Newspaper Page Text
98
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE POET THAT CAITT SING.
TO MISS
I am not a poet; I never have rung
A strain from my lyre that would make me a name.
But I've thoughts, I am sure, In my brain, that if sung
Would win me a niche In the temple of fame.
I list to the warbllngs of praise that the birds
In gratitude raise to their Maker above,
But I cannot translate them: too feeble arc words
To express such a measure of honor and love.
How soothing the sounds of the rustling breeze—
Or the pattering soft of warm summer showers!
How mournful autumn winds sigh through the trees,
Bewailing the death of the beautiful flowers!
The brooklet that dashes and foams on its waj,
Makes wild babbling music that all must admire .
The deep flowing stream breathes a tenderer lay—
All Nature, to me, seems a musical choir.
The soothing, the mournful, the gay and the wild
In Nature’s sweet harmonies, all are combined;
The lull of the stream, and the laugh of a child
Touch chords that must vibrate in bosoms refined.
There is poetry breathing from beautiful flowers.
Exhaling from bright sparkling dew on the lawn.
Ascending to Heaven in praise at all hours,
From dawn until darkness, from darkness till dawn.
Oh, were I a poet, most gladly I’d wreathe
My thoughts into verse to meet thy request;
But, vain the attempt! for iny rude harp can breathe
But feebly the feelings that strive in my breast.
Kanawha County, Virginia. • G. P. T.
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS
OR,
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN.
BY WM. W. TURNER.
CHAPTER IX.
“How is Mr. Warlock?” I asked of my father,
one day.
“His wound is entirely healed,” was the re
ply, “and he is able to ride all ovor the country;
but I am convinced he has some horrid secret
preying upon his mind. Never have I seen a
more haggard countenance than his. Indeed I
believe he is partially demented, and that he
will never entirely regain his health.”
“You are sure that his wound has nothing to
do with it, father ?”
“Entirely sure except in so far as its
bringing him so near to death awakened his
remorse for his past misdeeds."
“Do you think Jake and Joe have any idea of
the existence of the will in your possession ?”
“I suspect that they have.”
“Then are you not still in danger at their
hands?”
“Hardly. Suppose they should kill me: that
would not destroy the will. If the person to
whom their father has bequeathed the property
is known to them, he is in danger.”
“So far as you are concerned,” said I, “they
know very well that the whole community are
apprized of their feelings towards you, and if
violence is committed on your person, they
could not hope to escape suspicion and punish
ment."
“Very true, Jack. Well, I think they are
effectually cowed, any way. They would never
have attacked me when they did but for the old
man, and since he has undergone such a change,
they themselves are not nearly so rampant as
they were formerly.”
“There is one tiling, though, I do not under
stand, father.”
“What is that?”
“Mr. Warlock, it seems, executed that w ill |
after he was shot down on that unlucky day.” I
“Yes.”
' “And after he had become reconciled to you.
and professed to have great confidence in your
goodness and integrity.”
“True.”
“Why then did he did not have you present
as a witness, at the time the w r ill was written?”
“I did not understand it, at first, myself, and
I am not sure that Ido now; but I ventured
one day to ask the old man. He replied that
at the time, he expected to leave the paper in
the hands of the lawyer who wrote it, as ho did
not wish to trouble me with the matter, but af
terwards he concluded that I was the most pro
per person of all his acquaintances to attend to
the business —that this idea came across his
brain while Ilartridge was WTiting, and he had
my name inserted as executor.”
“So H'artridge was the lawyer?” I asked.
“Yes; luckily for the old man, an honest and
close one.”
My mother rapidly grew stronger and was
soon enjoying her former health. Everything
was going on smoothly, and I left homo for the
University of Virginia. I had now neglected
my books for a good while, and this abstinence
had whetted my appetite for the food on which
I naturally loved to feed; so I went into College
thirsting after knowledge, and determined to do
all that in me lay to gratify tho fond wishes and
expectations of my beloved and indulgent father.
Most of my time I devoted to the schools of
Ancient Languages, Modern Languages, and
Moral Philosophy. I was exceedingly fond of
Belles Lettrcs and logic, and general literature.
It was for the sake of these, that I attended the
three schools mentioned. I also paid considera
ble attention to physical science. Mathematics,
I was exceedingly fond of, especially as connect
ed with Logic, but the three schools just spoken
of were those most constantly attended by me.
I took particular pains, though, to exercise ray
body, as well as my mind; to educate myself
physically, as well as mentally. The idea of
becoming a mere pale, attenuated book-worm
was peculiarly distasteful to me, especially since
I had heard my lather so often express his aver
sion to the character.
“My son,” he said to me, on parting, “if you
do not wish to go to College, say so. If you
wish to go, in order that you may enter on a
course of idleness, and neglect of study, let me
know. It is best to do this elsewhere than within
the walls of a University.”
“I have been candid with you, father,” was
my reply. “You gratified my whim for a wes
tern tour. You have ever been indulgent to
me, and I shall now endeavor to please you by
pursuing my studies with industry and avidity.”
“I also tuought, Jack, that in this you would
gratify your own tastes and inclinations.”
“Your opinion is correct,” said I. “Books,
for the next three or four years, shall be my de
light.”
“I would have you, though, take care of your
health. Exercise your body. It is the worst
folly imaginable—it is sinful —for a human being
to destroy his physical health, the gift of his
Creator, for the sake of a little extra book learn
ing.”
My father’s advice accorded so well with my
own inclinations and .opinions that I deserved
little praise for adhering to it. I have already
mentioned the pains taken with my early educa
tion. What I had been taught, I had learned
thoroughly, and I had an excellent foundation
on which to build my university superstructure.
"BSCS BOWWBMM mO MM3 3fl®3iSl©3i e
For my physical training. I was regular in my
attendance on the school of gymnastics.
At the time of my arrival, I had not a single
acquaintance in the University, nor was I anx
ious to form a great many; but lam sociable j
by nature, and knew I must have some com
panions, or pass a dreary time. Among the five
hundred students assembled. I thought it would
go hard if I could not find congenial spirits, with j
whom to spend my hours of leisure, since these j
were representatives from every section of the
Union; from that where they “side-line the
geese on Sundays,” to the one in which bowie
knives and Colt s repeaters are as common as
tooth-picks and jack-knives.
For a few days, I tried at everj- opportunity,
to form some idea of the character of my neigh
bors, at recitation and lectures, by studying
their physiognomy.
One day at the gymnasium, I saw a young
man with whose appearance I was most forcibly
struck. When I first perceived him, he was
leaning carelessly against a pillar, sometimes
watching with a steady gaze the exercises going
on, and sometimes looking abstractedly around
the room. He was slightly above the average
height, but not enough so to bq,called very tall,
and his frame was one of the most symmetrical
I ever beheld. His feet were small: rather too
much so—his waist slender—his chest, over
which his coat was buttoned, broad and power
ful ; his hands delicate and white as those of a
woman.
No one, to look at those small, lily-wliite
hands, would have supposed for a moment that
they were capable of the vice-like grip which I
afterwards learned they possessed. This young
man’s hair was of a raven blackness, and, worn
much longer than ordinary, it fell in natural
ringlets. His face was of an almost preternatu
ral pallor, but was exceedingly handsome. Each
feature —the nose, mouth, chin —all were as
though chiseled by the hands of a skillful sculp
tor. So white was (I may almost say beautiful)
his countenance, that by some it would have
been pronounced effeminate; but around the
mouth and in the coal-black eye, was an expres
sion of sternness which convinced the careful
observer that an indomitable will was there.
It was difficult for me to decide whether fas-,
tidiousness, cold self-possession, melancholy, or
sternness was the predominant characteristic of
the remarkable-looking person before me. In
spite of the delicacy of his features, it was easy
to perceive that lie was older than most of the
students in the room, and long, drooping mous
taches aided to form this conclusion. There was
nothing of the youth in his appearance or man
ner. The self-poised, confident and easy man
ners of the matured man were his, to an extent
I have seldom, if ever, seen surpassed.
For a long time he stood, watching what was
going on, or lost in abstraction, apparently per
fectly unconscious that he was attracting obser
vation from me, and I had an opportunity of
studying his physiognomy well. At length he
roused himself to take a part in the exercises,
and when he divested himself of his coat and
waistcoat, I was struck with still greater admi
ration of his symmetrical figure; and when at
one time lie bared his arm. I saw it .was a perfect
model of strength and beauty.
It is hardly necessary to state that he went
through the gymnastics with the utmost ease
and grace. So little effort did they cost him—
even the most difficult —that it seemed they
afforded no strengthening exercise to his mus
cles. Everj' one stopped to see his performance,
and general admiration was evident, but no one
spoke to him. Finally he drew on liis coat and
left the hall.
“Who is that?” I asked of a student with
whom I had formed a slight acquaintance.
“Fitzwarren,” was the answer.
“What Fitzwarren?”
“Warren Fitzwarren.”
“And who is lie?”
“Havn’t I told you?”
“Excuse me, Hunter,” I continued, “but that
young man has excited my curiosity, and I wish
to know him, and something of his history.”
“Well, nobody here knows much of that. I
don’t think he has an' intimate friend in the
University.”
“You at least know where he comes from ?”
“I think he came here from T county.”
“He is a Virginian, then?”
“I don’t know, but I suppose he is. I have
been here already two j-ears, but I understand
Fitzwarren is a student of four years standing,
and I have heard it said that he intends to reside
here several years longer. I’ve told you, though,
that he has no intimate. He rooms alone, and
is not dissipated. He stands high with the
professors, and must be a hard student. The
only relaxation or amusement he allows himself
in company with others, consists in gymnastics.
In his rooms, though, he has masters in boxing,
fencing, painting, and music.”
“I should think, then,” said I, “he lias his
hands full.”
“Oh, he seems to learn every thing by intui
tion. You saw evidence of his activity. He is
said also to possess incredible strength, and to
bo the best pistol-shot now extant.”
“How old is he?”
“I don’t knoto that, either, but I think about
twenty-three.”
“You say you know nothing of his history
previous to his entering the Universitj’?”
“Nothing.”
“I would like to have an introduction to him.”
“Then I will give you one, at the first oppor
tunity. And by the way his rooms are not far
from j-ours, but if you succeed in getting much
acquainted with him, you will have accomplished
more than any one else lias yet done.”
“But what is his idea for remaining here ?”
“I suppose he considers this a pleasant resi
dence. He attends only two schools, now. —
i Medicine seems to be occupying most of his at
tention at this time.”
“I should suppose, then, that he is studying
with a view to practice.”
"I think not,” said Hunter. “From what I
can gather, he is too wealthy to need any thing
of that sort. Tho fact is, lie always appears to
me listless and indifferent, and, —1 tell you
in confidence—remorsefid. I am not sure
about it though, and I have no evidence except
liis manner.”
“You think, then,” I again asked, “that either
a thirst after knowledge, or a desire to kill time,
or both, constitute his motive for remaining
here ?”
“You have hit it exactly.”
I saw that Hunter was a free-and-easy sort of
fellow, with whom a stranger might venture to
be a little familiar, so I asked:
“And how the mischief did you find out all
this, Hunter, if Fitzwarren tells nothing, and
nobody knows anything about him ?”
“Darn it!” was'the nettlesome reply, “I did
not say I knew nothing about him, but that I
knew but a little.’’
“I meant no offence,” I replied, laughing.
“Oh, I am not offended, but, as the clown says:
‘you’re most too familiar on a short acquaint
ance.’ ”
“Well,” was my soothing answer, “I hope this
familiarity will pave the way to enduring friend-
ship. But really, and seriously, lam anxious to
know how you picked up this information. It is
not mere idle curiositj' which prompted the
question, for although I never saw Fitzwarren
till to-day, I think I have heard of him before.
“I got mj' information, then.” said Hunter,
“in the same way your are now getting yours—
by dint of bare-faced questioning.
■‘The truth is,” he continued, “when I first
saw Fitzwarren, two j'ears ago, I was about as
much struck with his appearance as you were
to-day, although he was then younger, and liis
phiz was hardly so remarkable as it is now. I
can hardly tell j’ou how I picked up the informa
tion I have given j’ou, though I am well satis
fied of its correctness. I am less sure, about
the wealth, than the rest, but he certainly is
possessed of a competencjv’ _
“He wears an appearance of great fastidious
ness,” I again said, “and perhaps he will not
wish an introduction.”
“Pshaw ! I don’t intend to ask him. The first
time I see j’ou in liis company, I shall give you
a I knocking down ’ to him.”
“Well, Hunter, under ordinary circumstances
I would not consent to this arrangement, but I
am too anxious to form this acquaintance to
stand on ceremony."
“Ceremony he hanged!" was the reply. “And
I tell j'ou, Hopeton, I believe j’ou can worm
j-ourself into Fitzwarren’s good graces, because
you’ve got some of that devilish rapt manlier of
his. You can look powerful cat-like when you
wish.”
“I acknowledge your compliment, was my
polite reply.
“But recollect I can see through you. You
like a burst occasionally, and we’ll have some
good times together. 11l introduce j’ou to some
good fellows.”
Nor do I pretend to say that I lived the life of
an anchorite, while in college. Boj's will be boys,
and I was nothing else. But this I will say, the
most of my time was devoted to study, and I
generally led a quiet life.
It was not long before I received the promised
introduction to Fitzwarren. I found him very po
lite, but, as I expected, exceedingly reserved and
distant. This was nothing, however. I was de
termined to know him, and I felt all the confi
dence in the result, as I was conscious wo pos
sessed some tastes in common. I sought every
opportunity to converse with him and succeeded
in drawing him out rather more than most of his
acquaintances could do.
One day I was in a book-store., when Fitz
warren came in and asked for a piece of music.
It was just such as I should have said he would
fanej’, being composed in a wild, weird, almost
unearthly stj’le. However, tho music was not
to be had, and he turned to go, with a disap
pointed look, muttering something about “pre
tending to sell mnsic, and keeping nothing a
man wants.” It happened that I had the piece,
and I called to him as he was leaving, telling
him of it.
“You are a musician, tlien, Mr. Hopeton ?”
was the surprised and rather pleased reply.
“ I play a good deal for my own amusement,”
said I.
‘ “I was not aware of it; least of all did I sup
pose you would fancy II Itisperato."
“Go with me to my room, and I will loan it to
you.”
Arrived at my lodgings, I produced the piece.
“Do you not play it?" asked Fitzwarren.
“After a manner.”
“Then please let me hear you."
“I have heard, Mr. Fitzwarren that you are a
most accomplished musician,” “and if I were
disposed to be bashful, that would be a sufficient
excuse for me to refuse compliance with your
request; but fortunately, or unfortunately, if
if you like, I have plenty of brass, so here is my
rendering.”
At the first notes, my guest threw himself on
a couch, and seemed to resign body and soul to
the mystic influence of the strange and thrilling
melody. Tho music was new, though I had
been in possession of it long enough to be per
fectly familiar with it. I had recognized it at
first as a piece of singular style and wondrous
power, hut that evening I was more than fully
imbued with its spirit than ever before, and it
seemed to speak a language before unheard.
The sun had gone down behind a cloud, and
the room was growing rapidly dark—so much so
that objects are becoming indistinct. Fitzwar
ren laj’ on the couch, liis pallid features seen
dimly, by the faint light straggling in at a west
ern window, his cold mouth shaded by his raven
moustachios, and his brilliant eye glistening and
abstracted, from the influence of the wild con
ceptions of the composer. I was gazing on
him, as he appeared tho very embodiment of the
•pirit shadowed forth in the piece 1 was playing,
which seemed to inspire me as I had never been
before.
Wildly and more wildly I played, and more
and more strange grew the expression on the
face of Fitzwarren. When the last notes had
died away, he still lay for some moments, as one
entranced. Gradually, however, his calm, self
possessed appearance came back.
“This is the first time,” said he, “I have
heard that piece, though I have frequently heard
it spoken of, and have been told of its strange
and singular character. As you played it, it
fully comes up to my expectation."
“ But let me hear you,” said I.
“ Willingly. Wliat kind of music do you
like?”
“Never mind what I like. Play some of
your favorites.”
•‘ I like variety; but, however "
He took the instrument, and with the first
long drawn notes, I could perceive that he was
a perfect master of it. First a slow plaintive
melody stole over the strings; then it swelled
into a loud, triumphant march; again it subsided
into a low simple air, and anon it burst into a
strain of the wild weird, style which IJ could
perceive he most delighted in; or a dance of the
most reckless, rollicking gayiety reveled over
the strings. In short, Fitzwarren played a med
ley, composed of the most varied and contending
elements—full of gems, though, and displaying
perfect skill and knowledge of music.
Finally, he rose to go, and as he received the
piece of music from my hands,
“Come and see me to-morrow evening,” said
he, “if it will not interfere with your plans of
study, or pleasure. You and I have some tastes
in common; as a fondness for music for instance;
and I see on your shelves, some of my favorite
authors—not very generally read by those of
j-our age.”
“I will be unengaged,” replied I, “at this time
to-morrow evening, and will certainly call at
your rooms. As you say, I believe we have
some congenial tastes, and can enjoy each other’s
company.”
The reader can readily imagine that I very
punctually fulfilled my engagement with Fitz
warren. The day after that, we took a long
walk together. He, like myself, made it a rule
to take a great deal of physical exercise. When
the weather was fine, we took long strolls, to
gether ; at other times we practiced gymnastics
or boxed and fenced. In all of these things he
was far my superior, although I was unusually
stout and active, for one of mj' age. Still, he
was a matured man, and had tho advantage of
long usage, while I had not yet attained my full
amount of strength, and had not paid the same
attention to these accomplishments that he had.
As to that, however, there was not a student
in the Universitj’ who could cope with him in
manlv exercises of anj’ kind. I strove hard
and, in the course of time, managed to attain at
least sufficient skill to interest him in fencing,
and some portion of every day we spent to
gether.
But still, lie remained a mystery. He would
talk at times, freely, almost extravagantly, on
any subject, except the one on which I felt
most curiositj’—his past history. It seemed as
if he had made a vow to say nothing concern
ing his previous life. I thought, too, I could de
tect evidence of remorse, but so slight, I was
not sure of the correctness of my opiuion.—
Perhaps I might not have formed such an idea,
had not Hunter first suggested it. Indeed,
when Warren Fitzwarren chose to be impene
trable—which he almost always did—few could
read what was passing in his mind.
Time passed, with me, swiftly and quietlj’. _ I
was interested in my studies, and pleased with
the acquaintances I formed among the students,
while my mysterious friend constantly excited
my curiosity. The end of the term —that long
term, for there is only one a j’ear at the Univer
sity of Virginia—approached. A letter I re-.
ccived from my mother, about this v time, will
give the reader some idea of what was going on
at home. I had. told my parents of my prairie
acquaintance, Tom Harper, and his promised
visit.
“Not long since,” wrote my mother, “your
friend, Mr. Harper, eame to see us. He is a no
ble fellow, and I am pleased because j’ou know
him. Never have I seen a gayer, more light
hearted man; and lam glad he has an idea of
settling in Georgia again. He has a small es
tate in an adjoining countj’, which he has not
seen in a great many years. There he intends
to reside for a while, at least. It is verj’ strange,
though, that he does not seem to consider any
place as home.
“Your father is as much pleased with him as
I am. Mr. Harper spent several days at Ilope
ton, and then set out for his ‘lodge,’ as ho calls
it, promising, if he could so arrange it, to spend
sometime with us, during your vacation.
“Wo have engaged quite a pleasant party of
ladies and gentlemen vo visit us at that time. I
will mention their names: Col. Banks and his
daughter, from Louisiana. You have heard of
them, though j'ou never saw them. Miss Laura
is a charming girl—at least she is a dashing
belle, and will inherit a sugar estate, and all the
appurtenances. Let me warn you, though, that
she has the reputation of being a considerable
flirt; so guard well j’our heart.
“Mrs. Ilolmes you know, and Miss Morton. —
They will be accompanied by Miss Morton’s
brother. Mr. Edgar Morton, with whom you are
also well acquainted. Os course your ‘Uncle
Charley’ will be on hand, though he pretends he
can hardly spare time for it.
“But Jack, you have heard me speak of Kate
Morgan—the modest, the wild, the mischievous,
the dignified, the quiet, the spirited, the merry,
the pensive, the fascinating Kate Morgan. I
saw her in the woods around Tallulah, last sum
mer, with sketch-book in hand, and was imme
diately captivated by her beautiful face. I was
in her company for several weeks afterward, and
obtained a partial promise from her to visit me.
A letter came the day before yesterday, inform
ing me that she would be here very soon, if it
was convenient to me. I immediately replied,
and requested her to come at tho time appointed
by the others.
“Perhaps you maj- wish to bring a friend with
you from College. If so, I will try to make his
visit agreeable.
“That unhappy old man, Mr. Warlock, is fail
ing in health. Mr. Hopeton says Dr. Stubbs
does not think ho can live many months. It
must be, as your father says, owing to a troubled
conscience; for j’ou know lie was remarkably
robust, considering his age, and the physician
is sure that his wound has nothing to do with
his declining vigor.”
The letter was a long one, hut the reader has
all which can interest him. What my mother
said about bringing a friend with me, decided
my mind as to a point I had for some time had
under consideration. I immediately resolved to
invite Fitzwarren to spend part of his vocation
with me. I had discovered this much —that he
considered the University his home, and when
he made short excursions from it, during vaca
tions, it was to him as going/hm home.
Although I had failed to learn any thing con
cerning his previous history, I had satisfied mj’-
self that he was, then, in spite of a great deal of
unaccountable, mysterious eccentricity, a gen
tleman of as good a heart as the most of man
kind possess. Besides, in spite of his proud and
disdainful reserve, I felt confident that some
secret sorrow, if not remorse, was preying upon
his mind. This, in addition to his lonely and
isolated position, excited my compassion, and I
felt anxious to do something toward relieving
the gloomy monotony of his existence.
Although he sometimes relaxed into affability
abroad, and had numerous acquaintances among
the students, the latter assured me that no one
ever visited liis room but myself. Not a day
passed that he and I did not exchange visits; and
one evening I asked him to go home with me,
at the close of the term.
“You seem to care little for ladies’ society,”
said I, “but if j’ou will go with me, I will show
j’ou some of Georgia’s fair daughters, before
whose charms all your reserve will melt away."
“And why,” asked he, “do j’ou think I am
insensible to the attractions of the fair sex ?”
“I never hear you speak of them, though I do
not lay much stress on that; but then I have
several times urged you to go with me to call
on ladies, and you invariably refused.”
“That is true; but never were you more mis
taken than in the conclusion you draw from this
circumstance.”
“I cannot see how this is so.”
“Then,” said Fitzwarren, “it is precisely be
cause I am too susceptible that I take care not
to expose myself to love’s influence. With me
’loving is a painful thrill,’ to an extent of which
you little dream; and therefore I avoid it”
“And why painful?” I asked.
“Because attended with the consciousness
that I cannot hope to inspire love in return, and
even if I could, circumstances of a peculiar
nature forbid mo to indulge the tender passion.”
“You cannot hope to inspire love!” said I,
surprised.
“It, seems strange to you, Hopeton. I look
in the mirror, and see that my appearance is
not very ungainly, though that is nothing, as
Wilkes proved—but the consciousness is still
within me. It may be morbid sensitiveness,
but if so, it is none the less a part of my nature
—of myself.”
As to the last reason given by my companion,
it was the nearest approach to an allusion con
cerning his history I had ever known to fall
from his lips, and I hoped he would go on to
speak of it more fully, but ho disappointed me.
“I would like well eno igh to go with you,”
he again said, “but you spoke of ladies, and I
suppose, from that, you are to have a party of
gay friends at Hopeton. Now my gloomy and
forbidding countenance would be like death’s
head among them.”
“No,” was my reply, “our guests will have
sense enough to allow you to look as you
please.”
“To be sure," said Fitzwarren, “they would
see but little of my phiz, for if I go, it must be
on one condition: that lam left free to stay in
my room, or wander in the woods, or in short,
that I spend my time in my own way.” But
that will not do,” ho continued. “He who goes
into society renders himself amenable to its
laws, and I have no right to ask for a suspen
sion of those laws in my favor.”
“But going to our house, Fitzwarren, is not
going into society. At Hopeton, we understand
true hospitality to consist in allowing each of
our guests to amuse himself or herself in the
way which seemeth best.”
“It would be foolish in me to urge further ob
jections, so you may expect to see me about the
second week of the vacation.”
“Can you not go with me ?”
“No,” was the reply, and although, on watch
ing his face narrowly, I could have sworn that
not a muscle moved, nor did his color change,
it seemed as though I could recognize the pres
ence of some cruel and harrassing memory or
spirit, with whom he struggled agonizingly,
bnt silently and uncomplainingly, as if despis
ing human aid or human sympathy.
“No,” he continued, “I shall be engaged for
the first ten days. It will be at least fourteen
before I can go to Georgia."
TO BE CONTINUED.
C.ukats Fixe. —The term carat, or karat, orig
inally designated an Abysiuian bean. Being
very uniform in size, and undergoing scarcely
any loss by drying, they came to be used as the
standard of weight, in Africa, for gold, and in
India for diamonds. Each carat was divided
into four grains, of which seventy-four are nearly
equal to seventy-two grains troy. This system
of carats and grains is still used in the valuation -
of diamonds. But in the case of gold, the term
carat implies, not so much any actual weight, as
a fractional weight, of which twenty-four go to
make a unit. Twenty-tour carats tine expresses
the unity of pure gold, and signifies, not the spe
cific weight of any given mass, but only that, in
the twenty-four imaginary parts into which it
may be supposed to be divided, there is no alloy.
The gold assayer takes his unit or integer six
or twelve grains troy. This small quantity is
most convenient for purposes of assay, and these
particular numbers are used for convenience of
the calculation. The six or twelve grains is
called by English assayer, an assay pound, and
is, by him, divided into twenty-four carats, and
these carats again into quarters and sixteenths.
The assayer of silver takes eighteen to thirty-six
grains troy for his assay pound, and divides it
into twelve ounces, each ounce into twenty pen
nyweights, and those again into half penny
weights—making, for the silver assay pound,
four hundred and eighty divisions or reports,
and for the gold assay pound, three hundred and
eighty-four reports. On the continent of Europe,
the division of the assay pound for gold is differ-,
ent from the English.
In the English mint, the term carat expresses
no given weight, but merely degrees of fineness,
of which twenty-four indicates purity. Thu carat
is sub-divided into quarters, and these again
into eiglitlis, making to each carat thirty-two
parts, seven hundred and sixty-eight of which
represent pure gold.
These varying, complicated and arbitrary sys
tems are the relict of an age which delighted in
intricate and perplexing mysteries. They aio
gradually yielding before the scientific demand
for uniform and universal formula'. Instead of
each trade having its own peculiar weights and
measures, there must come to be one standard
for all business, and ultimately one for all the
leading nations of the earth. Instead of one
measure for cloth, another for length, and a third
for land; one measure for wine, another for beer,
and another for grain; one weight for the apoth
ecary, and another for the grocer; one standard
for France,, a second for England, and a third
for America, there will be one uniform standard
for all, based upon the decimal system.
mm *« i -il
' The Milky Way. —The milky way forms
the grandest feature of the firmament. It com
pletely encircles the whole fabric of the skies,
and sends its light down upon ns, according to
the best observations, from no less than 18,000,-
000 of suns. These are planted at various dis
tances, too remote to be more than feebly un
derstood ; but their light, the medium of mea
surement, requires for its transit to our earth
periods ranging from ten to a thousand years.
Such is the sum of the great truths revealed to
us by the two Herschels, who, with a zeal
which no obstacle could daunt, have explored
every part of the prodigious circle. Sir Wil
liam Hersehel, after accomplishing his famous
section, believed that he had gaged the milky
way to its lowest depth, affirming that he could
follow a cluster of stars with his telescope, con
structed expressly for the investigation, as far
back as would require 330,000 years for the
transmission of its light. But, presumptuous as
it may seem, wo -must be permitted to doubt
this assertion, as the same telescope, in the
same master hand, was not sufficiently powerful
to resolve even the nebula: in Orion. Nor must
we forget that light, our only clue to those un
searchable regions, expands and decomposes in
its progress, and coming from a point so remote,
its radiant waves would bo dispersed in space.
Thus the reflection is forced upon us, that new
clusters and systems, whose beaming light will
never reach our earth, still throng beyond; and
that, though it is permitted to man to behold
the immensity, he shall never see the bounds of
creation. —Marvelt of Science.
—■ t r i i-
Discovery or the Tomb of Piiaraoii Amosis.
A letter from Cairo, in the Constitutionnel, says
that the general subject of conversation in that
city is the discovery which has just been made
by the well known archaeologist, M. Mariette.—
He has found, at Thebes, after long and difficult
researches, the tomb, still intact, of Pharaoh
Amosis. The King is lying in a coffin, com
pletely covered with gold leaf, ornamented with
large wings painted on it. Thirty jewels of great
value were found in the samo coffin by the side
of the King, as was also a hatchet of gold orna
mented with figures in lapis lazuli.
Some years ago M. Mariette had a similar
piece of good fortune, in finding in the tomb of
Apis the jewels which now form the principal
ornament of the Egyptian Museum of the Louvre.
The jewels of Amosis are still more valuable,
from their number and quality. This discovery
of a royal tomb intact is the most important one
that M. Mariette has yet made in Egypt.
Boston Traveller , June 11.
Virtue and happiness are true lovers, who,
although parted for awhile, are sure to be united
at last.