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« . • ’Sf\ A J*HI /\ 1 V • IPI '»L# J tjMAj • . ■m'W • • • n • • *■ « .j • GAkDNEH , * NEW SERIES.] [For the Southern Field end Fireside.] « THE STAR AND THE CLOUD. BV J. H. HEWITT. “Stand out of my light!” said a bright little star To a cloud that was bound on its way; 4 I cannot be seen by earth’s people afar, If thus you obscure my pure ray.” ‘Ah, ha!" cried the cloud, “there are thousands Uk* yen Who imagine t£ey stand all alone; I like to swell out on this ocean of blue, And notbe confined to a zone." “But yon cast* shadow," halt vex’d the star said, “And darken the beautlfal earth ; While gladness accompanies the rays that I shed. And the sparkling waves dance in thefr mirth. “VUn thing!” spake the cloud with a thundering voice “You are only a twinkling spark; My lefts make the fields and flowers rejoice, While my folds put old 80l In the dark.” “fine flash of my Are wist Illumine the sea, My thunders the firm mountains shake; And thousand like you are now winking at me, And peeping at river and lake.” This clarion speech made the little star pal^, Aad, trembling, she shrunk. Into space; While the cloud melted fast on the wings of the gale. And the blue sky was left in its place. The moral is this : some folks make a swell, And push real merit aside ; Inflated with vapor, they toll their own knell, And burst from ano’ercharge of pride. THE STORY TELLER. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] BELLMOKT. BY MRS. SCR E. HURT, [concluded.] CHAPTER VII. ' ‘ That is just like you, Minnie, you never would let me enjoy a little piece of romance without dispelling the illusion with one of your matter of fact speeches ; but ‘ 'twas ever thus from childhood’s hour, Ac.,’ and Imogene heaved a deep sigh, followed by a merry little laugh, not indicative of a great deal of suffering.’ The curtain at last arose, and soon the rich harmony of sweet sounds charmed away every other thought from the crowd of spell-bound listeners,and but few words were exchanged by the cousins, until reaching their room in a fashionoble hotel at a late hour. ‘lf that is a fair speciman of the operas in London I will not be so anxious for uncle Henry to complete bis business here, and lot us enjoy the purer air of heather-covered bills.’ ‘ The performance of Signor Bernardie was perfectly divine. I think when I return home I will lock up my piano and throw away the key. I would give everything I possess for his exquisite touch and the power so draw forth such soul enchanting strains. But what is the matter, cousin Minnie ? you look as much distressed as if you. had just heard of the de mise of your last frie nd.’ ‘ I have.lost my ne cklace,’ was the abstracted reply. •Is that all,’ and, Imogene laughed heartily, ‘ I thought you must have been contemplating suicide, or something equally horrible, instead of the loss of a little chain, almost as delicate and fragile as a spider’s web. "Now if it had been your new pearl necklace there might"have been some cause for lamentation.’ ‘I prized that more highly than I do the pearl one. I have had it ever since I was a little child, and the associations are peculiarly endearing. It was the.parting gift of Jennie. Ralston eight years ago. I have been think- . >AVa - r -f ■*• J^mr' ! i. * )/ -Tyv' ’,' 'I \ I f \ wmm .. Sfii--* fc;j§ AUGUSTA, GA, SATURDAY, 3AEUARY 31,1863. ing 6f Jennie, and my thoughts wandering back aU the evening. It- seemed as if the music called up scenes of my childhood when Jennie and I were inseparable friends. How much I ! would like lo see her again—we used to talk so often of what we intended doing when we*grew up to be women. I can never think of her- as anything but a little child, though now ahe is eighteen if still living. She is just two months younger than myself.’ *ln any opinion you had better never meet, unless you want your faith in iemale constancy and endearing friendship to receive a shock. 1 have known hundreds of girls to profess and vow everlasting love and Irieudship, and in leas than a year pass each other without a bow of recognition, unless it was convenient and profi table to keep up the intimacy.’ * Jennie will never answer to that description I am very sure,’ replied Minnie. ‘At all events, I regret *my los» very much, and would give ten times its value willingly lor its recovery. , * You can’t spare this morning to us lather,’ queried Imogene of her father when they had huiahed breakfast on the succeeding day. , ‘ Neither this morning or the next either, answered Mr. Hazleton. When pleasure seek ing young ladies accompany a business man on a business tour Urey must expect to put up with its inconveniences. However, I hope in a feu Uajato be able Vo devote more time to your wishes; in the meantime you will have to en joy yourselves in the most agreeable manner you can devise. I thiuk you brought books enough to keep you reading for months instead of days, and you must determine definitely your tour, so teat no time of our limited stay may be lost. I will send you up the morning papers.’ • ' . , •Cousin Minnie I know will receive them gratefully, and pore over their advertising col umns itrhopes that some honest wight has be come the possessor of a favorite necklace, which she lost last night, and must have dreamed of from her dejected looks this morning. loiogene’s remarks were lost on her father, whose financiering brain was busy with imagi nary speculations, and drawing on his gloves he started lor the large shipping establishment of Messrs. Fields and (dourly. In their counting room sat Mr. Hazleton all the morning intently engaged in business trau sactious, for he was a merenant of great wealth and large business. ‘ Ah, ba! I have caught you at last,’ said Mr. (dourly, as he playfully caught up a bright trinket, from the desk of his clerk, whose pen was moving with the rapidity and exactness of perpetual motion. ‘You may take my word for it,’ and Mr (dourly turned to Mr. Hazleton—when you find one of these sober visaged young men, who profess never to throw a tender glance at the fair sex, that there is more hid under the current than iB seen above.' But 1 will not expose your love souvenir,' said he, replacing it, and reaching for a book, which was the ob ject of his search. i Upon my word, replied Mr. Montague, smiling, I had forgotten ft. In going to my room last night something attracted my atten tion, glistening in the ligut of the street lamp, and on picking it up, 1 found it to be a child’s necklace. I put it in my pocket, intending this morning to advertise it, but entirely forgot the circumstance until I carelessly drew it out with my memorandum book. I will look if there is any mark on it,’ and examining very earnestly, discovered the name of ‘Minnie’ engraved on tbo locket. • , i it Btrikea me,’ said Mr. Hazleton musingly, ‘that I heard my daughter Bay something about her cousin having, lost a necklace last night. I have no idea though-of what descrip tion, bat as her name is Minnie it may be the missing .article.’ ' »-phis isl evidently the property of some child, said he,’ as he returned it to Mr. Montague, who had given it to Mr. Hazleton m hopes of finding an owner— though I will mention it to my niece—and here.4he matter dropped. The necklace was returnsd to the desk and soon forgotten by the busy occupants of the count ing room. .‘Well, father, we have passed a week in London, and Minnie and I are beginning to get q#nte restless to proceed on our journey. As vro will be compelled to stop here before our return home, we are afraid that he may be de prived of some of our proposed plana.’ * Have your trunks in readiness, for a start in the morning, was the welcome reply. That is, if I receive some papers that I wished to qaail before leaving heee. Mr. Montague told *ie that he would finish them, and bring them ere to-night, but it is now nine o’clock, and he has ■ not come yet, so don’t lot your expecta tions rise too high, or they may receive a disap pointment.’ Scarce had he finished speaking when Mr. Montague was ushered by a waiter into their private parlor. • Mr. Hazleton presented him to his daughter and niece, with whom a lew remarks were ex changed before the gentlemen drew their chairs to a table under the lamp, and were soon in dustriously arranging the papers which Mr. Montague had brought. When about leaving, he reterred to the necklace, and asked if Mr. Hazleton bad found any clue to the owner. 4 1 have never thought of it since the day we were looking at ik’ -Here Minnie,’ he called his niece, who, with Imogene, was sitting by open wnfdow booking out on the moving panorama beneath them. 4 1 thought I heard you or Imogens speak of having lost something. Is this it ? and he held up the necklace which Mr. • Montague had brought.’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ and Minnie sprang joyfully to seize tne much prized object, and pressed it to her lips, but remembering that she was in the presence ot a stranger, the rose deepened on ner cheok, and turning to her uncle she enquir ed where it had been found. ‘Mr. Montague picked it up the same even ing you lost it when returning from the opera. ’ * Mr. Montague certainly merits my most heartfelt thanks, said she turning to him. It was the parting gift of a cherished playmate, and for that reason I pri~e it far above its real value.’ • Who is he, father?’ asked Imogene as soon as llidir visitor was out of heariug distance. 4 Why, daughter, did I not introduce him to you V 1 told you very distinctly, as I thought, tout he was Mr. Montague.’ 4 Oh, I know that, but who is Mr. Montaguq.?’ ‘Uncle Henry, do enlighten Imogene said Minnio. She was deeply smitten with him the first night that we attonded the opera—felt assured the moment she looked at him that he was either a painter or poet of the most ex quisite sensibilities, living in some deserted attic, with only a dry crust to keep body and soul together.’ Mr. Hezleton laughed heartily at Minnie’s picture, telling her that 4 ho wus sorry to spoil the romance by informing them tiiat ho was the principle oook keeper in the establishment of Messrs. Helds and Hourly, besides boarding at one ot the best hotels, and doubtless enjoying the goodthiDgs of this life like the rest of his fellow-mortals. ’ 4 That is too bad, and Imogene’s lips assumed a decidelly pouting attitude. I really thought that there was something romantic about him.’ . , , 4 The 'ery beat kind of romance, replied Mr. Hazletei. I never saw a more business young man, besides his employees tell me that he is a hard sttdept, devoting every leisure momeht to books, perhaps fitting himself for some other profession than his present, or for aught I know maybe-consuming the; midnight oil, inditing love-silk ditties for sentimental young ladies, and be glanced meaningly at Imogene.’ Faiher I didn’t say that I was a sentimental young lady.' 4 Turn 1 suppose I must correct myself, and say 10' very sensible young laches, who hold the honest profession of the* father in con tempt ’ - • • ‘.Mow father you know that I did not intend to coavey any such idea, returned Imogene • tw ■ './ I * ” **l^ AT THRfci DOLLARS'Pw ANNUM. earnestly. I only meant that book-keeping was not —well—was less spiritual than the life of a painter or poet.’ ‘I understand perfectly, and Mr. Hazle ton nodded his bead gravely. Miss Imogene Hazleton thinks there is less romance in pour ing over ledgers and day-books than in spend ing it in traveling and discovering ‘ spiritual ’ young gentlemen.’ 4 Father I see you are determined to quiz me, so I will leave you. Come Minnie,we have a good many preparations to make, and the morning sun must find us bidding farewell to walls of brick and mortar. But you arc look ing as solemn over your recovered treasure as you did at loosing it. What are you in such a brown study about ?’ * 4 l was only thinking.’- ‘ Well this is the time for acting, not think ing, so come en, and the gay Imogene danced out of the room.’ CHAPTER IX. % Time is the ol<l justice that examines all offenders. S/takspeare. Two years had glided over Elmwood, soften ing, but not healing the breach in the home circle, made vacant by the sudden disappear ance of tbe beloved sou and brother. Mrs. Raistetr’s naturally delicate constitution never recovered from the shock, and her friends feared never would, having become almost a confirmed invalid, rarely leaving her room. Jen nie watched with untiring energy her every movement, fcnd studied every wish with the most affectionate solicitude, giving up all pleasure iii which her mother could not partici pate, and the society of young friends so con genial to her lively disposition. Her parents had ceased to urge her to leave them, for the house appeared dark and sunless to Mr. Rals ton without his darling little JeDme, and no hand could arrange her mother’s pillow as hers, or soothe the agitated nerves of the suffering invalid, so that Jennie led a life of quiet se clusion, save when her friends sought her company at home. Her old schoolmate, Julia Hinton, was her most frequent visitor, her brother Alt often accompanying her, and at all times making calls on bis own responsibility.— in childhood Jennie had been his pet and favorite, and iu later years a warm attachment had Bpruug 'up between them, or at least on his side, tor it Jennie reciprocated the feeling she kept it concealed in her maidenly heart from all observers. Henceforth her life was devoied to her mother and no other love must come betweon. Mr. Ralston had determined to travel for a year in hopes that change of air and scene would revive tbo wasting energies of his wife. His business matters were all arranged and in a few days they would start for Europe. • How invigorating the sea breeze will be to you these warm mornings,doar mother,remarked Jennie. lam really getting impatient to start. Even Julia’s wedding is not an inducement to remain a week longer ; but there she is now,’ she exclaimed as she glanced out of the win dow ; 4 and I see she has not forgotten the usual number of liowers for you.’ 4 It is very kind in Julia not to forget me,’ re plied Mrs. Ralston. One might suppose that her mind would be wholly occupied with her own affairs. Her frequent visits have whiled away many an hour that would otherwise have been weary. I had no idea that she would ever have become so sedate aud matroaly, though the sad death of Ada Dalzelle caused a material change .in her character. I hope Mr, Willard will' prove himself worthy of her.’ Mrs. Rahttou’s face brightened as Julia came in'the such a oeanung, radiant look, and cheeog|igood morniug. . *‘ Year jEpts are always rendered doubly agreAbfe your floral offering,’ said Mrs. your garden and conservatory would, abate, in view o( the occurrence of another week.’ 4 so, indeed 1 replied Julia. Flowers are my first love, and Mr. Willard must be contented IVOL. I. —NUMBER 5.