Newspaper Page Text
26
WELCOME TO LAFAYETTE—ODE.
My Dear Mr. Gardner: The original of die
Ode which I send you, was written and printed
in one of our newspapers on the visit of Lafay
ette to the United States, in IS2-, and when I
was a young versemonger, in my teens. I need
scarcely tell you, however, that it has undergone
the revision of a much later period, and in the
present version, has never been published. I
have subdued its crudities and softened its harsh
nesses, being unwilling to abandon it without
some effort at reclamation, as its composition is
associated with many very interesting details in
my early literary life. It will, I trust, recall
gratefully to thousands of your readers the me
• mory of an enthusiastic period in their experi
ence, when the whole country was in a fever of
patriotism at the reception of the veteran, who,
in old age, came to receive the acknowledge
ments and tributes of a race whose ancestors he
had served with zeal, and at much self-sacrifice.
There is, at this time, a tendency to decry the
intellectual merits of Lafayette; and, by conse
quence, the extent of his public services in
America. This is all wrong; any such judg
ment upon his labors would be wrong, and the
proceeding is as ungrateful as ungenerous.
Without regarding him os a very great man, I
am satisfied that lie should lie recognised as a
nobly impulsive, and generously patriotic one,
whose contributions to the cause of America
are hardly computable at the present day—who
made large sacrifices, incurred serious perils,
and expended very important sums of money in
our cause; and whom, I believe, to have been
really moved in his performances by a sincere
devotion to human liberty, and an enthusiastic
passion for glory, or, at least, honest fame. But
lam not now to discuss his merits. It will be
enough simply to repeat the hope that this let
ter may recall to many of your older readers the
events in Lafayette’s enthusiastic reception in
this country, now more than thirty years ago,
and convey some idea of the feeling oT our peo
ple on the occasion, to the more numerous thou
sands who wero not then capable of sharing in
it. Whatever the degree of claim on the part
of the veteran, the occasion was one full of
grandeur, and moral importance. Lafayette was
one of the few links between the race then in
power and possession, and that by which the
Revolution had been achieved. He stood, as it
were, the central figure between two imposing
epochs of time and history, and not unequally
united with both. Ho came to receive the tri
butes of posterity to the past, and to illustrate
the past, for the benefit of the future. This boy’s
ode may show you in what way the visit of the
veteran impressed the new generation that was
then on its march to manhood, whatever may be
the sort of manhood to which tho present may
lay claim; and this is quite enough byway of
preface. Yours, truly,
W. Gilmore Simms.
Woodbury, S. C., May 25, 1859.
WELCOME TO LAFAYETTE—ODE.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.
I.
Thou cam’st in the morn of our glory,
Ere our laurel had burst into bloom;
When the light of our hope, like the page of our story,
Was o'er shadow'd by tempests and gloom:
When the passion that roused us to raging,
But awakened the scorn of our foe;
Who dream'd that the war his rebels were waging,
Would be crush'd, with our Hope, at a blow!
n.
Ah! little thought ho in that hour,
When our fortunes so gloomily shone.
That his Pride would go down with the pomp of his power,
His Glory give place to our own:
That the blood of the chivalrous ages, •
Still flow'd in some veins of the Brave,
And the Valor of Euroi>e, yet warm in its rages,
Would rush to our rescue and save!
ill.
Ay, grand was tho Cause, and most glorious,
The spirit that, warm in thy breast,
O’er each plea of the selfish and slavish, victorious,
Bade thee rush to maintain the oppress'd!
The Champions of Freedom! —may Freedom,
While men shall deserve to be free,
Thus ever find champions to succour and lead 'em,
Brave and true, as our fathers found thee 1
IV.
They hail'd thee, at coming, as bearing
The assurance of Fate in their need;
We hail thee, returning, the laurel as wearing,
Os thy virtue and valor the meed!
Oh, prouder than monarch's, thy feeling,
As the shouts of these myriads proclaim,
Such a tale of renown, as no record's revealing,
Shall challenge, or rival in fame!
v.
What a field glows before thee, to waken
The pride in thy chivalrous soul! ’
All the Past reappears when the Empires were shaken.
In our Liberty’s strife for the goal!
What a contrast appears to thy vision
In the Present, so glorious and grand,
With that Past, when our Tyrant stood forth in derision,
His o’erspreading the land!
\ VL
Ay, welcome! in age, though grown hoary,
Thou still keejrat thy youth in our heart:
And we rather behoVl thee, as pictured in story,
The Young Hero, thitj now as thou art!
Would to heaven that thy arm could have wrought for
The freedom of France aS'tur ours!
Then had both the great nations thy valor hath fought for,
Been as eager to crown thee with flowers.
—•*.*«.
Governor S., of South Carolina, was a splen
did lawyer, and could talk a jury yut of their
seven senses. He was especially noted for his
success in criminal eases, almost always clearing
his client. He was once counsel for a mao ac
cused of horsestealing. He made a long, Elo
quent, and touching speech. The jury retired,
but returned in a few moments, and with tears
in their eyes, declared the man “not guilty.” An
old acquaintance stepped up to the prisoner and
said:
“ Jem, the danger is past; and now, honor
bright, didn’t you steal that horso ?”
. To which Jem replied:
“Well, Tom, I’ve all along thought I took
that horse, but since I’ve heard the Governor’s
speech, I don't believe I did."
Intellect is not the moral power, conscience
is. Honor, not talent, makes the gentleman.
IKK SOTCKKKK RSU &JS?» VXXBBX9S.
[Written for the'Sonthem Field and Fireside.]
TOIL ANI)_ VICTORY.
BY MISS ANNIE R. BLOUNT.
The eventful day dawned, but Nettie was rich,
and could not go to school, so Theresa, dressed
after the antiquated notions of Mrs. Vinton, with
a huge sun-bonnet, and shoes much too large
for her feet, ventured forth alone.
Miss Dews was not in when she arrived : so
the new-comer entered tremblingly, startled at
the many new faces around her, and stole to a
desk.
“New scholar 1 new scholar !” shouted a doz
en rude voices, and a shower of paper bullets
descended on Theresa's head. The frightened
little creature hid her face in her hands, and be
gan to sob.
“La ! she’s a great big cry baby, and ought to
be tied to her mother's apron string. I wonder
if sho knew her a b c’s—what is your name
girl?” ,
“Oh! she ain't got any name—don t you know
who she is ?” and two or three of them began to
whisper together.
Poor Theresa was suffering martyrdom, when
a pleasant-faced lady entered. In a moment the
tittering and whispering hushed, and the girls
began to study industriously. The lady bade
her a kindly good morning—and introduced her
to the scholars saying :
“This is Mrs. Vinton's little girl, children, Mrs.
Vinton who gives you so many pretty flowers.
Her name is Theresa. I hope you will be kind
to her, for we all know —most of us from expe
rience, how unpleasant it is to be among strang
ers. Ido not like the way in which you initiate
new scholars, it is very rude and ill-bred to play
tricks, and ask useless questions—worse than
rude to wound a stranger's heart. Let us have
no repetition of this mornings scenes. I wish
my pupils to be kind and lady-like, and to treat
each other as sisters. “I do not suppose any of
you would he wilfully unkind —l hope not, and I
know that most of your conduct proceeds from
thoughtlessness. But you must remember the
golden rule, and when you are about to do some
thing which is “fine fun,” to you, but will give
pain to another, pause and reflect how you would
feel, if placed in such a situation.”
Her friendly lecture ended, Miss Dews seated
herself at her littlo table, which was covered
with flowers—thanked the girls who had brought
them in a few gentle words, and touched a little
silver bell. Then she read a chapter from the
sacred Book, and with the children kneeling
around her, offered up a short but impressive
prayer to the God who rules on High.
Thus was Theresa ushered into what some
mistaken people call the happy period of school
life.
■When the day closed, sho did not pain Mrs.
Vinton by a recital of what sho had suffered;
but seated herself quietly, and began to study
her lessons industriously.
Tho following days passed more pleasantly,
for Nettio Vinton was with her, and “fought her
battles” with an enthusiasm worthy of any high
cause.
One day the girls were all on the play-ground,
and like some “children of a larger growth,” were
indulging in tho ugly habit of boasting.
“My father is a rich man —he has ever so many
plantations, and owns more money than I could
count in a month. What are you worth little
beggar ?”
This to Theresa who was standing alone.
“She,” interposed another voice, “Why, don't
you know who she is ? I reckon she heirs that
hut her mother lives in. She isn’t Mrs Vinton’s
daughter.”
“Come here Theresa,” shouted still another.”
Lend me your bonnet for an umbrella, and your
shoes for boots, I could float down the river so
nicely in them.”
Theresa made no reply, but her champion arose
defiantljL “You just hold your tongue, Nan Win
ship ; and if I ain’t but nine years old, I’m a small
Bunker Hill myself. You just say another word
to Theresa, and as brother Hal says: “I’ll give
you the best fight I’ve got about me." Ain’t
you ashamed of yourself ? I would sneak away
—imposing on a poor new scholar who hasn’t
got spirit enough to stand up to her rights. Go
ahead tale-bearer! Run tell Miss Dews I’m
quarrelling and have her keep me in—l don’t
mind it.”
“Nettie 1 Nettie !” Miss Dews had overheard
her. Netty hung her head. “Nice little ladies
do not wrangle. I am astouished at you my
dear. Nannie shall be punished for her bad be
haviour —she is a very naughty girl—it grieves
me to say it—but you must be punished, for I
can not have you disputing so.”,
“I’m willing to be a martyr in a good cause,”
whimpered out the ‘hopeless case,’ as Miss Dews
bore her away to the school-room.
One morning Mrs. Col. Winsliip attired in a
flashy silk dress which boro every color of the
rainbow —a purple velvet cloak, and a yellow silk
bonnet with bits of black lace tacked here and
there upon it; and two immense plumes waving
above it, sailed into the school room of Miss
Dews. A bundle of pretension and vulgarity.—
Her fat coarse face flushed with anger looked as
though it belonged to anybody else but a leader
of upper tendoin. Mrs. Colonel Winsliip (her
maiden name was a secret) lived in a staring
brick house—gave herself many airs, and her
friends many receptions, which were laughed at
by those who scorned her personal coarseness,
yet bowed humbly to her wealth.
“Good morning, Miss Dews.” The plumes
waved and beckoned patronisingly; and tho
large yellow roses on either side of her red face
did the same. “I have called to see you on bus-,
iness.” This came out pompously, and was in
tended to frighten Miss Dews out of her wits.—
“My daughter tells me that aperson attends this
school with whom she cannot and will not asso
ciate. Miss Dews I understood that your’s was
a very select school, or my daughter Nannie Eu
phemia Winsliip should never have entered its
walls.”
Here one of the girls tittered aloud, and won
dered in an audible whisper how Nan would
manage to enter the walls.
Miss Dews rapped on the desk reprovingly ;
and Mrs. Col. Winsliip proceeded with majestic
dignity. “I had no idea that vagrants would be
admitted to a school attended by the daughters
of our first familu-s ; and consider that fact Miss
Dews, a breach of our engagement. Miss AVinship
can no longer attend a school where such a per
sonage is allowed to remain.”
Miss Dews replied calmly aiid politely. “The
little girl who has excited your indignation and
wrath, is the adopted daughter of Mrs. Vinton.
“M*e. Vinton ? indeed !is that so ? I hear it
for the first time.”
My lady was evidently much mollified by this
information. “Ah I that puts a new face on the
affair. Mrs. Vlqton is very eccentric, but ec
centricity is pardonable in one of her station. —
She is one of our purest aristocrats, and moves
in the first circles. The adopted daughter of Mrs.
Vinton, and a vagrant of low parentage, are two
very different persons. Nannie my dear, you
should have told me of this.”
Then to Miss Dews. “You always excelled 1
in your vocation, and lam happy to honor you 1
with my patronage. My daughter may contin
ue as your pupil.” “And I much prefer that she
should not," replied Miss Dews with spirit.— i
“Nannie has created much disturbance in my
school —has often excited my pupils to rebellion,
and is a sore trial to me. Aou will therefore
confer a favor on me by taking her home.”
“What! dismiss my child l Mrs. Winsliip
paused, for rage made her dumb; and then ad- •
ded: “Are you insane Miss Dews?
“ Never more sane than at this moment, ’ re
sponded Miss Dews with the utmost gravity
and politeness. She felt a light touch on her
shoulder, and Theresa whispered “Oh! Miss
Dews please don’t dismiss her on my account. ”
“ Take your seat Theresa. I dismiss Miss
Winshop because she has broken my rules, and
defied my regulations so often that I cannot long
er retain her.” , ,
“You will rue the day, said Miss AVinship
in a towering passion. “ Not one of my friends
will patronise you after this; and my influence
is unbounded."
But days passed away, and the school did not
diminish in pupils—in fact the attendance was
larger than before; anil Airs. Col. AV inship,
doubtless discovered that her influence was not
so unbounded as sho imagined. The school
progressed, and flourished much more when
Miss AVinship, the “disturbing spirit,” was with
drawn ; and no one, not even those whom she
had led from the path of school duty, regretted
her absence.
Theresa progressed wonderfully in her studies
and Nettie continued her fast friend. Although
Nettio was several }'ears her junior, she was
bom to protect; while Theresa, gentle and
yielding, and only heroic under some great
trial, leaned trustingly on the stronger spirit.
You have seen even among children that
strong reliance on self which is the sure fore
runner of success. Nettie possessed tliis in an
eminent degree. Wilful and independent, the
little maiden needed no protection, and could
well take care of herself and others too. Among
her playmates she was " the little princess, ’ —
ruling, most tyranically, but with a bold free
spirit which acted like a magnet on those arouud
her, and drew them to her. No play was com
menced without her approbation, no frolic en
tered into without her consent—consequently
she had to ‘ father t ’ all the enormities of her
class-mates; and even Theresa, when arraigned
before the bar of justice, would sometimes plead,
“ Nettie said it was not wrong.” But Nettie,
although sho often transgressed, for her wild
exuberant spirits would not be kept down, and
often overflowed, repented so prettily that for
giveness was certain; and withal she had such
a winning way about her —an inexpressible in
definable charm that she often provoked a smile
when a frown should have been forth-coming.
The little madcap was a favorite with every
body: and so she grew up pretty much as she
pleased, ‘having her own way’ when no one
could explain exactly how it was that she came
out victor.
School days are generally uneventful; and
the life of one school girl is usually the type of
all the rest. Theresa soon stood at the head of
her class, for she was a hard student, up early,
and down late; and commanded respect because
of her unobtrusive gentleness, her amiability,
her obedience, and her studious habits. She
had fine talents, but she was not a genius; but
by industry sho bore off many a prize, while
Nettie, on whom nature had lavished her gifts
in greater profusion, but who had not patience
to dig for truths.in the well of knowledge came
out vanquished every time.
Nettie was a loveable but wilful vagery, two
elf-like to be chained down to books; and while
Theresa mastered difficult subjects, Miss Nettie
tied ribbons on the neck of a kitten sho had
smuggled into her desk, and drew caricatures on
slate. Miss Dews reprimanded in vain—gave
tho ‘little princess’ a long row of black marks —
sent very unflattering circulars to her parents,
and reported her as “a little piece of wilfulness.”
At this last the little fairy would twist her copy
book into a cap for her head, and say laughing
ly “ There is one consolation Miss Dews, if I
am naughty there is not much of me, and take
me altogether I am but a very small piece of wil
fulness.”
In the meantime Theresa advanced rapidly
into favor; and the girls who at first laughed at,
and tormented her, were soon glad of her assist
ance when a “hard sum” was on hand —a diffi
cult problem to be solved. They ran to “Theresa
my dearest sweetest love” to write their compo
sitions ; and as she was too good natured to re
fuse even unreasonable requests, she soon be
came a favorite.
But in the hour of her adversity she had found
a friend in Nettie; and she did not as many
others do even ‘out in the world’ foresake her
for new loves, and new friendships. The two
children, so unlike, wore inseparable companions;
and when the voice of one was heard you might
bo sure that tho other was near. Nettie passed
more than half her time at ‘Aunt A'inton's now
‘she had grown sensible, and got a daughter’ as
Miss mad cap expressed it, and so she and
Theresa were almost like sisters.
CHAPTER V.
“ All beautiful and bright he stoo cl,
As bom to rule the storm ;
A creature of heroic blood.
Os proud though child-like form.”
To a little country home we conduct the reader
—to a cabin in the woods. See your humble
little eottege peeping forth through the vines,
with its clean white-washed walls, and its green
• window shutters. ’Tis the abode of honest po
verty.
The little flower-yard in front, with its rows of
[links, roses, and marygolds, tells of taste and
refinement. A woodbine clambers upon one
side of the door, a yellow jasmine on the other.
Around a stalwart oak the multiflora twines
with its profusion of beautiful blooms. The vio
let peeps forth from its hood of green—a modest
lilac hides beside a gaudy Dahlia; and rows of
box-wood, goodlio to the view, grew on either
side of the gravel walk which leads to the door.
No bird-cage hangs from the window, where a
prisoner, robbed of freedom, chants his subdued
songs; for the birds make nests in those trees
which overhang the cottage; and the occupants
of the cottage can listen to their wild sweet
1 music, as it is caroled glad and free, from tho
oak boughs.
From an old stump in the yard, a boy of
proud and noble bearing was declaiming his first
original speech. Ilis brow of beauty was lit up
with mighty thought; and his eyes sparkled Us
if a vision of future fame arose before him. Tho
trees and stumps seemed to him an applauding
auditory; and his bow was made as gracefully
as if he had been in the presence of “those who
sit in high places.”
One glance at his lofty brow illumined with
earnest thought told you that he was of noble
birth—one look of his clear lustrous eyes with
their intense of blue spoke of the undying genius
within. And yet his patched though cleanly
garments, liis thread bare coat, and his woman
like hands brown with labor thundered forth
the fact, that while Genius was one parent.—
Poverty was the other.
George Carletou Was the only son of his
mother, and “that metliera widow.” He had
two sisters who eked out a scanty support by
the needle.
Yet the Carletons had noble blood in their
veins, and it betrayed itself in their contempt
for aught that was mean and low. Even their
house, humble as it was, told its own story. —
The guitar, the chairs, and the few paintings,
which adorned the almost bare walls, were
remnants of better days; and they seemed totally
at variance with tho unplastered walls, and
uncarpeted floor.
The carpet, which had once known the tread
of happy dancing feet, had been patched, and
mended, and cleaned, with tea leaves, until it
was past all usefulness, and then had been cast
aside among the rubbish.
The little parlor was arranged neatly and taste
fully ! and every thing placed so as to show off
to the best advantage. Tho vases were filled
with fresh flowers —in the country, thank God
flowers bloom even for the poor-tlie silver candle
sticks contained wax candles which no profane
hand might touch—the books on the side-table
were fragments of a magnificent library. The
greater portions of which had been sold to satisfy
creditors; and the softly-cushioned lounge which
sat in one comer, and seemed inviting one to
reposo was a specimen of George's handiwork —
for George was a thrifty boy, and could turn
his hand to almost any thing that was useful
and profitable. Boxes had been converted into
settees, and when covered with red chintz
looked quite pretty and tempting; an old
barrel had been transformed into an easy chair,
and received the weary limbs of Mrs. Carleton
when fatigued with tho labors of the day.
Thus did this industrious family try to preserve
gentility, even in their adversity. Pride, and
poverty striving to “keep up appearances”—how
many fallen families have experienced your
bitterness!
The girls sat by an open window sewing, and
singing mentally, with a voice heard only by
the untiring ear of God, the “ song of the shirt,”
which the genius of Hood has given to the
world. The mother was arranging what stilted
writers call the ‘tea equipage,’ when George
entered.
“ A genius is a very troublesome article in a j
poor family,” began Anny the elder sister with j
a smile. “l r ou left your books and papers j
scattered all over the room. George; and its
general appearance were best expressed by the
words liiggledy, piggledy! When you grow to
manhood, should you marry a neat wife you will
be the death of her.”
“Never mind that—l have learned my
speech”.
“ I heard you spouting away like a young
Demosthenes* to inanimate objects. Don't you
think your heart will fail you when you stand
before the crowd ?’’
“ Never! / fail “ responded tho boy proudly,
“and I a Carleton! ‘there’s no such word as
fail’ in my vocabulary.”
“ I wish I had your sanguine temperament.—
I think if a Phrenologist were to examino your
head he would overlook all else in his admiration
of your largo bump of Hope.”
“ And why not ho[ie?” nil desperandum is my
motto —it has borne mo safely through fiery
trials; and I do not believe that the cloud by
day’ and the ‘pillar of fire by night' after guiding
me so long, will forsake me now. Why Anny,
I have strong notions of entering college; Mr.
AVeston has promised to defray my expeusOs; j
and I will pay him back when fortune is my
mistress, and I have said to Fame ‘ thou art :
mine.’ ”
“ I can not bearihat you should be a charity
scholar George. Why did you not accept uncle j
AVesley’s offer?”
“And have him taunt mo with it afterwards;
and think I belonged to him body and soul'? I
will pin my faith to no penurious relative, who
would grudge me even a six pence. No; Anny,
rather tho stranger, than the purse-proud kins
man. If I must accept a favor I will take it from
the one who offers it kindly and generously; and
not from the relative, who would give me an
education because the world thitiks he ought to.
That which is grudgingly given, my pride
must refuse.”
The new [>lan was openly discussed at the
supper table; and Mrs. Carleton coincided with
her son’s views. And so the bounty of an al
most stranger was accepted, while their own
heartless kinspeople were rolling in affluence. —
George had cousins to whom “By the sweat of
thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread” was an
unmeaning phrase —cousins who
“ Dwelt iD marble halls ,
With vassals and serfs at their side.”
while he, with double their intellect and worth,
had occupied the humble position of a wood-cut
ter ; and by his own industry had paid for his
tuition at the village school.
The Prize speech, which George had practised
speaking “to stocks and stones," was delivered
before the Trustees and patrons of the Academy,
and our young hero bore away the modal.
It was one stop in his upward career—may
his steady nerve, energetic spirit, and bravo
young heart, never fail him, until the last round
of Fame’s steep and slippery ladder is reached.
George Carlton entered college; and if ho
does not grow despondent in that miniature
picture of life, he need not fear the future. He
boarded in the family of his benefactor; and as
he was not willing to 4 eat the bread of idleness,’
when freed from school duties, he ‘ ran errands,’
chopped wood, and performed the services of a
menial. This exposed him to the scorn of his
wealthy classmates, who considered hewers of
wood and drawers of water as unfit for their
aristocratic notice. But George displayed the
unbending, undismayed spirit of a Casabianca —
storms could not appal him—and when the
present grew too dark and threatening, ho
closed his eyes to its existence and looked only
to the future which spread out before him a
bright panorama of achievements.
With a soul above the thrusts of ridicule, and
the cowardly stabs of envy, he went on his way
bravely; and when one of his companions taun
tingly remarked:
“You will never succeed—l shall wear the
laurels.” He replied proudly :
“Never, in college, or in life, shall you eclipse
me.”
Biit think you not that his proud soul was tor
tured by the slights and mortifications to which
he was daily subjected ? Sensitive naturally as
the mimosa leaf, he shrank sometimes from the
blasts which howled so rudely qround him, and
leaning his weary head on his mother’s faithful
liosom, felt that life was a bitter dream—a weary
thing.
But not often. He would rally, and determine
to earn out a pathway for himself, although his
aching feet bled at every footstep.
Man of the world! was there no heroism in
this boy ? He who at that tender ago could give
a smile in return for scorn and ridicule, who toil
ed in the intervals between study hours that his
board might not all be gratuitous, boldly defy
ing the jeers of the sons of the wealthy, and
great, who devoted his time to mental improve
ment that she might obtain an education, and
thereby support his widowed mother and sisters
—who heard scarcely an encouraging word—
who could claim no friends among his compan
ions because of his misfortune (not his fault,) pov
erty; and yet who boldly defied the adverse
winds, and toiled on —trusting in God—oh! me
thinks the boy hero had a spirit that warriors and
statesmen might envy.
For four long years George toiled through text
books, and class rooms; and if, at the end of that
time he had few friends, he had fewer enemies.
There was that about him which commanded re
spect ; and his fearless spirit, his frank disposi
tion, and above all his good behavior, and his
punctuality, had won the esteem of his teachers
and classmates.
So, when he bore away tlis palm from many
eager competitors, and was voted “ first honor
man.” Even those who were defeated were ob
liged to acknowledge that it could not have been
bestowed on a worthier student.
Commencement day dawned clear and cloud
less. The immense College Chapel was filled to
overflowing—every window was filled ; and the
aisles were literally choked with chairs. One,
by one the graduates came forward and deliver
ed their orations, until only the valedictory re
mained.
Our friend George, wearing his honors meek
ly, came forth, and slightly bowing to the au
dience, spoke in words of burning eloquence his
farewell. His speech, unlike the frothy Sopho
moric effusions which sometimes tickle the ears
of auditors, was a masterly composition, full of
grand aud ennobling ideas, w r oven into a fanciful
web-work which, while it pleased the ear, grat
ified the intellect, and impressed the heart.—
Never before had those old walls echoed to such
furious; rapturous applause—it was long and
loud and testified the heart-felt approbation of
an enchanted audience. A shower of boquets,
arranged by the fair hands of beauty, aud given
with her beaming smile, descended on the stage.
George acknowledged this unexpected tribute
with so many fascinating glances, and courteous
bows to the lovely donors, that he led many a
heart captive. _ ' •
“He is so handsome,” whispered the ladies au
dibly. “And so gifted—well worthy of the high
est honors.”
And elderly persons said: “ Young Carleton
j is an honor to his native State —his speech was
j well conceived, finely written, and admirably
delivered. They say he is a self-made young
| man, and has risen from the lowest depths of
poverty.”
“So much the more deserving of praise.”
The band played alow dirge like-wail —a fare
well; and then George smiling, and bowing, re
ceived the congratulations of his acquaintances.
Pompous Mr. Weston —his benefactor, shook
him warmly by the hand, and said:
“You have acquitted yourself very creditably
George. I may as well own that lam proud of
you.”
And Emma Weston, who leaned on her fath
er’s arm, offered her hand timidly, murmuring:
“You made me cry—you spoke so beautifully,
so affectingly.”
And George with a vivid blush, held up a bunch
of flowers, which he had singled out from the
rest, with a beaming smile.
Her face flushed, and she said: “Do you
prize them so much then ?—they are but a low
ly offering.” “And yet more precious than any
I have ever received,” ho responded gallantly,
as a crowd rushed by with more haste than grace,
; aud they wore divided.
The joy of George Carleton’s mother cannot
! bo described—for it beggared description. An
invalid for years, suffering from a hacking cough
| which would yield to no remedy, and skill and
i care could not alleviate, she felt repaid for all
| her toils and labors ; for feeble as she was, she
hail worked day and night for her children—
when her son, a glorious specimen of manly
beauty and intellect, delivered his thrilling val
edictory, “ winning golden opinions from all sorts
of people.”
The good have their reward sometimes even
in this world; and the pure of heart, however
lowly, have glimpses of a future life, unseen by
many who bask in the sunshine of earthly pros-
I perity.
George Carleton, after his graduation, took an
humble position as clerk in the book store of Mr.
Weston, prior to his study of Law which he had
chosen as his profession. His berth was a low
ly one for a young man of his ambition; but then
as he boarded still in. the family of his benefac
tor “ the situation had’its charm.” We will leave
young men to guess in what the charm consist
ed—young men who dream of bright eyes, and
“yield to the capillary attraction of waving ring
lets.”
Our hero wished to pay all his debts and be
gin the world independently ; so while a portion
of his salary was given to his mother, and the
rest to Mr. Weston who had defrayed his college
expenses, our industrious bee, who had no no
tion of being a drone in the busy work house of
life, contributed articles to a city newspaper; and
was thus enabled to lay by a snug little sum for
himself. Here we leave him, but we shall meet
him again.
(to be continued.)
—
Nicely Caught. —Scene—offieo of the Receiv
er of Taxes here in this city. Principal actor—
one of our largest merchants.
Time, about 11 A. M. Mr. T. looking very
much like an injured man. Stepping up to one
of the clerks—
“ Sir, I wish my tax bill altered, as it is outra
geous the way you have put it on this year.”
Clerk (looking at the bill) —“I don’t see that it
is any out of the way. Would you like to sell at
the price named in the bill ?”
Mr. T. —“No, sir 1 I—l think I would not
like to sell for that.”
Clerk—“ Will you sell if I add twenty-fivo liun
! dred dollars to it ?”
Mr. T. (Indignant)—“No, sir 1 I did not come
here to sell my property.”
Clerk (winking at some of the by-standers)—
“Mr. T. will you lie kind enough to tell mo the
time of day ?”
Mr. T., taking out a large gold watch, tells
him the time of day.
Clerk —“Mr. T., that is a magnificent watch of
yours. If it is not impertinent, what did you
pay for it ?”
Mr. T. (proudly)—“ That watch cost me two
hundred and fifty dollars.”
Clerk—“Ah, indeed 1” running his finger over
the tax bill. “Mr. T., Ido not see that on your
tax bill. I will just put that on.”
The roar which succeeded may lie imagined;
Mr. T., making a bee-line for the door, was an
gry, and the bystanders were much amused.
Religion and medicine are not responsible for
the faults and mistakes oT their doctors.
To speak harshly to a person of sensibility
is like striking a harpsichord with your fists.