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For the Washingtoniaa.
FILIAL DEV^Hpp|r:
The Record
BY JOHN FRANC MARKET.
I know not—l care not if guilt’s in that heart;
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.
Moore.
Whatevevcr sky’s above mo,
Here’s a heart for every fate. Byron-
I.
Woman’s love! the only gift preserv
cd unsullied when the first of her race
fell. It burneth now upon the altar of
her heart’s sacred shrine, with light as
pure and holy, as when the weeping
Eve turned to take a lingering, farewell
look of the bright elysium from which
she had been banished—where in her
happier hours, her bosom had first felt
the sacred impulse which entwined it a
round that of her noble companion.—
Ah, me! how often have L thought of
the feelings which must have thrilled in
the bosom of the parent-mother, when
the thunders of incensed Omnipotence
were muttering over her head ; and the
cherub flashing his flaming sword, bade
her depart from her happy Eden—when
she clung upon the arm of Adam and
looking up into his troubled face, seemed
to say, without uttering a word: “ Let
all forsake thee, even thy God, yet will
Eve’s love burn brighter when all else
is gone.” Ah! woman’s heart, when
unwarped by sordid trainings, or remod
elled by the frigid rules of etiquette—
when ripened by natural, uneducated
feeling, is a gem which the wealthiest
might crave—the happiest might sigh af
ter. The sweetest odor I ever inhaled,
was from the fragrance of a rose which
I gathered on a mountain side, in a for
eign land—growing all lonely and un
noticed; and though the time is long
past since its pliant stem yielded to my
touch, yet I remember to have thought
how much like that rose were many who
moved through life humbly and modest
ly, shedding the balm of kindly feeling
around them—doing deeds of philanthro
py and nobleness—rivalling even the
god-like actions of the noble Howard—
yet whose names never reach the ears of
Fame ! Ah ! it is not the festive halls,
where rich music is breathing a spell-like
enchantment —where wealth and fashion
crowd to display their gewgaws and rib
bons, and careless/hearts are winding in
the maze of the lascivious waltz—that
the noblest women are oftenest found.
No ; seek them in the lowly cottage a
mong nature’s children. How often
have I felt the sneer quivering on my
lip when standing amid the festive
throng, to hear some creature of tinsel
and lace, who plumed herself on being a
lady, launch a venomed word to rankle
in the bosom of another, in order to win
the hollow laugh of those unfeeling as
herself. Ah! I would sooner be the
idolized of one kind heart, albeit that
heart throbbed in a lowly cottage, than
to have the craven hearted praises of an
admiring world.
11.
It was night in the metropolis of Ma
ryland, and in the parlor of a fine man
sion, a man was pacing the carpeted
floor with a measured step —his arms
were folded on his breast, and his knit
ted brow and compressed lip gave uner
ring signs of a bosom intensely agitated.
One might have thought, to have gazed
on that man, that ho was another Caesar
with the cares of a troubled state hang
ing on his brow, so dark did his mind
seem. Alas! he was a less noble being
than Cesar; he was one who had not
philosophy enough to profit by the expc-
AUGUSTAWASHINGTONIAN.
;A WEEKLY PAPER: DEVOTED TO TEMPERANCE, AGRICULTURE, & MISCELLANEOUS READINGS.
|Vol. Hl.]
rience of the myriads who, after pursu
ing the phantom with untiring steps,
have given the result of their labors by
telling us that happiness is apportioned
to every condition of life. He was one
who sighed to be wealthy that he might
mingle and vie in ostentation with the
monied exclusives, who abound in every
city and village of our country, “ from
Dan to Beersheba.” Reclining on a fine
sofa, lay a beautiful woman who was in
the zenith of her prime. I might term
her lovely, for her beauty was not of
that cast which dazzles the beholder
with its splendor, but there was a look
of goodness and kindly feeling which
irresistably captivated the heart—for eve
ry thing of honor, of virtue and worth
seemed to beam from her mild eyes, and
now as she lay thoughtfully gazing on
the person who moved to and fro before
her, a habitual smile played around her
slightly parted lip, which breathed an
index to her soul. “ Life is but a dream
at best,” murmurmured the man, inaudi
bly; “and it is in the power of the
dreamer to make it a dark or a bright
one; nature has scattered her rich gifts
around me, why should I not enjoy
them ? Life to me is little better now
than to the convict shut out from the
world, who finishes one day’s toil only
that he may begin another. I breathe,
as it were, in an under stratum of social
atmosphere; without the power of rising
' where the air is purer, except by patient
toil and confinement, by which I will
exhaust the very energy of my best
days and loose the power of enjoying
wealth after I possess it, out upon such
living! The moralist may preach his
lengthy homilies about honesty and rec
titude, while I will smile at the fools who
practice them. I shall be rich, and as
the Macedonian said when he unloosed
the knot of Gordia with his sword, —the
shortest way is the best.” “ Clifton,”
said the lady, “ you seem dejected to
night, and I have been listening in vain
to hear what were the tenor of your
thoughts; were I to judge from gazing
on your brow, it would seem that an in
cubus had settled on your mind. Ah!
Clifton,” said she, rising from her re
cumbent position, and twining her arm
around his neck as she moved by his
side, “ there was a time when your
slightest thought was mine, why do you
conceal your cares from me now? if
your mind is oppressed, share it with me,
two will bear the burden better than one;
or if it is of such a nature that I can
bear no part of it, I may pour a balm to
heal the wound. Ah! Clifton, if you
knew how it pains me to see you per
plexed, you would have no scruple to
let me aid you.” And the lady looked
into his eyes with such a smile of affec
tion and kindness, that it melted the
harshness of ( Jiis feelings and softened
the roughlines on his brow. “ Laida,”
said Clifton, “my soul is dark to-night,
and that darkness ha 3 been gathering in
my bosom many days. You know when
I sought your hand in marriage, we were
in stinted circumstances; it has been
my aim ever since to amass a fortune
which would give us a higli position;
that is my ambition. The present situ
ation I hold as cashier in the banking
house yields me an income sufficient to
defray all household expenses, provided
we were to be very economical; but you
know I despise parsimony—l hate the
term economy—and the consequence is,
that lam deeply involved in debt. We
have a daughter who is the apple of
mine eye, and unless I can devise some
means to extricate myself from this diffi
culty, I cannot place her in such a social
position as I would desire she should oc
cupy —a position where none could look
down upon her; as it is, she may marry
some petty merchant or travelling ped
lar, or what is worse, some poor but hon
est manand Clifton’s lip curled with
AUGUSTA, GA. MAY 24, 1845.
a sneer as he sounded the last clause of
the sentence. “ I cannot agree with you,
Clifton,” said his wife, with a thought
ful look, “our Lucy is a noble girl as
heaven ever blessed, and it would be no
disgrace in my eyes for her to marry a
poor but honest man, which you empha
sised with such contempt; for in a land
like ours, where the road to honor is
open to all, the poor but honest man, if
he possess moral worth, integrity and en
ergy, may build himself a fortune and
fame as noble as any of the pampered
would-be aristocrats of the country. —
The fame and fortune built bv such men,
outshine in splendor all other from the
very fact of the obstacles they over
come; rising like water to their own
level, they proclaim to the world that
they arc nature’s noblemen, who had
been misplaced. Read our country’s
history, Clifton, you will find those men
who were poor but honest, glittering a
mong the brightest stars in her crest.”
“ I see, Laida, you are a theorist,” said
Clifton. ‘<l am a matter-of-fact man;
wc cannot agree on that point, therefore
let it drop.
111.
“ Miss Clifton,” said a young man,
one evening, as he seated himself on an
ottoman in her parlor, “ I have called on
you this evening, perhaps, for the last
time; and painful as the separation
may be to me, I cannot but hope that at
some future day fortune will smile on me
more kindly, and give me power to equal
the standard which your father has erect
ed to qualify a suiter for your hand. I
am poor, and never felt that poverty had
; such a keen fang until row; yet I am
aspiring—my dreams of futurity are
bright, and if I live, fortune and a
name shall be mine ;” and he arose from
his seat and paced the room, under the
excitement of his feelings. “After what
has passed between us, Ansley,” replied
Lucy, “it were vain to say more. You
know the state of my feelings towards
you, and you cannot fail to believe that
the affection which I have always cher
ished for you, will always be the same.
Yet duty to my parent is paramount to
my own will, and between the conflict
ing emotions of that duty and my af
fection for you, I am very unhappy.”—
“If I thought you were unhappy,” said
Ansley, “it would but add another pang
to my already painful feelings, but be
faithful to me and I swear upon the al
tar of my heart, if God will spare my
life, that I shall rise up among men and
wear honorable laurels, and you shall
share them ; for the feelings that thrill
in my bosom will be the beacon that
shall guide me on. Your father has de
sired that I should relinquish my visits to
his house, because they were disagreea
ble to him ; yet as your mother has been
a kind friend to me, I thought as ho was
absent I would make a farewell visit. It
is not difficult to perceive the cause of
his aversion to me—l am poor—an attor
ney’s clerk—yet I am proud as Lucifer;”
and he paused in the middle of the room
and his head sunk on his bosom, as if bu
ried in thought for a moment. It would
have interested the observer to have gazed
on that being as he stood, motionless as a
monument, while his bosom was agitated
by a powerful passion; he was below the
common height, yet compact in form,
and one might have gazed upon his
broad massive brow and flashing blue
eye which lit his whole face with an ex
pression of sternness and energy, and
felt that his eagle spirit was born to soar
to high position among men. Suddenly
raising his head, he advanced towards the
sofa where Lucy was sitting; taking
her hand in his he looked in her face for
a moment. “ Lucy,” said he, “we must
separate, and Heaven knows if we shall
ever meet again ; I shall leave the city,
and go I know not where—perhaps you
shall never hear from me—we must try
to forget each other,” and without utter
ing another word, he pressed her hand
to his lips and departed.
IV.
Time had recorded many changes and
gave birth to many striking events, in
the many long years that had glided a
way, since Laida and Clifton had walk
ed the floor of their parlor on the night
that has been recorded. Since then
there had been a gradual change in his
circumstances; he was released from
his pecuniary difficulties, and fortune
seemed to have given him her sweetest
smiles and bestowed her gifts upon him
with unsparing hands; his house had be
come a little palace in its splendor, and
he gave gay entertainments and parties
to his friends—he drove a fine carriage,
and was on a footing and mingled with
the bon ton of the city. Laida was still
the same noble-hearted woman as when
in her humblest days, and the same soft
smile played around her lip when bend
ing over the sick couch of some deso
late and poverty-stricken being, as when
she listened to the adulations of some
votary of tashion, and both loved Laida;
she was so good and kind. Lucy, the
noble Lucy, occupied the high position
in which her father had sighed to place
her, and though she still seemed lovely
as an angel of goodness, still you might
detect tiie intersected lines of thought
woven upon her fair brow; there seem
ed to be a look of lovely sadness in her
taco which bespoke a resigned, yet de
terrnined will; she smiled as brightly
and looked as kindly as if she -had not a
care to ruffle the smoothe current of her
thoughts. She believed she had taught
herself to forget Ansley, for neither
word nor letter ever gave a token of his
fate; she often heard the name, for it
belonged to many very eminent men
men in the state, but still there was an
indefinite something which lingered in
her breast. In vain did her father chide
her when she refused the hymenial of
fers of the many wealthy, talented and
gifted young men who sought her hand;
yet she gave them such a gentle and
feeling refusal, that from lovers they be
came devoted friends. “ Miss Clifton, I
am going to Louisianna,” said one of
her suitors, one evening at a party,
“and though we cannot become more
than friends, yet place the name of Mar
tin foremost among those on whom you
would lean in an hour of need ; for if it
ever falls to my lot, I would trace the
footsteps of my fate to serve you.”—
Lucy gave Martin her hand, and prom
ised to remember him when away in the
far South-west. Proffers of friendship
made in hours of prosperity have seldom
much weight with the giver or receiver,
but there was something so frank and
open in Martin’s countenance, —his brow
clouded and his eye flashed with an ear
nest fire as his deep toned voice sounded
in her ear, that she never forgot that no
ble hearted young Southerner.
V.
Clifton left the city on some private
business, —for his temporary absence he
employed an officer in the bank to dis
charge his official duty while gone. But
alas! before he returned a cloud had
risen on the horzon of his destiny which
mantled, as with a shroud of darkness,
the sky of his fortunes forever. The of
ficer to whom he had confided his busi
ness, by a mere accident discovered that
Clifton had embezzled the funds of the
bank to a startling amount, and the con
sequence was that he communicated the
intelligence to the presiding officer, who,
after examining the affairs, found that
the intelligence was too true, and a war- i
rant was immediately issued to attach ]
the person of the defaulter. Clifton in j
returning to the city was apprized of his ]
danger, and, without even taking leave <
of his wife and daughter, precipitately ,
fled, no one knew whither. Laida re- i
WASHIJtGTONIAH
TOTAL ABSTINENCE PLEDGE.
We, whose names are hereunto an
nexed, desirous of forming a Society for
our mutual benefit, and to guard against
a pernicious practice, which is injurious
to our health, standing and families, do
Se ourselves as Gentlemen, not to
any Spirituous or Malt Liquors ,
Wine or Cider.
[No. 45
ceived the intelligence of her husband
with calmness, but it was with that calm
ness which prevails when the hurricane
is mustering its wrath, to blast with its
desolating breath the bosom of the green
earth. From that hour she faded away,
and as the securities of her husband were
involved deeply, she gave with her dying
hand her signature to a deed which divest*
ed her of every earthly possession, leaving
her only child in indigence and want—
a dependent on the bounty of others,
and then she sank into the grave, the
wreck of the loveliest and noblest being „
that God ever animated with the Pro
methian spark.
VI.
The butterfly friends who surrrounded
Lucy vanished with the summer of her
fortune, and years rolled slowly away,
when one evening she received an intro
duction to a young gentleman from the
Southern States, who in conversation in
formed her that her father was living in
n state of great wretchedness and pov
erty, in the vicinity of New Orleans. It
was enough for the noble girl to know
that, and without a moment’s hesitation
' she determined to seek him out and min
ister to him all the aid in her power;
in vain did those around her represent
the difficulties she would have to con
tend with and the suffering she would
have to undergo, her only answer was
that ho was her father still; and remem
bering the promises of Martin to be
friend her, she set out on her journey,
and by the aid of that noble young
man she found the object of her search,
’ a menial in the yard of a stable, like an
other Lucifer, repenting of his pride.——
| The generosity of Martin left her noth
ing to do, for money and aid were at her
service, and a few days wafted Martin
’ with the father and daughter back to the
( shores of the Chesapeak, where no soon
er was it known that Cliflon was return
ed, than he was immediately arrested
and thrown into prison.
I VII.
Never was public sympathy so strong
ly excited as it was for the unhappy Lu
* cy Clifton; the rich, the poor, the high
and low, seemed equally interested in the
, fate of the unhappy girl, and a petition
of a powerful array of names was drawn
1 up for the action of the executive clem
ency, and Lucy carried it herself to An
napolis, where the executive resided, in
order that his compassion might bo
touched. When she arrived at that city,
accompanied by young Martin, she ap
peared at the mansion of the Governor
in order to present the petition. They
' were introduced into the parlor, and his
Excellency who was busily engaged in
some official matter, requested Martin to
attend him in his study which he accor
dingly obeyed, leaving Lucy in the parlor.
The petition was handed to the chief
magistrate, who glanced over it and
passing his hand over his eyes, seemed
to undergo the most painful emotions,
and then seizing the pen he traced the
name of Ansley, on a deed of pardon, and
followed Martin to the parlor. The recog
nition was mutual and Lucy sank beneath
the intensity of her feelings. Martin gazed
with astonishment,he saw in that meeting
the withering of a hope which he still cher
ished in his bosom. When Lucy recov
ered Ansley was bending over her with
painful anxiety, and when she became
composed he raised her hand to his lips
and pressing it he knelt, and sought and
obtained forgiveness, and before many
weeks had rolled away, Ansly pressed
Lucy to his bosom as his bride. Clifton
resided on a little farm a short distance
from the city and in his old age he of
ten related to the young persons around
him his history, and inculcated the mor
al, that wealth is not the ultima thule of
happiness; but that honor and honesty,
sustained by energy and perseverance,
will place a man ifi the most exalted sta
tions of human grandeur.
'T' I:"-'