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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.