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[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
TO MYHSTEB.
I hare been thinking, sister.
Os the pleasant days of yore,
When you and I were children.
Flaying upon life's shore;
When we sighed but for the future,
And dreamed it had in store
Far more of Joy and sunshine,
Than the days that passed before;
When in youth we read together,
Building castles in the air,
That faded from us quickly.
Like almost all that's fair;
When our laugh was merry music,
And hearts, untouched by care,
Loved all, and found new beauty,
Daily and every where 1
Oh, I have sadly changed since then;
The strifes of manhood now
Are cutting many an ugly scar
Too deeply on my brow!
I'm changed, but 'twere an unkind task
• To tell thee why or how,
I would not even share with thee
The griefs 'neath which I bow.
And you, perchance, are not the same
As in life's morning hours,
When we, like two gay butterflys.
Sought sweetness 'mid the flowers.
No more, alas! they'll come no more—
Those joyous times of ours.
Our barks have floated out to sea,
Far from those sunny bowers.
We may not meet upon the tide
That's bearing us from shore,
But steer aright! we'll meet in ]>ort,
Life's stormy passage o'er!
Then, pure of heart as children arc,
Far happier than before.
At home, we'll tread the golden streets,
And meet to part no more!
G. F. T.
Kanawha, Va, June 23d, 1869.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS
OK,
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN.
BY WM. W. TURNER.
Bear reader, do not be uneasy about Mrs.
Holmes’ heart, for she is fully equal to the task
of taking care of it. As to Uncle Charley’s ob
ject, you will discover soon enough what it was.
Time frequently hangs heavy on the heads of
these fashionable people, and they get up flirta
tions, merely pour passer le temps. They mean
no harm in the world by it; the thing being per
fectly understood on both sides, they neither
“ chate nor are ebated." They go into it with
their eyes open, and it is merely a trial of skill,
in which the heart is not the least concerned.
In this view of the case, cannot even a man
whose “ heart is in the right place,” indulge in a
little flirtation, without doing violence to his na
tural goodness ? I imagine this to be one of
the very cases alluded to, whereas, Mrs. Holmes
expressed it, they were “ forewarned and fore
warned all around;’’ for my father had told Un
cle Charley of the conversation in the colonnade
and of his having read to the ladies extracts
from that letter. Do not judge Uncle Charley
too harshly, till you see the result of the flirta
tion.
“ Harry,” said my father’s friend to him one
night, when all the rest of the company had re
tired ; “ I do not feel the least sleepy, and you do
not look so; suppose you go to my room and
try a cigar.”
“ Are they good, Charley ?”
“ Come with me and see.”
“There, sir!” continued Uncle Charley, after
they had reached the room, as he opened a box
and held it close under his friend’s olfactories. —
“ See if they are not superior to anything you’ve
smoked lately.”
“They do look like a fair article,” was the
reply, as my father inhaled their delicious
aroma.
“ Try one, Harry, and don’t put on such airs.”
Charley, I shall not be surprised to find them
almost equal to my E. D’s."
“ Just listen to the man! * Hear till him!"
They both lit weeds, and my father dropped
into a luxurious arm chair, while his companion
stretched himself at full length on a couch by
one ofthe low-cut windows, and leaning out of
it, gazed upon the silent dark grove below.—
The moon was the faintest sort of a crescent,
and cast a few silvery threads of light over the
dense foliage, penetrating it only here and there.
No sound was heard on the still night air, save
the tremulous chime of the Katy-dids, and the
softened murmur of distant water. A slight
breeze was stirring the leaves of the oaks, and
the dreamer bent over to catch it. Thousands
of fire-flies glanced through the deep shade, with
their sparkling, fitful light.
“ Henry,” at length said Uncle Charley, “ how
can you sit there instead of looking out upon
this magnificent scene ? It is beautiful—lovely,
beyond the power of description. Look at the
deep shadow cast by these immense old trees,
with a few lines of light streaming across it.—
Listen at the singing and the enchanting sound
of that distant waterfall.”
“ Yes,” replied my father, a3 he puffed out a
thin cloud of smoke which eddied slowly, grace
fully, etherially, around his head, but not stir
ring from his seat, “ I suppose it is all very
beautiful, and have thought so all the time; but
you have seen it frequently before, and how
does it happen you've just concluded to remark
its lovely features ?”
“ I’ve admired it always.”
“ Perhaps so ; but how happens it you’ve
never expressed your admiration ? Something
has certainly occurred to give a romantic tinge
to your thoughts. What is it, my friend ?”
“ Pshaw ! Can’t you allow a man to speak of
the beauties which the God of Nature has
spread out before him, but you must accuse him
of romance ?”
“ Hal ha ! ha !” laughed Uncle Charley’s
companion. “ Now, lam sure there is some
thing the matter with you.”
Then ensued an interval of silence, during
which the two friends puffed their cigars, and
ruminated. My father had lighted on a train of
thought which seemed to absorb liim for some
moments. At length he broke the silence.
“ Charley do you not believe marriage es
sential to a man’s happiness ?”
“ Y-e-e-e-s;’’ was the hesitating reply—“ to
an old man’s happiness.”
“ Well, you have never tried to marry.”
“True.”
“ How can you act thus, and think so ?”
“ Am I an old man, then; Harry ?”
“ Nonsense ! But to reply; let us begin far
ther back. Tell me why you think marriage es
sential to an old man’s happiness ?”
Unde Charley was still smoking lazily, quiet
ly ; and for some moments did not reply. His
XKS gQFXKX&K SXSLfI AM) BIBJBSIHX.
frie n ,i bore with him, for he saw there was
something struggling in his bosom, and believed
it would presently find utterance. At length
Uncle Charly threw away his cigar, and straight
ened himself up.
“ Hal,” he exdaimed, “ this is a subject on
which I have never conversed much, simply be
cause I have never thought very seriously about
it Lately, though, I have been meditating
on it, somewhat The act of marrying in an old
man is vety foolish, though the married state is,
to him, almost the only happy one ; and there
is the misery. What constitutes the happiness
of this phase of existence, to an old man, is the
deep and holy affection which has sprung up
and strengthened between himself, and her who
has been his companion in life’s long, weary,
pilgrimage; and the children—the support of
declining years—supposed to be the natural ac
companiment of wedlock. To marry after one
has grown old, of course renders a man liable to
disappointment in this regard.”
“ What a pity a man cannot marry a family at
the same time he marries a wife I Then he might
postpone this business till old age.”
“ He can, Charley,” said my father.
“How?”
“By taking certain widows with numerous
children.”
“Ah! but they would not be his children.”
“ That is true.”
“ A young man can be happy, Hal, unmarried.
I believe he can see more pleasure as a bachelor
than as a benedict. Young, active, energetic,
fond of roving, perhaps, with fresh, enthusiastic
feelings, age lias not yet so cooled the ardor of
his blood as to cause the quiet happiness of do
mestic life to appear of more value in his eyes,
than the excitement and pleasures of the world,
or the pursuit of wealth or honor.
“In old age, bn the contrary, loss of energy
and physical infirmity render him incapable of
enjoying the pursuits which in the days of his
vigor were so attractive, and he seeks pleasures
of a different kind. Shall the old man, then, at
tempt to raise a family ? Alas! it is too late! —
If he has spent his youth and manhood’s prime in
what he is pleased to term ‘single blessed
ness,’ his age will remind one of the old, decay
ed and withered tree, standing in the midst of a
vast plain, away from companionship'and shel
ter , isolated, desolate ; stretching out its gaunt
arms beseechingly, while the cruel storm beats
pitilessly on its defenceless head.
“ The last days of such a man present the
most perfect picture of human wretchedness of
which my mind can conceive. No children to
soothe his last moments;
No loved one now, no nestling nigh.
He is floating down by himself to die!
“ If by the mere act of marrying, a man could
possess himself of what renders married life
happy, then he might defer it till ho becomes
old ; but as itjs, he must spend the best part
of his young manhood in preparing those things
which are to constitute his happiness in after
life.”
A long pause followed this harangue. At
length the speaker resumed,
“If I were sure of dying at the age of fifty,
or even sixty, I would never marry; but as I
may live longer, why ”
“ Why what?"
“ Let me light another cigar.”
The cigar seemed to soothe Uncle Charley’s
feelings, for he sank back quietly on the couch,
and resigned himself to its benignant influence.
When he spoke again, it was as follows:
“ Henry, I am in love.”
“I know it,” was the brief reply.
“ How the devil do you know it?”
“ Because six months of your manhood have
never passed without your falling in love, and
it is now just about half a year since your last
scrape.”
“ Oh, I am not jesting, now,” said Uncle Char
ley.
“ Besides,” resumed my father, apparently not
noticing the last remark, “ you recollect what
you wrote me in that letter.”
“ Oh, blast the letter I It has played the very
mischief with me, I fear.”
“ But who has bound you in silken fetters this
time ?”
G riiHiaq
“Miss Morton?”
“No.”
“ Well you’ve paid attention to only one other
lady. Miss Banks and Miss Kate Morgan—the
last named the most piquant of them all, in my
humble opinion—have hardly received a passing
notice at your hands.”
“ Guess on.”
“ It can't be Holmes ?”
“ Harry, how can I convince you that I am
serious this time ?”
“ Y our manner has already half convinced me.
Look me in the eye and tell me you are really
in love; that will settle the matter.”
“ See here, then. It is, at last, cold, sad reali
ty. lam in love.”
“ I fully believe you.”
“Now, then, comes the most embarrassing
part of the business—telling who it is that has
bewitched me.”
“ And why should that prove embarrassing?”
“ I fear you’ll laugh at me.”
“No, I will not.”
“It is one who, I fear, is incapable of love,
and even if this were not so, she could never be
brought to regard me with affection. Besides,
1 believe if she really loved me, she would never
allow herself to acknowledge it.”
“And why not?”
“ Because she is too proud; and she is a wo
man. She seeks revenge, and were she to find
I love her, even if she should return the feeling
in her heart, she would sacrifice any thing for
an opportunity of humbling me in tho dust.”
“ It must be Mrs. Holmes.’’
“ You have guessed it”
“ Well, how in the name of common sense,
Charley, can you love a woman whom you con
sider so heartless a creature?”
“ How can you ask such a question, Hal? As
if a man can bind or loose his passions as he
listeth 1”
“ I always thought men loved certain qualities,
or attributes, and that they bestowed their af
fections on the persons possessed of these.”
“ Perhaps that is true —sometimes.”
“ But it never seemed to me that heartlessness
was calculated to win you.”
“ I don’t know how that is. It may be that
only my imagination is captivated.”
“ Then get out of it, Charley.”
“ Oh! I tell you I can’t help it.”
“ You, Charley Hampton ? The cool, experien
ced, well-balanced man of the world— you yield
ing to such weakness!”
“ Bear with me, my friend. I am not sure
that what I say of Mrs. Holmes is true, I only
awfully fear it.”
“ Well Charley, I expect Mrs. Holmes lias the
same opinion of you, that you have of her; so
even should you make a declaration of love, in
all probability she would think you were not se
rious.”
“ Yes.”
“ But if you find out she is really destitute of
“ That is true.”
heart, surely you can then give up this sudden
passion.”
“Very easily. How, though, am Ito satisfy
myself on this point, till I’ve been jilted ?”
“ Well, really I can’t say.”
“ I wish te avoid this mortification. Oh, I
don't wish to have my feelings trampled on.”
“ Charley, I know it is rather mean to say to
you,‘l told you so;’ but you see the truth of
my frequent warnings.”
“ Alas, Hal, I now see how truly you prophe
sied. I have so long sustained the character of
flirt—trifle*—butterfly—that it is impossible for
me to persuade people I can be any else. Oh,
that a man should slitter away his life as I have
done!"
And Uncle Charley rose, grinding his teeth,
and paced the floor, excitedly. At lengh he re
sumed,
“ I will ttell you all about it—though what
will be the hse ? I was about to tell you of the
origin and progress of my love, and how it dif
fers from ordinary affection; but it would be
sheer folly. Such tales have become trite and
common to jtour ear. I myself have contributed
more than any one else to make them so.”
“ But what course do you intend to pursue?”
asked my father.
“ I don’t know, Ha*ry. Time will show. Per
haps I will ‘ let concealment, like a worm i’ the
bud, feed on my damask cheek.’ If so, I must
leave this. Good night. Hal. I must sleep
now.”
“Good night, Charley. You are fortunate if
you can sleep. This makes me think you are
still yourself. Sleep yet remember ‘ faint heart
never won fair lady.’”
But sleep did not visit Uncle Charley’s eyes
hi a good while after his friend's departure; and
for several nights previous, he had not his share
of “tired nature’s sweet restorer.” It was
strange to see tie matured man of the
world, going through all the stages of love, like
a youth of eighteen.
The next morning at breakfast, “ the man of
the world” had a sea by Mrs. Holmes, and com
menced a conversaton which, to most of the
guests, seemed to be in his ordinary cool, ban
tering manner. The lady also, on her part, con
ducted it, to casual observation, in the same
careless flippant side. The close observer,
though, especially i'ho had some inkling of
what was passing in the deep recesses of the
hearts of each, could detect a shade of embarrass
ment and awkwardness in the manner of both
parties which, indicated the existence of some
feeling.
For the next few cays, Uncle Charley sought
Mrs. Holmes’ company frequently; but it all re
sulted in nothing.
“ ’"he truth is, Hal,’ he said to my father, “ I
cannot muster courage to tell her I love her. If
there were not so much truth in it, I could tell
her so twenty times without the least embarrass
ment. What has cone over me?”
“I can’t say, Charley," was the answer, “ It
seems to me you entirely forget that faint heart
never won fair lady.”
“ Yes; it is very easy for you to say that, but
only place yourself in my situation.”
“ What ?—in love ? Ain’t I in love now—
with Mrs. Hopeton ? Wasn’t lin love w r hen I
courted her ? At leas', you’d better not tell her
I was not.”
“ You had no flirt tc deal with. But why do
I speak thus ? If I -bought Mrs. Holmes a
mere flirt, I could not love her. Still, if I did
rwt think her a flirt, I would not hesitate to avow
my love.”
“ I see, Charley," said father, “that though
you are partially demented, you are philosopher
enough to analyze your feelings very skillfully.”
“ I wish I were philosopher enough, Hal, to
reason this foolish whim out of my head ”
CIIAITER XII.
At the appointed time, Fitzwarren came, and
soon after, Tom Harper rejoiced me with his ad
vent. The sight of his handsome, manly face,
and the sound of his cheering voice, brought to
mind tho free, wild gallops we had taken to
gether over the wild prairies, and the merry
bivouacs with the entertaining talk around the
camp fires.”
“So you have really come back to Georgia,
Tom,” said I. “You have rather surprised me,
for I must acknowledge I di<j not much expect
to see you.”
“ Well, you know,” answered Tom, “I told
you it was uncertain whether or not I would
come; but an irresistible longing to see the old
homestead, possessed me.”
“ And in what kind of state did you find things
at home?”
“Os course they were much changed. The
grave-yard, the grounds around the house, and
the whole plantation, were overgrown with
weeds and briars, and even shrubs which could
almost be termed trees. The house was cover
ed with moss; but fortunately it is a solid struc
ture, and the body of it has yielded very little
to the hand of time, though some of the out
doors and windows were slightly decayed.”
“ And where are you staying now ?”
“ Why, where else but at my own home ? I
have had all the rotten timbers replaced by
sound ones, and made a few rooms comfortable,
so that I am living in very snug bachelor quar
ters. You must spend a week with me before
you go back to College.”
“ With pleasure.”
“ I can give you some fine shooting. An old
acquaintance of mine residing in Augusta, who
has gone to Europe, laid me under obligations
by sending me a well-broke pointer to keep du
ring his absence. I used to have trained dogs,
before I adopted the nomadic manner of living,
and if I conclude to reside in Georgia again, I
will take good care to have them once more.—
I can easily drill some by the time D. returns.”
“ I am glad to hear you talk of residing here
again, Tom.”
“ Yes. It is by no means certain that I will
do so, however. I am, as yet, undetermined.—
Circumstances may alter my half-formed plans,
any day.”
“ May I be allowed to inquire on what con
tingencies your staying or not staying will de
pend?”
“ I will tell you some other time. But, Jack,
what a charming lady is Miss Kate Morgan!—
By Jove! if I were young as you, I believe I
would fall in love.”
“ I am glad to hear you talk so at last, Tom.
Miss Kate’s bright eyes will dispel that lurking
misanthropy in which you are prone to in
dulge.”
“ Very possible, Jack; but if I fall in love, I
must have a rival to make it interesting.”
“Never fear, Mr. Tom: you will have num
bers of these.”
“ Yourself among them?”
“ Perhaps so ; but I will not be a very for
midable one, as I am yet a college boy. How
ever, you recollect that singular looking genius,
Fitzwarren, to whom you were introduced this
morning ?”
“ Yes; and I never saw a more striking coun
tenance. He cannot pass through a crowd un
noticed.”
“ You are right. He excites remark and con
jecture wherever lie makes his appearance.”
“ Docs he ever laugh, Jack ?”
“ I have never seen anything more decided
than a smile flit across his features, but they
say he sometirtfes indulges in the wildest, most
extravagant kind of mirth.”
“ But what about him, Jack ? "Why did you
speak of him?”
“ Oh, I forgot. Why, I think, from the way he
looked at Miss Kate during dinner, to-day, he
is destined to be your rival, if you become tender
in that quarter.”
11 So be it, then. But he is a devilish strange
fellow.” /
“Women are captivated by mystery and
eccentricity, Tom.”
“True! true! Oh,l dont doubt he’ll be as
formidable a rival as I care to encounter. But if
he spoils any game with Miss Morgan, I’ll e’en try
a sly flirtation with Miss Laura Banks.”
“ Seriously though, Tom, you must be a ladies’
man, once more, for the sake of our guests.”
And true to his word, he almost devoted him
self to the fair portion of our guests; and from
what I have said of his qualifications, the read
er can easily believe that he made himself
agreeable. Fitzwarren also surprised me. Gen
erally, he was cold, reserved, almost disdainful
as when I first knew him. Even in the very
midst of company, he wore the same air of
mingled melancholy, haughtiness and abstrac
tion. Sometimes, though, he would shake it
off, and converse with a brilliancy and gayoty
which absolutely astounded me.
Occasionally, he would bury himself in his
room, or wander off in the solitary woods, all
day ; and whenever this was the case, at night,
if we all gathered in the drawing-room, he was
sure to delight us with flashing and erratic elo
quence, or mirthful sallies. But even in these
instances, there was a cold, dreamy look in his
eye ; and sometimes, this would so increase as
to render it unpleasant to encounter his fixed
gaze. Then he would relapse into silence, and
seem utterly oblivious of the presence of those
around him.
He was exceedingly fond of the exercise of
riding on horseback. Nor did short excursions
satisfy him. One day my father and I conclu
ded to call on Mr. Warlock, and as it was a
pretty long ride, knowing how Fitzwarren
would be pleased, I asked him to accompany
us. It happened, also, that Tom Harper went
with us.
Arrived at the house, we saw Mr. Warlock
sitting in his porch, smoking; and for a wonder,
his sons were with him. We entered the gate
and walked up the steps. As we drew close to
the old man, Fitzwarren, looking into his face,
started as if he had trod on a serpent. Gazing,
his eye dilated and his breath came short and
quick, as he muttered,
“ What a strange likeness! Can it be ?—but
impossible! ”
We looked on in wonder. Soon Fitzwarren
perceived our astonishment, and by a strong ef
fort resumed his composure. Almost in a
moment his face wore the same impassable, im
penetrable expression which was its customary
one, and when he was introduced, not a tremor
in his voice betrayed a trace of his recent agita
tion.
Fitzwarren’s name seemed to produce an
equally wonderful influence on Mr. Warlock.—
As the former looked him steady in the eye, he
stood transfixed and motionless; gazing with as
tonishment, and for some moments unable to ar
ticulate.
The two young men betrayed equal emotion.
They glared on Fitzwarren with an expression
of mingled fear and hatred, reminding me very
forcibly of two dogs, in doubt,' whether to bite
or rim away.
At length the old man mustered composure
sufficient to salute the strangers and ask us to
be seated. His sons seemed to have lost all con
trol over themselves; and soon making some ex
cuse about “ business in the plantation,” they
left the house. Their father made a show of
conversation, but his agitation was painful to
behold, especially when Fitzwarren, in addres
sing him, would direct his calm, searching glance
toward where he sat.
We did not cease to wonder at all this. We
made a short visit, though, for company seemed
to be anything but agreeable to Mr. Warlock in
his present mood. After a short attempt at con
versation, we mounted our horses and rode
homeward. As soon as we were fairly on our
way, Fitzwarren, in his quiet, of course manner,
remarked,
“The old man we have just left bears so sin
gular a resemblance to one whom I knew under
very painful circumstances,that the sight of him
discomposed me a little.”
We might have told him that the old man
seemed to know his name under “ very painful
circumstances,” but of course politeness forbade
it, since we saw he was not disposed to be any
farther communicative.
That night after supper, Tom, my father and
myself sat smoking on a bench under one of our
huge oaks.
“Os course,” said I, “you two noticed Fitz
warren’s agitation at meeting Mr. Warlock to
day. What can it mean ?”
“ Can’t say, Jack,” replied my father; “ you
heard his explanation of it.”
“ Rather a lame one, though, I thought.”
“ Yes," said Tom. “He said the old man very
much resembled one he had known under painful
circumstances. But his name produced rather
startling effects, as well as Mr. Warlock’s ap
pearance."
“ Perhaps,” said my father, rather sarcastical
ly, “there was a resemblance in the name.”
“ Can you explain it. Jack ?” asked Tom.
“ No,” answered I, “ for nearly a year, I have
been with Fitzwarren every day, but he is not a
very communicative man, and I know nothing of
his past life.”
“ He has not bored you with his adventures
as I have then ?”
“He has told me nothing. I may be deceived
in him, bi» I think that under a cold and cyni
ical exterior, he conceals a noble and generous
nature. I believe him to have a nice sense of
honor in short, that he is a high-toned gen
tleman.”
Not far from where we sat, was a thick clump
of shrubbery, which cast a deep shade, notwith
standing the lightness with which the moon
shone. As I ceased to speak, a long shadow
was thrown across the space between where
we sat and this dark spot, while the figure of a
man emerged from concealment, and stalked to
ward us.
The new comer was a perfect curiosity in ap
pearance. He was of immense height, of large
frame, with broad shoulders, but thin in flesh.
Ilis long, straight, black hair fell in raven mass
es on his shoulders, and an equally black beard,
with a few silver threads in it, flowed down his
breast.
He wore a slouched felt hat, put on in a style
which reminded one of Spanish costume. A
hunting suit, similar so that worn by regular
frontiersmen, enveloped his form. A rifle of
enormous length was carried on his shoulder.—
So long was this gun, it seemed as if, in the
hands of so tall a man as himself, it might be
used for knocking the game out of trees, as well
as shooting it.
When within a few feet of us, he halted.—
Tom looked at him with astonishment.
“ If I were to see that figure cm the prairies,
Jack,” said he, “it would seem in perfect keeping;
but what the deuce is such a tiling doing in
this country ?”
“ Well, Gaunt,” said my father, before I could
reply to Tom’s question, “why don’t you come
up ? What do you stand there for ?”
“ I want to see es you knowed me,” said
‘Gaunt,’ approaching, as he uttered a low, strange
laugh.
“ Knowed you ? Who could ever forget your
scare-crow figure ?”
“ Tour eye-sight keeps pretty good, I see.—
’Twas mighty good once, I know, when you
and I used to cruise ropnd the pint.”
"Well, never mind the pint, now. Have you
had supper ?”
“ No.”
“ I’ll have a table set for you, then.”
“ I don’t wan’t no table set Have me some
cold meat and bread brought right here,
quick as you please, for I am devilish hungry.”
The victuals being brought, the strange visi
tor made a terrible onslaught upon it. •
“ You all jest talk on,” said he. “Don’tmind
me till I’m done eatin, and then I’ll tell you
what I come for.”
Accordingly wc left the new comer to his re
past and conversed on indifferent topics, till he
should get through his meal. This was soon
the case.
“Try a cigar, sir ?” said Tom, as he saw the
object of his wonderment cease from his attack
on the edibles, and wipe his mouth with his coat
sleeve.
“ No, thankee,” was the reply, as Gaunt pro
duced a short pipe from his pocket, and proceed
ed to fill it with tobacco, drawn from the same
receptacle. —• ’
“Now, Mr. Hopeton,” said he, after lighting
the pipe and commencing to smoke, “ here’s
what I come for. Is there a gentleman in your
house named Fitzwarren ?”
“Yes.”
“ Is that him thar?”
“No. Mr. Harper, let me introduce you to
Mr. Carlos Nunez, commonly known as Bill
Gaunt. He is quite a character.
“ Gaunt, this is a friend of my son, and conse
quently of myself.”
“ Happy to form your acquaintance, Mr. Nunez,”
said Tom, shaking the hand proffered him.
“Es you’re a friend of Mr. Hopeton and his
son,” answered Gaunt, “I’m glad to know you,
and I'm your friend. I’m ready to serve any
man who is friendly to Mr. Hopeton or his.”
“Butwhat about Fitzwarren, Gaunt?” asked
I, for I was burning with curiosty.
“ Well, he'd better leave these parts as quick
as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because Jake and Joe Warlock have sworn
to have his blood.”
“Whatl” exclaimed my father. “Why do
they wish to kill him ?”
“ First, then, as to that will you’ve got ”
“The mischief 1 Gaunt! Are you a wizard,
or an imp of darkness? Do you know every
thing?”
“ No, I don’t; but I know a damned sight, as
the folks who have been hounding me so long
will one day find to their cost.”
“I expect so.”
“ But,” resumed Gaunt, “ as to that will ”
“ But how do you know I've got any will?”
again interrupted my father.
“Es you want to hear my tale,” said Gaunt,
doggedly, “ I must tell it my own way.”
“ Say on, then.”
(to he continued.)
- mt 11 >
Unconscious Influence.—The very handling
of the nursery is significant, and the petulance,
the passion, the gentleness, the tranquility indi
cated by it, are all reproduced in the child. Ilis
soul is a purely receptive nature, aud that for a
considerable period, without choice qr selection.
A little further on he begins voluntarily to copy
every thing he sees. Voice, manner, gait—
every thing which the eye sees—the mimic in
stinct delights to act over. And thus wo have a
whole generation of future beginnings, and the
deepest impulses of their life and immortali
ty. They watch us every moment—in the family,
before the hearth, and at the table; and when
we are meaning them no good or evil, when
we are not conscious of exerting any influence
over them, they are drawing from us impressions
and molds of habit, which, if wrong, no heaven
ly discipline can wholy remove; or, if right, no
kind of association utterly dissipate. Now it
may be doubted, I think, whether, in all the ac
tive influences of our lives, we do as much to
shape the destiny of our fellow men as we do
in this single article of unconscious influence
over children.
——
In the lives of the saddest of us, there are
bright days like this, when we feel as if we
could take this great world in our arms. Then
come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither
burn in our hearts or on the hearths, and all
without or within is dismal, cold and dark. Wo
believe every hearth has its secret sorrows
which the world knows not; and oftentimes we
call a man cold, when he is only sad.
Longfellow.
What we Eat.—A man in active life requires
thirty-six ounces of solid food per day—say nine
ounces of animal and twenty-seven ounces of
vegetable—according to established scales of
diet in the English and French army and navy
regulations. Os food and drink a man will con
sume about 1,500 pounds a year. Os course
many persons consume much moro food, but this
is the average estimate.
HI
Males and Females Boen.—There seems to
be a universal law that more mules than females
are born. This is sustained by the records of
every nation where records have been kept.—
The excess of males varies with different people,
but, so far as known, tho excess is greatest In
the United States. It varies widely among the
different States, the excess in South Carolina and
Kentucky being more than throe times as great
as Massachusetts. The effect of climate and
other appreciable causes producing this dispro
portion in the sexes, is not settled. The excess
is greatest in tho extreme climates—Russia and
South Carolina.
—
I and J.—There are no two letters in the
manuscript alphabet of the English language
which occasion so much trouble, or causes so
much misconstruction as the two letters I and
J, as many persons inadvertently write them.—
The rule for writing them properly, and which
should be universally understood and adopted,
is to extend the J below the line. If those who
write I for J knew how it sometimes puzzles
printers, they would remember the above sug
gestion.