Newspaper Page Text
82
Mitten, you have had a full display of all the
crockery, china, and silver, that your mother
possessed from the year 1773, to the year 1787,
when the whole disappeared with sister Jane,
upon her marriage.”
“You surely mistake some things, brother,
said Mrs. Mitten, smiling, “and, therefore, it is
quite likely you mistake the amount and kind of
mother’s table-ware. Mother never let us saun
ter about the table when she was fixing for com
pany. She never sent you in your coarse cloth
ing to call American officers to breakfast—— ’
“Just stop there a moment, sister, and I'll ex
plain matters to your entire satisfaction.—
When mother invited me over to uncle’s for the
evening, she invited me home again at day break
the next morning. I accepted the invitation,
and was prompt to the time, knowing that ladies
always get in a pucker when fixing for company,
especially for ‘ the Quality ;’ and that it would have
been very undutiful in me to add a scruple’s
weight to mother’s disturbance of mind upon
such occasions. I know I should have reflected
upon it with pain, as soou as the company re
tired. ‘Go,’ said mother, on meeting me,
‘to the spring, and fetch a keeler of water, and
take it up in the loft, and wash and dress your
self; and come down to my room ; you will find
your clean clothes on the bag of dried apples.’
I did as I was bidden, and came down in my
Sunday suit, and walked into mother’s room.—
She ran her eyes over me, pulled up my breeches,
pulled down my jacket, spread out my shirt
collar, looked for dirt on my neck and behind
my ears, didn’t find any, clasped my shoes a
little tighter, comlied my head, powdored it, and
bade me take my seat in the dining room. All
this was done, doubtless, that I might have it to
say, in after times, that I had seen General
Greene, Colonel Washington, and Colonel Wil
liams ; that they had supped, and slept, and
breakfasted, at my father’s house; and (per
chance,) that I had actually spoken to them, and
been spoken to by them. It may be, too, that
the good lady, finding me getting a little boor
ish, was disposed to give me some knowledge of
nice entertainments and genteel society. If my
improvement was her object—if she design
inspire me with military order, she missed it.—
When the officers first took their seats at the table,
I was deeply interested in their looks and con
versation ; but when I saw all the luxuries of
the table going under their voracious appetites
with a perfect rush, alarm entirely suffocated ad
miration. The vanishing ham, 1 didn't care so
much about; but as piece after piece of chicken
disappeared, and egg after egg, and biscuit after
biscuit, till all were gone but two chicken
necks, one hard egg, two slices of ham and three
quarters of the loaf of bread, I became perfectly
furious, and a Tory outright; and I said to myself,
“ if these are the sort of fellows who are fighting
for our liberties, I wish that Cornwallis and Tarle
ton (they talked mostly of them,) would catch
and hang every rascal of them.
“The same breakfast-set was paraded again,
near the same time, when Colonel Lee supped
with us, and never again until Jane’s marriage.
“And now, sister, raised as we have been,
where did you get your refinement in love and
maternal indulgence from ?”
“In your zeal to display all mother’s crockery,
you put one plate too many on the table, bro
ther.”
■ “No, I didn't; Uncle John was expected to
breakfast, and prevented from coming by a
shaking ague that very morning.
Mrs. Mitten had her tears turned to smiles, at
least by the Captain’s account of “the old folks
at home," and this was more than he ligped for,
after reading William's letter. He begged his
sister to give William no encouragement to hope
for a removal from Waddel's, promised to
write to him himself, and left her.
[to be continued.]
—
From a Late London Paper.
BIBLE PRINTING MONOPOLY IN ENGLAND.
On Monday next, Mr. Baines, M. I’., is to ask the
Home Secretary, “Whether it is the intention of
her Majesty’s Government, on the expiration of the
patent of the Queen’s printer for England and
Wales on the 21st of January, 1860, to propose the
renewal of that patent, so far as it relates to the
printing of Bibles and Testaments, or any restric
tion on the free printing of the Holy Scriptures.”
In these days of free trade, most people will be
surprised to learn that the printing firm of Eyre
ana Spotiswoodc, and the universities of Oxford
and Cambridge, ui e the only persons and bodies
who may print Bibles in England. The patent
was granted in the reigq of George IV., and is
very stringent, for, that nothing whatsoever may
be done, “ whereby the profits which may accrue ”
to the patentees may be diminished; it forbids “all
and singuar the subjects of us, our heirs and suc
cessors, whatsoever and wheresoever abiding, and
all others whatsoever,” to print “any Bible or New
Testaments in the English tongue, or any transla
tion, with notes or without notes,” or “to import,
or cause to be imported, sell, or cause to be sold,
any books, volumes, or works whatsoever in the
English tongue, or in the English tongue mixed
with any other tongue whatsoever—the right of
printing which is vested in the patentees—under
the penalties and forfeitures bv the laws and stat
utes of this realm in that behalf made and provid
ed.” So that not only any one who may reprint
the existing edition, but any one publishing a new
translation, or a commentary, or a polyglot, is at
the mercy of the patentees, who may at once drag
him into the Court of Chancery for ihe offence.
It is an important fact that the same restriction
formerly existed both in Ireland and Scotland,
but that it has now been abolished in those coun
tries. In Ireland, in 1794, the patentee applied to
the Irish Court of Chancery to restrain a printer
(rom publishing an edition of the Scriptures; but
Lord Chancellor Clare declared that “he could
not conceive that the king bad any prerogative
to grant a monopoly as to Bibles for the instruc
tion of mankind in revealed religion;” and from
that day the Irish patent became a nullity.
In Scotland, a lady and gentleman held the pa
tent, but in 1837 a committee of the House of Com
mons recommended that the patent should not be
renewed, and that “the people of Scotland should
have the advantage of the competition which the
free introduction of Bibles and Testaments” from
England will afford. The result of the non renewal
of the patent was most decisive—not only in the
lowering of Bibles in Scotland, but in England
also, so that the prices of Spottiswoode’s lists,
which in November, 1840, amounted to twenty
pounds, one shilling, six pence, had fallen in Feb
ruary, 1841, to nine pounds, fourteen shillings, five
pence, or about one-half.
The impression that the existence of the monopo
ly secures correctness iserroneour, in as much as
the patentees are under no obligation to print cor
rectly, while they are secured against competition.
In fact, some of the “authorised” editions have con
tained many, and some curious, blunders. One
old edition omitted the word “not” in the seventh
commandment; another called the parable of the
vineyard the “parable of the vinegar,” and so was
known as the “vinegar edition.” It was also stat
ed before the House of Commons committee that
twelve thousand errors bad been found in one edi
tion alone!
It will rest on the patentees to show why they
should continue to enjoy so extraordinary and in
defensible a monoply, and all who would advocate
any restrictions on Bible printing to prove why
the sacred Scriptures should be “protected,” as no
other volume is, or needs to be.
1 111
In Austria no one can receive a license to
marry unless lie is able to subscribe liis name
with his own hand to the certificate.
XKB 80R8SKI VXB&S JU» BMUSBXB*.
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS
OS.
the AUTOBIOGRAPHY of A GEORGIAN.
BY Wit W. TURNER.
The horseman waved his cap, and shouted.
He approached nearer, and all doubt was re
moved. He recognized Tom Harper, and an ex
ultant huzza went up, as he galloped in among
us. We grasped his hands.
“Oh Tom !” were my first words, “what do
you think of my deserting you ?”
“Think 1” said he, “why, you came off to bring
the rangers to my assistance, did you not ?”
“Certainly, I did.”
“Well, I think you acted very wisely.”
“But I felt very mean about it. My first im
pression was to ride back, and die with you, after
slaying as many of the red skins as possible.”
“Which would have been very Quixotic and
foolish.”
“I acknowledge it.”
“How, in the name of common sense,” asked
Captain Preston,” did you think that would mend
the matter ?”
“I didn’t think—at first. As soon as I did
think, I changed my plan.”
“Well, you did think then. But, Tom. how
did you get loose from the Indians ?”
“ Let’s start back, and I’ll tell you.”
The order for a countermarch was given, and
as we rode along, Tom first gave the Captain an
account of his old adventure with Shjyley and
the Indians, then of our morning’s work.
“When I went to get my horse,” he continued,
“and found he was gone, I tried to hide, and
might have succeeded, if the cursed Indians had
not sent part of their force around to cut off our
retreat. As luck would have it, they were rid
ing along, and saw my horse burst out from his
cover. Os course, they rode in, and scattered, to
find the horse’s rider. I was soon discovered;
and yielded myself a prisoner.”
“Without a blow ?’’ enquired I.
“Certainly. What would you have had me
do?”
“ Why, it seems to me, when I found my case
a hopeless one, I would, at least, have shown
them what a desperate white man, well armed,
can do.”
“ You’ve got a great deal to learn, Jack, as all
boys have. Had my case been desperate, I
might have acted as you suggest; but this was
not so, as the sequel has proven.”
“ I again stand corrected.”
“ Well,” resumed Tom, “I was bound, and
buffeted about considerably by the younger war
riors ; and then the greater part of my captors
joined in the chase after you, and the darkies.
They all soon gave it over as a bad job. you
know, and then they returned to me, in no very
good humor at your escape. I was in rather
low spirits, I confess. They all gathered round
in a ring to stare at me. Suddenly, one of them
approached, and said ; “White man, know me ?”
“His face seemed familiar, but I could not re
collect where I had seen him. He continued :
‘White man friend to me once. He forget me.
Ino forget him. Indian no forget friend. You
keep bad white man from shootin’ me.’ ”
“ Suddenly, I recollected him. He was the
Indian whom I had protected when Shirley
sought his life, and now I was repaid. He was
in authority, and, after making a speech to his
companions in his own language, he loosed my
lionds. They allowed me to take Shirley’s horse,
and I galloped back as fast as possible to relieve
you all of apprehension on my account.”
“ You were lucky,” said Captain Preston.
“I think, Tom,” said I, “we had better stay
close to camp during the rest of our sojourn in
Indian land.”
“ I ’spcct you’ll listen to me, next time,”
growled old Hinks, who had ridden near enough
to hear most of our conversation.
CHAPTER VIII.
I had my fill of adventure on the prairies.
I shot the buffalo ; I learned to noose the wild
horse ; I fought the Indian on more than one oc
casion ; and, finally, we turned our faces home
ward. Reaching the statiou from whence we
had started, I there bade adieu to my friends.
I rejoiced the heart of our huntsman, old llinks,
by presenting him with my best horse.
“Much obliged to you, for ‘Charley,’ ” said the
old fellow. I never was much afraid of the In
juns, and now I can be just as sassy to them as
I please, for there is nothing on the prairie that
can keep up with this horse.”
“I am glad you are pleased with him,” said I.
“Whenever he bears you out of danger, just
think of me.”
“I will; but when shall we see you out this
way again ?”
“Never, I expect.”
“What 1 Why, I thought from the kindness
you showed for our way of life, you’d fell in love
with it”
“I love it well enough ; but I must now fill
another station in life. I’ve got to go to college,
yet”
“I wonder es you are going to college! Es
you do, you’ll be spilte, by gosh!”
“I hope not, Hinks.”
“Yes you will. You’ve got the right sort of
grit to make a man, but college lamin’ will spile
you. See es it don’t.”
“Well, when I get through my course, I be
lieve I’ll come back, just to show I am not spiUe.''
“ ’Taint worth while. But I needn’t skeer
myself. Es you go to college, you wont come
back here. “ Don't go,” continued the old fel
low, earnestly and entreatjngly. Don't go. I
likes you, and I don’t want to see sieh a good
stick spilte."
“Hinks,” here interposed Tom Harper, “do
you think a man can’t be colleye lurnt, and a good
woodsman besides ?”
“That’s jest what I think."
“You are mistaken, then.”
“No, sir ; I’ve been hunting a long while, and
I’ve seen these college-bred chaps come out here
many a time to hunt, but they were just as ten
der and no count as a raw ’tater.”
“What do you think of me, as a hunter,
Hinks ?”
“You? You’ll do. Es Mr. Jack Ilopeton
here, would jest foller your example, he’d be a
man.”
“What do you think of Captain Preston ?”
“He is the right sort, es ever there was one.”
“Well, now open your ears. We are both
‘college bred.’ ”
“Is that a fact?” asked Hiuks, after a pause
of the utmost astonishment.
“It is afjet”
“Well!” again said the old huntsman, draw
ing a long breath, “that’s the reason you missed
that Ingun ’tother day.”
“And what made you miss the deer?”
“Dura the deerl I didn’t miss ’em. My
cursed gun wouldn’t shoot. But yours did, and
you missed; and let this youngster beat you.—
Let him go to college, though, an’ come back,
if you want to see him miss deer, an’ Inguns, too.”
“Never mind, you incorrigible old scamp,
when we start out again, I intend to follow you,
just to shoot down aU the game you start."
“Es you ken. I used to think you was able
to do it, but sence I hear you are college-lffrnt,
I think I can shoot better against you. But I've
got to go.”
Hinks came forward, and grasped my hand,
as in a vice:
“Good-bye,” he said, “I hope you’ll change
your notion ’bout goin’ to college, yet; but any
how, es ever you come out this way agin, re
collect old Hinks is ready to do any thing he
can for you.”
“Even if I come from College ?”
“Yes”—was the reply, after a moment’s hesi
tation.
“Good-bye, then.”
I regretted parting with Tom Harper and Cap
tain Preston, exceedingly, and urged both to
visit me, if ever they felt disposed to wander
to’old Georgia.
“You will never see me there,” answered the
Captain. “I would like much to visit you, Jack;
but my lot is cast out here. Tom there, how
ever, is a perfect cosmopolite, and he had just
as well go to Georgia occasionally as not.”
“It is by no means improbable that you will
receive a visit from me,” said Tom.
“Do come, then. I think I can show you
some people—numbers of so-called ‘society’—
who are possessed of the article called a heart.”
“Perhaps,” answered my friend, with a sad
smile. “But, Jack, I have never told you that I
am a native of Georgia?”
“No.”
“Well, I was l-om within forty miles of your
county town.”
“Pish! hush! I thought so noble a fellow
must be a Georgian."
“I can’t help feeling an affection for the State,”
was the answer, as a melancholly expression
stole over my friend's countenance, and his fine
eye assumed a dreaming, musing expression;
“for the bones of my fore-fathers sleep there,
together with those of my brothers and sisters.
Ah!
‘They softly lie ami sweetly sleep
Low in the ground,'
while I am tossed on life’s stormy ocean.
‘Life is a sei how fair its face.
How smooth its dimpling waters pace—
Its canopy how pure ;
But rocks rielow, and tempests sleep.
Insidious o'er the glassy deep,
Nor leave an hour secure.’
“Oh! it is a hard, unsatisfactory thing—this we
call human existence. But
•There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
They softly lie and sweetly sleep
Low In the ground.’ ”
Tom was completely lost in a reverie. I had
seen him gay, dashing, impetuous, and I had
witnessed the overflowing of bitterness from his
heart; but now, I saw him in still another light,
and I almost loved him for this new feature in
his character. A pensiveness almost holy seemed
to envelop him with its influence, as he con
tinued :
“Yes, Jack, the place where I was born, and
where sleep three- generations of my ancestors,
is still my property. Though the ungrateful
ness and want of toleration on the part of my
father’s old friends caused me to shake off the
very dust of my feet against them, my reverence
for the memory of my parents, and my family
pride, would not allow me to sell their graves.
But I have not visited the spot for years. The
house stands, no doubt, for it was of solid struc
ture, and calculated to resist the attacks of time
for a long series of years; yet, the lands are un
cultivated, and, what is worse, the grave-yard
must be over-run with weeds and briars, and
the tombstones covered with moss.”
“It is strange. No doubt it seems to you
shameful,” he continued, “that I have not at
least had an agent to keep the grave-yard in or
der ; but I wanted tiie sacred spot preserved un
profaned by strange hands; and, although I have
not seen it with my material eye for a great
while, many are the mental pilgrimages I make
to it, as the Mecca more holy than any other on
earth.”
“ I trust, then,” said I, “ that now you are
ready to go back; and I even indulge the hope
that you may once more reside in your native
State.”
“It is not impossible, though hardly proba
ble. Georgia is a noble State, in some respects;
but, oh 1 there are so many things in which her
children are wrong.”
“ Come back, then, and try to alter this state
of things.”
“And to do it—to have any influence or weight,
I should be compelled to enter into politics. No,
my friend—the very idea frightens me. If I
go home, it will be to live a quiet, secluded life.
‘The times’ maybe—nay —are ‘out of joint,’but
I was never ‘bom to set them right.’ That ‘cursed
spite ’ is spared me.”
“ But somebody must do it.”
“True; yet, hear me: I would not enter into
party strife, expose myself to the bitter enmity,
the malignant jealousy, the meanness, the treach
ery, of ‘ Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart,’ for the
empire of the world.”
“If you really wish,” continued he, “ to per
suade me to return, don’t urge these thiDgs on
me.”
“I will certainly forbear. Come aud live
quietly, then, with your books, and friends, and
dogs, and ” —I added, slyly—“ the pretty wife
you must pick up."
“Ah!” was the gay reply; “you tempt mo
now. Well do I remember the fair girls of your
State. I have seen the beauties of Eastern
Georgia, but they can’t be compared to those of
our Georgia. I remember one, Jack, whom I
loved. She was tall and commanding. I’ve
looked on the Queens and Empresses of Europe,
as well as the proudest dames of their aristocra
cy, and I’ve beheld the most celebrated beauties
of our own sunny South —the land of beauty—
the abiding place of loveliness —but never have
my eyes rested on one who looked and moved a
queen as did Leonora .
“I said she was tall. She was above wo
man’s average height; but her form was almost
perfect in its proportion. Her hair was very
dark and luxuriant. Her features were as if
chiselled by the hand of some more than human
artist. It is rare to see so much regularity, and
so much expression, united in the same face. A
complexion which the most skillful painter on
earth would strive in vain to transfer to canvass,
and eyes of dark hazel—some would call them
black—complete the picture, if we consider the
description of her physique a portrait.
“ But the soul which beamed from those eyes i
No words ean give you an idea of it. Often
have I gazed into those unfathomable depths,
those well-springs of feeling, till the power to
look away was taken from me, and I was per
fectly fascinated and bewildered by their beauty.
You think me extravagant—demented, perhaps;
but no human epithet can do her justice. She
was divinely beautiful—bewitcliingly lovely—bc
wilderingly fascinating!”
“My dear friend,” said I, “ what became
of this paragon ?”
“ I know not. I have never inquired; nor do
I wish to discover, for I suppose she i 3 long since
married. I loved Leonora, Jack —loved her
with all the depth of love of which man is ca
pable ; loved her with fervor wild and foolish;
and yet never ‘told my love’—l mean, never said
to her in words that I loved her. My eyes be
trayed it, constantly. Believe me, and recollect
this, for it may be 'of service to you—you can
not conceal your passion from her who is its ob
ject, if you indulge it as I did mine. You must
crush it, smother it; but do not hope to nurse it
in your heart, and at the same time conceal it,
merely by refraining from speaking of it.”
“ Why, I can hardly conceive, Tom, of cir
cumstances which would render it necessary
for me to conceal a love I wished to cherish.”
“ Nevertheless, Jack, such circumstances may
exist, and did, in my case; but I cannot tell
you more now. I hope to see you soon, in your
own house, but I can set no time.”
“I start to the University of Virginia,” an
swered I, “ soon after I get home, and will be in
Georgia only during vacations, for the next
three years. I hope, for your sake, Leonora is
yet single; or, if she is married, that you may
find Georgia still has other beauties.”
And so Tom and I parted. I started for home,
passing through Texas, on my route. At Gal
veston, I found a letter from home. For a long,
long time, I had been without tidings from my
father and mother, and I eagerly broke the seal.
I read, and staggered with emotion at the con
tents of my epistle. It was from my father, and
contained a summons to come immediately
home, if I would see my dear mother once more
alive. Only those who have been placed in my
situation can conceive of my feelings.
I immediately hastened to my hotel. Walk
ing rapidly along, with my eyes fixed on the
ground, I heard several persons approaching me
in conversation, and recognized a voice. It
was impossible ever to forget those cold and
measured tones, and I looked up to encounter
the gaze of Lorraine. He knew me at a glance ;
and the old expression of cold-blooded malig
nity came over his face.
I was too much absorbed in grief," even to look
defiance, and I passed quickly on, as he did not
offer to address me. Turning an angle, I came
suddenly upon two men engaged in a desperate
conflict with bowie knives. No one was near ;
though crowds from several quarters were has
tening up, attracted by the noise of the fight.
Just as I got close to the combatants, one of
them bore the other against a wall, and was in
flicting repeated and deadly stabs, while the
victim shouted, “murder," in the most harrowing
tones.
For my life I could not resist the impulse to
interfere; and I seized the arm which was doing
the violence. As I did so, he who had shouted
murder sank upon the ground. The crowd was
collecting, and I saw in it the face of Lorraine,
who had turned back to see the cause of the up
roar. I could not bear the idea of being de
tained as a witness, when my mother might be
dying, and breathing my name; so I slipped into
an alley, and continued my way to the hotel.
Arrived there, I paid my bill, sent my baggage
on board a steamer, which, luckily, was to sail
that very day, and at that very hour, and was
soon steaming away from Galveston.
The steamboat and the steam-car soon carried
me to the rail road station near Ilopeton. I
went to the agent.
“ Mr. Harris,” I began.
“Why, halloo, Jack!” he broke out. “ Got
back from the West?”
“Yes, sir, back once more.”
“ And you had a pleasant trip, I suppose; but
you look haggard. Health been bad ?’’
“ I’ve had fine health,Mr. Harris,” I answered,
trying to gain courage to ask after my mother.
“ Have you heard from our family lately?”
“ Ah! 1 see how It Is; you’ve heard bad news
from home, poor fellow!”
“ But how,” I gasped, still fearing to ask the
question, “how is my mother now?”
“I am glad to relieve you, Jack. She is out
of danger.”
“ Thank God!” I exclaimed, as I sank into a
chair, and covered my face.
My meeting with my parents was a happy
one, because I found my mother in a stato near
ly approaching health—at least entirely out of
danger—when I had expected to find her at the
door of death, or already past its portals. I re
mained at home a few weeks, though, till she
was strong and blooming as ever.
[to be continued.]
—
Tomb of the C.esars. —A correspondent of
the Baltimore American , writing from Rome,
communicates the following discovery:
“ Immediately beyond the tomb of the Scipios
wo entered the deep vault recently discovered,
containing the urns and ashes of persons attached
to the family of the Caisars. The largest one
contains six hundred and twelve stone urns,
and the smaller ones five hundred and twelve,
each filled with ashes and charred bones. The
walls are of stone, with pigeon holes, in which
the urns arc set, and over each is an inscription
on white marble set in the stone. The chambers
are about thirty feet deep, with stone steps and
an iron bannister to descend them, all as per
fect as when last used, 2,000 years ago.
Discouraging Childhood. —It is somewhere
related that a foot soldier, having had his skull
fractured, was told by the doctor that his brains
were visible. “Do write to father,” he replied,
“ and tell him of it, for he always said I had
no brains.” How many fathers and mothers
speak thus to their children ; and how often do
such remarks contribute not a little to prevent
any development of the brain! A grown-up
person tells a child he is “brainless," or “foolish,”
or that he is deficient in some mental or moral
faculty, and nine cases out of ten the statement
is believed; the f thought that it may be partially
so, acts like an incubus to repress the confidence
and energies of that child. Let any person
lookback to childhood’s days, aud he can doubt
less recall many words and expressions which
exerted such a discouraging or encouraging in
fluence over him as to tell upon his whole fu
ture course of life. We knew an ambitious
boy, who, at the age of ten years, had become
so depressed with fault-finding and reproof, not
duly mingled with encouraging words, that at
an early age he longed for death to take him out
of the world, in which he conceived he had no
abilities to rise. But while all thus appeared
so dark around him, and he had so often been
told of his faults and deficiencies that he seemed
to himself the dullest and worst of boys—and
while none of his good qualities or capabilities
had been mentioned, and he believed he had
none, a single word of praise and appreciation,
carelessly dropped in his hearing, changed his
whole course of thought. We have often heard
him say “ that word saved him.” The moment
ho thought he could do well, lie resolved that
he would—and he has done well.
— in mm
Monument. —A monument commemorative
of the foundation of the Russian Empire one
thousand years ago, is to be erected at Nov
gorod, at a cost of five hundred thousand silver
roubles, to represent six epochs: Burik (862),
Valdimir (988), Demetrius (1380), Johann 111.
(1791), Michael Feodoryiclit, the first Romanoff,
(1643), and Peter the Great—tho competition
being open to Roman artists alone.
]For the Field and Fireside.]
SONNET.
How they bark at me !”— King Lear.
I’ve roused the kennel! They are at my heels,
The whole cur rabble—the promiscuous pack—
Sneak, Skunk, and Scurril, dogs of low degree,
Who think my shadow much too large for me!
One growls, one yelps, another squeaks or squeals—
Well, with such venom, that in teeth they lack;
A stick, or stone, would send them howling back.
But where the profit ? ’Twere but loss of time,
And he who hath his goal in sight—such goal
As rouses all that's God-like in the soul—
Who sees his temple, with its towers sublime,
High, in the distance, with great dome and arch,
Looking fond welcome, urging him to march—
Hath little need to chafe in heart or mind,
Content to leave the curs so far behind !
W. Gilmore Simms.
[Written for the Southern Field and Fireside.]
TOIL AND VICTORY.
BY MISS ANNIE E. BLOUNT.
(CONCLUDED.)
George walked slowly to his hotel, and,
hearing music in the parlor, entered. Several
lady boarders were there; and among them a
stranger, wearing a foreign dress and foreign
manners.
They were talking with animation, all but the
stranger, who seemed to be “ a new arrival,”
and reclined languidly oh the sofa.
“Well, Mr. Carleton, have you heard the
news ?”
“ What news ?” asked he, carelessly.
“ Why, about Nettie Vinton; it is all over town;
and everybody is perfectly astonished!”
“All, but me, and I expected nothing better
of her mad capers. I always knew she would
come to some bad end.”
“ Why, what is the matter, ladies? Has Miss
Vinton killed anybody, or committed suicide ?”
asked George, with real interest.
“No; worse than that!”
“Worse? My imagination cannot conceive
it!”
“ Why, she is going to marry that fiddler, Carl
Rodweski, who came here with an opera troupe!”
“And is that all?” asked George, much re
lieved.
“All! I should think that was enough. A
rich girl to throw herself away in such a manner!
—it is positively shameful. Why, he may have
a dozen wives, for aught she knows. I hope he
has —it will teach her a lesson. Who is he, any
how ? A common adventurer —maybe a robber
in disguise—possibly a spy—at any rate ”
“A very handsome and highly gifted man,”
added George.
But the absent violinist had an abler cham
pion. The stranger lady raised herself from her
recumbent posture, and, looking around with a
polite smile, said: “ Ladies, if you hav* finished
all you have to say, I will give you some infor
mation on the subject, as you seem so intensely
interested. lam so fortunate as to be intimate
ly acquainted with Signor Carl Rodweski, having
lived since my early youth in Italy, and resided
for several years in the city which claims the
honor oftho birth of so extraordinary a musician,
who has made a successful tour in Europe, and
won plaudits in the New World. You have char
itably wished that he may have a dozen wives;
I now inform you that ho is far from being a
Brigham Young, and is so unfortunate as to be
unable to claim, just now, even one. As to be
ing au adventurer—the word has many mean
ings—he is certainly no fortune-hunter. Bom of
a noble, though reduced family, young Carl, hav
ing musical genius of the highest order, studied
undor the best masters, and made his debut in
his native city. It was a brilliant success—a
magnificent triumph. Being fairly launched on
the stage, he supported his mother, father, and
sisters, by the proceeds of his musical talent; and
his public fame, great as it is, is much less than
his private virtues demand. A brighter day
dawned for him; a miserly old relative died, and
left him solo heir to an honorable title and
princely estate. This redeems him from your
imputation of fortune-hunter; for he could scarce
ly find an heiress anywhere his equal in wealth.
Having become enamored of his profession, he
has, as yet, refused to quit it; and I must say
that, were I twenty years younger, I know of
no one I would sooner wed than Signor Carl
Rodweski.”
She paused, and one of the ladies, a little bold
er than the rest, asked aloud: “And who are
you?”
“ 11” she raised her head a little haughtily.
“ I am Katrine De Lodi 1”
“Wife of the eminent artist of that name?
Katrine Vinton, formerly of this city ?”
“ The same. I wonder none of you recognized
me.”
The discomfited ladies gathered around her,
anxious to pay homage to the world-renowned
beauty, whose husband's fame was on every
tongue. One of them said: “As for me, I always
believed Rodweski was somebody; his very look
bespoke noble birth. I said so when others de
famed him.” Katrine bowed, and gave her a
queer smile, but said nothing.
In about ten minutes, Nettie came dancing
into the parlor, followed by her stately mother.
“ All 1 Aunt Katrine, is it really you ? How
naughty of you to stop at a hotel, instead of
coming to us immediately.”
“I preferred to remain incognito for a while,
my child. I needed rest after my tiresome voy
age. Mrs. Vinton, how do you do? Judging
from your appearance, I should say that it was
but yesterday you and I stood brides at the
altar.”
“And you, Katrine, are sadly changed.”
“Yes; I have buried my husband—consump
tion was my rival, and death won him from me.”
Tears gathered in her large, beautiful eyes.
“Where is my sister?”
“Alas 1 wo buried her years ago.”
“Dead ? aU dead —all that I loved 1”
Katrine sank back on the sofa, and covered
her face witli her hands. What was it to her
that the world rang with her praises ? She teas
a widow !
“You muSt come with us now; I will send
for your trunks to-night.”
“Yes.” She suffered herself to bo led passively
away; all places were the same to her now.
After their departure, George Carleton retired
to his room, and sat there for a few minutes,
when he hoard a quick, nervous rap at the door.
He opened it, and stood face to face with his
pompous old friend, Mr. Weston.
“Glad to seo you, Georgo, my boy. Every
body praises you—it pleases me to hear of it, for
you have to thank me as being the first one of
your stepping stones to advancement.!’
Georgo started —his delicacy would have
shrank from boasting, or from forcing gratitude.
“I do thank you, sir, most heartily; be seated.”
They talked about a little of every thing, and
then Mr. Weston fidgeted, and said:
“Emma is in town; she is free now, eh!
George?”