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JOHN 11. SEALS,
EDITOR & PROPRIETOR.
NEW SERIES, VOL 11.
TEMPERANCE CRUSADIR.
PinsMSIJF.D
EVERY THURSDAY. EXCEPT YEAR,
BY JOHN H.
• ‘ TERMS:
f 1,00, in advance; or $2,00 at the end of the year.
RATES OF ADVERTISING.
1 square (twelve lines or less) first insertion,. .$1 00
.Each continuance,— --- 50
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six lines, per year, 5 00
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ST AN DING ADVERTISEMENTS
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Advertisements not marked with the number
of insertions, will be continued until forbid, and
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23r*Merchants, Druggists, and others, may con
tract for advertising by the year, on reasonable terms.
LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,— 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators,
Executors, and Guardians, per square,— 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, -3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, —... 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration,. 2 76
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Citation for Letters, of Dismission from Guardi
anship, - - - -3 25
LEGAL REQUIREMENTS.
Sales of Land and Negroes, by Administrators,
Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to be
held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the
hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in the County in which the
property is situate. Notices of these sales must be
given in a public gazette forty days previous to the
day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be
given at least ten days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must
be published/orfo/ days.
Notice that application will be made to. the Court
of Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must
be published weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration must be
published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin
istration, monthly , six months —for Dismission from
Guardianship, forty days.
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub
lished monthly for four months —for compelling titles
from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has
been given by the deceased, the full space of three
months.
will always be continued accord
ing to these, the legal requirements, uiiffcss otherwise
ordered.
For the Crusader.
The Marriage Contract.
BY M A 1{ Y B . HR YAN’ .
CHAPTER I.
“And she too at the altar, gave up her cold wan hand,
That shuddered as they circled it with an unwelcome hand.”
“Did you ever see such coldness, such apathy
on an occasion like this?” whispered the third
bridesmaid ot‘ Margaret Leslie, as passing an arm
around one of her companions, she drew her to
the curtained window, and directed her. attention
—by a meaning glance—to the bride elect, who
stood before the mirror, as cold and white as the
garland, her favorite attendant was twining in her
hair.
“I wonder,” she continued, “if it is real or as
sumed ; you know how proud Margaret Leslie is,
and how she always seemed to delight in being
singular. Only see what a listless smile ; and she
a bride; she looks more like a statue.”
She did, indeed, as she stood there, so stately
and motionless among her young attendants, the
deli bridal robe falling around her in heavy waves
of silver, jewels upon her white arms,'and pearls
gleaming like stars among the dark hands of hair,
shading her colorless brow. Occupied as had
been the group of fluttering bri esinaid.s wiih all
the pretty mysteries of their office, they hud not
failed to remark the apparent unconcern, with
which sire whatched the progress of her toilet.—
Coming — by Mrs. Grantham’s request — at an
hour, rather earlier than was customary, they had
found the heroine of the night silting at the open
window, still in her usual dress, with her loosened
hair falling in rippling ma-ses around her, and
her dark eyes gazing abstractedly out, seeming to
look iuto the far off future rather than at the dis
tant hills.” Rallying her upon her forgetfulness,
they offered to assist her in the arduous task of
edrssing, and smiling faintly, she resigned herself
into their hands.
“It is done,” cried little Jessie Cameron, as she
threw aside the gossamer ve 1 with studied care
lessness, and stepped back to observe the effect, —
“The August preparations are -completed. Pray
deign, my beautiful to bestow one glance at the
mirror ami admire our handiwork. It is not eve
ry day that one is privileged to he a bride you
know. There now, did you ever see anything
more regal ?
These orange buds set one to dreaming of the
tropics/and I am sure, never did glove fit a fairy
hand more daintily, while this tsilvery veil but
slightly swept aside’ is exquisite. Here % your
bouquet j now ‘the Lamb is ready for the sacri
fice.’”
Thoughtless light-hearted Jessie, did not notice,
as did Florence Aslily, the bitter smile that quiv
ered on Margaret’s lip, as this last sentence leaped
laughingly out.
“Now,” continued the merry speaker, “as a re-
ward for my s< (vices, I must have one last kiss
from the lips of Margaret Leslie,” and with a glit
ter, very like that of tears in her hazel eyes, she
threw her arms around the'beautiful stately fbrm,
and pressed a kiss Mpon the fair cheek of the
bride.
“May Heaven bless you dear Jessie,” exclaimed
Margaret with sudden earnestness, “and may you
•always be as happy as now. Hut there ! is that
the door-bell ? The guests are beginning to ari/e.
New leave me for awhile; I wish to be alone for
the next few moments. Thank you all for ) T our
kind assi-tance; without it I fear [ should have
made poor progress.”
“And what assurance have we, that upon our
return, ‘the bride herself will jiot be wanting,’
asked Florence Ashly, lightly yet with a searching
look of her penetrating eyes asshe turned to leave
the chamber.
A calm smile was Margaret’s only answer, and
then as die door closed and she was all alone, she
threw herself upon the fantueii and gazed into the
glowing grate with such a weary helpless look in
her dark eyes, while her white fringe** nervously
tore away the delicate petals of the rose she held.
Even thus she felt, was Fate scattering the hopes
of her own young life. Rising, she opened a
small casket upon the toilet and took from thence
a ribbon bound packet of letters and a beautifully
executed Miniature, representing a youth in the
graceful-garb of a Student, the attitude carele-sly
picturesque, the slight form perfect in its symme
try, and the hand and arm, partially disclosed, of
almost feminine beauty. Hut the face—it was
one of strange, fascination—a face that would
haunt one’s dreams after looking upon it, with its
large eloquent eyes so full of youthful passion and
so bright with ardent h-.pes the full red lips and
broad white brow from which the rich wavy hair
was carelessly swept aside.
Resting her cheek upon her jeweled hand, Mar
garet gazed long and earnestly upon the beautk
fill picture, seemingly forgetful of the vows she
was soon to utter, —of the emblematic wreath al
ready encircling her brow-. Presently she arose,
and with lips firmly compressed walked to the
glowing embers and threw the packet of let
ters upon them.
“So perish the tokens of a vain, yet beautiful,
too beutiful dream,” she exclaimed as leaning
against the mantle, she watched the flames eurl
around them. “Oh ! that I should have so little
command over my own heart. How would my
father, could he see me at this moment, blush for
his daughter's weakness. Oh! that I could tear
this haunting intake from my memory as easily
as I can crush the pictured semblance,” and with
a gesture, in which tenderness was strangely
blended with firm determination, she seemed
aljout to (ladl it from her, when a decided knock
at the door arrested her hand, and a Lady of com
manding-statue swept into the room in all the
splendor of rich brocade and glittering jewels. She
might have been of middle age, but art and fash
ion had conspired to conceal the ravages of time,
and there were no threads of silver discernible in
I he glossy ringlets, escaping from her gossamer
lace cap.
“Ready are you Margaret?” she exclaimed,
surveying the tout ensemble of her niece. “Let
me see; your slipper needs lacing a little more
tightly, and your dress, does not hang exactly
right in front. ‘There that wid do,’ adjusting it
herself. Those pearls are really elegantly set;
as handsome a bridal present as I ever saw, but
what is the matter child ! How pale you are! —
Surely you are not frightened,” (for the passion
less face forbade such a supposition.) “Who ever
saw a bride without blushes ? Do consent now to
let me give ju-t the slightest touch of rouge to
your cheeks.”
“Thank you; there is no need of it,” said Mar
garet, the blood rushing suddenly to her brow, as
steps were heard in the passage, and a moment
after, Jessie came in to announce, that t hey were
only waiting for the bride. With a few courte
ously spoken words. Oswald Graham, as cold and
stately as herself, recieved her at the door, and
drawing her hand within his arm, followed the
attendants into the thronged and brilliantly light
ed room. As one in a dream, Margaret knelt and
murmured the reposes, and then graceful as the
fringe tree, bowed her acknowledgments to the
congregations of those, that gathered round her,
while her heart swelled with bitter feelings, aa
looking around upon the throng of flatters, she
met not one glance, save that of Jessie, that an
swered her own with heart-felt love, and not one,
upon whose bosom site might lay her weary head
in confiding trust, when this gay scene was over
to weep away the anguish that oppressed her, and
rise str ngthen and by judicious counsel and loving
sympathy. Alas, that with all her talents, a
higher source of consolation was unknown to Mar
garet Leslie!
“How beautiful,” was the unspoken language
of the admiring eyes that were bent upon Her as
she stood before them, so coldly proudly radiant
in her snowy robes, seeming a fit impersonation of
the bride of winter.
Later in the evening, she quietly withdrew froth
the crowd, and as site stood concealed from view
PENFIELD, GA„ THURSDAY,"JULY 23, 1857,
by the sweepiug'tbtds of the damask curtain, a
name uttered by someone near her, touched ‘a
.chord of memory, and brought betbre her the im
age of a sweet gentle girl she had known in child-
L od. ......
“Why is not your cousin Anna here to-night,
Florence ?” asked an unknown voice.
“Anna Ashly,” was the fierce and impetuous re
ply, “cannot so soon forget the past. She is not
heartless like Margaret Leslie. Her womanly
pride alone would have prevent'd her from dom
ing to witness the marriage of the man she loved
and who would have chosen her . had he been re
leased fr<-m this mercenary contract-”
The eyes that looked out upon the winter
moonlight flashed with a sinister gleam as these
words reached her ear. “So,” she thought, “he
too has had his love dreams,” and the discovery,
instead of awaking sympathy and pity —such is
the perversity of human nature—aroused feelings
of jealous indignation and resentment against the
man who had persisted in marrying her even with
a divided heart. She forgot that her own error
was equal to his. A woman can forgive much to
a man who loves her, and the uneoncious hope,
that notwithstanding his reserve, Oswald was mot
indifferent to her attractions, wa6 very soothing to
Margaret’s vanity, but now this illusion was dis
pelled.
“Motives of base selfishness could alone have in
fluenced him,” was her silent conclusion, “Rev
erence for the dead did not render his promise,
one of solemn sacred ness.”
CHAPTER 11.
‘Here was a mind, deep and immortal,
And it would not feed on. pageantry,
And so she drank Philosophy awhile,
Until it turned, bitter within her.’
A strange girl her young attendant had called Mar
garet Leslie, and what marvel when she had known
no nalural chihl-hcod ! When herjyouth had been
passed in almost monastic seclusion, in a large
dark, rambling old country mansion, with no com
panions except an invalid mother, and a father,
who was a metaphysician, a profound scholar, an
intense student, everything but a fit mentor to
guide aright the active mind of Ids child. Her
reverential love for him amounted almost to idol
atry. His calm, exclusive air, elegant person and
more than all, his exhausiiess knowledge placed
him,in her estimation, above common mortals.—
She passed whole hours with him in his library,
sharing his studies, bewildering her young mind
with useless ethics, when she should have been
gleaning sweet childish love from pretty fairy books.
Learning German, reading Humboldt and Carlysle,
and having the fresh fountains of youthful feeling
first stirred by Goethe and Shelly, instead of by
contact with real sorrow, that her charity might
alleviate, or by the perusal of those touching ex
amples of patient suffering, enduring love and tri
umphant virtue, recorded by the pen of in-pira
tion. But the father of Margaret Leslie, though
he did not deny the truth of religion—was a
stranger to its influence, and although he encour
aged his young pupil to read her testament in
Greek, it was more for the sake of the peculiar
style, and his love for that most perfect of lan
guages, than from a desire, that she should he
profited by its momentous truths and solemn teach
ings neglect of which renders vain, even the moral
ity of Plato.
The warmth of Mr. Leslie’s nature had been
early chilled by a most uncongenial marriage.—
Dazzled by mere personal beauty, he united him
self to a woman, whom when too late, he discov
er! to be infinitely his inferior in point of intellect.
A pretty puppet, whose only source of happiness
consisted in the adulation administered to her van
ity by her coterie of flatterers, and when fading
youth and beauty caused these to withdraw from
her train, he saw her sink into inanity and use
lessness, finding in ill health a plea for her sullen,
and often petulent moods. Chilled and disap
pointed, her husband took refuge in cold yet quiet
misanilirophy. He never complained, never rail
ed at the foibles and excesses of the world, in which
he moved like one protected by a charm from
human fraility and human feeling; but the smile
that curled his lip—when witnessing any exhibi
tion of passion or enthusiasm —was more expres
sive than words. Since he was no convivialist,
and the thousand and one diversions, with,’which
fashion seeks to cheat the lagging time, afforded
no aliment to a mind like his —the only resource
left him was in literature. Study had always been
a delight; it now bekine a habit, and to pursue
it without interruption, he removed to a most re
tired and picturesque country seat near the pretty
town of Edgertoa; fitted up a luxurious apart
ment for his wife, and.a'well furnished library for
himself, and led .almost ihe lite of a hermit. The
birth of a daughter first awakened his dormant
feelings, and determining in her training to avoid
the defeats of . her motherV education, he came
very near falling into the opposite extreme. In his
enflcaiSrbfs to cultivate to the utmost her quick and
strong i ntellect, he forgot, that an education of the
well as of the mind was levied.
*HeKr he would’ say—placing some classical
Volume in her hand, —“ypu will find beautiful ha-
,agery and flowing thoughts, but do not allow your
feelings to be carried away by the warmth of some
of the amatory expression*. Remember it is hut
the licensed exaggeration of the Poet.”
“Hut is there then no such passions as the love
we read off the pupil would inquire, fixing her
large eyes earnestly upon the pale, intellectual face
—whose ever expression swayed her youthful judg
ment.
“We all, my dear, become to some extent at
tached to those with whom we-arc thrown, into
intimate or frequent contact—unless they are pos
itively repulsive —this is right and natural, but as
for that wild, vagrant Petrarch, and Laura kind
of love, why my dear,- it is very pretty and appro
priate in poetry and romance, but out of place in
real life, where it exists only among silly and sen
timental youths.
Never found your hopes of happiness upon,the*
exchange of any such transitory emotions. You
remember Tappers, my mind tome a kingdom is?
A well Cultivated intellect will afford you more
real pleasure than all such idle dreams.
I have said that Margaret had no companions
in her cliild-hood, except her parents, but occa
sionally there was one other—a young ward of Mr.
Leslie—the son of his dearest, and earliest friend,
who had been left to his care by the dying father.
Oswald Graham spent his vacations at the home
of his guardian, walked, read and rode with Mar
garet, and paid her every courteous attention, while
he remained as ignorant of the under current of
her nature, as she was of his. Their friendship
never ripened into intimacy, for Oswald possessed
more titan ordinary boyish diffidence, and Mar
garet was naturally reserved. It had long been
the desire of Mr. Leslie ; by uniting his ward and
his daughter, when they should have arrived at
proper ages, to secure an excellent husband for
Margaret, and at the same time to add to her pos
sessions, the # fine Graham estate—adjoining his
own.
< Lwald was nineteen, Margaret four years young
er, when Mr. Leslie was stricken with a malady
which proved fatal, lie soothed the dispairing
grief of his daughty with words of calm reasoning,
and placing her hand in Oswald’s as they stood by
his dying bed, revealed to his ward, the desire of
his father, and his own long cherished wish, that
they should he united. He then bound them by
a solemn promise, had a formal contract drawn up.
to which they affixed their tpmes, and a few hours
after tranquilly breathed his last. Margaret be
lieved herself animated by the spirit of a martyr,
as kneeling hy his side, and clamping hit cold hand
she uttered the binding vows, and though, while
they were warm upon her lip*, she shrank from
the touch of her young betrothed, she felt then
that even if their fulfillment demanded the sacra
fice of her own happiness, she would suffer rather
than disregard the dying request of the father, she
so idobtrouslv loved. Oswald moved bv the ap
proaching death of his kind protector, and softened
by MuTgaret’s tears, unhesitatingly made the re
quired promise, after first reading a letter of his
own father to Mr. Leslie, expressing a wish that
the marriage should be consummated. With ten
der respect he pressed the hand which had been
placed in his own, and spoke a few low words of
sympathy, that were lost upon Margaret, whose
wild grief broke through the cold barriers of res
traint, her peculiar education had thrown around
her. A few weeks after this, the death of her
mother completed her orphanage, and she was left
to the care of an aunt —the widowed sister of her
mother, and like a devotee of fashion and gayety,
though with more vivacity and bustling energy. —
The gloomy mansion at Willow-bank, was ex
changed for her aunt’s luxurious northern home,
where after two more years, spent in perfecting
herself in studies which had now lost their chief
interest, she entered into the gay arena of fashion
able life, and dazzled by its unaccusomed splendor
and display, fascinated by its constant excitement,
so different from the quiet monotony of her pre
vious life. She gave herself up to its pleasures
with an enthusiasm, which wasjsoon succeeded by
satiety, and then by disgust.
She moved like an automaton among the gay
crowds, where but for the air of haughtiness, which
always accompanies conscious superiority —she
would have been the reigning belle. To'satisfy
the cravings of her mind, she resumed her studies
and now, as a relief from the mercenary, calcula
ting heartlessness of those around her, she turned
to those thrilling disjript ions in poetry and romance
of pure, ardent, and impassioned love, Onee, she
have smiled at their hyperbole, but a change
had come over her. Surely they thought such
exalted emotions must exist elswhere, than in po
etic fancy, and unconsciously she grew to cherish
ing a desire, tnat she herself might become the
object of such an absorbing passion. She no long
er looked forward to the fuUfilment ot her early
betrothed with tho hope that it would bring the
.rest and quiet happiness she craved,and if rernem
berance intruded upon the sweet firearms that were
filling her heart with strange music, it was dismiss
ed ns something belonging to the future.
While ruralizing at Woodfern, and out sketch
ing one evening upon the banks of the Claire, she
Accidentally saw a younir Artist rescue a woman
from the swollen wate s, and notwithstanding the
jeers of his companions, (for the female was a inis
erable out cast)-endeavor to restore animation to
the wasted and nearly -lifeless fortn v To come for
ward and offer her assi- tance, to express more by
her eloqu nr eyes than by Words, her admiral ion
of his heroism, and of the delicacy that hail
prompted him to shield with hi* own handkerchief
the half’exposed bust of the sufferer—was to obey
an irresistible impulse. To be lrautved in her
dreams that night, by the dark beauty of his eyes
to meet again, not once, but often upon the-banks
of the romantic river, to mingle thoughts and feel
ings, till
“They looked, though they never wero talking of love,”
and then to quafl deeply :the intoxicating draught
of youthful pas-ion, was but tile natural conse
quence, attendant, upon the meeting of an ardent,
impulsive worshipper of beauty, like Claude Mon
trose, with one who realized lira boyish dreams, and
whose heart was thirsting fur sffecti n. They
parted a I but plighted lovers. Reverence lor the
memory of her father, was still the most powerful
feeling of Margaret’s nature, and she'did nut con
ceal from her young lover,The promise she had
made to him upon his death bed, and her deter
mination to fulfill her part of the engagement. —
Both were however, buoyed wish the hope, that
her coldno-s might lead Oswald to refit-e an un
willing bride, even if the years that had interven
ed since their betrothal had not thrown some other
spell over him, through whose influence he had for
gotten the promise of his boyhood. Mr- Grant
ham, who looked delightedly forward to a union
which would rescue her niece an excelled Uestab
lishment, and a husband admired and sought by
her dear world, wrote to inform Oswald of the
near approach of Margaret’s twentieth birth-day,
(the time specified for the fulfillment of the contract)
and to announce Iter intended visit to Willow-bank,
where the marriage would be consumatod. Eea
gerlv, Margaret waited fur the reply, but she was
destined to disappointment. Though reserved and
studiou-ly courteous, he did not decline the all.ance,
and now the only remaining hope was, that her
chilling demeanor might cause him to renounce
his claim upon her. It would be no crime, for
him she reasoned ; It was not a father to whom
his vow was made.
She arrived at the old, castle like home of her
childhood, on the gloomiest of Autumn evenings,
and the sigh of the wind through the ancestral
groves, was in unison with her saddened spirits.—
Her aunt immediately dispatched a note to Os
wald Graham, informing him of their arrival. lie
answered it in person, and greeted his Jianre with
a warmth, which her manner suddenly chilled. —
He was not handsome, but noble looking, and the
features, she had thought stern and bard in the
miniature she had in her possessions, lighted up_
like gas light in conversation, while there was a
grave sweetness in his smile, which would have
excited a feeling of interest in Margaret, had she
not mentally compared it with the mirthful gleam
ihat rendered so brilliant, the rich, classical beauty
of Claude Montrose.
lie said but little in refference to the engage
ment, but acquired in all Mrs, Grantham’s arrange
men', though he was silent and embarrassed when
the marriage was spoken of; still, as he did not
seem disposed to relinquish his claim upon her—
Margaret wrote briefly to Claude, imploring him
to forget the past as she must do, and entreating
him not to communicate with her again, either by
letter or in person. In a tew weeks the marriage
took place with all due pomp and gayety.
‘Tt is my fate” said Margaret still to the sophis
try she had imbibed, and yet, although she had
herself given a cold loveless hand at the altar, it
was the revelation, purposely! made by Florence
Asbly, of Oswald’s attachment to her cousin, that
added the roseleaf to the brimming cup of her hap
piness. Such is the inconsistency of human nature 1
CHAPTER lir.
“In the cold moonlight of her smile,
What flowers of love could bloom!”
“Willow Hank,” Mrs. Grantham had once said
was too gloomy a spot for a bridal residence, and
Mr. Graham surprised Margret, by taking her in
stead to an elegant mansion upon Linden street,
in the pretty, constantly improving town ot Edg
erton, mechanically, the young bride wandered
from room to room, treading upon soft carpets of
woven roses, marking the heavy fall of the fring
ed curtains, the mirrors, that every where reflected
her richly robed figure, and the rare old picture,
looking down opon her, from their carved and
gilded frames. Her taste was gratified by the
chaste eleganco of all that met her eye, but her
heart was untouched, until putting aside the drape
ry of purple, that curtained the entrance to an
apartment rather isolated from the rest, she found
in the fairy precincts, of a boudoir, fitted up with
exquisite taste, the walls covered with silver and
rose-color, the ornaments of rarest shell and ala
baster, and above the mantle one beautiful picture
representing Lear recovering his reason at the
sight of Cordelia. Margaret’s fine eyes testified
her admiration, but it was not until they fell up
on a freshly gathered boquet of Jessamine and
delicately tinted roses, lying upon the marble ta
TERMS:
$1 in advance; or, $2 at the end of the year.
Of” —-—■ — •
JOHN H. SEALS .
PKOi'Kiirron.
VOL. MILL-NUMBER 20.
ble, that a sudden thrill of pleasure sent the color
to her cheek; but it faded, when a few moments
after, she calmly replaced it, saying. “It is prob
ably a gitt from-Jessie; he has only sought to
gratify his own pride, in fitting up his home with
all this luxury, vvithou reference to me.” Re
turning to the drawing room, she threw her&elf
upon the divan, and rested her head with a listlqjsii
air upon tne arm that leaned on its crimson cush
ions. “It is not less a cage, that its bars are gild
ed,” she murmured almost unconsciously.
She started at hearing a low sigh behind her,
and turning, beheld Iter husband, looking upon
her with an Expression of sorrowful rebuke. He
left the room without speaking, and Margaret, to
still her reproving conscience, drew a chair to the
flickering fire, and set herself seriously to consid
ering some plan for her future conduct. She rea
soned that since the step she had taken was irre
trievable, repining and petulance were useless, and
she recalled a couplet, often quoted by her father.
“As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.”
She remembered also, that when once in her
childish ingenuousness, she asked if love were in
deed a chimera, he bad replied, that a certain
negative feeling of attachment, usually sprang tip
between those whose interests were mutual, and
whose intercourse was frequent.
“With this I must be satisfied,” she said cal fitly
to herself. “This luke-wann regard is all I can
give, or have a right to expect. It is a marriage
of convenience, there is no congeniality, or recip
rocal feeling. Doubtless he still clings, ns I do, to
some cherished dream ; but it does not follow that
we should render ourselves miserable by indulg
ing in vain regrets? No!
‘Rouse the heart,
Bow of life, thou yet art full of spring,
Thy quiver yet hath many purposes,’”
and rising she opened the Piano, and began,a
brilliant Opera air, whose gay tones floated into
the darkened room, where her husband sat btrped
in sad reflections. Oh! better had it been far
Margaret, with less confidence in her own strength
to have gone to her own quiet chamber, and un
clasping her long neglected Bible, sought upon
her bended knees for guiding light from a higher
source than earthly wisdom. But Alas ! she had
never been taught reliance upon Religion, aud
had thought of it only as a beautiful and very
perfect theory, whose practice—as her father once
smilingly remarked —sat gracefully upon such
gentle creatures as Anny Ashly.
This early influence gave its jaundiced tinge to
her every action. Fler father had spoken with
contempt of the transient excitement of passion,
in comparison to tho quiet happiness of a life
spent in intellectual pursuits, and hoping there to
liud relief, Margaret passed the long hours of her
husband’s absence (for his wealth was not suffi
cient to warrant bis retiring from his profession,
even if he had chose to do so) in the well stored
library, reviving her old studies, or else whiling
away her leisure time in penuing the thoughts of
her own richly cultivated and brilliant mind, to
which effusions, memory of past scenes lent au
impassioned fervor, notwithstanding the icy bauds
of stoicisism, with which she endeavored to re
strain her impulses. Except Jessie, she had no
intimate acquaintances, for her fashionable friends,
envying the talents they could not rival, noted her
a strange creature and a has bleu, and after the
first round of bridal calls, her visiting list gradu
al! diminished. Her manner, when alone with
her husband, was uniformly affable, and often
agreeable, but never affectionate, or confiding.—
ITis giant dignity and gentle strength of charac
ter won her respect, and sometimes, while siting
together in the subdued lamp-light; his rich voice
giving utterance to some eloquent passsion; white
she toyed absent’}’ with the bright Colors of Tier
worsted work, the old yearning for affection and
sympathy came over Iter, and she would have fain
laid her head upon his bosom, and putting her
arm around him, besought for nearer communion
of hearts. But her pride forbade this, together
with a certain impenetrable reserve in her hus
band’s manner, which she was sometimes tempted
to ascribe to diffidence, and then immediately “dis
missed the idea, as promted by her vanity, forget
ting that there was, in her superior talens and ac
complishments, much to inspire this feeHng-r-in
one, constitutionally disposed to underrate his own
strong, earnest, though mediocre intellect.
[To be Continued.)
The Doom of our World. — What this change
is to be we dare not even to conjecture ; but we
see iu the heavens themselves some traces of des
tructive elements, and some indications of their
power. The fragments of broken planets—the de
scent of meteoric stones upon our globe, the wheel
ing comets welding their loose materials at the so
lar surface-?-the volcanic eruption of our own sa
tellite—the appearance of new stars, and the dis
appearance of others —are all foreshadows of that
impending convulsion to which the system of the
world is doomed. Thus placed on a planet which
is to be burnt up, and under heavens which are to
paia away; thus treading, as it were, on the c<yn
eteries, and dwelling in the mausoleums of former
worlds —let us learn the lesson of humility and
wisdom, if we have not already been taught it in
the school of reevlation. — North British Review,