of ex
pression, “ might last a day or two
longer yet.”
Ella was now nil sweetness—all
gratitude all thanksgiving. It
seemed almost on setting her foot
once more beneath the paternal roof,
and ihus entering again the proper
sphere of her duties, as if she had
left all lingering taint of folly and
selfishness behind her, To have
reached home while her father was
still living, seemed to her the turn
ing point of reconciliation between
herself and her conscience. Had
it been otherwise, had her return
been too late, she felt as if her con
demnation would have been unsup
portable; but now she would begin
afresh, and commence an entirely
new life. She would devote her
self to duty, and live for her dear
parents —never more for herself.
Like thousands upon thousands of
1 human beings, older and wiser than
Ella More, she measured her cul
pability by its direct consequences,
not !>v the rule of ri"ht and wrong :
and finding these less calamitous
than she had feared, she began im
mediately to think lightly of her
fault, if, indeed there hadbeen any
fault at all. But while engaged in
putting her things away in her own
little room, for she was just now so
exemplary as to think of sparing
the servants, as well as of helping
everybody, and making herself
quite a prop and a comfort to the
whole household ; while thus mer
itoriously employed with her hands,
Ella mentally put other things to
gether, some of them entirely away,
and some she smoothed down so
neatly, that really on looking back,
she did not see very well how she
could have done better; and after
all, had she not arrived in lime ?
Had she come earlier, her lameness
might have prevented her being of
any use, but now! and she looked
about her very complacently, feel
ing quite a different kind of person ;
so thoughtful and different had she
become all at once, and so deter
mined to make herself a blessing to
her home.
Such were the thoughts which I
flitted through the mind of the in- ,
experienced girl before witnessing ‘
any direct spectacle of sorrow.—
But no sooner had her mother en- j
tered ihe room, than all this fabric j
of self-complacency gave way be- j
fore the reality of actual suffering !
and grief; for Mrs. More was so;
altered in appearance bv constant !
anxiety and fatigue, that Ella again ‘
shrunk undercertain painful touches j
of secret suspicion, tending to re
mind her that her right place, for j
the last month, at least, would have J
been beside her mother, sharing
her sorrows, as well as assisting her :
. O |
in many arduous duties.
Mrs. More, though naturally a
kind woman in act and service, was i
not a person lo throw any delicate j
or flattering coloring over a case of!
this kind ; and seeing her daughter
so well, so free from lameness, for
Ella had actually forgotten her
sprained ancle, she began imme
diately to reproach her rather sharp
ly for having remained so long ab
sent at such a time; but as Ella;
wept profusely at these reproaches, i
and as her mother never could I
withstand the sight of tears, all was I
soon peace between them, and Ella |
sobbing on her mother’s shoulder!
was soon engaged in listening at
tentively to the particulars of what j
had transpired during her absence, i
of which so many trifling items !
crowded, as usual, into Mrs. More’s ;
narration, that her daughter was
obliged more than once to interrupt!
her by saying,—“ But my father—•” i
“Ah, true! your dear father,” j
Mrs. More would ihen say, and j
then she would fly off’ again to j
“nurse,” lo “Jemima,” and to a ;
hundred persons, and things, all of!
which had pressed upon her mind
in one way or another, dividing
her attention between them and her
sorrows.
“ But my father?” said Ella, for
the twentieth time. “ How is he
now, and will he know me ?”
The mother shook her head.
“ Is he able to speak?” continued
Ella—“shall 1 hear his last words.”
M rs. More still looked doubtful—
still shook her head rather omin
ously. The fact was, that since his
last attack her husband had not
been heard to speak to any one,
excepting once or twice, to ask in a
hurried and agitated manner for
his daughter Ella, and often, when :
apparently unable to pronounce j
her name, he was evidently listen
ing attentively, and watching for
the coming ot someone, who, alas !
never came. On these occasions,
when his head had been slightly j
raised, and his eye was directed to
the opening door, he had sunk
down exhausted, disappointed, and
as it seemed, almost desponding;
for his countenance would ihen as
sume an expression of distress
! which no kind endeavours of those
! around him were abie to ndeviate.
But for the last day and night the
father had not spoken even of his
child. He appeared to be rapidly
sinking, while there remained upon
his features an aspect of such acute
suffering, that his attendants could
| not refrain from sometimes asking
if he were in pain ; at which he
! shook his head, but spoke not.
; While Mrs. More was describing
i these and similar circumstances to
her daughter, a tap was heard at
! ihe door of Ella’s chamber, and the
! nurse said softly, “ You are wanted,
ma’am. Master is getting very
: restless; I don’t think he is quite
himself. He makes as if he would
■ get up—perhaps you will just step
! ihis way ?”
i Mrs. More did as she was request
; ed, but soon came back again, say
ing in a hurried manner, “You
must come in, Ella, —come instant
ly—never mind your hair—come in
any way.”
Ella hastened into her father’s
room as fast as her trembling limbs
enabled her to do so. He was sit
ting up in bed, a ghastly spectacle,
his glassy but sunken eyes turned
anxiously towards the door at which
she entered. She glided past the
curtains, but his eyes then rolled
wildly to and fro. He was grasp
ing for something which he could
not feel, and fast losing his sia;ht,
for he could not see that his daugh
ter was near him.
“ Father,” said Ella, softly, while
she placed her hand on his.
“ What is it ?” said he, feeling for
the hand which he was no longer
able to see. The voice of his child
had been like a spell to awaken his
scattered senses.
“ Ella,” said he in reply, but very
faintly, “ My child, my own Ella.
I have so wanted you; I have so
much—” But with those words he
sank back on the pillow. Cold
drops of death were gatheiing over
his brow and temples; but the cloud,
; the agony, passed away, and a smile
! of heavenly radiance illuminated
, his whole countenance. The re
collection of some burden yet to be
I discharged, some duty yet to be
done, disturbed this peaceful smile,
and his brow again contracted.—
His voice, now broken and hoarse,
could scarcely be made audible.
Ella stooped her ear to his lips, and
pressed her own to his forehead. It
was already growing cold.
“ Father,” said she, still bending
over him, “tell me what you want
to sav: tell me all. It is your own
Ella”
“ Child,” said the dying man
with a last effort,and at the moment
a look of intelligence flashed clearly
and strongly from his eyes ; a look
which Ella never forgot. “Oh!”
he continued, as he raised one feeble
quivering arm in order to clasp her
neck, “ I have so inneb—so much
to say. My child—my—”
The arm dropped down with
leaden weight, the eyes glared on
—wide open. Open, 100, were the
parted lips; a strange quivering
played about them; that was all.
The breath had pased forever, and
Ella, in the very act of listening for
her father’s words of love, perceived
that he was dead.
For some moments she watched
his silent relaxing countenance, as
if spell-bound by its strange fasci
nation ; until at last bending forward,
she fell with her head upon his
breast. It heaved no more, and
the great burthen it had borne must
be buried with him in the grave.
His child can never know what sol
emn truths bis lips would then have
spoken. Had she come one day—
nay even one hour earlier, perhaps
lie might have told her what a death
bead brings to light; but he was
“one, and tfie great secret remained
for the revelation of her own ex
perience.
It was the first great agony of
Ella’s life to feel that she had now
no fathar. That one look of recog
nition, with which he had listened
to her voice, so full of feeling that
it seemed to concentrate in one ear
nest gaze the “ love of many
years,” had renewed every natural
sentiment of affection and tender
ness in the soul of his child. Even
those w r ho had been but little valued
in life, it familiarly known, are
dear at such a time, and their last
words precious; but those last words
from the lips of a parent, how uu
speakablv precious are they!
And Ella More felt this, for she,
like all other human beings, had
her halting-places on the journey of
life, when a merciful hand seemed
to be stretched out to arrest her pro
gress in a wrong or foolish course,
and when a voice seemed whisper
ing in her ear, “ In this path go no
farther.” That earnest, loving look
of a dying parent had produced the
effect of rending away the tbin cov
ering of sell-complacency in which
she had so recemly clothed herself.
The past, the present, and the fu
ture were all real now, but especial
ly the past. No subterfuge of lies
was left, behind which she might
take shelter from the searching eye
of Omnipotence. Nor was her self
condemnation more real, than the
tenderness, the love, which that
farewell look had called into exis
tence.
“All ! what might I have been
to him !” said Ella, in the secret of
her soul; and now he was gone,
and never could know her vast ca
pability of loving, trusting, serving.
At this eventful moment of her life,
she began to look for the first time
sincerely into herself, and thus she
found, deep-buried in her heart of
hearts, a kind of better self-—a
something, which if rightly used,
might, with God’s blessing, make
her cheerful and contented under
any circumstances, and which might
help to make others cheerful and
contented too. With this convic
tion there was no self-cornplacencv,
no vanity now, but deep humiliation
before God ; for never do we feel
more humbled, more debased, than
when struck at once with a full
sense of our own capabilities, and
our abuse or neglect of them. Thus
the reflection—“ W hat 1 might have
been !” is perhaps the most agoni
sing of all that harrows up the peni
tent soul in its moments of abase
ment and contrition.
It was early in the experience of
life for Ella More to feel this, and
possibly the feeling with her went
no farther than to what she might
have been to a lost parent. It was
hitter enough thus far, and the
more so that there seemed now no
sufficient motive left to act upon in
pursuing a different career—no liv
ing being upon whom her efforts
would now /e//, as they would have
told upon her father.
Would tell. Ah, that is the lan
guage of a deceitful human heart.
YV e want to see the reflex of our
meritorious actions, of our patience,
our charity, our self-denial; we
want to see the reflex of all these
upon the conntenances of ihose we
love, shining back into our souls,
and creating light, gladness, and
beauty there. We are not satisfied
with the book of God’s remem
brance, still less with the assurance,
that inasmuch as yc do it unto one of’
these little ones , ye do it unto me.
It was even thus with Ella More.
“Oh, my father ! my lather !” were
the words she mingled with her
tears, sometimes in the dead of the
night, hut more frequently when
she awoke in the morning, and re
collected, on the first moment of
returning consciousness what was
the great calamity whose weight
she could distinctly feel without be
ing alive to its exact nature.
I bus passed the first melancholy
night and day with Ella uninterrup
ted, except by those preparations
tor the last public service of respect
towards the departed which were
beginning to occupy the household,
but from which she now turned
away with revolting ana disgust, as
iif almost offended that anything
should be going on in the family
but weeping and lamentation.
Ella had not yet been made aware
of this important fact, that a faith
ful and affectionate performance of
duty to the living is the most certain
means of producing a rational,
chastenec, and unobtrusive sorrow
foi the dead 5 that those who have
watched with the most persevering
tenderness beside the sick, are al
ways those who make the house of
mourning one of peace, and even
of comfort, to surviving friends 5
and that those whose hands ami
hearts were truest to their departed
friends are always the most free to
tender trank and noble justice to
their memory, to keep them in re
membrance as precious relics,rather
than to draw over them a veil of
mystery and silence, and thus to
speak of them on all fitting occas
sions as “ gone before, not lost.”
That morbid sensibility which can
not utter the name of a departed
friend, which cannot touch an arti
cle of that friend’s property’, which
cannot enter into any other source
of interest, even when demanded
by survivors, may arise entirely out
of mistaken education, or disease
of temperament; but it is always
symptomatic of something having
been wrong in relation Uj the living
presence of that friend.
It was on the evening of the se
cond day after her father’s death,
that Ella, having occasion to open a
private writing-desk, discovered
there a packet carefully sealed,
and directed to herself. On exam
ining the address she saw that the
NUMBER 48.