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> v and,his sons are the pests—the very
outlaws of the neighborhood. I
never struck J uba a blow in my life,
por did an overseer ever strike him;
and I shall not allow those cruel, cow
ardly, low-bred dogs to do so, without
goo<J and sufficient cause. I must' set
-out the plantation this very motn
ing.”
“I wish to go with you father,” said
Frank, “so let me know at what hour
you will start. I should like to catch
Jake or Joe Ramsey striking Juba. I
intend to carry a whip, keen enough
at one end to cut through a coat, and
heavy enough at the other end to knock
•either of them down.”
“I shall start, about half past ten”
answered his father; and turning to
Howard he added, “I want two horses
at the door at that hour—one for you
and one for myself.”
“And another for me,” said Frank.
“Yes sir,” replied Howard. “Rut
Juba is too smart to run into danger,
sir. And Mr. Jones told me he intend
ed to keep him at home, till you see
Mr. Ramsey. He says Mr. Ramsey
had as soon venture into a lion’s den,
as to come on your plantation to whip
a negro, without your consent.
“Very likely,” was the answer, “but
still, I had as well see to it now as any
time.”
“Go, father, by all means,"said Helen.
“You would never forgive yourself if
you staid away and gave those cruel
wretches an opportunity’ to abuse your
faithful old slave. I am afraid they will
do so before you get there.”
“Never fear, daughter. I taught
them a lesson last year they hav’nt
quite forgotten yet. If they were to
catch Juba where there were no wit
nesses, they might flog him; but he is
too sharp to allow them to do that.”
"‘And now' let us dismiss this un
pleasant subject. It is an hour and a
half to the time of starting, and I have
ample time to read this letter, and talk
to you about the visitors wc are look
ing for.”
Let Mr. Bentley read his letter,
while we hearw'hat the rest of the fam
ily have to say about their expected
visitors.
“Helen” said Mrs. Bently, “what
young lady is that you are looking for,
from Georgia?”
“Miss Kate Morgan,” answered Hel
en. “I formed her acquaintance in the
most rommtic manuer, imaginable.
We w'ere both wandering about Tal
lulah, sketch book in hand, when we
met, liked each other’s appearance, and
sitting down on a rough seat, we com
menced a conversation, which led to
an intimate acquaintance. That was
when you all left me for a short time
under the charge of uncle Alexander.
I found she was with her cousins, Miss
Morton and Mr. Morton. I invited
them all to visit us, you having already
invited the Mortons.”
“Is that the lovely, fascinating girl
I saw with you?” asked Frank, “when
I came by your summer retreat and
stopped a day ? By George! lam glad
of it. Are you sure she is coming
here/ You know I had no time to cul
tivate her acquaintance then ; but I’ll
make up for it now.”
“Why Frank” said his mother, “are
you smitten, and with a pretty face you
only saw about six hours, in the woods
about Tallulah?”
“Not exactly mother,” was the re
ply. “But I wouldn’t ask for a longer
time than that to fall in love, if I were
so inclined.”
“No” said Helen, “nor half so long.”
“Well,” said Frank, “I can’t see any
harm in the expression of a wish to
cultivate the acquaintance of a being
so lovely and interesting as ”
“Hallo! master Frank,” exclaimed
Mr. Bentley, just finishing his letter.
“What’s all that you are talking about?
‘Being!’—‘lovely!’—and ‘interesting!’
jLThe case is far gone. Whenever a
youth calls a girl a “being,” his situa
tion is desperate. Your boy is in love,
Mrs. Bentley.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Mrs. Bent
ley-
•“ Yes, bud is in love,” said Henry.
“I saw a daguerreotype lying on his
table ’tother day, and I saw him take
-a -perfumed letter f out of the bag not
y&aL
“ What 'business had you in my
room, young gentleman?” asked Frank.
“Didn’t you ask me to bring you
that book of poetry, sir? And didn’t
1 see where you, had been marking
•some lines about “love,” and “bright
(‘ye s” and “ruby lips?”
“I yield, I yie'M,” exclaimed Frank
in the midst ol' a general laugh. “It’s
folly to contend against such odds.—
You say Miss Morton and Billy Pitt
Morten are coming too?”
‘fYessaid Mrs. Bentley, and “Mrs.
Holmes will join the party also.”
“And I f ” said Mr. Bentley, “got a
letter from Charley Hampton, who
says honor Bentwold with his
presenoe, sometime before long. We
murflook for Charley when we see
lilmr And ah! Helen, I am looking
for a gay young midshipman, Jack
Harper, aspou of one of my old friends.
He is an igomplished youth, I war
rant. ,yqjip'o he is a sailor. He sings
like a Martingale , and sketches very
well. You must show yourself an ac
complished lady, to fix the affections
of’ such as he.”
“Indeed?” j,
“Indeed.—And let me see—ah !
lam also looking for Col. Banks and
N|_;Bs Laura Banks, from. Louisiana. —
There is a chance for you Mr. Frank.
Miss Laura’s father can give her a su
gar plantation and all the appurte
nances. Besides, although she has
uot the dark hair and romantic eyes
of your Tallulah dulcinea, she is gay
and merry, aye, and as fascinating a
young—“being” as you can wish to
meet. You must look out though, she
has some reputation as a flirt. And
so has Mrs. Holmes, as you know your
self. I tell you of these things seri
ously: I mean I am serious in warning
vou against flirts. But you surely
have learned something of the world
in this time.”
“A little, I hope,” answered Frank.
“Are you expecting any one else?”
“Why n-n-o —not exactly, that is I
am by no means certain. I saw an
Englishman at Hamilton’s house, in
Savannah, last winter, and as he seem
ed to oe a clever, liberal, sensible sort
of fellow, desirous of obtaining infor
mation, I invited him to spend a week
with us. He thought he would do so,
but was not sure.”
“I am looking for Mrs. Holmes the
latter part of next week” said Mrs.
Bentley. “When does you friend come
Helen.”
“She expects to join Mrs. Holmes
and Mr. and Miss Morton. And,
brother, Mr. Morton will forestall
you. ”
“Ah well,” said Frank, “I’ll risk
every thing Billy can do.”
“Our visitors will begin to arrive
then, the latter part of next week,”
said Mr. Bentley, rising and leaving
the table. He added, “Frank we will
start at exactly half past ten. How
ard tell Hannah to put us up a lunch.”
“Don’t do anything rash when you
meet those men, Mr. Bentley,” said
Mrs. Bentley. “You know they are
prepared for anything.”
“As to that,” replied Mr. Bentley,
“they shall not be better prepared
than I will be myself—and it is a long
time since I committed a rash act.”
“Frank you know your failing,” re
sulted Mrs. Bentley. “You are young,
and, I am afraid, naturally more reck
less than your father.”
“Oh I’ll be as cautious and prudent
as a Quaker, mother,” said Frank gaily,
as he left the room.
Helen said nothing till Frank and
her father were both gone. She then
turned to her mother and in an earn
est voice said,
“Mother, you know more about this
business than I do. Are Frank and
father going into danger?”
“I have no idea, Helen, that there
is any danger in those men, so long as
Mr. Bentley can meet them on open
ground and on equal terms; but I
greatly fear that they may waylay
him, or meet him in numbers sufficient
to overpower him, sometime when he
is alone. And I believe they are the
very men to become assassins.”
“Oh then,” said Helen, “let us per
suade father and Frank not to inter
fere with them. Why can they not
keep Juba at home, since they sa} 7 there
is no danger of his being mistreated
so long as he does not go abroad?”
“We can’t persuade them, Helen.
They would consider themselves dis
graced, by yielding even so much to
those low creatures. And, woman as
I am, I can’t bear to have my hus
band or son to suffer such a loss of self
respect, as to allow those men to sup
pose they had obtained even a partial
triumph over them.”
“Well,” said Helen, “if the truth
must be confessed I believe I should
lose a portion of my happiness, if
father or brother should do anything
which would look like yielding to
such adversaries.”
Half past ten arrived, and the horses
appeared at the door. Mrs. Bentley,
Helen and Henry were assembled to
see the travellers off. Helen and her
mother loo&ed pale and anxious, for
they knew not to .what danger their
loved ones would be exposed.
“When shall we look for you at
home, Mr. Bentley ?” asked Mrs. Bent
ley.
“The day after to-morrow, to dinner.
The distance is only thirty miles. Wc
will get to the plantation to-night,
transact our business to-morrow, and
start home by the break’of day, next
morning.”
“Recollect father,” said Helen, “that
we shall be uneasy about you till you
get back safe.”
“Oh there’s no danger, sis,” said
Frank. “Let me persuade you and
mother both to lay aside your fears;
for I see by mother’s countenance she
is as tearful as you are. I know the
Ramseys well; and although they are
great bullies, they know us too well
to attempt to harm us.”
“I know they are not brave men,
Frank,” answered his mother, “but
they are assassins, in spirit, and ready
to become so in act.”
“I am perfectly aware, of that,” said
Mr. Bentley, “and we will be on our
guard.”
“Henry,” he added turning to that
youth and speaking gaily, “recollect
you are the head of the family while
we arc gone. You are the commander
of the garrison; so demean yourself
like a true hero.”
“I had rather go with you father,”
answered the boy.
“What!” said his father laughing,
“that is out of the question young gen
tleman. Good bye, all of you,” he
added as he swung himself into the
saddle, while Frank made his adieus
and followed his example. They
struck a smart canter and were scon
out of sight.
They rode along at a pace which
would have soon tired down any but
fine-blooded animals, such as those on
which they were mounted. There
was but little conversation, for they
rode too fast, for that, and were not in
the humor for it, any way. At half
past one o’clock, they halted at one of
those large deep springs, which abound
in the well watered portions of Flor*
ida. A pleasant grove of natural
growth stood around it, and never
was a place seen where travellers
could partake of a lunch more com
fortably, than here. The thick foli
age of the trees overhead completely
screened them from the sun—the
rocks, covered with their saddle
blankets, afforded them comfortable
seats, while the delicious, cool water of
the spring, was a luxury to be prized
most highly of all, in that warm cli
mate.
Immediately on dismounting, How
ard took the heavy saddles off the
horses, and allowed them to drink
sparingly of the cool water of the
spring; after which, he drew a curry
comb and horse brush from his ample
saddle-bags, and set to work to curry
and rub them down. He then, they
being sufficiently cool, again led them
to the stream, just where it ran from
the spring, and let them drink their
fill.
In the meantime, Mr. Bentley and
Frank opened the folds of the napkin
which enveloped their dinners, and
proceeded to make a comfortable meal
on broiled chicken, nice boiled ham,
See. After dining, they gave Howard
the wherewithal to satisfy his keen
appetite, and Mr. Bentley drew forth
a silver flask filled with pure French
Cognac, of which he and Frank took
just one table-spoon full each, and,
cigars being produced, they fed back,
their saddles answering for pillars, and
made themselves comfortable, till their
horses should be entirely rested and
fresh.
This was the case at the end of an
hour and they resumed their ride.—
Their route ran through vast tracts of
uncleared land. Occasionally they
passed the rude cabin of a squatter,
having a small clearing attached, for
the raising of a few pototoes and veg
etables, with a little corn. At very
wide intervals—from ten to twelve
miles—they passed the extensive plan
tation of some wealthy owner of the
soil, and of course, at such places,
there were broad open fields. On
some one or two of these plantations,
were aristocratic mansions, in which
resided the owners of the soil. Gen
erally, however, there were only large
and comfortable negro-houses, farm
buildings, and acommodious overseer’s
house.
While Frank and his father are pur
suing their journey, let us learn some
thing of the Ramseys. Old John Ram
sey, and his two dissolute sons, came
to the county about two years before
the opening of our narrative. They
brought with them a good many ne
groes, and enough money, to purchase
a large quantity of land, on which
they located. They immediately had
erected, a large, rambling house—or at
least the frame of a large house which
was weather-boarded and covered, and
a few rooms finished, when the owner
suddenly dismissed his workmen, leav
ing his house, not half finished, and
entirely unpainted.
As soon as he was pretty well estab
lished, he hired a crack overseer, put
his negroes principally under his
charge, and he and his sons, com
menced a course of reckless dissipa
tion, assisted by all the scum they
could induce to join them, which soon
made them notorious, and avoided by
all the decent people in the neighbor
hood. At first, they were admitted
into all the sports of those fond of
amusement horse-racing, chicken
fighting, &c. It was soon discovered,
however, that they were unscrupulous
swindlers, with whom it was unsafe to
have any dealings. They were all
three sligbt-of-hand men, and could
make a Jack come up whenever they
pleased. They had rich pickings when
they first came. The neighborhood
in which they had settled, though
thinly inhabited, was a sociable, hos
pitable one; and wherever they went,
or whenever they had visitors, a little
poker or something equally amusing
was proposed, and many a one bled, be
fore they began to suspect their new
neighbors of being light fingered.
As has already been stated, though,
they were found out, and soon had
none to share with them their course
of amusement, as they termed it, but
the very worst people in the neigh
borhood. The better sort began to in
quire something about their antece
dents, and it became whispered abroad,
that their real name was not Ramsey,
and that they had fled from justice,
which threatened them in Virginia,
for the commission of forgery, and al
so for being accessory to a murder.
How this rumor originated, no one
could say, and consequently, no one
could vouch for its truth. Still, its
mere existence, added to their reckless
disregard of public opinion, and theii
undisguised villainy, rendered them
more odious than ever.
They were not only known to be
swindlers, but they were overbearing
and bullying in theii’ disposition, and
had induced many people to believe
they were recklessly brave. For this
reason, they were the objects of fear
with a good many, although others
saw through their pretensions. Tney
were cruel in the extreme to those
whom they could induce to believe in
their courage. There was always a
crowd of low company at Ramsey’s
and they committed all sorts of extrav
agances.
Mr. Bentley, in his visits to his
plantation, had always held himself
entirely aloof from the Ramseys and
their associates. About a year before
the time we now speak of, he happen
ed to be at his plantation one night
when Jake and Joe Ramsey, and two
or three others of like kind, got into a
drunken frolic, and started out patrol
ing. They had no commission, but
went merely for the fun of the thing.—
Among other plantations, they went
to Blue Spring Place. They did not
know that Mr. Bentley was there, or
they would not have gone ; for, al
though the Ramseys knew but little of
him, having never exchanged a word
with him in their lives, their compan
ions were far too well acquainted with
him to venture on his plantation in a
drunken spree, while he was present.
They rode up to the negro houses,
shouting and cursing, and, dismounting,
went into oue of the cabins. Here
they found no negro, except those be
longing to the place, and proceeded to
bully them, swearing and yelling in
such a manner as to reach Mr. Bent
ley’s ears.
The latter, who was giving an audi
ence to Juba, at the time, asked him
if he could tell what noise that was.—
Listening a moment, Juba answer
ed :
“It is nobody butdem drunken Ram
seys. Dey are always gwine about af
ter poor niggers.”
“What sir !” said Juba’s master, “are
they in the habit of coming on my
plantation and disturbing it in this
way? Why hav'nt you told me of
this before?”
“Dcy neber come here before. Dey
go to ’tother plantations but been ’/raid
to come here ’fore now—fools for doin
it now, too,” Juba added, sotto voce ,
as he saw Mr. Bentley rise and seize
a double barrel gun standing in a
corner.
In addition to the gun, he took up
a heavy club and started for the ne
gro houses. He ran, directed by the
noise, to a door, and reached it, just as
Jake Ramsey had seized an old negro
by the hair, and was flourishing an
immense whip over his head, with the
most fearful imprecations.
Without waiting to see whether or
not he would strike the negro, Mr.
Bentley rushed in, and with one .heavy
blow laid the ruffian senseless and
bleeding on the floor. So sudden was
the act, that the first intimation the
drunken crew had of Mr. Bentley’s
presence, was the heavy fall of their
comrade.
When they recovered from their
astonishment, Joe Ramsey, supposing
that his companions would support
him, shouted to them to knock the
man down, rushed upon him, with a
drawn knife. Mr. Bentley cooly pre
sented his gun, and cocking it, told
them to do their worst. Joe, seeing
his friends did not stir, also came to a
halt, when his adversary suddenly
turning the butt of his gun, sent it
with the force of a battering ram, full
in his face, felling him to the floor, and
bruising his features terribly. He
then disarmed him, took his own whip
and administered a severe castigation;
finishing his work, just as Jake reviv
ed and raised himself on his elbow.
Threatening to shoot whichever one
of them ever ventured on his planta
tion again, Mr. Bentley drove them out
of the house, and off the premises.
This was the lesson Mr. Bentley spoke
of, as having given the Ramseys.
We will describe the appearance of
the house of old Ramsey, as it present
ed itself to our travellers on the after
noon of their ride to the plantation.—
It stood about one hundred yards from
the road side, and about three miles
from Blue Spring Place. The paling
around the yard was broken in several
places, and cows and hogs were con
tinually intruding. The yard was
completely grown up in weeds. This
also was the case with a garden, laid
out oil the left of the house. Numer
ous panes of glas3 were broken out of
the windows, and many of the blinds
were hanging by one hinge. The
door steps were nearly broken down,
and the whole establishment wore an
air of extreme unthriftiness and neg
lect.
On that particular afternoon, there
was a pine table set out in the broad
front piazza, round which sat old John
Ramsey, his two sons, and three oth
ers of like appearance and character.
Several bottles, and a half dozen glas
ses stood on the table, and it was evi
dent, from the noise made by the par
ty, that they had been drinking deep
ly. A game of cards was going on,
and the most profane imprecations
were indulged in by each one who
fancied luck to be against him.
Old John Itamsey himself, saw our
travellers, before the}' got opposite the
house. The sight seemed to madden
him, and throwing down the cards, he
exclaimed,
“Boys, yonder comes the damned
rascal who has been in your way and
my way so long. I’ve got just enough
of hell in me now to do anything; and
if you are not up to the mark, each of
you take a tumbler of brandy, and,
by God, that will set you right. Men,
he added, turning to bis visitors,
while his sons were swallowing the
brandy, “do you intend to stand by
us, or are you such damned cowards as
to be afraid of this damned aristocrat
and his whelps ?”
“Why we «int afraid,” replied one
of the men, “but we’d rather not have
any fuss."
“You are liars! you cowards!”
shouted the infuriated Ramsey. “And
so are Jake and Joe, the cursed fools!
They let that chap beat them both,
and two of their friends stood by and
saw it. If you don’t revenge your
selves now,” he said, scowling furious
ly upon his sons as he spoke, “if you
dont revenge yourselves now, you
whelps, I’ll turn you out of doors.”
“Oh by God,” answered Jake, “you
needn’t ride such a high horse ; for we
can turn state’s evidence if you fall out
with us.”
At this the old man turned pale, on
seeing which Joe put in with,
“But we needn’t fall out. We are
just as ready to have revenge as you
can be. But you’d better not threat
en us, for I’ll be damned if yon dont
get a lofty fall, whenever you attempt
to turn us out.”
“Ai‘C you going to help us or not ?”
again asked the old man of his guests.
“No we arc not,” answered one of
the three, a small, hard, wiry-looking
man, much the soberest of the party.
“No we are not; and you’d better
take my advice, and not molest these
men. For even if you kill them, we
have heard you say enough to convict
you of murder.
“Go to hell! you croaking son of
a b h,’’ was the thundering an
swer. “If you ever turn informer
against me, I’ll cut your damned in
fernal throat and send you to hell where
you belong !”
Seeing the turn matters were taking,
Jake Ramsey, who seemed to have
some little reason about him, interpos
ed and said, winking at the same time
to his father,
“We dont want to kill Bentley, we
only want to give him a good flog
ging, for the knock down he gave us
when he had the advantage of us.”
“Well,” answered the guest who
spoke before, “do as you please ; but
mark me ; if you don’t kill Mr. Bent
ley and Frank mighty quick, you’ll
come off second best, if you are three
to two.”
“Yes,” said another of the three. —
“I know them well, and they are game
to the back-bone.”
“Damn you, clear out of my house,”
broke in the old man. ou are no
friends of mine ! You may look on
me as an enemy, from this time, you
miserable, damned cowards ! ”
Whereupon, the guests quickly with
drew, just as Mr. Bentley and Frank
were corning opposite the house.
The latter were riding slowly by,
when they were hailed by the owner
of the house, with,
“Hallo, sir, I want a word with
you.”
Our travellers halted, and the three
drunken wretches went out to the road.
Mr. Bentley’s surprise at their being so
anxious to »e j him was very great, as
he imagined they would rather avoid
him; and he himself would have to seek
an interview. lie and Frank sat per
fectly unmoved on their horses, and
when the Ramseys came up to them,
despite the brandy they had drank ?
they were completely unnerved by the
stern, unmoved, and haughty glance
which they encountered. The two
parties regarded each other for some
time in silence, and the party on foot
at length seemed to be considering how
they could best beat a retreat, when
Mr. Bentley asked, in a sharp tone,
“What will you have, sir ?”
Upon this, Ramsey mustered suf
ficient courage to answer, in as big a
voice as he could command, v
“Why we understood you.was com
ing down to whip us and we thought,
by God, we’d give you the chance
now.”
“You lie! you damned hound!”
“Come that won’t do,” said Jake
Ramsey, “you musn’teall the old man
a lie, or we’ll give you a taste of what
you gave us that night at your planta
tion, when you knew you had the ad
vantage over us with your double
bar .”
“ Hold you tongue! you insolent
scoundrel!” shouted Frank, drawing a
pistol half way out of the holsters with
which lie was provided.
“Don’t be in a hurry to use those
persuasions Frank,” said his father,
smiling, even at that moment. “Time
enough for that yet.” And turning
again to Ramsey he began, in the
calmest tones,
“I had heard that you had threaten
ed to flog one of my slaves for, what
I consider, doing his duty. I am on
my way to enquire of my overseer,
the truth of the matter, and after that,
I intended seeking an interview with j
you.”
“But by God sir ! you didn’t have
to seek one,” answered Ramsey, now
recovering something of his usual bul
lying tone. “I’m here ready to give
you any satisfaction you want. I did
say I would whip old Juba, and I
will do it, in spite of his master, and
be damned to him.”
“Look you sir;” said Mr. Bentley.
“If I were not now intent on investi
gating this case of the negro, my an
swear to your language would be a
cut in your face with my riding-whip.
As it is, I must wait till I am through
with this investigation. Why do you
wish to whip Juba?”
“Because he almost killed my
steers.”
“Were not your steers in my cot
ton field ?”
“Yes. But what neighbor would
let his negroes beat steers for doing
what any of them will do when they
get a chance?”
“You, sir, for one. Did not Juba
carry your steers home once, and tell
you of their mischievous propensities,
before he abused them?”
“It makes no difference sir,” roar
ed the other. “I’ll flog him like he
did the steers. If I don’t, I hope God
may damn me, to all eternity!”
By this time he seemed to have lost
all fear or prudence, and shouted out
again,
“You are armed are you? Well,
so are we. Lets pay him off boys. ’
“And with these words lie drew a
revolver and presented it at Mr. Bent
ley. His sons, rather slowly, tollow
ed his example, for they retained a
lively recollection of their former en
gagement. Before the old man had
entirely drawn his pistol, Mr. Bentley
had one out of his holster and present
ing it, was just pressing the trigger
when he heard a report, and saw the
old man’s right arm, drop, and short
ly after, he sunk slowly to the earth.
The shot was fired by Frank, who
had been watching every movement
of Ramsey’s, and was ready with his
pistol, before either of the others. He
had been able to take a good aim, and
hit him, where he chose, while his
father, although quicker than his an
tagonist, would have been forced to
fire quickly, and merely at the body
of his foe.
As soon as Joe and Jake Ramsey
saw their father fall, they fired away
at random; upon which Mr. Bentley
and Frank leaped from their horses,
and rushed upon them, pistol in hand.
At the first rush, they turned and
fled, the body of their father on the
ground.
[to be continued.]
FOR THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
Thoughts
Worthy the reflection of those ‘who are
about to enter on the staye of life, and
ivho have not yet made a fatal leap!'
Man was born a social being, and be
must do violence to his nature, before
he can shake off those tics that bind
him to his kind. But universal phi
lanthropy, lovely as it is, must be
founded on partial and particular at
tachments, to operate with efficient
force. The heart that is not warmed
by individual love and select friend
ships, is incapable of expanding to
very great and exalted sentiments. It
may feign, but it cannot feel, the gen
erous glow of affection, the ardour of
patriotism, or the throb of benevo
lence. Private attachments being then
the foundation of happiness or misery
the criterion of worth, and the source
of all that is valuable or dreadful in
life, can too much care be employed in
forming them, in extracting their
sweets, and avoiding their pains? Few
are the pleasures that* we can sincerely
and honorably enjoy, without the par
ticipation of others; but, on the other
hand, solitary misery is not worth a
thought compared to that which the
mind feels, when it is unfortunate
through the want of love or duty in
those in whom it has reposed its con
fidence ; or when its distresses involve
the objects of its fondest regard, A
man may bear tho sting of ingratitude
or the infliction of wrongs, from such
as he never loved; he may wrap him
self up in self-consciousness of recti
tude, and dispise the opinion he never
courted; but if the friend on whom
he lias relied is treacherous; if the
bosom on which he has leaned is false
or regardless of his peace, humanity
can meet with no severer trial; and
such poignant wo can scarcely admit
of alleviation. To be cautions in
foi ming connexions is only common
prudence, to be firm in maintaining
them, w hen once formed, is a duty in
whicn you cannot be defiicicnt without
suffering as much as you inflict. Sud
den attachments are always indiscreet,
and often fatal. Try those in whom
you wish to repose trust, with the
nicest regard to their real and not to
their specious qualities. Found every
affection of the mind on principle. —
Let not beauty pass for merit, the affec
ted smile of complacency for good
humour, nor levity for wit. Never
give way to injurious opinions against
any one, without the fullest conviction
that they are deserved ; but above all,,
take care never to form too partial an
opinion until you have had an oppor
tunity of ascertaining its propriety.
“Young persons are apt to imagine
that the convivial companion, whose
professions of regard rise with the ab
sence of his reason, is firmly to be re
lied on—and that the partaker in folly
will be the consoler in distress.” Do--
lusive expectations ! True friendships
must be grafted in virtuous pursuits,
and cemented by rational endearments.
A similarity in vicious taste can form
no lasting tie; it cannot bear the test
of reflection. Thought will despise,
or make you despised, if your union
is that of infamy; on the contrary, a
congenial disposition for what is laud
able, will reciprocally endear. Such
a friendship will gain stability from the
storm, and the gales of adversity will
root it the deeper. Without a friend,
indeed, it is impossible to know hap
piness ; but how much misery has aris
en from the prostitution of this sacred
name! There are, however, ties still
dearer than friendship; and of more
important operation on our lives.—
Love, balm of wo, as it is of the first
consequence to our enjoyment, so it is
frequently the origin of our deepest
distress. If it is placed on an unwor
thy object, and this discovery mad*
too late the heart can never more
know peace. Every hour increases
the torments of reflection : and hope,,
that soothes the severest ills is here
turned into despair; for stron'T must
that mind be which can reconcile itself
to the greatest of all human disap
pointments ; or unfeeling it must be to
disregard them ! “In the tender con
nexions, mind must assimilate to mind,
to give a reasonable prospect of felicity;
and, after they are irrevocably fixed,
the wish to oblige should anticipate
the request; views, interest, pursuits—
all should be mutual, and spring from
a sense of duty, prompted by a prin
ciple of love: else tnat state which
might be productive of the purest
pleasures and the highest satisfaction,
would be converted to a bane and a
curse.” Here negative happiness can
not exist, as far as regards cultivated
minds; the brutal or the insensate may
repose in the shade of indifference;
but in proportion as the soul is formed
for enjoyment, it will be awake to all
the misery of its fate; and every neg
lect of the duty it has a right to ex
pect, every perverse word, every ac
tion of stubborn contempt, will leave
an impression indelible and agonizing.
Even the sullen look will dim the eye
of love; and the frown sink into the
heart of sensibility. In a friend, vir
tue is an indispensable qualification;
but in love, virtue must be adorned by
an amiable disposition and a good tem
per, or it can neither deserve nor en
dure regard. The qualities that most
endear, are frequently the least daz
zling; the smile of good humor is more
impressive than the force of wit.
“Beauty, though we all approve,
Cammands our wonder more than love,
"While the agreeable strikes sure,
Aud gives them wounds wo cannot cure.”
Amatok.
Eatonton, Aug., 1854.
Popping the Question. —“Sally,”'
said a green youth, in a venerable
white hat and gray pants, through
which his legs projected half a foot,
perhaps more—“ Sally, before we go
into this museum to see the Serenaders,
I want to ax you somtUin.” “Well,
Ichabod, what is it?” “Why you see
this ’ere business is aw me to cost a hull
quarter apiece, and I can’t afford to
spend so much for nuthin. Now, of
you’ll say you’ll hav me, darn’d if I
don’t pay the whole ou’t myself. I
will I”
‘You had better ask for manners
than for money,’ said a finely dressed
gentleman to a beggar boy, who asked
him for a penny. ‘I asked you tor
what I thought you had the most o&’
replied the boy.
In a biographical sketoh of a lately
deceased Professor, we arc told that
he held his chair, for nearly fifty years.
This i3 evidently a mistake, far it must
be obvious that, instead of the Pro
fessor having held his chair for half a
centurv, his chair must have held him, -
[■Punch,