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PUB LISH ED TIk~ST OCKTONACO
NEW SERIES.]
WritUn for the Bonthern /told end Tlreatde.]
BEWITCHED.
Never vui men eo worried,
80 perplexed, o'erpowered, tarried,
Bye creetare light end nlry,
A perreree, enehentlng fairy,
Mlaehlevont. mirth-loving elf,
Ae my own unhappy eels I
Ever by me, day end nightly, »
W Ith her white eime etreteh’d out lightly.
Beckoning with love-eeemlng gulee
From the eornere of her eyee—
When I eprtog to follow after.
Vanishing In elfin laoghter.
If I walk, ehe Site before me
Like a aplrlt hovering o'er me ;
If I rest upon the brink
Os eome moeey eprlng to drink,
Down below the glaaey stream,
Deep I tee her Image gleam.
When I poae wv*r dry old OUtty,
If I read some paper witty,
Trifling novel, treatlae aage—
Everae I tarn the page,
Taro bright eyea with lightning play,
Moek me, and then fade away.
In the light from hearth Urea beaming,
Where the etare pale light It gleaming;
In the bnty elty, bottling—
In the greenwood dim and rattling,
Crowded street end ldnely dell.
Comes the with her myetle spell I
Nettling close, end then receding,
Deaf to all my prayer and pleading;
Icy when my love le warmest,
Tender when I teem the sternest—
’Till bewitched, entranced, tormented,
I am more than half demented I
Could I, like the old Witch Finder,
But discover tome charm to bind her,
Oh I with what supreme delight
I would check her In her flight,
And with each exquisite pleasure,
Pay her back with ample measure.
All her pleading tbonld not move me—
Tears bnt more determined prove me—
Till In contrite penltenoe.
She should own each grave offence, _
And, with willing eagerness,
All her witcheries confess.
Vain desire—lnsane endeavor—
-1 shall burst her t hraldom—never,.' —_
To my heart to close she's grown.
Her existence makes my own I
Precious source of my vexation,
I surrender at discretion I
• ' Viols.
A Rhyming Will.— The following singular
will was proved at York, the year of our Lord,
1771: ‘•This is my last will, I insist on it
still; sneer on and welcome, and e’en laugh
your' fill. I, William Hickringcon, poet Os
Pocklingtoopdo give and bequeath, aa free a
I breathe, to tbee, Mary Jaram, the queen of
my harem, my cash and my osttie, with every
chattel, to haye and to hold, come beat or
come cold, sans hindrance or strife, though,
thou art not my wife. As- witness my hand,
just here as I stand, this twelfth day of July,
in the year seventy. •
William Hicksikoton.”
“I keep an excellent table," said a lady, dia*
puting with one of her boarders. “That may
be true, ma’m,” says he, “but you put very
little on it.’’
“Isn’t it time to think about getting up?”
said tbe wife, as she rattled at the door. “Yes,
my dear,” replied the husband, “I hare been
l thinking about it an hour and a half,’’
FIELD AND
AUGUSTA. GA., SATURDAY, JANUARY 30, 1864.
[Written for the Southern Ftold nnd Flrcclde.]
(Gerald drag’s Wife.
NT lIIH AUTHOR OF “BUST MOMENTS OF AN
IDLE WOMAN," “LILT," “sTLVU’S WORLD,"
Aa, Ac.
CHAPTER VII.
Honeymoons are proverbially ‘ stupid
things, except to the purties concerned,’ un
less, as in some cases, they are sad and dreary
days, never remembered but with shudders,
and seldom spoken of. Do you think that
when pretty Emilia Jones was “persuaded"
Jf her mother that to marry rich and devoted
obn'Mason, whom she did not care for, was
a capital and praiseworthy act, since Louis
Maftin, whom t,l:8 loved, bad,in a measure,
jilted her—do you think Emilia likes to re
collect those moonlight evenings of her honey
moon-trip to Pniladelphia ? Does she like to
thiDk of thorn prim streets and houses, like
brick tombs, built lor respectable grocers—
■every shutter a funeral slab, and the onl / es
cape for heart and eye up through the lindeu
trees to tbe magnificent variety, the fitful
wealth of eolor and light above, indelibly as
sociated in her mind with that time ? It was
not the ‘stupidity’ of her bridal tour that
weighed upon that young spirit, destined, one
would tliiuk, for a higher fate, than the vir
tuous, and decorous, and prudent marriage
which Mrs. Grundy applauds to this day.
True, Emilia Mason is linked to a fool, an
obstinate, jealous, tiresome fool, whom she
don’t love and can’t‘respect; but be is ‘the
father oUJier children,’ and she keeps her car
riage, and Mason admires her very much—
what more need she ask of this life ? But wc
will puss over her honeymoon, if you please.
Then, I ratbeg imigine Julius Brodie did
not liud his honeymoon a dream of bliss, or only
‘stupid.’ He wanted position and some money
to keep it; he had a passion for intellect, and
grace, and feminine softness, but—he was
obliged, by the requiremen a above named, to
win and wed such an ungainly, dull and af
fectionate young womf n ! I fancy las honey
moon was an awful trial, until his sturdy
Jih’.ulders got used to the matrimonial burthen.
I need not ask that stately, proud, passion
ate, an bilious beauty, what her feelings were
when she bad accomplished her noble object,
and led captive from tbe altar the little, in
significant, self-willed, old, ugly millionaire,
whom she preferred to the honorable devotion
and poverty which might have been her fate;
before she had quite entirely put away the
past from her well-regulated atteciions—be
fore she had absolutely accepted diamonds
and bankstock, place and power, as the proper
substitutes for love and youfb, sympathy and
congeniality. I think she must have found
her honeymoon a frightful experience.
And thero is another style of honeymoon,
an old, old story, which always fills my eyes
with tears to think of—they were h'.mble peo
ple whom it concerns—a pretty country-girl,
poor, uneducated, one of many daughters, and
her lover was like herself, penniless, bat stout
hearted. He left her lo try his 'fate in the
West, to rescue from the primeval lorest
enough land on which to mike bis corn-patch,
or to build the little shanty which should call
her mistress. Years passed—but they were
both young and hopeful; every now and then
‘a letter came out’—as they expressed it—the
spelling far froih perfect, the writing anything
bat beaatifal, bat the faith and the affection
unchanged, to find her tbe same. Then—of
'course, you a r e prepared for it—a long blank.
No word, no news, no sign. A stray travel
ler, who had journeyed on those distant roads,
and who had enquired concerning the young
man, as they were from the same section ol
country, was told that his neighbors had re
ported him ns dead j passing, accidentally,
that way, this eye-witness saw the deserted
log bouße, with its solitary, small window
staring, ahutterlejs, at him, and showing tho
bare, ragged walls inside.
The poor little girl, who had steadily hoped
and waited, had no time allowed her for grief
or tears—they were poorer than ever— * mi t her
was sick, ’’necessarily, and ‘father had taken to
drink there were so many little mouths to
feed and so many yellow heads to comb 1 She
must help her cider and her younger sisters,
and put aside her sorrow; but the pathetic
lace, with its paled roses, attracted more than
one suiter ; she was not only the beauty qf the
lamily, but it was well kno *n that ehe could
work as bravely as her plainer sisters. Then
came the wtrat* of ‘Auld jßotfiq Ur«jh’ and,
tircut tny laugoplsatk sbq|t,4bi} lucklgssgirl
wus assured that there was nbcrimeTrt giving
her hand to a very well-to-do young man, who
wanted to marry her, while her faithful heart
was still full of the lost one.
The Squire tied the knot, and the few guests
sat down to the humbfy furm bed hospitality
of this marriage moin. ('here came a tramp
of horses ; a child looks out, the bride listless
ly raised her head and did the same. A cry
of mingled joy and horror broke from her
lips. Leading a horse, (upon which a woman’s
side-saddle was fastened,) mounted, himself,
upon another, there came the dead lover to
claim nis promised bride, and to car - y her
away, us the custom then was, to his comfort
able home, still larther West than his first
choice, still richer land, but with postal facili
ties it seemed worse than none, lor his letters,
telling all this, had never reached their desti
nation.
By the law, she was another man’s proper
ty. Too late; just too late 1 Too late by
ten minutes or by ten years, what matters it ?
Those fatal words, ‘man and wife,’ had been
spoken. I might moralise lor pages on them
—so easily said— never to be unsaid, with de
cency, ‘uutil death do them part.’
He tamed his horses’ heads and went back
to his dreary forest home. Think of her honey
moon 1 But there are brighter sides than
this—there are first days and weeks of wedded
life unspeakable lor their full delight, not Irom
their bitter memory. In (act, I recollect
meeting a couple ouce—the gertlleman an old
acquaintance—who seemed to entertain the
most exalted opinion on this subjeet. He was
a small, smiliug, rather absurd youth, who
lisped slightly, and had light curly hair, and a
taste for painting.
‘And so you are married ?’ I said.
‘Yes ; my wife is here.’
‘I shall be pleased to ake her acquain
tance, presently.’
He bowed delightedly.
‘How long since this charming event trans
pired ?’ I went on.
‘Only four months—not quite four months.’
‘Ah 1 then you are still almost in the hon
eymoon ?’
‘Don’t say that; i entreat you, don’t say
that; tbia is not the honeymoon Barely ? Is
not this to be ail our life ? Don’t make me
miserable by letting me suppose that this must
end. I fancied this honeymoon, as you call
it, was our existence.’
He passed his hands throngh his flaxen
curls and seemed ready to cry ; so I asked to
be takeo across the room to the other member
of this delightful partnership. He frisked be
side me, talking gayly.
‘I am afraid you will find her ‘new,’ ’ he
p m '
*
AT EMJIIT POLHIIS KUBIX MOMTHB.
said. ‘She is very ‘new,’ qnite yotfng; bat
you will,be lenient, she is so ‘new.’ ’
The ‘new’ young lady sat at a table, look
ing over some engraving* ; her back was to
us, and, as her admiring spouse stood beside
her, his head was just on a level with hers.
•Miss Mary!’ he called,gently,‘Miss Mary !’
Mm Mary turned round, and the introduc
tion took place. •
Thu usual preliminaries of how much she
had heard of me, from her side ; and on mine,
of how much I appreciated the young gen
tleman whom she had so highly honored, were
followed by my simple and natural question,
as to the length of their stay in this country.
I hoped they would make it their residence,
&c.
‘We shall stay about two years and a hall,’
said “Miss Mary.”
‘Oh 1 no 1 love, three years,’ amended her
lord.
‘Two years and a half, dear, the
lady, beuming into his face. -«,* »
. -Thrift years, nfy dearest: I think** three
fain: ■ tn. .
‘ Cwajtml » half, love, only two and a half,’
in isted MadumeVsmiling,"Snaking %er bead,
and gazing fondly into the fond eyes beside
her.
‘Three years surely, neither they,
nor you, my patient ruader, expected me to
stand any more of that. 1 beat a hasty re
treat, and have never seen nor heard of the
‘new’ young lady ncr my old acquaintance
since that moment.
Whether the honeymoon still lasts, or
whether it turned acid about those deputed
six months, I am unable, therefore, to say.
lie is the ouiv decided admirer and unmiti
gated supporter of honeymoons that I ever
met. Perhaps it is because people don’t con
fide in me enough or I have not sufficiently
enquired into the matter. Gut I tear that
many a menage which has since shaken down
into shape, consistency, and tolerable content
ment, began, perhaps on both tides, almost
always ou one, with a restless looking back on
what Whittier sings:
• Os all »ad words of tongue or pen,’’
The saddest are, “ It might have been!'
And even in its happiest aspects, and with no
such skeleton to teaze or terrify, how maDy a
woman iearus, with saduesa and amazement,
that the lover, to wsom her will was law, has
been suddenly transformed, (as he ought ever
to be.) into tne supe.ior power to whom her
feminine fancies must pay homage aud defer
ence ? Is every youug girl taught this neces
sary lesson ? is she always warned tiiat if
her happiness now fairly begins in ihc double
life, lor which God destined her, her trials
also walk hand iu hand with this buppiness?
She has become the oue object of another's ex
istence ; with her rests his earthly comfort,
but he is human and a man, he is her head aud
her master. Has it been earnestly and affec
tionately recalled to her, by those who first
taught her to walk and to pray, that St. Paul
writes : -The husband is the head of the wile,
even as Christ is ihe head of the Church ;
therefore, as tne Church is subject to
Christ, so let the wives be to tueir own hus
bands in everything ?’ Surely, it tho e in
spired words, by which we profess to live aud
be guided, if they mean anything, they do not
mean such marriages as are daily made, aud
urged and commended. Think of it! We
d .n’t think of it at all. In no potut of really
rational view, do we consider marriage, its
fearful responsibilities, its awtul risks, its
fierce temptations.
Men see a pretty face in a ball-room, or a
pleasing rnanucr, or hear of u large fortune,
and they ask no more ; if it were a tine bread
of horses they wisbed to procure, or a pleas-
IVOL IL*~N UMBER 5.