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Bay "bow looliali I was to lmainiio
myself in love with my neighbor’s
daughter, a simple Florida girl.”
“You are not convinced of the truth
of what you arc saying Helen, ion
wish to soften the blow as much as pos
sible, and I thank you for y.our kind
attentions. You little know the strength
of the love you reject. But I will an
noy you no farther. Tell Frank to
call and see me to-inorrow, or write me,
his conclusion. Good bye,”
And he seized her hand and shook
it, while Helen could not repress a tear.
It fell upon his hand and thrilled
through him.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, “could I pre
serve that tear, to me it would be a
gem, dearer and more valuable than
the most costly which deckst o dia
dem of earth’s proudest monarch.”
was gone, just as Frank was re
ijjlpprning, and whistling much more
gaily than he had done, since Kate
Morgan's departure.
“W ell Helen,” lie said in a joyous
.tone, “Father says he had as soon I
should go now as any time, so next
week I am o-p-h.”
Seeing that Helen did not answer,
but turned away her head, lie looked
round into her face and perceived the
pearly drops glistening in the moonlight
upon her long drooping eye lashes, ex
claimed,
by Helen, w hat's the matter'?—
And where’s Tom too? I’ve just
missed him. t\ hat s become of him ?”
“He is gone home brother, and says
you must either call on him, or let
him know soon, what conclusion you
have come to.”
“Why did he not wait? Ah I see
how it is. You have driven him off
Helen, and are even now repenting of
it. Is it true ?”
“Dear brother, I entreat you to drop
the subject.”
“But I cannot my sister, without
knowing something more, Tom is
my dearest friend on earth, and I would
be perfectly willing to call him broth
er-in-Jaw. Have you rejected him
Helen ?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry,” answered Frank. I
always thought you had a kindness
for Tom; but you know best, antkl
will not press the subject upon vou
longer, lam going to leave home
for a long journey my sister, and would
be glad to know all the secrets of vour
heart go, as you already know
mine; Ihd you dismiss poor Tom be
cause you already loved another T
“No brother. I have never met
with anyone yet, who interested me
more tbanplr. Butler.”
“Then there must be hope for him
yet,” said Frank. “He is true steel,
Helen. But' I Said I would not urge !
you. Let us go into the house.”
A few days more, and Frank and
Tom did actually Bet out. Tom, gen.
erally so gav, wasbflesponding as most
young men would be in his situation,'
and Frank, who, a few’ short days be
fore had been sojfdesponding, now in
fine spirits. Thl difference between
them was thisJfTom had already de
termined on tBS tour, arid the disap
pointment Ue liad met with, took away
aK the feejjfigs of pleasure and enjoy
rnentw itl W which lie had at first cou
temWd it: while Frank had receiv
ed«fP®ovv first, and then the idea of
the tour occurred afterward. lie had
not been exactly rejected, but was in a.
painful stare of suspense, and the bus
tle of preparation for the journey rous
ed him fi#n the gloomy state into which
he had fallen, and, by keeping him
busy, allowfd him no time for the in
dulgence thoughts.
Employment, stirring energetic em
ploymcjflpis the best medicine in the
world feelings incident to a re
jectionijpFKmatfers little what the
employment Rft-anything which is ex
citing or intercaLig to the mind—the
more ekeiti ng thejetter. I once k new
.* young gentlcrMn who was sadly
and seriously in Imp—just about the
commencement of hunting season.
He endured a rejcfmi one night be
tween ..twelve and on* o’clock, rode
home, nine miles, by twm went to bed,
sleptsounrlly until fbmwose and went
out with the hounds, aMI after a hard
.day’s hunt, returned soraary and jad
ed in body that he hnffno, chance to
indulge in moil’d angiptb, and as lie
was an incorrigable huqfsmau he kept
it up during the season, End at the end
,of it was cured sound it had not
been for the excitiiuMpport of fox-hunt
ing, he immense
ly Perfectrareness would have been
the dS&tQjMpiiin.
man is fond of fox-hunting then,
MfThinn wait till the beginning of the
Plsason. to pop the question, and have
« hunt arranged before hand, so that if
fc is rejected, he can plunge at once
fitdit, and my word for it .he* .will’soon
Jorget his troubles.
f Let us leave Tom and Frank to a
JLcureor aggravation of their disease, as
case may be, and follow our party
ftUheir Georgia trip
Ajpooth two young men
set out tor Europe, one or two of the
party, Helen among them, stood on the
colonnade of the hotel at Cotoosa.—
Somehow, Fitz Warren had met them
there and he stood by Helen’s side. —
He had sought it on her first arrival?
involuntarily and without being aware
of any particular motive. As they
stood in one end of the a
sudden burst of music informed them
that the omnibus wits arriving from the
railroad, and they looked to see who
were the arrivals. Helen was looking
tor some friends and as the passengers
descended one by one, and she recog
nized none of them, she was turning
away disappointed, when she was in
duced, by a sudden exclamation from
Fitz Warren to look again. She saw
that Fitz Warren was very pale and
he muttered something about “evil ge
nius.”
She turned to see who caused so
much agitation in her companion and
beheld, descending from the omnibus,
a man of thirty hr thirty-five years of
age.. lie was, apparently, a man of
the most indisputable pretensions to
gentility and position. His dress was
ce-rtainly that of a gentleman, and he
was what one would call handsome.—
Take him all in all, he was calculated
to arrest attention, and, generally, to
make, a favorable impression. But
just as Helen looked, he happened to
turn his eyes upward, and his gaze met
hers. He started with admiration-—as
all did when they beheld her for the
first time—and then he turned his cold,
grey eye from her to Fitz Warren.—
As soon as this was done, his eye as
sumed an expression of sinister malig
nity such as one would scarcely have
believed him capable of. This expres
sion was fleeting, and was replaced by
one of apparent cordiality, us he bow
ed low. His salutation was not return
ed by Fitz Warren who gazed on him
sternly and fixedly.
“That gentleman seems to know you
Mr. Fitz Warren,” said Helen.
“Yes,” was the reply. “We have
been acquainted many years.”
“His appearance has excited my cu
riosity. Who is he ?”
“He is a lawyer and his name is Lor
raine.”
“Look,” said Helen. “He and fath
er are also acquainted, They are
shaking hands very cordially.”
“He is a man of some distinction,”
said Fitz Warren, “and his acquain
tance is very extensive. No doubt,
as I saw his gaze of admiration just
now, he will seek your acquaintance,
and as he seems so well acquainted
with Mi\ Bentley, lie will present- him,
and you will find him fluent and en
tertaining.”
A short time after, Helen retired
from the colonnade, and Fitz Warren
paced it with folded arms and abstract
ed air. The sight of Lorraine seemed
to change entirely the current of his
feelings. Before that, he had permit
ted himself to appear cheerful, and
even gay. lie was a man who seldom
entered a ball-room, though lie was a
graceful and well-taught dancer. Since
his present visit to Catoosa, he had
joined the dancers frequently. In
some countries they believe in the in
fluence of the “evil eye j” and one, in
viewing the sudden and thorough
change Lorraine’s eye had effected in
Fitz Warren, would have been tempt
ed to give credence to the superstition.
An hour or two had passed from
the time the omnibus arrived and the
visitors who came in it had had time
to get rid of the dust of their jour
ney, and come out in full force. The
colonnade was crowded with promena
ders—gay ladies and gallant and de
voted cavaliers. Here strolled along
with slow and dignified pace two of
the great men of the state. Politics
engaged their earnest attention, and
they paid but little heed to the light
talkers around them. There went
some.sparkling, lively, vivacious little
creature, of the Laura Banks school,
exchanging graceful badinage with
that dashing looking youth in brass
buttons. Farther on, you behold a
tall, dark, haughty looking beauty ac
companied by some matured man of
the world, like Charley Hampton,—
They arc conversing in the grave-set
tones of conventionality, and they scorn
as they saunter slowly along, as if with
them, the passions had no existence.
Again there is our beautiful, amiable,
fascinating Miss Butler. She appears
more beautiful than ever this evening,
because her usual joyous manner is
tempered by an expression of sadness.
Her cheek is rather pale, her long eye
lashes drooping, and she appears scarce
ly to hear the impassioned and earnest
words which a handsome youth is
pouring forth, What a nobledooking
fellow is her cavalier! And how deep
ly lie seems smitten with her charms [
Poor youtli !—hbw it would mortify
you to kno w that Emma scarcely hears
a word you utter! llow it would over
whelm you with despair, were you not
and heaving bosom every time you
passed that pale, refined-Jooklhg man
with the folded arms and tiro knit brow.
Any'd nlj this brill tan! company,
and all around the immense colonnade.
At length he heard some one accost him,
and looking up beheld Mr Bentley, arm
in arm with Lorraine. As he perceiv
ed the latter, a sickening hue passed
over his face, and his lips became set
and firm, but no other sign of emotion
was betrayed by him.
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Bentley,
“Mr. Fitzwarren indulging in moody
revery again ? I thought this gay
company, had cured you of that.”
“All,” said Fitz Warren “you must
permit me to indulge in my old amuse
ment occasionally. I have been busi
ly and distressingly gay, ever since my
advent here, and it is time I should
relax a little. You remember HEsop’s
fable about the bow.”
“Yes,” said Mr. 8., laughing, “but
never heard it applied in that way be
fore.' It seems that you make the
bow, strung, represent the very thing
which yEsop makes the bow, unstrung,
represent. But let me introduce a
friend—Mr. Lorraine.”
“I have met Mr. Lorraine before,”
was the reply, as a salutation passed
between the gentlemen, freezingly dis
tant upon Fitz Warren’s side, ostenta
tiously cordial arid polite on the part
cf Lorraine.
“We knew each other a good many
years ago, Mr. Fitz Warren,” spoke
Lorraine. “I recognized you at first
sight, but was not sure you would re
collect me, and so I requested our
mutual friend, Mr. Bentley, to give me
an introduction. Permit me to hope
that in consideration of this fact, our
acquaintance may'continue this time,
and not be broken off as it was Ik fore.”
“That depeuds a great deal on your
self, sir,” answered the’other.
The three gentlemen stood a few
moments in conversation, Lorraine ex
erting himself to be gracious and cor
dial, and to gradually grow familiar
with Fitz Warren—the latter being
laconic, polite and unbending.
“Well,” said Mr. Bentley, finally
we will resume'our stroll, Fitz Warren,
and leave v t ou to your recreation.”
And lie and Lorraine passed on.
“I am afraid” said Mr, Bentley,” “vou
think you met with rather an ungra
cious reception.”
“Why no,” answered Lorraine, “I
am well acquainted with his ways. I
never think it strange that a man
should become moody, who has as
much reason for it as Fitz Warren
has.”
“You know the reason of it then.—
Is it too much for me to ask you what
is the reason ?”
“Oh! no,” said Lorraine. “I am
perfectly willing to tell you all I
know, which is but little. His bad
health is almost sufficient to account
for it—at least a part of it. The rest
is all mystery to nearly every one,
though I think I will know all about
it one of these days. It is very fool
ish, you know, to be repeating mere
idle rumors, especially concerning so
well-established a man as Fitz Warren ;
and for my part I never thought that
it ought to follow as a necessary con
sequence) because a man is gloomy,
that he has committed a crime —as
some people do."
“Why surely,” said Mr. Bentley,“no
one can dare to insinuate any thing,
of that sort against Fitz Warren.”
“I can hardly say,” answered Lor
raine, “J have already told you all I
know. Perhaps there is the faintest
shadow of a rumor, of the sort you
mention.”
“It must be a slander.”
“I am certain of it,” was the ready
reply. “I always discredited it, and
took the responsibility to deny it.”
“The rumor is not prevalent here ?”
“I am unable to say,” answered L.
“Because,” resumed Mr. B. “it would
chafe Fitz Warren sorely if he were to
hear of it.”
“The rumor never assumed any dis
tinct form,” said Lorraine. “No spe
cific charge was ever brought, and it
is not worth a thought any way.”
“Then,” said Mr. 8., “may I request
that you will not mention it to any
one else here —as it might make a no
ble gentleman very unhappy, and as
you say, it is not worth a thought?”
“I certainly shall not mention it”
said L. “I never spoke as many words
concerning it before, to any one,”
After a pause he resumed, . ■
“I always admired Fitz Warren’s
character and talent very much, in
spite of his reserved manner,”
That very night, sure enough, as
Helen was in the. midst of a gay con
versation, her father brought up Lor
raine and said,
“Miss Bentley, allow me to intro
duce Mr. Lorraine.”
With an easy and assured manner,
Lorraine made his salutation and took
his place among the group of beaux
by whom Helen was surrounded and
waitgei an opportunity of joining in
the conversation. This he soon found,
and such wets his powers that the
rest of the beaux were soon silenc
ed, and he had the conversation en
tirely,to himself. He crcrted him
self to pleas', .and most girls would
have boon pleased ; but. there was an
edged to herseif that she had hardly
ever met with a better informed or
more entertaining conversationist. —
lie remained with her until the next
set was called, and then resigned her
to lier partner, after engaging her
hand for the set after this.
When he had danced with her he
procured a seat by her. He had been
conversing, during the dance, concer
ning amusements and especially waltz
ing and fancy dances. He was a
man who always felt his way cau
tiously, and he wished to find out
whether she objected to waltzing.—
He had failed to elicit from her any re
mark by which he could judge of her
sentiments, and concluding she was in
the luibit of waltzing, when the band
struck up a waltz and the couples com
menced their fascinating amusement,
lie asked her if she would join them.
“No sir,” was the reply. “I never
waltz in a public ball-room—least of
all with a stranger”
So freezing were her words and so
haughty their intonation, that it would
have abashed or offended any com
)non man ; and so unlooked for was
the reply, that it abashed, for a mo
ment, Lorraine, who was an uncom
mon man. He was too much a man
of the world to suffer himself to re
main so long, however, and as to be
coming offended, he never thought
of it. He had an object in view, and
Ito accomplish it, he had to ingratiate
himself with the Bentleys. He re
plied,
“I honor you for your sentiments
Mis; Bentley. If I had a sister, I
should wish her to think the same way.
At the same time ; I know there are
many ladies who do waltz, who are
moilest and lady-like as one could
wish. Habit—custom, with them,
does away with the impropriety of the
thing. I did not know but that you
were one of these, which must be my
apology for making the proposition I
did.”
“Is it not rather singular,” asked Helen
“that gentlemen should waltz with
ladies when they say they would dis
approve of waltzing in their own sis
ters ?”
“I confess,'” answered Lorraine, “it
does appear rather singular, but al
tough we had rather our sisters would
not waltz, I have already said that
custom does away with the impropriety
of the thing, and such is the fascination
attendant on it, that we cannot resist it
when we find ladies who indulge in it.”
Helen was forced to admit the
apology.
“ How do you like your acquain
tance Helen ?” asked her father later in
the evening.
“I hardly know,” said Helen. “He
is very talented and fluent and well
informed, but I do not like the expres
sion of his eye, and some how, I have
no confidence in his sincerity, even
when he is making Protestations of his
respect for honesty, probity, and tiie
like.”
“Well” said her father, “he has made
the same impression on you that he
made at first on me and although a
great deal of that impression has been
removed from my mind some little of it
still lingers. He did me a service once,
and his standing is perfectly good. In
short lie is considered a
and I know of nothing which would
goto prove that lie is not one; so
when he requested an introduction
to you I was bound to give it.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
miscellaneous.
From tlie Home Journal.
Irving’s Recollections of
Jtloore,
We chanced to be present the other
day, when Washington Irving took up
the defence of the memory of Tom
Moore. So note-worthy an outpouring
as it was of a generous and genial na
ture—properly eloquent in defence of
the friend with whom he had ex
changed cordialities, and over whose
grave he would not, therefore, see an
ill weed grow unplucked—we wished
at the time, that the Summer wind
would play reporter, and tell the
whole world of it. The subject was
started by Irving being rallied on hav
ing been such a Brummel, while in
London, as to have served Moore for a
model in dress —as appeared by a pas
sage in one of his letters, giving direc
tions to his publisher to look up Ir
ving’s tailor to make him a coat.
■“All,” said Geoffrey, with one of
his genial lightings-up of the face still
handsome, “that was owing to the
mere chance of Moore’s having been
with me one morning when I went to
Nugce’s. And I have often thought
of it since, by the way, as a curious
instance of the bringing together of op
posite classes in England. We were
strolling down St. James street, and
Moore just stepped in with me while I
ordered a coat. Seeing-that Nugce
did not know him, I Stepped between
the two, and said, Tieally, gentlemen,
two such distinguished men ought to
know each other ! Mr. Nugee, this’ is
Mr. Thdmas Moore -Mr. Moore, Mr.
Nugee !’ Upon which, Nugee, who
was worth one hundred,and liily thou
i sand pounds ,*t .come forward,
bowing almost to the ground in hisex-1
cessive humility, and epuld not fhict j
words enough to express Iris sense off
the honor of such an introduction.— j
He was delighted with it, too, and
thanked me warmly for it afterward.
‘Good creature !’ he said of Moore,
‘good creature !’ using the phrase ve
ry popular in London at that time, to
express great admiration. Yes (con
tinued Irving musingly), there was
that tailor, worth a magnificent for
tune, and he would come to your lodg
ings, with the coat he had made, to
try it on ! I remember his flattering
way of looking at me, and expressing
his interest when I called upon him
on my return from the continent to or
der something. ‘Not looking quite so
well, my dear sir, not quite so wel !
Take care of yourself dear Mr. Ir
ving ? pray, take care of yourself 1 \Ve I
can’t spare you yet !’ And his look
was full of the tenderest sympathy.
“But they do Moore the greatest
injustice in denying him a sincere af
fection for his wife. lie really loved
her and was proud of her— l know it,”
continued Irving, very emphatically.—
“When we were in Paris together, I
used to go out and breakfast with him,
and most delightful those breakfasts
were. And I remember being with
Moore when his friends, Lord and Lady
Holland, had just arrived ; and Lady
Holland told Tom they were coming
out the next day to breakfast, and she
wished particularly to see little Bessy.
They shall have the breakfast,’ said
his wife, when he told her, ‘ out they
tvoril see little Bessy /’ She said it very
archly, but with the positiveness of an
habitual independence, for she would
not be patronized by great folks! —
Moore admired this, though, he used
to say it was quite beyond what he was
capable of himself. But she did yield
to him occasionally, and go with him
to parties —once, particularly, exciting
her husband’s greatest admiration by
the way her quiet and self-possessed
manner completely baffled the condes
cension of Lady Lansdowne. Her
Ladyship had intended to be excessive
ly cordial ; but the simple way in.
which ‘little Bessy’ took it as a matter
of course, turned the balance of digni
ty altogether. Moore spoke of it de
lightedly afterward. Oh, they have
cruelly misrepresented that man ! lie
was an honorable high-minded fellow,
and in some trying money matters par
ticularly, he showed the greatest dis
interestedness and liberality, lie has
been shamefully wronged since his
death.”
Thus vindicatorily of his friend
spoke the just and kind Geoffrey Cray
on, a day of two since ; and we are
glad to record it, while the dark wing
of the poet’s renown is upppermost.
For, says Milton,
“ Fame has tivo wings, one black, the other white—
She waves them both in her unequal flight.”
N. 1\ Willis.
! Graves of Shelley and Keats,
FROM “THE BUCKEYE ABROAD.”
We should not forget to visit the
temple of Bacchus, which was a pre
face to our tenth day’s experience in
Rottie. While looking at the strung:
wine-jugs and mosaics, we were om
pelled to listen to th * clucking of
frightened chickens and rhe gobble of
unromantic turkeys. We saw where
the Iforatii and Curatii fought, and
we threaded the great halls of Car
acalla’s baths, in which large numbers
of peasants were making hay, amid
ruined walls. Here Shelley used to
wander and clamber, while he com
posed his “Prometheus.” That noble
poem was chiefly writen upon what
he called, from its magnitude, the
mountainous ruins of Caracalla, and
among the flow cry glades and thickets
of oderiferous blossoming trees, which
were extended in every winding laby
rinth upon its immense platforms and
dizzy arches suspended in the air.—
The bright blue sky of Rome, and the
effect of the vigorous awakening spring,
and the new life with which it drenches
the spirit even to intoxication, he says,
were the inspiration of the drama.
Alas for poor Shelley! Rome was
to him the scene of a sadder drama, in
thelast act of which, the drapery of the
life he so earnestly dedicated to Beau
ty, was dropped forever. We visited
his burial-place in the old English
§ rave-yard. We found the “cors cor
ium” engraven with his name, and
the verses which symbolised his change
“into something rich and st range”--up
on a plain, flat, almost black marble
slab. A few tall cypresses wave above
it, while near and almost covering it,
is an old ruin above the wall. The
snails aud caterpillars lazily crawl over
the memorial. Near it, is a proud
monument to some Englishman, kill
ed in hunting over the Campagna.
Around, are graceful stones and ele
gant monuments to the unknown, as
far eclipsing the humble slab of Shel
ley, as his name does theirs. None on
his. No flowers decorate the spot,
where the heart of Shelley sleeps from
its fitful throbbing. The win'd moans
piteously in the funeral cypress above
him. Joy seems to hover over every
other grave. Neat box-wood hedges
surround other stones. Even a great
pyramid of'CaiusCestusupon the right,
is decorated with green and flowers.
But the narrow home of Shelly’s heart
is bare and flowerless, black and gloom
y. Can it be that this appaaent neg
lect springs from prejudice against the
young skeptic Shelley ?Is the grave of
him who wrote “Queen Mali” to be
slighted, and shall no flower grow over
that heart that sang the ‘hymn to intel
lectual beauty?” Ye birds that charm
ed so sweetly the soul of poetry in
Shelley living, have ye no carols for
his repose? Yes, yes—before we can
leave the spot, or brush the tear from
the eye, a bright spirit, bird-shaped--
but
“ Bird thou never wort —
with the gush of melody such as Shel
ley’&ownsky lark carried up to the gates
of heaven from her dell of dew, began
a song of rare music from the heart
ol the cypress, relieved the sombre
gloom of; his tomb and kindled rap
ture in the soul!
■ a of cy pes?! ? ’,ye par
cel into the other grave-yard, where
the body of John Keats lies. The
yai;d is grassy, surrounded by and sur
mounting old Roman streets.. No
trees shade the small upright marble
which tells .so sadly ofhiin, whose name
was not writ in water. A tow poppies
and yellow flowers, emblematic of his
“Sleep’ and Rocsy,” grow from the
sunken mould. A F l,orl bisenption
told of the bitterness of his critics and
tljesensibility of his heart. Lot we
feel lhatthe line Greocian soul of lveats
lingers not about. this 4 resting-place of
his mortal r mains. Doth it not burn
where Slid ley saw it through the in
most vale of heaven ?
nonl of Aden -- '•"<' •>
Beficoiis iVojn the ab‘o‘l6 where the eternal are.
We leave the grave of Shelley and
Keats with a morunful step. 'l’lie place
of th. ir repos*, amidst the relics of
Roman glory; the similarity of their
genius and destiny, and the companion
ship they bear in the neglect of their
countrymen, make their rosting-place
the most interesting tombs in the
world. Immortality more fadeless
than marble, has placed their image
in its Pantheon of poetry !
Party Prejudice. —An anecdote j
is told of a countyman from New York I
who was visiting the Senate at the time ;
Mr. Van. Buren was Vice President.—
Our friend was a redhot Democrat,
and of course held Mr. Van Buren in
great reverence. He sat in th • cireu- j
lar gallery of the Senate, gazing at the 1
Vice President with a mingled feeling
of awe and State pride, when sudden
ly a tall and majestic form appeared at
the side of the hall and beckoned to
Mr. Van Buren. There was little
business doing, and the Vice Presi
dent, calling a Senator to the Chair,
joined the person mentioned, when
both seated themselves on a sofa, both
snutfed from the same box, the hand
of the Vice President was playfully
laid on the knee of his companion, and
every now and then a laugh wo,uld es
cape them, showing that whatever might
be the topic they were discussing it
was Giie which was agreeable to both.
“ Is that Mr. Calhoun with the
Vice President ?” asked our country
friend, turning to a person near him.—
“No sir.” "
“Is it Mr. Benton ?”
“ No sir.”
“ Is it Gen. Wall ?”
“ No sir.”
“May L ask who it is ?”
“Why, that is Mr. Clay.”
Mr. Clay !” exclaimed the man. —
“And does Mr. Vanburen speak to him ?
Rot me if ever I vote for him again !”
and the fellow stalked from the hall
firmly believing that the country was
lost.
•Answer to « Challenge.
The eccentric A. 11. Breckenridge,
one of the Judge of the Supreme
Court of Pennsylvania, when a young
man was challenged to fight a duel, by
an English officer, whom lie answered
as fid lows:
“I have objection; to this duel mat
ter —the one is lest I should hurt y a;
and the other is lest you should hurt
j me. I don’t see any good it would
I be to me. to put a ball through your
body. 1 could make no use of you
when dead for any culinary purpt.se,
as I would a rabbit or turkey. 1 am
no cannibal to feed upon the flesh of
men. Why then shoot- down a human
mature, of whom J could make no
use? A buffalo would make better
meat. For though your flesh might
be delicate and tender, yet, it wants
the firmness and consistency, which
take and retain salt. At any rate it
would not do for a long sea voy
age.
“You might make a good barbecue
it is true, being of the nature of rac
coon or possum; but people are not in
the habit of barbecuing anything that is
human now. And as to your hide, it
is not worth taking off/being a little
better than a year old colt’s So much,
for you. As to myself I do not like to
stand in the way of any thing that is
hurtful. I am under the impresssion
that you might hit me. This being
the case, 1 think it most advisable to
stay in the distance. If you mean to
try your pistols, take some object, a
tree, or a barn door about my dimen
sions. If you hit that send me word,
and I xvill acknowledge that if I had
been in the same place, yon might also
have hit me.”
The following good hit is from the
Cheshire (Mass.) Republican. It seems
as if it was dictated by the spirit of
Elder Leiand, win* lived and died in
that region. —Exchange paper.
TIIE NEBRASKA BILL
This-wonderful Nebraska bill lias wrought
A miracle that ne’er was seen or thought
Three thousand priests of pure New England breed
tV ho never in one point of faith agreed,
And never will again—that I’ll bo sworn—
Till the last leaf from Time's old book is torn,
Have tuned their throats to one luirmonioT\s strain,
And draw together both by bit and rein.
Religion could ne’er hind them in one tether,
But polities have brought these saints together
And knit them, not by Christian love of others,
But Christain hatred oftheir southern brothers!
We have seen these lines variouslv
oredted, and we ourselves gave the au
thorship, by mistake, a few davs ago, to
the Boston Post. But they originated
in the columns of the Inion, and were
the production of our distinguished cor
respondent who wrote over the nom de
pinmc of “ An Old Fogy.’ 1
[II ash. Union
‘‘ Mr. Jones, have you got a match ?’
“ * °‘ s » sir— -a match lor the devil—
there she is mixing up dough.” Jones
pointed to his will, and then put for
the front yard. The last, we saw of
min he was pulling down the road close
pui sued by a rod headed ladv and a
cistern pole,
A man with pnormousicot was meas
ured for a pair of bools, and inquired
ot the mail when he would have them
finished ? ' “By Wednesday, if it does
not rain,’was the rephv ‘lf it does
notrain! IV hat Ims rain to do with
boots r,'\\ by, do you suppose I
could build a pair of boats for vour
fectmtlmho’!'* ' V
."y. • V.*® f* ■ » v.V.V t. * is*. \ / .< ... t
New York Liberate
ferers at Savannah. have a I ready re
ceived over twelve thousand <
Ifojn this city to relieve their distress.
In aid of the Now Orleans sfifferers wo
contributed something like sixty' thou
sand dollars. Misery al! over thJcoun
try receives 'aid from New York; and,
we may proudly say it never meets
with a rebuff. 'lreland, Madeira, Af
rica, our own country, can all testily to
the liberality with which we dispense
our dollars. Muon sarcasm is levell
ed at New York by country ioik, who
are pleased to cl nominate us a nest
of plunderers, and to exercise their
wit upon Wad street and its peccadil
loes: foreigners .too are fend of talking
about our <l. votion to the almighty
dollar, and painting New Yorkers as
mere ' money getting machines. The
charities of our city ought to cover a
multitude of sins.—.V. Y. Herald.
The eccentric and once famous Ann'
Royal died at Washington on Sunday
last. The Washington Star says: “Sin*
must have been well nigh 90 years of
age. Ever since the publication of the
famous history of her peregrinations
throughout the country, fighting the-
Presbyterians, she has made her resi
dence here, first editing the Huntress,
and subsequently living on its proceeds
published bv others in her name.
For thelast four or five years site ha*
been out and about very little owing
|to her increasing infirmities. When
j about however, her tongue went as be
fore—always so as to attract a crowed
of wonderars around her.—-Vehement
and violent in her antipathies, and the
expression of them, she was equally
warm in her Iriendshp for those she* fa
vored, though from her peculiar way
of manifesting her likings, few indeed
courted her affectionate regaid. To
the hour of her death she preserbed all
the pecularities of thought, temper and
manners, which at one time rend#red
l her so famous throughout the land.
Our readers will read the article
from the London Times, with surprise
and indignation. It reveals the feeling
with which the Allies regard our coun
try, and shows plainly what wc may
expect at the end of the present war, if
they are succesfnl. We remember not
long ago reading some wise man’s ad
vice to his son, “Always taken hull bv
the horns.” It is our bus-; interest to no
so in this case. There is an antago
ism beeween our country and England
especially, which will some day or oth
er have to be settled by the chances
of the sword. The millenium has no:
come yet. The world w* are sorry t><
say, is as' far from universal brothei
hood as ever, the Saints of New Eng*
j land notwithstanding, and opposition
of interests will produce collision. If
there a “is Western question to be set
tled,” let it be settled now while the
Eastern is mi the tapis. Otherwise the
threats of#ie Times may become sad
realities. — Albany Courier.
Not at Home. —ls Mr. Bluster
within ?” ‘No, he is out of town,’
i said the servant. “When can I sec
i him !” I don’t know ; have you any
sepeial business with Mr. Bluster?
‘Yes then- is a small bill I want to
settle.’ ‘Well said the servant, * 1
don’t know whether he will be home
this week or not.” ‘But I wish to
pay the bill as I am to leave immedi
ately. ‘Ob, you wish to pay him some
money—he is upstairs. I’m thinking
I will call him. Please walk into the
drawingroom ; take a chair, sir ; your
hat if you pi use, Mr. Blaster will be
with you in a mom- nt.
Georgia • VullificatioH .
W e see that some of our exchanges
are heading a notice of the opinion of
Judge Benning, in tlie case of Mayor
of Savanah, vs. Pad'elford & Go. with
the above caption. This is calculat
ed to communicate the impression that
the opinion was a decision of the
Court, of which Judge B. is a member.
Such is not the case. It is merely
the Judge’s opinion, and while we ad
mit his great ability as a common law
yer, we do not suppose a Judge in
the-State agrees with the political te
nets of that decision.— Albany Courier.
Messrs. William Hodges and 1\ C.
Pendleton, have purchased the. CVr
tral Georgian office at Sandcrsvilie,
(Ga.) an will continue the publication
of that paper; Dr. Jas. R. Smith, as
we before stated, having associated
himself m the publication of the At
lanta Republican.
From the number of conum idea
tions and tickets in tie- Charleston p
pers for the past few days, we shmiM
judge that the Congressional a' ll *
State election which came oil’ in that
city on Monday and Tuesday, was a' l
exciting one. The total number <>t
votes polled on the first day was
I;AS7 against 916 polled at the State
election iu that city in 1852. The pel ' l4
were kept open two days.
Aunt Rosy was dividing a mince M'
among the boys, and when Jim.
had wickedly pulled the cat’s t. ' •
asked for his share, s e rep! ie< i—
“No Jim, vour are a wicke.! bey
and the Bible says thorn is no "
the wicked.”
When Nicholas Biddle—
called Nick Biddle—was .connects
with the IT.l T . S. Bank, there was an oa
negro named Ilarry wlio used 10 ’
loading around the premises. .. -
One day, in social mood, Biddle sai l
to the darkey, ,
“ Well, what is your name, m)’ 01
friend?” * . .
V Ilarry, sir j old Harry,” said ta-
Other, touching his sleepy hat.
“ Old Ilarry,” said Middle “'yX
that is the name they give to the dey'.i.
is it not ?”
“ Yes, ; sir,” said the colored
man sometimb's ole Harry and some
tin s oV Nick.”