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[COMMUNICATED BT A LADY.]
PILGRIMAGE.
BT J. WOOD DAVIDSON.
I
Once, ft pilgrim girt him ready
For a journey long and lone.
To a sane, upon whose altar
Truth's eternal cresset shone.
O'er his life-way far and near him
Shone the fire that lit the shrine.
And his holy heart-devotion
Made his life itself divine.
All his thoughts were always tempered,
As he passed from clime to clime,
By that holy heart-devotion —
By that theme of themes sublime.
Every hope and every feeling,
Every wish and waking dream,
Every prayer, and care, and passion.
Caught the fervor of his theme.
Every scene seemed something better—
Better, brighter, yet the same—
Wood, and flood, and wayside flower.
Giving back that holy flame. „
it
Then, a palmer turned him homeward.
Back through stranger-lands to tread;
And again his path was hallowed
By the radiance round it shed.
And again—to life returning—
Little things he loved in youth.
Dear by every earthly feeling.
Whisper now a higher truth.
And again—as day-dawn beaming,
Brings to view scenes hid by Dight—
go, his life, illumed by soul-dawn.
Shines anew with inner light.
in
Thus, the devotee, adoring,
Keeps his heavenly Truth in view,
And in Faith's eternal radiance
Reads life’s minor truths anew.
IV
So, the heart that pilgrims trusting,
In affection's perfect dream—
Pilgrims o'er enchanted highways,
Lit by love's divines t beam—
llourly hopes that gather round it —
Like yon planet worlds above—
Borrow living lustre only
From the central sun of love.
All the life that love has hallowed—
Only in that love is life—
Life-creating love that saves it,
Blending God-like hope with strife.
v
Ev’n the heart ambition maddens,
Bidß adieu to all beside—
Lonely—coldly turns from pleasure,
Turns from all of life, save pride.
Pride's the wand that points the pilgrim
On from love—from life—to fame;
On, with single purpose giving
Soul and life for nought—a Mine.
VI
One the purpose, one the passion,
When a life-sun lights the flame—
Only one the vital mission.
Be it glory's goal, or shame.
VII
In the light by greatness kindled,
Nations recognize a shrine;
Thus, one noble spirit scatters
O’er a land its light divine.
In that light a pilgrim people
Learn to tread an upward way,
Higher, freer, nobler—onward—
Guided by that God-like ray.
Columbia, S. C.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
TOIL AND VICTORY.
BY MISS ANNIE H. BLOUNT.
When the performance was over, Nettie Vin
ton met them in the doorway. “Bon soir, Mr.
Floy. Why, Theresa, is that you? Did you
notice Carl Rodweski? ’Pon my word, I have
not heard a word of the singing; have been
exchanging love glances with Aim all the time—
and ho what Ma contemptuously terms ‘a show
man.’ Ts not he a fine musician ? I declare I
held my breath while he was playing, lest one
enchanted note should miss my ear.”
“Are you crazy, Nettie ?”
“Not quite; but I am determined to marry
Carl Rodweski, if I can get his consent.”
And the merry girl shook her curls, laughing
ly, at Theresa, who was slightly shocked, and
gave two fingers of her left hand to Carey.
Carey and Theresa reached the carriage— how,
they knew not, for the music had made revela
tions to both; and when Carey folded her shawl
about Theresa, he forgot to withdraw his arm,
and allowed it to remain there.
There is a joy in the first quick thrill which
tells us that we are loved; but it is a brief deli
rium, for “ the first step of love is on a rose—the
second meets a thorn." Soon, withering doubts,
chilling fears, and little jealousies, enter, serpent
like, into the new-found Eden; and the love
dream, be it long or short, bringeth more of sor
row than happiness.
Nettie Vinton came rushing in the room
where Theresa was at work. “ I am glad you
are all alone; my heart is bursting with its se
cret; and you know I can’t live two minutes
without a confidante. Ma is so wrapped up in
her own flirtations, that she wont listen to mine.
Well, still-mouth, I know you are dying to hear
it, although you look as cool as Tin ice cream on
an August day, and have less curiosity than
any specimen of womankind I ever crossed.
Give me joy! I have been introduced to Carl
Rodweski; and he sat for an hour in my own
house, and played me some of his divinest melo
dies ; and, marvelous to relate, Ma is as much
pleased with him as I am. You, see we have
discovered, by chance, that he is of noble blood,
and has a princely fortune, although he is a pub
lic performer. That does not influence me, but
it goes a long ways with old folks, you know.
I have learned it all—how, having a roving ten
dency, and an unconquerable passion for music,
he ran away from his parents, and sought the
stage. lie never hints such a thing, but pre
tends that he has to support himself by his mu
sical talent. Ah! Theresa, he is the handsom
est fellow that ever handled a bow! and the
way he does draw tears from my eyes, and lift
me up in the seventh heaven of rapture when
he plays, is—is indescribable. That's what I call
music! And he says ‘Signorina’so sweetly, I
can’t endure to be called Miss again; and I do
hale our harsh, guttural language; the Italian is
soft and musical. Well, I’m caught, I’m caged,
I’m in the trap! Who ever expected to see me
suffering under a real genuine love-attack ?’’
Nettie clasped her little hands over her heart
with such a woebegone expression, that Theresa
laughed aloud.
XK& SOtrXKKKIS. VXSXD ME® YHUESXSS.
“ Nettie, are you really in earnest f or is this
only one of your many whims?”
«In earnest! Os cowrie, lam. I wonder if I
haven't had my own way ever since I was cre
ated ? and a wild way it was, sometimes. I love
Carl; and who dares say I shan't ? I expect to
give up the ghost when ho goes away; and if
Ma doesn’t let me marry him, I’ll enter a con
vent, and take the veil —that’s all. I wonder
if I am going to sacrifice my youth and beauty
—(you needn't sneer—l am good looking, for
my lovers swear it on their bended knees ten
times a day)—to that cross old curmudgeon of a
Withers my kinspeople have selected forme?
I am no Eastern slave, but a free-born Southern
lassie; and I will select a husband for myself.
The life of a rover would suit me anyhow; and
I won't marry a man who will sit me down in
one place, and bid me stay there until I am called
for. If Carl wont quit the stage, I guess I can
go with him; and if he will, why, we will ‘travel
through this wide world over.’ He is the only
man in Christendom I would give the snap of
a finger for; and all the rest may go to Jericho,
for aught I care.”
“ Why, Nettie, you talk as if you really meant
to marry this adventurer, whom his friends
would fain pass off as a ‘count,’ to humbugpeople.
I think you are a candidate for the insane asy
lum? What would Mrs. Grundy say?"
“ What she pleases. Am Ito sacrifice my
happiness for what the world says ? I don’t
care for his profession—
*The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the man for a’ that!’
“I tell you, 1 love Carl Rodweski; seems to
me you are crazy this morning. I wonder if you
have a heart under that prim little quaker gown.
I wonder if you don’t think it a sin to love —
shouldn’t wonder if you did. And, lastly, I
wonder if my heart, in your estimation, was
made to lay down, under my chemisette, in still
repose, until Lord Moneybags came and called
for it. You are a little fool, Theresa —you always
were, that’s the amount of it—but you are a
good soul, too.’’
“Thank you! Your words have no weight
with me ; I have heard you talk before. Is
Rodweski your twentieth, or hundredth kindred
spirit ? You fall in love, and out, every week.”
“Oh ! hold your tongue. Until I saw him, I
never found anybody worth loving. I have
weighed all my grand lovers in the scales, and
found them wanting. They are one half tailor’s
and bootmaker's gear—t’other half, moustache
and walking cane; queer anomalies, minus
brains, minus heart, minus principle. Carl Rod
weski is a whole-souled gentleman—intellectual
and refined ; and three months from to-day, you
may look out for a card,marked “Nettie Rodwes
ki.” He has a heathenish name —not half so
pretty as' mine—wonder if he wouldn’t consent
to be called Carl Yinton ? believe 111 ask him ;
but ‘what’s in a name ?’ Good-bye, Theresa;
be in a better humor when I call again.”
Nettie danced away gleefully, and Theresa
looked after her with a queer smile, and little
sigh.
CHAPTER X.
And dost though ask what secret woe
I bear, corroding ioy, and youth ?
And wilt thou vainly seek to know
A pang even thou must fail to soothe ?
Is It that weariness which springs
From all I meet, or hear, or see;
To me no pleasure beauty brings—
Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me.
Byeon.
Now has descended s screner hour,
And with inconstant fortune friends return;
Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power,
Which savs : "Let scorn be not repaid with scorn.”
Shelley.
George now resided in the same city with
Theresa—a city, which, for various reasons,
shall still bo left nameless. He had struggled
on with poverty —studied industriously, and had
been admitted to tlio bar—tha meanwhile
scarcely having a friend, and living, comparative
ly speaking, unknown. Croakers predicted that
as the profession was crowded he would ever be
a clientless lawyer; and persuaded him to be
clerk, mechanic, anything but an attorney at
law. His sign, poor fellow, attracted but little
attention, causing sometimes a derisive smile ;
and he sat in his dingy office from day to day,
poring over books, and hoping against hope.—
But a brighter day was near—a client at
hand!
The case was a difficult one, and much legal
talent was opposed to the young debutant—but
on his side was justice and right. The closing
speech of the suit, which had been long pending,
was his. It was a splendid triumph, and he
came forth viejorious ; and every one acknow
ledged that right had triumphed because of the
mighty genius and powerful eloquence of George
Carleton!
His client, by him lifted from poverty to almost
fabulous wealth, paid him handsomely ; briefs
poured in upon him ; admiring friends flocked
around him ; the press, ever ready to applaud
or censure, teemed with his praises; princely
houses opened their softly gliding doors to him;
brother lawyers shook him by the hand ; lovely
maidens smiled on him—
“ Gold, gold, yellow gold !
Heavy to get, and hard to hold,”
sparkled in his long empty coffers; and his
name and talents were on every tongue.
Such is the power of genius !
He could no longer hide himself from society
—society had made an idol of him, and society
must parade its “lion” up and down before ad
miring crowds —invitations crowded his table,
morning callers gave him no time for thought;
and fops and dandies, because sensible people
called him a gem, worried him to death with
ceaseless attentions.
His fame followed him everywhere—every
where he was feted and lionized —and his mother
and sisters, away off in their quiet home, heard
the story, and wept and rejoiced.
A brilliant entertainment was given at the
stately residence of Col. Winsliip—“Pelion was
piled on Ossa.” and it was intended to be the
triumph of the season. Conservatories had
poured their wealth of treasures to deck the ta
bles, and adorn the walls—the tables themselves
glittering with silver, groaned underneath the
weight of luxuries, and Col. Winsliip and his fat,
fussy lady, flitted here and there to catch “the
far faint sound of popular applause.”
George Carleton moved among the assembled
guests, anxious to escape notice, but failing of
course—for the world had not yet tired of him,
and no new “ star ” had arisen to dispute his
laurels with him. Nettie Yinton, with no de
sire to entrap, sparkled around him with, her
coquettish smiles; and teased him about his
“ youth and inexperience.” Mrs. Lightheart—
a young widow, with greater weight of purse
than brains, made room for him on the sofa, and
begged him very prettily to fan her, for she “was
heated and tired to death with waltzing”—
looking up with a sham sigh, and a feigned
shadow on her pretty doll-like face, and whis
pering : “ Oh, it pains my heart to look at you:
you so resemble one who is lost to me forever.”
Mrs. Granby begged he “ would look after her
dear Julia, and lead her ta a seat, she so feared
that sweet child would fatigue herself with
dancing.” Mrs. Larkin politely requested him
“to dine with them at a social dining, and she
would show him some of her darling Araminta s
paintings—Araminta had borne away all the
prizes in the convent schooL”
Mrs. Clinton politely hinted that he should
“go to the sitting room, and listen to her dear
est Clio, who was then performing on the harp;
and who, as everybody said, though of course
3he was not vain enough to believe it, sang like
an angel."
Mrs. Wayne, although she owned the time
was inappropriate, requested that he should, at
an early day, contribute something to her sweet
Angelica’s album; and whispered confidentially,
“ The dear girl writes beautiful, verses herself;
and is said by her ultimate friends to eclipse
Miss Landon—but she is excessively timid —a
sensitive Mimosa; and could not be induced as
some bold vain young ladies do, to write for the
public. Count , the distinguished noble
man, had dedicated some lovely verses to her
beginning:
“ Fair flower of the human race
I bring this rose to thee;
‘Tis shamed by that upon thy face—
But sometimes think of me.
This gem, less sparkling than thine eyes,
And brought from distant clime;
I offer to thee in my own ”
“ Weak, wishy-washy rhyme,” finished Nettie
at her eltiow. Mrs. Wayne gave her a wither
ing glance, which she meant to be deadly.
But Nannie Winship, whom we have known
as a rude, ill-bred child —now ripened into an
unprincipled but wondrously beautiful woman,
singled out the rising young lawyer as her
victim.
Perhaps he was not insensible to her devo
tion —what young man ever is, when she who
offers it is handsome, wealthy, and fashionable ?
perhaps he was blinded by the bewildering
light which shone so brightly in her eyes—
caught in the meshes of those soft, silken curls
—led captive by the dangerous smile which
danced around her mouth.
Nannie was dressed bewitchingly in a pearl
colored silk, cut very low in the neck, and ex
posing shoulders white as Parian marble—her
round white arms were bare to the elbow, and
covered with costly bracelets. The diamond
pendants in her ears glittered and sparkled—
and the rich lace fall, which drooped from her
shoulders, seemed a ut adornment for a fairy.
George lingered by her, at least fascinated by
the spell she had cast over him. To tell the
truth, he could not well escape without a breach
of politeness, as she talked incessantly, and filled
the pauses with arch looks and little sighs. Sho
affected great simplicity—wore a baby look, and
folded her hands in a child-liko manner, think
ing to win him by her artlessness. 'While he
was talking she would look up and say: “Ah
do explain it to me. I am so ignorant; yet I
am very willing to be taught by you."
“ A finished actress I’’ hissed Miss Granby,
who was verging on old maidism; and had in
time angled for a husband with such bait her
self. “ All that may pass current with a man,
but it takes a woman to see through it—the
idea of a grown up woman playing the child!”
“ Women having practised the same arts,
can read more rapidly than we poor men, who
were made to be victims.”
“Practised the same arts, indeed! I am
obliged to you, Mr. Wayne”—and Miss Granby
tossed her false curls contemptuously.
George Carleton, with Nettie Vinton on one
side, and Nannie Winship on the other, was
standing near a table, looking over some en
gravings, when some one from the dancing
room approached him.
“Carleton, you are such an able hand, wo
have come to you to’decide a critical point.
There is au animated discussion going on as to
who is the most handsome lady in the city—
now I want your opinion.”
“ How can I offer one when surrounded by
so much beauty ?” he replied gallantly. “Paris
could not have been in a greater dilemma.”
“ You, of course, need not confine yourself to
the beauties who are present to night.”
“ Well, then, the fairest and loveliest face I
have ever seen—ladies, I humbly crave your
pardon I—belongs to a little maiden who passes
my office evefy day. Perhaps, if I describe her,
some one may recognise the portrait. She is
about your size, Miss Yinton, has soft brown
hair —devotion's proper hue! classical features,
and each one so delicately chiselled, she would
make a fine model for a sculptor; her eyes are
always modestly cast down, and I cannot de
termine their exact hue. But—l remember
now, I have seen you with her, Miss Yinton.”
“Yes; and I recognise the picture readily,
while I admire your taste.”
“ Who is it ?” drawled Miss Winship, lazily.
“ The young lady who is saleswoman for Miss
Snipper.”
“ A milliner girl, the beauty of our city!
Preposterous! I have seen her in the shop at
work, but was not struck speechless with her
beauty.”
Miss Winship spoke quite haughtily, and—
but she did not know it then —by that one sen
tence was undone the work o£ weeks. She un
wisely continued;
“ I had the misfortune to know this paragon
of perfection in my earlier days. She was the
child of a pauper, and my teacher had the
audacity to admit her to the school which I at
tended. Mama removed me immediately, for
I did not recognise her then, nor do I now"
“ Allow me to correct you,” said Nettie,
politely, but with that keen edge of sarcasm
which woman can use so well. “ The young
lady was the adopted daughter of my Aunt,
and when your mother learned that fact, she
was very willing that you should remain at
school, but Miss Dew, for reason? best known to
herself, refused; I cannot expect your memory
to retain all these little things.”
Nettie looked as sober as an Autumn day,
while Miss Winship, with a flushed face, and a
bad grace, replied: “We will drop the discus
sion.”
The next morning, at an early hour, George
found a dainty perfumed little note on his table:
“ I am horribly dull this morning—take pity
on me, and come over to cheer me up.”
Nannie W—.
He obeyed the summons reluctantly; and
found Miss Winship reclining in graceful aban
don on the sofa, attired in an elegant and richly
embroidered morning dress.
“ Excuse me for not rising. I have a woeful
headache, natural consequence of last night’s
excitement; for when one gets intoxicated on
pleasure, one must pay the penalty.” She mo
tioned him to a seat near, and remained silent
like a spoiled child who wishes to be petted.
But George was not in the vein—in fact he
was disenchanted. In an unguarded moment
she had incautiously allowed her mask to be
come loosened; and he had viewed the defor
mities which it was worn to conceal.
Gradually sho became more social; and George,
although he laughed and jested with her, yet
seemed absent-minded.
She felt that she had somehow lost ground—
for quick comes such knowledge especially to
woman—so crossing over, she took the cushioned
footstool at his feet—perfectly in keeping with
the child caracter she had assumed, and said :
“ You look unhappy; if my poor sympathy can
avail you anything; it is yours.”
“ Thank you; but I do not know that I par
ticularly need sympathy just now,”
“You scorn the humble offering, then; and
yet my heart tells me that you have some hid
den grief which ‘corrodes your comfort’ and ‘de
stroys your ease.’ Ah! it is not well thus to
hoard up sorrow. The grief that is shared be
comes less painful, even as joy is augmented
when another partakes of it. Let me be your
soul-sister —pour into my sympathizing ear that
which troubles you.”
George looked up in astonishment; here was,
to him, a new feature in that intricate problem,
woman nature.
He smiled. “ I suppose I may plead that ro
mantic disease, love disappointment"
She placed her hand on his, unconsciously, and
withdrew it quickly, with a vivid blush.
“ I would not pine for a false one, nor waste
one sigh on the faithless; other hearts will beat
for you. Accept their love, and be happy.”
She cast her eyes down, and played with a
tassel of the ottoman. He disguised his rising
disgust, and replied:
“Nay, tempt me not to love again,
I’ve tried It once, and found it pain."
“ But that need not nerve your heart against
its gentle influence. Your last love may be
happier.”
He could not mistake her meaning. Ah!
when will woman learn that a heart easily won
is valued lightly; and that her wooing can ex*
■cite no other emotion but contempt in the bosom
of a man of sense and refinement. George
quoted:
44 To me no pleasure beauty brings—
Thine eyes have scarce a charm Tor me
and walked to his hotel, repeating to himself:
“ Thank God, I have no sister who resembles
Miss Winship.”
* * * * * * *
Carey Floy was a fashionable, heartless, un
principled young man. Ho never loved The
resa ; he never loved any one but himself. He
was incapable of a sincere, unselfish love for a
virtuous and worthy object. He knew that
Theresa was beautiful, pure, and excellent; and
that she loved him with all of her woman’s truth
and devotion. And he resolved to continue his
attentions, prosecute zealously.his suit, and never
to marry her. How often do we see—but it’s
past my philosophy to tell how and why it is—
how often do wc see lovely, pure, and excellent
young women, well educated, too, and strongly
grounded in religious principles, and seemingly
capable of properly appreciating character, be
stowing their priceless wealth of love upon the
most wortliless and undeserving of the other
sex!
At an interview which occurred very shortly
after the date at which we last saw them, Carey
Floy, presuming upon the controlling strength of
her attachment to him, had the audacity to in
form Theresa of his own engagement to be mar
ried to another lady, who was his equal in so
cial position and of great wealth. “He did
not love that lady,” he said, “and never would.
It was, however, an expedient match, and he
intended to marry her. But it was Theresa, and
Theresa alone, that he really loved, and would
ever love.” The unhappy girl, the moment sho
comprehended his speech, started from hire «s
from an adder. Not a worn escaped her lips.
She stood for a moment like one staggered by
a sudden blow; then, giving him a look of
unutterable anguish and scorn, she fled from his
presence. saw him again.
But the shock was too much for her. This
cruel termination to her dream of love —this*
sudden, and ruthless crushing of hope, and of
her fondest woman’s affection —with the bitter
conviction, which was forced upon her, of the
unworthiness and perfidy of him she had so
deeply confided in, brought on a serious attack
of illness with delirium. She lay for weeks,
seemingly at the point of death. But the recupera
tive energies inherent in youth finally prevailed;
and at the date of the opening of the succeeding
chapter, Theresa was slowly convalescent.
CHAPTER XI.
It was not thus in other days we met;
Hath time, hath absence taught thee to forget?
Remans.
In the darkest night, and the bright daylight,
In earth, and sea, and sky;
In every home of human thought
Will love be lurking nigh.
N. P. Willis
George Carlton at at his office window, look
ing for Theresa-yes, allowing his eyes to wander
up and down street in search of her, and she a
stranger.
He had watched her often as she passed to
and from her work. And as he himself had
toiling sisters, he began to feel interested in
the pale, beautiful young girl who toiled early
and late. His law office was directly in her
way; and he saw her so often that he learned,
naturally enough, to watch for her, morning and
evening; and to feel slightly disappointed when
anything detained her later than usual. Some
times he saw her leaning glad and happy on the
arm of one, whom he recognised as the son of a
distinguished statesman and millionaire; and
his heart trembled for her then; for his own sad
experience had told him that between those
whom fate has separated by a difference in rank
and fortune there can be no love without
misery.
For several days he had missed the light
footstep which tripped so noiselessy up and down
the street; and he wondered at it, and worried
over it, more than most people would worry
over a stranger.
The mystery was soon solved by a conversa
tion which he chanced to overhear, between
two girls who had paused beneath his window.
“ A second edition of the downfall of Grecee
and Rome,” said one—“ for I’m sure Theresa’s
hopes towered as high, when Carey Floy was
making a fool of her, as ever did the palatial
mansions of those historic spots.”
Her name was Theresa, then—George listened
eagerly.
“They say her life is despaired of; she has
been sick for a week. 1 know the cause, and
they needn’t talk to me of fever. Some kind
friend has doubtless told her that Carey Floy is
about to be married. / knew it all the while;
but I wouldn’t tell her. I wanted to see how
high she would soar among the clouds. Going
to the Opera with Carey Floy! now, wasn’t she
elevateds”
“ I wonder how she feels now. I’m real glad
of it—she deserved no better fate. It will teach
her how to look above her betters; hut pride
always will take a fall.”
“Always.” They shook hands.
“ What does Miss Snipper say?'’
“Oh 1 she is Theresa-ised. Nettie Yinton (or
her purse,) has made her believe that Theresa
is just from tlie moon. But I must go.”
George curled his lips scornfully at these cow
ardly stabs in the dark. If there was one class
of mean persons ho detested more than another,
it was the mischief-making and envious.
Somehow, he began to feel an unaccountable,
and also ungovernable, desire to see and
know Theresa. His fancy painted her, ill and
suffering, with no kind hand to bathe her fevered
brow—no love-toned voice to murmur consola
tion. Then, he went back to his own past —
the wound which had been given him by fate,
had been healed by the kindly hand of time—but
it bled sometimes, even now, for
“ Ever and anon, of griefs subdued.
There comes a token, like a scorpion's sting."
Venus had married Vulcan for, perhaps, the
hundredth time; and Emma Weston, fair and
beautiful as a dream, answered to the title of
Mrs. Lipscombe.
They bad met —met once only. It happened
thus : he was walking down street one after
noon, and saw some ladies endeavoring to de
scend from a carriage—the horses being shy
and restive. With that chivalrous gallantry,
characteristic of the true Southerner, George
lent his assistance. And when the jewelled fin
gers of the last one who descended were placed
in the hand he offered, he needed not to raise
the veil which hid her features— the hand was
Emma's! *
There is something in the touch of a beloved
hand, different from any other hand in the world
—it sends a thrill through every vein, and, oh !
if that hand which has once nestled fondly in
thine, be another's —then, God pity thee.
Emma did not see him until he had taken her
hand ; and as his well-remembered features rose
before her suddenly, she repressed a scream.—
She trembled in every nerve, and seemed near
fainting, but he was outwardly calm and un
moved.
He made no attempt to speak, but touching
his hat politely, as though she had been any
other woman in the world, he passed on, leaving
her, standing, gazing blankly after him, with the
look of one who has lost all consciousness.
Poor Emma 1
“Thy features do not bear the light
They wore in happier days,
Though still there may be much to love,
There’s little left to'praise."
—thy once round and blooming cheek is thin and
sunken—thy eyes are dull and lustreless—the
canker-worm within, while gnawing at thy
heart-strings, has also destroyed thy young
beauty.«
And such are the consequences which natu
rally result from those unnatural marriages,
which worldly parents prepare for their victim
ized children. Happiness must be sacrificed ;
and hearts crushed under the Juggernaut wheels
of Mammon. Every day some broken heart is
laid an offering on the altars which Christian
men have erected for the worship of their idol—
Gold.
We shrink from the thought that beautiful
Eastern women are sold to the highest bidder ;
but in our own fair land the same barbarous
scene is enacted year after year.
[to be continued.]
—
NAMES OF DATS—THEIR ORIGIN
The days of the week derive their names from
the idols, which our Saxon ancestors worship
ped.”
The Idol of the Sun. —This idol, which repre
sented the glorious luminary of the day, was
the chief object of their worship. It is described
like the bust of a man, set upon a pillar,
holding, with outstretched arms, a burning
wheel before his breast. The first day of the
week was especially dedicated to its ado
ration, which they termed the Sun's Deny;
hence is derived the word Sunday.
The Idol of the Moon. —The next was the idol
of the Moon, which they worshipped on the
second day of the week, called by them Moon’s
Deag ; —and since by us, Monday. The form
of this idol is intended to represent a woman,
habited in a short coat, and a hoop, and two
long ears. The moon which she holds in her
hand designates the quality.
The Idol of Tuisco. —Tuisco was at first deified
as the father and the ruler of the Teutonic race,
but in course of time he was worshipped as the
sun of the earth. From this came the Saxon
words, Tuisco's Deag, which we call Tuesday.
Ho is represented standing on a pedestal, as an
old aud venerable sage, clothed in the skin, of
an animal, and holding a sceptre in the right
hand.
The Idol Woden, or Odin. —Woden, or Odin,
was one of the supreme divinity of the northern
nations. This hero is supposed to have emigrat
ed from the East, but from what country, or at
what time, is not known. His exploits form
the greatest part of the mythological creed of
the northern nations and his achievements are
magnificent beyond all credibility. The name
of the fourth day of the week, called by the
Saxons Woden Dory, and by us Wednesday,
is derived from this personage. Woden is rep
resented in a bold and martial attitude, clad in
armor, with a broad sword uplifted, in his right
hand.
The Idol Thor. —Thor, the eldest and bravest
of the sons of Woden and Friga, was, after
his parents, considered as the greatest god
among the Saxons and Danes. To him the fifth
day of the week, called by them Thor's Daeg,
and by us Thursday, was consecrated. Thor
is represented as sitting on a throne, with a
crown of gold on his head, adorned with a circle
in front, wherein were set twelve bright bur
nished gold stars, and with a regal sceptre in
his right hand. ,
The Idol Friga, or Frega. —Friga, or Frega,
was the wife of Woden, or Odin; and next to
him the most reverend divinity among the
heathen Saxons, Danes, and other northern na
tions. In the most ancient times, Friga, or
Frea, was the same with the goddess
Hertha or Earth. To her the sixth day of the
week was consecrated, which by the Saxons was
written ,Freg%s Daeg, corresponding with
our Friday. Friga is represented with a drawn
sword in her right hand, and a bow in her left.
The Idol Seator. —The idol Seator is represen
ted on a pedestal, whereon is placed a perch,
on the sharp, prickled back of which he stood.
His head was uncovered, and his visage lean.
In his left hand he held up a wheel, and in
his right hand was a pail of water, wherein
were flowers and fruits, and his dress consisted
of a long coat, gorted with linen. The applica
tion given to the day, of his celebration is still
retained. The Saxons named it Seutor's Deag ,
which we call Saturday.
4>» ■———
Punctuality is but Honesty.— A committee
of eight ladies, in the neighborhood of London,
was appointed to meet on a certain day at
twelve o’clock. Seven of them were punctual,
but the eighth came hurrying in, with many
apologies for being a quarter of on hour behind
the time. It had passed away without her
being aware of its being so late, &c. A Quaker
lady present said, ‘‘Friend, I am not so clear
that wo should admit thy apology. It were
matter of regret that thou shouldst have wasted
thine own quarter of an hour; but here are
seven beside thyself whose time thou hast also
consumed, amounting in the whole to two hours,
and seven-eighths of it was not thine own proper
ty.”-